Nothing But Trouble (29 page)

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Authors: Bettye Griffin

BOOK: Nothing But Trouble
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But if all went well, that one case of poor judgment might provide the missing ingredient in his marriage.
Chapter 40
M
icheline's excitement grew as she drove home. Her chat with Vic had proven to be quite enlightening when he mentioned that his wife owned a medical transcription service.
She'd never known the last name of Cécile's friend Norell, but now she was sure it was Bellamy, as in Bellamy Bail Bonds.
From what Cécile said, Norell had married an older fellow who had a few bucks. Cécile hadn't mentioned his name, but she'd put Norell in her mid to late thirties, so Vic would qualify as an older man. And Cécile also said that Norell lived out at the beach. Surely Vic's wife who couldn't have babies and who ran a medical transcription service and Cécile's friend Norell were one and the same.
Micheline found herself envious of Norell's position. She knew enough about men to know that those few hours Vic spent in bed with her meant nothing. The sex satisfied them both, and that was all. Yeah, so Vic had cheated on Norell, but he didn't have the cocky attitude of a habitual cheater, an attitude Micheline knew well. On top of that, he certainly sounded sincere about wanting to save his marriage. Norell was a lucky woman; her husband truly loved her. Just think, if it hadn't been for that torn condom, Micheline never would have had the need to seek him out and never would have learned of the connection.
But it had and she did. She might be able to benefit from it, but not without paying a price. The relationship with Errol that she'd so carefully cultivated like a prize-winning garden was about to go to seed. Even though he hadn't proposed, they'd grown closer than ever since their vacation together—a vacation spent in separate rooms. He'd felt right at home in her parents' simple abode. In Key West they'd taken long walks on the beach, hand in hand, and she'd tearfully confessed that she'd exaggerated her parents' occupations out of fear that his parents wouldn't feel she was good enough. He assured her that he was his own man and couldn't be influenced by his parents. He'd even acknowledged last week, when kissing her good night and grasping her buttocks, that he'd probably have to marry her before she'd give him any ... and he'd only been half kidding.
If she had to let Errol go she'd be alone once more, while Cécile's friend Norell got her marriage back on track and a baby to boot—
her
baby. Damn it, that wasn't right. She would have to give this some serious thought before agreeing to any terms.
It annoyed Micheline how everything always worked out for Cécile and her friends. Hell, even Dana seemed to have gotten over the trauma of her husband's accidental death and Sean Sizemore's duplicity and was involved in a thriving relationship, according to Cécile. As for Cécile, she and Michael would soon be moving into a nice large house where they and their kids could live comfortably, and Norell's dream of being a mother would come true, or at least it would come true if Micheline went along with Vic's proposition. Well, screw Norell.
She
should be the one to come out on top.
Micheline pressed her lips together and ran her tongue over them. Adrenaline raced through her veins, and she realized she still had a way out. If she couldn't have Errol, why not go after Vic? Okay, so he was a little old for her, but sexually he could curl her toes, and he could support her. She wouldn't have to work. She could be just like her friend Yolanda.
The more she thought about it, the better it sounded. Vic would never have reason to turn to another woman with her around. His wife might be all down in the dumps, but Micheline had never been depressed a day in her life. She could dangle the thought of their coming child in front of his eyes like a gold carrot and say that she had fallen in love with him and wanted nothing more than to be with him and their child. Surely his concern about preserving his marriage to Norell by adopting his own baby would evaporate once he learned
she
was available. After all, she was younger than Norell, and prettier. Let Norell just move on down the hard path of a sixty-hour-workweek business owner she'd chosen. In the meantime she, Micheline, would quit her job and move in. She felt confident that Vic would never look back.
 
 
“So that's it in a nutshell,” the attorney—Micheline believed his name was Nelson—said in conclusion. He had just presented a proposal to Micheline of behalf of his client, Vic.
She'd been surprised when the attorney's secretary called to set up the appointment. That suggested Vic had no interest in seeing her, that all he wanted her to do was give birth and hand over the baby to him and that depressed wife of his. That didn't bode well for her plan.
She'd dressed spectacularly for the event in her best suit, a Le Suit she'd gotten on sale at Dillard's. But to her disappointment, Vic didn't show up. She met with Nelson, who apparently served as Vic's intermediary.
“Do you have any questions, Miss Mehu?” Nelson inquired.
“Not really. Your explanation was very thorough, and I work at a law office myself, so I've got more knowledge than your average person in these matters.”
“Oh? What do you do?”
“I'm a paralegal. Mr. Nelson, I'd like some time to go over this contract.”
He followed her lead and spoke in a businesslike fashion, dismissing all attempts at personal conversation. “Of course. It's a lot to absorb. I do hope you'll keep under consideration that you'd be doing a couple a great service, and that your child would be placed in a wonderful home and is all but guaranteed a happy life.”
God, not another speech about doing a good deed and the rewards it would bring for her child.
Micheline didn't even acknowledge it. Instead she said, “And I'd like to speak with Vic directly.”
“Well, he did authorize me to handle this matter for him,” Nelson began, “but I'll relay your request to him and I'm sure he'll be happy to telephone you directly.”
She stood, with him following suit. “Thank you,” she said. “I'll be in touch.”
 
