Glamour Puss Read online

  Nearing his home, Mac saw Bri’s BMW convertible on the circular drive at his door. He pulled up the Lexus behind her. Glancing in her rearview mirror, she got out.

  “I’m sorry to be late, honey,” he said. “I got stuck in a meeting.”

  “That’s all right,” she said, closing the car door. “At least you’re here.”

  Bri, willowy in jeans and a pale yellow cotton sweater, put her hands on her hips as she watched him approach. There was dissatisfaction on her face. She impatiently brushed her light brown hair back off her shoulders. She did not appear interested in affection, so Mac made no attempt to kiss her. Why was it that when a woman seemed bent on ridding herself of a man, she was most desirable?

  Mac stood there, savoring her, even knowing it could be for the last time. Bri had soft skin, lovely skin. He thought of her scent when they made love, her occasional impatience with him, the way she laughed at his awkward jokes. Her intelligence.

  By her own account, Bri had brought class and culture to his life, transformed him from a “tradesman into gentry.” He was Eliza to her Professor Higgins. He admired and respected her. Sabrina Lovejoy was about the classiest woman who’d ever been a part of his life. But knowing what was coming, Mac lost all desire for conversation.

  “I hope you didn’t have to leave anything important to meet with me,” she said, turning to walk with him to the door.

  “No, I pretty well finished what I had to get done.”

  As Mac pulled out his key, he noticed a white envelope peeking from under the corner of the welcome mat. Reaching down, he picked it up. The envelope was sealed. “McGowan” was written in block letters on the front, but there were no other markings. It was probably from a neighbor. Somebody was always trying to organize people to do something, to get the city to do this or that. But in Bel Air these things weren’t done by carrying petitions door-to-door so much as by inviting people over for a drink and to hear a lawyer discuss the ins and outs of the environmental-impact report process.

  After opening the door, he waited for Bri to enter, then followed her inside, tossing his car keys and the envelope on the entry table. “How about a drink?” he said, feeling the need for one himself.

  “No thank you, Mac. I’m not going to stay long. There are some things I need to say and I want to do it sooner rather than later. I also want to say them to your face.”

  Mac had a sinking feeling. He peered at her, waiting. Bri looked determined, but for the moment, anyway, didn’t speak. He decided to make it as easy for her as he could. “Let’s go into the front room,” he said.

  “All right.”

  Bri led the way into the large sitting room, with its nubby beige sofas and leather armchairs. “Relaxed elegant” was the term she’d used when helping him redecorate a few months earlier. Was he imagining it, or did she glance around nostalgically, perhaps thinking of what might have been? She dropped into a leather wingback armchair, crossed her jean-clad legs and stared at him intently.

  Mac sat on a nearby sofa, leaning forward with an expression of earnest concern. He always affected an innocent demeanor in these situations because he was innocent. He never lied—though a former lover had once told him that honesty wasn’t enough if he knew the other party was deceiving herself. “You should’ve known I’d change my mind about marriage,” one had said. He had come to realize that a guy unwilling to marry was always in a losing situation. Thinking it might be different with Bri had been naive of him.

  “I suppose you know what I’m going to say,” she began, breaking the momentary silence.

  “I have an idea.”

  “I thought us being a couple would be enough for me, Mac,” she said, “but I’ve come to realize I was mistaken. I know you’re not going to divorce. And yes, I know, you made that clear up front. I honestly didn’t set out to change your mind, but I can’t help the way I feel now.” She hesitated. “You should take that as a compliment, by the way.”

  “It’s not the kind of compliment I’m looking for.”

  “I know, but there’s nothing I can do about it. And I can’t change my feelings.”

  “I understand.”

  “If I’ve been unfair,” she said, “I’m sorry.”

  “Well, I’m sorry, too, Bri. I was hoping I could make you happy.”

  “You’re your own worst enemy, Mac. You’re too nice, too easy to like and to want to be with. And, well, having only a little piece of you just isn’t enough.”

  She fell silent, giving him a chance to implore her not to go. He would have liked to because letting her walk away wasn’t easy. But he had no choice.

