Texas Hustle (30 page)

The next day, as promised, Mr. Nick met Porchia and June at his shop at eight a.m. Apparently, this was an obscenely early hour for Mr. Nick, who usually didn’t take his first client until closer to ten. He immediately declared Porchia’s hair a disaster and insisted she needed six to eight inches cut to rid her of such an unsightly mess. Porchia almost left right then. After a long, drawn-out consultation with June and a verbal battle with Porchia, he agreed to cut only two inches.

The sonofabitch, in cahoots with her mother, cut at least five inches off. It still left her with enough length she could pull it back, but the sight of all her hair scattered on the floor made her gasp.

From there, Jimmy drove her mother and her to a small, upscale boutique where the racks were loaded with name-brand items. June pulled a few garments for Porchia to try on.

“Really, Katherine,” her mother said. “You just have to have something appropriate to wear for dinner tonight.”

Appropriate turned out to be six skirts, eight blouses, five dresses and four pairs of heels. Her mother also tossed onto the growing pile a couple of undergarment foundations to help with that little stomach budge, as June so politely put it.

Dinner at the club with Harry and Sally Pope and their son was as horrible as Porchia had feared. Oh, not that Myron hadn’t finally got that acne cleared up and come to love soap. He had. He had a Harvard law degree and an opinion of himself that no one could ever top.

Her mother found him charming and an ideal companion.

Porchia did not.

She made it through Thanksgiving without stabbing herself in the eye, but only because she was worried she’d not die but only be blind. Every time she got the urge to leave, she reminded herself that June and Paul were her parents, the ones who’d given her life. They deserved her love and respect.

After she’d been in Atlanta for a week, she pined for her home in Whispering Springs, but mostly she missed Darren. She picked up the phone to call him so many times his name was the first suggestion under her phone’s suggested-call list.

Fifteen days before Christmas, she got Magda on the phone.

“How’s married life?” Porchia asked.

“Pretty much the same as unmarried life,” Magda said with a laugh. “How are you? We’re all wasting away here without all your pastry goodness.”

Porchia chuckled. “Thanks, but I’m pretty sure I’m not that missed.”

“Depend on who’s doing the missing.”

Porchia’s breath caught. “Someone there missing me?”

“Maybe,” Magda said with a laugh. “And if someone was missing you, he’d be a total ass to live with, if you get my drift.”

A thrill ran through Porchia. Darren did miss her. For the first time since she’d arrived in Atlanta, she felt like Porchia again, and not like Katherine.

“How are things going with your parents?” Magda asked.

“Oh, they’re going.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means… Hell, I don’t know what it means. It’s just so different here. In their own way, I’m sure my parents love me and are glad I’m here. But on the other hand, I think they were used to their lives without an adult offspring living with them.”

“So when you coming home?”

Porchia sighed. “I don’t know. My business is gone. My family lives in Georgia, not Texas.”

“There are different kinds of families. There are the ones you are related to by blood. You have no choice there. But then there are the families you choose to love. Your friends. Your lover. You have to decide which family makes you the happiest.”

Magda’s words resounded in Porchia. What she said made sense. What was left for Porchia to decide was which family would make her the happiest.

That evening as she dressed for dinner, she reminisced about her years in Texas. How much simpler her life was there. No putting on her face before breakfast, and even when she did apply make-up, it was minimal. Lots of jeans, T-shirts and cowboy boots. Now, it was skirts and more skirts, jewelry and heels. Not that she didn’t look great in her new clothes with her new hair style, but was it her? Did she still fit into this world?

Her mother continued to apply what she called motherly concern to Porchia’s imperfections. So far, Porchia had undergone a haircut—albeit not as much as her mother would prefer—new clothes, weekly manicures, and now her mother had set her up for tennis lessons at the club.

“I spoke with Tony, and he’s penciled you in today for a lesson. I’m sure you don’t have an appropriate tennis dress, so we’ll need to hurry to get to Tennis and More to get you something to wear.”

“Mother. I told you I don’t have any interest in tennis lessons.”

Her mother frowned, or would have if her botoxed brow would have allowed it. “Golf then?” She clucked her displeasure. “Not really an activity a lady would engage in, but then you have been out of my influence. It’s not your fault that my mother didn’t teach you all the proper ways of a lady.”

Porchia sighed. “Grandma Summers was wonderful to me.”

June dabbed her lips with the linen breakfast napkin. “I know she was, Katherine.”

Porchia sighed again. “You remember that I told you I go by Porchia now.”

Her mother wrinkled her nose. “It sounds like a car. Katherine is so much more dignified.”

“Hey. You gave me that name.”

“Yes, well, it was a youthful discretion on our part.” Her mother’s face brightened. “I’ve been meaning to tell you. Myron Pope is quite taken with you. Sally is over the moon. I was thinking we should have them over for dinner this weekend.”

The idea of Myron Pope touching her or kissing her almost had Porchia losing her breakfast. He was a worm.

“Sally told me that Myron said you were an excellent conversationalist.”

Porchia laughed. “Mother. All the man talked about was himself.”

“Well, that is usually a man’s favorite subject, isn’t it?” Her mother chuckled. “Now hurry up and change clothes so we can get to Tennis and More when it opens. It is so good of Tony to work you into his packed schedule.”

Porchia didn’t really want to learn to play tennis, but her brain was slowly but surely shriveling up and dying cell by cell from the boredom. And frankly, tennis was better than another luncheon with her mother. And she needed some exercise.

She missed baking. The one time she’d mentioned baking a cake for dessert, her mother and Cook almost had a case of Southern vapors.

