Borrowing Trouble (22 page)

Chapter Thirty

I settled into the beige leather massage chair next to Bitsy. The bubbles from the footbath swirled around my ankles, coaxing me to relax, but I couldn’t unwind.

“Marisa, would you care for a glass of wine? I’m having one and hate to drink alone.”

Day drinking with his mom. Again? Is this her thing?

“Sure. Sounds nice. I do have to get out of here by five in order to meet my parents for dinner, so only one for me.”

“And me, too. Doctor’s orders.”

I quirked my head at her before realizing that one of us had nearly given the game away.

Do I just ignore the comment about her doctor?

“I’m not sure if Trip has mentioned, but I had a health scare a few years ago.”

Well, I’m lying to her, but I’m not lying about this.

“He mentioned it,” I said, nodding and completely happy for her to drive this conversation.

“Anyway, let’s not dwell on that. I do have a little serious business to discuss while we soak our tootsies.”

The woman just used the phrase “serious business” in the same sentence with the word “tootsies.”

I nodded, anticipating one of the more awkward conversations of my life, which was saying something after the last few months I’d had. I turned up the frequency on the massage chair and took a sip of the chilled white wine I’d been graciously handed. I closed my eyes and prayed for her to begin talking about dinner parties, drama with her garden club, shoes, really anything other than Trip.

As I began to relax, she spoke. “You’ll take care of him, won’t you?”

“Who, Trip?” I asked, jumping back to reality.

“Yes.”

“He seems like a capable adult to me.”

“Are you talking about my son? The one who completely disappeared from work for nearly two weeks to ride a bike across Iowa? The one who started growing pot in one of our vacation homes?  The one who bought a remote cabin while hiking in Patagonia about six months ago? The one who decided to give it all up and become a mushroom farmer in Pennsylvania? Then decided that America was ready to ditch cars for scooters and invested heavily in a Vespa dealership? That one?”

“So that’s what he did in Telluride?”

Bitsy nodded. “Yes. The summer after he graduated Brown he turned a guest bathroom into some sort of grow room. Jimmy found it when he had some meetings in Denver end early and flew down to surprise him for the weekend.”

My mind reeled at the thought of Trip growing pot, but what really put me over the edge was Bitsy’s use of the phrase “grow room.”

She is always full of surprises. They all are.

“He said he got in trouble a little after college in Telluride for ‘playing too hard,’ ” I said, sketching quotes in the air, “but didn’t say why. I just assumed it was a public intox charge or something like that.”

I didn’t think growing pot, but he was what, twenty-two then? That’s so long ago.

“Now, drinking, that we have experience with. Jimmy’s on his second DUI, which is why he doesn’t drive. Ever. If he wants to stay married. So, I suppose both my boys are more than handfuls. It’s like I said when I met you. You can’t let them bully you. You’ve got to keep them in line. Otherwise, they will get the best of you and ruin themselves.”

“They aren’t some naughty school boys.”

“Oh, no, they are much worse.”

“I’m not going to mother him.”

“No, you’re not. You’re going to be his wife and will have your own children to mother, God willing.”

I swallowed. Hard.

Did Jimmy tell her? Trip said we wouldn’t say anything to either of them until I talked with my parents.

“Oh, don’t worry. He’s smitten with you. And you’re good for him. You’ve got your own life and he’s got to keep his act together because he knows you won’t put up with his nonsense.”

“To be frank, I have a hard time reconciling some of this with the guy I know. Sure, he’s impetuous.”

Bitsy cut me off. “Impetuous is the right word for him. Can I tell you about his kite endeavor that Jimmy had to talk him out of? The business plan involved —”

“Are you trying to scare me away?”

Bitsy laughed. “Far from it. He’s spent too long with women into healing crystals, which isn’t his style, or those who don’t have two brain cells to rub together, which would only lead to a chain of Tex-Mex-Sushi fusion restaurants. He needs a partner.

“And as sweet as my dear friend Laura Catherine’s daughter is, she was a terrible match for Trip. He needs someone to push him. To challenge him. I spoiled him. He doesn’t need to be catered to, and for some reason, he caters to you, not the other way around. That’s how it should be. He’ll be a better man because of it.”

“He’s a wonderful man.”

Bitsy reached across the small gap separating our massage chairs and patted my wrist. “He is and he will be. Promise me that you’ll take care of him?”

I nodded and she continued. “Wonderful. I knew you would, but I needed to say it. Now, let me give you the rundown on who is at our table tomorrow night.”

