Читать книгу Naked Ambition - Jule McBride, Jule Mcbride - Страница 6

Eight months later

“SUSANNAH, YOU’RE MORE FAMOUS than J.D.,” Ellie teased, smoothing a hand over her black cocktail dress and looking around Susannah’s restaurant. “And any minute now, you’re going to get the call saying J.D. finally agreed to your terms in the divorce!”

“Don’t forget your polling company has been just as successful. Besides, none of this would have happened without you and Joe,” Susannah said breathlessly, her heart full to bursting as she glanced around the cozy eatery she’d opened six months before, then at Joe O’Grady the man who’d unexpectedly walked into her life. “When the foxhole shuts, the rabbit hutch opens,” her mama had always said. Still, Susannah was nervous about getting the call she expected from her lawyer tonight.

At noon, when she’d spoken to J.D. for the first time in eight months, he’d said, “Susannah, come home. Come tonight. Now. We have to talk.”

“Not after what you did.”

“I didn’t sleep with her.”

“Liar.”

“Listen to me, sweetheart.”

Against her will, she’d felt his voice pulling her heartstrings. “Are your friends still in our house?”

Our house. She’d said the words, knowing Banner Manor would remain hers and J.D.’s even after he was no longer allowed inside. “They’re not my friends.”

“At least you finally realized that.”

“I’ll get everybody out.”

That meant he hadn’t yet. “Promises,” Susannah managed to say. “I can’t see you,” she’d added, then kicked herself for even having considered it.

“Just do it. We’re worth it. What about all the years we’ve spent together? Come to town. Don’t meet me at the house. That way you won’t see any other people. Go to the Alabama,” he’d coaxed, picking up on her vulnerability. “Just you and me. No lawyers. No music people. There’s a direct flight in two hours. I checked. You’ll be at the airport in Bayou Blair by seven this evening, on the Alabama by eight. Just go outside right now and catch a cab to the airport. Don’t pass go. You know we can’t get a divorce.”

It was just like him, spontaneous to a fault, showing he’d never change, but she’d begin to weaken, anyway. “I can’t.”

“You have to, Susannah.”

“Why?”

“Because you’re my wife.”

For a second, it seemed the best argument she’d ever heard.

“Say yes.”

The one word—so simple but so complex when it came to J.D.—came out before she could stop it. “Yes.”

“Eight o’clock on the Alabama,” he’d repeated quickly. Before she could change her mind, she heard a soft click, then the dial tone.

For the next few hours, she’d watched the clock, her eyes fixed on the minute hand until the time of the flight came and went. Then she’d phoned her attorney, Garrison Bedford, and explained that she was being pressured. When Garrison called back moments later he reported that J.D. now understood she wasn’t coming, and had to agree to the terms of the divorce. He’d promised to sign all necessary papers and vacate the house by eight, which was when she’d agreed to meet him. Now Susannah was waiting for Garrison’s final call.

Just a few moments ago, she’d thought it had come. She’d been called to the phone, but then the caller had hung up. Maybe it was J.D. again. Each step in the separation had been messy. For months, J.D. had tried to keep Banner Manor, if only to antagonize Susannah. “He’s saying possession’s ninetenths of the law,” Garrison first reported.

So Susannah had settled into the two-bedroom apartment she and Ellie had rented on the Lower East Side. She’d started scanning personal ads, just like Ellie, looking for hot dates, but then Garrison told her to stop, since it would jeopardize her divorce. She’s also taken the first waitress job she’d been offered.

By the end of her first day at Joe O’Grady’s, she’d realized that sipping sodas while J.D. played music at various venues had taught her reams about the restaurant business and booking acts. Within a week, she’d devised an innovative plan to rearrange Joe’s restaurant, expanding seating capacity and revenue, then she’d doctored the pecan pie on his dessert menu by adding ingredients from her mama’s recipe, which in Bayou Banner, had been as famous as Delia’s strawberry-rhubarb confection.

“She’s amazing,” Joe had bragged to Ellie, not bothering to hide his attraction when both women dined in his restaurant. “Susannah’s got a knack for this industry. She talked to our chef about the menu, and he’s desperate to try all her recipes. She ought to open her own place.”

“That’s a great idea,” Ellie had enthused.

“As soon as J.D. agrees to the terms of the divorce, I’m going home to Banner Manor,” Susannah had reminded.

“You only have to supervise when you first open,” Joe had assured her, having heard about her situation during their interview. “Somebody else can manage the business later.”

