Lies Lovers Tell (7 page)

The shrill sound of her cell phone woke Maya from a deep sleep. “Hello?” she answered groggily.

“Martha, sorry to wake you,” Cecilia said sincerely. “Can you work today? I have family emergency.”

Cecilia?
Maya struggled to a sitting position, while her mind raced. She had meetings, reports, a rarely requested lunch date with her brother. All this before rushing to a last-minute hair appointment that became available only after Maya bribed her football-fanatic hairdresser with two tickets to a Chargers game. And now Cecilia was asking her to be Martha for four hours? “I, uh, I don’t think so,” she said before she’d finished processing her thoughts.

“Very important,” Cecilia said. “My mother very sick. I must go see her.”

“Can’t you call the agency?”

“Mr. Walters very choosy, must approve all girls who work for him.” Cecilia paused, then pulled what she thought was her trump card. “We pay you double.”

Whoop-de-doo
, Maya thought, even as she remembered that, one, her housekeeper salary was going to charity and, two, and more importantly, this might be her one and only chance to be in Sam Walters’s home alone. “Okay,” she replied quickly, jumping out of bed at the same time.

“Thank you,” Cecilia said, proud that pulling the wage card had done the trick. She told Maya to pick up the house key at the agency, and then gave her one last piece of advice. “Remember, you no likey Mr. Walters,” she said sagely.

What is wrong with this chick?
Maya took a breath and reined in her temper. “Right, no likey,” she responded dryly. Maya imagined it was Cecilia who “likey’d” Sam Walters, and if Maya could, she’d gladly help Cecilia get an overnight stay in the Walters master suite. Housekeepers needed love too.

After telling him about the chance to search Sam Walter’s house, Zeke gladly rescheduled their meeting and pushed the due dates for her reports. She spoke briefly with Jade, a little longer with Ester, and half an hour later, Maya stepped out the door and headed for the cleaning company’s administrative office to pick up the key to Mr. Walters’s house. From there she caught two buses to Playa del Rey. She’d briefly considered driving her Beemer today and parking down the street. But in the end she decided that even though it meant an additional bus and extra hour of travel time, it wasn’t worth the risk of being seen. She was close to this gig ending anyhow, and maybe close to it all having been worthwhile.

Maya took in the beauty of the ocean view as she walked from her bus stop toward the Marina that surrounded Playa Del Rey. She would love to live by the ocean, and maybe one day, when Jamison and Company was up and running, she’d turn that dream into reality. These thoughts caused Maya to quicken her pace. Finding something on Sam Walters that would help Zeke might make the journey from Brennan & Associates to Jamison and Company a shorter one.

Maya punched in the code to the wrought-iron gate. She admired the pristine landscaping before quickly placing the key in the door lock and walking inside. It felt weird knowing she was alone in the home. She stood in the foyer for a brief moment and looked around, for the first time feeling she actually had the leisure to do so. She admired the intricate marble work in the entryway, the delicate carvings etched in the crown molding, the sparkling crystal chandelier. She was just about to make a closer inspection of what she guessed was an authentic Van Gogh when she stopped herself.

“No, Maya,” she said under her breath. “Stay focused. Get the job done.”

Maya walked to the hall closet and as always, set her purse inside. With one exception: She pulled out a small, digital camera and placed it in her baggy pant pocket. She then walked quickly, purposefully toward the forbidden office doors. Her heartbeat quickened as she placed her hand on the knob. Locked, just as she figured. She walked through the kitchen into a small utility room, and began going through the drawers. Her hope was that there’d be an extra set of keys, or at the very least the key that would let her peek behind door number one.

No luck. Maya went through every drawer in the utility room and then every one in the kitchen. She looked in the pantry, the hall closets, and the drawers in the dining room. Maya eyed the stairway a moment before heading to the master bedroom. She’d spent plenty of time in that room, though, and didn’t hold out hope of finding much there.

Maya turned the corner and stopped, a bit taken aback to see the door to the master suite closed. Her eyes widened with the realization that Mr. Walters could very well be home. She’d assumed since it was midmorning, he would be gone.

“Stop being silly,” she whispered, even as she continued to stand unmoving near the top stair. He probably was gone, she reasoned, and maybe Cecilia always opened the door before Maya came to work. There was only one way to find out.

Maya squared her shoulders and walked toward the closed bedroom door like a soldier marching into battle. She stopped just outside it and knocked tentatively. When she didn’t get an answer, Maya opened the door. “Mista Walters?” she called out, in her best simple sista voice. And then a bit louder, “Anybody home?”