Bitsy and I chatted happily throughout our pedicures, never once again broaching the subject of my relationship with her son. After my manicure had set and I’d watched more reality TV than I had in a year, I shuffled back over to where I’d left my work pumps and stooped to slip them on. Bitsy was sitting on a banquette, fastening her watch and bracelets around her wrist. I looked up when I heard her gasp. She was staring at me wide-eyed with her mouth agape. I followed her eyes to my chest where the ring had slipped out from the neckline of my black work dress and dangled in front of me, catching the afternoon sunlight that streamed through the salon’s front windows. The ring shone like a beacon.

This isn’t how this is supposed to happen.

“Bitsy,” I started, righting myself and clasping the ring against my chest.

She clapped her hands, jumped up and hugged me. “Darling girl, I’m so happy.” Her voice began to shake.

“Bitsy, this wasn’t what I’d planned. What we planned. We had a plan.”

“Oh, Marisa,” she said, holding me at arm’s length. “Marisa, I’m sure you had a plan. I’m even more sure that he had a plan. Y’all are both planners. I’m guessing his plans are a tad more over the top than yours. However, that isn’t how life works.”

“We were going to tell you tomorrow. Can we still do that? We haven’t even told my parents yet.”

“Is that why you’re keeping it hidden?”

“Yes and it has to be resized. It doesn’t fit. Apparently I’ve got man hands.”

She took my hands in hers and examined them. “Those are not man hands by any stretch. We’re taking care of this now. I’m going to call my jeweler and we’re headed over there and it will be ready by tomorrow.”

“No,” I said. “Trip said he’d take care of it and he needs to do it.”

“See,” she said, smiling and dropping my hands. “You are good for him.”

***

Dinner that evening featured much squealing from my mother and a couple furtive tears from my father. Trip apologized for not asking my father first, which led to my father laughing.

“If you think I could have told you anything than ‘See what she has to say about it,’ then you’d be flat out wrong. She has her own mind and isn’t mine to give away. But I’d like to. Sweetie, will you let your old man give you away? I’ve been thinking about that day your whole life.”

“Of course,” I said, nodding.

“So, this summer?” asked my mother, who was already a million miles away on a planet created entirely from tulle and roses.

“Uhm,”

Here it comes.

“We’re thinking earlier than that. We’d like to get married before the end of the year.” Trip shifted nearer to me and rested a hand on my knee.

My parents paused and caught each other’s eyes. “I’m not pregnant. We’re not getting married because I’m pregnant.”

Visible relief swept their faces. “Then, why the rush, honey? We’ll need at least a few months to plan things. I know from when Susan’s daughter got married two years ago that these things take time. A dress alone can take several months.” My mom looked worried.

“Why the wait?” I countered. “It’s not like I’m twenty and want a phalanx of bridesmaids in matching dresses and a cast of thousands to attend. It’s our wedding and that’s not what we’ve decided on.”

“Oh, so you’ve already decided. I see. Trip, what does your mom think about her only son getting married in such a slapdash fashion?”

“We haven’t talked with them yet.”

“I haven’t met your mother, but I’m not going out on a limb to guess that she won’t want the rush either. It’s not like someone is dying.”

I gasped and Trip stiffened.

Nail on the head.

“Oh, my,” gasped my mother, her hand covering her mouth.

“We’re fine,” I assured her. “Trip and I are both fine. It’s his mom. She’s a cancer survivor and we’d like her to be able to celebrate with us.”

“Okay,” she nodded and looked at my father. “By the end of the year it is.”

After her little outburst, my mother returned to fantasy wedding land. My father wordlessly sat and grinned at me until we excused ourselves to meet Erica and Josh for drinks and dessert at Houston’s where they were having a dinner date. Erica and I had exchanged a few text during the week. She assured me that she was okay and that Josh was okay and that he was even going to be in Memphis for nearly a week.

We joined them at their white linen draped table and I noticed that they’d nearly polished off a bottle of wine.

Tipsy Erica will make this even more awesome. She’ll be completely unfiltered. And she’s going to completely embarrass us.

Shortly after we’d given our drink orders to the waiter, I told them. “Trip and I are getting married.”

A grin crept across her face and she examined me quietly for a couple of long seconds, as I waited for the shitstorm that was headed my way. She scanned my left hand and laughed. “Nice try. How’s the twenty-four hours of living together?”

“We’re nearly at forty-eight,” interjected Trip, taking his neat Bulleit from the waiter.

“Yes, two days and stronger than ever.” I sipped my pinot noir.

“You guys are living together now?” asked Josh.

