Chapter 7

I shifted gears in the pickup truck. Ground the gears would be more accurate. Although I'd been driving for over a year, shifting still befuddled me. It was a foot/hand coordination thing I couldn't seem to get right. The truck was ten years old, and Dad considered it a member of the family and refused to trade it in on a new model. As far as I was concerned, it was the black sheep of the family. Our one-year-old Honda Accord had an automatic transmission and other bells and whistles that made driving a snap.

I'd fully expected Dad to let me take the Honda, but wonder of wonders, he actually had a date. Not with Mrs. Wilson, either. Dad met the Widow Wilson at her house about once a week to get his ashes hauled and relieve the pressure. His date today was with a woman I didn't know named Claire Cornwell. I'd never heard her name until this morning. Dad met her at the grocery store, of all places, and they'd met for coffee a few times, so this wasn't even their first date, but it was the first date I knew about.

When I asked Dad why he hadn't mentioned Ms. Cornwell before, suddenly pride struck my emotion sensors. He was actually proud of the fact that he'd concealed his relationship with the woman from my prying mind, which pissed me off. He told me I invaded his privacy enough that he didn't feel compelled to tell me every little thing he did.

"Pride cometh before the fall, Daddykins," I said out loud as I ground into third gear. "And, I think thou protests too much."

A dean at the university was hosting an afternoon cocktail party to honor some visiting, high-mucky-muck scientist. Dad told me the scientist's name, which I immediately forgot. I'd never meet him, would most likely never hear his name again, so why should I clutter my mind holding his name in my memory for recall. Anyway the cocktail party was a required attendance thing and involved spouses or dates, so Dad had a date, and his date was Claire Cornwell. I'd remember her name. I suspected I'd hear it frequently, because Dad held her in high esteem, at least according to his thoughts. He also wanted her lush body. Yes, lush was Dad's descriptive term for her body, so I assumed she had womanly hips, not girlish like mine, and was probably stacked, again unlike me.

Frankly, I hoped Dad would get lucky tonight. I dreaded the call I'd need to make later to inform him I'd be spending the night with Jason. If Dad were likewise disposed, my announcement wouldn't be as hard for him to take.

When I arrived at Terry's house, Jason was standing outside waiting for me. Good. I was reluctant to ring the doorbell. If Jane answered the door, I'd be obliged to scratch her eyes out.

Did Jason keep his mitts off Jane's nubile body last night?

Jane was nubile, too, definitely sexually attractive, but lush and nubile described her more accurately than nubile all by itself. Lush bodies were becoming my nemesis today.

I pulled to the curb, turned off the engine and stepped from the truck. Jason tossed what looked like a gym bag in the bed of the truck, and I tossed him the keys.

"You drive," I said. "Shifting this beastly machine confounds me."

He handily caught the keys with one hand, flashed his boyish grin at me and said, "Good morning."

Despite my foul mood, his cheerful attitude pulled a smile from me. "Good morning to you, too."

Jason acted the gentleman and opened and closed the passenger door for me. While he walked around and jumped into the driver's seat, I rearranged my oversized purse, which contained everything I'd need for the day and night - I hoped. I couldn't leave the house under my father's watchful eyes while carrying an overnight bag, so the large purse had to suffice. Jason started the engine, and off we went. He didn't grind the gears.

"Where are we having brunch?" I asked. I'd snacked before I left the house, so I wasn't hungry. But Jason was hungry, so I was hungry. He needed to take a leak, too, which made me uncomfortable and didn't help my mood. He also wondered why I was in a bad mood. Could he read emotions like me? Hah! I believed I'd hidden my mood rather well. Hah, again. Obviously, my foul mood was shining like a beacon from a lighthouse.

"The Wrigley Mansion. I hear it's the best brunch in town."

His announcement didn't brighten my spirits. I was underdressed for the Wrigley Mansion. Besides, arriving at the Mansion in the pickup would be embarrassing. The valet parkers would have a good laugh. Argh!

"Brunch at the Wrigley Mansion is expensive, Jason. Do you have a trust fund, or something?"

He blushed. "Yeah, or something. The summer rates at the resorts are less than I expected, so I thought I'd splurge for brunch." Who twisted her tail?

"Resort?"

