Chapter 14

Michael

I’ve had a long, very hot day, and my feet are aching from walking so many properties. I can practically call this a wasted trip as I was scatterbrained the entire time. All I can think about is Mac, and most particularly, another man stealing her away from me. That is unthinkable, and yet it’s going over and over in my head.

Dragging myself into the guest house, I steal a hot shower and put on some clean clothes before I walk up to the main house and go looking for Mort. I find him on the patio, keeping company with Olivia. They’re holding hands and laughing over something they find mutually humorous.

“Hello,” I say to interrupt their intimacy.

“Oh, sir!” Mort leaps to his feet, and I notice Olivia pulling down the bottom of her caftan. What the hell have they been up to?

“I’d like my mail and messages, Mort.”

“Yes, sir. I put the mail on your kitchen table. There are no messages other than what you may have received on your phone.”

I nod. “Mac didn’t call?”

“Just the mail on the table,” Mort re-states, and I can tell he’s hedging.

“Mort …? You sure about that? No calls from Mac?”

He appears to be considering this deeply, and finally says, “Oh, yes, now I remember sir. She did call once but left no message. Odd, though …”

“What?”

“She asked me whether, well sir, you know I don’t like to get in the middle of these things, but she asked me if she was seeming to be pushy.”

“Pushy?”

“Yes, sir. I can only surmise that she prefers to remain unfettered and is afraid she’s giving you the wrong impression?”

“I see.”

Olivia is watching me, and I detect a slight frown when she looks at Mort. I know he’s bending the truth again.

“Mort, I’d like a word with Olivia, please. You’ll find there’s laundry to be done down at the guest house.” I wait until he nods, and with a look of resignation, leaves. I watch his journey down the green lawns from the window and turn to face Olivia. “We need to talk.”

“Well, there’s a big surprise.” She has some sort of turban thing around her head and over-sized sunglasses. You might think she was in disguise if you didn’t realize that she’s always playing one role or another.

I plop down in the chair that Mort recently left.

“So, what have you done now. Let me guess. It has something to do with that pretty little thing you’re pretending to not care much about?”

“You’re sharper than you let on.”

“You doubted that?”

“Jesus, everyone in this entire household is playing games.”

“Honey, that goes for the whole world. No one has the guts to be themselves. They even leave behind a headstone to remind the living who they thought they were.”

I laugh. “I’m in a mess, Olivia. Look, I don’t have a mother, and for the moment, I’d like to pretend you are someone who gives a shit about me. That okay?”

“Can’t say it would entirely be a lie.”

“Well, thank you,” I say and truly mean it.

“Okay, hit me,” she invites.

“So, one of the first things I found out about Mac is that she doesn’t want to get married, and she most certainly isn’t interested in dating or marrying someone with money.”

“No shit? Maybe she’s not as smart as I gave her credit for.”

“Careful …”

“Oh, alright, alright. So, now you’re trying to figure out how to get out of this grave you’ve dug for yourself, am I right?”

“Exactly.”

“What did you tell her?”

“I told her I don’t want to get married either. I had a fiancée who screwed around behind my back, and I’m sure as hell not going through that again.”

Olivia is thoughtful, tugging at her chin hairs.

“Can’t you use Nair or something for those?” I ask. What she’s doing repulses me.

“Sure, but then I won’t be able to think properly.”

I sigh deeply at her cockeyed logic, but since she’s working on my particular predicament, I’m willing to let it go.

“Okay, the way I see this thing is like this …” She pauses.

“Like what?” I prompt her.

“You’re both liars and both nuts.”

“Shit, thank you for the compliment.”

“Let me tell you a little story, my boy … remember you said I could pretend to be your mother for a few minutes.”

I wave my hand at her. “Go ahead.”

“Back in my day, I was quite the looker. I was a headliner. My name was first on the marquee, and they gave me the leading men I wanted because that’s what it took to have my name connected with their show. Had the world by the tail, or so I thought. One night, front row center, there was this tall drink of water with coal black hair and blue eyes like bolts of lightning. He watched me from beginning to end, never looking at anyone else on the stage. I saw him doing it, and it made me feel sort of powerful to know I had his attention. After all, he was good lookin’ enough to have just about any girl he wanted. After the show, the manager brought him back to my dressing room. I’m guessing he bribed the manager a pretty penny for the honor because I didn’t let anyone in. Anyway, there he was, that black hair and glowing eyes, in my doorway, and so tall, he almost had to stoop to not hit his head. I was looking particularly good that night—was one of my favorite roles, and the dress I wore in the last scene was cut way down to here,” she says, drawing a picture at naval level with her fingertip.

“Well, anyway, he asks to come in and talk to me, and I can tell he’s made of money. I let him in, and he sits on what we called in those days a fainting couch—quite the thing for ladies’ dressing rooms. He’s uncomfortable, and I finally get out of him that he’s a cowboy. Owned a huge ranch in Texas and hit oil, don’t you know. He’d come north to find a wife, and he claimed when he saw me, he knew I was the one.”

She pauses as she remembers her Texan, and I tell her to hurry up and get on with it.

“Yeah, yeah … so anyway, I was real up and coming, as I said, and this guy tells me upfront he’s out to marry me and take me back to Texas and wants a half dozen kids. He says I can have anything I want, and he means it. Me? I saw nothing but a dead end. I couldn’t see any man owning me like that—not when I had my career and the praises of every critic and fan who saw my show to make my head swell. I’d have my own money, and my fans, and I’d never be bored. Texas and him, even as good lookin’ as he was, sounded like the end of my life. I never was cut out to be a mother, anyway.”

“So, you ran him off, I’m guessing.”

