A Grand Seduction Read online

  A little too happy, perhaps?

  The bell dinged as Dominique made her decision. She’d grill Fran, get to the bottom of things. They had to keep their little group together. A house divided and all that.

  The last thing this quartet needed was to start turning on each other.

  Chapter Nine

  Odette’s was busy serving a group of fifteen matrons on their way to Atlantic City, from the sound of gossip mingled with gambling strategy, when the group arrived fairly en masse the following day. Ronald was at the helm as usual, making quick work of getting the ladies started with a cheese and berry compote platter, with an assortment of salads to follow. Iced tea replaced the usual coffee as the beverage of choice.

  To combat eighty-degree weather, the girls assembled in a variety of lightweight shell tanks and thin skirts—except for Fran, who had vehemently denied anything other than a mild awkwardness at the party. She graced their lunch spot with a sleek new collar-length hairdo in a blonder version of her natural red, coupled with an equally new Roberto Cavelli baby doll blouse in a flounce of teal and white silk sheer. Her white skirt hit mid-thigh, offering a grand view of female leg that might have been sculpted by a master. Strappy Marc Jacobs heels boosted her above the eye level of all but Dominique, whose five-seven stature raised to five-ten in spiked Manolos.

  Snapping up a piece of cheddar, Twyla posed the thought going through most of their minds. “So, Ridelle, it seems the party went well. But you left that night before I got a chance to ask.”

  “Okay, I guess. There was one scary moment though, in the kitchen.”

  “Did he hurt you?” Fran’s voice was a whispered gurgle of concern.

  Ridelle speared a cube of Jack cheese. “Not that kind of scary. I thought he was onto our scheme.”

  Dominique sat up at this. “What made you think that?”

  “He came in and told me he knew what we were doing, and that it wasn’t going to work.”

  Fran scowled. “That isn’t good. If he suspects anything, it’s time to rethink the entire affair.”

  “He suspected that the three of us were trying to lure him into hiring back your housekeeper. He thought that’s why we went to so much trouble making a nice dinner.”

  Fran whooshed out a breath. “God, that figures. He always thinks there’s some ulterior motive for anything nice that gets done for him.”

  Twyla shrugged. “We did have an ulterior motive. He just guessed wrong as to what it was. Thank heavens.” She turned to Ridelle. “I thought things looked a bit cozy while you were in the kitchen together.”

  Ridelle searched for Fran’s eyes, which met hers without notable expression. The latter’s hand fiddled with a butter knife. “Mainly I think he just wanted to find out if that’s what Fran was up to. I let him think he was right about the housekeeper thing.”

  Dominique leaned in against the table so that her cleavage strained against the scoop neck of her navy linen tank. “Good. So you don’t think he suspects anything else?” Ridelle shook her head, and Dom kept on. “Were you forward about letting him know you might be a prospect? Did you do use any of the female tricks we talked about?”

  Ridelle looked at her, then crossed her arms with a short laugh. “I feel like I should be on a stool with a spotlight on me.”

  Twyla spooned berry compote onto her plate. “We just want to know if this could really work.”

  Ridelle tucked a strand of cocoa brown behind her ear, revealing a simple gold hoop. Her shrug shifted a double long chain of circular gold rings against a cherry red tank. “It’s hard to tell. I mean, I’m not exactly an expert.”

  “A woman needn’t be an expert to know if a man’s interested, sweetie.” Dominique nodded to the waiter who was serving sandwiches to the gambling seniors. “You know Ronald’s got it bad for you, even though he’s never said a naughty word.”

  Ridelle nodded a concession. “Then maybe there was something. I mean, it wasn’t like he was about to throw me on the rug or anything. But…” she trailed off with a guilty look.

  Fran sighed. “If you’re holding back because of me, don’t. You don’t have to protect my feelings.”

  Ridelle’s eyes hooded. “I don’t want to cause you pain.”

  Fran brushed at her shoulder, a residual habit of flicking back hair that was now cut too short to do so. “The pain of staying married is much greater. Better a fake affair than a real one, don’t you think?”

  She looked around the table for nods of affirmation. Ridelle gave a grateful smile, releasing words in a rush of confession. “Then let’s just say I felt he may be falling for it. We were, uh, friendly.”

  Dominique sat back with a satisfied nod. “I thought so. I have killer instincts when it comes to matchmaking.”

