The Kept Woman (5 page)

The theme song from the old
Beverly Hillbillies
TV show wafted through Sam's mind, and she chuckled to herself. At least they hadn't pulled up with kitchen chairs and steamer trunks tied to the luggage rack.

Sam's eyes traveled across the room, to the huge walk-in closet and the cardboard wardrobes that held her paintings. Maybe in addition to breathing, thinking, and feeling she'd find some time to paint in the next six months. She only hoped she remembered how and that there was still something inside her worth painting.

Her thoughts meandered to Jack, and she felt a little surge of heat course through her belly. She blamed it on that kiss, that wholly unfair kiss on the sidewalk that day, the one she hadn't been able to shoo from her mind. It hadn't lasted long and it was all part of her assignment, but that kiss had done some serious damage. It was like Jack Tolliver had opened the pop-top to her can of loneliness—the same can she'd been shaking around for three years—and left her with a big mess to clean up. Sam was going to have to find a way to compartmentalize Jack's kisses, she knew. She'd have to find a way to see them for what they were—business. And maybe with all this time on her hands, she'd think about finding a real man to date, someone she could really kiss and really touch and maybe even really love.

Besides, Jack Tolliver was not her type. He was so handsome he was almost otherworldly, and he was obviously an egomaniac. He had no outlet for creative self-expression that she could see, and that was a red flag in her book. All that said, Sam remembered the brief flash of realness she'd seen in his face at his lawyer's office, after he'd gotten up from the floor. And the sound of his laugh after that kiss, and the sense she had about him while they sat together at the diner, a sense that there was some kind of war being waged inside of Jack, a war between a the person he really was and the person the world expected him to be. . ..

"Mommy?" A soft voice carried through the room and Sam saw the double doors of the suite slowly open. Lily poked her head inside and smiled sheepishly.

"Hi, sweet pea."

"I can't sleep. It's too weird being here. Can I come in with you?"

Sam reached for the coverlet and pulled it back, patting the firm bed for Lily. Her daughter giggled as she ran across the room and jumped in.

"Easy," Sam whispered, nodding to Dakota.

"Oh. Didn't know he was here." Lily propped herself up on an elbow. "We're only missing Greg and Dale now. Should I go get them?"

Sam chuckled. "Dale is banished to that room with indoor-outdoor carpeting for the duration, I'm afraid."

Lily sighed. "That is just so heinous. I mean, we have a maid, right, so what's the big deal? It's like His Excellency doesn't trust us to keep an eye on our own dog or something. I mean, dude! Dale isn't a Great Dane or anything. He's a fifteen-pound
marsh-mallow
, for Christ's sake."

Sam closed her eyes tight, wondering which issue needed addressing first—Lily's insulting nickname for Jack, her apparent plans to lead a life of leisure, or the use of language she'd rather not hear coming from her fourteen-year-old daughter. "Listen, Lily—"

"Yeah. OK. Sorry. I'll never call him that to his face and I know I shouldn't use the Lord's name in vain, but it's not like we go to
church
or anything, Mother, and Dale is just a little harmless puppy."

Sam smiled at Lily. "Jack is not used to being around dogs and kids. We're going to have to clean up after ourselves and be religious about following Dale around with the scooper, you know?" Sam stroked her daughter's smooth hair. "Maybe we should just be religious all around and start going to church every weekend. Just for the hell of it. What do you think?"

Lily's eyes popped wide. "God, Mother! You're not going born-again on me, are you?"

Sam laughed softly. "No, but I'm going to be the best, most attentive, loving, wonderful mom I can be for the next six months. I want to enjoy you kids—enjoy every minute I get to spend with you."

Lily arched one eyebrow. "OK—you are really starting to skeeve me out now."

Dakota stirred, and the two of them giggled and shushed each other. Sam took hold of Lily's hand. "Remember, sweet pea," she whispered. "We're not really rich people. We're just playing them on TV."

There was a faint knock on the door.

"Mom?" Greg whispered. "It's too quiet in my room to sleep." He walked over to the edge of the bed and frowned when he saw that his sister and brother had beat him to the punch.

