Immaculate Deception (21 page)

She had been sitting in the den for two hours nursing the
day's many inflicted wounds. The ashes of anger still smoldered, but high
emotion had receded. What difference did it make? She had finally concluded. No
skin off my tail.

Try as she did, all protestations ended in defeat. That
woman was murdered. Of that she was now certain, dead certain. Never mind that
it was purely intuitive. Never mind that she had superimposed her own highly
individualized emotions on the lady's motivation.

Frankie McGuire was tough, strong, independent and
courageous. She had chosen career over family. She was a fighter. Nothing that
Fiona had heard about her indicated that she would deliberately take her own
life. Certainly not the fact that she was pregnant. Especially that.

But that conclusion could not manufacture evidence of foul
play. Cates wasn't much help either. All his research had only buttressed his
own view of the suicide argument. She was furious with him, but she couldn't
blame him.

She heard Greg's car rolling up the gravel driveway. She
had forgotten. Also her mental state was such that she was not up to any more
confrontations. She wished she could send him home.

It was too late, of course. She opened the door for him and
he immediately embraced her and, despite her reluctance of a few moments ago,
was glad he had come. She responded to his kiss.

"God, I've missed you," he said.

She led him to the den and he sprawled beside her on the
couch. A fire was burning happily in the fireplace.

"I told you," he joked between kisses. "We
had to talk."

"This is talking," she said.

"Not right away. I never said first thing," he
whispered. By then, it was already too late to turn back.

"It's a fine way to greet somebody," she said
insinuating her body under his.

"Very friendly," he said.

They were silent for a long time as the embrace accelerated
to culmination.

"I love you," he whispered, as they cooled down,
remaining intertwined. "It's important for me to say that to you, Fi. I
love you with all my heart and soul. I love you. I never want to be without
you. Never."

She did not respond and after awhile, she got up and put on
her robe and went off to the bathroom. When she came back she poured out two
Scotch and waters and handed him one.

"I can't get you out of my mind, Fi," he told her
after he had sipped some of his Scotch. She had sat down beside him and he took
her hand and kissed it.

"Just what does that mean?" she asked.

He took a deeper sip of his Scotch, then looked at her
through his long black lashes. His face was conventionally handsome, high
cheekbones, strong chin, eyes that could pierce the veil of any woman's
indifference.

"It means," he said, after studying her for a
long moment. "That I want us to live together."

That again, she thought, wondering if, under all those
layers of fear and caution that she had contrived, she really loved him. Yes,
she liked being with him, adored and appreciated his sensuality. In that way,
he was delicious. If that was love then she loved him deeply. He could make her
swoon with pleasure.

But there were barriers, principle among which was his
marital status. Then there were her own instincts about his reliability, his
morality, his value system. His choice of clients, for example, was a measure
of his corruptibility, despite his protestations that he was only a
professional advocate. Didn't that mean that he was a hypocrite? Easily bought
and sold to the highest bidder.

And yet she had chosen him to be the father of her child.
Corruption, after all, was an environmental malady. Not something passed on by
the genes. Now, after their lovemaking, there were soft moments when she grew
more reflective, more open to possibilities. In his arms, she felt warm,
secure, protected against the afflictions of the day. He put his arms around
her shoulders, hugged her closer. She nestled herself in the crook of his arm.
Gently, he caressed a breast while she rubbed an inner thigh. Easy, intimate,
sensual, she thought. Rejecting such pleasures suddenly seemed unthinkable.
Yet, she persisted.

"I've tried living with someone before. It hasn't
worked yet."

She thought briefly of Bruce Rosen, saw his grey curly
hair, remembered its touch. It was all she wished to remember about him with
fondness. That, too, was a matter of reality over fantasy. Reality had,
thankfully, been the victor.

"So have I," he mused. "Wrong combinations
is all." He gently squeezed her breast. "Not us. We're peanut butter
and jelly."

"I hate peanut butter," she countered.