When nothing but silence greeted her, Maya relaxed. Aside from their first meeting, she’d never had to deal one-on-one with Mr. Walters and she surely didn’t want to do so today. She smiled at her unnecessary nervousness and walked through the sitting room toward the actual bedroom area with renewed confidence. Turning the corner, once again, she stopped short. That the bed was disheveled wasn’t the problem. The problem was one big foot sticking out from the bottom of the sheets.

Her first instinct was to run—fast. The prospect of seeing Sam Walter’s naked fat backside seemed like nothing nice. Having him wake up to find her gawking was an even less attractive prospect. She almost tripped over her feet trying to do a one-eighty. As she turned, however, something out of the ordinary caught her eye. The door was open. The smaller, always locked closet door was ajar.
The key. Maybe the key to the office is in there!

Maya stood by the wall between the sitting room and the bedroom area, undecided. On one hand, it was incredibly risky to cross the room and attempt a look-see in the closet. On the other, this was her last week at Sam Walters’s, and perhaps her one and only day to get inside that office. If she crossed the room and he woke up, she could lie and say she was looking for, for what? Maya didn’t know, but she did know this: that it was better to have tried and failed than not to have tried at all. Quickly modifying her plans, she hurried back to the linen closet in the hallway, took out a couple of fresh towels, and headed back to the bedroom. The smaller closet was by the master bath. If Mr. Walters woke up, she’d say she was headed there.

Maya barely breathed as she tiptoed back into the room, through the sitting area, and around the corner where Sam Walters lay sleeping. She took one tentative step, then another. The closet was across and to the left of her, the king-sized bed to her right. Maya prayed Mr. Walters was a deep sleeper, and that she would make no sounds.

Maya took three hurried steps toward the closet—stopped. No movement from stage right.
You can do this, Maya.
Her heartbeat, already frenzied, sped up more. About five or six more steps and she’d be at the closet. She prayed what she wanted, whatever that was, would be clearly visible inside. She took another step, then another. A small creak sounded from across the room.
Oh, God, don’t let him turn over. Okay, let him turn over but don’t let him wake up. Please, God, please, Jesus.
Maya hadn’t gone to church in years, but she’d do a holy dance and donate her next check if God kept Mr. Walters sleeping. She took another step, and then another.
A couple more and I’m there.
Maya smiled. She could almost touch the closet door.

And then she was there. She placed her hand on the knob and before pulling the door open wider, looked back at the slumbering Sam, or rather Sam’s ass, because that was the sight that greeted her when she turned her head. What had been hidden when Maya was on the other side of the room now filled her vision in all its round, brown glory.

Maya was shocked into paralysis. She couldn’t move. And she couldn’t stop staring at Sam Walters’s ass! It was, well, it was a gorgeous ass. A stunning ass really, one that seemed unlikely to be found inside the baggy khakis that was common Sam Walters attire. Maya stood transfixed, ass-notized. Those creamy brown cheeks worked better than any swinging pendulum. She drank in the sight of those strong, round buns, the two perfect dimples, and the perfectly placed mole at the top of his…
Sean!

Maya stumbled backward, her hand near her heart. A pointy part of the camera that she forgot she held hit her squarely in the chest. Before she had time to consider the consequences, she aimed and clicked. She held her breath. He didn’t move. Suddenly she couldn’t breathe; surely she was in the twilight zone or the not right zone or the please-let-me-see-the-sanity-light-on zone. She shook her head slightly and looked again. It was still there, in pristine detail.
Sean’s “a.” What’s Sean Wynn’s “a” doing in Sam Walters’s bed?
Maya’s mind flooded with questions and confusion. Since she couldn’t think, she did what any intelligent, successful, brave, strong woman would do—she ran like hell. Maya fled out of the room and down the steps, shoving the towels in the downstairs hall closet as she grabbed her purse. She didn’t stop to think about an explanation of her hasty departure for Cecilia, didn’t stop to think at all. She fled out of the house and barely remembered to lock the dead bolt before continuing through the gate and down the street. She ran past her bus stop and kept on running, until her heart pounded and her throat burned. Only then did she slow, and realize her face was wet with tears. When had she begun crying? She also realized that somewhere along the way she’d lost her glasses, and her wig was askew. Maya walked another block to the next bus stop, and sat on the bench—stunned. It was crazy; too bizarre to get her head around. There was no doubt in her mind that the ass she’d seen in Sam Walter’s king-sized bed belonged to the same man she’d made love to in another bed, one at the Ritz-Carlton Hotel, in the room assigned to her dream man, Sean Wynn. The madness had reached epic proportions; it was time to call backup. Zeke was her boss but Trish was her best friend. Maya had gotten lost in a masquerade and needed some sista-girl help to get out. She reached a shaky hand into her purse for the BlackBerry.

