Rachel Gibson: True Love and Other Disasters

The doorbell brought Faith out of her contemplation of sex and men. She moved through the living room and the travertine tile felt cool beneath her bare feet. She and Virgil had purchased the four-bedroom penthouse last year, but they’d used it only on the rare occasions when it had been easier to stay overnight in the city. It was mostly finished in marble and tile and had an ultramodern feel. Virgil had let her decorate it, and she’d picked out white leather and tons of red and purple pillows. It had a main-level terrace that looked out over Elliott Bay, and a rooftop solarium covered with glass that had an unrestricted 360-degree view of the city, the busy waterways, and Mount Rainier beyond.

She opened the door and a white ball of fur jetted past, its little toenails clicking on the tile. Faith felt an overwhelming urge to punt.

“Mother.” Faith looked behind her own shoulder as a white Pekingese jumped up onto her white leather sofa. “And Pebbles.” The nastiest dog on the planet. “You should have called.”

“Why? You would have told us not to come.” Valerie Augustine wheeled her large pink suitcase into the penthouse; her overly painted lips air-kissed Faith’s cheeks as she passed.

“It isn’t that I don’t want to see you,” Faith said and shut the door behind her. “I’m just swamped.” She followed her mother and pointed to the pile of books open on the glass-and-stainless coffee table.

“What are you studying for?” Her mother shoved the handle down into her suitcase and moved toward the leather couch on her five-inch spike heels. Pink, of course. To match her leather pants. She picked up a book and read, “ Idiot’s Guide To Hockey . Why are you reading this? I thought you sold the team.”

“I decided not to.”

Valerie’s big green eyes widened and she shook her head, disturbing her perfectly feathered Farrah ’do. In the seventies, someone had told Valerie that she looked like Farrah Fawcett. She still believed it. “What happened?”

She didn’t want to get into the whole story with her mother. “I just decided to keep it.” She thought of Landon reaching for her and Ty Savage stepping between them. She was grateful he’d been there. Grateful he’d stepped in. Almost grateful enough to forgive him for calling her “Miss January” in the press.

“Well, I’m glad. Now that the old bastard is gone, you need something to do.”

“Mother.”

“I’m sorry, but he was old.” It wasn’t exactly a secret that her mother hadn’t liked Virgil. The feeling had been mutual. Virgil had provided a nice monthly income for Valerie, but there had been strings attached that Valerie resented even as she cashed the checks. One of them being that she could not show up whenever she felt like it. “Too old for a young, beautiful girl,” she added as she tossed the book on the sofa and picked up her dog. Pebbles looked at Faith through beady black eyes and growled and snapped as if Faith had tried to snatch a piece of jerky from her jaws. “Oh hush,” Valerie said through pursed lips as she raised the dog to lick her face.

“Yuck. That’s disgusting.”

“I love Pebbles’s kisses.”

“She licks her butt.”

Valerie frowned and tucked the dog under one arm. “No, she doesn’t. She’s very clean.”

“She pees the bed.”

“Not my bed. And she just did it that one time because you yelled at her.”

Faith sighed and walked into the kitchen. “How long are you staying?”

“As long as you need me.”

Faith groaned inwardly and opened the door to the small wine cellar. It wasn’t that Faith wasn’t happy to see her mother or that she didn’t love her, she just didn’t want the responsibility right now. Not for Valerie and certainly not for the evil Pebbles.

For as long as Faith could remember, her mother had never really been a mother. They’d been “friends,” as opposed to child and parent. One of the best days in Valerie’s life had been the day Faith got a fake ID and they could party together. And when Faith had turned eighteen, she’d followed in her mother’s acrylic-heeled footsteps on the stage.

She pulled a perfectly chilled bottle of chardonnay from the rack and closed the door behind her. She knew her mother believed anything could be solved with a fine bottle of wine, a good cry, and a new man. While Faith didn’t believe that herself anymore, she did believe everything tasted better served in Waterford-something she’d learned from her late husband-and she set a pair of crystal glasses on the black granite countertop.

“I ran into Ricky Clemente at Caesars last weekend. He asked about you,” Valerie said as she ran her pink nails through her dog’s fur.

Faith didn’t know which was more appalling, that her mother chatted with “Ricky the Rat,” the guy who’d cheated on her with half the dancers in Vegas, or that she was in Caesars. She glanced at her mother as she uncorked a bottle of Virgil’s finest.

“Don’t look at me like that. I was meeting Nina at the Mesa Grill for dinner. I stayed away from the slots.”

Faith wanted to believe it, but she didn’t. Her mother had relapsed too many times to be trusted in a casino. Her mother was a pleasure seeker. She needed it like oxygen, and playing the slot machines had been pure bliss for her. Thank God she’d never really developed a fondness for cards or dice.

“Ricky said you should call him.”

Faith made a gagging noise as she poured the wine.

“If not Ricky, someone else. You need to jump back on the horse. Take a few rides around the track.” She reached for the glass and held it to her lips. “Ah, the good stuff. This will make you feel better.”

“I feel fine, and it’s too early to date.”

“Who said anything about dating? I’m talking about riding around the track a couple of times with someone fun. A man closer to your age.”

“I don’t want to ride anyone.”

“It would get rid of that sad look on your face.”

“My husband just died.”

“Yeah. Last week.” She set Pebbles on the floor, and the dog waddled to the pantry door and sniffed around. “You need to get out. Have fun. I’m here to make sure you do both.”

Most mothers would have come over with a casserole and cautioned their daughters not to jump into anything too quickly. To take it slow.

Not Valerie. Valerie wanted to party.

“Tomorrow we’ll go shopping and go somewhere nice for dinner.”

“Tomorrow I have to meet with Virgil’s former assistant.” Darby had put her in touch with Julian Garcia and he’d agreed to meet with her the following afternoon. If he also agreed to work for her, and she wanted to hire him, he’d begin working tomorrow night. Starting with the second game against Vancouver. If he didn’t agree and she didn’t like him, she didn’t know what she’d do next.

“After your meeting then.”

“After the meeting, I want to read my hockey books.”

“What’s happened to you?” Her mother shook her head, disturbing wisps of fine, blonde hair. “You used to be so full of life. You used to be so fun.”

She used to be a stripper who partied until the sun came up. She used to be a lot of things she wasn’t anymore.

“You used to be audacious and sexy. Virgil made you old before your time. You don’t dress like yourself anymore, and I could just cry.”

No. She didn’t dress like her mother anymore. “Maybe we can go out to dinner afterward. Tomorrow night’s game against the Canucks will be my first as the official owner and I don’t want to screw it up.”

“How could you possibly screw it up?”

So, so many ways. “I’m sure the press will want to talk to me afterward. I just don’t want to embarrass the guys.” She took a drink and thought of the pain in Ty Savage’s eyes when she’d asked about hiring Terrible Ted. “Or myself.” Especially herself. “I don’t want to look dumb. I’m terrified they’ll ask me questions and I won’t know the answers.” And the likelihood of that happening was probable to certain.