"But you do like jelly?" he asked.

"You were referring to the combination," she
said, hoping he would understand the symbolism.

"Seriously, Fi," he began. "We have got to
face this."

Please, she begged him in her heart. No confrontations. Not
now. Not yet. She maneuvered herself out of his arms and sat up stiffly. Then
she drank half of her Scotch, feeling its shock as it hit her stomach.

"You can't evade it," he pressed.

"It's the timing," she countered.

"Timing? What's that got to do with it?"

He certainly was forcing things. She took refuge in
silence.

"It can't go on forever, Fi. I've had it out with her.
She's agreed to give me a divorce. It couldn't go on like this."

"Is she giving up religion?" Fiona asked.

He sat up stiffly and looked at her.

"That all you can say? I thought you'd be elated. I
thought that's what you wanted."

"You seem to be taking a lot for granted," she
said, her anger beginning to rise. This was totally unexpected and she had no
time to prepare a response.

"I can't believe this," Greg said. "We're
lovers. Look at us. We're perfect together. I love you. My life is dominated by
thoughts of you." He was obviously confused by her attitude.

"It took me by surprise," Fiona said, still
trying to come to grips with her confusion. "I hadn't thought of you in
that context. You're talking marriage. That's a whole different kind of
commitment. I had accepted that in my mind. The legalities of your marriage.
The kids."

"My kids will love you, Fi."

She was immediately sorry that she had raised that issue.
His devotion to his children was commendable and redeeming.

He stood up and began to pace the den. He had put on his
pants, but was barefoot and his shirttails hung down over his waist.

"Look, Fi. I know what I bring to the table. I'm
forty-one years old. And I do have baggage. I've lived. I've had a number of
prior relationships." He paused. "So have you, Fi." Then he
resumed his pacing. "It's also true that I represent some of the biggest
bastards in the business. I do that for money. People do things that they
detest for money. I have children I adore and I have one first-class fourteen
karat cruel bitch for a wife who has finally agreed to let me divorce her.
Don't ask me how I married her in the first place. Maybe I wasn't perceptive
enough. Anyway, it was wrong. People change. She became someone else. I
changed. She is a miserable woman who hides behind her religion and her causes
to absolve herself of responsibility. She has been a rat to me. And, as a
consequence, I have had to fight back. But Fi..." He stopped again and
turned toward her. "I am a good man, a good person. And I love you. I want
to live with you. I don't want this to be some casual temporary thing. I want
to marry you."

He stopped pacing, turned his back to her and looked into
the crackling fire. Naturally, she was moved. His appeal had been passionate
and heartfelt. She felt that the barrier had been breached, that there was a
lot more to him than she had imagined. Still, the central issue that concerned
her now was the fact of her hopefully impending pregnancy. She had deceived him
and he would have to confront that fact. And there was more to it than that.

At the beginning of their relationship, he had averred time
and time again that his fathering was complete, that he had quite enough
offspring, thank you. There had been no mistaking his tone and the air of
finality.

But that was before love had arrived. No longer did she
detect the arrogance of manhood. Love changed things. Love, as they say, could
move mountains. He turned suddenly and looked at her.

"Of course, if there's no mutuality here then I'm
shouting in the wilderness."

"I'm not sure, Greg," she said honestly. Of
course, she would miss him, would long for his nearness and the comfort of his
presence. Aloneness was not necessarily an ideal condition although she had
managed to come to grips with it, even enjoy it at times.

Yet, her nature required the occasional intimate company of
a man. Perhaps, she thought, she was judging him too critically. Years of
disillusion with men and independence had created too tough a hide. Maybe, too,
she was misinterpreting what love meant to a thirty-six-year old single woman.
Maybe the bells changed their tone in the fourth decade of life.

"Don't be a fool, Fiona," her mother's voice
echoed in her mind, rebuking, guilt-inspiring. More than a fool, she told
herself, berating herself for her deception. Immaculate deception. She heard
the echo of her own laughter in her thoughts.