"Yes. That's why I suggested you bring a swimming suit with you. Between bouts of love making, we'll grease up our bodies, stretch out on chaise lounges and drink drinks with little umbrellas in them. The Biltmore is supposed to be near the Wrigley Mansion. Besides, Frank Lloyd Wright designed the hotel, so I've been looking forward to experiencing the environment he created. We'll check in after we eat."

"Which travel agent are you using?" I asked caustically, and then told myself to stop being such a bitch, but from Jason's emotional reaction and the expression on his rugged, handsome face, the warning came too late.

"Are you angry with me for some reason?"

"No." With a sigh, I decided to fess up. "I'm angry with my father for no good reason, which makes me angry with myself, so I thought I'd take my bad mood out on you. I'm sorry."

"Why are you upset with your father?"

Good question. I knew the answer, but didn't want to admit it. Was my four-day lover also a friend who would understand my pettiness without condemnation? There wouldn't be a better time to find out.

"Because he has a date, and I don't know the woman, and he's had a date with her before and didn't tell me, and he stuck me with the pickup because he wanted to impress his date, and I don't shift the pickup's gears; I grind them, which makes me feel incompetent, which irritates me because I detest being incompetent."

Dad and his new woman and my incompetence weren't the only reasons I was in a foul mood. I'd already exposed my pettiness, so I decided to tell all.

"I'm also angry with myself because I don't know anything about you, except you make my heart go pity-pat when you flash your boyish smile at me. I haven't even asked you any personal questions about your life overall, which at the very least is rude, and at worse should make you wonder if I care about you at all. I don't know if you have any brothers or sisters or even where you live when you're not visiting Phoenix. You obviously aren't poor, not if you're willing to spring for the Wrigley Mansion and the Biltmore, which would eat up my clothing allowance for the next decade. And, I'm angry because I'm falling for you, which isn't your fault either. Well, I guess it is for being who and what you are, but you've honored our deal so I can't complain, except you skipped a day, which still pisses me off, by the way."

"Whew! When you open up, you let it all hang out. About your father and his date, I understand how you feel. My father died four years ago while I was still in high school. We were close, Katy, so I still get pissed when my mother dates. For me, it's as if she's being unfaithful to my father, which is unreasonable, but I can't seem to control how I feel."

Good. He's not just a lover; he's also a friend, but he missed the point or decided not to press it. I can't remember my mother, so the reason I was upset wasn't as laudable as Jason's unreasonable motive. Certainly more difficult to understand, too. I admit it; I didn't understand it, but I admit to it. I was jealous. Dad fucked Mrs. Wilson weekly, and she didn't make me jealous. Why did the Cornwell woman make the green monster called jealousy take up residency on my shoulder?

"To answer some of your other questions," Jason said, "I have two sisters, both older than me by quite a bit. I'm the baby of the family, an afterthought, also a surprise. I lived in Las Vegas. I guess I still do, but I'm going to school in Albuquerque, New Mexico, so I shuttle back and forth."

"With Phoenix sort of in the middle." My statement mirrored his thought.

"Uh-huh."

"What did your father do?"

"He was a professional gambler, so one day we'd be well-off, the next poor. When he died, he was riding the longest winning streak of his life, so yes, I have a trust fund, but my share of the pie didn't make me what I call rich. It only means I don't need to take any crap from an employer if I don't want to."

"But rich enough to afford the Wrigley Mansion brunch and a room at the Biltmore."

He huffed a laugh. "Yes, as long as summer rates apply."

"Do you own a car?"

"Yes, a four-year-old Jeep Cherokee. It's in Albuquerque. I'll fly from here to Albuquerque, and then drive to Taos for my summer job."

"What kind of job?"

"Construction. My job title will be 'Nailer, ' which is only one small step up from ditch digger. Surprisingly, until I met you, I was looking forward to the work. If I'm to be an architect, I ought to understand building construction, and what better place to start than at the bottom?"

Ah-hah! He isn't telling me the whole truth. Judy North, huh. Ms. North will be working in Taos for the summer, too. What did you expect, little missy? That your college boy lived in a vacuum before you met him?

Cool. He prefers me to her. Not much of a surprise. I'd felt Jason's love like I felt Dad's, but Jason's love was different than my father's. It wasn't as pure. My college boy's love always came at me with a bunch of lust mixed in with it, which was all right with me, randy as I was most of the time.

"I've heard of Taos. Isn't it a ski resort and art colony?"

