Infusion Page 4

  When Grant Connolly had jumped into the beer and wine distribution business with a partner, his son Ethan had found his calling. He’d taken over, after working his way up through the ranks in a way not dissimilar to Gayle’s—merchandising, sales, brand management. When she’d started working for his company, he’d been CEO for over fifteen years and remained a perpetual member of ‘California’s ‘most desired bachelors’ club. Until he had laid eyes on her, of course.

  After their Hawaii wedding, he’d set up a trust in her name, plus one other, over the course of their life together, and had declared her his sole heir in the unlikely event of his early death. It had shocked his parents, but they’d loved their son, and her, eventually, so they’d not contested anything.

  She was worth something in the neighborhood of forty-eight million bucks. A mind-numbing sum of money managed by a slew of smart people she met with quarterly to review how they were growing her fortune, while she played a direct role in the management of the charitable foundation. A different set of people were in charge of her daily monetary requirements, including paying credit card bills she never saw.

  Her married life to Ethan had been cushy in the extreme. They’d worked side-by-side at the distribution company, but he was prone to whisking her off to France or the Bahamas on a moment’s notice—although he always made sure to coordinate it with her assistant and her travel schedule. They’d had a beautiful home overlooking the ocean, two cars—each—plus someone to clean and even cook for them if they wanted it. Her walk-in closet next to her beautiful bathroom had been a work of art, kept filled with all manner of clothing, shoes and bags. And Ethan had loved nothing more than buying her jewelry. She’d gotten rid of most of it, only hanging on to pieces that didn’t hurt her soul when she looked at them.

  But while all of it had seemed wonderful, beyond anyone’s wildest fantasy of a fairy tale, she’d rejected it at first. She hadn’t believed the man had wanted her for anything more than sex—something they’d had a lot, and early on in their relationship. At times, lying wide awake late at night and missing him so much she could barely think straight, she would remind herself of the fact she had cost them at least three years of marital happiness with her foolish stubbornness.

  It hit her again now, hard, and right between her eyes, making her sway in her seat. “Yes, Trent. It’s fine. Let me know when I can see it.”

  “You got it, gorgeous.” Silence descended between them while Gayle tried not to burst into tears—again. “Anything else I can do? Hey, do you want to come up to the lake house sometime? We’re going up—”

  “Nothing more for now, thanks,” she interrupted him, unwilling to listen to a half-hearted invite for a weekend away. She knew from Evelyn that Trent had a new wife, Melody, who was pregnant, and Taylor, his teenaged daughter from his first marriage, was giving them fits over her college choices, or lack of them. The last thing they needed was to feel obligated to entertain her. “Tell Melody and Taylor I said hi.”

  “Will do. I’ll text you once I get something set up for you to see.”

  “Thanks, Trent. Talk to you soon. Bye.” She hung up before he could say anything else, took a few seconds to grip her steering wheel, then pushed the ignition button and listened to the expensive German-engineered engine purr to life. She’d killed a couple of hours with the extra yoga practice. Now she had to figure out how to kill three more before she could start getting ready for the big night out.

  Chapter Six

  “Come on in,” Gayle said when her mother knocked on her bedroom door at nine-thirty. She was standing in front of the full-length mirror she’d had her whole life, marveling at the stranger who seemed to be peering back at her from its reflective depths. She didn’t turn to face Trudie, just kept smoothing her hands over her seemingly non-existent hips in the silly, expensive designer dress she’d bought the night before, after her facial and massage.

  It was made of a smooth, silvery material with miniscule beading that reflected the light and left her shoulders, upper chest and a long expanse of her leg exposed in a way she hadn’t really taken into account when she’d swooped into the downtown boutique and said she needed something ‘for a night out dancing’.

  The sales woman had taken a long, head-to-toe look at her and pulled a single dress from a rack. When she’d held it out so Gayle could try it on, she’d been so damn relieved this was going to be a relatively painless process, she’d barely looked at herself in the dressing room mirror. The sales woman had sucked in a breath when Gayle had pulled back the heavy velvet curtain to get an opinion. “What?”’ she’d asked, tugging at the clingy fabric. “Is it awful?”

