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“I’ve got ears, don’t I? I didn’t realize when I came into Ironwing, I’d actually meetIronwing.”
My dad gestures to the empty bar stool next to him. “What can I get you to drink?”
She slides onto her barstool, avoiding a show somehow, and orders a glass of red. Of course, my dad is not paying for her drink, I am. That’s how it works around here. But I don’t think she wandered in off the street for a glass of wine, so I pay close attention to this Jessica Rabbit newcomer.
“What’s your name, sweetheart?” he asks her.
The feline smile that crosses her face promises him the kind of rewards a son doesn’t want to think of his father reaping. Just because I’ve seen him in Spandex doesn’t mean I’m immune to more embarrassment. “I’m Pauline. I’m actually looking for a friend of mine. I heard she was in town. Her name is Tru.”
I slide the glass to her, my ears perking up. “You’re a friend of Tru?” I try to keep the surprise out of my tone, but don’t do a very good job.
She raises one brow, chastising me for my misstep.
“We’re acquaintances. Is she around?”
It’s not my place to question her, but I don’t have a great feeling about this. Tru’s already been chewed up and spit out by someone who played a different game than she was ready for. Pauline’s rules are not PG-rated from where I’m standing. Too late, I notice Tru come through the door with a tower of books in her hands and a dog carrier hanging off her arm.
She’s wearing jeans, for a change, but she’s paired them with a top that buttons all the way up to her throat with a schoolmarm bow tied right there in case one comes undone. She’s wearing her reading glasses, but since she’s not reading, she has to look over the top of them to see where she’s going. She bobbles the stack until she gets it set down on the bar, and I swing another look at Pauline, noticing the differences between them. Pauline uses her breasts to distract the men around her, and it works. Tru pretends she doesn’t have breasts. Pauline leans into my father, watching him speak like he’s the most fascinating man she’s ever spoken to, touching him lightly on his wrist. Tru can’t get within a foot of me without tensing up and looking like a rabbit ready to bolt.
Pauline probably has moves that are illegal in some states. Tru...well, for some damn reason she’s the one that makes my jeans get tight just because she walked into the room.
And I’m worried about whatever trainwreck is about to happen but can’t stop because Pops notices Tru finally and tells Pauline, “There she is.”
My dad waves her over, and Tru stands next to me behind the bar. Pauline goes a little pale underneath her makeup, and she holds out her hand to Tru, but the bangles on her wrist tremble in a way she can’t cover. “Hi, Tru. I’m Pauline.”
Tru inhales a sharp breath and loses all the color in her face, too. My dad stiffens, finding his loyalty resides with the woman trying to steal the bar out from under his son and not the sex on legs sitting next to him. “You okay, honey?” he asks Tru.
My arm curves around her waist for support as she stares at Pauline’s hand. “Why are you here?” she asks.
Pauline bites her lip and slumps as she withdraws her hand. “I didn’t mean to startle you. I didn’t think calling was the right thing to do. But I shouldn’t have just shown up, either.”
Dad and I exchange confused glances. “Everything all right, Yeats?” I ask, gently squeezing her hip.
She nods but I know she’s not really okay because she hasn’t reacted to the fact that I’m touching her. To Pauline, she stammers, “I’m so, so sorry,” her eyes getting watery in a way that makes me want to heft her over my shoulder and carry her out of this bar. “I didn’t know. You have to believe me. I didn’tknow.”
“Oh, honey.” Pauline’s maneater facade goes away like a puff of smoke and a maternal, soothing voice replaces her purr. “I know you didn’t. Richard was scum, pure and simple.”
Holy shit. Is she Richard’s other wife?
I look again at the two women and comparison doesn’t work. Richard didn’t have a type unless Pauline is rich too. Or was.
Tru still looks a little sick. “Maybe we should...” she looks around the near empty bar... “go sit down.”
I squeeze her hip again. “Are you sure you’re all right, Gertrude?”
“Yes, of course.”
But I don’t think she is. I think she’s holding on for dear life.
“Look,” Pauline says, not looking nearly as at ease as she did when she came in. “I’m not here to cause trouble. I just wanted to give you some money.”
“What?” Tru and I ask at the same time. Tru finishes with, “I don’t understand.”
“He was a louse, but he sent me money for our son. It’s not mine. You should have it. It belongs to you.”
The breath seems to stutter in Tru’s throat as she inhales. “You have a son?”
Pauline’s face lights up. “Yeah. He’s great. Did you and Richard...”
