A Girl's Best Friend (15 page)

“I do. I need it desperately. I’m at my gym. I think I’ll leave my car here if you don’t mind getting me.”

“I’ll be right there.”

For now, I’m just glad I can trust anyone. My mind veers back to the vision of George Gentry and his soggy briefcase and his lips so close to mine. I wish I could trust him. I wish I could trust myself.

I remind myself how he pursued me to tell me the truth and I have to wonder, why didn’t my father bother?

chapter 14

L
illy drives up in her beaten Saab, which Nate got running again, and we smile broadly at each other when our eyes catch. Good friends know when you’ve been an idiot, and good friends forgive anyway. I climb into her car and throw my overnight bag into the backseat.

“So, do you want to talk about it?” Lilly asks. “I take it things didn’t go well at your dad’s.”

I shake my head. “It’s worse than you might think. Apparently, I’m under investigation for tax evasion. Me, who doesn’t even shop on tax-free sales days. It’s ridiculous. How exactly could I evade something I have nothing to do with?”

“Do you even pay taxes?”

“Of course I pay taxes.” I look down to my hands in my lap. “Well, Daddy pays them for me. He says it’s cheaper to have them done together since we’re a limited partnership.” With each word, I want to hit my head against the dashboard. To call me naïve was kind.

“That’s what I thought, Morgan.” Lilly shakes her head, honking at the traffic even though we have yet to leave the curb. “Do you think your father might have done something illegal?”

“Do you?” I ask her.

“Well, now that you mention it. I’m not sure your dad is someone I would trust.”

“He’s just a businessman, Lilly. He’s always looking for the next tax scheme.”

“Do you believe that?”

The question haunts me because I’m not really sure I do believe it anymore. “I know my father is not the warmest person, but that’s a far cry from tax evasion.”

“I hope so, Morgan.”

I look out the window at the traffic as we wait to enter the fray. “All I wanted was someone to love me so I could take care of them.”

Memories of my mother, coughing in the back room as she gasped for air, flood my mind. My father’s eternal absence and the only world I truly felt comfortable in—the one I created for myself in my imagination. With my dolls, I was the perfect mother. I would bathe them, diaper them, feed them, and talk lovingly towards them.

“I know that, Morgan, but your gauge is off, because your needle doesn’t point north. Your dad was never due north; he’s more of a magnet on top of the compass screwing with your mind. Your mother, well, who knows what she might have been if she hadn’t been sick.”

“If I can’t trust my father, who can I trust? I know the obvious answer is God, but I’m looking for something a little less ethereal for the moment.”

“Lots of people, actually, but just because he’s your father doesn’t make him trustworthy, Morgan. That’s all I’m saying.”

“You don’t trust anyone, though. Look what you did to Max the other day.”

“True, but what do I have to gain by saying maybe you should look a little deeper into your father’s orders?”

“I’m sure he just made a mistake. He got caught up in his gambling ways and made a financial error. He’ll get me out of it; he always does,” I say, with more faith than I feel.

Lilly doesn’t answer, which is more of an answer than I really wanted.

“When you were hurting the other day, a normal reaction for a father is not to put a three-carat diamond on your hand. Do you understand that?”

I really don’t. That is my truth. When life gets troublesome, you’re on to the next thing. To stop and feel it is the worst kind of agony, so you move on. When the pink diamonds don’t sell, you invest in the blue ones. You make it popular for women to change their wedding rings. That’s the fashion. That’s . . . that’s the lie.

“Can we talk about something else?” I ask her.

“So what about the concierge job? Does it sound better?”

“That was sweet of Max, Lilly, but I don’t have the patience to be a concierge. Tourists bother me and I’m afraid I’d offend someone and get him in trouble with his parents. I can be humble, but I don’t think tourists are the right place to start. Someone will show up in leggings, and I know I’ll feel the need to tell them it’s not the right look for them. That they look like a potato who’s sprouted legs.”

“You would never say anything unkind, Morgan. You are too well trained for that.”

“It just doesn’t feel right. I should know better than to follow my instincts, but—”

“No, that’s exactly what your father has told you, but that isn’t true, Morgan. You’re not stupid, and you’re perfectly capable of making your own decisions. If your decision is that the concierge job stinks, well, so be it.”

