
THE TAMING OF BILLY JONES
Christine Rimmer
Contents:
1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19
The ancient Eldorado, gold in color and as big as a boat, waited right by the front door of his club when Billy Jones pulled into the parking lot. Swearing under his breath, Billy slid his wraparound shades up onto his forehead.
The big, old car was clean for once. And it actually gave off a kind of glow, sitting there all by its lonesome. The late-afternoon Southern California sun poured down over it, bringing a deep luster back to the faded paint, making the hood ornament twinkle. Yeah, that car was a classic, all right.
Too bad it belonged to Billy's long-lost uncle, Oggie Jones.
Scowling, Billy settled his sunglasses over his eyes again, cranked up his stereo another notch and drove on around the back of the building to his personal parking space, which was next to a small door that led into a storeroom not far from his private office. As soon as he nosed the car into the space, he turned off the engine. The quiet, when the stereo cut out, seemed intense and oppressive. Billy Jones hated quiet. To him, quiet was something to be avoided at all costs -- like marriage and church. Still, he sat there for a moment, in the dreariness of silence, staring out the windshield at the club he had owned for just about seven years now.
Bad Billy's was a two-story barnlike structure, sided in unfinished pine, with no windows to speak of. The lack of windows was a real bonus right then, because without a window to look through, the odds that the old man might have seen Billy drive up had to be just about nil.
Billy kept on staring at the building, considering. What if he just went ahead and turned his car around and drove back on out the way he had come? The place could do without him for a night. It had done without him before.
The silence got to be too much. Billy started tapping out a rhythm on the steering wheel, getting the music going in his head to complement the beat. He closed his eyes. Everything went away but that new song he'd been fooling around with the past few days. He let the music have him.
Then someone tapped on the window. He turned his head and saw a sweet little redhead with full, kissable lips and a come-and-get-it gleam in her eye. Billy was pretty sure she worked for him, but he couldn't for the life of him remember her name.
He looked at her through the window and smiled, slowly. She smiled back. Then she pantomimed a cranking motion: a signal for him to roll the window down. But to do that, he'd have to start up the car again. And there was no point in starting up the car when he'd decided to stick around, after all. Damned if he'd let Oggie Jones chase him away from his own club.
The redhead realized he didn't plan to do anything but smile at her. With a shrug and a tiny wave, she trotted off toward the storeroom door, her curvy rear end swaying an invitation at him as she went.
Billy waited for the door to close behind her before he reached over the seat for his straw Resistol. He slid the hat on his head, readjusted his shades and climbed out from behind the wheel, pausing only to beep on his burglar alarm before he entered the building.
He saw no one in the storage room. Good. He wasn't hiding from the old man, exactly. But the way he looked at it, the fewer people who saw him, the better. Maybe the old fool would give up and leave before he learned that Billy had arrived. Keeping his head down and his hat tipped low, Billy strode past the paper products and turned left at the bar nuts. A moment later, he was sticking his key in the lock of his office door. And then, at last, he was inside. And safe.
He flipped on the light and just stood there, his back against the door, surveying the cramped room as if it might have changed some since last evening. But no such luck. The big, scarred oak desk was still piled with food service magazines, brochures from different distributors and demo tapes from up-and-coming bands -- things he should have read or listened to or thrown away a long time ago. The computer he never used crouched right in the center of the mess, gathering dust. The file cabinets had more papers stacked on top of them than inside. And it was damn dark, too.
He took off his sunglasses. There. He could see better. He tossed his hat, keys and the shades on the stand by the door and marched over to slide behind the desk. Once there, he took a big breath, looked around at all the papers -- and decided it was just too damn quiet. He picked up a padded mailer and dumped out one of the demo tapes, along with a letter of introduction. The tape was of some group called the Prairie Wailers. Their songs had titles like "Rodeo Addiction" and "Love is Bull."
Billy shook his head and tossed the tape across the desk. He preferred to audition bands live anyway. He had no idea why the hell they all kept sending him tapes.
He fumbled around under a pile of receipts. "Hah!" he exclaimed, when he found the television remote. He pointed it at the Sony Trinitron, which sat across the room on a metal shelf, right above a long row of stereo components.
The news popped on. A perky blonde with incredible teeth babbled cheerfully about the weather. "Except for the leaves falling here and there, you'd never in your life believe it was October." Big smile, blinding in its whiteness. "But then, this is the Southland and it's always beautiful here."
Just then, the door flew open so fast and hard, it hit the wall with a bang like a pistol shot.
Billy jumped in his seat. "What the---?"
"Think you can hide, do you? You can't hide. Forget it."
Billy realized he was getting a headache. "Damn. Alexis. You scared me."
Alexis Sacadopolis, his head-waitress-turned-manager, had acres of platinum hair and a body like a Vegas showgirl. She also had a mind like a steel trap. Nothing got by her -- which made her a great manager and, on occasion, a pain in the ass.
Billy dropped the remote. "I'm trying to get some work done here, Alexis."
Alexis let out a snort. "Yeah. Right." She leaned against the door frame and studied a chipped fingernail. "He's out there again."
Billy considered pretending he didn't know who "he" was, but decided it would be futile. "I know. I saw his car."
"Well, Loretta saw you. She went straight in and told him."
"Loretta?"
Alexis folded her arms under her remarkable breasts. "Redhead. Gorgeous." He remembered the pretty girl in the parking lot. Alexis must have seen that he remembered, because she added, "That girl is barely twenty-one, which is too young for you."
"Yes, Mother," he muttered, not even really thinking about the girl, telling himself that he should have known. The old man had all of them, all of them, under his thumb.
Alexis reached into a back pocket of her skintight red jeans and came out with one of those little boards with sandpaper on it. She set to work on that chipped nail.
"Alexis, go somewhere else to fix your nails, okay?"
She shot him a sour glance and went right on filing away. "He just wants to talk to you, one final time."
"Get me some Excedrin, will you?"
She made a disgusted noise and disappeared from the doorway. Just when he thought maybe he'd actually gotten rid of her, she reappeared with a couple of tablets and a glass of water.
She marched straight to his side. "Here." He took the tablets and washed them down with the water, then looked around on his cluttered desk for somewhere to set the glass. "Give it to me," she said, rolling her eyes around in her head so he'd know just how much he was putting her out.
He gave her the glass. "Thanks. You can go now."
She just stared at him. He tried to appear abused. "Alexis, I've already talked to him one final time. Night before last, in this very cubicle. He blathered on for hours."
"He's an old man."
"Alexis..."
She leaned over, braced her hands on the desk and got right in his face. "Look, he swears this is the last time he'll bother you. He says if you don't want a thing to do with your own people, if you're that cold and unfeeling, that's your business. He's leaving, headed back up to that dinky town he's always talking about."
"North Magdalene," Billy provided grimly, sitting back in his chair to get some space from her.
She only leaned closer. "He just wants to say goodbye."
Billy swung his boots up onto the desk, causing a number of magazines to slide off. "Tell him to have a nice trip." He laced his hands behind his head.
Alexis rose to her full height again and braced her hands on her hips. "What am I, Western Union? Tell him yourself. And anyway, he says he won't leave, no matter what, until he speaks to you personally." Billy believed that. He'd never met a man so relentless as Oggie Jones. "So, can I send him back?" Alexis demanded.
He shot her a sideways look. "Tiny Tim in yet?" Tiny Tim was Billy's head bouncer -- all six foot six and three hundred heavily tattooed pounds of him.
"Yeah," Alexis muttered suspiciously. "So what?"
"So send him in to see me. Pronto."
Alexis sputtered and shook her huge head of hair. "Billy, that's an old man out there. An old man who is blood to you."
"I don't want to hear it."
"Billy, you can't sic Tiny Tim on your own flesh and blood."
"Watch me."
"Besides, Tim won't do it."
Unfortunately Billy had no comeback for that one. It was probably true. After all, Oggie Jones, with his threadbare dungarees, down-home palaver and smelly cigars, had managed to charm the sense out of every last waitress and busboy in Billy's employ. The odds had to be high he would have gotten to Tiny Tim, too.
Alexis batted her false eyelashes at him. "Billy, sugar. It's ten minutes of your time."
"Right. And if you believe that, I heard Graceland's for sale."
