Читать книгу The Man She Married - Ann Defee - Страница 14

Maizie had tried to sound confident when talking to Liza, but to be totally truthful she wasn’t that sure her plan would work. And no matter what Liza said, she had gained several pounds—most of it right on her caboose.

However, she’d learned early in her beauty-pageant career that self-confidence could mask a ton of deficiencies, and fortunately that included a sizable derriere. It also required a certain amount of assistance, and in this case that meant a sexy, new tennis outfit.

Maizie and Clay were having breakfast when she volleyed the first shot in her “make my hubby jealous” campaign. “I’m going into Atlanta this morning to do some shopping.”

“Okay,” he answered.

“Just okay?” Why was she being so snarky? She frequently went to Atlanta, so why should this trip be different?

Clay put down the paper and shook his head.

“I’m sorry,” Maizie said. “That was uncalled for.”

He stared at her a few seconds and gently laid his hand on her cheek. “I love you. You know that, don’t you?”

The tenderness of his touch gave Maizie pause.

“Do you want me to come with you?”

“No! Uh, I mean, that’s not necessary.” Having him along would screw up the purpose of her shopping trip.

“Okay, if you’re sure.” Clay took her hand and kissed the tips of her fingers. Darn that man. He knew how to push every one of her buttons. She just wished he’d do it more often.

MAIZIE PULLED INTO THE parking lot of a tennis and golf superstore. It was a gigantic warehouse filled with sports equipment and clothing. She was more familiar with tony boutiques than places like the Tennis and Golfarama. Maizie was out of her element and didn’t have a clue where to start.

“May I help you?” a clerk asked when she walked in. The young woman was tanned brunette wearing skintight warm-up gear. There wasn’t an ounce of cellulite on that buff body.

“I need some tennis…uh…stuff.”

“A racquet or clothes?”

“Both. Actually, I haven’t played in years so I need everything, right down to the socks and bloomers.”

Maizie’s admission elicited a laugh from the saleswoman.

“I’m Cindi,” she said, sticking her hand out for a shake.

Maizie would just bet she dotted the “i” with a heart.

“I’m sure we can find exactly what you need.”

An hour later Maizie’s credit card was limp from exhaustion and she was the proud owner of three new tennis outfits—all super sexy, of course—a top-of-the-line racquet and a pair of shoes guaranteed to put a spring in her step. Now all she needed was a plan, preferably one that had a chance of working.

MAIZIE’S FRIEND AT THE TENNIS club had also informed her that Trip Fitzgerald wasn’t as young as he looked. He was actually closer to her age than to the young matrons who swarmed him like bees to honey.

But even so, Maizie had serious doubts about her ability to attract his attention. She wasn’t twenty anymore, nor was she a size zero. Would he think of her as nothing more than a middle-aged groupie? The last thing she wanted was to come off as a pathetic cliché.

That would be incredibly humiliating.

Maizie was closing in on D-day, or T-day, as the case may be. She had the clothes, the racket, the shoes and she’d signed up for a series of lessons. The only thing she lacked was confidence. So naturally she made an impromptu visit to Cousin Kenni’s salon, Permanently Yours.

Liza wasn’t on board with her “make Clay jealous” plan. Perhaps Kenni would be more encouraging. What would Maizie do if her cousin jumped aboard the “ohmigod, that’s a bad idea” bandwagon?

The Permanently Yours salon clientele ranged from senior citizens with tight perms to trendy adolescents and everyone in between. Like Miss Scarlett’s Boudoir, it was a happening place.

“Hey, Toolie, what’s up?” Maizie said as she walked in. Tallulah—aka Toolie—was an ex-pat from Atlanta, cute as a button and totally cool. Today she was sporting a spiked purple do that showed off her multiple earrings.

“Not much. Kenni’s in the back doing Laverne Hightower’s hair.” She made a face to indicate her “ick” reaction.

“Gotcha.” Maizie gave her a high five before heading toward the back of the salon.

“Hey, Raylene.” Raylene was Kenni’s other stylist. She specialized in the curly styles that were de rigueur with the over-eighty crowd. The hairdresser responded with a three-fingered wave.

“Hi, Kenni.” Maizie smiled at her cousin in the mirror.

“Hello, Mrs. Hightower. How are you doing?” She knew when to suck up.

“Hello, Maizie Walker. How are you?”

“Fine, thank you, ma’am. You haven’t been to the boutique lately. We’re about to have a sale. You need to drop by, now ’ya hear? I always have gourmet coffee brewing.”

“Gourmet, huh?” Laverne was renowned for grazing through the free samples at the Piggly Wiggly.

“Yes, ma’am.”

Kenni secured the last pink foam roller and twirled her customer around. “I’m going to put you under the dryer now.”

Kenni made sure Laverne was comfortable under a hood that looked like an old Saturday Night Live cone of silence and then crooked her finger at Maizie.

“Let’s go to the office.” The salon’s office/break-room was really a storage area filled with boxes of beauty products, but there was a comfortable enough Goodwill couch and adequate refreshments.