  “No. Quite the opposite.” She’d encouraged Gayle to step out into the room. “You look incredible in it. You must work out.”

  “Yes, well…” Gayle had tugged at her scraggly ponytail and noted in the gigantic mirror that her face looked exactly like it had been loofahed by a coral reef. “God,” she’d said, covering her cheeks with her hands.

  “Exactly,” the sales woman had said, pulling a shimmery shawl from another rack and draping it across Gayle’s bare shoulders. “You’re exquisite.”

  But Gayle had barely taken in the dress, or rather, the lack of it. She’d felt shaky and all kinds of wrong. The rest of the staff and a couple of fellow shoppers had gathered around and made many ooing and ahing noises. She’d purchased it, the shawl and a pair of admittedly beautiful high heels in the same color, with silvery ribbons she would tie around her ankles—all of it a pure, fifteen-minute impulse-slash-guilt buy. She couldn’t even recall what the whole shebang had cost her, she’d been so eager to get the hell out of there.

  “Wow,” her mother said with a whistle. “You are stunning.”

  “I’m practically naked is what I fucking well am.” She flopped onto the bed, tears threatening, arms crossed over the sparkly bodice.

  “So?” Trudie took her hand and pulled her back to her feet. “All that exercise really shows.”

  “Everything shows, Mama,” she whined, turning to stare at herself, surprised all over again when the stranger looked back at her. She’d had her brown hair touched up with a few reddish highlights, and cut to reduce the split ends she’d let gather for the years since she’d last darkened the door of a salon. It dropped smooth and straight past her shoulders. She pulled it back, relieved to see she did, indeed, seem to still be in this room, in this slutty dress.

  “Calm down,” Trudie said, pulling her hand away so her hair fell down her back. “Look at me.” She took Gayle’s hands in hers and held on tight. Ever the dutiful daughter, Gayle met her gaze. “This is what you need. You have to get out from under the frumpy hair, sterile business suits, boring shoes. You used to be fun, remember?”

  “I also used to be married. I also used to be a—”

  Trudie frowned but tightened her hold on Gayle’s hands. “You know what I mean. Stop fighting me on this. I’m proud of you, honey. So very proud. You’ve done the worst thing any woman should have to do—you’ve buried everything you loved about your life. But it’s not coming back. It’s time…” She gave Gayle’s hands one last squeeze and let go. “You’re only thirty-six years old. You owe it to yourself to move past this, just a little. I don’t mean to forget. You’ll never do that.” She tucked a thick lock of Gayle’s hair behind her left ear and cupped her chin. “I’ll never forget them either, so I can’t even imagine what you’re going through, but I do know you are still alive. And you deserve to enjoy your life again.”

  Gayle sniffled, thankful the ubiquitous tears seemed to be dormant at the moment. A relief on one level, but alarming on another. With a long exhalation, she turned back to look at herself, running her hands down the shiny material. “I look okay?” She turned left, then right, noting that she was indeed wearing this dress like a damn runway model. “I had no idea I’d lost so much weight.”

  Trudie grabbed a makeup brush and came at her. “Here, let me.”

  �
�Mama, I’m fine.” She tried to duck away, perfectly happy with her usual minimal foundation and mascara makeup regimen.

  “Don’t be ridiculous. This is a dance club, not the damn beer warehouse. Sit. Be quiet. Let me work.”

  Gayle did, and when her mother allowed her to look at herself again, she gasped. “Jesus, Mama.” Her eyes were frosty shadowed, lined with smudgy kohl, framed by black lashes. Her high cheekbones were bronzed perfectly. The rest of her skin had a glowing, natural-looking tone. “Fine.” She grabbed a brush, but Trudie snatched it away from her.

  “Nope. You’re perfect. Stop fiddling. Where are your shoes?”

  “There.” Gayle pointed to the shoebox on the bed. Trudie pulled them out, making her low, admiring whistle again. Gayle rolled her eyes, but took the shoes and slid her feet into them. They were, without a doubt, perfect with the dress. And she figured wearing sexy high heels would be like riding a bike—Ethan used to love it when she dressed up and wore things like this on their many dates all around the world.