"The thing is, Fi," Greg said. "We're a
perfect fit physically and intellectually." He was being cerebral now,
making lawyer's points. "I have no hang-ups about your work. In fact, I
think it's great, exotic and satisfying."

"Not too blue collar?" she asked, testing his
level of snobbery. Most of her past serious men friends had, sooner or later,
frowned on her work. Not for reasons of danger, which she could understand, but
for the usual class reasons. Greg was an exception.

"If I have any real quarrel with you, Fi, its your
hyperactive sense of political idealism," he said.

"Runs in the family," she responded, although her
father had played the game at the beginning with great helpings of bullshit and
blarney.

"I know you detest my clients. But I'm only a hired
gun and you know it. Besides, it shouldn't be grounds for turning me down. All
I'm asking is a try." He moved toward her and lifted her from the couch.
"Experiment. Gamble. Take a chance on a guy that loves you." He
embraced her and whispered in her ear. "Fi. I'll do anything you ask. If
my clients' causes bug you I'll trade up. I want your respect as much as your
love."

She could feel the persuasive pressure of his words. Her
resolve was weakening. Why not? If he loved her that much surely he would
respect her desire for motherhood, her need. All right, he would have to
reevaluate his feelings about fathering any more children.

Naturally, a two-parent family would be a plus for her
child, she decided. He would have to make a commitment irrevocably to the idea
of fatherhood on an equal basis with his two other children. That would be far
more important than marriage. No. She would not pressure him on that point.
That would be her commitment to him.

"I'm not half bad as husband material, Fi. I'm easy to
get along with. I'm not overly argumentative, although I do have a tendency to
be a bit sensitive. Maybe that's because the little boy in me just won't grow
up. I make plenty of dough, enough to go around. I guarantee no economic
problems. I'm also an exceptionally neat guy as you've seen. I fold up my
clothes, keep my closets perfect. Comes of being the son of a Craig's wife
type. I never leave a room without picking up after me."

"Has something to do with toilet training," she
laughed and knew he was winning her, breaking down all resistance. Still he
continued. His suit was relentless.

"And believe it or not, I was a true blue faithful
husband until ... well that's all beside the point. I would always be faithful
to you. Always. You're more than enough for me, Fi."

As if to emphasize the point, he grabbed her buttocks with
two hands and pushed his hardening penis against her and kissed her neck and
ears. No question about it, Fiona thought, we are totally compatible in that
department, which was no small thing.

"I have a healthy lust for you. I love you. I cherish
you. I promise to bring you nothing but joy. Live with me, Fi. Please."

"You must be one helluva lobbyist," she said,
feeling all resistance crumble. She ground her pelvis into his.

"That has a bad connotation. I am a soft and loving
man. And, as you can tell, wildly romantic. If you won't move in with me now,
we'll wait until we marry. How about that? Real old-fashioned. Any which way
you want."

She kissed him long and hard on his lips, her tongue
caressing his.

"I couldn't leave here, Greg," she said.

"Whatever you want. It's your call. I'll even pay the
mortgage," he joked.

"There's no mortgage," she said. "My father
saw to that."

"I'll give you anything you want, my darling.

Anything."

It was, she knew, the moment.

"I want a child," she said.

She felt him stiffen. His erection subsided. She had
obviously hit a raw nerve. Slowly he released her and walked across the room,
peering into the fire, which was ebbing.

"That's what I want, Greg. I'm sorry it offends you.
That's the place I'm in now. I've given it a great deal of thought."

She could not now tell him what she had done. A great stone
weight seemed to be growing in the pit of her stomach. Suddenly, he turned to
face her.

"I wish I could," he said, sucking in a deep
breath. She could tell he had fought back tears.

"You did ask," Fiona said.

"I can't," he said.

"I suspected as much," she said. "I know how
you feel about your kids. And I do respect your decision on this. But it's what
I want." She dared not tell him the truth. "It would always be
between us."