Some Like Them Rich Read online

  And I didn’t have another thought about Don.

  Entering the house after dinner with Casey was quite different from the way I’d entered it a week ago. Lila was there—alone this time. She was watching an old movie on the big-screen television in the huge parlor. The house had to be built in the early part of the twentieth century. The living room was called the parlor then. On the coffee table was the small replica of a rocking chair with her name painted on it. She hadn’t mentioned where it came from, but I had a pretty good idea.

  “How was it?” Lila asked, muting the sound on the television.

  “The concert was fantastic.” I slipped onto the sofa at the opposite end, where Lila had her feet curled up under her and covered by a long robe.

  “And Casey, how was he?”

  “We spent the whole day together.”

  Lila stared at me and waited.

  “He’s a nice guy,” I said. “He’s got a great son.”

  “But …” she dangled.

  “No but,” I said.

  “Then what’s wrong? You aren’t dancing on air.”

  “I don’t often do that.”

  “Well, I have a reason for you to dance.”

  I stared at her, waiting. She folded her arms and smiled Mona Lisa style, letting the tension between us build.

  “What?” I finally asked.

  “He called.” Lila’s voice was low, so low I hardly heard her. Everything inside me spasmed. He could only be one person.

  “Who is he?” I asked, needing confirmation.

  “Don Randall, gorgeous hotel manager.”

  “What did he want?” I tried to sound bored, uninterested, yet my heart thudded at the knowledge that he’d been seeking me out.

  “He left a number. Said you should call whenever you got in.” Lila lowered her voice in a sotto voce whisper. “No matter what time.”

  “I am not calling him. The man hasn’t spoken to me in a week, didn’t even bother to tell me he was leaving the Vineyard. And now he wants me to call. Well, he can wait until … until the sun rises in the west.”

  “Well, I see he has your pantyhose in a knot,” Lila said.

  “No, he doesn’t.”

  “When you decide he does, his number is on the counter in the kitchen.”

  I glanced in that direction, but didn’t move. “What are you doing here anyway?” I asked. “What happened to Clay?”

  “He had to go back to work.”

  “Work? What does he do?”

  Lila looked a little uncomfortable. She swallowed before saying anything. “Now, Amber, I know why we came here. Clay isn’t rich, at least not in the traditional sense of the word.”

  “Traditional sense.” I stared at her. “You mean like with traditional money, dead presidents and all. That sort of thing?”

  She nodded. “He’s in furniture.”

  “Sales or manufacturing?”

  “Custom. He makes it himself.”

  “From scratch?”

  Lila nodded again. “Please don’t be angry with me. I know he’s not a doctor or lawyer. But he talks to me. Listens to me. He’s got rough hands. And I can’t help it, Amber, I want them all over me. My heart thuds when he walks in the room.”

  All her life Lila had been judged by other people. They thought they knew her, but they didn’t. No one knew who she really was. She was beautiful, everyone said so, but when Lila looked in the mirror she didn’t see a beautiful woman. She saw a warm human being. Others saw a beauty queen. A sex goddess. Some even saw a woman of easy virtue.

  Some of that was true. Lila had perpetrated that image, too. It was what men wanted, and she thought it was a way of getting what she wanted, too. But she’d found out through the hard knocks that she never got what she wanted.

  Men saw the package. The flawless skin and long legs, the shape of her face. The way the light struck her features. Of course, she enhanced the image with the right makeup and the right clothes, but she also had a mind, and few men had ever seen past her measurements. Most couldn’t tell you what color her eyes were, but they all probably knew her bra size.

  And because they knew that statistic, they thought she was very well experienced. They were wrong. The truth was, she’d only had three physical relationships in her life. Who would believe someone who had tits the size of hers and legs that stretched the length of the Brooklyn Bridge had only slept with three men?

  Consequently, it was the first thing they tried to do. She was either a challenge or a prize to the men she met. Bedding her was like sleeping with Dolly Parton. They all wanted to see and touch what was under the layers of clothing, find out what no other man—or at least only a handful—knew.

  Yet Lila had no intention of being the conquest or the notch on someone’s bedpost. That’s why my idea had seemed so plausible. Come here to this idyllic island and find a rich husband. But Lila wanted more than mere money in her future. She wanted a man who looked at her and saw through the exterior to the heart and brain that lurked beneath the designer clothes.

  Lila Easton had grown up in Brooklyn. She thought the shortest way to a man’s heart was across the Brooklyn Bridge.

  I was glad she’d found someone she liked, someone who liked her for being Lila Easton and not some pinup girl or a pick-up in a singles bar.

  “I’m glad, Lila,” I whispered earnestly. “Following your heart is sometimes the right thing to do.”

  She smiled. “Thanks, Amber. Have you changed your mind? Rich is nice, but it’s not any good if you don’t love the guy.”

  “Love. I’m not in love.”

  “Aren’t you? Think about how you’re acting whenever Don is around. And when he’s not. Maybe you’re more in love than you think.”

  Chapter 15

  Vermont was full of trees. It was so green. I’d never seen so many trees in my life. True to his word, Jordan West met us at the airport and rode back to the hotel with us. Shane had been telling the truth. They knew each other. Shane introduced me and the two of them started catching up. They didn’t leave me out, each one taking time to turn and explain the stories to me.

