Angelique Rising (13 page)

              Angelique spent several minutes in front of the mirror in Wyatt's bathroom "thinking" her appearance.
Valuable
, she thought,
worthwhile
,
beautiful,
worth it.
These were the things she wanted her appearance to communicate to her new in-laws. As she stared at her face, her body, yes she could see it. It was there. She was slinky glowing drop dead gorgeous. They would understand why she was okay for Wyatt, why she was worthy of him. They would approve of her. She was ready.

             
Gliding out of the bathroom to Wyatt in her lavender beadworked Anthony-designed birthday gift dress, Wyatt was in awe. She'd pulled her hair back, away from her face, but left it long and loose down her back, a lush foaming wave curling delicately at the ends. Angelique knew her unbraided hair was the kind people longed to stroke which was the reason she seldom went out in public with it unbraided --people actually
did
stroke it. Angelique would be standing in line at a checkout counter or some other public place and boom! Some stranger's hand, usually a woman's, would suddenly be caressing down her back. And she couldn't have that, not with the physical effect it had on her, that darn, Robert had discovered but so far Wyatt had not.

             
As far as the effect Angelique had on Wyatt, she knew he savored her beauty but in a different way from other people, beyond what other people felt. For him it wasn't just the beauty, it was a
need
for her, almost as if something about her was filling him, making him whole. She knew this because she felt the exact same way about him and she didn't understand it one whit.

             
"You are... beyond expectation Mrs. Cochran," he blinked in approval.

             
"Thank you for the dress," she murmured.

             
"I believe I will be putting in a large order with Mr. Rodriguez --you are a vision, Angelique."

             
"And how many Cochrans will be viewing this vision tonight, Wyatt?"

             
"Well, me and you, my parents, George, Uncle Malcolm, Tinka --Uncle Malcolm had her officially made a Cochran when the blood tests came back-- and Maureen, who isn't a Cochran but since I gave her my name she hasn't given it back. So altogether, eight people."

             
"That's not so bad."

             
"Famous last words. Come, Johnson is waiting."

             
"Why don't you drive?"

             
"I pay Johnson twenty-four/seven. He might as well drive us, that way I can spend my time looking at you. Besides, he prefers it to sitting here and he'll be the one driving us all to the club after we've each had a glass of champagne or two I expect. You're not used to having him around yet are you?"

             
"It is kind of weird, an assistant at your beck and call to do whatever you want for you anytime you want it. Is that how all rich people live?"

             
He laughed.

             
"Angelique, Johnson's duties are far more advanced than what you see. Trust me, he is a well paid professional and worth every penny. Now come. Five people are waiting with the proverbial baited breath to check you out. And George is no doubt hoping he can snag another one of your good-luck kisses, the last one having been so remunerative."

             
"That uncle of yours... how come he's so creepy? No offense."

             
He led her
across the entry hall of his house and outdoors onto the front stone portico.

             
"You picked up on that?" he asked as Johnson held the car door open for her and she climbed into the back. Wyatt walked around to the other side of the car and let himself in beside her.

             
"Doesn't everyone?"

             
"Good lord no. Most women are fervidly drawn to him."

             
"Are you kidding?"

             
"I suppose I should tell you the story of Uncle Malcolm," he rolled his eyes, "every family has its black sheep."

             
She glanced at the back of Johnson's head as he pulled the car out onto Wyatt's long tree-lined driveway.

             
"Oh don't worry about Johnson, he knows all about Uncle Mal. All right, well, you know my grandfather founded my company, right? It was supposed to go to his eldest son, Malcolm, to run for the betterment of the family once Gramps retired."

             
"But what about your father?"

             
"He, the younger brother, was supposed to be brought in later. Gramps didn't want my father at the company until Malcolm was firmly entrenched. Gramps didn't think my Dad was strong enough, translate that ruthless enough, to work at the company without a hard ass riding roughshod over him."

             
"Your Uncle Mal is a hardass?"

             
"He's a lot more than that. So Malcolm was all set to come in, and this woman shows up in Gramps' office claiming Malcolm had raped her, she's going to go to the cops. Malcolm swears on the Bible --and I mean that literally-- he doesn't know who this woman is, never saw her before in his life. Gramps believes Malcolm, at which point the woman pulls out her trump card. Hands Gramps a baby. Tinka. Gramps gets tests and guess what. The woman Malcolm swore he'd never met in his life was the mother of his child. Malcolm's credibility was shot to hell so Gramps started investigating and what he discovered shocked the living daylights out of him."

             
"What?"

             
"Malcolm is a sexual sadist. True sexual sadists are actually quite rare but Malcolm is one. He got his jollies by hiring prostitutes and doing some pretty unpleasant things with them. Turned out that's what Tinka's mother was, a pissed off pros who ended up with a mighty big grudge against Malcolm, not to mention a baby. So Gramps decides no way he's going to turn his company --
his
baby-- over to Malcolm. Instead he gives Malcolm a big chunk of money and tells him to go start his own company --in other words
go away
. My Dad sees that deal and since he didn't want to work at the company under someone else's thumb anyway, he says give it to him too. Gramps does."

             
"That's how
you
ended up heading it?"