"Billy, come on. Just talk to him. One more time."
Billy swore some more. Then brought his boots thudding to the floor. "Is there any way I can get out of this?"
Alexis only shook her head.
Billy let out a long, weary breath. "One last time. And that's all."
Alexis beamed. "I'll go get him."
"No need," a grit-and-gravel voice announced. "I figured you'd see me, boy. So I'm already here."
Alexis blinked in mild surprise, then turned to the grizzled old coot who stood in the doorway. "Well, then." Her voice had gone as sweet as clover honey. "I'll just leave you two alone."
"Thanks." Oggie gave her a grin and a wink, edging into the room as she went out. "Nice girl," Oggie said, when she'd shut the door behind her.
No one ever called Alexis a "girl." She didn't like it and she made her opinions known. "I'm a woman, sugar," she'd say. "And don't you forget it." No one ever did. Except, apparently, Oggie Jones.
By the same token, Billy himself didn't particularly care to be called, "boy." More than once, he'd ordered the old fool not to do it again. The command had had about as much effect as a .22 cartridge in a twelve-gauge shotgun.
Oggie was glaring at the television. "You think you could shut off that idiot box, boy?"
Billy picked up the remote and turned the sound down a fraction.
Oggie looked from the television to Billy. He heaved a big sigh. "Guess that'll have to do." Leaning on his gnarled manzanita cane, he limped the few steps to one of the two extra chairs. Huffing and puffing, he lowered himself to a sitting position. He made a big production of laying his cane beside the chair. Then he sat back and folded his knotted hands over his paunch. "This is goodbye."
Promises, promises, Billy thought.
A sad look clouded the old man's rheumy little eyes. "At least you know now that you got a family."
"Yeah, I'd say you made that real clear."
"Spare me the sarcasm. Let an old man have his final say."
"You had your final say."
"I tried. But you didn't listen."
"I listened."
Oggie scowled. "You hear me out this last time. It's the least you can do."
Billy wondered at that moment if he would ever get rid of this old man. But what could he do now? He'd agreed to listen one more time. He shrugged and slumped back in his chair. "Say what you have to say. For the last time."
"Don't interrupt me, then."
"I won't. Just get it over with."
Oggie coughed and glared some more, shifting around in the chair, settling in all over again. Then, at last, he began, "On his deathbed, my brother Gideon told me of your father, my brother Nathaniel -- and of you, his only child. Told me how your father was gone now, and his dear wife, too. How, of that branch of the family, you alone remained, down here in Los Angeles, runnin' this nightclub of yours and livin' wild..."
Billy stifled a yawn. As usual, Oggie was repeating himself. He'd already dispensed all this information more than once. If Billy thought it would do any good, he'd tell the old horse thief to get to the point. But that would be a futile endeavor if ever there was one. So he tuned Oggie out. His attention wandered to the events on the news.
Ten seconds later, Billy had forgotten the old man existed. He was too busy gaping at that TV screen, feeling as if someone had just sucked all the air right out of the room.
Meanwhile, Oggie droned on. "I been tryin' my damnedest to get through to you, hopin' with all my heart that you'd reach out to me. But you ain't reached out. I'm not a man who gives in easy. But I guess I know when it's time to fold my hand and head on home."
Billy tried blinking, several times in a row, hoping he would see something different when he looked again.
But nothing changed.
"Boy, you listened to a word I said?"
No matter how many times Billy blinked, he still saw Randi on that high resolution screen. Randi all dressed in white and smiling serenely -- with a baby on her lap.
The newscaster announced, "Here you see the sex goddess, Randi Wilding, in another light, with her beloved baby boy, Jesse. This picture was taken just days before the fatal airplane flight that took her life. And now, just a month after the actress's death, representatives of her estate have announced the creation of the Jesse Wilding Needy Children's Fund."
"Boy? Yoo-hoo. I'm talkin' to you..."
Squinting, Billy leaned across the desk. But the baby in Randi's arms didn't change. It continued to look exactly like a picture Billy remembered of himself at just under a year, wearing ridiculous blue shorts and a silly little billed cap, chewing on a rubber frog. His mother used to keep that picture on her mantel. Billy had always hated the thing.
The studio photo of mother and child vanished, to be replaced by a shot of an ugly woman sitting in a wing chair: Randi's sister. The woman smiled tightly and introduced herself to the camera, but Billy didn't catch her name because Oggie sputtered out something just as she said it.
Billy frowned. What the hell was her name, anyway? It was one of those names that could scare a man off all by itself. A name like his mother's name, which had been Honor. A name of some upright and annoyingly admirable personality trait: Patience or something?
Billy had met the woman once or twice, at Randi's Bel Air mansion, during those three months of burning lust he and Randi had shared. The times he'd seen her, she'd been sitting behind a desk in the office there, squinting at a computer screen. She managed all of Randi's money, Randi had told him. Randi said she did a bang-up job of it, too.
"Jesse really changed Randi's life," the sister was saying. "She settled down a lot, when she learned she was going to have him -- and even more so after he was born. He awakened the natural mother within her. She became more contented. More relaxed. And more thoughtful."
Billy had to hold back a snort of disbelief. Randi Wilding, thoughtful? Right.
The sister hadn't finished. Unshed tears making her eyeballs seem to float behind her thick-lensed glasses, she continued, "Randi really felt for the homeless and disadvantaged children of the world. Every time she looked at Jesse, she would be reminded of all the children forced to grow up without the love and tender care she was able to lavish on her own little boy. She worked hard to establish this fund. And those of us who loved her are proud to see it become a reality, even after she is no longer with us. Randi was a wonderful, warm, giving---"
Billy couldn't take any more. He grabbed the remote and shoved it toward the TV. The screen went blank.
"I'll be damned," his uncle said.
Billy closed his eyes and muttered a few bad words.
Oggie slapped his knee. "That was a Jones baby if I ever saw one. Yours, I take it?"
Billy threw down the remote and stood. "Look. Let's cut to the chase here. I said all I had to say to you the other night."
Oggie's tiny raisin eyes twinkled in glee. "Cute as hell, that kid. Congratulations, son."
"You're leaving now. Aren't you." It was not a question.
The old man started cackling in obvious delight. "A baby. I can't believe it. Bad Billy's got a baby boy."
Billy said, "Out."
"All right, all right." The old man bent and collected his cane. He pulled himself upright, grunting. "I'll be at the same hotel, in case you need to get in touch with me."
"Why the hell would I need to get in touch with you?"
The old man shrugged -- and chortled some more.
Billy scowled. "You said you were leaving town."
"That was before I found out about my little grandnephew. Even if his father's a coldhearted S.O.B., that baby's got a right to know his people." Oggie hobbled to the door.
"I never said that baby was mine."
Oggie snorted. "You didn't have to. I know by the look of him -- not to mention the look on your face when you saw him." Oggie pulled the door open and moved into the outer room.
Billy called after him, "You stay out of it, old man! Stay away from that baby! You go near that baby, I'll make you regret it!"
The only answer he got was that low, knowing laugh, which faded to nothing as the old man limped out of sight.
For the next several days, Billy tried not to think about the baby named Jesse. What the hell good could it do to think about that kid? That kid would get along just fine with his aunt what's-her-name and all of his dead mama's money. That kid didn't need someone like bad Billy Jones in his life. Some men just weren't meant to be fathers. Billy knew that because he was one of them.
Oggie had been right about a few things, like when he'd said that Billy had no family feeling at all. Billy Jones was born to make loud music, make love to pretty women and just generally have a good time. He had always been that way, as far back as he could remember.
Twice, he'd gone and let himself get married. Both marriages had been disasters. On the positive side, they'd also been short. And childless.
No, he didn't need a kid. He didn't want a kid. And any kid with any sense wouldn't want him for a dad.
And yet damned if he could stop thinking about that beaming baby face.
He started having a recurring dream. The dream took him back to that clean, quiet house in Sweethaven, Kansas, where he had been born. In the dream, he slowly entered the parlor. He looked around, dreading what he'd see. His gaze would find the mantel. There, as always, stood that picture of him as a baby. And right next to it, in an identical frame, sat the picture of Randi and Jesse that he'd seen on the news.