“J.D. hired somebody to run his daddy’s tackle shop,” Susannah had admitted, wishing she wasn’t still so fixated on J.D. Unlike Ellie, she’d found something wrong with every potential lover in the personals. They were too tall, too short, too smart or not smart enough, and as much as she’d hated to admit it, their only true flaw was that they weren’t J.D. Not that it mattered, since she couldn’t have a fling till the divorce was finalized.

“Lee Polls is being run by an outsider,” Ellie had reminded, as she and Joe had continued talking.

“I’m a financial partner in other eateries around town,” Joe had continued. “I backed an ex-chef when he opened his own place and hired a manager here, so I can spend more time downtown booking acts in my jazz club, Blue Skies.”

Ellie had shown Susannah an article about the club. “You own Blue Skies, too,” Ellie had murmured, admiring Joe’s entrepreneurial skills.

“Because my favorite part of the job is booking acts, I’m there in the afternoons when people audition,” Joe had explained. “Susannah, if you’ve got more recipes as good as the one for pecan pie, and if you want to open a place, I might agree to be a partner, and even bring in music acts.”

Susannah had started to feel as if she was stepping into a fairy tale. “You’re offering to back me financially?”

“I’d have to sample your menu first,” Joe had said, his tone suggesting he wanted to try more than just food.

“If we can make money, I’m in, too,” Ellie had said.

“Tons,” Joe assured.

Ellie and Joe had continued talking about restaurant leases, health codes and liquor licenses, but Susannah had barely heard. She’d begun mentally riffling through recipes handed down by women in her family for generations. The idea of opening a Southern-style eatery like Delia’s Diner was so exciting that whole minutes passed during which Susannah didn’t even think about J.D. It was the first relief she’d felt, and more than anything else, that had spurred her on.

“I can use Mama’s recipes!” she’d exclaimed. “Why, Ellie, you know how everybody always loved her vinaigrette-mustard coleslaw and barbequed lima beans.”

“Her hot pepper cheese grits were the best,” Ellie had answered. “And nothing beats her cardamom-sassafras tea and home-churned ice cream with fresh-crushed mint.”

And so, Oh Susannah’s was born in a hole-in-the-wall near the famous Katz deli on New York’s Lower East Side, on Attorney Street, close to the apartment they were renting. Even the street’s name had seemed fitting, given Susannah’s ongoing long-distance legal battle with J.D. Putting her energy into the restaurant had helped her escape negative emotions, and she’d wound up using the butter-yellow and cherry-red color scheme she’d spent so much time devising for the kitchen at Banner Manor. The white eyelet curtains she’d dreamed about covered the windows, and mismatched rugs adorned hardwood floors. Short-stemmed flowers were bunched on rustic tables in mason jars.

A month after the opening, The New York Times had run a picture of Susannah, Joe and Ellie, their arms slung around one another’s shoulders. The dining experience had been called “down-home elegance,” and ever since, there had been a line outside the door. Delia’s recipe for strawberry-rhubarb pie had arrived with a note that read,

The article’s pinned to the bulletin board at the diner. You and Ellie have done Bayou Banner proud, and your folks would be tickled pink. Seeing as my competition (you) has moved out of state, I’m hoping you won’t hurt me with my own recipe. Just promise not to franchise anytime soon!

P.S., J.D. got even crazier after you left town, if that can be imagined. Of course, since Sheriff Kemp finally asked me out on a date (and I’m going), I’ll do whatever I can to keep your soon-to-be-ex-husband from getting arrested. But you must know: Mama Ambrosia came in for coffee, and she says trouble is brewing in J.D.’s future.

Later that day, Susannah’s emotions had tangled into knots. Since the New York Times article was on Delia’s bulletin board, J.D. must have seen it, which would serve him right. He wasn’t the only one who make a name for themselves. She didn’t want to rub his nose in her success, she told herself now, glancing around Oh Susannah’s, but the man deserved some comeuppance. Yes…revenge was a dish best served cold, she decided with satisfaction, studying a slice of Delia’s pie as a waiter passed.

Still, what had Delia meant when she’d said J.D. was worse than before? Was the gorgeous Sandy Smithers gone? And was there more trouble on the horizon, as Mama Ambrosia claimed.

Kicking herself for caring, Susannah reminded herself of all the holidays, birthdays and anniversaries J.D. had missed. Before he’d gotten famous, holidays had been fun. On Valentine’s Day, J.D. had licked chocolate syrup from all her erogenous zones, and now, as she recalled the event, an unwanted shiver of longing sizzled along her veins, then ka-boomed at her nerve endings in a grand finale.

No matter how much she fought it, desire for him felt like a rope uncoiling inside her. Her hands were burning to grab that rope and climb, but it wound around and around her making her dizzy as it spun.