Sean’s eyes fluttered open, slowly at first and then wide-awake. He jerked his head up, only to have a shooting pain explode inside it. He lay back on the bed and reached blindly for his watch…ten thirty.
Ten thirty?
Sean ignored his pounding head and forced himself to sit up. He rubbed his eyes, trying to remember what had happened to cause this pounding headache. And hadn’t a sound woken him up just now?

Sean opened his eyes and looked around him. Immediately he saw that all was not normal. The closet door where he kept his disguise materials was ajar. Sean felt his head, his face: clean. So he’d taken off the wig and facial hair. He looked around; good, they weren’t lying around, so obviously he’d placed them in the closet. But why was the door open? He always locked that door after putting away his Walters disguise…always.

Then he remembered what had happened. On top of the wine he drank at dinner, he’d taken sinus pills when he stopped by the house on his way to the Ritz to pick up some files. The medication made him drowsy, and he’d decided to spend the night in Playa. Because of Tangier’s repeated calls, calls that went unanswered, he’d turned off his phone. Had he not, the alarm that was always enabled would have awakened him.

Sean took a quick shower, put on his Sam Walters persona, and walked downstairs. He needed coffee, black and strong. He saw the note as soon as he walked into the kitchen, Cecilia and yet another family emergency. How many people were in that woman’s family? And were weekly dramas a prerequisite to belonging? The note said that Martha would be coming in early, yet here it was eleven o’clock and there was no sign of her. He thought about calling the agency and canceling her workday altogether. And then he thought about the fact that it would be money out of her pocket and changed his mind. He was rich now but not a stranger to struggle, having been determined to make it on his own after graduating from college. It had taken him a good five years before he left paycheck to paycheck behind. He tried hard not to forget those days, memories that helped maintain compassion.

Sean took his mug of coffee to the office, and was relieved that at least he’d remembered to lock this door. Once inside, he began a flurry of phone calls. He needed to make sure his investment was in place, that the partners from China were on board with him and Phillip, and that his meeting with Joseph was still on schedule. The faster he wrapped up work, the faster he could wrap his arms around Macy Johnson…lose himself in all that chocolate sweetness.

Thinking constantly about one woman was something new to Sean Wynn. He’d never been a player-player, but usually juggled three or four women in as many cities. Tangier was the closest thing to a steady, but even she didn’t have exclusive status. What was it about Macy that filled him up, made the thought of another woman irrelevant? Sean smiled. He was getting to spend a long, love-filled weekend finding out.

“I knew something was going on with you,” Trish said as soon as the waitress had taken their order. “Now, start at the beginning and tell me everything.”

Maya began with the morning Zeke had called her into a meeting and announced he wanted her to be a maid.

“A who?”

“Yes, girl, you heard me.”

“Did you tell him you didn’t know nothin’ ’bout birthin’ no babies?” Trish asked, mimicking Hattie McDaniels and her famous line in
Gone With the Wind
.

“All one tells Zeke Brennan is yes,” Maya replied. She told Trish how she’d immediately copped an attitude toward her temporary new boss, Sam Walters, and how Cecilia thought she might be trying to go from housemaid to housewife. Trish interspersed the appropriate “hmmphs” and “tsks” and “no, he didn’ts” as Maya continued.

“So, last week I found a piece of paper in his bedroom, and guess what was on it?”

“What?”

“My phone number.”

“And?”

“What was Sam Walters doing with my number, that’s and.”

“You’re working for him, Maya.”

“Yes, but through an agency. He should have the agency’s phone number, not my cell.”

“Maybe Cecilia wasn’t the only one with the housemaid-to-housewife idea.”

“Don’t make me throw up, and you’re missing my point. Sam Walters doesn’t know Maya, he knows Martha!”

“Not necessarily. You said he’s into real estate. Maybe he’s checking B&A out like y’all are checking him out. Having your number probably has to do with your working with Zeke.”

Trish putting it that way made perfect sense. What Maya was about to tell her, did not. “Your logic is quite sound except for one thing….” She paused dramatically and Trish, understanding how to follow the script, remained silent.

“Sam Walters knows Sean Wynn.”

Trish sat back and crossed her arms. “All that dramatic buildup and that’s the punch line? That the man you work for knows the man you’re sleeping with?”

“Sleep would be the operative word,” Maya said, leaning forward to deliver the punch line. “I saw Sean asleep in Sam’s bed this morning.”

Trish blinked her eyes rapidly for several seconds, saying nothing. “Uh-uh,” is what came out when she finally found her voice.

Maya gave Trish the details of what had unfolded that morning, ending with her running away faster than Marion Jones.

“That’s why I couldn’t take it anymore,” Maya continued. “I had to talk to you about this crazy situation so you can help me figure out what’s going on.”