In the dream, Billy would turn from the picture to find his mother and father sitting on the sofa nearby. They sat very straight, side by side, but not touching. They looked at him, looks that judged and condemned. And they spoke in unison, quoting from the Bible, he thought.
"If a son asks for bread from any father among you, will he give him a stone? Or if he asks for a fish, will he give him a serpent instead of a fish? Or if he asks for an egg, will he offer him a scorpion?"
Somewhere around the bit about the scorpion, Billy would wake up, running sweat. He'd look around, feeling kind of sick, wondering where he was -- and then remembering: his own bedroom in Studio City.
For a few minutes, he'd wish that he'd brought someone pretty and soft home with him the night before. He would want gentle hands reaching for him. Someone to hold him close and make all the soothing sounds a lover will make for a man who wakes at her side from a nightmare. But then, as his sweat dried and his heart settled down to an easier rhythm, he'd be glad he was alone. This thing about the kid was nobody's business but his and the kid's. And Randi's, if she hadn't been dead. And maybe what's-her-name, the aunt's.
About a year ago, when he'd heard that Randi had added herself to the growing list of Hollywood single moms, Billy had experienced a moment or two of pure panic. He'd wondered if he might be the dad.
But then he'd dismissed the idea. After all, she'd never said a word about any baby to him. He figured it must have been some other guy, someone she'd hooked up with right after him. And Randi had known damn well how he felt about having kids. He'd been careful to tell her, to make the point very clearly right up front: no wedding bells and no rug rats. She'd said he didn't have to worry. She didn't want a kid, and he was hardly marriage material.
Still, if she'd found herself pregnant, she should have said something; she should have let him know.
And what about what's-her-name, the aunt? Did the aunt know who Jesse's father was? And if she did, what then? Did she plan to hide the truth forever, to raise the kid without ever telling him who he should be calling Daddy?
On a Monday at
Between the nightmares and the wondering, he just plain couldn't take it anymore. He had a few questions for what's-her-name.
He threw back the tangled, clammy sheet and swung his legs over the side of the bed. Then, after switching on the lamp, he yanked open the drawer of the nightstand and fumbled through the junk in there until he came up with his well-worn black leather address book.
Ranch's number came to him before he even flipped it open. There had been a time, after all, when he'd dialed that number a lot.
A funny ache went through him, as he started to dial it again. And for a moment, clear as day before him, he saw Randi, dressed in the kind of clothes she'd always loved to wear: a skintight leather skirt and a lace-up formfitting leopard skin top. Black silk stockings. Spike-heeled shoes. She was grinning, her gold hair shining, her huge blue eyes full of fun and challenge. Ready for anything. Anytime. Anywhere.
He'd really tied one on when he'd heard she was dead. Just to think that she wasn't there anymore, in the same world he lived in, had depressed the hell out of him. It wasn't a torch-carrying situation. He'd known it was time to move on when she'd dumped him. But damn. He had liked her. And, in his own way, he mourned for her.
Now, sitting on the edge of his bed with the nightmare sweat cooling on his skin, the phone in his hand and her number half dialed, he found himself missing her all over again. She'd been a hell of a woman. The world was a little more boring without her in it.
And he wasn't going to call the mansion, after all.
Billy set down the phone. Then he rose from the bed. He spent a moment looking around for his jeans. But when they didn't present themselves, he forgot about clothes. The room wasn't cold, anyway. He got his Martin from where it waited for him in the corner and sat on the floor. The guitar felt good in his hands, as it always did. He strummed a few chords and fiddled with the pegs a little. Then he began to fool around with a new melody that had sneaked into his head.
Three hours later, he'd written a song: "Never To See You Again." He put the Martin back in its case and stood the case back in its place in the corner. Then he took a shower, found his jeans, a shirt and some boots and went out for breakfast at the IHOP a few blocks away.
Once he'd knocked back a plate of blueberry pancakes and four cups of coffee, he went to visit his agent, Waverly Sims. They discussed the songs Billy had written lately and he made arrangements to cut a few demos that Waverly would offer around.
Waverly wanted to take Billy to lunch, so Billy followed him into Hollywood. They ate at one of those chichi restaurants Waverly liked. It was on Melrose, in a tent. One of those places where they put lime slices in the ice water and the salad looked as if it was made out of weeds.
After the lunch, he said goodbye to Waverly and got back in his car. Without making any kind of conscious decision about it, he found himself headed west, for Bel Air.
\*
Randi's mansion wasn't too far from the Bel Air Country Club. The huge house couldn't be seen from the street, which was lined with waxy-leafed magnolia trees and long stone walls. The stone walls appeared no more than decorative. Masses of bougainvillea, honeysuckle and jasmine tumbled down over the gray rock. But Randi had once explained to Billy that the top of the fence, beneath all the pretty greenery, was wired to an elaborate alarm system. To get in there, you had to ring at the big iron gates.
Billy drove up, rang and gave his name over an intercom, half expecting to be denied entry. But the gate opened. He drove up the twisting driveway, past expanses of emerald lawn dotted here and there with palms, jacarandas and lemon trees. The house came into view, an Italianate villa with a red tile roof, butter yellow walls, tall Palladian windows and white marble stonework. At intervals along the front, Doric columns loomed up, supporting balconies fenced in iron lace.
As he approached the imposing facade, Billy remembered the first time Randi had brought him here.
"I bought it because I could," she'd told him in that husky voice of hers. "Because when the palm trees rustle in the balmy breeze, they whisper to me. They say, 'You've come a long way, baby.'" She had laughed then, a laugh that was low and throaty and got him thinking about getting her prone. She tugged on his arm and grinned up at him. "You know what I mean -- baby?"
In response, he'd let out a growl and started peeling off the little bitty tight piece of nothing she was wearing at the time.
Billy stopped before a long box hedge in the paved entrance court. A uniformed driver materialized, more or less out of nowhere.
"Just leave it right here," Billy told him. "I won't be staying long."
The man gave a brief nod and headed in the direction of the garages. As soon as he was out of sight, Billy turned and marched between two wide-spaced marble columns and up to the gracefully arched double front doors. He rang. The doors swung back.
A Tom Cruise look-alike in a tux greeted him. "This way, Mr. Jones."
Billy followed the butler out of the marble-tiled entrance hall and down a number of intersecting corridors. They passed a lot of large, sunny rooms stacked with packing boxes, where the furniture was covered in white drapes. Apparently the plain-Jane sister was ditching the villa for new digs.
After they'd walked about a mile, they finally came to the office room he remembered from before. The door was open. The sister -- what the hell was her name: Verity? Constance? -- was waiting for him behind her fancy inlaid mahogany desk, a stack of papers in front of her and one of those notebook computers at her elbow.
The studly butler coughed discreetly. "Mr. Jones is here."
The woman looked up, those ugly glasses of hers magnifying her eyes in a way that made them seem to bulge. Her brownish hair was skinned back, her face scrubbed so clean it gave off a shine like a newly waxed floor. She reminded him of some giant, solemn insect -- an insect that had somehow got itself all dressed up in a tidy gray business suit.
She flicked a bug-eyed glance at the hunk to Billy's right. "Thank you, Lance."
Lance gave a brief nod, then turned and strode off, leaving Randi's sister and Billy to stare at each other for a minuscule period of time that somehow, to Billy, seemed as if it went on for about two hundred years.
Finally she spoke up. "I've been meaning to contact you. To be honest, as of yet, I hadn't quite gathered the courage."
Her words could mean only one thing: she knew Randi's kid was his.
Randi's kid was his. The reality hit him all over again, making his stomach churn and his knees turn to rubber.
He wondered bleakly what had come over him, to show up here, at the mansion Randi used to call home. Yes, he'd been putting up with a nightmare or two lately. And he was a little curious about the kid who looked so much like him.
But what the hell did he plan to do about it, now the sister had as good as admitted the truth? He knew nothing about fatherhood -- he wanted to know nothing about fatherhood.
The sister was looking at him through those scary magnified eyes of hers. "Please," she said. "Don't just stand there in the doorway staring at me as if I've committed some unconscionable crime. I'm sure, somehow, that we can work this out." She gestured toward a chair opposite her desk. "Sit down."
It was so damn quiet. He hated quiet. He wanted to ask the insect woman to turn on a little music, but there was no stereo in sight.