 
Vic called her at home at seven o'clock that night. “Henry tells me you wanted to speak with me. I'm sure if there's something you're not clear about, he could clarify it for you.”
“That wasn't it, Vic.”
“Then what was it?”
He sounded impatient. Damn, she'd have to be awfully convincing. “I was hoping you and I would get a chance to talk.”
“What's there to talk about, Micheline? I came up with an idea that will solve all your problems, and mine too. Any questions can be answered through my attorney. All that's left to do is say either yes or no.”
“I need to see you, Vic. There's something I have to say, and it can't be done over the phone. Can you come over?”
“Where do you live? I was just about to leave for the day, but I don't want to go out of my way.”
Micheline understood. With a land mass greater than eight hundred square miles, Jacksonville ranked number one among U.S. cities in terms of area. Someone had told Micheline that the towns of Mandarin, San Marco, Arlington, Wesconnett, and others, which were now mere sections of Jacksonville, had consolidated to form one large city to diminish the effect of the black vote. She didn't know if that was the entire truth, but she did know Jacksonville was one hell of a huge city.
“I'm in the southeast corridor, off Touchton Road,” she said.
“All right. I pass that exit anyway on my way home. Give me the particulars.”
By the time he rang her bell thirty minutes later, Micheline was sitting in her prettiest peignoir, fully made up. She opened the door almost shyly. “Come in, Vic.”
The admiring look on his face disappeared quickly, but she knew he'd been impressed by the way she looked. She chased away her smile as she closed the door.
“Nice place,” he remarked, sitting on the white cloth sofa.
“Thanks. Can I fix you a drink or something?”
“Thank you, but no. I really want to get along home. What can I do for you, Micheline?”
She gulped. What the hell was the attraction at home? Norell and her sorry can't-have-babies self? Him and his big hurry were throwing her off, making her nervous.
“Well,” she began, taking a seat near the opposite end of the sofa, her hands resting on her thighs, “I felt you should know that I've given a great deal of thought to what's been happening lately. Vic, you and I have created a child together. In a few months it'll be a living, breathing individual.”
“It happens all the time.”
“Not to me is doesn't. I lie down at night with my hand on my belly, and the thought of giving up my child, even to its father, has suddenly become reprehensible.”
“You're saying you want to keep the baby and raise him yourself?”
“Vic, what I'm saying is that I have this picture in my head of you and me raising him or her. Together, as a family.”
“Wait a minute. You want me to leave my wife and marry you?”
Micheline didn't have to pretend to be insulted. “Is that really so distasteful to you, the idea of being with me? This isn't easy for me to say, Vic. I've fallen in love with you—in hindsight, I felt something from the very beginning, that day at The Landing. I kept hoping you would call me at work. Then when I saw you again at Bukkets, I felt my prayers had been answered. I'm not accustomed to being picked up in restaurants, but I felt this incredibly strong attraction to you. I wanted to be with you. I kept hoping you would call me after that night we spent together. For all my bravado the day I came to see you at your office, I secretly hoped you would tell me you wanted me and our baby, too.” She sniffled. “I can't believe this. I open up to you, and you practically tell me to get lost.”
He reached out and took her left hand, which was closest to him.
Finally, some progress,
she thought triumphantly.
“Micheline,” he said gently, “what you feel for me isn't love. It's the idea of a happy ending that you keep thinking about. I'm part of your thoughts only because I planted the seed.
“Yes, I think it's a beautiful thing for a man and woman to create another life together, when they're in love. I had that experience with my first wife, and I wouldn't trade it for anything. But what you and I had was a one-night stand. The only woman I want to raise a child with is my wife. I'm sorry if that hurts you, but it's the truth, and it's not going to change.”
“I see.” Micheline didn't want to admit how embarrassing she found Vic's rejection, so she let anger take over. How dare he reject her like that? Her first instinct was to tell him to just forget about the baby, that he'd never see it. Something she couldn't identify stopped her. “In that case, there's nothing to talk about.” She got to her feet, and he followed. “Thanks for coming by.”
She went to the door and opened it, waiting for him to plead with her not to withhold the baby, to stress again what good parents he and that silly wife of his would make. She wanted him to grovel. That would make up for the humiliation she'd felt just a few minutes before and even the score.
Vic reached out and laid a hand on her shoulder. “I didn't mean to hurt you, Micheline,” he said gently. “If I did, I'm sorry. But I think it's best if we're honest with each other. If you decide not to accept my offer, I understand.”
“Good night, Vic,” she said icily. It infuriated her that he didn't beg her to reconsider. But Vic Bellamy didn't have the best of her. She still had one trump card to play.
Chapter 41
G
il faced his ex-wife's stony expression. “She's almost ready,” Irene said sullenly. “And I hope you don't get any ideas about bringing her out with Dana. I don't want her exposed to your sordid little sex life.”
“I think it would be better if I wait outside,” he said abruptly. He didn't feel like getting into a stink with her about his relationship with Dana.