“And going to do it for the rest of my life, it seems,” said Trip, lifting his bourbon for another taste.

At that Erica’s face lit up
.
“Seriously?”

“Abso-fucking-lutely.” I fished the ring out of my dress and held it up for her. The stone caught the flickering light of the candle on the table. “Have to get it sized. We’re getting married. Weekend between Christmas and New Year’s Eve.”

“You knocked her up?” Erica reached across the table and smacked Trip’s head. “Condoms.”

“Oh, no. I’m not pregnant.”

She looked at me like I had just told her that Elvis was in fact alive and hand-spinning ice cream shakes at A. Schwab Dry Goods’ vintage soda fountain. “And I’m not stupid. You expect me to believe that you, who agonized about dating this guy,” she pointed at Trip with her thumb, “then beat yourself up about moving in with him, decided to marry him sometime in the past two days? Who are you and where are the body snatchers keeping my best friend?”

“I’m not pregnant.”

“And I can do math, so just tell me.”

“Are you really sure you want to do this for the next few decades?” Josh asked Trip. Trip took a long sip of his drink and simply nodded. “Your funeral. Next round is on me.”

Erica snatched my wine glass away from me. “No. Just no. Each sushi all you want in front of me. Go crazy with French cheeses, but no drinking.”

“I’m not pregnant.”

“And I’m the Queen of England.”

“Fine.” I pushed back from the table and returned with a waiter bearing a tray full of shots. “Lemon Drops. We’re going one for one.” I settled into my chair while Erica stared me down. I placed a glass in front of Erica and before she could protest, tossed one drink back myself. I shivered as the alcohol burned my throat. “To the inventor of the birth control pill,” I said, lifting my second shot in a toast in the middle of one of Memphis’s swankiest and romantic restaurants.

“Trip, I mean, really think about it. It’s too late for me, but you still have hope.” Josh poured the last of the wine into his empty glass.

“Shhh… Don’t disturb them,” Trip stage whispered to Josh. “I think they’re about to get plowed and we’re both about to get really lucky.”

Chapter Thirty-one

Saturday morning was a bitch. I nursed my coffee and watched as Trip loaded his bike in the back of the Rover to meet the guys north of the city for a ride.

Never doing shots again. Too old. Much, much too old for shots.

“So, I’ll see you at my parents whenever it is that Mom has decreed Dad and I are to be there?”

“Yup. And you’re right, the Wonder Bread jersey with the red and white cycling shorts is just a vision of loveliness. I really can see your Twinkie.” I gave him a peck on the cheek goodbye, and found my affection returned with a sharp smack to my ass. 

After my run, I felt better and fixed breakfast, complete with a decaf coffee courtesy of Ophelia. My phone rang and I answered.

“Chicka” Erica whined.

“Hey, yourself. How are you?”

“I’ve been a lot better. But Josh is home and that’s good.”

“Sorry to crash your date last night.”

“No worries. It was worth it. I still can’t believe you’re getting married next month.”

Next month. Oh dear God, we are insane to do this.

“You guys good?” I asked, directing her away from me and back to her own life.

“You’re my lawyer, right?”

“I’m also your best friend, so shoot. Whatever you need, it is done. ”

“No, really. I need you to be my lawyer.”

“Um, we’ll find you someone good, if you’re going that route. I’ve got a couple of names in mind already.”

“What are you talking about?”

“What are
you
talking about?”

“Okay, we’re getting our wires crossed. Let’s start over. Yes, I’m your lawyer.”

“And everything we say is privileged, right? You can’t share it.”

“That’s how it goes. Shoot.”

“Okay, great. Josh said I couldn’t talk with you until you took me as your client.”

Oh, fuck. Now here comes a shitstorm.

“Fine. You’re my client. And you know that he isn’t cheating on you, right?”

“How did you know that? Did Josh talk with you?”

“No. Absolutely not. He adores you, Erica. Has for years. If any guy runs off, it’s not Josh. You told me Stephanie’s name and my secretary did some sleuthing and I put two and two together.”

“Okay, Nancy Drew, what else do you know?”

“Well, I know Stephanie is a white collar criminal defense lawyer, but that’s it. So, what’s going on? I’m ruling out Josh going to jail because you’re not crying.”

“Josh found some serious fraud going on at his company involving how some financial products he’d helped develop were being marketed. When his boss didn’t respond, he basically became a whistleblower and went to the FBI.”

“So, he’s suing the company? Did he use the words
qui tam
?”

“No Latin. That’s our one rule. No Latin, lawyer lady.”

