Got Your Number (19 page)

Surprise, surprise. "How long have you been here in South Bend?"

"Since Saturday. I ran a marathon to raise money for the new counseling center." Now she was cracking her neck—repeatedly.

"Elise, someone broke into the duplex Friday. Do you know anything about it?"

"No. No, I don't." But without eye contact, she couldn't tell if the woman was being truthful. "Roxann, I'm sorry about the way I handled... things."

"Neither one of us handled the situation well," Roxann said carefully.

Elise shifted from foot to foot, bouncing on the toes of her running shoes. "I realized that the reason I've been so unhappy all these years is because of a relationship I had in college that I never quite got over."

Get in line.

"But I'm working through things," she said, nodding with shaky confidence. Suddenly she laughed, a wild, artificial noise. "Too bad that counseling center wasn't here ten years ago." She started to shiver, and rubbed her hands up and down her arms.

Roxann slipped off her jacket and hung it over the woman's shoulders. "Elise, you don't look well—let's walk down to the clinic."

"No!" She yanked off the coat. "I'm f-fine, I just need to finish my run." She jogged away a few paces, then turned around as if she suddenly remembered Roxann was still standing there. "I hope we can be friends someday," she shouted. Then she jogged away, and not in a straight line.

She watched Elise until she was out of sight to make sure she didn't run out into the street, or collapse. Another lost soul, with an affinity for self-destruction. Or just plain destruction?

Roxann went in search of a water fountain, and spotted Angora lounging on a bench, sharing her potato chips with the pigeons. She'd been crying. "How was it?" she mumbled.

"How was what?"

"Dr. Seger. Did you do it on his desk?"

"Are you insane? Of course we didn't!"

Angora tossed the foil bag into a nearby garbage can and licked her fingers. "The way you were fawning all over him, I wouldn't have been surprised."

Roxann frowned. "That's not true, and that's not fair. What's wrong with you?"

Angora leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees, and stared at the ground. "What's wrong with me? I'm supposed to be on my honeymoon right now."

Roxann's heart squeezed for her and she sat down. "You'll love Chicago. And a year from now you won't even remember Trenton's name."

"I can't go to Chicago," Angora sobbed. "I'm not qualified to work for that art agency. I wouldn't last a week."

"They wouldn't have offered you the job if you weren't qualified."

"I only got the job because I graduated from Notre Dame."

"I don't think you give yourself enough credit."

She wiped her cheeks. "No. Mother is right—Trenton was my best chance for a good life, and I let him get away."

"Well, I hate to tell you this, but I think he sort of cut bait all on his own."

"I might as well join a convent."

"They don't have laundry rooms in convents."

Angora finally cracked a tiny smile. "I wish I were you."

Roxann sighed. "I wish you were me, too. But we're sort of stuck with ourselves, aren't we?" Then she stood and jerked her thumb over her shoulder. "If you're ready to go, I need to rinse my tie-dyed shirt to wear to the auction tonight."

Angora sprang up and began walking back the way they'd come. "You are
not
wearing that shirt tonight."

Roxann smiled into her hand. "Wait up."

Chapter 15

Angora swallowed a half-glass of wine in one drink. Intermission. Six bachelors down, and not one worthy of her virginity. Not one held a candle to Dr. Carl Seger. She cast a sideways glance at Roxann and tightened the grip on her glass—why did all things come so easily for her cousin?
She
had been the one
who
loved Dr. Carl from a distance for the better part of her time at the university.
She
had been the one who had memorized his features and mannerisms while watching him eat lunch every day.
She
had been the one to sit through his Intro to Theology class for four semesters, convinced he would one day notice her.

And he had, at long last. Her final semester, April twenty-first. Third period. She'd "left" a notebook at her desk, then waited until the room emptied of students before going back inside. Dr. Carl had been erasing the chalkboard in long, powerful strokes and hadn't heard her at first. Until she "dropped" the notebook. Then he'd turned and smiled, offering a hello.

"I forgot my notebook," she'd said, holding it up.

"Are you in my class?" he'd asked.

"Yes."

"That's why you look so familiar."

"Yes." She'd waited while he finished the board, then descended from the dais carrying his own books. He seemed surprised that she was still standing there, but now that she had his attention, she wasn't about to budge.

"Four times."

"Pardon me?"

"I've taken this class four times."

His eyebrows had gone up, then his gaze had traveled to her snug sweater. "You must like theology."

"Not really." His gaze on her had made her feel bold, womanly. Just thinking about it now sent a heaviness to her midsection.

He'd checked his watch. "What's your name?"

"Angora Ryder."

"Well, Angora Ryder, where is your next class?"

"I don't have one."

He had looked her up and down again, then pursed his mouth. "I was just going back to straighten up my office. I could use a hand."

She had smiled and followed him to his office, where he'd locked the frosted-glass door.

"Students are always popping in," he'd explained. "Which is why I can never get my files in order."

"Where should I start?" she'd asked, fairly trembling at the sexual charge in the air.

He'd sat down in his office chair and pulled her to his lap for a long, hard kiss that had steamed up his glasses. When he pulled back to take them off, he'd looked at her. "Is this what you wanted?"

She had nodded, too far gone now.

His eyes were hooded as he'd fumbled with her sweater, pulling it up along with her bra to free her breasts. He had been all lips and teeth, making little wanting noises, and she'd felt flush with power. Then he was pushing her head down, down to his fly, which had somehow come undone. She didn't have time to think about the techniques Roxann had taught her on the tube of toothpaste—it all happened too quickly. One minute she was on the verge of suffocating while he gasped and moved her head up and down on him, and the next minute she was gagging. He had gone so limp and so quiet, she was afraid he'd had a heart attack. But when she'd spit out the offending goo, and it landed on his expensive shoe, he had recovered rather quickly.

