Shopping for an Heir (16 page)

“
I
s
that a love bite on your inner thigh, Declan?” Agnes’ voice carried through the air like Joe Biden admiring a muscle car at a political rally in Lima, Ohio.

Declan looked down and rotated his hip just enough to scrutinize his own groin.

“Mercy mercy mercy,” said a woman in the back row as she grabbed a small device and turned it on. A motorized whir filled the room.

“Jesus, Lindi, did you just turn on your vibrator?” Agnes called out.

“No! I would never bring that here,” Lindi said, scandalized. “It’s just my menopause fan.”

“What’s a menopause fan?” As the words escaped Declan McCormick’s mouth, Gerald could see him wish he could pull them back in.

Too bad mouths didn’t come with backspace keys.

“You’re still young. Just wait. After Shannon pops out a few pups for you and her hormones go crazy in twenty years, you’ll know damn well what a menopause fan is,” Corrine said, then smiled sweetly.

“And lube!” Agnes crowed. “Everything heats up and then it dries out. Maybe all the hormones evaporate all that—” she waved her hands vaguely over her midsection, “—stuff.”

Declan’s face was frozen in a mask of horror, like Chris Christie at a Trump rally.

The door to the classroom opened. Gerald searched the room, taking a fast headcount. No one else should be here. But hey—he’d welcome any intrusion right about now.

“Helllloooooooo!” called out a familiar voice.

Marie Jacoby.

Years ago, Gerald had worked security at a store along the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade path. A float had snagged on a telephone pole and folded in half.

Declan McCormick did a damn fine naked imitation of that float just now.

And then he paused, mid-fold, and opened up, like a flower.

Marie shrieked.

“You really
are
naked! Agnes told me you were a nude model in this class and I didn’t believe her!”

“Why
wouldn’t
you believe me?” Agnes burst out.

“Says the woman who sold me a dime bag of oregano passed off as marijuana!” Marie shouted.

Tortured gasps filled the classroom, followed by hushed whispers.

Corrine frowned. “Hey. Wait a minute.” She glared at Agnes. “That bud you sold me wasn’t really bud?”

If Gerald didn’t do something, the class was about to descend into uncontrollable chaos.

“Now Marie, I told you my grandson’s in trouble for that,” Agnes said in a contrite voice.

“For the weed being oregano, or for selling pot at all?”

“Both. But mostly for it being oregano. He said he had no idea.”

“Marie,” Gerald said gruffly, moving between her and the rest of the class to act as a barrier. “How can I help you? You’re interrupting my class.”

“’Marie,’ is it? So I’ve gone from ‘Mrs. Jacoby’ to ‘Marie.’ That’s awfully familiar of you, Gerald, considering I’m your boss’s mother-in-law.” The woman clearly needed to preserve some dignity. Behind him, Gerald heard the distinct shuffling sound of Declan putting on a robe.

The groans of protest from the class were a hint, too.

“No, ma’am. Declan’s not my boss any longer. And we’re not in James McCormick’s home right now.” He paused for emphasis, planting his hands on his hips in a gesture of dominance. “You’re on my turf.”

“Oh.” She frowned. “That’s right.” She gave him a bright smile. “Marie it is!” Her eyes crawled over him appreciatively, with a cold inventory that would make a less hardened man squirm. “Do you do yoga? Want some free passes to my class?”

Was she checking out his butt?

“I train at a gym, Marie. My workouts are all very basic. It’s all about lifting.”

She blinked, eyes on his arms. “I’ll bet it is, but yoga can help with core strength and stretching. Balance is paramount for good lift technique, you know.”

“I do.”

“At your gym, are there more men...like you?”

“More chauffeurs?”

She tittered. “More, you know—big guys who could use a little downward dog.”

Every sentence out of this woman’s mouth sounded porny.

“I can ask around.”

“You do that.”

“Why are you here, Marie?”

“Agnes has been avoiding my class ever since she sold me that oregano. It’s time for a throw down.”

He looked at Agnes.

Looked at Marie.

“The woman is ninety and looks like an artifact from the MFA’s Mayan Civilization exhibit, Marie. You’re going to fight her?”

“She cheated me! And she’s ninety-two. She really has no excuse. You live that long, you’re supposed to be filled with wisdom. Not bullshit.”