Now she was coming undone, imagining J.D.’s hands grabbing the backs of her thighs, pulling her close. His hips connected, rocking with hers, and his erection was hot and hard, searing her belly. Sensation suddenly somersaulted into her limbs, racing to all her choicest places, and tiny jolts of electricity shot to her toes like lightning.

She could almost taste J.D.’s mouth, too, which was always as sweet as cotton candy. Realizing she’d been swept away again by her own imagination, she thanked God she hadn’t gone to meet him on the Alabama and groaned inwardly, reminding herself to think of her soon-to-be-ex-husband as poison. And as soon as Garrison called tonight to say her divorce was final, she was going to take an antidote called “sex with Joe O’Grady.”

“I can’t wait to hear Tara Jones sing,” Ellie was saying, nodding toward the stage.

This was the first time live music was being offered. “Me, neither,” Susannah managed, but in reality, she just wished she could shake off the aftershocks of her fantasy about J.D. The backs of her knees felt weak and her pulse uneven.

Clearing her throat, Susannah added, “She wants a low-key place to play on weekends, but I’m not sure I can stand to hear country-western,” The last thing she needed was to hear Willie Nelson singing “Angel Flying Too Close To the Ground,” or Johnny Cash and June Carter’s snappy version of “Walk The Line,” or Patsy Cline belting out “Crazy.”

New York wasn’t agreeing with her, either. Even without Sandy Smithers in the picture, Susannah might have run away with Ellie just to escape J.D.’s big-city friends. All their hustle, bustle and hype had been worrying her every last nerve. Now that she’d traded places and was living in their world, she missed Banner Manor even more. A new part-time manager at the restaurant was working out well, so technically Susannah could have toured the city some, but she just wasn’t interested.

Ellie was taking to the place like a fish to water, but Susannah was still pretending she was sleeping in her big brass bed in Banner Manor. Oh, it was fanciful, but she’d strain her ears until she could hear willow branches brushing against the windows in tandem with J.D.’s breathing. A chime made out of sterling silver spoons that she’d hung outside would sound, then she’d hear a gurgle from a dam he’d built in the creek to create a nearby waterfall.

Sometimes, if she imagined extra hard, she could almost hear the familiar creaks of the old house settling down for the night, then the whir of crickets and splashes of gators and fish in the wetlands. Music of the swamp, her daddy used to call it. New York’s sirens and blaring horns would fade away, drowned out by her own hoot-owls. More than once, she’d cried herself to sleep.

Realizing she’d been staring across the room at Joe, she blinked just as he glanced up from Tara, seemingly oblivious to the charms of the singer’s enhanced curves and flaming red hair. After saying goodbye, he strode toward Susannah and Ellie.

“Don’t forget,” Ellie sang. “Tonight, you and Joe are going to celebrate the call. Cha-cha-cha.”

“So much for my plan to have sex with tall, dark, handsome strangers,” Susannah said nervously. Joe’s hair was blond, and he was no taller than J.D.’s five-ten.

“The longer you put off sleeping with him,” Ellie said, “the more attracted he gets. He’s practically salivating! I wish somebody was that hot for me! Even Tara Jones isn’t fazing him, and she’s stunning.”

“If it wasn’t for Garrison making me wait, I’d have slept with Joe already,” Susannah assured, not feeling nearly as confident as she sounded. Of course, Joe had insisted on doing everything but sleep together. He was kinky and inventive and made up silly love games, so Susannah figured it would be easy to turn herself into a real hellcat for him. It just hadn’t happened yet.

“As soon as J.D. says he’s out of Banner Manor,” Susannah vowed, “I’m going to wrap myself around Joe O’Grady like corn kernels around a cob, so he can nibble all night.”

“Make a corncob pipe and you two can really smoke.”

Susannah chuckled. Joe had kissed her and fondled her thighs under her skirt while they’d been eating hot fudge sundaes at a soda shop. He’d role played too, pretending to be a cop arresting her, and a fireman checking for intruders, which had made her laugh. She felt something, too, just not the sparks she’d experienced with J.D. But that was just because Garrison hadn’t given her the go-ahead, she reminded herself.

“Oh, don’t look so anxious,” Ellie chided. “All men come with the same basic equipment, right? How hard can it be to have sex with a stud like Joe?”

It would be easier if J.D. hadn’t been her only lover so far, Susannah thought. “Sex is pure mechanics,” she agreed, determined to be her own best cheerleader. “It’s just a matter of knowing what to touch, for how long, and when.” Still…what if J.D. had ruined her for somebody else? Maybe she could forgive him for being a lousy husband, but for ruining her sex life, she’d have to kill him.

