Jennifer Crusie - Faking It

“Am I ever going to get this right?” Eve said, holding on to Tilda. “I’m thirty-five , for God’s sake, and I’m still screwing up.”

“Gwennie’s fifty-four and getting ready to shoot herself in the foot,” Tilda said. “I don’t think there’s an age limit. Let’s just hope Nadine has not inherited our lousy track record with men.”

“I thought you and Davy-”

“I have great hope,” Tilda said, “that he will break the Goodnight curse. But if he doesn’t, I’ll survive. And he’ll be leaving me in a much better place. Maybe Simon’s leaving you in a better place, too.”

Eve was silent for so long that Tilda leaned over to look in her eyes.

“Do you ever wonder if you’re Tilda pretending to be Scarlet or Scarlet pretending to be Tilda?” Eve said.

“No,” Tilda said. “But it’s a damn good question.”

“Because I think I’m Louise.”

“Oh, boy,” Tilda said.

“Eve doesn’t love him. Louise might.”

Tilda leaned over her to call to the waitress. “Is it too early to get a drink here? Can we… No?” She opened her purse and put bills on the table for the omelets. “Come on, cookie,” she said, pulling her sister out of the booth. “We’re going home for some pineapple-orange.”

THREE BLOCKS AWAY, Clea sat across the breakfast table from Mason, mad as hell. First Thomas didn’t show up to make breakfast, then Ronald stood her up, and now Mason was sitting there drinking coffee, just as if he hadn’t come home late and then turned her down when she offered to help him relax.

He’d slept with Gwen Goodnight.

He looked up at her now and she smiled and thought, You fucking bastard . “More coffee?” she asked him.

“Clea, it’s over,” he said, not unkindly.

“What’s over?” she said brightly, as her entire body went cold.

“Us,” he said. “It was fun, I had a good time, you had a good time-”

Want to bet?

“-but it’s over. I’m in love with somebody else.”

“Gwen Goodnight,” Clea said.

“I’m sorry, Clea,” he said, and he sounded as though he meant it. “I just fell in love.”

“With her gallery,” Clea said before she could stop herself.

His face darkened. “I knew you wouldn’t understand. Gwen’s the real thing.”

“And what am I?” Clea said. “I’m real, damn it. I’m a human being, I’m somebody you’ve talked to, made love to, made plans with, and now I’m just supposed to be understanding !”

“We didn’t make plans,” Mason said firmly. “We never-”

“We were going to build an art collection together,” Clea said, her throat closing at the unfairness of it all. “We talked about it, we went to museums, we bought paintings-”

“I did all of that,” Mason said. “You were just along for the ride.”

Clea put her napkin on the table. “Funny you didn’t mention that in the beginning.”

“I thought you knew,” Mason said, looking surprised.

“Knew what? That you were just using me?” Clea felt the tears start. “This is so unfair of you.”

“Clea,” Mason said, sounding stricken, and Clea let the tears flow. They were real ones. He deserved them.

“I love you,” she said on a sob and ran for the stairs. Crying was hell on a woman’s complexion, and she needed a tissue.

A ball bat to smack Mason with would be good, too.

AT ABOUT the same time Clea was thinking of bashing Mason, Davy came downstairs to find Tilda and found Nadine instead.

“Hey, Lucy,” he said to her. “Nice job last night.”

“I know,” Nadine said. “I think it’s going to be my career.”

“Good choice,” Davy said. “So where’s your aunt? I’ve misplaced her.”

“I think she went somewhere with Mom,” Nadine said.

“Okay,” Davy said, and then remembered he hadn’t seen Michael since the night before, either. “Have you seen my dad?”

“Yeah,” Nadine said. “He and Dorcas went to visit your sister.”

Davy went still. “He doesn’t know where she is.”

“He got Ethan to look her up on the computer. You can find anybody on the Net. She’s in some little town with a weird name.”

“Temptation,” Davy said.

“That was it,” Nadine said. “They took off in Dorcas’s car about half an hour ago.”

“Oh, hell,” Davy said, exasperated, and grabbed the phone.

Dillie picked it up on the first ring.

“Get me your dad,” Davy said.

“I was sort of hoping you’d be Jordan,” she said. “Listen, the stuff you told me-”

“Your dad,” Davy said. “ Now .”

He heard Dillie drop the phone, and a minute later, Phin picked up.

“What’s wrong?” he said. “Dillie says it’s an emergency.”

“It is,” Davy said. “Dad figured out where you are. He’s heading your way. Hold the fort until I can get there and remove him. Do not let him alone with Sophie and do not give him money.”

“I’m not stupid,” Phin said.

“Neither is he,” Davy said. “I like to think of him as washed up, but the man can talk anybody into anything.”

“You know, he’s starting to sound interesting,” Phin said.

“Famous last words,” Davy said. “Head for high ground.”

UP IN HER BEDROOM, Clea dabbed the last of her tears away and faced the unavoidable truth: Mason was leaving her for a fifty-four-year-old woman who didn’t moisturize. It was a slap in the face of her entire worldview. She’d spent forty-five years taking excellent care of herself, only to lose to a nobody who was going to have jowls at any minute. God knew how long it had been since Gwen had done a sit-up. One hundred. That was how many Clea did every morning and every night, one hundred damn sit-ups, and what had it gotten her? Dumped for a grandmother, for God’s sake. The woman had given birth, she had stretch marks, she had a stomach -Clea put her hand on her own supernaturally flat abdomen- and still she was winning. That was so wrong.

Well, Gwen had messed with the wrong woman this time. “This is not over,” she said out loud. “This is not over.”

She dumped her purse out on the bed until she found Ford Brown’s number. When he answered, she said, “We had a deal.”

“What?” he said.

“You were to keep Gwen away from Mason.”

“Look, you brought him to the gallery,” Ford said. “She hasn’t come to the house, has she?”

“No,” Clea said. “And I did not bring him. He went on his own.”

“I can’t stop him,” Ford said. “That’s up to you.”

“And Davy’s still there,” Clea said.

“Is he bothering you?” Ford said.

“Yes,” Clea said. “His existence bothers me.”

“I can take care of that if you want,” Ford said. “Just say the word.”

Clea swallowed. “Gwen is the bigger problem.” She looked around to make sure no one was listening.

“Gwen?” He sounded taken aback. “You want me to hit a woman?”

“No, I don’t want you to hit her,” Clea said, exasperated. “I want you to-” Her eye fell on the open closet door, the place where she’d hidden the painting. She stretched the phone cord over and looked inside.

The Scarlet was gone.

“What?” Ford said.

“Wait a minute,” Clea said, her heart in her throat. She put down the phone and went to the closet and then over to her laptop. Three minutes later, she picked up the phone, her heart hammering, and said, “Do not do anything to Davy Dempsey. I need him alive.”

Oh, God, Davy had her money. She sat down on the bed, trying not to shake. He’d taken it all. Mason was slipping away and she had no money and she was forty-five.