Читать книгу Naked Ambition - Jule McBride, Jule Mcbride - Страница 7

IN THE LIVING ROOM OF Banner Manor, Susannah quit sorting J.D.’s unanswered fan mail, losing herself to his music, feeling unable to pick up the phone when it rang. Oh, Susannah, don’t you cry for me. I’ve come from Alabama with a banjo on my knee…

She rarely drank. J.D. always jokingly said she stayed as dry as burned toast in the Sahara, but now she took another sip of brandy, wishing it would blunt the pain. Maybe she should have chosen one of J.D.’s stronger spirits, the whisky or gin. Either way, the most lethal spirit remained J.D. himself, since memories of him were everywhere.

She finally lifted the phone and pressed Talk, figuring it was either Ellie, June or Joe, they’d called daily since the funeral two weeks ago. Of course, Ellie mostly wanted to talk about whether Susannah had run into Robby. Seeing him had made her best friend start obsessing about her relationship again. “You don’t have to treat me like an invalid,” Susannah said before the caller could speak. “I’m fine.”

“Not according to my crystal ball. So, honey, if you care about your future, you’d better not hang up on me.”

It was Mama Ambrosia, the only other person who’d been calling. “You again!” Susannah looked beyond the open living room windows, glancing past French doors that led to a patio beyond, then she took in J.D.’s guitar picks, which were strewn across the fireplace mantle. “Didn’t I ask you not to call again?”

“Now, darlin’, you’ve never come to see me, and I know you distrust my craft,” Mama Ambrosia began. A large powerhouse of a woman, she prattled in a voice made deeper by the hand-rolled cigarettes she chain-smoked. “But your mama trusted me. J.D., too. He and I go back quite aways, which must be why his vibrations are so strong. All night long, I’ve been getting big ol’ shivers.”

“Pardon me for saying so, but you’re crazy, do you know that? I don’t believe in ghosts—I already told you that—so I hope you don’t intend to restart the conversation we had the last time you called, which was only—” Susannah looked at the clock on the mantle “—twenty minutes ago.”

“Crazy?” countered Mama Ambrosia. “So some say. But I’ll remind you, missy, they said the same about your mama at times. Just like J.D., she was a handful, prone to daydreaming. And it’s high time you admit you inherited her genes.”

“Only the good ones,” Susannah assured her.

Previously, Mama Ambrosia had claimed J.D. had been a regular customer, visiting often to hear his fortune, and since she’d divulged facts only J.D. could know, Susannah believed her. Try as she might, Susannah couldn’t squelch the surge of hope she felt, either, when Mama Ambrosia called as if she might connect with J.D.’s spirit and say goodbye. Not that she and J.D. could resolve their differences, but still, she’d feel better. Despite being characteristically pragmatic, she found herself prompting, “You said you felt a shiver. What exactly does that mean?”

“That he’s in trouble, Susannah.”

“He’s in far worse than that,” Susannah pointed out, taking another big swig of brandy. She’d scattered her almost-ex’s ashes to the four winds. Determined to feel no more pain, she squared her jaw and drank some more, but the hot taste of alcohol only reminded her of J.D.’s kisses. Her throat was scratchy from crying, and the booze soothed it as the syrupy warmth slid slowly downward, burning all the way to her belly. It curled like a ball of fire and felt so good that she knocked back yet another drink, sighing when the scalding heat slid through her veins.

“He’s in trouble on the other side,” Mama Ambrosia clarified ominously, bringing Susannah back to reality. The reality of non reality, she thought, since Mama was clearly as crazy as a loon.

“If he’d caused as much trouble there as he caused in life, I don’t doubt it,” conceded Susannah, as if this were the most normal conversation in the world. “Maybe he and the head honcho of the underworld are fighting over who gets to hold the scepter or sit on the throne.” She realized she must be feeling the effects of the alcohol when she found herself imagining J.D. gripping a pitchfork and wearing a skin-tight red suit that showed off his cowboy butt. Already he possessed the right style of goatee and mustache, not to mention a devilish glint in his eyes.

“Now, now,” Mama Ambrosia chided. “You still love him, and that’s why I’m calling. Even if you won’t admit it, my crystal ball told me so. Besides, I’m morally bound as a fortune-teller to alert you to your dismal cosmic situation.”