Dealing with Irene had become intolerable. He wished she wouldn't even bother to come to the door these times when he picked up Vanessa. He didn't spend as much time with Vanessa as he used to. She had chosen to not spend the entire weekend with him any more. They just went out Saturday afternoons, usually to the bowling alley or the movies, then had dinner, and he brought her home. The change had been her idea, not his.
He leaned against the driver's side of his Murano, his hands in his pockets. He could see Irene standing at the window watching him through the open blinds and sheer curtains. He promptly turned and walked around to the back of the truck. He could see Vanessa when she came out, but Irene couldn't have a very good view of him. Let her focus on something else.
His jeans-clad daughter emerged from the town house, her pony tail bouncing behind her. She'd inherited Gil's light brown complexion, but her mother's dark hair. Gil emerged from the rear of the truck. “Hey.”
“Hi, Popi!” She ran toward him, her arms outstretched.
Relief flooded through him as he embraced her, as it always did. He'd secretly been afraid that Vanessa would turn her back on him, cut him off like she'd done to Brittany, but while their relationship had changed she clearly still loved him.
He decided to try to get her to change her mind. “How about spending the night? All you have to do is go in and get a change of clothes.”
She sighed. “No, Popi. Let's just go out tonight.”
He gestured for her to get in the truck. “You know, you never explained to me why you cut back on our visits. It has to do with Dana, doesn't it?”
“Do we have to talk about this, Popi?”
“Yes, I'm afraid we do. I only get to see you two weekends a month, and now it's down to two afternoons a month. I'm not happy about that, and I'd like to know why.”
“I can't leave Mama, Popi. She needs me.”
“I need you, too,” he said quietly.
“But you have Miss Dana. Mama doesn't have anyone. Except me.”
Gil gripped the steering wheel tightly. It enraged him that Irene presented herself as so needy to their daughter. He'd always encouraged Irene to make friends, from the time they'd arrived in Jacksonville from South Florida when Vanessa was just a toddler, but she hadn't taken his advice. Instead she'd built her entire existence around him and Vanessa. No wonder she fought the divorce the way she had. If Irene chose not to have a life of her own that was her own decision, but damned if he would let her ruin Vanessa's life. If Irene wasn't stopped, years down the road she would stand in the way of Vanessa going to college, of her dating and wanting to have a life of her own.
He decided to put off forcing a reconciliation between Vanessa and Brittany.
Vanessa's future took precedence.
He went inside with Vanessa after they came home from dinner at Chili's. Irene sat in the fabric-covered, high-backed rocker in the dimly lit living room, watching a movie on cable. Gil felt she'd carefully orchestrated the scene to emphasize her solitary state and to incur guilt in Vanessa for going out for a few hours.
He watched as Vanessa rushed to Irene and threw her arms around her. Irene whispered something, and Vanessa shook her head.
“Vanessa,” he said, “I was wondering if you'd give me a few minutes alone with your mother.”
“Sure, Popi,” she said, her eyes shining like stars in the night sky. “I'll be in my room.”
She thundered up the stairs, and Irene looked at Gil expectantly. “You wanted to talk to me?”
“Irene, I want you to think about what you're doing to our daughter. Not only has Vanessa terminated her most long-standing friendship at your suggestion, but she's also afraid to leave you alone for any period of time. She spends an afternoon with me and comes home to find you sitting in a rocking chair like Whistler's mother. What type of effect do you think that's going to have on her?”
“Don't you start with me, Gilberto Albacete. I haven't done anything to Vanessa. She made up her own mind not to be friends with Brittany. And her not spending Saturday nights at your place probably has less to do with her not wanting to leave me and more to do with your new girlfriend.”
“Yeah, well tell me this, Irene. Did you ever once discourage her, tell her that her friendship with Brittany has nothing to do with my relationship with Brittany's mother, or that it's okay for her to spend as much time with me as she always has?” She simply stared at him, and he nodded. “I thought not. You're manipulating her into behaving the way you want her to, with no regard for what's best for her. She's a thirteen-year-old child, and she's not emotionally equipped to be your confidante. If you want someone to tell your troubles to, find a friend. Or see a counselor. But don't put all your fears on your child.”
Irene stared at him coldly. “I find it amazing that you always find a way to put everything back on me.
You're
the one who got Vanessa all confused by getting involved with her best friend's mother.”
“Irene, you've allowed your jealousy to turn you into a bad mother. I'm not going to stand for it. I'm going to see my lawyer about custody.”
She rocked calmly. “You do that. All I have to do is tell them who you're sleeping with. You don't stand a chance.”
“You really are despicable, Irene. You're willing to fight for custody of Vanessa so you can project your own neediness on her. What you need to do is get a life.” He glanced at the stairs. “I'm leaving. Tell Vanessa I'm sorry I didn't say good-bye, but I'll call her tomorrow.”
He went out the door with a slam.

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