A Grand Seduction Page 16

  “I need all of you guys. I can’t do it by myself.”

  “Frannie’s right,” Dominique said. Dark eyes glittered as she glanced away for a moment, then grabbed for her purse. Fishing out a credit card, she plucked the check off the center of the table just in time for Donna to make another reconnaissance run past the table.

  Twyla frowned as they all dug their portions of the check from their purses. “What do you mean, she’s right?”

  “Frannie can’t take her own photos, for one thing. She needs us for practical and moral support.” She turned to Fran, whose gray eyes were somber. “I think it’s a good idea.”

  A slow smile surprised her lips. “You do?”

  Twyla joined in. “Yeah, you do?”

  “Absolutely. And I get why Frannie wants to be the one to help win Tracy’s freedom.”

  Fran nodded. “If I help other women who are facing what I went through, I’ll be able to give something back. Show my appreciation for the life I’ve got. I definitely want to be a part of that.”

  “Whoa, wait,” Twyla held up a hand. “What other women?”

  “Well, Tracy got me to thinking. There are bound to be others going through the same thing.” Fran tucked her wallet inside a tan Fendi bag. “Women who need a fighting chance to escape slimy husbands who think they’re too smart to get what they deserve.”

  Ridelle flipped back a pigtail and raised her hand halfway. “I’m game. Me and my handy dandy camera.”

  “If it’s discreet,” Dominique added.

  Twyla’s expression was a mixed bag of awe and horror. “How can this possibly be discreet?”

  Fran smiled. “It’s not like we’d advertise in the Yellow Pages. Word of mouth would be our ticket.”

  “We’re only helping Tracy for now,” Dominique said. “If other truly needy souls come along, we can think about a case-by-case basis.”

  Ridelle nodded. “Some of us need ongoing cash in a hard, fast way. If some slimy dirt ball gets theirs in the process, it’s a win-win situation all around.”

  “Unless you get thrown in jail, of course,” Twyla snapped. “Then you’ll have bigger problems than getting your father off your back. Or didn’t you think of that?”

  “We got away with it before,” Fran said. “We’ll be careful.”

  Twyla whispered through gritted teeth. “I’m sure we broke more than one law doing what we did.”

  “More like five, actually.” Dominique’s whisper was cool, lacking the fearful edge of her friend. “We’re simply answering to a higher call than a legal system designed to support men who cheat their way up the ladder.”

  Twyla snorted. “Remember that when you’re bunkmates with some bull dyke who wants to be your latest husband.”

  “We can keep it quiet,” Ridelle said.

  “And what if one of our ‘needy souls’ can’t?”

  “Oh, they won’t talk,” Dominique said, examining her ever-flawless complexion in a compact mirror.

  Twyla snorted. “How do you know?”

  The woman dropped the compact into her bag. “The wife will be a full and willing accomplice. She will have hired us to set the husband up, among other things. Any woman who talked would be facing jail herself. Hell, she’d have to pay her ex for damages.”

  She gave Twyla a grim smile, bordering on dangerous as she flicked it toward the waitress who was again approaching. The woman veered off course and pretended to straighten silverware at a nearby vacant table. Dominique turned back to her friends. “In short, the ex would retain power over her for the rest of her life. No woman on the planet who is desperate enough to want our help would risk that.”

  The table fell silent for a long moment. Ridelle roused herself first. “Look, Twyla, you don’t have to sign on,” she said. “No one here is forcing you.”

  Twyla shrugged. “I don’t see the point in me being involved. You need money, Frannie wants to pay her luck forward, and Dominique…” She trailed off, glancing at the dark-haired woman. “I’m not sure what you’re getting out of this.”

  “Satisfaction,” she said. “My ex was no saint, yet my divorce left more than a little to be desired. If I can get some vicarious enjoyment out of helping other women avoid that fate, so be it. Plus, I’m guessing some financial savvy will be necessary for this enterprise.” She turned to the others. “Careful investing in special locations, for instance.”

  Twyla twirled a hand in the air. “Okay, great. So you’ve got a purpose, too. I’m a married woman with no intention of whoring, vicarious revenge or karmic brownie points.”