  “There was one big problem that night,” Ridelle said. “The man wears Obsession. Can you believe that?”

  Twyla gasped, eyes a-goggle. “The Obsession?”

  Ridelle nodded, eyes rolling to the overhead lights.

  Dominique’s eyes mirrored a query. “What’s wrong with Obsession? Are you allergic or something?”

  “Oh, let me tell it,” Twyla jumped in. A grin lit sparklers in her eyes. “She can’t resist the stuff. Funniest thing I ever saw.” She turned to Ridelle. “Where was it, Macy’s?”

  The girl nodded. “Yep. Fragrance counter. A moment that will live in infamy.”

  Twyla and Fran laughed in chorus. “You weren’t with us that day, Dom. I forget why.”

  Fran, eyes brighter than any had seen for weeks, cut in. “We were buying perfume for Dom’s birthday. Twyla and I sniffed all the fragrances until we had no sense of smell left. Then Ridelle took over.”

  Twyla nodded in excitement, turning back to Dominique. “First bottle she picked up was Obsession for Men by Calvin Klein. She took one whiff and practically went into sexual convulsions.”

  Fran’s cackling whoop drew looks from the gamblin’ grannies. “Eyes rolled back in her head, nipples were hard, the whole thing, Dom.”

  Ridelle sat up, face pinking. “Frannie!”

  “Well, it’s true! Anyway, we both tried it, too. Great stuff, but nothing to get all juicy over. But we wafted another good snort under Ridelle’s nose and the girl’s legs actually gave out.”

  Dominique’s brows went north. “Gave out?”

  Twyla demonstrated on the tablecloth with two fingers dancing like legs, then going wobbly and collapsing. “Turned her knees to rubber.”

  Ridelle shook her head and picked up the tale. “I almost hit the floor right in Macy’s. The perfume clerk was quite unhappy with us.”

  Twyla giggled. “Yeah, especially when we kept doing it and you nearly got us ousted for indecent behavior.” She shook her head at Dom. “You should have seen it. X-rated bliss with every whiff until her nose was too full of it to smell anymore.”

  “I think we emptied half the tester bottle.” Fran sucked an ice cube from her glass. “Worked like magic every time.”

  Dominique gaped at Ridelle, shaking her head in good natured amazement. “And Bruce actually wears this stuff?”

  Ridelle gave a helpless look. “Yep, of all the scents the guy could pick. How am I supposed to keep my wits about me?”

  Twyla laughed. “That’s so weird. I know it’s a popular cologne, but what are the chances that he of all people would wear it?”

  Fran drained her iced tea. “Pretty good, actually. Considering I’m the one who bought it for him.”

  Ridelle’s face lengthened by twelve inches, all of which were gaping jaw. “You did?”

  “A week before the party.”

  “Why?”

  The woman shrugged. “Seemed like you were a bit hesitant. Thought it might help put you in the mood.”

  Twyla gave a half-hiccup, half-laugh. “Oh my God, Fran. You devious vixen!”

  Ridelle sniffed. “You could have warned me, you know.”

  Fran shrugged. “I thought it’d be more fun this way. Consid
er this my contribution to both sides of the war effort.”

  Dominique cocked her head. “Both sides?”

  “Sure. It’ll be easier for Ridelle to close her eyes and imagine Ronald or Johnny Depp or whoever to get the job done.” Laughter rounded the table. “And on Bruce’s side, it’ll give him something that’ll go straight to both of his heads.”

  Ridelle frowned. “What, he’s sexually attracted to his cologne, too?”

  The reply was tinged with a businesslike tone. “No, he’s sexually attracted to women who get weak in the knees when he’s around.”

  Smiling laughter sobered a bit as Fran’s calculating move sank in. She gazed around the table, eyes gleaming wickedly. “I mean, that kind of heated, uncontrollable lust? What man can resist?”

  Silence was amplified as the part of fifteen departed. Finally, Dominique lifted her ice tea glass. “A toast, then. To time will tell.”

  The remaining cheese appetizer vanished off the plate while the day’s water view outside sparkled like smoky topaz, water gray but dazzling under the new onset of summer. The first pair of salads arrived, and the girls gave knowing smiles around Ronald’s table service. Giggles were choked down when his special smile erupted in Ridelle’s direction. Dominique had been right, of course. There were many nuances that showed a man’s spark of interest, even to the biggest novice in the art of romance.

