Bringing Home a Bachelor (15 page)

21

P
ETE
FELT
ACTIVELY
SICK
on Sunday morning. He really wished that he could punch the dawn back to Saturday night, specifically to the hour when he’d made love to Melinda for what was probably the last time.

You. Are. Going. To. Pay. Peter. Start wondering when the other shoe will drop.
Mommie Dearest’s words echoed in his brain. When would her killer stiletto clatter to the floor? Surely she’d use this dinner as the perfect backdrop to stage her revenge. It was too much of a temptation for her to resist.

Jocelyn was inhuman, evil, a demon in a dress. He pictured her cackling wildly as she destroyed his life…

And Mel? Oh, God. Mel. She’d come to mean more to him than he’d ever thought possible. He saw her face changing in front of him: the eyes that held laughter, trust, determination and lately, something more—he saw Melinda’s eyes go accusatory and cold, like her mother’s. The generous, full, curvy lips that he loved to kiss…Pete saw them narrow and flatten, form a straight line of grim disappointment in him. He saw the natural blush in her cheeks intensify to the ruddy red of shame and betrayal.

He had to tell her first. It was that simple. Better that she hear it from him than from her mother.

But the very thought of telling her sickened him. How could he hurt her that way? How could he convince her that he’d never meant to play along? She’d never believe him. And she’d never speak to him again, much less trust him with her heart.

He knew that if he survived this day, that it would kill him. That he’d never again hold her in his arms, stroke the warm expanse of her rosy skin, get lost in the lush invitation of her body.

Though he wanted to lose himself in sleep and denial of what was about to happen, he forced himself to get up, shave, shower and pay some bills.

Pure anxiety had him sweating through his clean shirt, so to kill some more time he re-showered and changed it. Then he paced around his apartment, a caged animal, until it was time to go and pick up Melinda and brave the demon-mother in her professionally decorated circle of hell.

He would tell her.

No, he wouldn’t.

Yes, he would.

No. He shook his head. He would not.

And Jocelyn wouldn’t, either. No mother could be that vicious, that hurtful, to her own daughter.

Pete convinced himself that he was safe, for the time being. That he still had time to figure out the best approach to this situation. That he could somehow sell his side of things; present it in a better light. After all, he hadn’t done anything wrong…

* * *

M
EL
HAD
A
BUTTER
-
RUM
cake and Mami in tow. She wore dark, dressy jeans cut like trousers, an orange top that made her eyes look even more blue, and high heels that made her ass sway seductively when she walked. If she hadn’t been so moody, he might have given it an appreciative squeeze.

But she clip-clopped four paces ahead of him, her chest jutting out like the prow of a battleship, clearly lost in her own aggressive thoughts. Mami’s hind legs scrabbled helplessly in the air under her left arm, and even the cake in her right hand seemed to be cowed.

He’d offered to carry something, but Mel said no, seeming to need to hang on to something in each hand. Mami craned her head back to look at him, as if to say, “she’s in one of those moods.”

“You look nice,” Pete said cautiously, as they got into his car.

“I look lacquered,” she said.

“Kind of,” he said, wondering if this was one of those trick situations where women beat you up whether you agreed or disagreed.

“It’s protective armor.”

“Oh.”

“I need it around my mother.”

Pete started to feel sick again.

“Not that you need to worry. It’s just mother-daughter stuff.”

Heh. If you only knew.
“Right. Of course.”

They drove in silence for a while, as sweat gathered along Pete’s hairline and made an ugly appearance under his arms.

“Melinda, I just want you to know that I really care deeply for you, okay?”

She turned towards him with a frown. “Why does this sound like the beginning of a ‘Dear John’ speech?”

“What? No! No, it’s not meant that way at all.”

“Okay. Well, then, I care deeply for you, too, Pete.” She smiled, then leaned over and kissed him. “Or I wouldn’t hang out with you buck naked. You know that’s a big thing for me, right? I’ve never just sat around nude with anyone in my life.”

Pete felt a lump rising in his throat as nausea curled, dense as fog, in his gut. “I’m glad you feel that comfortable around me, Mel. And I love it. And I’m…weirdly honored…that you can trust me.”

“You’re different from any guy I’ve ever met, Fozz. You don’t look at me critically. It’s like you look at me—I don’t know—gratefully.”

