A Magical Christmas Page 7

  The door closed to a moment of silence. “You let her do whatever she wants to do,” Jon said.

  “What was she doing that was so wrong?”

  “That kid is scary.”

  “Jon, if you tell her she can’t see him, she’ll want to see him all the more. And he hasn’t done anything wrong.”

  “People were shot by his place. Do you want that for Christie?” he demanded angrily.

  Oddly enough, Jordan chose that moment to pipe up for his sister. “Bad things can happen anywhere, Dad.”

  “Bad things happen more frequently in certain places.”

  “Jamie would never let anything happen to Christie. Can we go? It’s not that I’ve been late every day to school, but I do just make it.”

  Jon nodded, still watching his wife. The look he was giving her made Julie more uncomfortable than when he was angry. She didn’t know what he was seeing. She had the feeling he was ceasing to care what he saw.

  “Yeah, let’s go, Jordan. Ashley.”

  “I want Mommy to take me,” Ashley said.

  “Well, Mommy doesn’t want to take you,” Jon said irritably.

  “Jon!” She looked quickly to Ashley. “I just need to be a little earlier once in a while,” she explained. But some kind of damage had been done, she thought. She looked at the way Ashley was staring at her. Six. It was such a delicate age. Precious, because kids were still so darned cute. Fun, because they spoke well and had all kinds of things to say. Difficult, because they weren’t babies at all anymore, and they weren’t really grown-up enough to understand that love and anger could reside side by side.

  She flashed her husband a glance, hating him. And maybe hating herself just a little because what he had said was true. She didn’t want to drive the kids. The drive was a hassle. She didn’t have to feel guilty about that! she told herself. Things that were a hassle should be shared.

  She felt guilty anyway.

  In a million years, though, Jon shouldn’t have said such a thing.

  “Come on, kid,” Jon said, “Mommy needs to get in early today. Give her a big kiss now. Jordan will play I Spy with you on the way.”

  Ashley suddenly started acting like a toddler going off to school for the first time. She kissed her mother half a dozen times before actually heading out to her father’s car. Jordan brushed her cheek with a good-bye peck.

  Jon didn’t kiss her at all. He didn’t come near her. He kept looking at her in that very strange cold way.

  Maybe he’d finally decided himself that the marriage was over. That he just didn’t care enough to fight her anger and apathy any longer.

  Driving to work, Julie just didn’t know what she herself felt anymore. One minute, she was certain that she was right. When Jon pitched in, he was great at it. It was just that he pitched in when he felt like it, on his terms.

  Maybe she was wrong, maybe she did whine too much, maybe she should get a grip, and get going. Lots of women maintained homes under much worse circumstances. Some husbands didn’t lift a finger to help.

  Sometimes she thought she was crazy to be so hurt and furious over something that had happened so long ago.

  But that was just it. Something had been shattered, and it made all the little molehills turn into mountains. Sometimes she looked at him and hated him, and then there were times, like last night, if he’d just been a little more persistent, she would have wanted to be held and cherished and loved.

  As she drove across U.S. 1, Cruddy-Disgusting-Joe was ambling along the sidewalk once again, his feet shuffling as he moved, his eyes downcast. He looked up at her. His colorless eyes were bleak. He paused so that she could turn into her workplace. She shivered.

  She realized, entering her building, that Cruddy-Disgusting-Joe had looked at her in much the same way Jon had earlier that morning.

  The Vinzetti case wasn’t scheduled to be back in the courtroom until after the holidays. Jon had a lot of cleanup work to tend to in his office—he’d made a promise not to be available during their Christmas holiday and he meant to keep that promise.

  Even if it all seemed incredibly futile now anyway.

  It had looked like the perfect escape for all of them. Snow, snowmen, snowball fights, a roaring fire by night. Of course, a ski lodge would have provided that entertainment, but they would have all been off skiing by day, avoiding one another as they did every day of their lives.

  Was this holiday going to matter?