She gestured at the chair again. "Please."
He stepped over the threshold. "I'll stand."
She gave a tiny have-it-your-way shrug, then took off her glasses and rubbed the bridge of her nose. He watched her, feeling a fraction easier for the brief moment that she didn't have those eyes pinned on him.
But the moment ended all too soon. She settled the glasses back in place and folded her hands on her desk pad, which was one hundred percent free of doodles and smudges. "Mr. Jones. I---" Her voice broke. She looked away, then seemed to force herself to look at him again, and to go on. "I loved my sister. She was generous and funny. And talented. And ... good." He saw defiance in her giant eyeballs, as if she dared him to say a bad word about Randi.
Billy had made a lot of mistakes in his life, but he wasn't about to make one right then. He kept his mouth shut, though he couldn't help picturing that famous shot from a certain men's magazine, that shot of Randi spread out on a zebra skin rug, wearing nothing but a diamond watch, a butterfly tattoo and look of pure, unbridled lust.
Unaware of Billy's disrespectful thoughts, the sister continued, "Still, the fact is, she should have told you about the baby. I tried to convince her to tell you. But she felt you weren't cut out to be a father. That you had no desire to be a father. So when she found out she was pregnant, she---"
"Dumped me." He felt self-righteous, suddenly. It wasn't a bad feeling, especially not compared to scared spitless, which had been his basic emotional state since he entered that damn, silent room. He let his lip curl a little, giving the woman a good, solid sneer. "She dumped me flat."
The sister flinched. "Let's just say she ended your ... liaison."
Billy decided to enjoy being the wounded one. He had a right, the way he figured it. He had been kept in the dark. "That's a fancy way of putting it." He made a low sound in his throat, one intended to indicate his total disgust with the way he'd been treated. "But dumped is dumped, no matter how you try to gussy it up."
The woman's mouth pursed into a tight little bud. "Please. Randi did what she thought was right. And now she's gone. Now I'm Jesse's guardian. And I will do what I think is right."
Billy decided he felt a little too queasy to keep on standing, after all. He dropped into the chair opposite her, the one he'd refused a moment ago. He forced out his next words. "And what exactly do you think is right?"
"Well..." She patted the tight little bun at the back of her neck and fiddled with her glasses some more.
"Well, what?" he demanded, pleased at how dangerous he sounded, since he felt about as menacing as limp spaghetti.
She gulped and blinked. "Mr. Jones, I think your son should know you."
"What the hell does that mean?"
"It means I think he should have a chance to build some kind of relationship with you. I think..." The sentence kind of ran out of steam. She leaned toward him, frowning.
He threatened her by deepening his scowl. "What?"
She seemed to have forgotten that he was scaring her. A strange, soft look came over her. The corners of her mouth turned up slowly in a tender smile. For a moment, even with those bug eyes, she was pretty.
Then she said, "You're terrified."
He realized that he hated her.
She rubbed it in. "You're scared to death."
He gave her the kind of dead, flat look he usually only granted an adversary in a poker game. "The hell I am."
She shook her head and let out a chuckle of amusement.
He felt the urge to leap across her desk, grab her by her scrawny neck and choke that knowing look right off her face. But he didn't move. Any show of emotion right then would only serve to prove her point.
"Would you like to meet him?"
What the hell was she babbling about now? "Meet who?"
She shook her head again, still wearing that smug little smile. God, he hated women like her. Women who thought they didn't need men. Women who thought they knew everything. Women who acted so damn upright and superior. Give him a good-time gal with a forgiving heart and a tolerant mind any day.
"Your son," she said. "Would you like to meet your son?"
No! a voice in his mind shouted. I'm not ready for this. I'll never be ready for this! "Yeah," he replied in his best nerves-of-steel tone. "Take me to him. Now."
She emerged from behind the desk. As she walked toward him, he realized that he'd never seen her -- Charity? Faith? -- except from the waist up before. Beneath that button-down gray business suit, she appeared to have a pretty good body: respectable breasts, a discernible waist and legs he'd look at more than once on any other kind of woman.
She moved right past him, stopping to turn at the door. "Please. Come. I'll take you to him."
His mind kept screaming no, but for some reason, his body got out of the chair and followed her. From behind, it became more clear that her body wasn't bad at all. And when she'd smiled, back there in the office, he'd seen that she could have been pretty, if she wanted to be. Still, she chose to hide her looks behind ugly glasses and skinned-back hair. It was just a mystery to him, what made a woman like that tick.
They turned left at the end of the hall, and then right at the end of that hall. Billy watched the gently swaying bottom of Randi's dowdy sister, concentrating on feeling superior to her -- and trying his damnedest to keep his mind off where they were going and the child he would meet for the first time when they got there.
Finally, Hope or whatever-her-name-was stopped before a closed door. She rapped lightly.
After a moment, an older woman answered. "He's napping," the woman whispered, in a tone damn close to reverence.
Felicity or something turned to Billy. "We could just tiptoe in. See if he wakes up. How's that?"
He longed to say, Let's forget it. I'll come back some other time -- like in a couple of decades or so. But instead he found that his head was bobbing up and down.
The older woman stepped back. Billy and Randi's sister entered a playroom, with murals of suns and rainbows bright on the walls and more toys than in FAO Schwartz. Dazed, Billy looked around him, wondering if maybe this was all just a bizarre extension of the nightmare that had brought him here in the first place. Any second now he expected his long-dead mother to pop out from behind one of the toy cabinets, ready to quote him a little more chapter and verse.
"I'll be in my rooms if you need me," the older woman whispered.
"Thank you, Alma," the sister said.
The older woman left them, going through a door a few feet away.
"This way," said Amity or Modesty. She started for a door opposite the one they had just come through.
She opened the door, slowly and quietly. He saw that it was shadowy in there, that the blinds were drawn. She turned and discovered that he was still standing all the way across the room. She fanned the air in a come-on wave. He put one foot in front of the other, until he stood right beside her, before the open door to the shadowed room.
Smiling as if something wonderful was going on,
Grace or Hope put a finger to her lips. "I'd better go in with you. In case he wakes up -- since he doesn't know you. All right?"
Billy shrugged, elaborately, as if this whole thing was no big deal to him. "Fine."
She went into the darkened room. Seeing no other choice, Billy followed.
In there, in spite of the fact that it was pretty dark, he could make out more murals. There were airplanes in a blue sky and teddy bears dancing in a forest. And more toys. Damn, the kid had toys.
The crib stood in a corner, not far from a mural of flying toasters and dancing computer screens. What's-her-name approached the crib and Billy did, too. When she got there, she moved toward one end of it, leaving the other end for him. He stepped automatically into the space she'd left for him.
And then he had no choice. He was there. He had to look.
The kid lay on his stomach, his face turned toward Billy and one fat fist curled under his chin. He looked big and healthy -- and exactly like the kid in the picture that used to stand on his mother's mantel back in Sweethaven. If there was ever any lingering shadow of doubt in Billy's mind, it was gone now. This was his kid.
His kid.
It was too weird.
Billy wanted music. Loud music. A drink. A hundred drinks.
The kid's fat little mouth made sucking motions. It was the cutest damn thing Billy had ever seen.
He could not breathe.
He had to get out of there.
He spun on his heel and made for the door, with Charity or Grace close behind.
"Are you all right?" she asked in a hushed, baby-in-the-other-room kind of voice, once they were back in the playroom again and she'd carefully shut the door behind them.
"I'm fine."
"You seem -- shocked."
"Well, I'm not."
She started toward him. "Here. Sit down and---"
He put up both hands and backed away from her. "Look. I have to go."
At least she stopped coming at him. "But I thought---"
He waved her words away. "Later. Something important's come up and I---" He cut himself off when she started looking all soft again, those bulging eyes just brimming with sympathy and understanding. He knew that she knew the havoc inside him -- and he was shamed to have her know it. He glared at her. "What the hell is your name, anyway?"
She fell back a little. "Excuse me?"
"Your name. What is your name?"
She swallowed, then said it: "Prudence."
"Prudence?"
She nodded.
He felt vindicated, cleansed. Under his breath, he muttered, "I knew it."
"What did you say?"
"Nothing. Look, Prudence."
She seemed to realize she was cringing. She drew her shoulders back. "Yes?"