Yes, Mama was definitely certifiable. “My cosmic situation?”

“Expect a visitation.”

Susannah was starting to feel like a parrot. “A what?”

“Visitation. As in when somebody visits.”

Susannah could only shake her head. “I know what a visitation is.”

“Then why did you ask?”

Not bothering to answer, Susannah said, “A visitation from whom?”

“The dearly departed who was your dearly beloved.”

“Very doubtful.” Thankfully, her call waiting beeped just then. “Sorry, I really should get the other line,” Susannah said, trying to muster an apologetic tone. She was almost as mad at J.D. for dying as she was at all his other transgressions combined, so Mama Ambrosia’s wild claims weren’t helping her mood. “The last thing I need is a visitation from J.D.,” she said. “And if I got one, I might just kill him all over again.” God only knew J.D. deserved a fate worse than death for the mess he’d made of their lives.

“Whatever. And the other man on the other line,” Mama Ambrosia said, “is the one you dated in New York. I saw him in my crystal ball, too, so I’ll let you go.”

Susannah couldn’t help but ask, “Do you really have a crystal ball?”

“I used to, but it broke,” Mama Ambrosia returned sadly. “This new one’s plastic, but don’t worry, it works just as well. Now answer Joe’s call, darlin’.”

Susannah was startled to hear his name, but probably, Ellie had mentioned Joe to someone at Delia’s Diner when she was in for the funeral, and that’s how Mama had heard it. Sighing, Susannah clicked the other line. “Hello?”

“Are you thinking about me?”

“Joe. It really is you.”

“Who were you expecting?”

J.D. Determined not to let Mama Ambrosia fill her mind with otherworldly impossibilities, Susannah pushed away the thought. “You,” she said. He wasn’t even close to ghostly. He was solid and real, and his persistence kept reminding her that life was meant for the living. Suddenly she added, “Where are you?” It sounded as if he were right next door.

“Home. I just came from your restaurant. Tara’s packing in people, and a guy from Chicago came by to see if she wanted to do a gig there tomorrow, which she is.”

“Good.” She paused, the idea that Joe was actually in Bayou Banner flitting through her mind. “We really do have a strong connection. Are you sure you’re not next door?”

“I wish. But what if I come tomorrow? Ellie gave me her key in case you say yes and are out when I get there. She said there’s a direct flight to Bayou Blair in about two hours.”

So, Ellie was still playing matchmaker. “Please let me stay and help,” she’d begged right after the funeral.

“You don’t need to be around Daddy Eddie and Robby,” Susannah had argued. “June and my nieces are going to help me, and besides, your business needs you.”

“Then promise you’ll let Joe come stay with you,” Ellie had urged. “You need to try, at least. Let him comfort you.”

“I’ll think about it,” Susannah had promised.

In the meantime, Susannah’s new manager was using her boss’s absence to shine, so Susannah had been able to remain in Bayou Banner roaming the grounds and sorting through J.D.’s belongings. She’d been listening to his CDs, too, although they made her ache, body and soul.

The soft, melodic songs on his first collection, Delta Dreams, had been composed with guitars, harps and flutes. Welcome to My Town contained humorous songs about Bayou Banner—“Dining with Delia,” “When I left my Wife For Hodges’ Motor Lodge,” and “Sheriff Kemp’s Blues.” Songs for Susannah was the most recent album, and Susannah still couldn’t listen to it without crying. Coordinators for the award ceremony had called; J.D. had been nominated, and they wondered if she’d accept the award if he won. Susannah had said yes, so she had to return to New York in a few days.

Thankfully, Robby had arranged the funeral, then held photographers and reporters at bay, as well as the publicist, Maureen, who’d arrived clad in black, crying louder than the bereaved, including Susannah’s in-laws who’d come from Florida. J.D.’s parents and Susannah’s real friends had wrapped around her like a security blanket, and the music had been perfect. The church organist played “Amazing Grace” and “Will the Circle Be Unbroken,” songs that comforted Susannah even now.