  She studied him. “I intend to go quietly, but I want to ask you something. Why do you cling to her, Mac? Or maybe I should say, why do you allow her to cling to you?”

  Mac sighed. “There’s no easy answer, Bri.”

  “It’s not religion, surely. Is it financial?”

  “No.”

  “Are you afraid of hurting her? Do you do it out of a sense of duty, some twisted feeling of loyalty? Is it because of your son?”

  “There’s no point in talking about it,” he said sadly. “I’m not even sure I could explain it if I wanted to.”

  “No, I suppose you’re right. What difference does it make, really? You’re going to do what you’re going to do, regardless.”

  “My feelings for you aren’t any the less for it,” he said.

  He wanted to tell Bri that she was special, that his regret over losing her was greater than with anyone else, but he knew he wouldn’t be doing her any favors. How could he possibly say that he was bound to Stella by crimes they’d committed together, by decades of lies and deceit? How could he say he was living in the skin of a man he couldn’t respect? That he was stuck, with no way out?

  “I wish things were different,” he said. It was as honest, yet kind, a remark as he could make.

  “Yeah, me, too.”

  Bri got to her feet. Mac did, as well. He had a terribly strong desire to take her into his arms. He hated these moments, but he’d also learned to endure them, to detach and accept his fate. That didn’t make it any less painful, though.

  When she wiped a tear from her eye, Mac felt his heart rise in his throat.

  “Don’t come to the door,” she said. “I want to walk out by myself.” The corner of her mouth twitched as she fought for control. Then Sabrina Lovejoy turned and strode from the room.

  As always, Mac felt a ping in his heart—a ping that hurt, a dull pain of longing and regret. He told himself, as he had several times, that he wouldn’t allow himself to do this again. Before Bri, he’d avoided a serious relationship for the better part of two years. But it was hard not to love and be loved, even knowing nothing more could come of it than an affair. Maybe he was just too damn softhearted for his own good.

  He heard the engine of Bri’s BMW come to life, and he heard her drive off, leaving him in the silence of his home. He dealt with his unhappiness for a while, then went upstairs to change.

  Manuela Ordon˜ez felt better when the woman came out the door, got in her fancy BMW and drove off. For a while she thought it might be Mac McGowan’s girlfriend, but he hadn’t kissed her or anything. It probably had something to do with business. Which was a blessing because Manuela would just die if he had a girlfriend. It was bad enough that he had a wife.

  Taking the gum from her mouth, she tossed it out the window of her dark blue Chevy and got a fresh piece from her purse. She’d been chomping like crazy as she’d sat there waiting and watching. Just thinking Mac might have somebody else was enough to make her sick. But she was determined not to blow it, because this was the opportunity of a lifetime. Maybe the best shot at a millionaire she’d ever have.

  Manuela was so nervous her stomach hurt. Then, when she’d seen that woman waiting, she actually felt sick. But it was a false alarm. Now all she had to do was give Mac the chance to seduce her. She was sure he wanted her but was just too much of a gentleman to do an
ything about it. And, after talking to her best friend at Pool Maids, Ella Vanilla, Manuela knew why.

  Ella’s last name was Perkins, but the girls called her Ella Vanilla because she had really white skin that was always lathered up with so much sunblock that she was shades lighter than the rest of the crew. If you didn’t start out dark, after six months cleaning pools you looked like a piece of toast. Except for Ella, who Manuela knew from Mule Creek where they’d done time together.

  “Don’t you know he’s never going to do nothing, Manuela,” Ella had said when Manuela confided that Mac liked her, but for some reason never came on to her.

  “Why not?”

  Ella rolled her eyes. “Why not?” she said. “Because of sexual harassment, dodo brain. That’s why.”

  “Sexual harassment? He never put a hand on me.”

  “That’s the point. He’s afraid you’re going to sue his ass. Don’t you know guys are scared shitless about lawsuits nowadays? He don’t want to take the chance, Manuela. That’s why he ain’t trying to get in your pants.”

  “You mean, even if I want him to come on to me, he won’t?”

  “It’s risky. Look at it from his standpoint. It could cost him big bucks.”

  “But what if I tell him it’s okay, that I want him to come on to me?”

