Runaway Mistress (9 page)

If she weren’t so afraid of Nick, she’d almost like to thank him. For the first time in ten years the pressure to be perfect was off. Her constant grip on control was unnecessary—she was loose in this body without all the trimming and constant upkeep. All she had to do was relax into this modest role and enjoy her own feelings for once. There was such amazing freedom in this.

She was beginning to have relationships, shallow though they might be. Still, it was far more than she had indulged in while she was trying to keep some man interested.

From here she could look back over some of her choices. Being the girlfriend of rich older men had seemed like a safe and practical way to spend some time, but suddenly ten years had flown by. She’d gone from nineteen to thirty in a flash, hardly feeling the passage of time. The only way in which she acknowledged aging at all was with the clear realization that she wouldn’t be young and beautiful forever, and she would have to plan her next career path with no time to spare.

Now it amazed her that she had fooled herself into believing she could be satisfied with that. Catering to someone else’s needs, leaving her own for later, in order to live a material life and avoid the risk of falling in love and having her heart broken? What was that about? Her idea of security was suddenly skewed, for what good were her savings and investments if her life was in danger?

Yet, danger or not, here she was now, a woman alone with simple needs and experiencing entirely new feelings. It verged on happiness. How, she asked herself, had she managed to get to be thirty years old before figuring that out?

While Louise prepared to leave the country, Jennifer went to her house a few times to become familiarized with the place, to get instructions on the upkeep, the bills, the bank, the care of the dog and, most important, the computer. Through that process two things became glaringly obvious. She wondered how Louise, at her age and infirmity, could manage the kind of trip she was undertaking. And second, she realized she would miss her. Jennifer had begun to look forward to her breakfast companion and had come to think of her as a friend, even if they didn’t share any personal information.

“I’m taking my laptop,” Louise said. “So we can e-mail all the time. I will never be far away with that convenience.”

Jennifer’s big brown eyes brightened. “It will be almost like having you here.”

“Better,” she said. “I don’t complain about my joints so much in e-mail.”

Then the day came for Louise to leave. The cab that would take her to the airport pulled up in front of the diner and Jennifer went out to say goodbye. “Alice is at home, moping. She started acting injured and dejected when she saw the suitcases come out two days ago, and now she’s in a full-blown depression. Don’t be too concerned if she picks at her food for a couple of days. It’s her way of letting us know she has strong opinions about being left behind.”

“I’ll brush her and take her to the park.”

“Try to enjoy this respite, Doris. Make a study of it. Keep a journal or something.”

“Sure, Professor. Travel safely.”

“I’ll see you again soon,” Louise said. And Jennifer, without planning to, lunged into the cab and embraced the old woman, shocking her.

“Oh! My!” she exclaimed. And then, recovering from the surprise, she put her arms around Jennifer and patted her back. “You’ll have a good six months. Ignore Alex’s pique and take Rose with a grain of salt.”

Later that day, as she walked to Louise’s little brick house, she strolled down the street at a slow, lazy pace while inside her heart was leaping, and the temptation was strong to break into a run. Right after giving Alice some attention, she was going to take a good, long bath. She’d limited herself to showers at the motel, afraid of what germs might be lurking in the forty-year-old porcelain tub.

She was entering Louise’s house now with a whole new set of senses, as if seeing it for the first time. New sight, new smell, new touch. She stuck the key into the front door, but it was unlocked. That would have to change. As she entered, Alice slowly rose from her pallet by the hearth, but she hung her head and put her ears back as if to say,
Do you see this? I’ve been left again.

“Hey, girlfriend. Don’t worry—she’ll be back before you know it.”

Alice lay back down, her snoot flush with the floor between her paws, her pathetic eyes glancing upward.

Jennifer lifted the leash off the hook by the door. “Come on, no pouting. Let’s take a little walk so you can get an attitude adjustment. Then I’ll settle in.”

Alice rose slowly to her feet but still hung her head dejectedly as she went to Jennifer.

“Oh, brother,” Jennifer said to her. “What a drama queen. Come on, let’s go. Enough self-pity.”