  But here she was, back in her stodgy, mid-west Cape Cod-style childhood home, putting on sexy shoes, about to go out and ‘live her life’, whatever the hell that meant. She closed her eyes for a split second, waiting for the hot wave of anger to pass. It did, as it always did, so she put on the other shoe, then rose slowly, alarmed at the height of the things for a few seconds until she got her equilibrium back.

  “Oh, Gayle,” her mother sighed behind her.

  “Do not cry, Mama. I’ve made it almost four whole hours without crying and I am not about to start now.”

  “I won’t, I won’t.”

  She took another long look at herself, noting the way the material shimmered every time she moved even a little. Her arms and legs were slim and toned. What remained of her cleavage still seemed a bit too exposed, but she shrugged, figuring if she were going to do this, she was going to do it right. Saying a tiny mental thanks to Evelyn for suggesting this, along with her usual simultaneous curse and declaration of love to her dead husband, she headed downstairs to meet the ride share car she’d called.

  “Don’t forget this!” Her mother ran down the steps and held out something.

  “I’ve got my bag, ID and a credit card plus a little cash and lipstick. I think I’m good.”

  But Trudie just waved the tiny zippered pouch at her with a stern expression on her face.

  “Go on. It’s just a few extras you might need. I never go out without them.”

  With a sigh, figuring it was a packet of mints and a comb or something, Gayle grabbed it. A familiar yet odd-sounding crinkle from inside the thing hit her ear, making her frown and unzip it. “Mama. Seriously.” She pulled out a short strip of condoms, a tiny toothbrush with a matching miniscule tube of paste and a fresh pair of panties. “You are certifiable.”

  Trudie just grinned and shrugged.

  “Wait. You said you never go anywhere without this stuff?”

  Her mother’s grin widened and her eyes twinkled—and not in a grandmotherly way. “I spend a lot of time on the road at book events, you know. And I am not some kind of a celibate saint.”

  “Oookay, please stop talking now.” Her phone beeped, indicating her ride was waiting. She shoved the bizarre collection of stuff into the pouch and stuck it in her bag. “I’m not going to need condoms, that much I can guarantee.” The thought of anyone—any man—touching her, kissing her, holding her who was not her dead husband made her mildly nauseated, until a quick flash of memory of a young man on a platform, wearing a hard hat and the world’s sexiest grin on his face, made her shiver and her face flush. “Shit. This is nuts.”

  “Go on. Have fun. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”

  Gayle glared at her slight, still pretty mother for a few seconds then blew her a kiss and headed out of the door into the still hot night. As she sat in the passenger seat, worrying the space on her left ring finger where her platinum band had rested for not long enough, she made a decision. Right before the driver pulled up to the front of the teeming sidewalk in front of the club, she plucked the thin chain from her purse and re-fastened it behind her neck. The weight of Ethan’s ring dangled right below the dip between her collarbones, its heavy warmth giving her comfort. Before she got out, she thanked the driver, an older woman who’d been happy not to chat, thank God, and touched her fingertips to the ring, sensing the imagined, residual warmth of his skin.

  “There you are…holy shitballs, sister, you look incredible!” Evelyn grabbed her arm and hustled her around the long line of people—most of them at least fifteen years younger than she was. She barely had time to register the hate daggers from the crowd before Evelyn had batted her eyelashes at the door guardian and they were ushered inside ahead of everyone else.

  The noise, sights and sounds nearly knocked her back on her butt. Not that she wasn’t familiar with them. She was. But it had been years since she’d been in a place like this one. It rose three stories, with full balconies, and dancing girls and guys in weird, clear tube-like things that rose and fell from somewhere so high up she couldn’t even see it.