"You'll get your passing grade," he'd said brusquely, then stood and helped her straighten her clothes.

Shocked, she realized he thought she'd taken his class four times because she was too dumb to pass it, not because she wanted to be near him. She'd opened her mouth to explain, but he'd shushed her.

"This must be our little secret, yours and mine, or you could get into a lot of trouble." Like a sheep, she'd nodded. Then he'd opened the office door, given her a little shove through it, and closed it behind her. That night in her bed she'd suddenly remembered one of the things he'd murmured during the deed.

"Roxann."

He'd noticed the resemblance, and although he had no idea they were related, he'd been thinking about Roxann the entire time. After that, Carl had ignored her completely. But the real slap in the face had been the C she'd received in the class.

Angora blinked and drained the glass of sour chardonnay. She'd given the man a blowjob in his office, and he hadn't even recognized her today. He'd only had eyes for Roxann, and if her cousin was telling the truth, they'd never even fooled around. Once again, the spoils went to Roxann.

She returned to the bar for another drink. While she stood in line, the audience suddenly burst into applause. She turned to see Dr. Carl Seger himself at the microphone, waving for quiet. The man was splendid.

"There is a person in the room," he said, "whose name came up for the Distinguished Alumni award for dedicating her life to helping others. But her volunteer work is of such a confidential nature, the board decided to forgo the honor lest the nomination attract publicity that would be detrimental to the programs she serves."

He sought Roxann in the audience, and Angora knew what was coming next.

"But to our great delight, the nominee in question found her way back to South Bend this week. Without further ado, the board would like to recognize Roxann Beadleman for a decade of selfless work with abused women. Please come forward, Roxann, and accept this token of our admiration for your many good deeds. You truly embody the spirit of an Alumni Homecoming Queen."

Angora couldn't believe her ears. She watched as Dr. Carl lifted a tiara from a wooden box—a large, magnificent crown with dangling crystals and a point in the front. It made the one she was wearing look like a toy. She drank deeply.

She had to hand it to her cousin, though—she knew how to work the crowd. Roxann protested until the audience of a thousand or so were whipped into a frenzy. By the time she got on stage, they were riveted to every word. Worse, she looked great, passing over the short red dress that Angora had picked out for her in favor of a plain long black skirt, black tank, and a long lime-green scarf around her neck. A perfect foil for the crown, which Dr. Carl set on her head like an adoring king.

"Thank you," Roxann said, holding the crown with one hand.

It was probably heavy, Angora thought miserably. Crowns were supposed to be of a weight symbolic to the responsibility of the title. All of hers were about as heavy as a potato.

"I'm stunned and honored," Roxann said. "And I don't deserve this recognition... "

Angora smirked into her glass and watched her cousin wrap the entire room around her little finger. Good, sweet, honest Roxann who had dedicated her life to others—not because it made her feel good, but because it made her feel superior. Yep, that was why. Dee had been right about Roxann all along. Everyone had a price, and she'd found Roxann's when they were eighteen. Wonder what the audience would think if she jumped up on stage and made that little revelation? And while she was up there, she'd announce that Dr. Carl had a botched circumcision.

But she couldn't very well do either without incriminating herself. And she needed that job in Chicago now more than ever. It was her ticket out of Deeville. Why the hell had she come back? Angora took another drink and tried to focus on Roxann's speech.

"... and I'm humbled by your recognition."

The audience burst into applause and, to add insult to Angora's injury, gave Roxann a standing ovation.
She
hadn't even gotten a standing ovation when she hit the high end note in "When Whoever's in New England's Through With You" at the Louisiana state fair karaoke competition. She watched as Roxann made her way back to her seat next to Dr. Oney. When Roxann scanned the room, probably looking for her, Angora stepped behind the bartender. She needed time to conjure up congratulations for her cousin, the fake.

The lights dimmed, and the auction resumed. Another dud presented himself and strutted around the stage—where did they find these guys? Bad haircut, and too-short pants. She continued to drink, despite the fact that she could feel herself being pulled into a funk.

Then Dr. Carl appeared on stage again, this time as the prize. She swished the wine in her mouth like Listerine, and swallowed noisily. Why not? For as long as she could remember, she'd wanted something of Roxann's—anything of Roxann's. Dr. Carl would do nicely. Besides... the man owed her big-time for that humiliating encounter in his office ten years ago. Even if the cad didn't remember it.

"Do I hear one hundred?" the auctioneer asked. A hand went up near the stage.

"One hundred from the lady in the yellow. Do I hear one fifty?"

Roxann raised her hand tentatively.

"One hundred fifty from the queen! Do I hear one seventy-five?"

The lady in yellow raised her hand.

"One seventy-five! Do I hear two hundred?"

"Two
thousand,"
Angora said loudly.

A stunned silence ensued, then all eyes swung to her. The attorney had garnered the top bid of the night at eight hundred, from a bridge foursome who looked as if they needed to have their wills done, pronto.

"Did you say two
thousand
?" the auctioneer asked, arcing his arm in her direction. Dr. Carl looked smug.

"Yes," she said, stepping forward carefully because the carpet was moving. "Two thousand dollars." It was nearly all she had left from hocking the ring, but moments like these only came around once in a lifetime.

"Two thousand from the lady in the back! Do I hear twenty-one hundred?"

The crowd tittered.

"Sold to the lady for two thousand dollars!"

This time the applause was for her as she walked forward to claim her prize and say her name. She managed a little wave in Roxann's direction, who returned a watery smile, but Angora directed all her attention to Dr. Carl, who escorted her up the stairs and off the side of the stage.