At the river, near where the Alabama had sunk, she’d cast J.D.’s ashes to the wind. Cremation wasn’t what anyone would have chosen, but the explosion made burial an impossibility. After the funeral, Sheriff Kemp had handed Susannah the only items the coast guard found—a Saint Christopher’s medal she didn’t recognize. The only saving grace was that Susannah’s niece, Laurie, had straightened up overnight. She’d foregone her temporary tattoos, trashy clothes and blue hair coloring, and she was now dressing like a model citizen.

Due to the illogical nature of grief, Susannah had wound up stuffing J.D.’s silly old lumberjack hat into her pocketbook the day of the funeral, and she’d held it in both hands during the service. She’d always hated the hat, which was made of red-and-black-plaid flannel with oversized ear flaps. And because she thought it looked ridiculous on J.D., he’d always worn it to provoke her.

Now she’d taken to wearing it and dressing in his shirts since she could still detect his scent. She’d then wander aimlessly in her own house, sometimes plucking J.D.’s guitars, although she could play only the few songs he’d taught her.

Realizing she’d drifted, her fingers tightened around the phone receiver. “I’m sorry,” she murmured, putting Joe on speaker phone, so she could put down the receiver and drink her brandy. “What did you say?”

“I said I’m worried.” His voice floated into the air, husky with concern. “Uh…how much are you drinking, if you don’t mind my asking?”

She leaned toward the phone. “Just some brandy. Why?”

“You sound…a little funny.”

“You’re on speaker. Maybe that’s why.”

He offered a noncommittal grunt.

Thankfully the brandy was starting to blunt the pain, so she took another sip. “Sorry,” she apologized again. “It’s hard to be here…”

“Then don’t wait for the awards ceremony to come back. Or let me come there. I want to hold you, Susannah.”

He sounded so close. “I know,” she managed. But she needed to be alone. She’d lost her folks as suddenly as J.D., and now Banner Manor seemed full of ghosts. More so, since storms were rocking the bayou.

Banner Manor lacked central air, and although there were window units, Susannah kept opening the windows. Outside, shadowy trees came alive at night, and alone in the dark, in the bed she’d shared with J.D. for years, she’d awaken in a cold sweat, hearing spooky sounds, then jumping from bed and heading for the window. She’d stare at the lightning, letting rain splash her cheeks like tears. And sometimes, she could swear she saw intruders on the lawn, but no one was there.

Back in bed, she’d shut her eyes and let scents from summer foliage transport her to recollections of physical pleasure she and J.D. could never share again. She’d cup her own breasts, imagining J.D. was touching her, then glide a hand down her belly and between her legs. Slowly she’d stroke, twining her fingers into her own soft curls until, in a haze of half sleep, she’d believe J.D. was touching her. Dampness would flood her and she’d arch, lifting her hips from the mattress just as she felt his tongue circle the shell of her ear. As she climbed higher, squeezing her eyes shut, she’d press her fingers inside, pretending they were J.D.’s hard cock, and then she’d hear his seductive whisper. “Oh, Susannah, how about a little magic? Do you want to play a game of scarves and cards? Hats and rabbits?”

Suddenly, she blinked, realizing Joe was still talking. “Uh…what?”

“I asked if your sister, June, had been there today.”

“Not today.” Susannah leaned toward the phone once more as she took another sip of brandy. “Her husband’s folks came in for the funeral and wound up staying, so she’s busy. And anyway, I’ve got things under control.”

“Do you?”

“Sure,” she said, but grief had overwhelmed her. Hours passed, during which she was lost to memories and couldn’t fully account for time. Everything felt unreal, like she was watching a movie, or reading a book. She kept expecting J.D. to jump out from behind a curtain and tell her this was a big joke.

“If you really don’t want me to keep you company, Tara asked me to go to Chicago with her. Just as friends, of course,” Joe clarified. “She thinks I can help her negotiate a better deal with the club owner if her audition works out.”

“That’s sweet of you…”

“But?”

“Oh, I do miss you, Joe,” she admitted. Dammit, Ellie was right. Susannah needed to let go of what was no longer possible. J.D. was never coming back, no matter what Mama Ambrosia said. “If you go, will you be back for the awards ceremony?”

