You Dropped a Blonde on Me (15 page)
Grabbing a pair of tongs, he wound his way through the throng of people milling in the kitchen to where Max’s friend laid out hot dog buns and began filling them. When she looked up, he smiled. “Campbell Barker.”
She gave him a distracted smile, then returned her focus to the rolls, spreading them on the platter. “Len Erickson. What brings a youngin’ like you to Leisure Village?”
“I’m here helping my crotchety father until he gets back on his feet. Heart attack.”
“Ah.” Her smile was a mixture of sympathy and understanding.
“So you’re a friend of Max’s?”
The package of hot dog rolls fell to the long countertop with a crumple of plastic. She leaned back against the Formica and gave him a hostile gaze of open suspicion. “And if I am?”
Wow, grrrrrrr. “Then we have something in common,” he offered simply.
Len’s firm jaw tilted upward, her posture stiff and unyielding. “How’s that?”
“Well, you like her, and I like her. That’s a commonality.”
The hard line of her skeptically glossed lips twitched with amusement. “I get the impression I don’t like her the way you like her, though.”
“Not unless you’re a lesbian, I guess,” Campbell returned a lazy response, continuing to smile while he filled the rolls with hot dogs from the steaming Crock-Pot. “Which is totally fine. I’m very urban like that.”
She threw her head back and laughed a husky chuckle that was warm. “Nope. Not a lesbian. And yes, Maxine’s my friend. My
best
friend.”
best
friend.”
“Then you’re just the person I need to talk to.”
Len visibly loosened up just a little, letting the hard line of her shoulders slump a bit. “About?”
“Her ex-husband.”
Those slender bronzed shoulders stiffened again. “He’s not her ex. Not yet.”
Was she a Fin lover? Was anyone a Fin lover?
Now’s the time to tread carefully, Barker.
“Do you want him to be?”
Now’s the time to tread carefully, Barker.
“Do you want him to be?”
“Her ex? Probably more than I want to breathe.”
It was Campbell’s turn to chuckle. “He’s a piece of work.”
“He’s a piece of shit,” she spat under her breath, giving a sideways glance to see if anyone had heard her.
“So you’re part of the He-Man Fin-Hater Club?”
“I’m the founder,” was her dry response.
Nice. “You need a president?”
Len laughed again. “Look here, Campbell Barker. Spit out whatever it is you want to ask. I’ll decide whether to answer or not. How’s that?”
Campbell nodded, appreciating the honesty. After everything that had happened to him these last three years, including the end of his marriage, he was all about speaking his piece. He didn’t waste time dicking around about much anymore, but he didn’t want to screw this Q and A up. “Good enough. This Fin, her husband.” He paused, forcing the word between his clenched teeth. “Did he ever hurt her?”
Len’s fingers stopped separating hot dog rolls. “You mean like physically hurt her? You mean beat her? I’d have killed him myself.” She shook her head, the dangle of her earrings swaying against her sharp jaw. “No. He didn’t beat her, but you know, Maxine wondered out loud once if that would have at least been more honest than the kind of covert, emotional manipulation and bullshit he pulled over and over again. At least the pain would have only been momentary. The kind of crap he dealt out lingers much longer than a bruise.”
She stopped with an abrupt intake of breath. “Shit. That’s more than I should have said. When it comes to that prick, I lose all objectivity. I want the world to know he’s a pig.”
Campbell let out a breath, too. One he didn’t realize he’d been holding.
“You sound relieved,” she commented.
He was. The notion had bothered him since his father had brought it up a couple of weeks ago. It was what had kept him from seeking her out and pushing the issue of coffee, because he didn’t want to frighten her with an aggressive pursuit. If Max’d been physically abused, the dynamics would have changed dramatically, and he wanted to respect that. “I am. It means I won’t serve time for manslaughter.”
Her dark eyebrow rose. “So you like my friend?”
There was no hiding the return of his silly-ass grin. “Yep. I like your friend.”
Len stopped separating rolls once more to look him square in the eye. Her hand went to the curve of her jean-clad hip. “Then pay heed. I’m not one for treading lightly. If you’re offended easily, you might want to close your ears.”
Campbell made a point of capturing her gaze and holding it. “I like straight shooting. Have at it.”
Her assessment of him was only momentary, but he saw the doubt her brown eyes flashed. When they cleared, she’d obviously made the choice to let ’er rip. “Maxine’s my best friend. I don’t ever want to see her slaughtered like this again. What’s happening to her with this divorce isn’t something that’s never happened before. It’s time-honored amongst those who travel in our circles. I’m guessing you know some of the details because the folks here love a good gossip. Younger gorgeous woman marries older, rich man, lives her life solely for him while reaping the bennies of mondo moolah only to end up dumped by older rich man for newer, younger model. She’s pretty beaten down, especially if that outfit she’s got on is any indication. The old Maxine, outwardly anyway, was a much different ball of wax than she is today. So if you want in, then play it straight, and even then I think you’re going to have a hard time getting her to play, too. She’s got a lot to figure out. She needs the space to do it without complications. At this point in her pending divorce, even though it’s gone on longer than
War and Peace
, she hasn’t come to terms with what most would have already at least attempted to begin to deal with.”
War and Peace
, she hasn’t come to terms with what most would have already at least attempted to begin to deal with.”
He wasn’t sure he understood what Len was getting at. “Are you saying she’s not over him?” Not a good sign, if that was the case. She was a lot further behind in the healing process if that was what Len was alluding to.
