Chapter 1

Paula Oldham glanced at the Caller ID as she flipped open her cell phone. She smiled. Mummy! Probably calling to invite them up for the weekend and unveil another wonderful anniversary present. The gifts almost made it worthwhile to have been married to Steve for seventeen years.

Not that he was awful, but, well, nineteen years! She certainly felt she had earned every one of the paychecks he brought home. Especially since he got that promotion.

Mother's voice sounded odd. Paula asked her to repeat herself.

In cold, flat tones, her mother said, "Your father, Paula. He is dead."

Daddy! Dear, sweet Daddikins, who always had a kind word and a blank check for her. She would have collapsed if her still-svelte body wasn't already flat on a lounge chair by the pool.

Paula wiped away a tear, brushed blonde hair from her eyes and collected herself. "I'll just throw some clothes in a bag," she said, figuratively, "and drive over to the house right away."

Her mother cut in. "Whyever for?"

"To -- to take care of things, of course. The funeral and the cemetery and -- Oh, Mother, just to be with you!"

"If you feel you need to, dear, very well. But don't put yourself out on my account."

"Mother, are you all right? You must be in shock."

"Hardly. I just can't get very upset by anything that happens to that awful man. I'm glad, mostly. Glad the charade is over."

Amid expressions of stunned dismay from Paula, her mother's story emerged. Her parents had stopped speaking eight years ago, when her mother had walked in on Mr. Noonan in bed with their dental hygienist. "And," Mrs. Noonan noted, "I had really liked that dentist. He was very polite."

"But, Mother, all those times we visited -- I never knew!"

"Yes, dear. I did wonder about that."

"But -- you lived together. Why?"

"Why does any couple stay married? For the children."

"I'm an only child!"

"Yes, and so sensitive, dear. We didn't want to upset you. But, now -- well, I'm just glad I can talk about it at last. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to clean out his closets. The Goodwill's coming in a half-hour."

Steve air-kissed his wife and watched her walk to the car. Just after she started it, Paula rolled down her window and called to him.

"Be sure to pick up my dry-cleaning. I'll want the black sheath for the funeral. And don't crease it."

He nodded. "I'll have Nanny pack it. She'll know what to do."

Paula had let the car roll back. She stopped it with a jerk and poked her head out the window to stare at him.

Steve caught himself just before he would have frowned. He did not want to have the Nanny discussion at that moment. He just waved. "I'll tell the kids good-bye for you," he said.

"Whatever." She pulled out and peeled away.

Steve pulled the door shut and padded back into the house. His slippers slapped against the tile. When he was a teenager, surfing all summer, he ran. When he was a young man, with good money and a hot girlfriend, he strode. Somewhere into marriage and parenthood he started walking. Pushing 40, he padded in shorts and a T-shirt bearing the faded logo of a concert he no longer remembered, sucking in the beginning of a paunch when he passed a mirror.

He flopped onto a couch and flicked on the TV. Three times around the dial and nothing captured his attention. He looked through the pile of magazines on the coffee table. They were all Paula's. He decided he didn't need to know thirty-nine ways to tighten his buns.

Between getting older, struggling to keep up with his job and trying to build up their meager savings before the kids got to college, he had pretty much convinced himself his life sucked. The only saving grace was Paula, beautiful Paula, and their marriage. Almost seventeen years, and all of them sweet.

So when Paula was in a bad mood, his world crumbled. And the mess with her father had her in a very bad mood.

A faint song floating down from the second floor reminded him of the other reason for Paula's displeasure.

Nanny had been with them for several years, and she was terrific, but the kids didn't need her anymore. Flame-haired Suzy was a gangly soccer goalie with one state championship already on her record. Ricky had been a flop at soccer -- coming from a family of athletes, his dark skin wasn't the only reason they called him the black sheep -- but he was so book-smart that he'd been skipped ahead two grades. He joked that he'd lap Suzy before she finished college, and he just might.

So, with the kids growing up and out of the house more than not, it didn't make sense to keep paying a nanny. Paula pouted whenever he brought it up, though. She seemed very attached to the girl -- well, woman.

Zosia had matured from the coltish au pair they'd brought in. Though she still had her delightful accent, she was thoroughly American. Somewhere she'd picked up a talent with cosmetics to rival Paula's. Even though she spent most of her time in the house, cleaning or cooking, Zosia still made herself up every day, bringing out her high cheekbones and full lips. And her glossy black hair was always in the latest fashion, as far as he could tell by comparing it to the covers of Paula's magazines.

Yes, she was a woman, and quite talented. Talented enough to find another job in a snap, he'd told Paula more than once. But his wife wouldn't hear of it. And so hearing Zosia sing -- or seeing her long legs coming down the stairs as she brought down the laundry -- just reminded him of what they could do with her salary.

He was still frowning over that when she walked across the archway opposite him. She stopped, propping the laundry basket on one hip.

"Mr. Steve, something is wrong?"

He shook his head. "No, nothing."

She shifted the basket to her other hip. "But you frown. Over father-in-law? Or missing Mrs. Steve already?"

He forced a thin smile. "I think I can manage until the weekend when I take the kids. No, I was just... Just thinking."

"Don't think so hard, maybe?" With a smile, she left the room.