She was killing him. Absolutely killing him. “I’m always grateful when I’m in the company of a beautiful naked girl.” The b-word popped out of his mouth before he could stop it, and she stiffened.

Then, to his surprise, she visibly relaxed her posture. “That’s the thing with you, Pete,” she said softly. “You really think I’m beautiful.”

“I really do,” he said. “I’m sorry if you don’t like the word.”

“It’s okay,” she said after a pause. “It’s okay, because you make me feel beautiful. You’re the only guy who ever has.”

Pete took one hand off the steering wheel and squeezed hers, hard. He didn’t trust himself to speak, especially since he’d just pulled up to the imposing Mediterranean revival house where her parents lived.

Pete stared at the triple-tiered, white-stone fountain in the center of Jocelyn’s disciplined landscaping. He wondered if he could drown himself in it before she opened the door.

And then it was too late: Mark and Kendra pulled up in a shiny new Buick Enclave, Mark’s jaw stony and his eyes hidden by impenetrably dark Ray-Bans.

Pete got out of the Z4 and rounded it to open the door for Melinda. He took the cake in its plastic carrier, and then gave her a hand as she scrambled out with Mami, who barked at Mark as he emerged from the Enclave.

“You haven’t made a hat out of that thing yet?” Mark asked, as he left Kendra to open her own door.

“How can you even say such a thing?” Mel retorted.

Her sister-in-law climbed out, looking a little annoyed as she juggled two bottles of wine with her purse and shoved the car door closed with a bony elbow.

Mel hugged her, and once Kendra finished fussing over the dog, Pete bussed her cheek, dutifully. “Hi, Kendra. How are you?”

“Thanks so much for the silver fruit bowl,” she said. “That was sweet of you.”

“Yeah, I’ll think of you every time I grab a banana,” Mark said, with an edge to his voice. “Been busy lately, huh, Pete?”

“Mark, be nice,” Melinda said in warning tones.

Pete stared into the blank blackness of the Ray-Bans. “Slammed. Sorry I haven’t had a chance to call you back.”

“Why don’t you girls go on into the house. We’ll follow you in a minute,” Mark suggested, arms folded across his chest.

“Why don’t you stop behaving like a caveman?” Mel said sweetly. “Or like a dog that’s marking a fire hydrant? Even Mami is more subtle.”

At that moment the double doors of the house opened and Jocelyn made her appearance, in a navy blue sleeveless dress and another pair of dagger heels. “Hi, kids!” she said brightly, and held out her arms.

Mark was the first to step into them, and he hugged her back with genuine affection. Kendra, too, was warm in her embrace.

Pete fleetingly wondered if he’d imagined the scenes in his office, or the finger like a gun in the small of his back.

Melinda hesitated infinitesimally before stepping into Jocelyn’s arms, but her mother gave her no choice, squeezing her tightly and stroking her hair. “We’ve missed you, honey.”

To Pete’s surprise, her steely eyes misted over and faded to a soft, silvery-blue. Jocelyn Edgeworth truly loved her daughter. It was evident in her expression; in the way her mouth softened as she kissed Melinda’s cheek.

He gaped at the spectacle, and she noticed, meeting his eyes over Mel’s shoulder. Her own were deeply shadowed underneath, despite the careful application of makeup. She looked as if she hadn’t slept in a week.

“I’ve missed you, too, Mom.” Melinda’s voice caught on the words.

“Pee-ter.” Jocelyn disengaged herself from Mel and took his hand. She kissed the air next to his face and he produced a polite smile. So this was how they were going to play it. He allowed himself a small measure of relief.

“How are your parents?” she asked. “Are they still in Alabama? Does your mother still make that divine pecan ring of hers?”

“Fine, thanks, yes, and yes.” Would Mrs. E drop her little bomb this evening, or not? Would she put strychnine in his iced-tea first?

“Good, good. Well, come in, everyone—don’t stand on the doorstep. Richard! Ri-chaaard! Come help with the drinks, please.”

Jocelyn had a vodka-and-sugar-free tonic, Richard a gin-and-tonic, Pete and Mark beer, and Kendra one-third of a glass of pinot grigio mixed with two-thirds seltzer water. Mel noted this with a fixed smile and poured herself a hefty-bordering-on-huge glass of red wine while Pete winked at her.

