CHAPTER THIRTY FOUR
Auggie
Worth and I were married in a private ceremony deep within the woods of our new estate. He had gardeners bring in hundreds of potted tulips. Dad gave me away and served as witness while Carlos stood nearby with a wreath of white tulips wound around his neck. It was simple; it was perfect. The engagement ring was augmented by a band of red rubies representing the joining of our blood from that moment on.
My mother was not invited and neither were Worth’s parents. I know it saddened him that his mother couldn’t be there, but he said she had stood by her husband so long that it would be dangerous to ask her to relinquish that post while he still lived.
Afterward, we enjoyed a simple picnic and listened to the wind rustle the leaves while Chopin played from a small stereo. It was nothing like I’d imagined my wedding would ever be and that made it magical.
We had decided to resurrect our life. We were going to live it our way and that meant taking control of our own future.
Beverly Dexter had our new house almost complete. It still lacked the fripperies that were now my department and once again. I set about getting everything I wanted, but this time I brought in interior designers from Cincinnati, Atlanta, and Chicago and let them show me their ideas. I approved what I did and didn’t want, and the house was soon brought into shape.
Worth was fond of pale and muted colors so I chose a palette that brought the outdoors inside for most of the rooms, although I saved a few for my own personal taste. My office was one room where I indulged my love for equine furnishings. Completely French heritage, the cherry woods blended with a deep crimson, silk sofa and a pair of striped crimson and cream side chairs. The lighting was all for ambiance and only a desk lamp on my Queen Anne secretary was intended for actual work. I installed cherry bookcases along one wall and one of these held my Remington collection. A fireplace in one end added the cheer I missed on the cold, snowy days of winter.
For most of the more formal rooms, I chose Italian design, including a Spyder wood dining table. It looked very sophisticated, yet clean with a natural, organic base.
Designer Jane Hamley Wells pieces went into the living room as matching, opposing sofas and sleek, gray lounge chairs were accented with low, round coffee and end tables. Beverly Dexter had the lighting throughout the remainder of the house custom made and it blended beautifully.
I insisted that a smaller version of Worth’s clinic be installed on the lower level. We not only had the hot tub, but an enclosed lap pool and massage table. I also requested a home theater and a bar made from old reclaimed barn wood. It made Worth cringe with the cliché, but he never said a word.
We delayed moving into it until we had the clinic settled. After all, selling the house was still a possible option we could not ignore.
I consulted with the best OB/GYN team in town and learned I was in perfect health and the baby would be expected just about Christmas. Worth and I elected not to know the sex and to let it be a surprise. We were becoming more and more the unconventional couple.
In the meantime, Worth’s clinic was doing a booming business. They were booked for appointments three months out and there had been several features written about him in not just professional, but popular, broader audience publications that catered to health and wellness. To the outside world, Worth appeared to be the man with the golden touch. Inside, however, I could tell that he was anything but.
He held it in well, making extra efforts to spend time with me. He became invested in furnishing the new house, making modest requests that I could override without argument if I felt it appropriate. He spent time with me, and we made love nightly and with abandon. As the months passed and the sickness was left behind, we discovered the joys of pregnancy increased blood flow that made me all the more sensitive and orgasmic. Worth was only too happy to cooperate and the result was the happiest time I can remember in my entire life. We spent long evenings on our bed, cavorting in the nude. I loved to give him light-touched massages, stroking his thick cock until he could hold it back no longer and his molten juices spilled down my full breasts and over the mound that was our child. In return, he had only to lightly touch me and I instantly shot in the heavens of my mind with the deepest orgasms I’d ever experienced. We repeated our lovemaking over and over with only the slightest variation until we fell asleep from exhaustion.
My attention was turned for a while to the Sunset Village, which had become the retirement home of choice for the equine set. Apparently the crafts room and theater were the biggest draws although there were flowers blooming in the back that eclipsed anything I’d seen at the finest farms.
Mrs. Jessup managed to rise again as the socialite and elicited enough outside cooperation to throw me a combination wedding and baby shower. Worth and I were now the proud recipients of a dozen hand-made afghans and baby blankets, carefully crocheted from scraps of yarn decoratively pieced together. These were the most precious gifts I could have ever received.
While we had missed the Derby, we did manage to travel to Churchill a number of times and watch the fall races. I’d watched a few Steeplechase events as well but we’d left off buying any colts until our barns were constructed. Their delay was the price we paid to get our house finally complete.
Worth made me swear to stay clear of the clinic. He didn’t want me to be upset by what was going on with it and thought it wisest if the baby and I were free of that stress. I had to agree and although I wasn’t permitted to ride Carlos, I did spend a lot of time brushing him and walking with him through the leaves as fall returned. If we hadn’t had the clinic to worry about, our lives would have been idyllic.
That was when everything changed.
Worth
The strain of the blackmail was becoming too much to hide. Over and over again, the bitch Dr. Hunt was exerting pressure over me to do things her way and pressing in the dagger of my vulnerability on a daily basis. I knew I had to protect Auggie, so I had decided I would make a decision on what to do by a certain date, and that day had arrived.
I had just come into the office and my first client wasn’t due in for another fifteen minutes. I made myself a coffee and relaxed at the desk, contemplating my final decision. I needed to make this with a clear head. There was too much at stake. It wasn’t just me, or even Auggie and me, there was a child and an entire generation who would pay if I made the wrong decision today.
