Bad Habits Part 11

Maryanne set her champagne flute back on the table. "What school did you attend?"

Simone looked from Bonnie to Maryanne. "Oh I never went to college. I owned a salon."

"A spa?" Bonnie perked up. "What services? Botox? Do you know how-?"

"No, a beauty salon, in Harlem. I did offer some nail services, you know pedicures and..."

"How quaint," Bonnie smirked. "Maybe you could work here. The club does offer manicures"

"Mother!" Maryanne gasped, then giggled.

"And maybe you could man the bar?" Simone shot back, referencing the drink the waiter had to constantly refresh. "Looks like you got skills when it comes to morning champagne."

Maryanne chuckled, "Forgive her, Simone. Too many mimosas. You're right."

"Oh I don't know, Maryanne, a gla.s.s of champagne and orange juice can't be blamed. Alcohol only lowers your shield and reveals who you really are," Simone replied.

"I beg your pardon. Exactly who am I, do tell?" Bonnie asked.

Simone smiled. "A woman whose manners are as tacky as her manicure."

Maryanne's smile faded. Bonnie checked her hand, searching her nails for flaws. Simone rolled her eyes. "Mrs. Hollingsworth, I owned my salon and spent my days doing more than just sipping spiked orange juice, okay? Do you know why?"

"Do tell," Bonnie said.

"Because I chose to. Just like I choose to sit here with you now. Just like I choose to leave, now. Excuse me," Simone said rising.

"Simone, wait! Mother meant no harm. Did you, Mother?" Maryanne cut her mother a sharp look. Bonnie smiled up sweetly.

"I apologize, dear, like Maryanne said. Blame it on the champagne, and you're right. My nails do need a refresher. You have a good eye." She gave a soft chuckle. Simone did not. "I was rude to you. Let's begin again. Please...sit. I insist."

Maryanne's brow rose, a challenge there. To refuse to sit with them would be a refusal to accept her husband's boss's family. Keith would lose it. Why he wanted to have these lepers near him was beyond her. But she sat once more. The women exchanged looks, both with the same smile. Simone couldn't help but notice how identical they were. Maryanne had the same yellow-gold hair, penetrating blue eyes, creamy porcelain skin and delicate features as her mother. It was like looking at a younger and older version of the same person.

"I'm glad we have this time to chat," Maryanne said with evident relief. She then broadened her smile, revealing capped even white teeth. "I wanted to tell you of our surprise."

Simone stiffened. "Surprise?"

"A party! We're throwing one in your honor to welcome you to Mulberry. All the neighbors will come. Oh it will be so much fun." Maryanne smiled over at her mother. "Tell her, Mother! We throw the best parties in Castle Rock."

"Yes, yes we do, darling," Bonnie smiled. "This one will surely impress you." She lifted her gla.s.s in her honor. Dread pooled in the pit of Simone's stomach. She sure as h.e.l.l didn't want a party with them.

"Excuse me, ladies, the bathroom?"

"Oh, the ladies room is just over there." Maryanne pointed. Simone rose taking her purse with her.

"Simone?"

She stopped.

"When you return, Mother and I will be on the courts. Please find us. The club offers..." her eyes travelled over Simone's sundress. "The appropriate attire so you can change."

Simone gave her an unimpressed smile and walked away. Wishing she'd taken the gla.s.s of mimosa with her.

"Two-person best ball gentlemen," Andrew Hollingsworth said, pushing his half smoked cigar to the inside of his jaw and clamping down. "Hand me the driver, Scottie," he said to the older black caddie, while eyeing the distance to the hole. Cain stepped back out of the way of the swing. Keith Livingston however stood close by, completely focused on everything Andrew did or said. Cain cut his eyes away. He f.u.c.king hated golf.

"My son in-law has such little appet.i.te for golf. What's your handicap, Keith?" Andrew leaned into his swing adjusting his hand on the grip of the club and measuring the end with the ball.

"I'm a six," Keith replied.

Andrew's eyes flipped up, with the cigar pressed between his lips. His eyes darkened. "Impressive." He then took his swing. The soft smack sent the ball sailing through air. Cain watched unimpressed at how close he came to a hole in one. A perfect swing for a perfect a.s.shole. What else was new? Cain cut his eyes away.