Soon they were seated out on the patio in back of the house, surrounded by greenery. Hibiscus trees grew in pots, lantana sprawled gracefully out of planters, bougainvillea serenaded the wrought-iron fence around the property. Caladiums greeted everyone cheerfully from the shaded areas. There were bromeliads, too, and orchids everywhere.

It was Richard who had the green thumb, from what Pete recalled. He’d had a little gardening cart with a seat on it, and a set of tools in a built-in compartment. He’d also had a truly dorky pair of aerating sandals—shoes with long spikes on them that he used to walk around the lawn, despite Jocelyn’s mortification. But the crowning touch had been the green rubber knee pads, which the boys had made endless fun of.

Pete still imagined that he used them every morning in front of his wife, bowing his forehead to the polished parquet and saying, “Yes, Mistress.”

Pete sipped his Corona and tried to banish the image from his mind. Richard was a good guy. And come to think of it, he didn’t remember Jocelyn having such an edge to her when they were kids.

Now she distributed platters among them. One held cubes of fat-free cheese that tasted like, and had the consistency of, rubber. The other held cucumber rounds topped with tiny daubs of lobster salad. Poor Mel watched with something close to loathing as Kendra swept away the lobster with a toothpick and ate only the cucumber.

Jocelyn’s face held nothing but understanding and approval for her daughter-in-law. They discussed a new diet fad, while Mel went silent and tossed back her wine, Richard yawned behind his hand and Mark stared balefully at Pete from behind his assassin’s shades.

“So, how ’bout those Dolphins?” Pete threw out.

“How ‘bout those new Dolphins cheerleaders?” Mark asked. “You notice the redhead?”

Kendra narrowed her eyes on her oblivious husband.

“I never notice any woman but Melinda,” Pete said with another wink at her.

She rolled her eyes, but he didn’t miss the quirk at the corner of her lips.

Mark snorted and took a long pull of his beer.

Richard cast a reproving glance at him and yawned behind his hand again. He eyed the faux-cheese cubes and cucumber rounds with mild distaste. “Excuse me for a moment.” He got up and went into the house.

He emerged after a few minutes with a covered ice bucket.

“Richard, we already have ice out here,” said his wife.

“Oh. Well, now we have more. By the way, Joss—where are the limes? I can’t find them.”

Jocelyn expelled an annoyed breath, got to her feet and tottered inside on her dagger heels. Richard loped past her and sat down with the ice bucket, which he passed to Pete. “Real food inside,” he whispered.

Pete lifted the lid and bit back a laugh. Inside were microwaved cocktail weenies and all kinds of boxed fried appetizers: mozzarella sticks, stuffed mushroom caps, sliced loaded potato skins.

They all (except Kendra) mashed an item of their choice into their mouths, and then Richard slid the ice bucket behind a planter and laid a finger across his lips.

Jocelyn came back with sliced limes and kept passing the trays of cucumbers and cheese, growing visibly frustrated as each person took a turn luring her back into the house. Even Kendra asked for some hand lotion.

By the time they all sat down to dinner at the highly polished, formally set table inside, Pete almost felt sorry for the woman. But not for long.

Jocelyn had prepared a traditional roast with potatoes, carrots and sliced onions on the side. She’d also made green beans and biscuits. She heaped Richard’s plate with food and a generous portion of gravy, then did the same for Pete and Mark.

On Kendra’s plate she put two thin slices of roast, one small potato and a large pile of green beans.

And on Melinda’s plate, she parsed out one slice of roast, half a potato, and a small mound of carrots and onions. After a moment of consideration, she added a spoonful of green beans, pushed the butter into the center of the table, and handed the meager portion to her daughter. Biscuits were evidently off-limits for the women, and out of the question for Mel—as was butter.

Pete felt instant sympathy for her.

“Shall we say grace?” Jocelyn commanded.

So they did.

Melinda got even quieter and drank even more wine, something Pete watched with concern. This seemed to be a trend when she was around her mother.

She ate her food mechanically, leaving the onions on her plate. Not surprisingly, she was finished before anyone else. She eyed the roast longingly and took another sip of wine, seeming to struggle with herself.

Pete cut a piece of beef, swabbed it through the gravy on his plate and then popped it into her mouth.

Jocelyn’s eyes narrowed upon him.

He shot her his most engaging grin and lifted his beer to her before drinking.