Vulnerable (21 page)

Before Tamara could usher Ingrid out of the boutique, the sad—miserable—woman let go. Something about her husband planning to leave her as soon as their daughter was off to Cambridge.

“I admire the fact that he's giving you advance notice. How kind,” Tamara said, clearly being sarcastic.

“One thing about Sebastian. He's a middle-aged man who isn't drawn to much younger women.”

“Well, how old is this woman he plans to leave you for?”

“If I had to guess… She's probably in her mid-thirties. At least she's not in her twenties. I always knew I'd have to face the day that Sebastian fell out of love with me and fell into the arms of another woman. He's gone more than he's home. Any woman would be foolish to think that their husband—someone like Sebastian, wouldn't stray.
I used to despise women like you, Tamara. Having affairs with married men. I always hoped the woman wouldn't be in the same generation as my son. God is benevolent after all.”

“But it doesn't feel any less degrading, surely?”

That's when Ingrid Michaels became unglued.

It took another fifteen minutes before she could pull herself together and dash from the boutique into a waiting tinted-windowed Range Rover. After checking e-mail and online orders, Tamara placed the closed sign in the window before another drama queen came rushing in, taking up too much oxygen in the tight space. She could not imagine what hair stylists and bartenders had to go through.
Mon Dieu!

Once she listened to her voicemail, she was crestfallen that she missed Sicily's call. She would love to have met up with her and D'Becca for drinks. And they were probably gone by now.

“Hey, luv. I'm leaving in ten. I need to change, and I'll try and find you and D'Becca at the mall.” Tamara released the call. She began humming while she closed up; feeling carefree at the very idea she had something to do.

Twenty minutes later, she entered the parking lot and eagerly sought a space.
Why didn't I walk?
No sooner than she entered an aisle, two women, one tall and the other not so tall; one black and the other white, caught her attention. It was D'Becca and Sicily walking ahead of her, and it looked like they were going to take the elevator into the mall. They were laughing, their arms linked inside each other's.
Are they drunk?
Before she could toot her horn to get their attention, a car behind Tamara blew at her. In her rearview mirror, she watched the impatient driver throwing her hands up in the air, in all probability out of frustration.
Go to hell!

Hastily, Tamara squeezed her SUV into a “compact car only” parking space. She headed toward the crowd at the bank of elevators.
When she made it to the first level of the mall, she could not spot Sicily or D'Becca anywhere. They got lost in the horde of holiday shoppers. But then Tamara thought she spotted D'Becca entering Restoration Hardware.
No, that was someone else.
Tamara eagerly sought them out from one end to the other, yet her patience was being tested, and the clusters of people began to get on her nerves. Eventually, she grew emotionally exhausted.
That damn Ingrid Michaels took everything I had.

She left Sicily a voicemail message. “Where are you? Look, I got your message late. I'm at the mall. Since I'm here, I'll rummage through the sales. You can reach me on my mobile. If I miss your call, leave me a message where I can find you.”

Tamara had anticipated the mall would have turned into a dead zone by now.
I'm not in the mood for this.
When she turned to head back to the parking lot, she bumped straight into Rawn. Strangely, Tamara sensed he had been standing directly behind her while she was calling Sicily. What a miraculous coincidence, thought Tamara.

“Oh, hi,” she said.

“Hey!”

“Shopping?”

“I checked out The Store of Knowledge. I wasn't impressed.”

His eyes lingered on her for a moment longer than Tamara felt comfortable with. “I was thinking the same thing. Not in the mood. Hope I'm not coming down with anything. I mean, shopping is something I'm always in the mood to do, you know!”

They stood in the center of the crowded floor. Shoppers crashed into them; some made an effort to walk around them, annoyed that their path was blocked.

“I spent the day in the boutique. When I was about to make my escape, a client waltzes in. She's a big one. What could I do?” Tamara shrugged.