             
"Yes. But I found out about Uncle Mal on my own. When I turned eighteen he tried to recruit me into his preferred sexual activities."

             
"You?"

             
"I was a young horny teenager who didn't know any better, Angelique. So I went along until it got severely kinky, then I bailed. But I have to admit, he did teach me some stuff. I warned George what was probably coming on his eighteenth birthday, he stayed well away from it. It's a subject we never discuss in our family. I'm sure you can understand why."

             
"But what about Maureen? Your ex-wife? She grew up with the guy! And Tinka! Do you think he--"

             
"Yes, everyone wondered about that, but the answer is no. Uncle Mal told me once,
Never shit in your own back yard
. He has not touched Maureen or Tinka, though sometimes I think Maureen wouldn't exactly mind. Pretty whacked out, huh?"

             
"It does take a bit of getting used to. I've never been to a birthday party with a sexual sadist."

             
"How would you know? Oh, come to think of it maybe
you
would know. But other people don't. To the world Malcolm is a successful financier and a philanthropist too. That Performing Center of his doesn't earn him any profit. Now I'm sure Malcolm gets a good tax write off on the whole thing, but still, he advances the arts in this city big time and charities line up at the Center's door hoping to have their fundraising events there, Maureen handles that part for him. He runs all kinds of non-profit programs out of the place. And whatever he does with his private life there's never been so much as a hint of scandal. I think he learned his lesson with the whole Tinka affair. Or perhaps he honed his techniques better." He squeezed her hand. "Don't worry, you're safe. Like I said, he doesn't target the females of the family. I asked him to stay away from you all this week at the Center and he did, didn't he?"

             
"I never saw him, but I was locked away in the recording studio most of the time."

             
"What were you recording?"

             
She gleamed.

             
"Made you a birthday present."

             
"You have me intrigued, Mrs. Cochran."

             
"As well you should be. You're not the only one in this marriage who can do sneaky Wyatt, which don't for one moment think I haven't tumbled to: 'Here, Angelique, you'll like this one --it's strawberry!'"

             
He picked up her hand and kissed her knuckles in the luminous sunset.

             
"No jury would ever convict me," he said in a low undertone as his eyes darkened with intimate affection, "not after they got one look at you."

             
"What you do to me, Wyatt," she sighed, unraveling, the words caressing her tongue and stirring him considerably.

             
They spent the rest of the trip slyly peeping at each other salaciously, thinking of their nights together. Angelique accepted their bedroom experiences as the norm, she had no ready comparisons. But Wyatt, no, he knew something strange was going on. A little bit of the newness should have been wearing off for him. The intensity perhaps shifting from new and exciting to expected and comfortable but that wasn't happening. No, each time he took her, the excitement, the newness, the oh-my-godness of it was still there, if anything it was increasing. Not that he was complaining.

             
"Hello, hello!" The door to the parental Cochran home swung open and a woman ushered them inside. The house was large, not a mansion, but located in an obviously affluent neighborhood. "I have so been looking forward to meeting you, Angelique."

             
"SHE'S HERE!" Wyatt heard a Tinka-shriek.

             
"It's a pleasure to meet you Mrs. Cochran--"

             
"Please call me Beth--"

             
"HI! HI! I'm Tinka, Wyatt's cousin, I saw you perform at the Gala and
Gawd
I couldn't believe it, it was fantastic, when you--"

             
"Tinka, give her a moment to breathe please," Wyatt chided.

             
Tinka was about Angelique's age but in appearance they were markedly apart. Tinka was petite but stacked, with butchy black hair in a curly perm, but with a light, blowsy air about her, almost like a tiny firecracker about to go breezily bouncing about the room.

             
Angelique entered the Cochran home gracefully, surveying the expansive living room, so tastefully done. Most of the furniture was eggshell white, the carpet a pattern of delicate flowers, the walls a display of oil paintings and photographs. The home had obviously been designed and decorated by a person of discerning aesthetics.

             
The only disconcerting thing in it was a man, Malcolm Cochran, postured by a fireplace staring raptly at Angelique, his expression guarded and unreadable. Beside him sat a woman, obviously Maureen. She too was regarding Angelique intently but with an empty immutable smile, the synthetic one she wore when she was worried how her smile would look. She visibly tried to soften it as Angelique's gaze swept over her, her resentment transparent, unsubtle. Maureen had a rather limited capacity for sincerity.

             
"Hiya, Angelique," a familiarly roguish voice called, "you drinking again yet?" George was standing behind a bar holding a raised cocktail glass. She stifled an embarrassed smile as he knew she would.

             
"She'll have water, George, she's performing later," Wyatt said giving his
mother
a caustic look, instantly eliciting some potently raised maternal eyebrows that just as instantly wiped the offending look from Wyatt's face. Wyatt's mother was a slightly portly woman, perfectly dressed, who gave an air of great refinement, a person who'd lived with a husband and sons long enough to know how to not take any crap from them.

             
"And this is my husband, Henry," Beth said nodding attentively to a man who looked strangely similar to Malcolm but younger and without the swarthiness. Wyatt's expression grew cross as he recognized the element of force in his father's smile.