“Good. Now about the bathroom situation,” Avery began. “Why don’t we . . .”
“There’s nothing to discuss,” Chase said. “I need Robby to go through the entire system thoroughly and that takes time. If you want him done faster, I suggest you stop feeding and mothering him.” He shot Madeline a look that sent her off to wipe the far end of the counter.
“But . . .” Avery began.
“No, no buts,” Chase said. “We don’t really have time for buts.”
She closed her eyes briefly, searching for inner strength. She didn’t understand his attitude or the obvious chip on his shoulder he brought to every conversation they had. Opening her eyes, she stared into his vibrant blue ones and saw just how eager he was to put her in her place. She told herself not to engage, but this was so much easier thought than done.
“I’d like to discuss who’s going to do what when it’s time to move into the next phase,” she said. “For instance, I think Madeline should do the re-glazing—she’s the most patient and detail oriented. When we get the doors down, I can teach Nicole how to do the stripping and I can refinish. That way . . .”
“You’re getting ahead of yourself, Van,” he said, cutting her off. “All you have to do for the next three or four days is remove all the excess, haul it out from wherever it is, and throw it in the Dumpster. That’s it. Finito. I’ve got protective gear out in the truck, and I’ll be here while the scaffolding goes up. You can do all the smiling and posing you want, but I’ll worry about what comes next and who will do it. Because that’s my job.” He watched her carefully, but she had no idea what he was looking for.
“Seriously, Chase, that’s just . . .”
“. . . The way it is, Vanna.” Once again he looked her up and down, but more slowly this time, making her aware that she had pretty much just crawled out of bed and didn’t have on anything resembling underclothes. “Don’t worry your . . .”
“Don’t,” she said, presenting her palm once again. “I don’t know if you have something against me in particular or you’re this big an asshole with everyone, but one more word and this grunt will be out of here.”
“Tsk-tsk,” he said in mock despair. “The going hasn’t even gotten tough yet, Van. And you’re already thinking about bailing out?”
Avery narrowed her gaze at him. He looked so damned pleased with himself that all she could think of was wiping the smug smile off his arrogant face.
“The only thing that’s tough here is dealing with you,” she snapped. “And I don’t have a clue why. But I suggest you start thinking a little longer before you address me by anything other than my name. And just so we’re clear,” she said with her own most taunting smile, “the only pointing and gesturing I’m planning to do this summer is this.”
She watched his face carefully as she raised her hand. But this time she didn’t bother showing him her palm. She simply gave him the finger.
The removal phase sucked. After three days of prying thirty-year-old wallpaper from the even older walls it clung to, prying up baseboards that had been attached even longer, and sorting and then shlepping what had to be two tons of old shit out of the detached garage while wearing masks and gloves to avoid the toxic side effects of mold and mildew, Nicole had had enough. And that was before the three of them had spent close to three hours pulling up the sodden, moldy carpet and pad in the master bedroom and wrestling it down the stairs and out to the Dumpster.
Robby and several other of the subs who now streamed in and out of the house offered to help with the carpet, but Avery refused at almost the same instant Chase asked them to get back to the work they were being paid for. The two of them hadn’t spoken directly to each other since the last Vanna incident, but the amount of glaring and nonverbal communication between them was deafening.
Enrico and his helper tromped around overhead calling up and down to each other while a crew of six assembled and placed scaffolding around Bella Flora. Chase had set up a sawhorse and a pile of two-by-fours out on the pool deck and was cutting long strips of wood for new baseboards. The house was like some big patient told to open up and say “ahhhh.” One who’d been expecting a hygienist’s cleaning and ended up with double root canals.
Nicole had already heard more carpentry and construction noises over the past days than she’d expected, or wanted, to hear in a lifetime. Bottom line, it was well past lunchtime and Nicole wanted out. Without asking or discussing, Nicole ran upstairs to shower, put on her favorite vintage Dior sundress, and jumped in her car. In a word, she bailed.
Even though she knew she shouldn’t spend the money, she parked at the Don CeSar and walked through the lobby, breathing in the once-familiar scent of expensive beachside hotel, and exited through the back doors to the pool area, where she took a table overlooking the beach. It took her a few minutes of deep breathing and staring out over the bathing-suited crowd to regain her equilibrium. When the waiter appeared she ordered a glass of Chardonnay and a Nicoise salad. When the wine arrived she sipped it slowly, focusing on the sun glinting off the Gulf, the breeze riffling the palms, and the gentle touch of both on her skin. Soothed, she took her time enjoying her salad, then splurged on a small piece of key lime pie.
When she’d finished, she dabbed the napkin at the corners of her mouth, then reapplied her lipstick. In no hurry to return to “camp,” she ordered a last glass of Chardonnay. Knowing she’d stretched her budget and could soon be back on Cheez Doodles, she savored it. If she were filling out her tax form right now, she’d file the receipt under “mental health.”
When her phone rang she considered letting it go to voice mail; no news had begun to feel like good news, but there was always the small chance it might be business of some kind. When she saw her assistant, or rather her former assistant’s cell phone number on caller ID, she answered and raised the phone to her ear.
“Nicole?” Anita’s voice was hesitant when Nicole answered. “I wanted to say thanks for setting up that interview with the Date Doctor. It won’t be remotely the same as working for you, but she’s offered me a position.” There was a brief pause in which Nicole allowed herself to miss the young woman she’d trained to run her back office. She’d become a miracle of efficiency and had devoted herself to making Nicole’s life run smoothly. Lord knew Nicole could use a little “smooth” in her life right now.
“That’s great,” she said, meaning it. “She’s lucky to have you.”
“Listen, Nicole,” Anita said, her voice lowered. “I’m not sure where you are, but I wanted to let you know that I heard from the, um, FBI.” She paused as if to let this sink in. Nicole wished it were coming as a surprise.
“They wanted information about your bank deposits. They asked me if there had been any unusual deposits or more frequent transactions.” Anita paused. “I told them no. That you’d always been really diligent about your bookkeeping and that I was sure you’d show them your books if they wanted to see them.” Another pause. “I hope you’re doing okay.” It was a statement and a question.
“Thanks, Anita,” Nicole said. “I’m fine.” The lie tripped off her tongue automatically; if there was anything Nicole had learned over the years of reinventing herself, it was that perception could be far more important than reality. No one, not even those who seemed to be on your side, needed to see your vulnerability.
“Anything else I should know?” Nicole asked at the same moment she spotted Agent Giraldi crossing the pool deck and heading toward a nearby chaise. Nicole wasn’t the only woman who’d noticed him or watched as he spread a towel on the chaise and then pulled his T-shirt over his head in one smooth, unhurried move. In fact, there was what might have been a faint collective sigh as he rubbed lotion across his chest and over his abdomen.
“There was a strange email on your old AOL account, too.” Anita said. Nicole was listening but her gaze remained riveted on Agent Giraldi. Was parading around in front of her without his shirt a part of his surveillance, too, or just a byproduct of it?
“Does that mean anything to you, Nicole?”
“Hmmm?” She watched Giraldi settle onto the chaise, pillow the back of his head in his hands, and cross one ankle carelessly over the other. Despite the sunglasses, she could feel him watching her. He probably had a damned black belt in lip reading.