“It was an honest mistake!” Agnes shouted, moving behind Corrine.

“No, no you don’t,” Corrine protested. “You don’t get to use me as a human shield again, Agnes. I lost some of my weave the last time.”

The
last
time?

“Look, this is a community-based art class and you’re interrupting, Marie.”

“But my son-in-law is in here! And Agnes needs to be taught a lesson.”

“The only lessons being taught in here are by me.” Gerald had learned years ago how to use his body as a weapon without touching the target. Guiding her through nonverbal cues, he made Marie Jacoby take one step backwards.

One was all he needed. Once you open that door, you can shoo an annoying fly out.

“But I—”

“Enrollment is closed. We don’t have any space in the class.” Blocking unruly people was an art, too.

She took another step back.

“I don’t want to be a student! Even I draw the line at ogling my naked son-in-law!”

“Glad to know you
have
a line, Marie,” Declan called out.

“Can’t I just stay and finish my business with Agnes?”

“You’re welcome to a chair in the hall.”

She moved slowly, but Gerald wasn’t worried. Inertia set in when you glared at someone, puffed out your shoulders, planted your hands on your hips, and most important—

Didn’t back down.

“This isn’t fair!” she finally squeaked as Gerald reached for the door, her body halfway in, halfway out of the room.”

“My classroom. My rules.”

“Then you’re a dictator!” she said in outrage.

“The Clay Dictator.” He grinned. “I like the sound of that.” Her face flashed through the small mesh-glass window, screwed up in furious confusion.

Click.

Declan McCormick did a slow clap.

So did Agnes.

“You!” Gerald said, jabbing a finger in Agnes’ direction. “Deal with her after class.”

“You can’t get away with this, Agnes!” Marie’s muffled voice came through the door. “I will hunt you down and I will find you and I will...” Her voice trailed off.

“Over oregano?” Declan shook his head slowly. “She sounds like Liam Neeson in the movie
Taken
over
oregano
?”

Gerald and Declan shared a shrug.

Declan dropped the robe.

As Gerald walked from student to student, admiring technique, correcting proportions, using his voice and hands to guide, he studied his former boss—and now, friend. Inviting him to be a model had been natural. A few years ago, he’d been asked what he did in his free time, and when he’d mentioned sculpting, the conversation had ventured into issues of finding people comfortable enough to pose.

Declan McCormick, of all people, had offered.

Gerald had accepted.

And here they were, on their fifth course together.

The guy’s body was fabulous as a subject, but to Gerald, all bodies were fabulous. Short, tall, lean, plump, old, young—the endless fascination with all the variations and permutations of the human form didn’t stop just because a body didn’t meet society’s standards of beauty.

He rejected those standards. They were false, based on commercial and corporate ideals.

His next model was a seventy-eight-year-old great-grandmother who had scars down one thigh from being dragged for a quarter mile during civil rights protests in the 1960s.

Beauty came in all forms.

His criteria for modeling in his class were simple: Twenty-five bucks an hour, ninety minutes of holding still, no silly giggling over being nude.

Declan waived the fee.

By the end of class, Gerald was uncharacteristically wiped. Normally, teaching refueled him.

Reconnecting with Suzanne, plus the burden of the inheritance, led to an emotional gravity he struggled to manage.

Earlier that day, he’d made his decision: donate the relic. Have Suzanne’s firm figure out the international law intricacies. He wanted it to go to the right cultural institution so it could be preserved, studied, honored and used to understand old civilizations.

But the weight of that decision hadn’t lifted the burden.

A night of shooting pool with Vince and Declan should be just the ticket. He looked forward to watching Dec and Vince spar.

As students filed out of the room, he felt a strong hand clutch his arm. Turning around, he found dead air.

He had to look way down.

“Gerald, I want to tell you how much I enjoy this class.” Agnes’ voice trembled slightly, though it always did. This time, the tone made him pause, his soles pressing into the ground, his body relaxing into being more present.

“Thank you.”

“You make it fun. An old woman like me needs more fun in her life.” Were her eyes filling with actual tears?

“Of course you do,” he said with compassion.

“So please, please don’t have Louise Johnson as your nude model for the next class. She may be young and have a tighter body than mine, but she’s no Declan McCormick.”

