Nobody's Fool (4 page)

“So Adam Stadler’s gay,” she said, as she looked over Mel’s menu. Nothing on it had changed in ten years, except the prices.

“It would appear so.”

She glanced up in time to see a sexy smile tug at the corners of Court’s mouth. She abandoned all pretense of disinterest in her former schoolmates.

“He was holding hands with his—his—”

“Boyfriend?”

“I know it’s not a big deal in San Francisco, but it’s a pretty bold move for anyone inside the Oak Ridge city limits.”

“True. Small Midwestern towns tend to come with their own rigid value systems, and a certain amount of intolerance.”

“Did you know?”

“Before tonight?” Court nodded.

“How?”

“I knew in high school.”

“You’re kidding.”

“Adam and I were friends. He was struggling with it. He needed someone to talk to.”

“You never said a word.”

Court frowned at her. Jolie sensed she’d just insulted him. Or Adam. Maybe both.

“I can’t believe Rob Walters showed up. He was practically bragging about being in prison for drug trafficking.”

“Surely that didn’t shock you. You know what he was like.”

“He was a hood, that’s what I remember. Dumped Doreen Phillips after she got pregnant. He was always trouble.”

“Doreen survived, though,” Court said as he closed his menu. “She moved to Chicago and met someone. I hear they own several hair salons.”

Jolie closed her menu and looked at Court. “How do you know so much about everyone?”

Court shrugged. “I keep in touch. Oak Ridge isn’t that big a place. Most everyone’s parents still live here. It’s not that hard to find out what’s going on if you’re interested.”

Jolie’s gaze slid away. She hadn’t been interested, hadn’t cared. All she’d ever wanted to do was get away from Oak Ridge, away from the knowing eyes and too-big ears.

Now she saw not only the things she’d never had, but what she’d left behind. The sense of connection with her past, a history with the one person who knew her well. Court.

She hadn’t had the confidence to stand up for what she wanted then. She’d been too busy hiding her insecurity and manufactured fears beneath a false front. She’d buried herself so thoroughly for so long she’d had to dig deep these past couple of years to track down the real Jolie Kramer.

She was reminded of the old television game show
To Tell The Truth
. As a child she’d loved trying to guess which contestant was telling the truth and which were fabricating an identity.

She gazed at Court as the waitress approached to take their order. The locket dangled on its chain warming her heart.

Will the real Jolie Kramer please stand up?—
she asked herself now.

She will,
Jolie replied.
If I can find her.

Chapter Five

“Are you going to tell me how you managed to get a BMW as a gift?” Jolie asked on the way home from Mel’s.

Court chuckled. “Actually, it was more of a bet I won.”

When he didn’t continue Jolie stared at him. “
And
?”

“You know I always loved sports. Always wanted to play, but wasn’t any good. Too damn uncoordinated growing up. I found any reason I could to hang out in the locker rooms, or on the field or the court. Reporting for the school newspaper, managing the equipment, working the score table.

“In college I sort of fell into sports management. Became friends with a couple of football players who made it into the NFL but weren’t big-name stars. I got them some local gigs—doing endorsements for restaurants, showing up at charity events, that sort of thing.”

“And the car?”

“I have a client, a baseball player who’s been around awhile. Not racking up big endorsement deals, not a star. One of those guys like Cal Ripken who shows up for work every day and does his job without a lot of fanfare. I thought I could put together a deal with one of the major auto parts manufacturers with him as a spokesperson. You know, reliability, getting the job done right, that sort of angle. I talked to him about it and named the price I had in mind for his services.

“He didn’t believe the auto parts people would go that high. I figured they would if I handled the pitch right.”

“He bet you a BMW?” Jolie asked. “Unbelievable.”

“Well, what he said was, if I could get that much money for him, he’d buy me a BMW. I figured he was joking.”

“So you put the deal together.”

“Yep. Next thing I knew, there was an M3 sitting in my driveway.”

“Wow. You must be good at what you do.” Jolie couldn’t hide how impressed she was, even if she wanted to.

“You know what they say. Those who can, play. Those who can’t—”

“Get more money for those who can?” She chuckled.

“Something like that. By the way, I have a client who’s developing her own clothing line. She’s looking for a designer. That’s not something you’d be interested in, is it?” Court asked. “I know you work in the fashion industry. I’m not clear on what it is you do, though.”

Jolie crossed her arms. At one time she’d wanted desperately to be a fashion designer, but she’d been too impatient to work as an apprentice for years after she’d finished college. That’s what she told herself at the time, anyway. The truth was that she’d let fear hold her back. Fear of failure. Fear of making a fool of herself by putting her vision on display. She’d only recently come to grips with that.

An internship her senior year at college had turned into a job offer, so she’d become a stylist, starting out much the same way Court had. Her clients were not top stars; often they were the wives of politicians, not the politicians themselves. Or they were the spouses of actors or musicians. Her clients were still in the spotlight, just not at the center of it. She’d built her reputation and her clientele had grown.

