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CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Roberta sat on thedeck with her computer after six o’clock, writing in the cool shade of the house. Goober and Tucker snored lightly at her feet. The quietness of the neighborhood was astounding, considering the mob scene down the street. The breeze whispered through the tree branches, teasing the wind chimes into a soothing chord of notes reminiscent of the yoga class gongs back home. The birds chirped a dozen different songs and phrases. High overhead, an airplane soared, giving off a low whistle for a short time. The noises blended together in a white noise, allowing Roberta to get lost in her story.
“Pardon me. Do you know my son?”
Roberta jumped up from the table when she heard the voice. There had been no warning, no sign or sound of her approach. Her hand flew to her throat, and she choked back a scream.
“I’m so sorry. Did I scare you?” Mrs. Reyd asked, but the piercing look in her eyes did not match the polite sound of her voice.
“Yes, I was concentrating on the peacefulness around me. I never heard you approach,” Roberta said, settling back in her seat.
“I apologize. I’m Gail Reyd. Do you know my son, Taylor?” she asked again, getting right to the point. She tried to smile, but the corners of her lips would not turn up. Maybe it was a side-effect of Botox, but Roberta didn’t think so. There was a thinly veiled hardness in her eyes. She knew who Roberta was, and she knew her relationship with her son.
She smiled. “Yes, of course. He spent the night here,” Roberta admitted, shoulders straight, head high.Chew on that, Mrs. Reyd.
“You know, he left this morning with his girlfriend. I’m sure he told you about her, right?” A superficial look of concern washed across her face. Taylor most certainly didn’t get his acting skills from her, thank heaven.
“Yes, I know.” She kept her replies brief, letting the other woman make of them what she will.
“Just so you know, you can have all the fun you want, your fifteen minutes of fame on the newspaper front page and all, but he has a life to go back to after leaving this rural backwash of nothing special,” she sneered, crossing her arms over her chest.
Roberta wished she had her phone with her to record this. “Well, so do I, so Taylor and I are both lucky, aren’t we?” Oh, she couldn’t help herself. It was worth it to see the smirk drop off Mrs. Reyd’s face like a blush off a whore. “It’s okay. We’re both in it for some wild sex. Somebody’s got to teach him. I thought it might as well be a more experienced woman. You know, teach him how to please a woman.” Her tongue kept going. She knew she should have restrained it, but his conniving mother forced her to unsheathe her most cutting weapon, her double-edged tongue. There was no going back now.
“How dare you corrupt a minor! I’ll have you arrested—”
“Thirty is far from being a minor, Mrs. Reyd. Not in any state of this union.” Ooh, she loved innuendo. A tingle ran up her spine at her witty reply.
While she watched, Mrs. Reyd turned from pink to red to purple with rage. “I’ll be having a word with my son! You are the worst kind of woman!” She stomped off across the yard.
Her bravado collapsed, and Roberta’s knees began to tremble uncontrollably when she heard the back door slam shut. Bile started to rise up her throat, but she choked it down. How long would it be before she heard from Taylor? Assuming she heard from Taylor ever again.
?
Gail Reyd paced the small kitchen floor. “I did what you suggested, but she didn’t take it well. She seems intent on continuing with Taylor,” she reported into her cell phone.
“Well, we move on to Plan B since she refuses to go away easily,” Melissa hissed back.
Gail stared out the window at the house next door. That woman still sat on the deck with her computer and two dogs. A fluttery sensation in her stomach made it impossible to think straight. “Are you sure you want to do all that? It sounds too risky. What if we get caught?”
“Don’t back out on me now. We won’t get caught. I have some men who are more than happy to assist us for ten thousand dollars. You just do as I say, and all will work out fine.”
Staring at her own pinched reflection in the window, Gail hesitated. “I don’t know.”
The decibel level over the phone increased so much Gail had to move the phone six inches away from her ear. “We have a deal, Gail. I get Taylor and a boost in my acting career, and you get a grandchild in a year.”
Gail’s reflection softened. “Yes,” she breathed. “A grandchild.” She smiled at the thought of rocking a little bundle of baby in her arms. “All my friends have grandchildren already,” she said wistfully. “Okay, Mel. I’ll do it.”
?
Alex steered the Escalade into Taylor’s driveway not an hour after the confrontation with Taylor’s mother. Maybe Mommy dearest had demanded an audience with her famous son about the ho next door. Roberta sat in a deck chair, trying to write. Sensing an early play date with their best playmate, the dogs took off running to greet him. He side-tracked to pet them but sent them back to Roberta before he disappeared into his house.
A beautiful day, the windows were flung open in both houses to catch the light, cool breezes. Through those open windows at Taylor’s, it was easy to hear the loud discussion that started up almost as soon as he got in the door. A discussion getting louder and louder by the second.
Seriously, she tried not to listen. Despite her best efforts, her concentration strayed from her writing. The muttering stretched across the distance. Most words were indistinguishable. Others not ... slut, whore, bitch, gold-digger were a few of the choicer wo-rds in the shrill tone. Roberta tried to listen more closely, then changed her mind and began humming. Much as she wanted to know what Mrs. Reyd had to say about the afternoon's encounter, she knew it wasn’t right to eavesdrop.
“That’s enough!” came across the distance in Taylor’s booming voice. Contempt seethed in the tone of his voice. “If you don’t like it ...” The rest was lost to the ether as his voice dropped. Roberta slumped back in her chair, hoping he wasn’t making any rash statements he would come to regret, or worse, regret she was the cause of.
“Don’t say that, Taylor,” his mother answered, her voice losing its gentle tone.