  The drive was short. I was in awe of Jordan. I couldn’t believe I was sitting in a limousine with a man who collected Grammys like most of us collect pennies.

  The hotel Clay checked us into was small but elegantly appointed with a fireplace in the room and a four-poster bed. Outside my window was a huge mountain of trees. If this was winter, the place would have been overloaded with snow bunnies. As it was, the place was packed with musicians, none of whom seemed interested in the trees.

  Despite my pretense, I hadn’t traveled much outside of the concrete jungle, and seeing all the foliage was like visiting an alien world.

  Jordan West had an entire floor for his huge entourage. Shane and I had rooms on a different floor, but we’d been invited up for drinks after the concert. The performance had been a sellout and the suite was packed when we got there. Three security guards checked our I.D. and passes before we even got to the door.

  The last song he’d sung was still humming in my ears. I couldn’t believe I was on my way to party with him. Jordan West had become a household word five years ago. His name was known worldwide. He’d collected so many Grammy Awards he needed a tractor-trailer to cart them away.

  “Shane! Shane Massey!” a woman shouted as we crossed the threshold. Weaving through the crowd, she pushed her way through, her smile whiter than bleached sheets, her dress as tight as a second skin, hair falling down her back and her arms outstretched and aiming directly at Shane. She skipped past a couple in front of her in her quest to reach Shane. Launching herself at him, she planted a wet kiss directly on his mouth.

  I stood in place like virgin wood still on the tree. Shane pulled back after the kiss, stepping out of her path.

  “Ella, I didn’t know you would be here,” he said a bit tightly. Then he turned to me. “This is Jacynthia Sterling. She’s with me.”

  I liked the way
he said that. It was a virtual dismissal. I also liked that he put his arm around my waist and pulled me into him as if I belonged there. I understood it was a message for Ella, whoever she was, and whoever she’d been to Shane in the past. I was with him now and she was not.

  Amazing how my jealous fangs came out at the thought of another woman clinging to the man I was with. Shane and I hadn’t known each other long, but he was here with me.

  “Jack, meet Ella Francis. She’s a songwriter and producer.”

  I nodded instead of offering her my hand. Her nod was equally distant. Shane said she was a songwriter. It wasn’t lost on me that he gave no distinction as to who I was. He also gave no indication of what the two of them had been to each other in the past.

  And they had a past. That much was obvious.

  Ella looked me up and down. I was everything she wasn’t. She was tall and thin. I was shorter, and even though I’d lost a few pounds in the past weeks, I was still obviously heavier. She had long, bouncy hair and I was unsure what mine looked like now that the concert was over and the crushing crowd and heat were getting to it.

  There was one thing we had in common. Even though Ella’s silver lamé gown was tighter than it should be, my purple silk dress was equally impeccable. Amber had seen to that. I silently thanked her for forcing me to buy a new wardrobe.

  Our dislike of each other was unmistakable. It was as if the two of us were huge cats circling the same piece of meat.

  “Shane.” Jordan appeared at that moment. The tension of the moment dispersed with his appearance. The two men shook hands, at least they went through the ritual of hug, shake, grip, punch fists, and fly-away hands. It was something I’d seen a thousand times, on the streets, at meetings, wherever men met, but this time I was as mesmerized by the practice as I’d been at the airport when they’d gone through the same reunion.

  “Jack,” Jordan said to me when he and Shane completed their meeting exercise. He took my hand in both his. His smile was bewitching. I still found it alien that I was actually in the same room with him and he was holding my hand. “I didn’t get to tell you in the limo, but Shane has told me a lot about you.” I looked at Shane, surprised that he’d taken the time to tell this superstar about me.

  “I hope it was good,” I said over the clog in my throat and the knocking of my heart.

  “It was.”

  I glanced at Shane, wondering what he had said. The two of us hadn’t known each other long enough for him to have a lot to say about me. He had to have told him his impression. I hoped that was good because I was truly enamored of this man.

  “The concert was more than I expected,” I told Jordan. I wished I’d practiced something to say other than repeating words that every groupie had said to him since he burst on the music scene. But I hadn’t thought it was real. Shane said he knew him. I thought it was just talk to impress me when he said we could go to Vermont and I’d called his bluff. It now appeared the joke was on me.

  “Shane and I have known each other since kindergarten, although he prefers to play in that ragtag band for Mike Adams.” Jordan laughed and glanced at Shane.

  “It pays the bills,” Shane said, spreading his hands in defeat.

  I noticed that Ella had moved around and was holding on to Shane’s arm. It took everything I had not to reach over and snatch her hand away.

  Jordan was called away by the many people vying for his attention. “Hang around,” he said, swinging his gaze from Shane to me. “We’ll talk later.”

  Shane nodded and pulled free of Ella. The action made me feel good, and I boldly leaned over him and spoke directly to her. “You know, Ella, it’s very bad taste to hang on to someone who obviously doesn’t want you around.”