"I have to go now, but I'll be back. And when I do come back..."
Now she was wearing that knowing little smile again. "Yes?"
"...you'd better..." He fumbled for something to say.
"What?"
It came to him. "...get my kid out of that crib and into a damn bed."
That surprised her. She hitched in a tight little breath. "I beg your pardon?"
"I said, he's too big for a crib."
Her mouth pursed up tight. "Oh, and I suppose you're an expert on childrearing, Mr. Jones."
"Just do what I said. Don't make him into some wuss."
"Jesse is a very special little boy and---"
"Boy, Prudence. Boy is the operative word. He's old enough for a real bed."
"He's barely a year."
"Just ... don't argue with me. Just do what I said. I'll be back, you hear?"
"Yes, I heard. Very clearly."
"Good. So do it."
"Mr. Jones---"
"I gotta go."
"But---"
He turned his back on her before she could say another word. The door to the hall was right there. He yanked it open, stepped through it and slammed it behind him.
Prudence Wilding stared at the door Jesse's father had just slammed in her face. She was glad to be rid of him. At the same time, she wondered if she should follow him and see him to the front entrance -- just to make sure he found it. After all, the house was huge. Guests were always getting lost in it.
But then Jesse began to cry. Prudence waited, listening. No doubt the raised voices and the slamming door had disturbed him. Maybe if she gave him a moment, he'd drift back to sleep.
But no such luck. The crying only got louder.
The nanny peeked her head out of her room. "Shall I---?"
"No, Alma. I'll get him."
Prudence turned and went through the door to her nephew's room. Jesse was standing up in his crib, his head thrown back, howling in frustration at the ceiling. The minute he saw Prudence, the crying stopped. He held out his chubby arms and hiccuped his own personal version of her name. "Woo, Woo!"
"Oh, honey. I'm here." She hurried over and scooped him into her arms. He cuddled up close and hiccuped a few more times, smearing his runny nose on the lapel of her jacket. She patted his back and rubbed her chin against the downy crown of his head. "There, now. All okay, right?"
He made a small, satisfied sound with a hiccup at the end of it. She eased him onto one arm and carried him with her as she went about opening the blinds to let in the afternoon sun. Then, when the room was full of light, she stood at the window, holding Jesse close, staring out at the pool and the cabana beyond -- and trying not to stew about the hundred and one ways a difficult man like Billy Jones could complicate their lives.
"So, how'd you like that nephew of mine?" The rough voice came from behind her.
Prudence was already smiling as she turned to face the old man, her worries temporarily forgotten at the sound of his dear voice.
Oggie said, "He was swearin' up a storm, tryin' to find his way out of here. These old ears turned blue at the things he said when he went stompin' past my rooms."
She rubbed Jesse's back and kissed his round, sweet cheek. "Did you go out and help him find the door?"
Oggie cackled. "Hell, no. Unless there's a percentage in doin' otherwise, I stay out of trouble's way." His grizzled brows drew together. "You tell him I was here?"
"As a matter of fact, it never came up."
"Fine with me."
She rocked Jesse from side to side and went on smiling fondly at the old man. He'd come knocking on her door a week ago -- to bring her the happy news of Jesse's huge family in North Magdalene. Of course, she'd been wary of him at first.
He'd suggested that she hire a detective to check out his story. "But make it quick," he'd commanded. "I want to meet my grandnephew. I'm an old man and gettin' older. I can't hang around down here in the palm trees forever, you know."
Oggie's story had been easily verified. Two days later, Prudence had called him at his hotel and asked him to come stay at the mansion for as long as he planned to be in L.A.
He'd come right over and he'd been there ever since. Prudence was just plain crazy about him. He was the father she'd never really had, the wise old granddad of which she'd always dreamed. He offered Jesse a family -- and he automatically included Prudence in the offer, as well.
To have a family seemed very important to Prudence, especially since Randi's death. Prudence had shared a deep connection with her sister, a closeness and a feeling of belonging that she'd never known with anyone else, ever in her life. Their bond had been forged in a difficult childhood, and tempered over the years.
Without Randi, Prudence felt frighteningly unmoored. Like a tiny boat cast adrift in a wide, unfriendly sea. And she had worried so about Jesse, that she wouldn't do right by him.
But having Oggie around helped a lot. Since he'd appeared on the doorstep, Prudence had begun to believe that she and Jesse would manage after all, that everything would work out just fine in the end.
At least, she'd felt that way until this afternoon.
"I'm watchin' a smile turn to a frown," the old man said with gruff tenderness.
"Billy certainly is a volatile person." Prudence shivered a little, just thinking of Jesse's father.
Oggie grunted. "He's a man, that's all. A Jones. You'll get used to him. You got used to me already. And you hardly known me a week."
Jesse had had enough comforting. He pushed at Prudence's shoulder. "Dow, Woo. Dow."
Prudence set the child on the floor. He immediately ran off, falling forward from foot to foot, practicing his recently acquired skill of walking. "You're nothing like Billy Jones," she said to Oggie.
"Oh, yes, I am. That boy and me, we're more alike than you could imagine." Oggie knocked some toys off a chest with his cane, then lowered himself carefully onto the cleared surface.
"I see no similarity at all between the two of you."
Oggie rested with his arms out, both hands on his upright cane. "Truth is truth, whether you want to see it or not."
Prudence decided not to argue the point any further. With Oggie, arguing never did a lot of good anyway. She sank into a wicker rocker with a sigh, leaned her head back and began to rock. For a few pleasant minutes, both of them watched Jesse, who had found his favorite stuffed rabbit under his crib. He was cooing to it as he alternately chewed on one of its ears and petted its matted head.
"It's all gonna work out," Oggie said finally.
Prudence rolled her head to look at him. "Oh, Oggie. I hope you're right."
"I'm always right."
"I just ... he makes me so uncomfortable. I understand that he's confused right now. Finding out all of a sudden that he's a father has upset him. Randi once told me that he was adamant about two things -- never getting married again and not having children. Well, now, whether he likes it or not, he's a dad. He's furious and frightened. And I sympathize with that. But at the same time, he can be so intimidating. I can't help wishing I didn't have to deal with him."
Oggie only looked at her, a chiding sort of look.
She hastened to add, "I know, I know. It's the right thing. He is Jesse's father. He should be a part of Jesse's life. But I just ... don't know how I'll be able to get along with him."
"You'll manage."
Prudence shrugged and rocked some more, watching Jesse, thinking gratefully again that Oggie's appearance in their lives, coming right when it had, was like some perfect gift from above. Randi had wanted Jesse to have a simpler, saner kind of life than he would ever have been likely to get as the son of a notorious sex symbol. And since her sister's death, Prudence had been determined to see Randi's wish fulfilled. Oggie had shown her how to do it.
"I didn't even get a chance to tell him about the move to North Magdalene," Prudence said.
"You'll make the chance." As usual, Oggie's tone left no room for disagreement.
Prudence went on rocking. "He said he'd be back."
"Good. You'll tell him then."
\*
The next day, Oggie left for North Magdalene. Prudence and Jesse went, too. The town was just what she'd dreamed it might be. And she loved the wood-frame two-story house that Oggie had chosen for her. She paid cash for the house and arranged to have it painted inside and out. Then she and Jesse flew back to L.A.
Prudence put the last of her sister's affairs in order. By October 31, all the household staff had found new jobs. The mansion was in escrow. Very soon it would belong to a nice basket importer from Nepal. The Jesse Wilding Needy Children's Fund could run all on its own now; it occupied a building in downtown L.A. and employed a capable crew of five. Prudence was just about ready to take Jesse and go.
But before she could do that, she felt an obligation to inform Billy Jones of her plans. After all, he was Jesse's father. He had a right to know where to visit his son if he ever decided he wanted to see him.
But, in spite of his threat to return, he'd neither called nor come pounding on the door. Prudence knew she would have to take the initiative. Reluctantly she called the club Billy owned in Van Nuys. A nice man named Tim answered. Tim promised to tell Billy she'd called and to pass on her request that Billy call her back.
She waited forty-eight hours. Billy didn't call.
Prudence tried the club again. This time she spoke with the manager, a woman named Alexis. Prudence explained that it was very important that she talk to Billy right away. Alexis promised to pass on the message.