"Appears Andrew is at his best this morning," Gerald said.

Cain hadn't noticed. He stepped in close to him. Mostly, he ignored Gerald whenever he was around, except for the times the tension between him and his wife was too great to miss.

"He should be. This is his course," Cain answered dryly.

"Right." Gerald gave a crooked smile. "So, how are things? Is he really your new boss?"

Cain's attention returned to Keith who was up at the tee next. The caddie offered him the choice wood to match Andrew's shot. A courtesy since Andrew usually didn't offer his caddie to any of his compet.i.tors, and it was clear that Keith Livingston wasn't quite one of the boys yet.

"That's what they tell me," Cain answered.

"Interesting. No wonder Andrew is tense. He doesn't take to their kind."

"Their kind?" Cain asked.

"Right, corporate traitor kind. I suggest you be on top of your game. Andrew will be looking to you to help take the poor schmuck down," Gerald chuckled and stepped away. Cain said nothing. He watched Gerald hit his ball to the trees and eventually took his shot reaching further than Andrew or Keith. Both men looked at him as if they just noticed he was a part of the group. He wouldn't last another hour at this, let alone four with them. A cold beer and the game on the tube was what he wanted. But what choice did he have?

"My goodness! Mother's back swing is killing me out there." Maryanne flounced over swinging her tennis racket. Her tennis skirt flipped around her shapely hips. She plopped down in a chair with a sweet grin to her face. Simone couldn't believe it. She even sweated pretty. With her hair now up in ponytail with a stylish white polo visor pulled down on her forehead, she dabbed her face with her hand towel.

"Are you sure you don't want to join us? We have the clothes. It's not hard if you're worried. Mother is a great instructor. But I can teach you how to put one over on her," Maryanne winked.

"No thanks. I'm learning a lot by watching you both," Simone said dryly.

Maryanne smiled. "Course you are."

"Going to shower, dear! Next time it's me and you, Simone!" Bonnie called out to her daughter, and pointed her racket at Simone. Maryanne waved her mother off. They both watched as the woman who looked ten years younger than her age headed back into the club. There were several games along the courts being played. Mostly women all dressed the same. Simone looked down at her attire, and realized that she would have to work on her preppy gear.

Soon, Maryanne returned her attention to Simone. "Daddy suggested you and Keith sign up for some of the leagues. Interested? The women's golf-league is a given. See her there?"

Simone followed her point.

"That's Betty Samson. Her husband owns Samson's Consumer Electronics. You know those high-end gadgets everyone fuses over."

Simone nodded that she knew the product. Maryanne sighed, picking up her bottled water. Uns.c.r.e.w.i.n.g the cap she took down several gulps. "Betty's over the golf-league, a major b.i.t.c.h. Sn.o.b too. But she's from a good family and tolerable. I'll introduce you. To really become one of the ladies, you have to go through Betty and my mother first, otherwise forget it. They were college chums back at Princeton years ago."

"Who is she playing with?" Simone asked, referencing the young Asian woman swinging her best to keep up. The woman had to be in her twenties. Poor thing was suffering miserably to Betty's back swing. It was kind of brutal to watch. Simone shifted in her seat as the heiress glared when the young woman fell off to the side panting, then was ordered to continue.

"Her name is Veronica Cabot. She's married to Andy Cabot, the star quarterback for New England. She's been trying to get in on Betty's good side. Good luck to her."

"Why good luck? Because she's Asian?" Simone asked point blank, wanting to throw it on the table. Maryanne just smiled as if it weren't an insult.

"Possibly, but mostly athlete's wives rank pretty low on the list. And if they were to rank high, never a wife of a football player. I believe basketball and baseball wives are a lot more refined than football."

"Wow, this place is something else," Simone said.

"Come now, Simone. Keith is charming, very handsome. According to Daddy, he's next in line for partnership. Bella Sh.o.r.e surely isn't your first visit to an exclusive club."

Simone's brows furrowed. Maryanne smirked sipping her water, matching her stare. Keith mentioned how top secret his goals were. This b.i.t.c.h just called him out. Did Keith know that they were baiting him and that he wasn't fooling anyone?

"My husband loves what he does, and he's good at it, but our lives and money aren't measured by joining a golf club."