He was still moping a few minutes later when she reappeared, minus the laundry but with a frosty mug and an ice-cold beer. She set them next to Steve and sat down across the room.

"So," she said. "My papa always say, 'Drink some, think some.' Well, it sound better in our words. But idea still good. You drink. Zosia keep you company."

He had to smile at that, an honest smile. She had been so shy around adults when she first arrived. So much had changed. She came with just three dowdy dresses, all of them so poorly fitting that she looked like a potato. She had built a better wardrobe than Suzy. His daughter lived in sweats. Zosia was the one who wore outfits like the loose red shorts and tight yellow tube top she had on then.

No one would mistake her for a root vegetable anymore. She had a very attractive figure, and she didn't seem to mind showing it off. That was one thing that puzzled Steve about Paula's ardent defense of Nanny. His wife usually didn't like it when he was around other good-looking women. It was crazy to think he'd stray, of course -- or, he thought, that he'd even have a chance after what all those years behind a desk had done to his body. Still, Paula had a jealous streak.

Yet she didn't mind Zosia. Paula even helped her pick out clothes, and sometimes those were the ones that showed off her body the most.

Maybe, he thought as he sipped his beer, Paula had chosen the outfit Zosia had on. It certainly displayed her body. He could see her breasts clearly outlined inside the top. And the loose shorts not only left her shapely legs exposed, but when she sat with her legs crossed underneath her -- as she was -- he could almost see all the way to her...

He almost choked on his beer and tried to cover it up with a cough. Had he seen what he thought? Zosia's skin was pale and he could see her thigh clearly disappearing into the big opening of her shorts. Then she had shifted slightly and he'd seen a dark patch that -- it couldn't have been. But he was the one who had to shift around, crossing his legs to conceal his growing boner.

She seemed oblivious, just sitting quietly and smiling at him as he drank his beer. He was embarrassed. She was Nanny, after all. Practically a member of the family.

Oh, great, he groaned inwardly when that thought bubbled up. That only added to his guilt about wanting to let her go.

The silence was becoming awkward. Her smile made him squirm. He cast about for conversation. It was the same tongue-tied feeling he had when he found himself trapped in an elevator with one of the people who worked for him. He had no small talk.

"So," he said leadenly. Zosia tilted her head expectantly. His brain froze.

"So," he tried again. Nothing came. It was the elevator thing again. Think, he told himself. What do you say to your workers?

"So -- Do you like it here?"

Inside his head, a bright neon sign began flashing, "Stupid! Stupid! Stupid!"

Sure enough, her reply only made him feel worse.

"I love it here! Is so good! You very nice peoples, very nice to Zosia. Give me my own room, pay good so I can buy pretty clothes, everything good."

Her hands waved around, conducting a symphony of joy. "Is best job ever. All my friends back home, I write, they say, 'Zosia, you so lucky!' Is true. I only wish I could -- you say, 'repay?' Yes. Wish I could repay you for all you do."

She was so excited, she couldn't sit still. Her legs stroked against each other and she arched her back, pushing her chest out. Steve felt like a cad for talking to Paula about -- well, about firing her.

He raised a hand. "You don't have to repay us, Zosia. You've done more than we could ever have imagined. We couldn't run this house without you... Uh, I mean --" His face grew warm. "I mean, you're -- you're so talented. You could do anything."

A broad smile shone on her face like the sun. "Thank you, Mr. Steve," she said. "But you are too kind. Zosia can not do enough for you. I would do anything -- anything! -- to thank you."

She rose from her chair and approached him. Steve was ashamed to catch himself staring at her jiggling breasts with their prominent nipples. He stammered and looked away as she loomed over him.

"Oh, look," he said, pointing to the window. "Suzy and Ricky are home."

Zosia turned to look. "I will go make snack," she said. Just before she left, she retrieved the empty beer bottle and took the glass from Steve's hand. Her fingers brushed his and he felt his cock twitch. He had to wait a minute to cool down before he could get up to tell the kids the news, feeling old and dirty.

Paula's mother, who had all the beauty money could buy, was incapable of a frown. So it was with the same rigid, wide-eyed expression accompanying all her comments that she said, harshly, "Why are you still married?"

Paula laughed politely. "I love Steve."

Her mother dug her hands into the arms of her chair. "Bullshit. You're young enough to snag a good looker yet. Dump him before it's too late. Biggest mistake I made was to stick with your father after he got old and fat. I should have kicked him out when I still had prospects. All men are rotten, and the secret to life is to throw them out before they really start to smell."

"Mother, don't be so bitter. Daddy was a good provider."

"Money? Is that why you're holding on? Give it up. If he isn't rich by now he never will be. Take half of what he's got and move on. You'll survive."

Paula shuddered at the prospect of "surviving" on half of what Steve kept insisting was next to nothing. But there was no arguing with Mother on that point, she'd already learned. So she changed the topic. Shopping always cheered them up.

"Put your shoes on," she said. "Let's go look at caskets."

Mrs. Noonan rolled her blue eyes. "They can stick him in a pine box or throw him in a sack for all I care."

That was how Paula ended up at the funeral home alone. She had packed for the weather, so she felt slightly out of place in a summery flower-print dress when the man who greeted her in hushed tones wore a somber black three-piece suit. Still, she reminded herself, the dress did show off her tan.