Going For Broke (32 page)

             
“Oh, Scott.  It must have been hard on them.”

             
“It was at first.  It’s hard enough to have your parents get divorced, let alone have your mother move in with another woman.  Leslie -- do you remember Leslie Hornberger from high school?”

             
Who didn’t.  You would have had to live under a rock and then you still would remember Leslie Hornberger.  She was tall, blonde, head of Pep Squad, Girls’ Club and was Junior Class President.  Some of the snarkier kids used to call her Leslie Horndogger - even though she and Scott had dated since sophomore year.  She was as squeaky clean as a girl could get.  Maybe she didn’t get out enough before she settled down.  Victoria nodded her head in acknowledgement and Scott continued.

             
“Leslie and Fawn have really done a great job of helping the girls work through it.   It hurt my ego at first,” he said as he took another swig off his beer bottle, “but they really love each other.”  He sounded like he meant it.

             
Victoria was floored.  Who knew that this lovable puppy of a guy had such a sad story behind him?  He laid it all out for her, no pretense, no bravado.  How un-New York of him.

             
“So they’re in your house, and belong to your club.  And you’re...?”
             

             
“I have an apartment over Starbucks,” he pointed in the general direction.  “I bought a house for myself after we first got divorced, then I realized that the girls hated being there - it didn’t feel like their house - and I hated the maintenance.  I sold it, invested the proceeds and am a happy renter.  Leslie and I have a great relationship.  I have dinner over there at least twice a week.  Fawn’s an amazing cook.”

             
That may be too touchy-feely for Victoria.  Just as she was trying to wrap her head around having your ex’s lesbian lover cook you dinner twice a week, the waitress came to check on them.

             
“Another round?” she cheerfully asked.

             
Scott didn’t miss a beat.  “Absolutely Kristen, thanks.”

             
Victoria started to protest, then felt that it would be rude to interrupt in the midst of Scott’s story.  The only other time she had been out in Tenaqua, she had gotten smashed.  That was not going to happen again.  That first glass of wine went down so easily. 

             
By the time she had finished her fourth glass of wine, she found out that Scott had gone to Vanderbilt, and then transferred to Dennison to be with Leslie.  They had married two weeks after graduation, and moved back to Tenaqua by the end of the summer.  Scott had gone to Northwestern to get his MBA and Leslie started having babies.  They were living the perfect North Shore Life.

             
As Victoria knew all too well, that Perfect Life, no matter what the location, was a tenuous thing.  The couple with the $21 million ‘cottage’ in the Hamptons hid the fact that the husband had a fetish for sweet young boys from the city and a propensity for dressing in his wife’s Manolos.  The picture-perfect family on the Christmas card from a college roommate in DC didn’t expose the fact that two of the kids had been in and out of rehab three times.  The Perfect Life was a mirage, and as hard as Victoria had fought to create one, all it took was an imperfect husband and an FBI investigation to bring it crashing down.

             
The thought of the FBI gave Victoria a moment’s pause, though she wasn’t going to let the likes of Mike Tower ruin her night.  She hadn’t been out on the town, if you could call three (okay, four) glasses of wine and a burger a night on the town, in a hell of a long time.  She was going to enjoy it.

             
At one point during dinner, yet another venerable denizen of the bucolic Tenaqua stopped by their table to say hello to Scott.  Victoria easily recognized Mark Harris, even with a bald head and a huge gut.  Women in their late 30s generally had the edge on time - they staved off aging much more successfully than their male counterparts.  It was easier to hide the gray with highlights, and zap the wrinkles with Botox, and Spanx hid a multitude of sins.  Most women her age looked a good ten years younger than the guys they had gone to high school with.  By the time they’re in their 60s, though, the men catch up.  The gray looks distinguished, while the blonde single-process color just looks brassy and desperate.  Victoria was happy to still be on the winning side of that battle of the sexes.

             
Fortunately, Mark didn’t recognize her.  Must have been that new hair color.  He was lame enough to give Scott a punch in the arm and a wink when Scott introduced Victoria.  He still acted like they were in a locker room.  He hung around for a bit, but when it was clear he wasn’t going to get the nod to join them, he reluctantly took up what seemed to be his regular spot at the bar.  Victoria wondered for a moment if he too was divorced, or just hiding out from the wife and kids.

             
After Scott paid the check (thank God, because she was drinking wine at $15 a glass) they stood outside the restaurant.  It had gotten chilly, so Scott put his arm around her and started walking.  She thought for a minute that she should get her bike from the train, yet didn’t want to leave his warmth.  They walked across town and landed in front of the Starbucks.  It was pitch black.

             
“Can you believe it?  It closes at six,” Scott said.  “They’re great neighbors, though.  I wake up to the smell of coffee every morning.”

             
They stood for a moment outside of the Starbucks.  Victoria thought he was going to ask her up, and quite honestly she  didn’t have an answer.  Thankfully he asked her a different question.

             
“Let me walk you home.  Where do you live?”

             
Oh, to be 15 again!  He was sweet, and it felt great.  She just started walking.