“But I am nervous. I mean, if a lawyer is following me to central California, showing up at my gym, and calling my private line? I would think the indictment is probably imminent.” I nibble on my lip, hoping she’ll put me at ease.

“Take the job, Morgan.”

I nod and lean back against
the seat. I want this all to go away. “Oh, I’m sure Daddy’s squirreled enough away in a Swiss bank somewhere that I won’t have to worry about it.”

In the orange hue of the street lights I see Lilly’s mouth open and snap shut again.

“Go ahead, say it.”

“This time, I’m worried for you, Morgan. Think about it, your dad’s getting married after all these years. Is she wealthy?”

I try to catch my breath at the thought. “I don’t know. I never thought about that. She’s got bad taste.”

“Does she look like your mother did?”

“No.” I shake my head with force. “The exact opposite. She’s quite unattractive, and much bigger than anyone else my father ever dated. Not that there’s anything wrong with that. It’s just out of the ordinary.”

“I want you to have a job and some money of your own.”

“Don’t get me all freaked out, Lilly. Just because you trust no one doesn’t mean I want to end up that way. You’re letting a perfectly good man dangle by a string because of your fears.”

“We just don’t want to see you end up like your mo—” Lilly stops herself.

“Like my mother? That makes two of us.” My mother was an unloved woman, a beautiful spectacle who was hated by her husband. Like the queen who came before Queen Esther or the wives before Bathsheba. It’s my greatest fear that I might drink from that well, that the bitter waters of my parents’ marriage would haunt me into my future. I learned it wasn’t outer beauty that made the difference, but the inner, and I’ve become a doormat in response. Albeit a well-bred doormat.

As traffic clears and we drive away from the ritzy health club, which is more about image than any venture towards well-being, I think about the life I’m probably leaving behind. Even if I’m completely innocent of all charges, I’m not exactly setting the social example for San Francisco with my recent headlines. This certainly isn’t going to help. Society enjoys its gossip, but it’s also quick to oust anyone they deem as entertainment value. The life I knew is officially over.

“I won’t end up like my mother,” I announce in confidence. “I think with my heart.”

“But you spend with your very well-trained Visa wrist.”

I sigh. “Isn’t it the truth? You know, it never actually dawned on me that I don’t deserve a pair of five hundred dollar shoes that I want. I know you find that abhorrent, but it’s been my world.”

“No, Morgan, you’re wrong. I understand the desire for nice stuff. When I was a girl, I just loved the clean stitching on good work. I know that once you’ve worn a pair of five hundred dollar shoes, it’s hard to go back. But Morgan, for your sake, you need to go back.”

She’s right. The price of a pair of Zanottis isn’t what it reads on the bottom of the sole, it’s what my father tattoos on my soul in return. “I’ve paid a price for that shoe collection.”

“Poppy called,” Lilly says cheerfully, hoping to change my mood. “She is coming up tomorrow to help you pound the pavement and get the right job.”

“She is?” This makes me smile. Poppy is like Underdog. She’s always there to save the day. She was there when I cried pathetically on her shoulder after Marcus (my first fiancé) died.

“Poppy’s worried about you. I told her you didn’t want the concierge job and so she’s coming up to make sure you’re employed before you move back in with your daddy.”

“She knows me well. Did you tell her I went back home?”

“I called her immediately.”

“I tell you, Lilly, if you hadn’t called? If you’d allowed me to step in that bathtub tonight? With the view of the city lights and all that sensory calm? I’d have been toast. Just the interruption gave me cause to pause.”

Lilly shakes her head while changing lanes. “Consider me thanked. When you feel the thrill of doing it by yourself, Morgan, you’ll know what I mean. It’s a complete rush.”

“What did Poppy say about the concierge job? Did she think I was ungrateful, too?”

“No, she thought you’d make a terrible concierge because you have no idea what things cost. She thought if you were asked for a cheap restaurant, you wouldn’t have the first idea what they were talking about. Have you even had a Big Mac? Do you know what “Super-size me” means?”

“So she has faith in me.” I can’t help but laugh. Only Poppy could kindly tell me I’m an idiot. “No, I haven’t had a Big Mac. Sue me, okay?”

“You know what she thought you’d be good at, and I think I agree with her.”