She even missed getting up at five-thirty in the morning. She’d gotten up early a couple of times, headed down for coffee and run into her father, who’d seemed surprised to find her, as though he’d forgotten she was home. About the only time she saw him was at dinner. He left for court before her mother rose for the day. After dinner, he generally retired to his study to read his law journals.

On Friday, the Popes arrived for cocktails at seven, followed by dinner. Porchia dressed in a form-fitting royal-blue dress with a pair of leather kitten heels. After wrapping her hair into a French twist, she put on a pair of chandelier-style sapphire earrings. As she made her way down the staircase, she studied Myron Pope talking with her father. Dressed in a tailored thousand-dollar grey suit, Myron looked like a man who had money, lots and lots of money. He projected an air of entitlement and secure social standing, not that he’d done anything to earn that place in Atlanta society other than be born to wealthy parents.

“There she is,” her father said as she entered the formal living room.

“Hello, darling,” her mother said, giving Porchia the standard air-kisses.

“She always did love to make an entrance and have the spotlight on her,” Myron said with a smile. “You’re looking lovely this evening, Katherine.” He took her hands and bussed her cheek with his lips. “I’m glad we’re together again.”

So far, Porchia had bitten her tongue to the point where she wondered if the tip would simply flop to the floor if she opened her mouth. She gritted her teeth and twisted her lips into a smile.

“What are we all drinking?” she asked, pulling her hands free. “Can I get anyone a refill?”

Her mother lifted her martini glass. “Sally and I would love a couple of fresh ones, darling.”

At one time, her parents had a butler who would do the bartending duties as well as answer the door. But in an effort to remain in touch with the simpler lifestyle, they’d let the butler go and had only kept a cook, June’s social secretary and a maid to help Cook keep the house.

“I’ve got it, honey,” her father said and hurried to the bar. There, he retrieved the icy pitcher of dry martinis. “What would you like, Katherine?”

What Katherine would like was to be called Porchia and for someone to toss her a beer, not that she could verbalize those two opinions. Her mother would need smelling salts to recover.

“A martini is fine,” Porchia said. Besides, the alcohol might numb her enough to get through the evening without jerking what she suspected was a toupee off Myron’s head.

Cook stepped into the room and spoke quietly with Porchia’s father. He glanced over at Porchia and then responded to Cook, who hurried out of the room. Probably some terrible meat emergency that would send her mother into a good old-fashion swoon if she found out. But her father and Cook spoke much too softly for their voices to travel, and Porchia was left out in the cold. However, that little glance from her dad did make her curious. She guzzled the first martini her father handed her and immediately got a refill. The doorbell rang as the rim of the martini glass touched her lips.

“I’ll get it,” she said, glad to have any reason to leave the room. She hurried to the foyer before an objection could be made.

She threw the door open and her mouth fell agape.

“Porchia?” Darren asked.

Chapter Twenty-Three

It’d taken Darren a couple of days to wheedle Porchia’s parents’ address out of his sister, KC. He’d finally had to break down and tell her the truth…that he was going after Porchia because he was in love with her. KC had screamed with joy, which had made his ears hurt and got everyone else in the office coming to see what the problem was.

Damn his sister. Now the entire Montgomery & Montgomery office knew how he felt about Porchia. If she kicked him back to Texas, everyone would know that too. Still, he had to try.

Darren was stunned when the airport cab pulled up to the gate of an old, very large, extremely ornate Southern mansion. Porchia had never mentioned coming from money. In fact, he’d even heard her complain about her struggle to make ends meet on more than one occasion.

The cab pulled up to an elaborate iron gate and rolled forward enough to allow Darren to reach the callbox button.

Darren rang and waited for an answer.

“Yes?” a female voice said.

Darren leaned his head out the window and spoke in a loud voice. “I’m a friend of Porchia Summers. I was told she would be here.”

“Porchia?”

“That’s correct.”

“One minute please.”

There was a long pause and then the gate swung open slowly.

While waiting through the long pause before the gate opened, Darren wondered if he’d gotten the wrong address. However, this must be the right address since the person at the other end of the security callbox allowed the cab to proceed up a paved curved drive to park in front of a set of double doors.

After paying the driver, Darren set his duffle bag off to the side of the door and rang the bell. While he waited for someone to answer, his heart raced like a thoroughbred coming down the home stretch.

He’d hoped Porchia’s reaction to his arrival would be to throw her arms around his neck with a cry of delight. What he got was a somewhat more reserved reaction.

She opened the door, a bright smile on her face that instantly dropped into a stupefied expression.

Darren’s hungry gaze ran over her, from her heels, up her legs—was she wearing nylons?—to a dress that accented her luscious curves to her beautiful face—was she wearing eye shadow?—to a hairstyle that made her look elegant and way out of his league.

He looked down at his jeans, cowboy boots and simple snap shirt. She didn’t just look out of his league, she was.

He gulped. “Porchia?”

“Darren? What are you doing here?”

“I…” He turned to leave. “I think I’ve made a mistake.”

“Wait.” She grabbed his arm. “Don’t go.”

“Who’s there, Katherine?” a male voice asked from the foyer.

Katherine? Did Porchia have a twin sister she’d never mentioned?

“A friend,” Porchia answered.

“Well, invite your friend in.”

“Um…” A flush climbed up her neck. “Do you want to come in?”

“Katherine? Who’s Katherine?” Darren asked.

Porchia shut her eyes for a minute as though gaining strength to continue. “That’s me. Katherine is my first name. Porchia is my middle name.”

An older man stepped up to the door. The resemblance was uncanny.

“Please come in,” he said. “Apparently, Katherine has forgotten every manner we ever taught her.”

Darren held out his hand. “I’m Darren Montgomery.”