  Probably not. There had been something about the way Julie had cringed when he’d touched her last night. Damn, he’d been wrong, but it didn’t seem right that he should spend the rest of his life feeling like a slug because of it. He was suddenly exhausted with trying to make things right again when it seemed he made his wife’s skin crawl.

  “Hey, Jon!”

  Trent Ragnor stuck his head into Jon’s office, grinned, and came on in.

  “Hey, Trent,” Jon responded.

  Trent perched on the corner of Jon’s desk, smiling. He arched a brow. “You coming for drinks this afternoon?” he asked. “It’s getting closer to the holiday, you know. It’s time to be merry, merry, merry, and you’re walking around looking more and more like Uncle Scrooge.”

  “I’m just tired. Looking forward to some time off.”

  Trent looked surprised. “Oh, yeah? You’re going to go off and do the family thing? Old man Bentley gave you the time?”

  Old man Bentley was the senior partner in the firm. He frowned on anything that was a distraction from the firm, and a distraction from the firm’s quest to acquire money and prestige. Jon had wanted the holiday with his family badly, and he’d put a lot at risk when he’d stood fast in asking for the time off.

  Now he was wondering if he wasn’t a massive fool. He’d risked his job and reputation to be with a woman who cringed when he touched her.

  It was for his kids, he reminded himself.

  For kids who didn’t want to be with him either. Except maybe for Ashley. And maybe it was worth it just for Ashley’s sake.

  “Yeah, I’m doing the family thing.”

  “Great,” Trent acknowledged, but he grimaced. Trent was about to turn forty-five. Despite the fact that he was smooth, blond/tanned/beachboy handsome, he was taking middle age badly. On his twenty-first birthday, he’d married into money, the daughter of a now retired senior partner from the firm. His wife played tennis, golf, scheduled plastic surgery, and planned social affairs. They had two children in out-of-state colleges. There would never be a divorce, and they’d never much notice what the other did.

  Jon didn’t want Trent’s life.

  But once in a while he envied Trent’s freedom.

  And his ability to not give a rat’s ass about his wife’s opinions.

  “Since you’re doing the family thing, come out for drinks tonight,” Trent persisted.

  “I’m kind of busy—”

  “Ah. Hard time from the wife, huh?”

  Trent’s tone was unbelievably irritating. So was his inference.

  “We’re going out of town. I’m kind of busy.”

  Trent threw up his hands. “She’s got you by the balls, my friend.”

  “I happen to love my wife,” he heard himself say defensively.

  “Right. So if she loves you, what’s a few drinks with the guys after work before the holidays?”

  Trent had a point there. The rhythm of his life should have been much better. Both of them waking up each morning, getting it all together without anger or recriminations. He should be able to call her and say he’d be an hour late, he was having a drink with the guys. Lots of men did it; hell, lots of women did it. But there was always a difference. It was okay for Julie to have lunch or dinner with a client. He should be shot if he ever assumed it was more. On the other hand, drinks with the guys sounded like an orgy.

  Trent lifted his hands and squeezed, laughing at Jon. “By the balls, buddy, by the balls.”

  “Trent, you just wish somebody—anybody—had you
by the balls, old pal,” Jon got in.

  And just then, before an annoyed Trent could reply, old man Bentley stuck his face into the room as well.

  “Jon, we’ve got the possibility of picking up a new client.” His voice was excited. “No real meetings until after the holidays, but she’s going to be down at our watering hole in the Grove this evening. I’d like you there.”

  Trent grinned at him. “Sanctioned drinks,” he said cheerfully.

  “Who’s the client?” Jon asked.

  The excitement in Bentley’s voice grew. “The model, Trish Deva. She’s suing her ex. It’s a great case, Jon. A great case. Megapublicity. Sex, drugs, and rock and roll. If we win this one, we’ll set a precedent.”

  Bentley left. Trent chuckled softly. “It’s work, Jon. Be a man. Put her in her place.” He hopped off Jon’s desk, ready to follow Bentley out.