“Yup, I ran him off. Not right away, mind you. I let him wine and dine me for a while. I guess I thought it would make me look more important, bein’ with a rich man like him, you know. But he saw through me, and one day, he showed up at my show, front and center like always, but this time, he wasn’t alone. There was a blonde with him, huge hooters and a sweet, smiling face. She clung to his arm like he was saving her life, and he looked up at me, givin’ me the signal that we were finished. He never came back again.

“Course, I don’t need to tell you that as soon as he left, I was kickin’ myself. I couldn’t see straight, almost killed my fool self wantin’ him. And yet, if he did, for some reason, come back and sit in that front row one night, I knew I’d still give him the boot. The problem with me, you see, is that I always want what I can’t have.”

I let her words tumble around in my brain for a few minutes. “So, if I get what you’re saying, you’re telling me to quit playing it cool, or I’ll lose her for good.”

“You’re smarter than you look, which is a good thing ’cause you’re going to have to pull this off for the both of you. She’s all messed up in her pretty little head because she ain’t ever been anywhere else. She’s fresh from the teat.”

I began to object but recognized it was a losing proposition. “Okay, so, how do I get myself out of this lie?”

“Kill me.”

“What?”

“You’ve got to kill me, you fool. You can’t throw me out into the street for no good reason, and until you’re livin’ here, and she sees that you’ve got money and contacts, then you’re not bein’ honest with her.”

“But if I fire you,” I dared her to use the other word, “then I still have to find a way to tell her you’re not my aunt, and that I’ve been playing her along all this time.”

“Yep.”

“She’ll walk away.”

“Maybe, but I’d probably leave the part out about me being an actress and just pretend I died and you inherited. At least then she won’t think you’ve been up to your ass in lies before now. You might have some chance of saving things, but then maybe not, who knows. That’s where she comes in. If she means what she says about not wanting a rich husband, then you’re gonna be forcing the issue. She might walk, but at least you’ll know where you stand. You don’t want to get any deeper in this cesspool, son. I’ll pack my bags; you pay me what you owe me, and we’ll part friends.”

I sit back, the truth of her words beginning to sink into my muddled brain. She is right, and I know it. There is no point delaying the inevitable. I get to my feet and extend my hand. “You’ve got a deal. And if there’s anything you ever need, let me know.”

She takes my hand and shakes it slowly. “Oh, don’t worry about that. I know how my bread’s buttered, and I know where the skeletons are buried. I’ll be gone this evening, that is if you let ol’ Mort off so he can drive me somewhere.”

I groan inwardly, knowing that Mort is not going to be very pleased with the turn of events. I nod and leave her, walking down to my guest house where I find Mort going through my luggage in a resentful manner. “Mort, Olivia’s leaving. Please go help her pack her bags and drive her wherever she wants to go.”

“What?”

“Which part didn’t you hear?”

“Why is she leaving, sir? We didn’t mean no harm, sir. We’re both grown adults, and you weren’t even home. Okay, so a little game of hide the sausage could have been had somewhere else, but we were both all for it.”

I cringe. “I don’t need to hear whatever went on between the two of you, but it’s going to have to go on somewhere else. Olivia’s role has ended, and the story will be that she’s passed on and left me the house and money. In short, we’re going back to the way things were before and should have stayed. I was a fool for pretending otherwise. I hope it isn’t too late.”

“The Miss, is it, sir?”

“Yes, I’m afraid so.”

“Do you think you’re doing the right thing, Sir? After all, I believe she said she didn’t want a man with money.”

“I hope she’s changed her mind.”

Mort shakes his head. “Oh, I don’t know sir. Women can be rather stubborn when they like. I should know.”

“Yes, you should. Sometimes you strike me as rather womanish, Mort, if you don’t mind my saying,” I tell him, mimicking his British accent.

“What will happen to her? To Miss Olivia?”

“Don’t you worry about that. I’m giving her a healthy paycheck, and she can retire.”

“Very generous, sir.”

I can see the gears turning in Mort’s head. If Olivia sticks around nearby and she is set for life, that will give him another option if he ever gets pissed and wants to leave me. I don’t care, as long as he keeps his mouth shut.

Mort leaves the guest cottage and goes to Olivia’s aid. I decide to leave them some private time and busy myself packing up my belongings and finishing up some work on my computer.

Eventually, I see Mort carrying bags out to the limo, and I head in their direction. Olivia comes out of the house, dressed in a chic suit and looking every bit the retiring star she wants to be. I hand her an envelope with a very healthy check inside, and she sneaks a peek and smiles before Mort hands her into the limousine. He closes her door and goes to get in behind the wheel when he turns and says, “Sir, if I’ve done anything to discourage Miss Mac, I’m very sorry.”

I nod. “No grudges, Mort.”

“Sir, I was wondering …” he begins and looks significantly toward the back seat where Olivia and a pile full of money await him.

“I’ll see you when I see you,” I nod and wave him off. “Just don’t drive if you drink.”

“Yes, sir, thank you, sir,” he says enthusiastically and climbs behind the wheel. They honk the horn as I watch the limo retreat, and I go about the business of moving myself back into my own house, where I should have been all along.

I don’t want to put things off any longer. I find my phone, settle on the bed and tap her number.

“Hello?”

“Hi, Mac, it’s Michael.”

“Hello. I’ve missed you. I tried to reach you.”

“You did? I didn’t get any messages.”

“No, well it’s something I want to talk to you about in person.”

“Well, as a matter of fact, I’ve got something to talk to you about, too. It’s rather serious. Why don’t you drive over, and I’ll make us up a picnic again, and we’ll go down to our spot by the water?”

“Be there in twenty,” she agrees and disconnects.

I’m humming as I look for bread and peanut butter. After all, I didn’t promise a fancy picnic.