“Sure. But right now, my bags are packed and by the door, and I wish you’d let me come see you. Wondering when I’ll see you again is torture. When I shut my eyes, I have a vision of you that just won’t quit, Susannah. Right now, I can picture every inch of you. I love your body, how soft your eyes look. I can feel your arms around my neck, your long legs gliding against mine…”

She swallowed guiltily. “I know, Joe—”

“No you don’t,” he interjected, sounding frustrated. “Give us a try. That’s all I’m asking. I know you want me. And I want you. Your mouth’s so hot.” Words were coming in a flood now. “I can’t wait to cover it with mine again. I want to crush your lips, feel my tongue inside.”

His voice caught and his breath turned shallow. “I…think about your breasts. How they move under your top, Susannah…just like your hips when you walk on those milelong legs. Sometimes, when you’re in the walk-in cooler at your restaurant, I notice your nipples get tight under your shirt.” Sucking in an audible breath, he said, “Susannah, I get hard just thinking about you, about the things we’ve already shared…”

“I know. I—”

“No you don’t,” he repeated. “He’s gone, Susannah. And I don’t want to hurt you or sound mean, but you were breaking up with J.D., anyway. You and your husband had been separated the better part of the year. I know you’re grieving, but it’s not right for you to be alone. Not when so many people care about you. Let me come there now. Or…”

“Or what?”

“I can’t keep waiting, Susannah.”

“I’m not trying to hurt you,” she said. But she was, wasn’t she? He wasn’t trying to pressure her, but he wanted her, and she was so lonely. Definitely, she wasn’t used to not having a man. It had been so long…

“Okay,” she murmured, the brandy thickening her speech. “Come to Bayou Banner now, and we can fly back to New York together in a few days for to the awards ceremony.”

“I’ll be there before you know it,” he said quickly.

Suddenly all her deepest recesses ached. God, how she craved to feel strong arms wrapping tightly around her back, and a man’s rock-hard, hairy chest pressing against her breasts. She yearned to feel the heat of his searing, blistering mouth when it covered her lips. Already she could feel his thighs straining against hers. She deserved relief from all this sadness and grief. She deserved release.

“I’m on my way,” he said. And then, as if afraid she might change her mind, he whispered a quick goodbye and the line went dead.

As the dial tone filled the air, she recradled the receiver and started. Something sounded by the window! Her feet moving of their own accord, she crossed swiftly to the French doors and stared into the darkness. “Nothing,” she whispered. Closing the doors, then the windows, she stared outside and gasped.

There! A white flash between trees. As it vanished, her heart hammered, making the pulse at her neck throb.

“Probably a stray dog,” she murmured. Or all the brandy. “Yes, it’s just my imagination.” Shaking off the uneasy feeling by reminding herself that she’d felt jumpy since the funeral, she glanced at the pile of J.D.’s fan mail and the sympathy cards that had flooded the post office. Some of the letters had been written before J.D. died, and she wasn’t surprised that so many woman claimed to be in love with him. Some offered to leave their husbands, or included risque pictures.

She lifted a sympathy card, addressed to her.

Dear Susannah,

If it wasn’t for your husband’s music, I never could have forgiven my man for his two-timing last year. But your husband’s new record, Songs for Susannah, is so touching. And I knew my husband loved me the way your husband loved you. Now, ever since I let my man come back home, wearing that hangdog expression, he’s stayed as straight as an arrow. Your man sang like an angel, and so many of his songs were about getting a second chance. Because of that, he helped a lot of people, and I just wanted you to know how he saved our marriage. He will be missed by the whole world.

Susannah wasn’t going to get another chance. An unexpected tear splashed down her cheek. “Is this any way to get in the mood for Joe?” she muttered. She had to quit reading these letters and let go of the past.

The second most-sexy man she’d ever met had plans for her…all of which included sex. She needed to forget self-recriminations, as well as past anger that could never be resolved. “For once, enjoy yourself,” she said. It had been a long time since she’d let herself feel good.

“I’ll take a long bath, then make the bed with the silk sheets. I’ll slip into a negligee, too,” she decided. “Then hunt down candles and oils.”

Joe had been wanting her for months, and two weeks ago she’d known it was high time she slept with him. Now, she tried to tell herself, nothing had changed. J.D. was gone, but her sex life wasn’t over.

Knowing Joe, he’d make that plane, too. Which left her just enough time to spruce up. By the time he let himself in with his key, she’d be in bed waiting.