  “Justice,” Dominique said. “Not revenge.”

  “Whatever. Either way, there’s no reason for me to be here.”

  “Of course there is,” Fran said. “You’re smart, talented, and our friend. You think on your feet. We’d never have gotten past that dinner party if it hadn’t been for you.”

  Ridelle nodded. “True. Your quick thinking made me look good to Bruce. I took credit for your brilliance. Besides,” she folded her arms, “it was you who knew enough to get in and out of my apartment to put the backup photo plan in place. I’d say that makes you a most sneaky and valuable ally.”

  Twyla’s ponytail bounced with a shake of her head. “Thanks, but my breaking and entering days are over. I just want to live a quiet, middle class life with minimal drama.”

  Dominique’s laugh tinkled like a wind chime. “Because a house full of kids, a husband who’s gone half the time, and a pair of in-laws running your life like the Gestapo is such a drama-free environment.”

  “Funny. You know what I mean.”

  “And it’s not like you owe us anything,” Fran said. “I mean, for the underhanded thing you did to Ridelle with the photos of her first time.”

  Twyla’s mouth fell agape. “You’re not playing fair. Besides, it was Dominique’s idea.”

  “Which you carried out with stunning and calculated precision,” Fran said.

  “We can do this without you,” Ridelle said, “but it won’t be the same. We need your help. Plus, we wouldn’t have to keep secrets from you.” She looked at Fran. “Some of us can attest to just how crappy it feels to have your best friends leave you off the news feed.”

  “Besides,” Dominique added, “how many other housewives out there have a chance to work for the greater good and experience a hint of romantic danger?”

  “Yeah, well, I like my romance a bit less hinty and a lot less dangerous.”

  Dominique smiled. “Is that a yes?”

  The other heaved a sigh, tugging her wool coat from the back of her chair. “If only to make sure you guys don’t go doing something stupid. On one condition.”

  Frannie slapped her hand on the table. “Name it.”

  “I’m strictly behind-the-scenes. I’m not looking for any hot pokey on the side.”

  “It’d never occur to us to ask,” Fran said.

  “Andy can never know,” Twyla whispered, more to herself than anyone else. “He’d never understand.”

  “No, he wouldn’t,” Dominique nodded. “No man would. The need-to-know basis here is going to be very tight.” She turned to Fran, leaning close to whisper. “Tracy needs to be dealt with very carefully. Don’t use our names. Tell her only what is absolutely vital. And don’t mention this is the way you secured your own divorce.”

  “Right,” Ridelle breathed. “The less she knows, the better. But we will need some details about her husband to give us something to work with.”

  “I’m on it,” Fran said. “Don’t worry.Men have been getting away with affairs since the dawn of time. We can, too.” She glanced up, spotting the waitress heading their way with a determined pace. “Let’s finish outside,” she said. “Looks like Ronald’s replacement wants us gone.”

  They rose, Dom rounding the table to take Fran’s arm. “Tracy must understand she can’t tell anyone. Everything depends on it.”

  She nodded. “She won’t. She’ll want this to be discreet, too.�
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  “No word of mouth could mean no future endeavors, which is fine by me,” Twyla said.

  Ridelle waggled her brows. “Guess we’ll find out. Meanwhile, I’m interested to see how our little heroic quartet fares up against its next super villain.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  Ridelle lifted her glass. “Merry Christmas.”

  “And a wealthy New Year.” Dominique clinked her friend’s with a champagne flute full of bubbly that wasn’t Cristal, but no dime store booze, either.

  Snow had arrived two weeks earlier, late but true to eastern Pennsylvania. Temperatures had dropped to the nose-biting teens, hiding the landscape’s true form under an innocent, pure white thicket of fluffy frost. Life was snug in front of the well-stoked fire in Ridelle’s apartment, headquarters for her first-ever Christmas party. Though the gathering was restricted to the quartet nibbling miniature sandwiches, shrimp cocktail, and hot artichoke-cheese dip, Ridelle hadn’t let that stop her from clearing out the decor aisle at Macy’s. Ridelle herself resembled a holiday window display, wearing a fluffy red angora sweater with white feathery fluff around the collar and cuffs. Bauble earrings dangled with red balls.