Another day went by. No word from Billy.
Prudence considered speaking with Alexis again. Maybe the manager would work harder to get Billy to come to the phone if she knew it was his son's aunt calling.
But somehow, Prudence couldn't bring herself to do that to Jesse's father. She had no idea what Billy had told his manager about the son he'd recently learned he had. Probably nothing. Which made Prudence feel uncomfortable about broadcasting his private business. She kept thinking how Randi would have felt if Prudence had done something like that to her.
Randi's erotic exploits had been legend. Few people knew, though, that most of the stories had been started by Randi herself. Randi used to read them in the tabloids and laugh. "More shocks in the tabloids, more butts in the theater seats," she'd say.
But it always bothered Randi when the stories were true. Then she felt that her public was prying into her private life in a way they never could if she made up the stories herself.
Prudence sensed that Billy was a little like Randi. He seemed to live wild and free, but she didn't believe he'd want his private business known.
Why Prudence should even care what bad Billy Jones wanted known was a mystery to her. But at any rate, she didn't call Alexis at the club again. Instead she looked up Billy's home phone number in her computer files and called him at seven in the morning, an hour at which she felt almost certain she would find him in bed. She hoped that maybe the ringing phone would surprise him from sleep and he'd answer without thinking about it.
It didn't work. The phone rang four times and then a machine answered. "Leave a message," Billy's recorded voice growled.
Prudence stammered out something about the necessity that she speak with him immediately concerning Jesse, left her name and number and hung up feeling angry and foolish. When he didn't call her back, she tried again at three that afternoon. He didn't answer. She put the phone down and sat there, drumming frustrated fingers on her desk.
She had everything packed. Tomorrow, at ten in the morning, she would visit the title company and sign the final papers on the mansion. Meanwhile, the movers would be here, loading things up. By afternoon, she and Jesse would be on their way.
And if she intended to speak with Billy Jones before she left, she was going to have to think of some other way to reach him than by telephone.
\*
At eleven that night, Billy sat at a table in the back room of his club. There was a nice pile of cash in front of him.
"That's it for me," said the man to his left.
One by one, the other men around the table threw down their cards. "Okay, you cleaned us out," one of them said. "You damn well better play us a tune."
Billy knocked back the rest of the drink he'd been nursing. "The band starts another set in ten minutes. I'll see if they'll let me sit in. I'm in a mood to wail."
"I'll bet," muttered another man, staring ruefully at the money he'd lost.
Agreeing to meet them all out front, Billy gathered up his winnings and took them back to the safe in his office. Then he went through the storage area and emerged near the long bar that took up nearly an entire wall of the lower floor of his club.
The place was jumping.
"Hey, Billy!"
"How's tricks?"
"Sing us a song, why don't you?"
Billy waved and smiled and signaled to the nearest bartender to pour him another shot of Jack Daniel's. A waitress -- that cute little redheaded Loretta, as a matter of fact -- scooped up the drink as soon as it hit the shot glass and carried it right to him.
"Here you go, Billy." Her full mouth bloomed in a smile full of gorgeous teeth. Southern California was an amazing place. Every face had fabulous teeth in it. Billy had lived in the L.A. area for nearly a decade and still, at times, he felt dumbfounded at all the dental perfection around him.
"Thanks, darlin'."
"Anytime." She drew in a deep breath and widened her eyes at him. "I mean that."
He knew she did. He also knew that he would never take her up on it. Even a man like Billy had to learn to draw the line somewhere. Beyond a little harmless flirting, he no longer fooled around with women who were likely to have attended a high school prom within the past four years. Really young women were just too damn romantic. They confused lust with love. If you told them you would never marry again, they would nod their pretty heads. But they never believed you meant it.
Both of his wives had been young. Young and determined. Just like sweet little Loretta, who was still sighing and smiling at him. He saluted her with his glass before he drank it down.
"Can I get you another one?" She licked her lips and widened those eyes even more.
"Sure." He set the glass on her tray and gestured at a table not far from the bandstand. "I'll be---"
"I know where you like to sit, Billy."
"Good enough. Thanks." He slid around her and worked his way through the crowd.
One of the guys from the poker game must have warned the band that he was on his way. The fiddle player handed him his guitar. He eased the strap around his neck and stepped up to the mike.
They swung into a couple of fast tunes first, to get the folks going. Billy fingered and strummed like a madman, tapping his foot in rhythm and singing lead full-out, giving it all he had. Down below him, on the big dance floor in the center of the club, couples whirled in each other's arms, separating to form lines when the pace quickened, then partnering up again when the rhythm slowed. At the tables on the raised platform that surrounded the dance floor, people laughed and drank and clapped along to the music. Upstairs, which was open in the center to the floor below, the last of the evening's dinner customers finished their coffee and watched the dancers below. Everywhere, waitresses in sequined Western shirts and red boots moved through the crowd, making sure that the liquor kept flowing.
It was a damn good night at Bad Billy's. And with the lights on him and his mind all wrapped up in the music, Billy could almost forget the kid he didn't know what the hell to do about -- and that damn Prudence Wilding, who kept leaving him messages he knew he should return, but somehow never did.
\*
Prudence came in just as Billy started singing a slow song. She stood in the back, not far from the door, listening. It was a song about a dying cowhand and the little boy who idolized him. A certain country-western star had made it famous, but Prudence knew it was Billy's song.
Once, during the time when he and Randi had been lovers, Prudence had heard him sing it. At the mansion, out by the pool. The music had drifted into the house through an open window. Prudence hadn't even realized that she was eavesdropping when she'd stopped to listen. The song was so sad and tender, so full of hopeless yearning and wounded, bewildered love. It reeled her in and wrapped itself all around her so that she couldn't help but try to get closer to it.
Outside, she saw Randi, sleek and gorgeous on a chaise longue, wearing nothing but a smile. Billy, bare-chested, but decent enough in old faded blue jeans, sat on a lawn chair right beside her, cradling a guitar, strumming and singing the beautiful song.
When the last note faded, Randi sighed. "You should have recorded that one yourself. That other guy didn't do it justice."
Billy laughed. "Come on. I just write 'em. You know that."
"You could be a star yourself, Billy."
"Naw. I'm too damn lazy to be a star." He put the guitar aside and leaned toward Randi. Slowly, still smiling, she'd turned her head so that their lips could meet.
Prudence had shaken herself then and turned away.
"You looking for a table?" a voice asked in her ear.
"No, not right now."
The waitress shrugged and moved on.
Up on the stage, Billy finished that magical song. There was silence, followed by an explosion of applause. Billy smiled shyly. Prudence found herself wondering how a man who could write a song like that could be such a complete jerk as a human being.
Right then, Billy turned to the band and gave a signal. They swung into a fast number that got everyone clapping and singing along.
Prudence stayed in the back, waiting, through three more songs. Then the band took a break. Prudence watched Billy, saw him sit down at a table not far from the stage, along with the drummer and the bass player and a big, noisy group that was already seated there.
Through the speakers mounted all around the club, recorded music began playing. Prudence started forward, weaving her way through the tables along the platform on the side of the huge room.
Billy had just received a shot glass full of whiskey and a look of blatant invitation from a waitress young enough to be his daughter when Prudence reached his side. She stepped right up to him before her nerve had a chance to desert her.
"Excuse me, Mr. Jones."
Billy set down his drink at the sound of that voice. He looked to his left and saw a white button-down-style shirt. He adjusted his gaze upward. Sure enough: Prudence.
He'd had a nice buzz on. But the sight of her sobered him up fast. Not knowing what else to do, he gave her a big smile. "Prudence. How the hell are you?"
She stared at him, those bug eyes hard with disapproval. "I'm just fine. And I'd like a few words with you, please. Alone."
Someone down the table chuckled. Billy hardly heard the sound. He was too busy feeling rotten and small and guilty. He knew he should have called her. He'd been planning to call her. Soon. Real soon.
"I assume you have an office, or some room where we can speak privately."
He decided he wouldn't let her railroad him. He stood. "Just a minute here."
"No, I really do want to---"
"Let me introduce you to a few of my best friends."
"Mr. Jones---"
"Prudence Wilding, meet Terry Sanduster." He ran right over her, gesturing around the table, reeling off names. "And Belle Evans, VanDyke Smith and, uh..."
