CHAPTER NINETEEN
Laurie
I sat in the library, my laptop open on a huge, wooden desk, far from any other users. I typed in “Tucker McGrath” and held my breath as the machine hummed. And sure enough, a dozen results popped up.
“Internet billionaire bad boy does it again!” screamed one headline.
“Will McGrath break the new economy?” blared another.
And the worst: “Tucky Tuck gets his duck on with Laurel Hardy,” read the caption with a picture of Tucker, handsome and arresting, blue eyes piercing, in a tux with a beautiful woman on his arm. The skinny blonde was the opposite of me, ten miles tall, thin as a whip, with perfect make-up, perfect hair, her lips painted in a wide crimson smile.
And I died inside, absolutely shriveled up and withered to nothing. It was like Tucker had had been playing with me, stepping out of his “real” life to have some fun. Because the real Tucker seemed to be someone else completely. The “real” Tucker was a self-made entrepreneur with more money than God and a taste for fancy things, be it the latest sports car, luxurious yachts, or expensive vacations. And there were pictures of all this on the web, all of them with a different woman, a different perfectly made-up, camera-ready model with a set of manicured fingernails and a smiling, lipsticked mouth.
I’d never felt more dumb. Why hadn’t I googled Tucker earlier? Why hadn’t I done like normal people do and get on the internet immediately, searching for anything and everything about my new guy? I guess it was because I didn’t want to jinx myself, I was so traumatized from my marriage and divorce that I didn’t want to open up any closets and face the skeletons, I wasn’t ready for that. So instead I’d gone the opposite route, sticking my head in the sand, seeing only what I wanted to see, willing myself to believe in the fairy tale.
But I cursed myself because there’d been so many signs, the luxury apartment, the friends who didn’t exist, the way Tucker never batted an eye about money. I shook my head, defeated. Even the wine we drank each night was expensive, there was no way a delivery man could afford even that. Shit. It was my own fault, and I only had myself to blame.
So I sat back, my shoulders trembling, the air heaving in my chest. I’d packed a suitcase and had it with me now, the little travel-sized case humble and tiny. And the thought of my drab, bare apartment on the Lower East Side was depressing, but at least it was still mine. I dreaded going over there, dreaded letting myself into that lonely, cold room, but the library was closing soon and I’d have no choice. Suddenly, a ring jolted me from my stupor. Picking up my cell, I saw that it was my mom.
“Hi Linda,” I said, speaking quietly into the receiver. “Let me go outside.” Slowly, I tiptoed out of the reading room and into a common area filled with light and the buzzing sound of conversations.
“Hi Ma,” I said a little louder, standing in a corner, plugging up one ear with a finger. “I’m at the library so I can’t talk long, but how are you? How’s your vacation going?”
“Hi honey,” squealed my mom. I held the receiver away from my head, wincing. So much for my warning, Linda never took instruction well. “How are you baby?” she trilled. “I haven’t talked to you in so long!”
My mom had been sailing the world with her new beau, a silver fox who wined and dined her like no tomorrow. But Charles was genuinely nice, and I was glad my mom had someone to spend time with.
“How are you hon?” repeated my mom. “I’ve missed you! Tell me everything,” she gushed.
“Well, you know I’m divorced now,” I started slowly.
But my mom just pooh-poohed.
“Oh honey, Gary was never right for you. I know you dated two years and all but some people are able to keep things hidden for years, for years baby. Remember that douche Michael that I dated back in ’05? He was in the mafia and I didn’t even know until after we broke up.”
I winced at that one. Linda was still beautiful at forty and had dated non-stop since I was two, my dad leaving when I was just a baby. And I agreed, the whole mafia situation had been unbelievable. We’d thought Michael was an insurance salesman, a totally blah white-bread dude, but instead he turned out to be not Michael, but Massimo of the Valetti Crime Family, a hired assassin who’d committed countless atrocities. And as the kicker, it was only when the FBI came knocking that my mom and I found out.
But the situation with Tucker was different. I mean, Michael being a hitman was so far-fetched to be almost ludicrous, straight out of a movie. But my life was no movie, and the current situation didn’t have a happy ending.
So I began explaining to my mom, slowly at first, then picking up steam. Linda and I don’t talk that often, she’s always traveling on some jaunt or another, so this was as good a time as any, and once I got into the groove, it all tumbled out, the deliveries that went awry, moving in together, my lover’s horrific betrayal.