  “Your father backed off on giving you the boot, then?” Fran said, head to toe in red from her newly colored hair to her scarlet sweater dress.

  “Totally. He even added an extra bonus check to my Christmas money.”

  “Sounds like he was pretty happy to hear the news,” Twyla said, fingering the angel pin riding high on her white Angora sweater.

  Ridelle shrugged. “Shocked as hell is more like it. Relieved, too. I could tell he really didn’t want to enforce his ultimatum.”

  “Who can blame him?” Dominique, elegant in black velvet and diamonds, added. “What kind of job did you tell him you got?”

  The girl grinned. “I’m doing outside public relations for a legal firm.”

  Fran rolled her eyes. “Well, if that isn’t the biggest stretch of truth I’ve ever heard.”

  “But what if he finds out?” Twyla smoothed a tendril of gold away from her face. “What if he tries to come visit you on the job?”

  “He won’t. He doesn’t know the name of the firm, anyway. I changed the subject before the folks got too nosy.”

  Fran snorted. “Yeah, ‘Fake Orgasms R Us’ wouldn’t quite instill confidence, would it?”

  “Who said they’re faked?” Ridelle popped a chip laden with hot dip in her mouth.

  “Please. Let’s not make me relive the nightmare that was No-Clue Applewhite.”

  In an uncharacteristic move, Ridelle waited until she finished chewing to respond.

  “Better luck next time, then. My second was far more satisfying.”

  “Yeah, well, considering your first, that’s not saying much. But your second guy had the Kama Sutra next to the bed. Mine had Pepto Bismol.”

  Dominique plunked down her glass, trading it for a pita triangle. “Which reminds me, we’ve got a few more brewing.”

  Fran’s brows hit hairline. “Oh?”

  Twyla raised her glass. “I thought we agreed this is a party. No shop talk tonight.”

  Fran nodded. “But while we’re all here, I want to go on record saying I think we need more help. Our word of mouth with few words has brought more referrals than we thought. Righting the wrongs of marital injustice is outgrowing our little Cinderella operation.”

  “I’m not sure that’s such a good idea,” Twyla said. “The more people who know about this, the bigger the risk.”

  “It’s a great idea,” Ridelle said. She drained her glass, then reached for the bottle off her coffee table to pour another. “We can still keep it small scale, but a little help is definitely in order. It can’t always be the three of us doing the wet work.”

  Twyla sniffed. “What, I’m not pulling my weight because I won’t cheat on my husband? Isn’t that the sort of thing we’re trying to rid the world of?”

  “I didn’t say that.” Ridelle sighed. “But it’s easier for you to sit back and say we don’t need help. You’re not out in the trenches.”

  “No, it’s not easy.” Twyla set down her glass. “And that’s not all I’m worried about.”

  Fran interjected. “Affairs have been going on since the dawn of time. The few women we agreed to help have a vested interest in making sure the truth never comes out.”

  Twyla sat forward in her seat. “What about this help you want to hire? How vested will they be if they decide they don’t like the hours or their paycheck is late? No offense, but a woman willing to sell herself isn’t someone I’d trust to let into our core group.” She sat back again with a sigh. “Four already seems to be a crowd.”

  Ridelle scowled, a darker flush rising to consume cheeks already pink from warming fire and alcohol. Dominique stared thoughtfully into bubbles rising along the inside of her flute.

  “I don’t think that would happen,” Fran said. Her voice sounded less convincing than the words.

  “Actually, Twyla’s right,” Dominique said. “We can’t trust anyone.”

  Ridelle crossed her arms. “I may need money, but I’m not going to personally sleep with the entire seaboard for it.”

  Dominique shook her head. “We can still get help.”

  “How?” Fran examined a finger sandwich, as if seeking the answer.

  “We don’t have to bring anyone else into the core group. The women we helped don’t come to our private meetings. They don’t even know who we all are or the exact extent to which we’re involved. It can be the same with those we hire. The need to know will be brief and tight.”