“Okay, sorry. Is he suing anyone?”

“Not that I know of. But he’s been working with the FBI and gets wired up before he goes to meetings.”

“That makes sense.”

“I tell you that my husband is wearing a wire to the freaking office to catch folks in a multi-billion dollar fraud and you’re reaction is ‘That makes sense’?” Erica said incredulously. “Lawyers,” she huffed a beat later. “So, that’s why he’s been MIA. He says he was too scared to talk with me, afraid he’d freak me out and didn’t want to upset me, so he thought it would be easier if he was just MIA, but then things kept taking longer and longer and it just spun out of control. And I was really stupid, Marisa,” she confessed.

“No, you weren’t stupid. You just didn’t know. There was no way you could know. That’s all on Josh. Not on you.”

“I almost did something really stupid.”

“You didn’t,” I exhaled, praying fervently for her not to have done anything irremediable.

“I didn’t. But I almost did. I didn’t. I swear. But I might have.”

“What in the world are you talking about?”

“The day before you came over and helped me with the kids was when I found the emails. I got mad. Really, really mad. The kids spent the night with my parents and I went down to my studio. I thought I was going to work all night. Just get the emotion out and turn it into art. But it was too much. Ended up at Pig and Barley.”

I gasped. I couldn’t help it and feared what was coming. “Oh, you didn’t.”

“You’re right. I didn’t. And I was too embarrassed to tell you when you came over. I was at the bar until it closed, drinking too much and flirting with that guy you know. The one with the tattoos. I can’t even remember his name. I think he texted or called Trip, which meant that one of the waitresses was pulled off the floor to drive me home. Total scene. I felt like shit when Trip showed up at the house on Saturday. I felt lower than shit. What wife and mother goes out and gets sloshed and hits on a guy so much that he texts his friend to get the all clear before he seals the deal? A really crappy one. I’m a piece of shit.”

“You are not a piece of shit. I seriously cannot believe this happened.”

“You didn’t know? How did Trip not tell you?”

“I don’t know, but he didn’t breathe a word about it. Does Josh know?”

“Yes. Told him last night. It was the hardest conversation of my life. And he thinks it is his fault for ignoring me for so long. He’s not the shithead in the relationship. I am.”

“No, you are not. You’re both shitheads because you didn’t talk to each other. Erica, I love you. You’re going to be fine. You and Josh are going to be fine.”

“That’s easy to say now. It’s going to be a long time to get there. The good news is that the FBI says they have what they need and Josh is supposed to go back to being a regular employee. This means that he should be back to his normal schedule. Well, back to his normal schedule while he hustles to find a new job. He’s not staying at that job. We’ll learn to live on my artist’s income if he doesn’t find a job in a month.”

“You guys have way too much going on. You guys should go away for a weekend and just spend time together.”

“We’ll get there. We will. We’ve just got to get through these next couple of months. There may be some publicity. I’m just glad we live here and not in Manhattan.”

“I’m so glad that you weren’t trying to hire me as your divorce lawyer.”

“Oh, Marisa. I’m not stupid. I’m already a client of every good divorce lawyer in town. If there is anything I’ve learned from the moms at Simon’s school is who are the good divorce lawyers. Nothing like a nasty divorce to light up the Germantown gossip tree.”

“I don’t even want to know what that cost you.”

“Let’s just say that you’ll be buying me coffees and dinners for quite some time.” Erica laughed.

She’s going to be okay. This sucks, but she’s going to be okay. They are going to be okay.

“Deal. So, coffee next week?”

“Your treat, right?”

“Yup.”

“Sold.”

I hung up the phone with a smile on my face and shook my head, trying to piece together the insanity that was Erica and Josh and how Trip managed to get Erica home before she made a potentially life-changing mistake.

Kind of explains why he just came home and helped me with Simon and Miriam and didn’t fuss a bit. He’s a really nice person. Probably too nice for me.

For most of the day I worked on the Priddy lawsuit from my office and arrived at Bitsy’s house at four-thirty clad in my favorite yoga wear, with a large bag carrying my makeup, industrial-strength undergarments in case I’d gained any weight since the dress was fitted, and the silver Prada sandals Bitsy had bought to go with the dress.

I rang the bell and Ophelia answered the door. “Marisa, come on in. Mrs. Brannon is getting cleaned up. The hairdresser just arrived. He’s going to set up in her bedroom to fix y’all’s hair. I’m supposed to put you in one of the guest rooms upstairs, unless you’d rather be in Trip’s.”