“Right now, I’m a fashion consultant. A stylist. Which basically means I pick out clothes for other people to wear. I also write a monthly column for a fashion magazine.” She sighed. Even if the work wasn’t always creatively fulfilling, it paid the bills nicely.

“But you studied to be a designer, didn’t you?”

“Yes.”

“It’s what you always wanted to do, right?”

“Yes.”

He turned the corner onto Wildwood Lane and slowed to a stop in front of his parents’ house.

“Sooooo.” He put the car in gear and turned off the engine. “Would you be interested in talking to my client?”

Was Court offering her a job?

“I know it’s not
haute couture
,” Court said when she hesitated. “But if Melina decides you’re the designer she wants to work with—”

“Melina?”

Court nodded. “Kyaskova.”

“Melina Kyaskova is your client?”

Court looked at her oddly. “Yes. Isn’t that what I said?”

Jolie sat back stunned. “Melina Kyaskova is the biggest thing to hit the fashion industry in the last five years.” She was also the celebrity backer Jolie’d been in negotiations with.

“She is?” He didn’t look like he was being sarcastic. Didn’t he know?

“Court, where have you been? Didn’t you have anything to do with her being on the cover of just about every magazine in the country? She’s young, she’s gorgeous, she’s got a body that won’t quit and she’s created more fashion trends than Madonna.”

“Maybe so, but her tennis career hasn’t really progressed—”

Jolie waved her hands wildly. “Who cares about tennis? Melina Kyaskova won’t be remembered for her tennis. She’ll be remembered for all of the rock star hearts she broke and that mane of blonde hair. Not to mention her more outrageous nightclub antics.”

“Yes, well, she is pretty exuberant off the court…”

Jolie shot Court another look of incredulity. “Exuberant?” She grinned at his naive understatement. The twenty-something Melina was his client. Court probably felt duty-bound to protect her interests and her privacy. She smirked. “Okay. If that’s the adjective you prefer.”

He opened his door and came around to open hers.

“I had such a good time, tonight,” Jolie said as they walked to her door. “I didn’t think I would, given how the evening started.” She darted a glance Court’s way.

He seemed deep in thought. “So…are you interested in testing the waters with Melina or not?”

He hadn’t even heard her—or he didn’t want to go there. “Let me get back to you on that, okay?” She had no idea why she didn’t simply tell Court the truth.

She’d worked on Melina’s photo shoot for
New York Style
a year ago. Melina had mentioned finding a designer for the line she had in mind and asked her if she’d consider the position. Jolie had found it hard to take Melina seriously. Didn’t every celebrity want to dabble in fashion? Most likely Melina would lend her name to items created by an established designer. But on the off chance Melina was determined to start a line of her very own, Jolie wanted the job. Melina’s outrageous antics, which kept her in the spotlight, had inspired Jolie, and she’d immediately begun sketching a few ideas—feminine lines featuring lace and ruffles, but also with hard-edged details in leather and metal. That’s how she saw Melina, sweet and ladylike but tough and uncompromising.

Until the signatures were dry on the contract, however, Jolie hesitated to say anything to anyone. The volatile Melina could change her mind or alter the terms of the contract. At dinner last night Jolie told her parents she might be designing her own line soon, but she hadn’t gone into specifics—not until she sealed the deal.

“By the way, I’m going to close up my parents’ lake house on Tuesday.”

Court’s mention of the lake house jolted Jolie out of her thoughts about Melina. “The lake house! Oh, my gosh, I loved that place.” Jolie had fond childhood memories of time spent at the Harrisons’ summer retreat fishing and swimming and hiking through the woods. “Want some company?”

Court hesitated. “I’ll probably spend the night.”

“That’s okay.”

“I’ll put you to work.”

“I don’t mind.”

“Sure, if you want to.”

“I’d love to,” she told him.

“Okay. Are we still on for tomorrow? The cookout at the park?”

Jolie fished for her door key. After the reception she’d received at the cocktail party, she was ready to bow out of the rest of the reunion activities. But…there was Court, inviting her to go with him. That somehow made everything else okay.

She smiled at the thought. He’d always been there for her. Always. She’d never given him enough credit, never took him seriously. She had forgotten how easy it was to be with him or how much fun they had together.

“Uh-oh. What’s that smile for?” he asked, half joking and half wary.

“Nothing. I just—”
Spit it out, Jolie
, she scolded herself.
Tell him how you feel. For once in your life, be honest.
“I enjoy being with you.” There. She’d said that much at least.

He socked her gently on the shoulder. “Yeah. Nothing like an old pal to hang out with, huh? I’ll see you, what? Around noon?”

Old pal? Is that all he thought of her as? Was it too late to change his mind? She thought of the hip-hugger jeans and spandex top she’d brought. She grinned again. That could change anyone’s mind.

Court backed away. “You’re plotting something. I can tell. I hope it’s not water balloons or anything childish like that.” He went down the steps then headed for his parents’ house. “No flirting with your ex-boyfriends tomorrow. The ones that are married now, anyway.”