  It smelled a lot like Abercrombie and Fitch mixed with pot smoke and was freezing cold where she stood. The main bar was a raised platform in what looked to be the smack middle of the gigantic dance floor, but she was willing to bet there were satellites of it on every balcony. A place like this charged triple for drinks and made weak-ass pours so patrons were better off with a beer, or wine, or…

  “Martinis!” Evelyn yelled in her ear. “I know I need one. Come on. I reserved us a table upstairs, so we can people watch for a while.”

  Gayle nodded, still somewhat awed by the chest-pounding beat and the absolute swarm of beautiful young people all around her. It was, in a word, breathtaking—and yet depressing at the same time.

  As she followed her friend around the outside of the dance floor to a set of spiral stairs up, she saw several half-hidden corridors under the steps and farther behind, all with slightly waving light velvet curtains. At one point, someone lifted a side and she saw a couple making out. Her face reddened and her scalp tingled at the sight until Evelyn poked her shoulder and motioned upwards. She nodded and minded her own business until she saw the tiny table with the RESERVED card and two dirty martinis with a bonus bowl of olives on the side.

  “You went all out,” she shouted over the noise.

  Evelyn nodded, handed her one and motioned to the seats. Gayle sat, clinked glasses with her friend, sipped and trained her gaze downward. There was no use pretending they could have a real conversation amidst the noise, so they drank two martinis each and leaned over the railing, taking in the sights. At one point, a waitress brought them two shot glasses of clear liquid and told them the men across the room had paid for them. Gayle flushed hot when the men—handsome, and very young—waved at her and Evelyn.

  “Hell to the yeah.” Evelyn knocked hers back and swiped at her lips. Gayle studied her friend, using the assistance of two stiff drinks to give her courage.

  “What is wrong with you, anyway?” She sniffed the shot glass and shivered. Tequila. No way. Not after two gin martinis, anyway. She placed the glass on the table between them and leaned closer to her friend, grabbing her hand and yanking her down so the woman could hear her. “Hey. You. What’s wrong?”

  Evelyn’s eyes filled with tears, but she shook her head so hard, her casual up-do came loose, sending strands of blonde hair cascading down to her shoulders. “I’m not talking about it.”

  “The hell you’re not!” Gayle knew she was hollering, but the thought that she might not be the saddest damn person in the room only added to her buzz. She kept a tight hold on Evelyn’s hand as she motioned for a passing waiter. “Water,” she demanded, pointing to herself and her companion.

  When Evelyn attempted to pull away, Gayle tugged her closer until their faces were almost touching over the small table. “Talk to me, woman.”

  Her friend sighed and looked down at their joined han
ds. Gayle let her go with a frown.

  “I had another miscarriage,” she said.

  “Another?” Gayle nodded thanks for the two room-temperature water bottles plunked in front of them. She opened them both and took Evelyn’s hand again, so she could put hers in it. “Wait. Drink some of this first.”

  Evelyn sipped. Gayle tipped the bottom of the bottle up until the other woman took a real drink. She took a long gulp of her own, trying to recall if she knew Evelyn and Austin wanted more kids. Rose, their daughter, was almost four, so she supposed it was time. She put the lid back on both their bottles and leaned forward again, motioning so Evelyn would do the same. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know there were…others before. How awful for you.”

  “Yes, well….” Evelyn fiddled with her wedding ring, her earring, her necklace and kept her gaze averted. “You do know that Rose is… I mean, Ross and I…um…”

  Gayle held up a hand. “I get it. It’s complicated. But Ross found someone and he’s happy as a pig in shit, best I can tell.”

  A ghost of a smile flitted across her friend’s face. “Yes. He has and we’re really happy for him.” She slumped back, letting her long legs, just as exposed as Gayle’s, sprawl out in front of her. Gayle frowned at a couple of guys standing nearby, eyeballing them. “That’s kind of the problem, I think. I really want to have Austin’s child, you know? I mean, he’s never acted any other way but as Rose’s father. I don’t know. I’m too old for this, anyway. I’m sure it’s nature’s helpful way of reminding me.”

  Gayle sipped some more, gathering her thoughts. Talk of babies and children was something she avoided like the plague, but her friend was obviously miserable and she was due some time on this side of the sympathy continuum. “So, how many have you had?”