Sigh. “How do you know her name?” He was about to mention that Louise wasn’t young, but to a ninety-two-year-old woman, a seventy-eight year old must seem “young.”

“We’re both docents at the same museum. She farts a lot.”

“Agnes,” he said in a low warning voice.

“I’m just saying. We’ll need to wear charcoal face masks if you have that woman in here,” she continued. “Her doctor told her to cut out dairy, but nooooooo. Louise knows better!”

“I’m not having this conversation.”

“She’s so selfish,” Agnes grumbled. “Always thinking about herself.”

He saw Corrine pause at the doorway and look back.

“Are you lying about Louise again?” Corrine called out. “You’re just jealous Gerald didn’t ask you.”

“I’m not taking off my clothes to let a bunch of people have fantasies about my body.”

“Fantasies!” Corrine hooted. “More like nightmares. When people our age are naked, we look like human being candles all melted down.”

“It’s all beautiful, ladies,” he assured them.

They eyed him like predators. “When it’s tight and young and works well and balances out, it sure is, Gerald. But wait. Just wait.”

“I’m enjoying the journey just like you. One day at a time.”

“I’ll be a nude model!” Corrine piped up. “What’s it pay?”

“Twenty-five an hour. Plus you get a free class here at the arts center.”

“That’s it?
Playboy
models make tens of thousands!” Agnes grumbled.

“I’m not Hugh Hefner,” Gerald joked.

Fifty million dollars, a voice inside him whispered.

Huh. Maybe he was closer than he thought.

“Quit stalling. Marie’s still out here, just waiting for you.” Corrine caught Gerald’s eye. “I love a good catfight.”

“You’re my second, Corrine,” Agnes said as she caught up to her, grumbling. “If I need you to fight in my place, go for her eyes. She wears contacts. One good jab and...”

Gerald shut the door.

With relief.

Bzzz.

A text from Suzanne.

“Hey!” Declan called out from the dressing room. “We’re still shooting pool with your friend?”

“Yeah.”

“Cool.” Declan strode out into the classroom. Tonight, he’d shown up in casual clothes from the start.

Gerald looked at his phone.

Be there around ten. Maybe sooner. See you soon.

He grinned.

“I take it Suzanne’s coming, too?” Declan asked.

“How’d you guess?”

“The stupid lovesick grin on your face.”

“That’s how you looked the day you came out of that bagel shop when you met Shannon.” Gerald almost said
sir
again.

“Did I?” Declan assumed his stone face. “I thought I looked like this.”

“Not that day.”

They shared a smile.

Ten minutes later, they waited for a free pool table, drinking beers and riling each other up about who would beat whom.

Vince appeared.

Vince didn’t just walk into bars. Vince parted the Red Sea when he entered any establishment. Enormous, covered in tattoos and scars, and with the air of a convict who lords over all the prisoners and guards in a maximum security joint, Vince was in
vinc
ible.

His parents got his name right.

“Hey,” Vince shouted. “G!”

Declan’s eyes flew wide open and he looked up.

Way
up.

“Hold on. This is Vince? My brother’s personal trainer
Vince
?”

Vince reached for Declan’s hand and shook him like a rag doll. “Another McCormick bitch! Good to meet you, man. Boy, I see who has all the muscle in your family.” He eyed Declan and let out a low whistle.

Declan looked pleased.

“Not you,” Vince clarified. “Andrew’s a wuss, but
he
is bulking up.”

“First half of that is right,” Declan shot back. He puffed up like a peacock-cobra hybrid.

Vince held out his palms. “No offense, man. Just calling it like I see it.”

Considering Vince’s arms were the size of most men’s thighs, he really did walk the walk.

Eyes narrowing, Declan took Vince in. “You a pool shark like your buddy?”

He held up hands like bear paws. “Do these look like precision tools?”

Declan grinned. “Hope you brought enough to cover the drinks, because you’re losing.”

Gerald cleared his throat with meaning.

“I’m onto you,” Declan said. “You play innocent.”

Gerald racked the balls and they started.

Someone’s phone buzzed. As all three checked, Declan held up one finger, turned on his heel, and walked out the main door. Business.

“Heard he left Anterdec. Bought some coffee chain. Thinks he’s going to build the next Starbucks,” Vince said as Gerald took his shot, spreading the balls but not getting any where he wanted them.