“Sit, girl. You look like you’re ready for a discussion.”

“Yeah.” Maizie moved a stack of hairstyle magazines and sat down in an old vinyl chair.

“How about something to drink?” Without waiting for an answer, Kenni rummaged in the refrigerator and came up with two cans of iced tea.

Before she could hand over the drink, Maizie blurted out, “Clay and I aren’t exactly burning up the sheets anymore and I plan to do something about it.”

Kenni froze. “Oo-kay.” She put the cans back in the refrigerator and retrieved a pitcher of fluorescent green liquid.

“That stuff looks radioactive. What is it?”

Kenni grinned at Maizie’s description. “It’s Raylene’s version of a margarita. I think we’re gonna need it.”

“What about Mrs. Hightower?”

“Raylene can finish her up. She owes me one, and that will keep both of them out of this conversation. I suspect the fewer people involved, the better.”

Once they were settled with plastic cups of Raylene’s brew, Maizie told her cousin everything. Including descriptions of her three new tennis outfits with the halter tops and plunging necklines.

When she finished, Kenni didn’t say a word. It was hard to speak when your mouth was hanging open.

“Are you serious?” she finally choked out.

“Absolutely.” Maizie placed her half-full cup on the low table in front of her. “I’ve tried sexy lingerie and romantic dinners.” She threw up her hands. “I’ve even done a striptease and you know what he did? He said he was dead tired and could we do it later. Later!” Maizie’s voice got louder with each word.

“Shh! Mrs. Hightower might be under the dryer, but I’m fairly sure people in the next county can hear you.”

“Oh, okay.” Maizie fell back in her chair.

“Let’s look at this logically. Is there something going on at work that he hasn’t told you? Maybe he’s stressed—or he could really be tired. He loves you like crazy. Everyone can see that.”

Clay hadn’t said much about work lately and that was unusual.

“I’ll make a deal with you,” Kenni continued. “Go home, get dolled up, pull out all the stops on a romantic setting and ask him to take you away for the weekend. If that doesn’t work, I’ll reluctantly help you with this stupid scheme. What did Liza say?”

Maizie sighed. “She’s on the same page you are. But all right. I’ll give it my best shot.”

CLAY WALKER HAD HAD a hell of a day. In point of fact, it had been a hellacious six months. The engineering contract his company had with a public/private partnership road project had gone south in too many ways to count.

The private development corporation had insisted on changes the department of transportation bureaucrats had vetoed, and vice versa. Consequently, construction was so far behind schedule it was impossible to catch up, and everyone was blaming his engineering firm. During this debacle, Clay had put out so many fires he felt like a wildfire jumper.

He should have listened to his gut. He’d been hesitant to bid on the project, but the temptation was too hard to resist. It was their way to the big time. Uh-huh. If things didn’t improve soon their only option would be bankruptcy.

And then he had to add in the fact Maizie was making him nuts. They’d always gotten along so well, but lately it seemed she was constantly mad at him. He realized she wanted more attention, but he just didn’t have it to give. There were only so many hours in the day, and his had been maxed to the hilt for months. God, what he wouldn’t give for a week in the sun without emergencies and contentious situations.

Clay’s current schedule had been a nightmare of meeting after meeting. Tonight all he wanted was a cold beer and a quiet evening of TV. But when he walked through the front door, Maizie met him in the living room. There were candles on the dining room table and soft music playing on the stereo.

Please, please, please—not tonight. Any other time—at least any time other than the last six months—Clay would have been randy and ready, but not now. Please God, not now. He was so tired he wouldn’t be able to get it up even for the love of his wife.

Maizie was oblivious to his turmoil. But who could blame her? He hadn’t been willing to share. Not only had she gone to a ton of trouble, she was absolutely gorgeous in an off-the-shoulder pale blue silk blouse. Normally he’d have that blouse off in thirty seconds. And a heartbeat later he’d have her in bed, but not tonight.

Clay could tell she was getting ready to say something important. He hoped that in his addled state he could come up with the right answer.

“Clay.” Maizie put her arms around his neck. “I think we should go away for the weekend.” She emphasized the suggestion with a sexy shimmer up and down his body.

Oh, sheesh! He pulled her into his arms and rested his chin on the top of her head. She was tall, but at 6’4” he still had a couple of inches on her.

“Maizie, sweetheart. I can’t. There’s nothing I’d love to do more than spend a weekend with you, preferably somewhere far away from telephones and e-mail and nasty clients. But right now it’s impossible. I’m up to my ass in alligators on this project.”

Clay was tempted to tell her about the precarious nature of their finances, but decided against it. He didn’t want to worry her. Why should they both get ulcers? But even he knew that was a crock. The truth was he was embarrassed.

It was several seconds before Maizie pulled away, giving him a glance he couldn’t quite decipher. If he was lucky she wouldn’t be planning something nutty. But lately Lady Luck hadn’t been smiling on him.