  Ella thought about that for a minute. “Maybe if he could prove it, he’d feel safe.”

  “How does that work?”

  Ella thought again. “Well, if nothing happens at work, that probably would help. If you went to him, like at his house, for example, and said you know his hands are tied, but you want to make it easy for him, so you want him to know that you’re available and that it’s your idea—that might work.”

  “You think?”

  “Tell him you’re not expecting more pay or nothin’ like that. Maybe if he knows you’re coming on to him because you really like him and that it don’t have anything to do with the job, then maybe he’d figure he’s safe. But are you sure he’s interested in you, Manuela?”

  “Like he loaned me forty thousand dollars with no interest to pay off the loan on my mother’s house. Duh. And he’s always looking at my tits. All the time. What do you think, Ella? He’s interested, believe me.”

  “Everybody looks at your tits. Even I look at your tits.”

  It was true. Manuela had the best set in the world. Lots of guys told her she had boobs to die for. Art Conti told her she had world-class tits. And was she not pretty? Maybe not Jennifer Lopez kind of beauty, but pretty.

  At least Ella Vanilla had explained why Mac hadn’t tried to fuck her. It was so obvious, she didn’t know why she hadn’t figured it out. Now it was up to her to give him the chance. And if she gave him a real good time and he really fell for her, maybe he’d dump his wife and marry her.

  “Don’t count on it, Manuela,” her mother had said, mumbling the words as always since her stroke.

  “Mama, if I want a man bad enough, I always get him.”

  “You always get sex, that’s not the same.”

  “Plenty of guys have wanted to marry me. I could have gotten a ring ten times.”

  “But a gringo millionaire, Manuela?”

  “He really likes me. He’s so sweet and polite. He even hugged me when I cried.”

  “It would be nice,” her mother said wistfully. “With your brother coming out of prison soon, God knows we could use a little money in the family. I always thought you could get a good man, a successful man, if you used your head.”

  Manuela had been using her head. After talking to Ella Vanilla, she’d talked to Debbie Smoltz in the personnel department. Debbie was Bev Wallace’s niece and Bev was Mac’s secretary, so Debbie knew a whole lot about Mac. Manuela learned that Mac hated smoking. So she’d quit. And she learned that he and his wife had been separated for ten years, which proved he didn’t love the woman. He dated, but that’s all.

  Manuela figured what he needed was a better woman. She’d had a few problems, true, but Mac understood people made mistakes, and he wouldn’t hold her troubles with the law against her—not considering he’d given her a job and loaned her money. She knew love in a man’s eyes when she saw it.

  Sitting there, looking at Mac McGowan’s big house, Manuela felt a shiver go through her. She could see herself living there, giving orders to the cooks and gardeners, making Mac happy, pampering him, giving him all the sex and blow jobs he could ever want. Looking pretty for him, buying things for both of them, being a good wife.

  Manuela knew that everything depended on her handling him right, making it clear she was the one that wanted the sex, so he wouldn’t have to worry about getting sued. She looked over at her plastic sack, a twinge of fear going through her. It was amazing how nervous she was, considering that before her troubles with the law she’d danced nude for a million guys at the Bottoms Up Club. But Mac McGowan was different. He was a millionaire.

  Manuela drummed her fingers on the steering wheel of the Chevy, figuring she’d wait ten more minutes before she rang his bell. God, she wanted a cigarette. But she wouldn’t give in to the temptation. She didn’t want to give Mac any reason not to want her. Besides, she loved him. She truly did.

  Having changed into chinos and a polo shirt, Mac went to the large bay window in his bedroom that overlooked the sweep of lawn in back, the huge pool and terraced garden that rose partway up the side of the canyon wall. The scene was bathed in afternoon sun.

  Surveying his domain, it struck him as ironic that he should have so much and yet so little. He had a wonderful home, he was financially secure. As the biggest swimming pool and spa contractor in Southern California, he owned a chain of pool and garden shops, Pool Maids, a sporting goods outlet with six locations and was a cofounder and major investor of a bank in the San Fernando Valley. Yet he was permanently and irrevocably alone, married to a woman who held on even as she allowed him his separate, but empty life.

