Hired Wife. Karen Van Der Zee
would not improve matters. Nothing could.
And she was right. The situation did not improve; it got worse.
“I hope it was okay for me to let him in,” said Jason, indicating the inert body on the sofa. “He said he was your cousin.”
“My cousin?” She only had two male cousins. One was a balding accountant in New Jersey, the other a red-haired student in dental school. “This is not my cousin. I don’t know who he is.” There was a desperate little shrill in her voice that embarrassed her.
The stranger stirred and opened his eyes. He gazed around dazedly.
Kim took a step forward on wooden legs, fury rushing through her, hot and fast. She glared down at him. “Who are you?” she demanded sharply. “What are you doing in my apartment?”
He focused his eyes and a slow smile crept over his hairy face. “You know who I am, Kimmy, you know.”
She froze. There was something nightmarishly familiar about those words. And then it came to her.
The dream.
Her secret lover.
The stranger on the sofa reached out to her with his big hand, and she stepped back instinctively, nearly tripping over his boots. Boots like boats.
And then she knew.
Oh, God, she thought, it’s Jack! Jack with the big feet. A horrifying thought occurred to her. Had she been dreaming of Jack? Of this repulsive man on her sofa? Of course he hadn’t always been repulsive. He’d been clean and shaven once—seven, eight years ago when she’d been barely out of high school and hopelessly naive. She’d loved him for his charm and generosity, hoping marriage would change his excessive drinking and irresponsible behavior.
She closed her eyes. I can’t bear this, she thought. I want him out of here. Now.
He kept smiling his dim-witted smile at her. It was like some awful slow-motion film sequence. She saw Jason standing by the bathroom door in his towel, Sam in front of the bookcase, hands in his pockets of his trousers, silently observing the sorry scene, not interfering. And then the door flung open and the clown barreled in.
“Kim! I—” He glanced around the room, at the other men, then back at her, apparently stumped for words. Now all four were staring at her.
Jack shifted his big body on the sofa in an effort to sit up. He did not succeed and slumped back down. “Remember, Kim?” he muttered.
“No,” she said hotly. I’ll kill him if he says anymore, she thought wildly.
“We eloped, Kim. We eloped.”
Her heart could not sink any lower—there was no lower place to go. But then, it didn’t matter anymore. She’d had enough.
Kim gritted her teeth, took a deep breath and glared at Jack with all the ferocity she could muster.
“You’re drunk,” she said with disgust. “I want you out of here now, this minute!”
“Don’t you remember, Kim?” he went on as if he hadn’t heard her. “We eloped. Remember the island? It was so…the sea was so blue and the palm trees—” He stopped, as if talking was too much effort.
She didn’t want to hear anymore. Not about the sea or the palm trees, not anything to do with her lovely dream.
“I want you out of here,” she repeated. “Go home.”
“Home?” His face was all dull confusion. “I want you back, Kim,” he said plaintively. “I wanna be with you.”
She decided not to react to this. “I’m going to call you a cab and you can go to your mother’s house.” She’d run into his mother quite by coincidence a couple of weeks ago, in Macy’s, had chatted politely for a few minutes, gathering the news that Jack was on a trip around the world and was coming home soon. She’d never thought of it again. Thank you, thank you, she said to the gods, at least I know his mother is still around.
She made for the phone, only to find Sam was already doing the honors. He gazed at her as he was talking into the phone, ordering a taxi in a businesslike tone. His face was impassive, giving nothing away. She could only imagine what went on behind that inscrutable exterior, and it wasn’t good, she was sure. She clenched her hands and turned away, gathering strength.
One down, one more to go. She turned to Tony, who had taken off his orange wig. “And you!” she exploded. “I’ve had enough of you! If you don’t stop bothering me I’m calling the police, and I’ll call my uncle, who’s a pit bull lawyer, and you’ll wish you’d never met me! Go get yourself a job! Get yourself a life! Out!” She marched right up to him, as if to push him out through the open door. He didn’t budge, but gazed sadly down at her with his painted clown face.
“But you’re my life, Kim,” he pleaded.
“Get yourself a psychiatrist!”
He sighed. “I think I’ll go to Hollywood.”
“Now there’s a good idea!” She pointed past him out the door. “It’s that way.”
He turned and shuffled out and she slammed the door behind him. She drew in a deep breath. She felt energized. Ah, a little fury did a person good!
Jack had hauled himself up in a semierect position and buried his head in his hands.
“Put on your boots,” she ordered, pushing the offensive things closer to him with her foot.
He mumbled something inaudible and reached over to retrieve them. Jason came out of his room, dressed in jeans and a white T-shirt. She hadn’t realized he’d left the scene. He moved past her toward Jack.
“Let me get his gear.” Jason bent down, stuffed Jack’s filthy belongings back into the backpack and hauled it out the door.
She glanced around for Sam. He had opened the beeping microwave oven and had extracted a mug, which he was delivering to the mumbling Jack. Warmed-up leftover coffee, Kim guessed.
“Drink this and make it fast.” Sam’s tone was impressive, full of cold authority.
Jack took the cup and drank it obediently while Sam towered over him.
Ten minutes later peace of a sort had returned to the loft. Sam and Jason had dragged the stumbling Jack and his gear into the elevator and into a taxi. Back in the loft, Jason had retreated to his room and Sam was sitting in a chair, observing her calmly. She was overwhelmed with a mixture of embarrassment and despair, but fought not to show it.
“How about a drink?” she asked, seeking refuge in social graces, wishing he would just magically disappear from her loft.
“Thank you, yes.” Was there humor in his eyes? Surely she was mistaken.
“I have Chardonnay,” she offered. She’d bought it to have with dinner. She didn’t have anything else; she never drank the strong stuff.
“That will be fine.”
Happy to have something to do she rushed into the kitchen, got the bottle out of the refrigerator and managed to open it without breaking off the cork or crashing the whole thing to the floor.
She took out a wineglass and filled it. Knowing she was in a gulping state of mind, she poured herself a glass of mineral water. She took a deep breath, straightened her shoulders and tried to look calm and in control as she handed Sam his glass.
“I’m sorry for the distraction,” she said lightly, as if she had merely dispensed with a minor annoyance.
He gave a crooked little smile. “There was always a lot of distraction when you were around. I seem to remember you were often surrounded by a retinue of odd-ball friends.”
“These guys are not my friends!” she said defensively.
“What about that Viking in there?” Sam gestured in