“Does that mean I can still flirt with you?” she called.

“I’m not an ex,” he reminded her. “Just the guy next door, remember?”

He waved and disappeared once he climbed the steps to the Harrisons’ porch.

Jolie unlocked the door, feeling let down. Didn’t Court want her to flirt with him? Didn’t he have any interest in her beyond friendship? They were practically the only two unattached people at the reunion as far as she could tell.

In her room she sighed as she began to undress. She looked at her reflection in the mirror. The locket gleamed in the soft light. She picked it up and rubbed it between her fingers. Maybe “forever” wasn’t a possibility. But that didn’t mean “right now” wasn’t.

Saturday morning after a shower, Jolie donned the jeans and top she’d planned to wear then shook her head at her reflection in the mirror. No. This outfit said, “rock concert in Central Park.” She needed one that said, “high school reunion picnic in Illinois.” Something conservative and low key.

She pawed through the clothes she’d brought and came up with a cream cotton T-shirt with a keyhole neckline and lace detailing. Sexy but sweet. And it would be comfortable. She also ditched the hip-hugger jeans and put on a pair of black skinny ones instead.

“Cute outfit,” Court said when she answered his knock.

She smoothed a hand down the hem of the T-shirt. “Do you think it’s okay?”

“You should know. You’re the one with the fashion background,” Court reminded her.

“You’re right. I can’t remember the last time I asked that question to anyone, much less a—”

“Sartorially challenged male?”

“No, that’s not what I meant. You look great. I just…I’ve been away so long, I’m afraid I don’t fit in anymore.”

She picked up her purse and the tray of brownies her mother had made for the buffet.

“I’ve got news for you, Jo. You never fit in.”

Jolie stopped and stared at Court as he closed the door behind them. “Well, that’s a crummy thing to say.”

He tucked his thumbs in the pockets of his khaki shorts. “I didn’t mean it as an insult. What I meant was…aw, hell.” He gestured in her direction. “Look at you. You were so far ahead of the rest of us, no one could catch you.”

“So far ahead of you?”

Court dragged his hand through his hair. “Jolie, it can’t have escaped your notice. You have more class and style in your little pinky than the rest of our graduating class combined. You’ve got a way of presenting yourself, I don’t know what it is. Charisma, maybe.
Joie de vivre
. It was fascinating as hell in high school, and since then—” He gestured again. “You look fine,” he finished lamely. “Let’s go.”

“Why, Court, that last part almost sounded like a compliment.”

Two hours later, Court wondered what had he gotten himself into. What had he been thinking? That he could prove to himself he was immune to Jolie? Ha! He was about as immune to her as he was to a bee sting. All she had to do was touch him and he reacted. It was a full-time job pretending not to.

Because he and Jolie seemed to be categorized as a couple—and why wouldn’t they be when he’d insisted on escorting her everywhere—they were now in the process of being tied together for the three-legged race.

Jolie was doing the tying, and Court swore if her fingertips brushed the inside of his thigh one more time, he was going to toss her down in the grass and show her just how much he wasn’t over her. He wished he’d worn jeans instead of cargo shorts. He needed all the protection from Jolie he could get. He looked down as she adjusted the tie around their ankles. The soft curve of her spine, the glimpse of skin where her T-shirt and jeans didn’t quite meet at the waist, the silk of her hair that brushed against his knee.

Note to self: Reunion picnic and related activities? Bad idea.

“Okay! Everybody ready?” Erin Miller called through her blow horn. As former student body president, she had put herself in charge of the reunion from start to finish.

Twenty or so teams lined up on the line she’d created using
Caution Wet Paint
tape. A similar tape marked the finish.

Jolie slid her arm around Court’s waist and flashed him a quick smile. He drew his arm around her back. Why had he said yes to this game? The last thing he needed or wanted was to be this close to her. Bound to her.

Liar
, his subconscious argued.
You’re enjoying every minute of it.
He was. Too much. He wanted to be close to Jolie almost as much as he wanted to prove that he didn’t. Maybe he could just split himself in half. That worked out in Solomon’s court, didn’t it?

“Ready!” Erin called. “Set! Go!”

He and Jolie set off as planned, steadily moving in sync. He shortened his strides to match hers. They weren’t the fastest team, but they weren’t falling down, either. Several teams who had started off stronger had already tumbled to the ground together, disqualified.

Erin, in her usual nitpicking style, had laid down hard and fast rules. If even a knee touched the ground, they were out. Both partners had to remain upright from start to finish.

The competition literally fell away as they got closer to their goal. “Almost there,” Court encouraged. Somehow, they’d been thrown off their rhythm. The binding was chafing his calf. He tried to make an adjustment, but didn’t do it in time.

As they reached the goal line he felt Jolie’s balance go. Tied together as they were, with her weight pulling at him, the fastening bit into the skin of his leg. He took one last stumbling step before he went down on the far side of the line. Without even trying he broke Jolie’s fall. She ended up on top of him, laughing. She glanced down the length of the track. “It wasn’t pretty. But I think we won.”