  “Go to hell, asshole,” Jon said pleasantly. He didn’t know why he was letting Trent get under his skin so badly. He stood. “You’re living in a different place. When my wife plays tennis, she narrows her concentration to focus on the balls that bounce back and forth over the net. I like to keep the play fair.”

  “What the hell’s that supposed to mean?” Trent demanded.

  “You know damned well what it means. We have different marriages.”

  Trent came striding back into the room. Jon was startled to see that he had unnerved his friend. “Are you so certain about that, buddy, huh? That’s a nice-looking piece you’ve got at home.”

  “Julie is my wife, not a piece.”

  “A pretty, delicate little blonde who’s kept a great body through three kids. How the hell do you know what she’s doing all the time?”

  “Trust. It’s called trust,” Jon told him. His words were solid. He felt a chafing at his collar.

  That was it. Trust. Julie didn’t trust him anymore. She’d never trust him again.

  She’d thrown him out of the house at the time.

  But that hadn’t been supposed to matter. They weren’t supposed to sleep with each other during the separation, but he should have known they weren’t supposed to sleep with other people either.

  The hell with her.

  “Trust? Trust? Yeah, oh, yeah!” Trent laughed. This time, he walked out of Jon’s office. Still laughing. He paused in the hallway. “See you at the old watering hole, buddy. And I’m sure Julie will trust you with Trish. One of the most beautiful women in the world. With insatiable appetites, so the tabloids say.”

  His laughter rang down the hall.

  Jon rubbed his temples. He picked up his telephone receiver and had his secretary call Julie at work.

  “Julie.”

  “Yes?” Always that guarded note in her voice now.

  “I have to work late.”

  A very long hesitation.

  “Why? Jon, you know this is extremely bad for me. I needed you home today. Jack is going to do a lot of work for me so that I can go away for Christmas, but—”

  “Julie, I more or less got hit with this because I’m going away.”

  She was quiet a long time again. “We’re always at a stalemate these days, aren’t we?”

  “Most couples have these problems.”

  “Most couples deal with them.”

  “Most couples care,” he said dully.

  “Maybe we shouldn’t go for Christmas—”

  “I’ll get home as fast as I can. Ashley will be in after-school care; Jordan can get home on his bus.” He hesitated. “Our daughter is probably off somewhere sleeping with her delinquent lover—”

  “You don’t have the right to make that kind of judgment.”

  “On whether he’s a delinquent, or on whether they’re off sleeping together?”

  “Either.”

  “The problem is going to be getting Ashley home. I wish your mother—”

  “Well, my mother is gone, and she can’t help us. And Ashley is a little young to take a cab home from day care.”

  Jon exhaled on a long breath.

  “Julie, I can’t afford to get fired.”

  “Jon, I just made some really good money on this house. I can’t afford to blow it, or my reputation.”

  “Damn it, Julie, I hate my job, but it is our main income!” he exploded.

  “I have an idea. I’ll call you right back,” she told him.

  She did get right back to him. He had set down the receiver, stared at the wall, and drummed his fingers on the desk, that was all, before she returned the call.

  “Christie and Jamie were at the house. They’ll pick up Ashley with Jordan, then stop at a fast-food restaurant for dinner.”

  The blood seemed to rush into his head, and explode there.

  “Damn it, Julie, you know how I feel about Christie and that Jamie—”

  “He isn’t a ‘that.’ And I know that I can’t get out early, and you’re telling me that you can’t get out early.”

  “I don’t like that boy.”

  “You don’t like his last name.”

  “That’s not true—”

  “He’s polite, intelligent, and responsible.”

  Breathe.

  He’d taken a business course once where they’d taught the class to breathe rather than speak in explosive situations.

  Breathe. And count.

  “Julie, you know where he comes from—”

  “Jon, this is America.”

  “Julie—”

  “You’re going to judge him by his address?”

  There was something in her voice that hit home. That was exactly it, and he knew it.

  The kid did seem to be all right. He responded when spoken to—not just in full syllables or full words, but in full sentences.