"Yes. I'll be working on some condo's being built for the ski resort."

I gathered from his thoughts that Judy was a potter. She'd be working at a studio cranking out tourist-trap pottery from molds. Interesting - he isn't enamored with her work. It's mediocre. And he's wondering about mine, why I haven't shown him any of my artwork. Hmm. Maybe tomorrow. Maybe not. I wasn't ready to share my art with anyone except my dad.

The pickup had one advantage over the Honda. It didn't have bucket seats. I slid over next to my college boy and kissed his cheek. I needed to hear more about his father. I'd sensed his deep sorrow when he mentioned his father in passing while telling me about being upset when his mother dated. Deep sorrow was to be expected, so it wasn't a red flag. The red flag went up the pole when Jason told me about his father's work and long winning streak. That's when pure fury flashed through his sorrow and struck my emotion sensors with force. His unbridled anger raised the red flag, and it snapped and popped as if in a strong wind, especially when his thoughts didn't explain his fury. I also sensed some unresolved issues.

"I'm really sorry about your dad, Jason. You were a little younger than I am now when he died. It must have been rough on you. If I lost my father, I think I'd die."

Intense fury replaced sorrow. Jason clenched his teeth and closed his eyes briefly. I'd expected to feel his grief not his anger, and then his thoughts partially clarified the situation.

They killed him. They didn't need to kill him, but they killed him anyway.

"How did your father die, Jason?"

"He was murdered."

"Murdered?" His statement would normally shock, but I'd anticipated it, so I acted shocked.

"Yes." He was grinding his teeth like I ground the gears on the pickup.

"Who killed him?"

He shrugged and tried unsuccessfully to relax. "The case is unsolved, Katy. The police think it was a mob hit?"

"What do you think?"

"I think the police are correct. I also think they know more than they're telling."

I knew he planned to change the subject. Thinking about his father pissed him off or depressed him, and he wanted our day to be special. Sweet.

"I'm fairly close to Maxine, my older sister. Maxie - everyone calls her Maxie - still lives in Las Vegas. She's married to a pit boss for the Sahara Hotel and has three kids, all boys and all terrors except the oldest, Gary. He's eight years old now and is starting to be pleasant to be around. When he was younger, I wanted to strangle him most of the time. Sara, my other sister, lives in Colorado. I was nine years old when Sara left home, and she didn't come back for a visit very often. She just went through a messy divorce, and her ex-husband gained custody of their five-year-old daughter. Donna is the cutest little girl you ever saw. I wish I could see her more often."

I sensed Jason was conflicted about Sara. He loved her, but something about her bothered him, which made him feel guilty.

Jason pulled the pickup under the canopy at the Wrigley Mansion and a valet attendant opened the passenger door and helped me from the truck, enjoying the sight of my sheer panties. They inadvertently flashed into his view when I hopped from the truck to the driveway. He couldn't decide whether he wanted to eat me or fuck me, which I guess was a left-handed compliment. After throwing his bag inside the pickup, Jason tossed the keys to another attendant, and we trooped inside.

The brunch was not a success, which turned Jason's initial cheerful mood into one more appropriate for a cloudy day. Surprisingly, my mood brightened at the same pace Jason's headed the other direction. Go figure. Would our moods be at odds for the entire day? Our day?

The Mansion required a jacket; Jason wasn't wearing one, and the jacket they lent him was too small for his wide shoulders and deep chest. The brunch was a champagne brunch, and when the waitress asked us for ID's, we admitted our ages. We weren't offered a non-alcoholic substitute. Our small table was next to the kitchen, so waiters and waitresses hurried noisily back and forth, except our waitress, who disappeared for long stretches of time after asking for our ID's. The kitchen sounds were raucous.

When our mostly absentee waitress presented Jason with the check, he was fuming. The tip he added didn't meet the standard 15% criteria, and I silently applauded his small effort to let the waitress know he wasn't happy. His effort was futile, though. I read her thoughts when she picked up the check. She considered Jason cheap without taking the less-than-normal tip in the spirit it had been given.

About this time, I discovered Jane had recommended the Mansion, and happily, Jason blamed her for some of our problems with the brunch. He believed she'd purposefully failed to mention the dress code.

I nearly telegraphed my mind-reading ability when we were waiting for the pickup to be brought around by the parking attendant.

If she weren't such a good fuck, I'd slap her silly, he thought.