The drummer's girlfriend grinned. "I'm Lucy. Billy always forgets my name."
Prudence forced a tight little smile. "Nice to meet you." She looked at Billy again. "Please. Let's go to your---"
"Wilding?" asked Loretta, still standing there holding her tray. "I love that name, Wilding. Randi Wilding -- the movie star? -- she was my idol." She turned all those shining teeth on Billy again, in a smile that said she knew about him and Randi.
Lucy, the drummer's girlfriend, had to toss her two cents in, then. "Randi Wilding was a woman who knew how to be a woman. But she was in-your-face, too. Someone nobody messed with. Remember Firestorm? I loved her in that."
"Yeah," said Loretta. "Firestorm was hot. And Kerrigan's Honor. She should have won the Oscar for that one."
Billy watched Prudence. She was looking way too polite. "Randi was my sister, actually." She surrendered the information reluctantly.
"Wow," said Lucy.
Loretta let out a little squeal. "No kidding?"
The fiddle player whistled low -- probably in disbelief.
Billy muttered, "Damn hard to feature, isn't it?" before he let himself admit how nasty it would sound. Next to him, Prudence flinched. He told himself he didn't give a damn. He turned and looked right at her. "Were you the younger sister -- or the older one?"
She glared back at him. "Are you going to talk to me or not?"
He gave her a slow smile. She backed up a step, betraying herself. She was scared. She didn't have a clue what he might do or say next. He found he liked her scared. Scared, she didn't seem so threatening to his peace of mind. Scared, he could handle her.
He pretended to study her. "You were the older sister, right?"
She said nothing, only went on glaring.
"What's the matter, Prue?"
"My name is Prudence."
"Am I all wrong about you?"
"I don't know what you're talking about. And I am not the issue here, anyway. You and I need to---"
"No. Really, Prue. If I've been a blind fool, I'll be the first to admit it."
"Mr. Jones. I am not here to---"
He moved then, swiftly and surely, closing the distance she'd created between them, reaching out as he stepped forward -- and whipping off her glasses.
She gasped and blinked. Her eyes slid out of focus. "Mr. Jones!"
Before she could gather her wits, he stuck her glasses into his breast pocket, reached behind her and began pulling pins from her hair. Too stunned to protest, she let him do it, staring up at him through those unfocused eyes of hers the whole time.
He stared right back as her hair came loose. It fell over his hands as if it were a live thing, soft and thick and heavy. And it was so warm. And damned if it wasn't red. Dark red. Like cinnamon.
Like wine...
The bass player let out a whoop. "Hey, not half bad!"
"Yeah, not bad at all," another of the men agreed. Everyone at the table started clapping. Billy kept on looking into those wounded, unseeing eyes. They were pretty eyes, really, without those hideous glasses over them, as blue as an innocent summer sky. And her heart-shaped face might not stop traffic or sink ships, but it could definitely lure a man who really bothered to look.
The truth, which he'd managed to ignore for the past several minutes, dawned like the morning after: inevitable and unpleasant. She was only trying to do the right thing, to talk to him about his son. She'd made a real effort, over the past several days, to get through to him. And for her pains, he had gone and made a spectacle of her in front of all of his yahoo buddies.
The applause slowly faded. Prudence went on staring at Billy, though she saw nothing beyond a blurry outline of his head. She wished her eyes could burn him; she wished she could sear him to a cinder right where he stood.
She commanded, with scalding civility, "Please return my glasses."
He handed them over without a word.
She put them on, carefully, taking her time about it. Then she smoothed her hair, squared her shoulders and faced him again. She felt a tiny flare of satisfaction to see that he looked just a little ashamed. "Now," she said briskly. "May I have a moment alone with you?"
One of his buddies let out a suggestive hoot. "Baby, if he won't go, you give me a try."
Billy actually shot the man a scowl.
The man put up both hands. "Hey. Sorry. No harm intended."
Suddenly everyone at the table became very interested in their drinks. Billy turned to Loretta. "A round on the house."
"Sure." She began taking orders.
Billy faced Prudence again. "We can talk in my office. This way."
In his office, Billy shut the door and gestured at a chair. "Have a seat."
Prudence looked at him for a moment, not trusting him one bit, wondering what trick he might pull next.
"Aw, come on. I'm sorry about your glasses. And your hair. I shouldn't have done that."
"That's correct. You shouldn't have."
"I won't do anything else like that. I swear. We'll just talk."
She watched him apprehensively, wishing her hair was safely pinned in place again, instead of hanging down around her shoulders, feeling so loose and out of control.
His expression was truly contrite. He crossed his heart with an index finger. "Honest. I'll behave."
Warily she lowered herself into the chair.
Just as she was settling back, he picked up a remote and pointed it at the row of stereo components on the wall. Roy Orbison began singing "Only the Lonely." Loud.
She looked at the stereo components and then at him. "We have to talk!" she shouted.
"I hate quiet!"
"Would you please turn it down?"
He swore silently -- she saw his lips move, forming the curses -- but he did lower the volume enough that she wouldn't have to shout to be heard. Then he tossed the remote onto the chaos of his desk and dropped into the other guest chair, which was right beside hers. "Okay. What's up?"
"I have a few things to say to you. Concerning Jesse."
"Fine. Say 'em." He leaned an elbow on the metal arm of the chair and looked at her with an expression clearly meant to convey interest.
She decided a small amount of background was in order. "To understand what I have to say to you, it's important that you know something about Randi."
He shrugged. "Okay. Like what?"
"Randi really did change a lot, when Jesse came along."
"Yeah, you said that."
"I did?"
"On the
She recalled the interview she'd given for the sake of the children's fund. "Yes. All right. Good. So you know she changed?"
"Okay, fine. She changed."
"She spent a lot of time reevaluating, thinking about what really matters in life."
"And?"
"She wanted Jesse to have those things."
"What things?"
"The things that money can't buy."
"Things like?"
"Well, like a normal kind of life."
He frowned. "A normal kind of life. What the hell does that mean?"
"It means that she wanted him to grow up ... ordinary, I guess is the word. She wanted him to have a real family around him, to go to public school, to play Little League..."
Billy made a snorting noise. "A pretty tall order, considering his mother was the most notorious sex goddess since Marilyn Monroe." Prudence hated it when people called Randi a sex goddess, and it must have shown in her face, because Billy smirked, "What's the matter, Prue? Something I said?" Already, he seemed to have completely forgotten his promise to behave.
She shouldn't let him get to her, she knew it. He was just one of those people who refused to grow up. And he seemed to derive real pleasure from saying aggravating things. His opinion of her sister shouldn't matter in the least. Still, she couldn't help arguing, "Randi was a beautiful human being and a talented actress."
Insolence personified, he slouched low in the chair and stretched out his long legs in front of him. "Oh, come on. People didn't show up in droves to see her movies because of the beauty of her spirit."
Prudence sat taller, which allowed her to look down her nose at him. "She was a fine actress."
He grinned up at her. "I never said she wasn't. I only said---"
"This is pointless. We're getting off the subject."
"So?"
"I didn't come here to argue about Randi."
"I know." He had the nerve to let out a low laugh. "You look like you just sucked a lemon, Prue. And those glasses." He shook his head. "They've gotta go."
She sat even taller. "Do you want to hear what I have to tell you, or not?"
He hiked a boot up on his thigh and studied the leather tooling. "Fine. Sure. Get on with it."
"All right, then." She tried to think where she'd left off.
He glanced up from his boot and cocked an eyebrow at her. "Well?"
"Yes. All right." She remembered what she'd meant to tell him next. "As long as Randi was alive, Jesse would have been unlikely to ever have the kind of life she wanted for him. But now that she's gone, the situation has changed. As his guardian, I can be considerably more low-profile than Randi would have been. I can move anywhere I want and put down roots there. I don't have to take off for months at a time to go on location with a film."
Billy shifted impatiently in the chair. "So let me guess. You're getting married."
The idea seemed so preposterous, that she burst out with, "Me? Married?" Then she felt foolish. Struggling to regain her composure, she carefully folded her hands in her lap.
He watched her -- still grinning, still insolent. "Okay. So you're not getting married."