  “Well, they can’t be totally out of the loop,” Twyla argued. “Whether or not they’re on the voting board doesn’t matter. They’ll know who we are, where we are, and pretty much what we’re doing.”

  Dominique chewed a ruby lip. “What if they don’t know any of that? Other than what we’re doing, of course. In general terms.”

  Ridelle’s eyes narrowed. “How is that possible?”

  She shrugged. “It’s not like we have to invite them home for milk and cookies.”

  Fran’s eyes glimmered. “We can use fake names.”

  Dominique smiled. “Exactly. We’ll hire in New York, rather than our own backyards. Some of the men we target work in the city anyway, so that’ll be convenient.”

  Ridelle’s glance reflected confusion. “How would we communicate with these women if they don’t know who or where we are?”

  Fran snapped her fingers. “Cell phones,” she said. “We can get those cheapie prepaids and sign up under a fake name.”

  The women stared at her, brows up. “My maid has one. She doesn’t have a credit card, so she just buys refill thingies at the liquor store when she needs minutes.”

  Dominique blinked. “Frannie, my dear, I do believe you’ve just sprouted a whole new side of devious.”

  Ridelle laughed. “With fake info and no credit card to track, even if someone did spill her guts no one would know who hired her.”

  “I suppose,” Twyla said.

  “How would we find someone?” Fran asked. “It’s not like we can post a want ad.”

  “I have a couple ideas about that,” Dominique said. “Still, we won’t get help fast enough for our current jobs. Volunteers?” She waggled her brows.

  “I vote for you,” Ridelle said. “Why not experience the wonder that is taking a man down with your own body parts?”

  The woman shrugged. “Might not be impossible. The one guy prefers blonds, though. Fran?”

  “I’m a bit soured at the moment. How about Ridelle in a wig?”

  “Hey, I’m three to your two and Dom’s zero. You guys need to catch up. I’d like to experience a real date one of these days, you know.”

  “Finally going to take Ronald out for a spin?” Dominique smiled.

  “Ha-ha. I just mean in general. Too much intrigue is bad for my complexion.”

  “Which brings us back to needing help.” Dominiqu
e pulled a lipstick tube from her black Fendi. She looked at each in turn, dark eyes fastening on Twyla last. “Keep your peepers open, ladies. If you come up with anyone, feel free to save the day.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  It was nearly eight o’clock before Twyla’s phone rang, as she stood folding laundry at the foot of her bed. Not that it had been the first time. Tyler’s teacher called to remind her about the permission slip for his field trip, the pediatrician’s office had to change Cody’s appointment on Thursday, and Andy’s mother called wondering if Twyla could be an absolute angel and make sure Andy’s good suit was dry cleaned before his niece’s wedding. As if Twyla couldn’t take care of her own husband without his mother’s intervention. Still, this was the first time the phone had rung all day with Andy’s number on the caller ID. His work number, meaning he wasn’t on the way home yet.

  Keeping herself in check to rein irritation in from becoming full-blown annoyance, she draped the undershirt she was folding over her forearm and picked up the handset.

  “I know, I know,” he blurted before she managed a hello. “Sorry, honey.”

  The hospital noise in the background was more insistent than usual, and Andy’s voice was infused with fatigue and apology. A flinch of guilt dulled her annoyance. His job wasn’t an easy one, after all. “You missed Cody’s soccer practice again.”

  “I tried to get there. But we had three full arrests and a difficult intubation—and those were the fun parts. I’ll make it up to him on Saturday.”

  She sank onto the bed. “Saturday is the wedding.”

  “Oh. Right. Damn. Sunday, then.”

  Here we go again. “Karate tournament.”

  “I know that. Tyler’s dying to bring home that trophy.” He exhaled sharply through his teeth. “Damn.”

  “What?”

  “They’re short staffed in E.R. on Sunday. I said I’d fill in.”

  Twyla threw the undershirt down on the bed. “Andy, you can’t. He’s been looking practicing for months.”

  “He won’t have to miss it just because I’m not there. You’ll take him.”