  It was true that Jon hated the kid’s neighborhood. He hated the fact that drug deals went down there, and most of all, he hated the fact that shots had been fired near the kid’s house. That wasn’t a crime, he told himself. Being afraid for his daughter wasn’t a crime.

  He expelled a long breath and realized that he’d just flunked Breathing 101. Didn’t matter. He was feeling just a little bit more rational.

  Jamie Rodriguez was in Jon’s own “safe” neighborhood.

  “All right. Your solution will work.”

  Now it was Julie’s turn to be silent for a long moment. “How amazing. You can be compromised.”

  It wasn’t a compliment. She wasn’t saying that he was willing to compromise.

  She was telling him that his work meant more to him than his concern for Christie.

  Again, he fought to hold his temper. Their quarrels were degenerating into awful mudslinging matches where they both tried to make each other out as callous, selfish, self-centered parents. He didn’t mean to do it.

  He knew Julie loved the kids as much as he did.

  He just didn’t know what was happening to the two of them, and if it wasn’t too late to stop it.

  “Julie, I’m afraid of the kid’s house. I’m afraid of his neighborhood. Hell, it’s not even his folks; I don’t know them—they might be great people. It isn’t race, religion, or nationality that concerns me; it’s the violence. And Julie, I really do hate my job. I mean I really hate it. I do this work for the money. I know that you just made a lot of money, but realty can be a more tricky business than the law. Julie—”

  He broke off.

  Julie wasn’t there, and she hadn’t been there since she had told him he could be compromised.

  He stared at the receiver for a long time.

  “The hell with you!” he whispered angrily to the phone. “The hell with you!”

  He hung up.

  And he realized that he wasn’t as angry as he was depressed.

  Christmas. The holiday season. Mistletoe, holly, and good cheer.

  Bah, humbug.

  Where was the spirit?

  Two hours later, Jon found the Christmas spirit. Laria’s was an Italian restaurant/bar in the Grove with an upscale, business clientel
e. It was inhabited by the locals, a bit off the beaten track for the tourists. There were no shorts, cutoffs, bathing suit tops, T-shirts or the like in the place.

  It did boast a number of old Roman god and goddess statues in handsome marble; they were usually quite dignified looking. Tonight, they were all decked out in red and green Christmas lights. The soft Italian music was replaced by an endless stream of Christmas carols.

  Holly lined the windows.

  Mistletoe hung strategically from various parts of the ceiling, bound to give every male boss the chance to kiss the female employee he’d been lusting after all year.

  Jon chided himself for his cynicism and prayed that at thirty-nine he wasn’t about to catapult into a midlife crisis.

  Is that what would happen if Julie left him?

  He pushed the thought from his mind, because Bentley was there already, along with Trent and a number of the other fellows from the office. Felina Hines, Bentley’s longtime secretary and sometimes companion, was at the bar. He joined her, ordering a beer on tap. “To the holidays!” he told her, clinking his glass to hers.

  “To the holidays!” she replied, then lowered her handsome, coiffured salt-and-pepper head to his. “And to fame, fortune, and tabloid bitches,” she added acidly. He turned around. Bentley was seated with Trish Deva. Trent was now on Bentley’s other side, leaning forward, talking away with their potential new client.

  Trish, however, was turned toward Bentley. Her knee was against his. She was pencil-thin, except for enormous breasts that seemed to spill from her tight, sequined bodice. Her hair was platinum—bleached blond, but bleached damned well, right to the roots. She possessed a stunning face. She had Bentley enraptured already.

  Jon knew why he was sitting at the bar with Felina. For all his reputation and dignity, Bentley might be just about to make a fool of himself over Trish Deva.

  “He’s a good forty years older than she is,” Jon said.

  Felina arched a weary brow at him. “Remember Anna Nicole Smith? Wasn’t she a good sixty years younger than that rich, decaying bastard she married?”

  Jon had to smile. But then he heard Bentley calling his name.

  “Better go,” Felina warned him.