She struggled with having to look him in the eyes, and Rawn picked up on the fact that she was noticeably different from the woman he met the evening before at Sicily's. In a pair of faded blue jeans, a white Tee and a distressed black leather jacket and no makeup, she looked astonishingly striking; natural. The evening before, did she flirt and all but come on to him merely to create tension? Or was it to
get
attention? Now that the opportunity presented itself, she was not interested. In fact, her behavior intimated that she was uneasy even being in close proximity to Rawn.
This woman is a trip.

“Well…” She looked fleetingly at her wristwatch, feigning curiosity about the time.

“Maybe we could grab a bite to eat. I haven't eaten today.”

Tamara's face softened. “Guess what. This morning when I woke up, the first thing I thought about was that smoked turkey from last night.”

“And I was craving some last night.”

In unison they laughed, purging the chill in the air.

“Yeah; let's go grab something.” Tamara looked anxiously around the crowded mall.

“Looking for someone?” he asked.

“No,” she lied. “Hey, look. Why don't we go by my place? I'm in walking distance. I have some caviar, some aged cognac…”

“I don't do caviar.” Rawn's look suggested that he was dead serious.

“Really? Okay, well…” She reached in her soft-leather clutch purse for a set of keys. “I have some leftover Pagliacci. It's West Coast, but good pizza.”

“Sure…”

“Come on.” Something in her shifted at that moment, and her smile radiated her oval-shaped face. Tamara was friendlier now, more relaxed, which confused Rawn.

•  •  •

He liked Tamara's place. An aesthetically pleasing décor, he would not have imagined it laid out in the way that it was. Although pretentious, it was an oddly warm place. With a pseudo fireplace, it felt homey even while it was swanky with charcoal-sable colored carpet and oversized vases and a throw in faux mink that was neatly folded against a loveseat. Large candles adorned the front room, and several childhood photographs were strategically placed on a table. Surprisingly, a photograph of Tamara, Sicily, and Tamara's writer friend, Pricilla Miles, in what looked to be a bar, was set on a side table. Even while she was full of herself and phony, her place depicted a side of her he saw at the mall: self-conscious, reserved. She sat in a sofa with her legs folded beneath her while Rawn sat in a large and cozy chair with thick rolled arms. It did not take long for them to finish off what was left of the large pie, which Sicily brought by on Thanksgiving Eve. She kept Tamara company while she made the dessert—the very rich espresso sweet potato cheesecake that everyone, despite being stuffed, had seconds of on Thanksgiving Day.

Later, when he needed to recall how things moved so swiftly, Rawn would not recollect who brought up Henderson. He would call to mind that Tamara's version of her relationship with Henderson Payne was in contradiction to what Khalil shared with him. While people saw things from their own perspective, no two stories could be so dissimilar and both accurate.

She had been talking casually about Henderson for a few minutes. Rawn was not necessarily interested, but he guessed she needed to talk about him. “It was after he came back from playing ball in Italy,” she said. “We were at a function in L.A. Someone had a private party for their friend at a club in Hollywood. He was alone. I mean he wasn't with Daphne. There was street talk that he was in L.A. to meet with the L.A. franchise. He was tired of Seattle.
He wanted another
ring
. Not that he didn't already have two, but with Henderson…He's incredibly competitive. Of course that's a part of his appeal.”

Solemn, Tamara met Rawn's gaze.

“We slept together that night. He was staying at Chateau Marmont—in this romantic bungalow. The ambience… We had a great time. I'm sure he loved Daphne, but I knew once he made love to me, he could never be the same with her again. I fell in love with him that night and I knew that he fell for me. There was no going back, at least not for me.”

Rawn tried not to judge.

“I had an abortion,” she admitted, and in a rather impassive voice. “He asked—no, begged—me to abort it and I did. I did it for him because I loved him and he asked me to do it
for him
. I know he loves me, but it's complicated because of his children.”

Rawn did not know what to say to her. He could not understand why she was sharing all these personal details with him. They barely knew each other, and what was the point of it? Something nudged him to ask her, “Are you in love with Henderson Payne or the athlete?” It did not come out in the way he had intended.