Ellie suddenly murmured, “Joe sort of looks like J.D., doesn’t he?”

“No! Joe’s got blond hair and brown eyes, Ellie! And he always wears suits! J.D. never bothers with a shirt, much less a tie. He goes around bare-chested in worn-out jeans and cowboy boots. He’s dark, too, from staying out in the sun too much.”

“I’m talking about Joe’s body type,” Ellie persisted. “He’s medium height and angular, with slightly bowed legs and the same bony cowboy butt. He’s even got a goatee.”

“That’s what’s in style now,” Susannah scoffed.

“I just noticed,” Ellie continued as if Susannah hadn’t even spoken. “Maybe you’re not going to be able to get over J.D., after all. Are you sure you want this divorce, Susannah?”

Susannah gaped. “You’re supposed to be my best friend, the person I can turn to in a crisis. I started using my maiden name again,” she added. “If there’s any resemblance between Joe and J.D., it’s completely coincidental.”

“A lot of guys have flirted with you, but you picked Joe,” Ellie countered. “His voice is like J.D.’s, too. I mean, not exactly. J.D.’s a famous singer, of course. Still, Joe’s voice is gravelly and low.”

“He’s a man, Ellie! All men have gravelly, low voices!”

The argument ended because Joe slipped behind Susannah. As he wrapped both arms around her waist and pulled her against him, Ellie said, “I’ll leave you two alone.”

“Fine by me,” Joe murmured huskily. His muscular thighs strained against the backs of Susannah’s and she could feel the nudge of what promised to be an erection soon. “I can’t wait for Garrison to call. Excited?”

Susannah’s knees threatened to buckle. Ellie was right! His voice was like J.D.’s! Oh, his voice was pitched higher, and she’d never mistake it for her husband’s, but there was a resemblance. Why hadn’t she noticed before? “Uh…yeah,” she managed.

Then she noticed Ellie motioning her to the phone.

Garrison.

“The call,” she whispered, panicking. As soon as she spoke to Garrison, she was supposed to sleep with Joe!

He was pulling her toward the phone, but as they reached it, Susannah slowed her steps. Something was wrong, she realized. Ellie had turned chalk-white. Extending the phone, she whispered, “It’s Robby.”

“Robby Robriquet?” Ellie hadn’t spoken to her ex-lover in eight months; no wonder she looked as if she’d seen a ghost.

Taking the receiver, Susannah brought it to her ear. “Robby?”

“I have bad news, Susannah. I just talked to Sheriff Kemp, and we decided it might be better if I was the one to call. Uh…we can’t find June.”

“My sister?” As Susannah’s fingers curled more tightly around the receiver, she visualized Sheriff Kemp on the doorstep of Banner Manor years ago. Clad in a tan uniform, he’d kept his hands in front of him, stiffly holding his hat. “We need to go inside and sit down, honey,” he’d said. “It’s about your mama and daddy.” Susannah’s whole body froze. “What’s happened to June?”

“No…not June.”

Relief was short-lived. Was the call about June’s husband, Clive? Or one of her nieces, Laurie or Billie-Jean?

Before Susannah could ask, Robby continued. “June’s fine, but we were hoping to track her down before we called you.”

“J.D.?” The truth hit her with the power of a freight train. They’d been looking for June, so she could provide Susannah comfort. A cry tore from Susannah’s throat, and vaguely she wondered if this was how Mama Ambrosia saw things in her crystal ball not really seeing them at all, but only feeling them deep down in her bones. A hand shot to her neck, and her fingers closed around the engraved charm that lay against her skin.

“I’m sorry, Susannah,” Robby was saying. Had he continued talking all this time?

“There was an explosion on the Alabama around eight o’clock. An attendant at the marina saw him onboard. The coast guard’s bringing what’s left of the boat up, but it’ll take a few days. Until then, we won’t know whether it was mechanical failure, a fire in the galley or the generator. The boat blew sky high, then sank just as fast.

“Because of all the legal goings, on between you and J.D., Garrison’s here. J.D. left everything to you. Earlier today, he refused to sign any divorce papers, saying you were his beneficiary. You need to catch the first plane you can. Ellie, too. It would be good if she traveled with you.”

“He wanted me to meet him on the boat at eight,” she said.

“Oh, no,” Robby whispered.

The thought hung in the air. Had J.D. caused the explosion because she hadn’t shown up? But no…he may be wild, but he wasn’t suicidal. Maybe he was okay. Maybe…

“He’s gone, Susannah.”