"Move over, Bones," he said to Lily.

"No," she grumbled. "And stop calling me that, Sped."

"Come over here, big guy." Sam pulled the comforter away from the other side of the bed and made a spot for Greg, who snuggled in next to Dakota. She stroked Greg's smooth cheek and smiled at her oldest son. Getting him into private school and away from the unforgiving city kids would be a godsend. She expected to see him blossom in a place where a smart kid who happened to need speech therapy wouldn't be labeled a dork or sped, that unkind abbreviation for "special ed."

"There's plenty of room for all of us in here, and I think now would be a really great time for the two of you to stop calling each other names." Sam looked to each of her older kids. "We have to be on top of our game for the next six months. We've got to work together. We've discussed how important this is."

"I know," Lily muttered.

"OK," Greg sighed.

"We have a meeting tomorrow with Mr. Tolliver, his attorney, and Kara. We're going over the basic rules and our schedule for the next week. I'm counting on you guys to be civil to each other."

"Yeah," Greg said.

"Whatever," Lily said.

"How about I sing us all a lullaby?" Sam asked.

Lily's sigh was full of angst. "We are not toddlers anymore."

A sharp stab of regret hit Sam in the chest. Oh, how she knew that! She was painfully aware that the years had whizzed by in a blur of hair and bills and diapers and take-out pizza and collapsing marriages and not enough sleep and she planned to use this next six months to make up for all of it.

Sam cleared her throat and began to sing a slow, soft tune to her children. "
This is a story 'bout a man named Jed. . .
"

She and the kids giggled themselves to sleep.

"
This had better be good
," Christy Schoen repeated to herself for the third time in as many minutes. She'd never liked Brandon Miliewski, and she certainly didn't appreciate waiting for anyone, especially someone she didn't like. She would give him exactly two more minutes, and that was only because she was an optimist and there was always an outside chance that one of the sleazy lobbyist's tips might be worth hearing.

A chubby guy in a casual windbreaker burst through the door of the Chatterbox Tavern, looking to his left and right like somebody would recognize or care that he was there. Good God. She and the bartender were the only living souls in the hole-in-the-wall establishment. It was four o'clock on a Sunday afternoon. Normal people were home with their families, relaxing and discussing matters of public import just featured on that afternoon's
Capitol Update with Christy Schoen
.

Today's show had been all about Ditto's surprise announcement that he would not seek another term, the flood of candidacies it had spawned, and the impact that a change in representation would have on the state. Of course, Jack Tolliver, that bastard, was stirring up the most interest by simply not bothering to announce. He got publicity by doing
nothing
. She hated that about him more than anything else. OK—maybe not as much as she hated the way he treated women. Like they were disposable. Like they were interchangeable. Like the world was just chock-full of women as smart, beautiful, and fabulous as she was. As if!

Christy took a calming breath. One day, he'd see what a giant mistake he'd made the night he dumped her. One day, he'd come back to her.

Brandon made his way to Christy's table and bent down in an attempt to kiss her cheek. She prevented actual contact with a flat palm to his chest. "Have a seat," she said.

"You look gorgeous, as usual." Brandon's beady eyes lit up his flushed face.

"You look good, too," she said, hoping it didn't sound like the lie it was, because Brandon didn't look good. He looked like the porky geek of a former state legislator from bum-fuck Madison, Indiana, that he was. "I'm having coffee. Want one?"

"No thanks. I'd rather share a bottle of wine with you."

She scrunched up her nose like she smelled something unpleasant and said, "Maybe some other time."

As Brandon slowly removed his jacket, Christy felt his eyes roam all over her. She was used to this, of course, and she sighed softly. Sometimes it was a burden to be beautiful in the sleek, blond, and photogenic kind of way that she was.

"I mean, wow. You look
really
good, Christy."

She folded her hands on the tabletop and smiled at him. "You have exactly five minutes."

"Hey! Great! Fabulous!"

Brandon fidgeted in the chair and tried to pretend he wasn't just shot down. She hated men who retreated like that, without a fight. Even if Brandon were the hottest man alive, she'd not respect the guy—a wimp if there ever was one. "Let's have it, Miliewski."