Her smile was sneaky and hard to interpret. She leaned forward; her breasts were perceptible through the vanilla-colored tee. “No, of course not. I'm not impressed with celebrity. My standards are high. I'm never with someone who isn't successful. Men in particular who are successful and/or rich, they have a way of—they have a degree of power, and that's one of the most intoxicating aphrodisiacs a man can have. With Henderson and me, it was intense. It was…we were both probably fixated. No matter what you've heard, Henderson ruined his relationship with Daphne. He wanted me even more than I wanted him. He still does…want me. They were in a lot of trouble before we even met.”

“Do you care about other people?”

“I like you. Your honesty is…sexy. Most men are not honest, you know. They are selective when it comes to details. And in answer to your question—there's no incentive to invest in a third party. That's really what you're getting at,
n'est-ce pas?”

“Something along those lines.” He was purposely vague.

“Sicily means a lot to you, doesn't she?”

“She's one of my closest friends.”

“I know you wish she weren't gay.”

“I was disappointed; I'll cop to that.”

“Why are you with D'Becca?”

“What do you mean?” He grimaced.

“Come on, Rawn. Really!”

“Are you saying that D'Becca?…”

“Don't get me wrong. D'Becca's a beautiful woman. I like her. But what are your feelings for her? It's been what—almost four months? That's no longer casual.”

“Are you and Sicily
casual?”

Rawn could not quite pin down Tamara's nature. Her moods were like a kaleidoscope—she switched from this to that, and it could be demanding to distinguish the range of personalities beneath her guile. He decided it was a protective shield Tamara learned how to use. She feared being weak, at a disadvantage, and she did what was necessary so not to get hurt. She was right, he decided: what would be the incentive to invest in a third party? Tamara only cared about herself.

With a smile Rawn considered trivial, Tamara said, “I like Sicily. She's everything I would want a man to be.”

“What does that mean?”

“She's socially and emotionally appealing. She's financially stable. She's dedicated, successful, noetic, and
real
. To borrow from Pricilla Miles: authentic. Oh, I am beginning to overuse that word. Anyway…she's willing to compromise all of those attributes—for love.”

“Don't forget that Sicily is one of my best friends. So be careful what you choose to share with me.”

“I have nothing to hide from Sicily. You being here, she would understand that.”

“Really? Because I'm not…”

“Oh, trust me. That woman knows who she's dealing with.”

“Really?”

“Really. And you changed the subject.”

“How so?”

“D'Becca?”

“D'Becca and I have an understanding.”

“Are you sure?”

“I'm sure,” he said.

Rawn leaned into the seat and rested his head on the back of the chair. Talking with Tamara, it made him start to entertain whether he should actually take D'Becca to Vail with him for the holiday. Did he really want her to go? He probably would not have considered inviting her but for the fact that Khalil mentioned it in a conversation. Rawn had considered asking Sicily until she told him a week before Thanksgiving that she had met someone—Tamara.

He looked up and Tamara was standing over him. He was not sure what to make of her expression. Not minutes ago she was telling him that Henderson was her soul mate. He still was not sure why she was with Sicily. One minute she was giddy and open, the next sharing sad love stories. What did she want from him? Why had she invited him to her place? Thanksgiving night, she was openly teasing, and he knew Sicily must have noticed it, but did she even care? Obviously, Sicily did not see Rawn as a threat. Rawn was certain D'Becca picked up on Tamara's flirtation. Tamara knelt to the charcoal-sable carpeted floor and eased herself between Rawn's
legs. He was powerless to react. His mind was not advancing quickly enough to the situation that appeared to be unfolding, and his body could not contain his passion.

“Hey, Tamara. Wait. What's going on?”

“Look at me,” she said. “Look into my eyes. What do you see?”

“Tamara…”

“I know you want me, Rawn. It's all over your face. I saw the way you looked at me last night. And now…” She placed her hand on his crotch and gently, adeptly massaged him. “Wow! You are
hard
, baby.”