  The electronic purr of Ridelle’s cell phone interrupted the round of giggles that broke out after Ronald left. “Why do I get the feeling you guys enjoy this so much more because I can’t get rid of him?” she asked.

  Twyla chewed a strip of chicken thoughtfully before turning to Dominique. “So what’s our next move?”

  “Patience, for now,” Dominique said while Ridelle dug in her purse for the phone. “We can’t shove Ridelle under his nose too much, or he may wonder why she’s suddenly such a frequent flyer.”

  Fran chased a cherry tomato around her salad bowl with a fork. “We have to do something. We can’t let the trail get cold.”

  “Oh, hi,” Ridelle said into the phone. Abruptly, she bolted from the table, speaking in hushed tones as she walked toward the entry. The women exchanged glances.

  “Crappy signal in here, probably.” The elusive tomato was captured and delivered to Frannie’s mouth.

  “Maybe we should host another party.” Twyla scowled at a blob of dressing that had landed on her tropical parrot-print blouse, positioned conveniently to resemble bird splotch.

  Dominique shrugged. “For what occasion? Early June Day?”

  Twyla rubbed at the stain with her napkin. “I don’t know, maybe I could host a dinner party this time.”

  French manicured nails drummed the table top. “Not a bad thought, if Fran can get Bruce to go along. When could you pull it off? Will Andy have a problem with it?”

  “Of course not. Give me a couple weeks, unless you think that’s too long.”

  Fran crunched down a large romaine leaf. “That’ll be the end of June, so maybe you can make it a fourth-of-July thing instead.”

  Dominique raised her empty glass to Ronald, who was two tables over. He nodded understanding and hurried toward the waiter station. “Bruce doesn’t have plans for the fourth?”

  Fran snorted. “As much as Bruce loves the American Dream, he’s not much for patriotism.”

  “The fourth works for us.” Twyla finished her stain removal procedure. “Andy’s been wanting to show off the grill he got for his birthday.”

  Ridelle returned to the table as Fran waggled a fork at the group. “Fourth of July party it is. Now we just need an excuse to get Ridelle around Bruce sooner. Any thoughts?”

  “I have one,” Ridelle said. The cell phone was still clutched in her hand. “How about the date he and I just made?”

  Mouths fell open around the table. Fran found words first. “You have a date with my husband?”

  A plate appeared under Ridelle’s chin, wavering UFO style in mid-air as Ronald obviously caught Fran’s comment. Conversation paused as he regained momentum, dropping off food before beating a hasty and silent retreat.

  Dominique sighed. “I think Frannie hurt your boyfriend’s feelings.”

  Ridelle was in little mood. “Ha-ha.”

  Twyla rounded back to the topic. “So that was Bruce on the phone? How did he get your number?”

  “Says he fished it out of Fran’s address book.”

  Twyla shook her head. “Using his wife’s Rolodex as a little black book? What a dog! I can’t believe he’d be brazen enough to ask out her friend after seeing you for the first time in God knows how long?”

  “Don’t get overexcited,” Ridelle said, stabbing a strip of meat off her steak salad. “It’s not a date-date. He’s buying a high-def television and wants me to come along to offer advice.”

  “So what are you now, Consumer Reports?” The tone of bitter sarcasm was unmistakable, as was the overzealous spearing of salad vegetables on her plate that followed. “I thought you were a bartender, not an electronics geek.”

  Ridelle flinched. “We talked about them at the party, and I mentioned that Dad has one of those TV’s already. Bruce thought I could steer him to a good deal.”

  “In person, no less.” Dominique’s salad lay unmolested as she followed the conversation. “It’s a fishing expedition. Good.”

  Ridelle glanced at Dominique. “Fishing?”

  “To see if he can get you one-on-one, away from Frannie.” She paused while the women exchanged glances. All eyes at the table were goggled wide. Fran looked as though she’d swallowed too large a lump of salad. “So when and where is this fishing trip?”

  A comment from Twyla about Bruce bringing his rod cost her a sour-lemons glare from the strawberry blonde across the table.

  “We’re meeting in Princeton at five o’clock.” Ridelle guided another piece of steak to her mouth.

  “What, today?” Fran asked.

  “That’s not much notice,” Twyla added. She dabbed at her lips with a napkin, then pushed her salad away. “What are you going to wear?”