  Aubrey’s death, and the things he and Stella had been through, had sealed his fate. She would never let go. He knew that now. It wasn’t her need for financial security because he’d assured her she’d be taken care of. For a while he thought it may have been Troy, but their son had turned twenty and was pretty much on his own, though Stella still gave him money. Maybe she simply wanted to know she hadn’t lost control of the situation. “Glamour Puss might be dead, Mac,” she’d said, “but he still has hold of us. I’ve been loyal to you and I expect you to be loyal to me.”

  He understood that to be a warning, if not a threat. Stella, in her subtle way, wouldn’t let him forget who had killed Aubrey.

  At times like this, Mac would think about that terrible dark day. It still seemed incredible that his youthful indiscretions should continue to haunt and rule his life. If only he’d insisted on going to the police, the whole thing would be long behind him now.

  Those first few months after Aubrey’s death had been the most difficult of his life. Once he’d finished the pool, he hadn’t seen Stella again for weeks. Nor had they spoken on the phone, agreeing that any contact was dangerous.

  Stella had gone through the public ordeal alone. She had been surprised when, instead of getting an outpouring of sympathy, Hollywood seemed to turn against her. Not even Glamour Puss’s harshest critics had rallied to her side.

  Without a body, there couldn’t be a funeral, so Stella held a memorial service with the help of Aubrey’s agent. It was not as well attended as Aubrey’s stature would have suggested. His first wife boycotted the service. Though she made no public statements, she seemed to share the same suspicions as the rest of the town—that Stella was somehow behind Aubrey’s disappearance.

  The case was tried mostly in the papers as the police never attempted to bring charges, though the detective conducting the investigation for the L.A.P.D., a guy named Jaime Caldron, did seem suspicious. But since what little evidence there was pointed to accidental drowning, the authorities had nothing to go on. Caldron questioned Stella four separate ti
mes, but was unable to trip her up.

  Once, early in November, he’d dropped by to see Mac, as well. Caldron’s questions were mostly about Stella. Mac had tried to be his usual earnest self. He’d told the detective he and his crew left the job early the afternoon Aubrey disappeared. He’d seen Stella inside the house that day, but had not spoken to her. Any further suspicion Caldron might have had was deflected when Manny mistakenly said Mac had driven away when he had, which was often the case. Or maybe Manny chose not to recall anything that could be damning, considering he hated cops. His ex-wife had divorced him and married one when Manny was in Nam.

  For six weeks, Mac and Stella endured the ordeal, isolated from one another. Then, one day Stella called him from the pay phone at her supermarket. “I need to see you,” she’d said, sounding terribly anxious. They met at a hotel near the Burbank airport. Stella gave him the news without wind-up or fanfare. “Mac,” she said, “I’m pregnant.” She told him she thought it had probably happened the night after the cement was poured, that last stolen night together. “I almost had an abortion,” she’d said. “I even made an appointment, but I couldn’t do it without talking to you.”

  That had been the moment when he realized that he and Stella were bound by more than their sins. They were also bound by their unborn child. “What do you want to do?” he’d asked her.

  “I don’t know. I don’t know what’s right.”

  They’d spent the night together, and he’d held her. She’d cried, agonizing. In the morning, after a virtually sleepless night, he’d told her he thought they should get married.

  “I don’t want you to marry me because you feel sorry for me,” she said.

  “I wasn’t with you all those times just for the sex.” Then he’d said the most fateful thing of all. “I love you, Stella.”

  “Do you?”

  “Yes, didn’t you know? Couldn’t you tell?”

  Mac had meant what he’d said, but over the years he’d come to realize his feelings were based on all the wrong things—compassion, lust, fear, guilt, obligation, remorse. But Stella was pregnant, leaving him duty-bound to stand by her, just as she’d stood by him. They agreed to wait until it became impossible for her to hide her pregnancy. The delay gave Mac the opportunity to focus on his business, which was just beginning to take off. In fact, it was during those painful first weeks after Aubrey’s death that Mac had gotten word that he’d won a major contract with a motel chain that was moving into the Southern California market. As it turned out, that was the critical break he’d needed. Within six months he’d become a relatively wealthy man.