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“Anyway, I like her. She was a stripper. That’s how she met Richard. He went there a lot. To the club where she worked. He was a regular.”
Strangling Richard might be too fast. I think a long, painful death is more what he deserves. It doesn’t take a genius to know that the reason Tru thinks she’s not sexual is because he made her feel that way. All the while, he was frequenting strip joints.
“How did she find you? How do you know she wasn’t his partner and is still working the con.”
“I don’t have anything left for anyone to con me out of.” She shivers so I take my coat off and wrap it around her shoulders. “She lives in Port Jacks. Not too far away, really. She got copies of all the bankruptcy papers. She figured she’d start here as Ironwing was the only thing not encumbered. Which is basically the same thing I did.”
“Maybe she should take up being a private detective.” I’m not sure I trust this Pauline, and I can’t believe Tru does either. You’d think she’d be more careful.
We stop at the gazebo in the park and sit on the porch swing. “Anyway, when we sell Ironwing, I’ll have enough money for what I need.”
My back teeth are grinding against each other before she finishes her last sentence. It always comes back to that, doesn’t it? Getting rid of Ironwing. “Sure.”
“I’m selling my share—either to you or someone else. You know that, right?”
For some reason, I’m not really as worried about it as I should be. I should be talking to my lawyer. I should be trying to buy Tru out now. I should be doing a host of things that don’t include sitting on a porch swing in the park with the closest thing I’ve ever had to an enemy.
If you don’t include my mother.
Tru
IROLL OVER AND WATCHthe digital clock as the numbers change. There’s no reason to get up early. The bar is closed on Sunday because Nash likes to have Sundays off.
I hardly slept last night, thinking about Pauline. How she should hate me, but she doesn’t. I guess I should hate her too, but I don’t. She’s another victim of Richard, but she doesn’t act like it. She’s got confidence bigger than her boobs, and that’s saying something.
It’s hard to believe we shared a husband. Everything about the way she carries herself, the way she presents herself, how she says what she’s thinking...just all of it is so anti-me. She oozes that feminine sexuality that is an actual foreign language if you ask my body. She uses it to her advantage, too, even to support herself once upon a time. She thought I would think less of her that she was a stripper when Richard met her, but part of me is jealous. Not the part that understands objectifying women is often misogynistic. But the paradox of using your body to get what you want. Mostly, just not being afraid of yourself, I guess, is what I’m jealous of.
I can’t stay in this bed another minute.
Nash finds me in the kitchen still wearing pajamas holding a cookbook in one hand and a frying pan in the other. Without a word, he opens the cabinet and pulls out the fire extinguisher.
I set the book down. “Aren’t you the funny one? See if you get any waffles.”
“Waffles, huh?” He gives me a look, brows up. Infuriating. Hot. “How are you going to make waffles without a waffle maker?”
“How am I going to...Oh. I didn't...I didn't know.” I try to hide the defeat in my voice, but really? Can I not make a fool out of myself for one day? I’d been wondering how I was going to make the little squares in the dough.