“No, I’m saying she’s not over what he’s done to her. She led a very sheltered life until eight months ago. And that’s all I’m saying. I’ve already said too much as it is.” With a shift from one foot to the other, Len clucked her tongue. “Look, she really has no business getting involved with anyone until she’s right with herself, but if you’re determined . . .”
She’d left the door open for him to wander in or not with proof of his determination. So he did. With ridiculous haste. “I’m determined.” His answer was quiet and steady.
Her clear brown eyes held a moment of admiration. “Okay then, with that said, if you still want in, don’t muck it up or I can promise you I won’t be nearly as restrained as I have been with that good-for-nothing Fin. I’ll kill you in your sleep. End rant.” Len tacked on an affable smile for good measure.
“Forewarned is forearmed,” he murmured.
She placed a hand on his forearm and locked eyes with him. “Oh, I promise. There’ll be no warning. You got me?”
Campbell returned her gaze, dead-on and sure. “I think we’re golden.”
Len’s nod was brisk and no-nonsense. “Good. Now, pick up the pace with those hot dogs.”
With a roll of his tongue in his cheek, Campbell fought another grin. He’d been cleared for takeoff. Reluctantly, but cleared.
One small step for man.
Now, on to one giant leap for mankind.
On her fifteen-minute break, Maxine tried not to gaze longingly in the direction of the kitchen where Campbell and her best friend looked as though they weren’t exactly struggling for conversation. Len’s laughter tinkled, drifting to her ears followed thereafter by Campbell’s husky growl of a chuckle.
How nice that two lonely people in the world had clearly made a connection.
Now there’d be two less lonely people in the world.
Very Air Supply.
Her teeth clenched. She’d sent Len in with the express purpose of foisting her off on Campbell. That she’d gotten her wish and her best friend was giggling over pork products and carbs while looking like a runway model should make her happy-clappy.
Yes, she nodded to herself, cupping her chin in her hand. She was happy. Len had been mourning a man who was four years gone. A wonderful man she’d loved and tragically lost. She was young and vibrant. It was time to move on. Seeing her smile and chat with Campbell was good.
Okay, it wouldn’t upset her if she was smiling and laughing with someone else entirely—in another state—wearing a baggy floral housecoat and open-toed slippers—but she had dangled Len in front of Campbell like a shiny carrot of testosterone. Len was just being Len.
A sting of jealous envy hit her hard in the gut. Totally unfair to Len, but there it was. It settled like a lump in her stomach, leaving her feeling strangely empty.
“What’s your boyfriend doing with her?”
Maxine lifted her eyes to find Mr. Hodge, unshaven and scruffy, eyeballing her.
“He’s not my boyfriend, Mr. Hodge.”
“That’s not what you said the first night you walked Jake,” he reminded her.
Maxine frowned. “How did you hear—”
“The village has eyes and ears, and you weren’t exactly using your indoor voice when you pissed on your tree.” Mr. Hodge winked, his face scrunching upward into the fine lines and folds of his leathered skin.
Ah, yes. The night she’d hurled Campbell at Fin like he was a pair of nunchakus. Maxine cringed at the memory. “Well, he’s not my boyfriend. That makes him fair game.”
“Sure seemed like he was your boyfriend from the way you two were lookin’ at each other.”
He’d come to the conclusion that intimacy and love had sprung from the offer of an ice pack and a troll doll incident? “Then I guess him flirting with her makes him a cheating loser, huh?”
Mr. Hodge smacked his lips in appreciation. “She’s a looker.”
Yes. Len was a looker. Maxine? Just a mess. “That she is.”
He rocked back on his heels, slipping one thumb under his striped suspenders. “You want me to take her out? I brought my cane with me. Cut her off right at those pretty knees.” He mimicked a golf swing.
Maxine snorted, putting a hand to her aching nose. “No! She’s my best friend, for gravy’s sake.”
He snorted back and leaned into her. “Huh. Some best friend, stealing your boyfriend.”
“He’s not my boyfriend!” She yelped in protest, then lowered her voice when some of the seniors turned to stare at her with guarded gazes. “He’s not my boyfriend.
Period
.”
Period
.”
She waved her hands at him, shooing him off in the direction of food. “So be a pal, and stop drawing more attention to me. Wasn’t it enough that Mrs. Griswald nearly knocked my nose off my face? Add a boyfriend denial in there and I’ll be the talk of the village for weeks. Now go on. Go get a hot dog before they’re all gone. I hear Ms. Douglas made her special turkey chili. Very heart friendly. Besides, my break’s almost over, and I have one more game to call. A girl’s gotta make a living, right?” She gave a surreptitious glance around the room to see if everyone had gone back to the business of bingo. There’d been enough drama involving her for one night.
“Maxine!” a female voice, young and untouched by liposuction, called from the entrance, making her head swivel and her nose throb from turning too quickly.
Shit.
Woo to the hoo.
More drama.
In stilettos and chic size-two clothing.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Note to all ex-trophy wives from Maxine Cambridge: Tip on dating. Should a man ask you to join him for coffee even though your nose is the size of the Ukraine and you’re clearly not being all you can be fashion-wise—just suck it up and say yes. First, the coffee’s free. Second, if you suspect he only wants to sleep with you, reevaluate. Looking the way you do in your growth process, either he must really like you, or he’s certifiable. Both of which shouldn’t be ruled out. Beggars can’t be choosers.
Maxine wanted to duck under the table or maybe fight her way through the crowd to hide in the bathroom until this newest drama went back to her sloppy seconds of a mini-mansion. Bright spots of red adorned her cheeks, leaving her flushed and hot.
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