Her consciousness seemed to leave her body. She was floating away, high above the room, staring down at herself as if she were having an out-of-body experience. “I’m on my way,” she managed, but the words sounded foreign, as if a stranger had spoken them. It felt as if she were inside a vacuum. From somewhere far off, Tara Jones had started singing one of the last songs Susannah needed to hear, “Precious Memories.”

“That publicist, Maureen, keeps asking me about arrangements,” Robby was saying. “I guess she’s bringing camera crews here. Would it help you if I talked to folks at the funeral home before you get home? Or do you want—”

Camera crews? This was a private matter. “Please,” she murmured. She couldn’t face this without help. Even then, she wasn’t sure she could handle this. “Get those people out of my house,” she whispered. “Especially that woman Sandy Smithers. Get her out.”

“I will,” Robby promised.

Somehow she said goodbye and hung up. The color was still gone from Ellie’s face. “J.D.?” She asked hoarsely.

Woodenly, Susannah repeated what Robby had said.

“I’ll come with you,” Joe said, pushing hair from Susannah’s eyes when she looked at him.

Had she really considered sleeping with this man? Joe O’Grady was comparable, but she’d known J.D. since she was five years old. Now J.D. was gone and Joe was all she had, and yet, she only wanted J.D. It was wrong, but suddenly she didn’t even care about all the mistakes J.D. had made, including sleeping with Sandy Smithers. “I wish I’d never left Bayou Banner,” she tried to say, but no words came out.

“The manager can watch the restaurant,” Joe said. “I’ll help you pack.”

But her dresses were still hanging where they belonged, sandwiched between the cowboy shirts she’d always starched for J.D. although he’d never bothered to wear them. No doubt, her shoes were still in the over-the-door rack. The lefts and rights had probably been switched by J.D., something that always made him laugh because if she was sleepy enough, she’d put her shoes on the wrong feet.

“I have to go alone.”

“You need somebody with you,” Joe persisted.

She’d have Ellie, Robby and people in her community who’d known her all her life. Otherwise, she wanted to be alone with anything J.D. had left behind, his effects and memories. Didn’t Joe understand? Could anyone? J.D.’s death felt even more private than all the things they’d shared in bed.

Would she really never feel his lips crushing down on hers again? Or the damp, hot spear of his tongue as it plunged into her mouth? Or his huge hands as they glided down her belly, then arrowed between her thighs, stroking and building fiery heat? A whimper came from her throat as she imagined his biceps—bulging with corded muscles, shot through with visible veins—wrapping around her and squeezing.

Due to the exertions of performing on stage, J.D. always worked out, even when he was partying too hard, so he was ribbed top to bottom. She could smell the strangely sweet, musky scent of his sweat, and she wanted to shut her eyes and revel in the feeling of its dampness against her own skin. Right now, she needed J.D. more than ever. Only he could comfort her, but that was impossible. He was gone!

She’d been in denial. She’d never get over him, no matter what horrible things he’d done, but now she had no choice. “Maybe in a few days,” she forced herself to say. “Let me go down first, Joe…see what’s going on. After the funeral, maybe then…”

“I should come now.” His eyes were probing hers. All along, he’d thought she was ready to become his lover. She’d thought so, too. But it was a lie. She searched her mind, hoping she hadn’t led him on, but how could she be expected to explain emotions to Joe that she hadn’t yet admitted to herself? And besides, she wasn’t sure how she felt. She couldn’t gauge the compass of her heart tomorrow. Although she hadn’t seen him for months, J.D. was her husband.

Joe seemed to respect that. “We’ll talk every day?”

“Yes,” she agreed numbly, confused but unable to cope with pressures. Would she have called off the divorce? Refused to sign legal papers? A whimper escaped her throat. If she’d stayed home, maybe J.D. would be alive.

J.D. had still wanted her, too! Of course he did! As Joe leaned closer, brushing his lips to her cheek, only one thought raced through her mind—he wasn’t J.D. And then, suddenly, J.D. seemed impossibly close. She sensed his presence. Was it his ghost? His spirit?

She was far too practical to believe in apparitions, but she whirled around, anyway, glancing toward the white curtains covering the window. But no…it was only her imagination. She could swear he’d been right outside, though, on the other side of the glass. Shaking her head, she realized she was experiencing shades of her mama, who’d had a reputation for possessing a fanciful mind. Susannah’s eyes searched the street, then settled on the name of her restaurant, emblazoned across the glass of the door. Fingers of twilight touched golden letters that spelled, Oh Susannah’s, but she saw nothing more.

Silently she cursed herself for naming the business after a song J.D. had sung to her so often. More than life, she wanted to hear his husky voice again.

And she could, but only on the CDs he’d left behind.