  Ridelle snorted. “Who cares? I’m going to shop for a television in Jersey, not sip martinis at a black-tie gala.”

  “Wrong.” Dominique tapped fingernails against her iced tea glass as she spoke. “You don’t want to overdress for the occasion. But you do want to dress to confirm you’re a possibility.”

  Frannie studied Ridelle’s garb. “What she’s got on is fine, don’t you think?”

  “For TV shopping, yes. Dinner afterward, no.”

  Ridelle blew a wayward strand of hair away from her face. “He never said anything about dinner.”

  Dominique laughed. “Of course not. He’s playing it casual. He’ll wait until he’s kept you out so late that dinner will occur to him as an afterthought.”

  Ridelle’s expression bore open skepticism. “Quite the hairy cad. Maybe he won’t bother wining and dining. Maybe we’ll tango over by the home stereos, and he can hike my skirts against a surround system.”

  Dominique’s eyes rolled. “Not to brag, but I know a little something about how men operate.”

  “She’s right,” Twyla said, “I’d bet money on a thank-you dinner.”

  Frannie’s mouth was set in a firm slash, but she nodded.

  “Okay, fine,” Ridelle said, crossing her arms. “Let’s say he asks me to dinner. Just so we’re clear, I won’t be rubbing my toes against his crotch under the table. So don’t ask.”

  Twyla shook her head. “Just be yourself, except for the part where you find Bruce a hairy cad.” She waggled her brows over her glass of tea. “And I do hope he’s wearing that famous cologne.”

  “Well,” Frannie pushed back from the table, “I guess this means my devoted husband will be late getting home. Wonder when he’s planning on telling me that, not to mention that we’re getting some giant screen nuisance? I suppose he suggested Jersey so he won’t get spotted with you locally.”

  The girl shrugged.
“He just said it’d be easier to meet halfway than trying to rush home from work in New York.” Rooting through the remaining steak strips in her salad with a fork, she sighed, then pushed it aside. “Guess I should duck out early and get ready, since apparently I have to consider hair and wardrobe just to look at televisions. I still think you’re all getting your hopes up too much on this. I hope you won’t be too let down when every minute of my trip was dedicated to the exciting world of high definition television.”

  Dominique crossed her arms, setting a skeptical look askew by cocking her head. “You don’t seriously believe this is just because Bruce thinks you’re the whiz-bang expert on home electronics?”

  Ridelle sighed, then met Fran’s measuring eyes. “No. No, I don’t.”

  *

  The I-95 across the waterway into Jersey was stacked, but less congested on Ridelle’s side than for the poor souls trying to head for points east and north. Her left elbow was cocked half out the window of her Nissan, hands resting without purpose at the moment on the idle steering wheel. A brief twist of her wrist brought the face of her Seiko watch into view. She was late for the big fishing trip.

  Not only had Ridelle changed clothes before the hour and a half journey, but she had showered and put on a fresh coat of makeup as well. Opting for casually presentable, she wore a cranberry Tommy Hilfiger knit with pin tucks and a plunging, but not obscene neck. Skirts didn’t last long in her closet despite how many her mother bought, but she scrounged up a black denim A-line that fell to above the knee. Her open-back clogs read more casual than desperate, and the heels were low enough to assure she wouldn’t find herself looking down on Bruce in fact, if not in principle. The more she thought about it, the more she knew her friends were right. A married man taking a woman other than his wife shopping for a major home purchase had highly questionable motives. Still, if he wasn’t the type, Fran wouldn’t be working this angle to wriggle out of the hole in their prenup.

  Traffic picked up its pace, and Ridelle divided her time between navigating the highway and digging in her bag for a hairbrush. Pressing a button to seal the window against further damage to her hair, she slicked tangles out of just-dried locks and dumped the brush back inside the bag. The Lawrenceville-Princeton exit beckoned, and she veered off to put the car through a brief series of turns. Landing on Nassau Boulevard, she obliged a generous coat of rose-tinged lip gloss and a spritz of Curious perfume. For all the snickering over the antics of Britney Spears, the girl’s fragrance rocked on Ridelle. As she pulled into the electronic store’s parking lot, she flipped down the visor and peered at unassuming eyes and super-shined lips. Okay, so maybe her eyes did assume some things, none of which were good at the moment. She hoped they didn’t show it.