“So let me get this straight,” said Linda slowly. The satellite phone was so good, so sensitive, that I could almost feel the sway of the boat she was on, hear the lap of waves against the hull. “The man you’re dating is incredibly successful, and not a delivery man at all,” she said slowly.
“Sort of, yes,” I acknowledged. “But there’s a bigger point. Tucker lied to me, he could have told me the truth at any point but he never said anything.”
I could almost hear my mom shaking her head.
“But what did you expect?” she asked. “That your man was going to be upfront and open with you from the very beginning, especially given his past experiences with women?”
I paused for a moment.
“Well yes,” I said righteously. “I mean, you should always give your lover the benefit of the doubt. If you start off on a suspicious note it just gets you off on a bad foot, poisons the well.”
My mom was silent for a moment. I was obviously touchy and she didn’t want to set me off.
“But honey,” continued my mom gently, “this guy Tucker explained why he didn’t tell you his identity at first, why he kept it a secret. He was afraid that you might only want him for his money because that’s what women in his past found most attractive.”
“But that’s not me! He didn’t have to test me!” I cried vehemently. “I work in government for crying out loud, helping translate signs so that immigrants and new Americans know where the bathroom is. Of course I’m not about the money, why would I take a job like this? I could be working anywhere else and make twice as much.”
My mom paused for a moment.
“Honey, don’t get me wrong, I love the fact that you’re a do-gooder but I think you’re mixing two things up,” she said gently. “Just because you work for nothing doesn’t mean that you’re not interested in money. The two don’t cancel each other out, and one doesn’t necessarily imply the other,” she said.
I paused for a moment contemplating. Sure, I guess bad people sometimes do good things, and good people do bad things. But my commitment to helping others surely telegraphed that I wasn’t on the market for a rich husband, right? Wasn’t that obvious? But before I could speak, my mom continued.
“And besides,” said Linda, “Tucker’s been the target of dozens of ladies, probably hundreds of women, young and old, would love to be Mrs. McGrath, die to have his ring on their finger.”
That made a shiver run down my spine. Another woman as Tucker’s wife? The thought made me blanch, keel over with pain. But I had my pride.
“I’ve never said anything about marriage,” I said stiffly. “I only just got divorced.”
“Of course honey,” my mom said in a conciliatory voice. “Of course. But you do understand why Tucker is the way he is? It sounds like he’s had to ward off golddiggers a couple times, and just like you, once burned, twice shy. He’s careful now, he doesn’t just open up his soul to anyone. The walls come down slowly as two people get to know one another, build bridges of trust and understanding.”
And I snorted a little rudely then.
“Okay Ma, you sound like Dr. Phil or some radio station love guru, but I guess you’d know, you’ve been married four times,” I said snarkily.
But my mom took the insults in a breeze. I guess being a parent helps the comments roll off, impertinent kids are par for the course.
“It’s not the four marriages,” replied my mom lightly. “It’s that I’m older now, been through a lot, had my heart broken a couple times and picked myself up along the way. Trust me honey, this isn’t the disaster you’re making it out to be. In fact, this guy sounds like he really loves you baby, really respects you for your choices, the fact that you’re clearly not about his wealth. Give him another chance,” she said persuasively. “You owe it to him … and yourself.”
But I wasn’t having it.
“I don’t owe Tucker McGrath anything,” I snapped, “Nothing at all.”
And my mom just sighed, her voice crackling a bit with static.
“Well have it your way, but take it from someone who’s been through marriage four times,” she said wryly. “This guy sounds like a catch and he seems to really be into you. Don’t lose it just because of something small, because you might not be able to get it back,” she said with a rueful sigh. “Even if you apologize, sometimes it’s never the way it was.”
And I paused for a moment, suddenly alarmed. A pit opened up in my stomach and my brain froze like ice. I’d acted completely on impulse, storming to NYC Concierge, busting in and confronting Tucker before all his employees, making a scene like none other. Had I crossed a line already? Was it too late, the damage done?
And I dropped my head miserably, trying not to cry. I had no idea how to proceed next, what to do, how to help myself and I felt all alone with no support, no shoulder to lean on. Oh god, was I already yesterday’s trash to the big man, left out on the sidewalk to be hauled to the dump? Had I mixed myself up to the point where there was no return, no going back? Suddenly, I was miserable and lost … without Tucker.