"Of course. My point is this club like others will be part of your life now. I'm offering you a way to adapt, to actually thrive here in Castle Rock. I want to help you make the transition."

"What makes you think I want your help?" Simone asked.

"You may not want it. But trust me you will need it."

Simone rolled her eyes. Maryanne let go a soft lady like laugh. "You don't like it here do you?"

"Honestly, this place bores me to death. No offense," Simone sighed.

"None taken. I'm bored most days myself. But as wives we have to find ways to manage. For starters, we need to get you signed up for some of those games, your own personal trainer. Trust me, they work wonders." Maryanne set her water bottle down. "We got off on the wrong foot. I like you, Simone. Can we start again? Seriously, I'd like that."

Simone gave her a small smile. "Sure."

"Then let's go meet Betty and Veronica. Time the ladies know we have a newbie in our quaint little town."

Chapter Eight.

Foolish Kim "Dr. Patel!"

Kim hurried. Patel looked up from the chart in his hand and glared. She pa.s.sed two nurses who tried to stop her, but she kept her eyes trained on him. He rounded the corner. He knew her desperation-he led her by it. She called her babysitter on her day off to come in and watch the boys. She had no choice. The Vicodin wasn't working. She needed more. She needed the Oxy.

"Dr.?" She turned the corner and nearly collided with him. Kim stepped back. "Sorry."

"Follow me," he said softly.

She nodded and followed, twisting and re-twisting her wedding ring. Last night she suffered the tremors again. This time it was her legs. Scared her so bad she lay in bed crying and praying. She had to have it. He had to help her.

"Close the door, Kim."

She did.

"I know you're busy," she began.

"I'm never too busy for you," he replied. "You look out of sorts." He turned, his eyes level with hers.

He took a step toward her. She took a step back and lowered her gaze. "I don't feel good."

"Really? What are your symptoms?"

Kim swallowed. The inside of her throat was desert dry and brittle as sandpaper. She struggled to formulate her words, to express her pain to him without giving him something over her, because his message was clear the last time she came to him for help. Still he was the doctor to put her on the Oxycodone. What choice did she have?

"I've had these tremors. I mean muscle spasms. I've never had them before when... when I was on the medicine. But, well I need something to tide me over. To get me through the next weeks before-" Her eyes lifted to his. "Before I quit."

"I can help, Kim. I told you, I'm here to help." He closed the s.p.a.ce between them then reached for her hand. She was pulled toward him. Kim tensed. She didn't like the way her hand felt in his or the serpent-like look in his eyes.

"If you could write another prescription for me. Please."

"Sure, I can do that," he said, pulling her even closer. Kim was now in his personal s.p.a.ce, too close for a doctor patient consultation. "But I'll need something in return."

"I don't have anything," Kim said.

"Sure you do." He brought her hand up to his mouth and kissed it. That was it. She s.n.a.t.c.hed her hand back.

"Are you insane? Do you think I'd do that?" Kim gasped.

"I think you'd do anything to keep the pain away and to keep your job," Patel challenged.

"My job?"

"What would Murphy say about you taking sample packs of Vicodin out of the supply room?" Patel asked.

Kim stepped back-stung. Did she hear him right? Dr. Patel gave her an evil snicker. "I know what you did. You must have been in such a hurry. The way you left that sample box on the floor half opened-messy. Surprised you'd be so careless."

"You can't prove I had anything to do with that!" Kim said.

"No? A little p.i.s.s test could. When was the last time your nurses had a mandatory screening? I might suggest an investigation to flush out the culprit. You wouldn't have anything to hide now would you?"

"You a.s.shole."

"That's one way to see me. I'd rather see myself as an admirer. I've watched you for years. You never give anyone the time of the day. Even after your husband died, you could barely spare two words for me until I became your savior."

"My nightmare," Kim answered.

He chuckled. "You need to start being nice to me. Really nice." He walked back around the desk to his medical pad. She watched with abject horror as he leaned forward, picked up a pen, and began to scribble over a prescription on it. "Trust me. I understand. Why do you think I put you on the Oxy in the first place?" His eyes flipped up to hers. "A single mother, widow. It must be so hard with this job and those little ones of yours." He ripped off the prescription slip and held it out to her.