"It's about Jack Tolliver."

Hello
. Christy pretended to be only marginally interested. "Let me guess—he's seriously considering a run for Ditto's Senate seat. Everyone within five hundred miles of the State House has heard that rumor."

Brandon chuckled, cutting her off with a dismissive wave of his hand. "I started that rumor, baby," he said proudly. "But there's more. Something I was saving just for you."

The gleam in Miliewski's little eyes told Christy to sit there and listen and not be too appalled that he'd just called her baby.
Baby!
Maybe she should have answered one of his eleven voice mails from last week, if this was about Jack.

"He's dating someone new. Someone a little out of the ordinary."

The expectant tension Christy had been holding in her shoulders released, and she groaned. "Is that all? Everyone in town knows he's been seeing the belly dancer bimbo for the last month or so."

"No way!" Brandon shook his head. "Tina is a nurse at Riley children's hospital! My sister works with her!"

"A nurse who happens to moonlight in harem pants every weekend at Santorini's."

Miliewski's eyes shot open. "No kidding?" He licked his lips. "That is so hot."

Christy reached for her purse and started to stand up.

"Well, anyway, this is a different woman," Brandon said, nodding with certainty. "Way different."

Christy planted her butt right back in the booth. "OK. Who is she?"

"Her name is Samantha Monroe."

"Samantha
who
?" Christy wracked her brain—she'd heard that name somewhere but couldn't place it. "Who is she?"

Miliewski shrugged. "He took her to lunch at Workingman's Friend the other day. She's a cute redhead with a nice set of real ones."

Christy shook her head in disgust. "You are pure class, Miliewski." She sighed and gathered up her purse again. "That's it? Just a name? You dragged me out on a Sunday to tell me the name of some big-boobed chickie Jack took out for a burger?"

He frowned. "They weren't big, just nice. And you're the one who said you didn't have any time but today to see me and—"

"Fine. Thanks, Brandon. Good luck trying to get the video poker bill out of committee." In a flash, she was on her feet, coat on, car keys in hand.

"But there's something different about this one," Brandon said, looking past Christy, a pensive smile on his face. "She seems kind of sweet. She's older than the standard twenty-somethings he's usually boinking. She looked nice and normal and he was talking to her softly, like he really cared what she was saying. Like they had important things to discuss."

Christy was listening.

"And then I saw him kiss her out on the sidewalk. It was one of those kisses that didn't last a real long time but got the message across, you know? And Tolliver laughed afterward—a big laugh—and she smiled like a cat who'd swallowed the canary."

When Brandon brought his dreamy gaze back to Christy, he jerked in surprise, and Christy tried to shake off the shock that must have been plastered all over her face.

"You OK, Christy?"

"I'm just fine." She pursed her lips and blinked. "Thanks for the tip, Brandon, and for coming out today. I do appreciate it, but Jack's love life is really none of my business, and it's certainly not news." She brushed past him on her way to the door but stopped when she heard Miliewski's nasty laugh behind her.

"You are so full of shit," he whispered.

Christy spun around, her mouth open in astonishment.

Brandon stood up and walked toward her, savoring Christy's surprise. "Anything that man does is news in this town—at the
Star
, the
Business Journal
, at all three affiliates
plus
Fox and even the local access channels, and you know it." He cocked his head at her and grinned. "You helped make it that way, Christy."

She didn't know what to say. His aggressiveness had caught her attention. She found it strangely exciting. Her heart began to beat a little too fast.

"And you and I both know that if Samantha Monroe happens to be Jack's babe du jour at the time he declares his candidacy—and he will declare, of course—the woman's life is going to be a living hell. You'll see to that, too. It's what you do."

Maybe it was the lighting, or lack thereof, in the Chatterbox, but Brandon Miliewski appeared vaguely attractive standing there, the assertive smirk helping his face appear broad and strong instead of merely chubby.

Brandon reached behind him and pulled out the chair Christy had been sitting in. "Now. How about that bottle of wine?"