             
He stopped her after a few blocks, turned her face to his and started kissing her.  He was smooth, she didn’t have a second to protest.  Victoria thought for a moment if he had acquired this smooth move in high school and had only used it on Leslie so far, or if it was a newly acquired skill that was borne out of necessity after he got divorced.  No matter, he was good.  They just stood and kissed for what seemed like hours, and then started walking again.

             
They continued their kiss/walk/kiss/walk pattern until they happened in front of the Brewster’s house.  Scott walked her up to her front door, and gave her his all.  In high school she could see how it could end with a kiss, but at her age, she wanted to bring this to fruition.  Things got hotter and heavier - she wasn’t thinking at all - until the front porch light went on.  Shit!  Victoria thought, that’s my mother.  Feeling like a guilty drunken high school girl, she tried to put herself back together to face her mother.  Scott understood.

             
“Looks like we’ve been found out,” he said, kissing her one more time.

             
“I’m so sorry,” she said, meaning it.  She could have taken this a lot farther.

             
They both looked up when the door opened.  Victoria was ready to scold her mother for lurking, and was horrified to see Parker standing in the doorway.

             
“Shit!” she whispered to Scott, who still had Victoria in a tight embrace. 

             
Victoria pulled away from Scott as quickly as possible and went over to Parker. 

             
“Hey honey, what are you doing up so late?” She was going to avoid the elephant on the door-stoop.

             
“I thought I heard Fritz get out,” he said.  He looked at Scott.  “Who are you?”

             
Victoria jumped in.  “This is Mr. Simons, honey.  He was giving me a ride home from the train.” Lie.

             
“Where’s your bike?” Parker asked.

             
“It was too late to ride,” she didn’t want Scott to know she ditched her bike for him.  Lame enough that she had to ride a bike.  Worse was that she pretended she didn’t have one.

             
“Well, thank you Mr. Simons, for getting me home safely,” Victoria made a big production out of shaking the hand that was moments ago up her shirt. 

             
Scott was a good sport.  “You two have a good night, now.  Nice to meet you, --”

Victoria had never really introduced them. 

             
“Parker.  He’s my oldest,” she was embarrassed.  “Who is up way past his bedtime.  Goodnight!”

             
As she turned to go inside, she saw Mike’s truck out of the corner of her eye.  It pulled around the corner, but she recognized the dancing bugs on the logo of the side of his car.  As an FBI guy, he probably should have chosen something a little less noticeable.  He probably watched the entire scene with a front row view.  Fuck, fuck fuck!  First Mike, now Scott.  She was giving Martha Morrison a run for her money for the title of Town Slut.

             
She ushered Parker into the house and prayed that he wouldn’t grill her about the scene outside.  Luckily, he was sleepy and wanted to get back to bed.  Victoria was happy to tuck him back in and watch him quickly fall back to sleep. 

             
She went into the kitchen and poured herself a large glass of water.  She’d probably need a few of those.  And a half-dozen Advil to boot.  She sat at the kitchen table, her buzz quickly eradicated since the moment Parker opened the door.  Her hands were still sweaty, from her session with Scott, getting caught by Parker, or being seen my Mike, she wasn’t sure. 

             
She could beat herself up now, or wait and do it properly in the morning.  She grabbed a handful of ibuprofen (the Target brand, of course) and headed off for a fitful sleep.

CHAPTER 21

             
Victoria had forgotten what a hangover felt like.  Even after her night with the girls, she didn’t feel this crappy. In New York they went out almost nightly, although she kept herself on a short leash.  She would never eat appetizers, always called ahead to order a fish and veggie plate, dessert was refused, of course, and never more than two glasses of wine.  It was as much a matter of discipline as calorie control.  Maybe it was all that wine plus all that guilt.

             
This morning was rough.  She got up and dragged herself to the kitchen and poured a cup of coffee.  She trained herself to drink it black back in college.   She thought it was more sophisticated, and besides, the thought of powdered white granules made her gag. 

             
She looked at the clock and was shocked to see that it was 10:15.  Her mother must have figured it out and let her sleep in.  She drank her coffee, gobbled more pain reliever and headed for the shower.

             
She stood in the shower just letting the hottest water she could stand pour over her.  The video of the scene at the doorstop kept playing over and over in her mind.  Especially the part before Parker showed up.  She and Trip had always had a healthy sex life, but it had been a long time since she had seen Trip, let alone had sex.  There was the added thrill of a new mouth, hands that were exploring new territory.  She was getting herself worked up again!

             
Soon the guilt set in.  She was a married woman still, even if she had no husband to show for it.  What the hell was she doing making out with a strange guy?  In front of her ten year old?   She scrubbed her head vigorously, as if to wash away the memory of last night.   No matter how hard she tried, it was vivid. 

             
She went into the garage to get her bike.  Shit! She had left it uptown last night.  Now she had to walk back to the train station.  She headed out of foot into the alley, and looked to see if she could see Mike’s truck parked near either end.  As much as she didn’t want to see Scott Simons anytime in the near future, she
really
didn’t want to run into Mike.  She was married.  Married to a fugitive, but still married.   In all her years of living in Tenaqua, she had never spent so much time dodging men.  Or kissing men, come to think of it.