“Trip has a room here? I thought his parents moved here after he graduated from college?”

“They did, but that doesn’t mean that Mrs. Brannon didn’t make this into a home for him. Let’s put you in his room.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes. It will be fine.”

She showed me into Trip’s room, which was decorated in a generically masculine English hunting theme, complete with an antique print of a fox hunt above a king sized bed. “It’s not a childhood bedroom, that’s for sure,” I noted, mentally comparing it to my time capsule of a bedroom at my parents’ house.

“Yes, that was covered with Memphis Chicks and St. Louis Cardinal stuff. He was a baseball nut.”

An idea clicked into place. “Does that stuff still exist?”

“All boxed up in the basement.”

“Would you think Bitsy would mind if I took it?”

“And do what with it?” she asked skeptically.

“Put it up in his exercise room,” I said, letting her in on my idea.

“Oh, she’d love that. He’d probably love that too.” The next thing I knew, I was being squeezed tightly by the woman who shopped for my breakfast. “Let’s go find it while she’s busy and before the men get home, so as not to ruin the surprise.”

After a few minutes poking around in the overstuffed basement, Ophelia located the light blue plastic tub, which we loaded up in the trunk of my car.

“Pretty necklace,” she commented, closing the trunk lid with a solid thunk.

I looked down.

Okay, this is getting ridiculous.

I grabbed the ring and slipped it back down my gray t-shirt. “Uhm.”

“So, is that what I think it is?” Before I could answer, she opened her arms. “Come here,” she said, her face beaming. “We are so lucky to have you,” she whispered to me, taking me into another exuberant hug. “You make sure he does right by you. And if you can’t keep him in line, just let me know. He knows what side his bread is buttered on.”

By the time I went back upstairs, Bitsy was sitting in a chair in the middle of her bedroom, having her hair blown out by a slim man dressed in head to toe black.

A beauty ninja
.
Now that could be a Monty Python sketch. Not to mention that I’m in Jimmy Brannon’s bedroom.  This is all perfectly normal.

“Oh, Marisa, good. You’re here. There is an extra robe in my bathroom that you can slip on while Gabe does your hair. The boys will be here in about forty minutes or so. We’ll have a light meal as a family before we leave because I never seem to find the time to eat at these things. I set out the earrings for you on my dressing table.” She pointed to the double-doored walk-in closet. “Go get them and let’s see.”

I stepped in and quickly located the earrings. Art Deco diamond drops the size of a fingernail.
This is serious jewelry.
I put them on and stepped back into the room.

Bitsy waved her hand at Gabe and he stopped the hairdryer. “Pull up your hair so I can see them.” I piled my hair on top my head and slowly turned my face from side to side so that she could view them. “Excellent. Just perfect. There is a ruby velvet box they go in. Make sure to put them in the safe in Trip’s study when you get home.”

Is she giving these to Trip? Or to me?
“Um, Bitsy?”

“Before you protest, they never felt like mine, either. Benefits of marrying a family with just a son, I suppose. I haven’t worn them in years. They look beautiful on you. Just enjoy them and keep them safe for your little girl, okay?”

“Bitsy, really.”

“Don’t make it harder than it is,” she snapped, cutting off further discussion. She waved her hand again and Gabe resumed his work. We hardly spoke to each other as Gabe finished with her hair and started on mine. He pulled my hair up into an intricate bun accented with tiny braids. Bitsy’s sleek silver bob flawlessly grazed her chin.

When I emerged from Trip’s bathroom with my makeup done, I found him pushing mother of pearl studs through his tux shirt. “Hello, beautiful,” he called, quickly fastening the matching cufflinks. “About ready to go?”

“You going to wear some pants with that shirt?” I gestured toward his red plaid boxers.

“I thought you might appreciate the easy access afforded by this ensemble.” He wiggled his hips suggestively and cocked an eyebrow.

“You. I have no words.”

“I know, I know. Hands to myself this evening. I will be the perfect gentleman. It’s going to be hard.”

“I’ll take care of you when we get home,” I replied waving towards the bulge in his boxers.

“Actually I wasn’t talking about that for once. I mean it will be difficult not to touch you. You are gorgeous.” He crossed the room and kissed me, cupping a hand under my chin. “These are pretty,” he said, touching one of the earrings.

“And they are apparently yours or Jimmy’s or some other Brannon’s. Your mom has given them to me or you, I’m really not sure, for safekeeping.”

He nodded solemnly, completing his dressing. “She likes you, you know.”

“I know.”

“And I love you.”