Masked Innocence

Thirty-Six

I needed a distraction, and Brad needed twenty-four hours to take care of whatever his cockeyed plan was. We argued, a discussion bordering on a serious fight, about his refusal to share his plan with me. It was an argument I lost, his face stern and unyielding. I was almost grateful. I didn’t know how much more information I could take. To be safe, we decided that I should stay in the house, out of sight. A ridiculous plan, but I didn’t have a better one. I called Becca, asking her to come by and hang out, promising mimosas if she would come and keep me company. I would have asked Olivia, but she would have sniffed out trouble before she even walked in the front door. Becca was a lot less observant.

She arrived thirty minutes later, her silver Mercedes convertible pumping out music loud enough to cause the closest blueblood to have a heart attack. Becca doesn’t leave the house unless she is perfectly coiffed, so I wasn’t surprised to see her trot up the front steps wearing designer jeans, four-inch heels and a sequined gold top. Martha answered the door with a grunt, and I stepped out of the kitchen and waved Becca in.

Seeing me, she squealed and jogged over for a hug, passing right by Martha’s death stare of a welcome.

“Look at you, you sexy thing!” she said, giving my just-had-sex-in outfit a once-over. Evading her judgment, I grabbed her hand and pulled her through the house. Martha called to me as I was rounding the bend of the hall.

“Don’t think I’m going to be waiting on you two!”

I paused midstep, jogging back to the kitchen and grabbing the carton of orange juice and two cups she held out. She pursed her lips at me, and I grinned, bounding back down the hall and catching up to Becca.

“She seems nice,” Becca said, nodding in the direction of Martha.

I grinned. “She is,” I said, shocked at my own response. Maybe it takes drama to bring two people closer. I ushered Becca into the den, checked out the wet bar and found a bottle of champagne. Popping the cork, I poured us both glasses and settled into a plush recliner. She examined the champagne, then stood with her glass, walking around the room. I took a generous sip and leaned back in the chair.

“This house certainly is manly,” she announced, checking out the framed sports paraphernalia housed in the built-in cabinetry. “Where’s the bearskin rug?”

“You’re hilarious. I’ll be sure his decorator calls you for tips.”

She shrugged, smiling at me over her glass. “Hey, he has good taste in women, right? That’s all that counts.” She raised her glass in a toast, and I leaned forward, clinking mine against hers.

“Amen. So, what’s going on with you and Trey?” Trey was Becca’s latest boyfriend, a tennis-playing premed major who had all of the family credentials that Becca’s parents required.

“Ugh.” Becca flopped into the closest chair, kicking off her heels and tucking her feet under her butt. “He is such a spazz. Did I tell you he took me to Applebee’s yesterday for dinner? Applebee’s. Like we’re fucking high schoolers.” She gestured wildly, as if the Apocalypse were imminent now that she had been forced to eat with the middle class. I stifled a laugh and nodded somberly, trying to emphasize with her difficulties.

“So anyway, I think I’m going to break it off with him. He’s just so...young, you know? I need someone like Brad, someone mature. Has Brad ever taken you to Applebee’s?” She didn’t wait for a response, just sighed exasperatedly and sipped her champagne. “What about you two—how’s everything going?”

I played with my glass, trying to figure out how to answer the question. I answered, as truthfully as I could. “It’s going great, Becca. Things are different with him, different than any other guy I’ve dated. I’ve never had a more stressful relationship—so much has gone on with us, but despite all that, I think he might be it for me.” I blushed, hating the words as they came out of my mouth.

Her mouth dropped open. “It? Like love? Are you sure? You’ve only been exclusive, what? Two weeks?”

“About that, and I am. When I’m with him, it feels natural, like he is the other part of me that I have been missing out on this whole time. He is so...everything. He makes every other guy I’ve ever met seem lacking.”

“Wow. This is huge. I thought after the whole Luke debacle, you had decided to be single for a while. Now you are all ready to settle down for good?”

“Don’t tell Olivia. She’ll get all weird on me.”

Becca nodded, her eyes bright. “Don’t worry. That is so great, Jules, I am so happy for you.” She got up, leaning over to give me a quick hug, then perched on the arm of my chair. “So...does he have any cute friends?”

BRAD MADE THE call, to a number he hadn’t dialed in over nine years. The phone rang so long he expected voice mail, but then a gruff male voice answered.

“It’s Brad. We need to talk.”

“When?”

“Tonight.”

“Come to the house. We’ll talk there.”

“Alone.”

A sigh. “If you want.”

Brad ended the call and tapped the phone to his lips, thinking. His father’s voice hadn’t changed much in nine years.

WE FINISHED THE bottle of champagne and then trekked to the front door. I hugged her goodbye, promising to set her up with a hot rich lawyer soon. Closing the door behind her, I turned to head upstairs and almost ran into Martha’s large mass.

Arms folded over her chest, she looked at me with something akin to skepticism. “So, that’s your friend, huh?”

I grinned at her, dipping sideways and around. “She’s...different. Don’t judge me because of her.”

“Now what are you trying to say? I don’t judge anyone.”

I stopped, spinning around, and gave her a look of skepticism. “Oh, puh-lease. I know Becca is an airhead. But she’s my airhead, so leave her alone.”

She snorted, and I laughed, heading to the kitchen, which I had now decided, with its large teak table, was my favorite room in the house. Heading to the fridge, I opened the door and stuck my head in.

Brad’s refrigerator was the most beautiful thing on the planet. Other than its Sub-Zero fanciness and brilliant blue lighting, it was perfectly organized, with matching stacks of Tupperware containers filling its shelves. Martha had the food organized by day, and though today’s spot was empty, yesterday’s leftovers included shrimp salad, pork tenderloin and baked macaroni and cheese. I was starting to see why, after fifteen years, Brad kept her around. That, and the fact that she apparently guarded a treasure trove of secrets. I grabbed the mac and cheese container and scooped half of it onto a plate, popping it in the microwave.

Martha settled in on a stool, watching me. “Now, you know I’m about to fix dinner. You could just wait.”

I licked the cold remnants off the spoon, watching the plate rotate in the microwave. “I’m just getting a snack. Don’t worry, I’ll eat your delicious dinner, too. What time are we eating?”

“Oh, whatever time that boy gets home. Have any idea when that will be?”

“I don’t think he’s eating with us. He said he wouldn’t be back till late.”

“Oh. Well, in that case I’ll make jambalaya. You like jambalaya?”

“Of course. I’m not big on spice, though.”

“Oh, mine isn’t spicy, just good. I’ve been wanting jambalaya for months now, but Brad doesn’t like it, and it doesn’t seem right to do all that work for just me.” She slapped the counter, happy, and heaved to her feet, headed for the fridge.