Call it fate, but my cell rang and I answered.
“Worth, this is Bill Daughtery,” came the brusque voice.
“Bill. I didn’t think I’d ever hear from you again,” I commented dryly, although his investigative invoices had arrived on a timely basis.
“I think I’m about to earn the money you’ve been sending me, Worth. When can we meet?”
I considered the importance of what he might have to say and made a decision. “Meet me at one o’clock at Joe’s.”
“See you there,” he said and hung up.
I went out to Patsy and told her to cancel my afternoon appointments. I verified that Auggie wasn’t expected in. She’d been coming three times a week for massage therapy as the baby weight was beginning to hurt her lower back and give her leg cramps. Despite her athleticism, it was our first baby and it was taking a toll on her ability to rest comfortably.
I changed jackets before I left for Joe’s and met Bill there at the dot of one o’clock. We took a table and ordered beers and a sandwich.
We reminisced about college days while we ate, delaying the inevitable information I knew he was going to pass along to me. He was my ace in the hole and I hoped he was going to come through for me.
Our beers were refilled and Bill grew serious. “This is confidential stuff I have to tell you,” he began, looking around. “You don’t want it overheard.”
“Very well,” I said and paid the bill, nodding to the bartender. Bill and I took a walk down to Third Street riverfront park. The Belle of Louisville was still in dock, but its charm was lost on our conversation. We strolled along the railing and as Bill talked, I stared down into the churning dark waters of the Ohio. There was something redemptive about water, but that day it was Bill who brought that emotion with his words. The wind had picked up and dark autumn clouds were rolling in to deliver their first, early sleet of the season.
I shook his hand when we parted, my mind now churning as the dark waters beneath the Third Street Bridge.
***
“Worth!” my mother’s voice was excited as she found me in her doorway. “Come in, darling!” she invited, kissing me on the cheek and pulling me indoors where it was warmer but stormier than even the sleet I’d left behind.
“Is he here?” I asked in a sober voice. I was concerned about her welfare after I left today. Her life could go on uninterrupted, or it could be devastated. It would all depend on the man in the study.
“You know where to find him,” she said, her voice filled with natural concern. She knew I wasn’t there on a social call. She knew it meant trouble. Perhaps that’s why she headed upstairs as soon as she let go of my arm. It was self-preservation to stay out of the way of random artillery fire.
He knew I was there. He’d sensed the moment I pulled into the drive, like a wolf that can smell the scent of prey a mile away.
He pretended to not see me but unlike the cowering child who would have once stood in the doorway for hours waiting to be invited in, I simply walked in and fell into the wingback opposite his desk.
“We need to talk,” I stated.
He looked up. Perhaps it was the tone of my voice, perhaps he smelled the scent of danger in the air. “Do we, indeed?” he snarled, tossing his pen down and sitting back in his chair, his hands brought together in a prayer-like gesture of contemplation. It was not a prayer to God. Father didn’t believe in any church but the Temple of LaViere where his word was never doubted.
“It stops today,” I said in a solid, but quiet voice. He heard the dead calm behind my words and perhaps it caused him to perspire a bit. Cowardice can do that.
“It stops when I say it stops,” he snapped back and turned to pour himself another bourbon. Even at my distance, I could see that his hand was shaking.
“I know about Santa Anita,” I spoke the words quietly but slowly so there was no question about what I was saying.
He whirled around. “And just what do you think you know?” he asked sarcastically.
“I’m not that big of a fool. If I tell you, I happen to know you have a little button beside your left knee that activates a recording device. I’m not about to go on record.” I got up and walked around his desk, pouring myself two fingers of his best bourbon and downing it in a single gulp. I set the glass back, upside down, causing a ring of the liquid to form on the surface of his cherry desk. I knew it would enrage him; he was very proud of that desk. His hand shook as he ached to retrieve the glass, but it would be a sign of surrender. He couldn’t afford that. The stakes were too high.
“What do you want?” were his simple, but oft-repeated words. I was no longer innocent enough to believe they signaled resignation. They often were more a sign of retaliation. Not this time, though. This time, I was in control.
“Call off your dogs. Pay them off and neuter Jervis.”
“Or?”
I laughed callously. “You need to ask? You forget. I’ve learned from the best.”
“You won’t get away with it,” he said.
“You thought you could,” I pointed out, “and you were wrong.
His face tightened, his only sign of emotion. “Damn you for a hound from hell.”
“Father, and I use the word genetically, if there is a hell, it is one you created and you will languish in for a very long time. I trust we have an arrangement?”
“Get out!” he screamed, his face a mottled red and he threw his glass at me. I tipped my head and he missed.
I walked to the doorway and laughed as I looked over my shoulder. His head was on his crossed arms.
I walked to the base of the stairs. “Mother?” I called to her and she appeared at the top. “Get a bag. You’re coming with me for a few days. It’s time you knew your daughter-in-law,” I said. She didn’t argue, didn’t even question the reason why. If anything, there was relief written all over her face.
“I’ll be right there,” she said, nodding. She was. In fact, she was down the stairs in under five minutes. I stood guard in the foyer and when she came tripping down, I opened the front door and helped her into my car.
“What happened?” she asked as we pulled out onto the roadway.
“I believe you might call it the end of an era,” I said and she nodded. She didn’t need the details.