It took Alice at least a block to get in the mood, after which she had a rather nice, though brief, twirl around the park. People who obviously knew Louise and Alice greeted them. “Louise gone off to London, has she?” said a man who was walking a terrier. He gave Alice a pat. “I’m Pat from the grocery. Holler if you need anything.”

“Thanks,” she said. “Doris. From the diner.”

“Welcome aboard.”

There were three others she passed by—each said hello to Alice, to her, and each one seemed to realize that if someone else was walking the dog, Louise must be gone for the summer.

Just a little exercise and fresh air seemed to do wonders for Alice’s mood, but Jennifer was chomping at the bit to get home,
home,
to get settled. And when they did get back, Alice’s tail was wagging again and she helped herself to some of her food.

“See? I knew you could adopt a positive attitude if you tried.”

The living room embraced Jennifer. The hardwood floor, red brick fireplace, deep sofa and overstuffed chairs with ottomans, worn in just the right places. And books. The wall upon which the hearth stood had built-in shelves on each side,
filled
with books. She went to the shelf to look at the titles and only then did she notice that the dust on the shelf was thick. She ran her fingertips along the shelf and then examined them.

Louise’s house was cozy, if a little old-fashioned. And though she had been there a couple of times last week to learn the computer, she hadn’t really looked around. The floral sofa and rose-colored chairs were sporting a good bit of dog hair, and now that she thought about it, it was a little on the musty side.

Well, it stood to reason—Louise was eighty. Not only would her eyesight probably be a bit challenged, but she was simply too arthritic for heavy cleaning. Jennifer dug under the kitchen sink and came up with cleaning supplies—dusting rags, scouring powder, glass cleaner. She got busy at once, starting in the living room. There was an old radio on the bookshelf, and as she dusted around it, she turned it on. Frank Sinatra was singing, so she turned the dial—but Frank just kept at it. Apparently the dial was broken, and if she was going to listen to that radio, she was going to hear that kind of music.

She’d rather it was winter, with some cold weather, so she could light the fire and the lamp, grab a book and a soda and never leave. This place felt like a nest for the restless bird. Instead, she opened some windows to clear out the musty smell. She found the vacuum cleaner in the second bedroom closet, and fortunately there were new bags on the shelf.

From just inside the front door, the dining room was to the left, living room to the right, the screened-in porch through the french doors straight ahead. Louise had had the kitchen remodeled, making it the most modern room in the house. And it was used very little, so it wasn’t dirty, but Alice’s coat seemed to line the floor. The granite countertops needed a good scouring, the cupboard had glass doors that she happily polished, and she brought a high sheen to the stainless-steel appliances. She moved the kitchen table to give the floor a serious scrubbing, and before long she noticed that while she’d been cleaning her heart out, the day had grown long and the sun was beginning to lower in the sky. With the windows open, it was getting cold, and she shivered as she went to close them.

But she was so happy! It felt so wonderful to put a house right—a house she was going to occupy for up to six months. And she didn’t have to think about what she could do or wear or say to make a man happy; she only had to think about what would satisfy her.

There was a note on the counter beside the phone with all the numbers she would need and instructions to “take the master bedroom, please.” This was all typed; Louise’s hands were not agile enough to write legibly with a pen.

She grabbed her backpack and went to the bedroom, where she found a basket on the bed with a note on it. “Pamper yourself,” it read. In the basket was shampoo, cream rinse, lotion, soap, shower gel, bubble bath, a new brush and comb, toothbrush and paste, disposable razors and a manicure set. She lifted the shampoo and gave a huff of laughter. She sat down on the bed and saw her face in the dresser mirror. It was the face of Jenny at the age of fourteen—no makeup, lips deflated by the absence of collagen, a dark cap of hair covering her scalp and eyebrows grown out and shapeless from lack of tweezing. With her hair a mere buzz cut, her brown eyes looked large and dark.

Who would have believed the most perfect disguise would be her natural self?

There was one change she’d made since adolescence that she intended to take to the grave—the veneers on her teeth. If she were really going to go underground, she could probably pop off those veneers and go back to the old mouth.