  With that I slipped my arm through Shane’s and guided him away, but not before I saw the color rise under her skin and anger take hold of her body. Knowing it took a few seconds to find the most venomous comeback to fling after an insult, I made sure we were out of earshot.

  “How about we get a drink?” Shane suggested.

  I nodded and we headed that way. There was a line and we joined it. “Wanna tell me who she is?” I asked.

  He glanced over his shoulder at the place where we’d left a flabbergasted Ella. I followed his look, but the woman was gone. Secretly, I hoped it was my comment that sent her somewhere crying and licking her wounds.

  “We used to have a thing,” he said. “It’s been over for years.”

  “I don’t think she knows it,” I told him.

  “Don’t worry about her. She won’t be a problem.”

  I said nothing. We reached the bar. I knew it was too early in our relationship, if we were to have a relationship, for me to get clingy and feel I had a right to ask questions.

  Yet keeping quiet was killing me.

  * * *

  When I kicked the covers aside in the early morning, it was still dark. I hadn’t slept more than an hour all night. I told myself the beach was calling, that my writing needed nourishment, but even for me it was too early to go there. And then there was Don. Would he come today? Would he jog past me without stopping as I had done to him at the ferry?

  Why had he called? If he’d had anything to say to me, he could have done it before he left for his meeting or called sometime during the week.

  Pushing my feet into slippers, I went downstairs. Don’s phone number lay on the counter where Lila had left it. I picked up the note and read the numbers. What would he think if I called him now? He said anytime. It was four o’clock. Would he already be overseeing something at the hotel or would he be asleep in his huge bed, his strong legs curled around the sheets?

  Dropping the paper back on the counter, I found a bag of microwave popcorn and popped it. Then taking an overflowing bowl and a can of diet soda, I went into the parlor. Lila had been watching a movie earlier. I turned the television on and spent several minutes flipping through all the stations, only to find nothing that caught my attention.

  Tossing the remote control aside, I ate several kernels of popcorn and reached for my soda. The can sat next to the phone and the numbers on the note in the kitchen jumped into my mind. I lifted the received and stared at it.

  Then I dialed.

  As the phone rang, I gripped the receiver tighter than normal. Don answered on the first ring, as if he’d been sitting next to it, waiting for it to ring.

  “Well, it took you long enough,” he said instead of hello.

  “You said to call anytime.”

  “And you picked four o’clock in the morning?”

  “It was convenient.”

  “You couldn’t sleep.”

  “I sleep fine,” I lied.

  “Then what were you doing that kept you busy until this hour?”

  I hesitated, trying to think of a lie to tell him, but decided the silence spoke for me. “Lila said you wanted me to call. Is there something you wanted to talk about?”

  “I’d rather speak to you in person.”

  “Sorry, this is the best you get.”

  “What are you doing?”

  “Right now, this minute?”

  “Right now, this minute,” he repeated.

  “I’m sitting on the sofa.”

  “Which room?”

  “The television room.” I didn’t know what else to call it and I didn’t see the significance of it anyway.

  “And what are you wearing?”

  I sat up straight. “Phone sex? You wanted me to call you for phone sex?”

  “You have to admit it could be pretty exciting,” Don said.

  “Not to mention safe.”

  “Too safe,” Don said. “I’d rather my sex be actual instead of virtual. We could meet on the beach or you could come here.”

  “And why would I do that? You avoided me for a week.”

  “With good reason.”

  “And what reason was that?”

  “Bob Yancey, Casey Edwards, and others.”

  He mad
e it sound as if I was doing the island, when in fact the only person I’d slept with was him.

  “Don’t you want to include yourself on that list?”

  “No, I don’t fit the standards you’ve set.”

  “Then why are you bothering to avoid me?”

  “I wasn’t avoiding you. I was off the island.”

  “I heard.”

  “You did.”

  “People talk, I listen, inquiring minds and all that.”

  “I see. Does this mean you’re interested?”

  “It does not.”

  “You’re very quick to say that.”

  “I’m very decisive.”

  “It’s a character flaw.”

  I laughed. Don was trying to bait me, but I was not going to let that happen.

  “What would life be like if we didn’t have flaws? They make us human. Give us something to strive to correct.”

  “You want to correct your flaws?”

  “Not mine. I was thinking of yours,” I said.

  “And what are mine?”

  “Are you sure you want to ask that question?”

  There was hesitation on the other end of the line. “I’m not afraid of the answer,” he said.

  “Maybe you should be.”

  “I’m interested. What do you think my flaws are?”

  “You’re persistent. Maybe a little pushy.”

  “Those sound like attributes to me.”

  I rolled my eyes. He would. I had faults, but he had attributes. He also wanted to have his way and he liked challenges.

  “Is there anything else you wanted to talk about or was it only the sound of my voice you needed to hear?”

  “You do have a nice voice,” he said.

  Goose bumps as large as pimples grew on my arms and I felt a slight tingling at his words. I loved hearing his voice, too, although I would never admit it to him.

  “So what are you wearing?” he asked.

  “Nothing,” I said.

  “Nothing?”

  I could hear the surprise in his voice. Of course, I had on a nightgown and robe, but if he wanted to have phone sex, I could play that game, too.

  “What are you wearing?” I asked.