“Let me get this straight. You found
your
man asleep in
another
man’s bed, and you need
my
help to see what’s up? C’mon now, Maya. Miss J didn’t raise no fools.”

“What?” Maya asked honestly.

Trish looked at her pointedly.

“You think Sean’s sleeping with Sam?” Maya laughed nervously. “Uh-uh, no way. There’s no way Sean’s gay.”

“Who knows? He may be traveling on the bi-way.”

Maya sat back stunned. Sean gay, or even bi? It didn’t make sense. And if he was, how did he play into what Sam was doing in L.A.’s world of real estate? Was he involved? Did he come over from London with Sam? Were they partners, in more ways than one? “I need a drink,” Maya said finally. She signaled over the waiter and instead of the tea she’d been drinking, ordered a glass of pinot noir.

Trish ordered one as well and in between sips, they discussed possible reasons behind the Sam/Sean liaison.

“He said he was in town on business, right?”

Maya nodded yes. “I told you he’s a private investigator.”

“You didn’t tell me that!”

“I didn’t?”

“You’ve been seriously holding out on your girl. See what happens when you don’t keep a sista informed? You get hoodwinked, bamboozled—”

“Whatever, Trish.”

“He’s got to be either working for, or sleeping with, or both, your boy Sam.”

Maya thought for a moment and then slowly shook her head. “No. And I’m not trying to be in denial about Sean’s possible booty bumping. I just don’t feel it, and I think I would.”

“Yeah, Terry McMillan probably thought she would too.”

“Trish, that is wrong on so many levels.”

“I’m just saying…”

“And
I’m
just saying Sean Wynn is not gay. Look, this is complicated enough as it is. Let’s just go from the premise that he isn’t, for now. That would mean he’s working for or with Sam. Which makes sense because Sam’s trying to get in on the real estate action. He’s probably got Sean checking out all the…”

“All the what?”

Maya’s eyes narrowed as she continued. “All the players in the L.A. real estate game. Which includes B&A, which means Zeke Brennan, which means me. Oh my gosh, Trish, do you think Sean knows who I really am? That all this time he’s been playing me just to get the 411 for Sam Walters?”

Maya’s confusion turned to hurt and then anger, all in the space of about thirty seconds. It had been enough to find out Sean was acquainted with the very man she’d been spying on. If it turned out Sean had been spying on her for this very same man, and that their lovemaking had been just sex after all, she’d be devastated. She looked at Trish, her expression plaintive. “If it turns out another man has been dishonest, has betrayed me…” Her sentence trailed off as she looked away, tried to peer into a tomorrow that didn’t include Sean Wynn. Of course, the easiest thing to do would be to outright ask him to tell the truth about who she was and perhaps solve the mystery. She’d been too stunned to do anything but get out of the house the day she’d seen him in Sam’s bed. And she too had been deceptive. Would he even want to talk to her if he learned the truth now, like this? Oh, what a tangled web she’d woven.

“Let’s not jump to conclusions, Maya. First, you don’t know for sure Sean is working for Sam. And even if he is, you don’t know they’re investigating B&A. And how would he even know you work there?”

“Please. Just Google me and I come up all over the place, mostly in connection with B&A, and Zeke Brennan.”

“Well, even if that’s so, and we don’t know that it is, he doesn’t know Maya, remember? He knows Macy.”

Maya rolled her eyes.

“Have there been pictures posted on the Internet since you cut your hair?”

“I don’t think so.”

“You look very different with short hair, Maya. Unless someone is purposely looking for you to have changed your look, one wouldn’t necessarily suspect it’s you, unless they have your pictures side by side or something.

“I can’t tell you not to be upset because where there’s stinky, there’s usually doodoo, and this has all the qualities of a funky situation. But you’ve got to stay cool, keep yourself together so you can get to the bottom of what’s going on.”

The women were silent awhile, trying to digest a heavy conversation. “What are you going to do?” Trish finally asked.

Maya shrugged. “I don’t know. Going to Zeke feels like I’m betraying Sean, and vice versa. If I am wrong about Sean being involved with Sam’s investigating the L.A. market, maybe my exposing him will mess up whatever he’s really investigating. On the other hand, he was in Sam Walters’s bed today! That house has three, four guest rooms. Why was he in the master suite?”

Trish started singing EU’s “Doin’ Da Butt.”

Maya tried to keep a straight face, but the atmosphere soon lightened with both their laughter. By evening’s end, Maya still wasn’t sure about anything in the Sean/Sam/Zeke/B&A/housekeeper/hotshot executive assistant situation. But from here on out, she had a sounding board. Between her and Trish, she’d keep from being boo-boo the fool.