But no. Enough was enough.

She felt the ache creep into her throat. She had spent so much energy on self-beautification, seeing it as necessary to her lifestyle, and her lifestyle necessary to survival. Yet here she was in her manly pants and shirts, so comfortable but so unattractive. Jennifer, she felt, was gone. As she looked at this new face, even though she remembered it from her youth, she wasn’t entirely sure who she was.

Don’t cry. You don’t have to stay exactly like this. This is only temporary. Until you figure out what to do.

All that was left of her former self, the self she’d worked so hard to create, was the jewelry and money in her backpack. She could have sold the two rings and tennis bracelet, but if Nick was determined to find her, they could be traced, so she simply tucked them into the backpack for safekeeping—for emergencies. She still had some money left, two jobs and very modest needs.

It had been weeks since she’d walked out of the hotel suite. A couple of phone calls from phones with blocked lines revealed that Barbara Noble was said to be living in the Nobles’ Caribbean estate. Apparently no one was suspicious of any crime. There had only been that one sighting of an MGM limo—with no evidence it bore Nick or his thugs. Could it be they’d all gone back to Florida and just assumed Jennifer would never dare tell a thing?

Possible, she decided. Only time would tell. And that time she would spend in Louise’s comfy house. A very nice place to hide.

She gave the bathroom a quick, efficient scrubbing, then kicked off her shoes, let her khaki pants drop to the floor and stripped off the baggy shirt. While the tub filled with hot, soapy water, she looked at herself in the mirror. Wouldn’t people be surprised to know that under the baggy pants and men’s shirts was a body like this—high breasts, flat tummy, round butt, long, lean, shapely legs. She preened a bit, one arm over her head, the other stretched behind her back. Then she reversed her pirouette. Something else was growing in—pubic hair. She had endured years of waxing in what was called a Brazilian—total hair removal. Nick had no idea about her natural hair color.

She sank into the tub and sighed audibly. God bless Louise Barstow—this was heaven on earth. Jennifer, who’d flown in private jets to luxury resorts all over the world, who’d been to the finest of spas, who’d worn the most expensive designer labels, was enjoying what felt like the grandest moment of her life in Louise Barstow’s bathtub.

Alice walked into the bathroom, sniffed at the bubbles and wagged her tail.

And living with the perfect roommate, she thought. Then she sank out of sight under the water.

Later that evening she sat at the computer. Louise wouldn’t be in London yet, but she should have a positive message about Alice waiting for her when she got there. Then a strange thing happened. If Louise had been present, Jennifer wasn’t sure she’d even feel like talking. But typing was something else. She had to make an effort to keep it short. There was a long letter inside, wanting to come out.

Dear Louise,

Alice seemed a little depressed when I first got here, but she snapped out of it. I took her to the park. Then her appetite kicked in and she had a little snack. Imagine my surprise when there seemed to be lots of people and dogs who knew her, but then I guess Alice has been around Boulder City for quite a while. You have very friendly neighbors around the park. I had lots of offers of help if I need anything. But I don’t, of course.

Are you well? Was the flight interminable? How are your legs? When you have a moment, let me know how you’re doing.

Just out of curiosity, why do all the houses in the neighborhood look the same? Was there a builder with a limited imagination?

Breakfast just won’t be the same….

Love,

Doris

The next day, Jennifer checked the computer before even lifting the leash off the peg, and to her delight, the computer told her she had mail!

Dear Doris

You should visit the dam and the museum—you’ll find it interesting. Boulder City started out as a government town, and all the little houses in my neighborhood—part of the historic district—were built for the managers of the dam project. The workers stayed in dormitories, tent cities and hastily constructed shanties. It was a highly regulated place in 1931, a morally conscious town in the middle of the most liberal, hard-drinking state in the union. The government was afraid if dam workers availed themselves of all the liquor and vice in Las Vegas, they’d blow themselves up with the dynamite they’d be handling. That or die of disease. Much of that enforced morality somehow remains, keeping us a dull lot.