“What?”

“You’d be a good stylist, Morgan. People would totally pay for your expertise in taste. Then you could spend their money–and we all know you’re good at spending other people’s money. You have a PhD in that.”

“That’s what Nate said, too. It would be good work if I could get it. But just how does one get a job where you spend other people’s money?”

At the moment Lilly doesn’t have an answer and we both sit quietly for a moment as she drives me back toward Lysol Land. I’m a bit shellshocked at everything that’s happened. Tonight I thought I could run home, just like I’d always done, but I’m quickly learning that isn’t possible. The rules have changed. My father’s fiancée is here to stay, as is her bad taste, but he’s obviously getting something out of the remodel. Daddy can be such a little boy sometimes. He loves to relinquish responsibility, because then nothing is ever his fault. I’m certain that’s why I personally am named in the lawsuit, and why he’s willing to let someone else rip our townhouse to shreds. It won’t be his fault. Mistakes and Malliards do not mix—unless they’re attached to me and, now, the future Mrs. Malliard.

“My father’s getting married.”

“So you said.”

“I met her tonight.”

“Is that why you’re back at my place tonight?”

I just grin, even though Lilly can’t see me in the dark.

“Do you like her?”

“Not in the least. I know my father has bullied his way into the social scene, but if my fake wedding and Daddy’s little tax evasion lawsuit don’t do us in, Gwen Caruthers is waiting in the wings—waiting to take the Malliards back to a place of shunned silence among the socialites.”

“It doesn’t matter, Morgan. You need to get out of there anyway. Just because you’ve always lived like this, it’s no excuse. You’ve been saying the mantra of ‘I don’t know any different’ for too long.”

“I just hope my new room isn’t six by eight with a toilet in the center of it.”

“Your father may play some tricks with his money, but not to the point where jail is a possibility.”

I wish I was so confident. Can you say Martha Stewart? “My dad would sell his mother for the next deal, and he would have rotted in a Russian prison were it not for Marcus. It’s an addiction, not something he can control. If there’s a way to make more, he can’t help himself; he has to throw the dice. He’s compulsive and the payoff is worth the risk.” I gaze out the window at the soft orange glow of the streetlights. “I wonder how I’ll look in orange.”

“I wonder if you can have a spray tan in jail,” Lilly ponders.

“Not helping!”

“I’m just saying
with orange, you need a tan. It’s a given.”

“You’ll never guess who I saw tonight,” I try to say as casually as possible, because really it means nothing. “George Gentry was at my health club.” I wait for Lilly’s reaction while I feel my own reaction in my tummy. If only I didn’t have that visual of the abs. So wrong. Yet the image keeps on popping in my mind, like muffins in the oven. The more I try not to picture those muscles, the more vivid they become.

“The guy we saw at Spa Del Mar? Morgan, you need to stay away from him. He’s obviously following you, and you are not going through another Andy again. We are not going through another Andy again. And what kind of guy hangs out at spas and health clubs? Are his fingers manicured, because that’s a sure sign.”

“A sure sign of what.”

“You can’t trust a guy who gets a manicure. They’re either gay or way too concerned about their appearance. It’s too weird.”

“Are you done?”

“Yes.”

“He’s my tax-evasion attorney, apparently. He’s been trying to speak to me before the indictments come.”

“So this George guy is your lawyer?”

“Daddy hired him for me, but I think George needed to know if I was guilty or not. That’s why he’s been following me.”

“You want to get married too badly, and if some guy rescues you from the pokey, you’ll start having all these Prince Charming fantasies again. We can’t have that. Morgan, you need to stay away from men who find you. Can you get an ugly lawyer?”

“It’s nothing like that. I’ve learned my lesson about men. If they come looking for me, I go looking elsewhere. You should see this guy’s abs, though, Lilly. I don’t know where he finds the time to be a lawyer because he looks like a Bowflex commercial and like he never leaves the machine. I mean, hot. Steaming-fresh-from-the-wok hot.”

“Down, girl.”

“Listen,” I tell her. “I left my dignity behind a long time ago, somewhere on that fashion runway you forced me onto, so you don’t have to worry about me being carried away into a waiting, stolen limo. You just have to worry they’ll cuff me and read me my rights, okay?”