"Correct. I am not."
"Then how do you plan to give Jesse a family and a chance to play shortstop?"
"Well, that's what I came to tell you."
"You mean you're about to get to the point here?"
Again, she let his rudeness pass. She imagined she'd never get anywhere in a conversation with him if she took him to task every time he said something she found objectionable. "I've made some plans recently."
"Yeah?"
She hesitated. From a few things Oggie had said, she was pretty sure Billy wouldn't be thrilled with her news -- which was the real reason she was taking so long to break it to him.
"Spill it, Prue," Billy said.
So she did. "I've decided to move with Jesse to North Magdalene."
Billy sat absolutely still for a moment. Then he shot to his feet, grabbed the remote off the desk and aimed it at the stereo. Roy Orbison, who had just started wailing his heart out to someone named Leah, went silent.
In the deathly quiet, Billy turned and pointed the remote at her. "What did you say?"
He looked very angry. And the room seemed awfully small, all of a sudden. She tried for a combination of courage and calm reason. "Please do not point that thing at me."
His furious gaze shifted slightly. He looked at the remote. Then he swore and threw the device over his shoulder. It landed back on the desk, in almost the same spot it had been before he picked it up. He loomed over her, suddenly seeming bigger than before. She thought of that old television show "The Incredible Hulk," where a perfectly normal, handsome man kept turning into a huge green monster with muscles like boulders and hands like concrete slabs.
"North Magdalene," Billy said, very low and deliberately. "I could have sworn you just told me that you were taking my son and moving to North Magdalene."
Her anxiety made her speak with pained precision. "That is exactly what I told you."
"What the hell do you know about North Magdalene?"
"Jesse has a big family there."
"How do you know that?"
"Uncle Oggie told me."
His lip curled, so he looked like a mean dog about to bite. "Uncle Oggie?"
"He ... he said for me to call him that. He thinks of me as part of his family, too."
"Oh, he does, does he?"
"Yes."
"And just how did you meet him?"
"He came to find us, at the mansion."
"When?"
"About two and a half weeks ago."
Billy just glowered. And then he turned, walked to the door and punched it hard with a fist. The door was made of metal, apparently, because Billy's bones made an unpleasant sound when they hit the door, although nothing happened to the door at all. For a moment after impact, Billy held his fist and moved his lips in a string of profanities that surely would have burned the air, had he uttered them aloud.
Prudence knew she shouldn't say anything, but she just couldn't help pointing out, "That can't be very good for your guitar playing, can it?"
He whirled and glowered at her some more, still cradling his hand. Then he muttered, "It's fine. It'll be fine."
"Well," she said. "That's good. I suppose."
He came closer to her once more. She really wished he wouldn't. But there he was, standing over her. He said, "I told that old coot to stay out of it."
Prudence looked up at him, unwavering, determined that he wouldn't know how much he frightened her. "Well, Oggie didn't do what you said. And I'm so grateful he didn't." She felt better, stronger, just thinking of Oggie. "He's a wonderful old man, a man who knows how important a family is. Jesse is part of his family. And I'm honored that he considers me a part of it, too."
Billy glared at her for several more nerve-racking seconds before he said softly, "I will kill him. And then I'll stake his ancient carcass out in the desert to fry in the sun."
Prudence gasped in outrage. "You will do no such thing." She tried to look absolutely unyielding, though it wasn't easy, with him towering above her.
"Watch me." He started to turn.
She hastened to stop him by adding, "And besides, Oggie's not in L.A. now, anyway."
Billy snapped his attention back to her. "Where is he?"
"He's gone home, to North Magdalene. Which is where Jesse and I are going. Tomorrow, right after I attend the closing on the mansion."
Billy froze, he stood absolutely stock-still. And now he was gaping more than glaring. "Tomorrow?"
"Tomorrow." She could see it all on his face. He still hadn't decided what to do about being a father. But when he did decide, he didn't want the child in question at the other end of the state. He said, in pure disbelief, "You can't just take my kid and leave."
"I beg to differ. I can. And I will."
"I'm his father."
"And I'm his legal guardian."
"I still have rights."
"I know. That's why I'm here tonight, to tell you that you're welcome to come and stay with us. Anytime."
He turned, paced to the door and then paced back to stand above her. "What the hell are you talking about? I live here in the San Fernando Valley. You can't just take my kid and move four hundred miles away."
"Mr. Jones. Up to now, you have not shown a lot of interest in your kid."
He swore some more under his breath. Then he spoke more directly to her. "Look, I didn't even know about him until a couple of weeks ago."
"I understand that."
"You didn't bother to tell me about him."
"I was remiss, I know."
"Remiss. That's a wimpy little word for careless, isn't it? Well, you weren't careless. You damn well didn't tell me. Randi didn't tell me. Nobody told me. I had to find out on the damn
She did feel somewhat guilty about that. "I'm sorry."
"Sorry doesn't cut it. The point is, that in spite of the fact I told your sister I didn't want kids, she went ahead and had my kid anyway -- and never said a word to me about it. Then she died. And you were in charge. You knew I was Jesse's father, but you didn't tell me, either."
"I planned to tell you. I would have told you."
"But you didn't tell me. I found out by accident."
"Well, yes. But---"
He didn't wait for her excuses. "It wasn't that long ago, either, that I found out."
"I understand."
"And since I found out, I've been ... working up to dealing with it."
She looked at him coldly, then. "Working up to dealing with what, Mr. Jones?"
"You know what. The kid. Working up to dealing with the kid."
She thought about Billy's one visit to the mansion, during which he'd stormed out before anything important could be said. She thought about the time that had passed since then, all the calls she'd made to him that he had never returned. And she decided that if he'd been working up to dealing with Jesse, he hadn't been working very hard.
She told him, "Well, regardless of all that, I am Jesse's legal guardian. And I will decide---"
He threw up a hand. "Don't start that. I'm his father. I'll damn well take you to court. We'll see who ends up deciding about my kid."
She granted him a look of utter condescension. "Please. As if a judge would ever award custody of an innocent child to someone like you. I've heard the stories about you. It wouldn't take much to dig them up and present them in court."
That gave Billy pause. He thought about a few of his past exploits. Once he'd climbed a flagpole naked; that had been written up in Guitar Pickers magazine. And there had been that time several years ago when he'd let himself get hooked on downers. He'd gone in to rehab and stayed clean -- well, except for the booze -- ever since. But still, his past drug problem was common knowledge around the entertainment industry. And then there were all the stories concerning him and a large number of women. Some of them wouldn't sound so good in a custody hearing.
The woman was looking at him, all smug and prissy. He muttered defensively, "A man can change."
She stood. "Well, you'd better get started on it then, hadn't you? And in the meantime, if you want to visit, come on ahead." She took a small card from the breast pocket of that button-down shirt. "Here's the address of the house where we'll be living. The phone there is already hooked up and the number of my cell phone is on the card, too. And anyway, it's a very small town. If you want to find us, you'll have no problem." She shoved the card into his hand and turned for the door.
Billy wasn't about to let her get out that easy. He moved fast, sliding past her and blocking her path. "Just a minute, here, Prue."
She sucked in a hard breath. "Don't call me that. And step out of the way, please."
"Do not." He bit off each word. "Repeat, do not leave town with my kid."
She didn't give an inch. "I am leaving town with your kid. Tomorrow, as I said."
"If you do---"
She let out a mean little laugh and tossed her head so the red waves he'd set free from that bun of hers bounced audaciously. "You won't even know whether I go or not. Because as soon as I leave this building, you'll go out to the bar and get good and drunk. And you'll play in the band. And go to bed late. And tomorrow, you'll get up and start all over again. You don't have time for a son, Mr. Jones. You're too busy partying." The bug eyes were shooting sparks. "My sister was right not to tell you about Jesse."
"No," he said flatly. "No, she was not right. She used me, to get a baby. And then she dumped me. I hit the ground like a safe."
This time her laugh sounded a lot like a snarl. "Oh, come on. I lived in her house. And we were very close. She cared for you. A lot. You were the one who would never let it go anywhere. You set the parameters. You said you wouldn't get married again and you wouldn't have kids. She became pregnant accidentally."
"Yeah, right."
"She was careful. But sometimes, even when a woman's careful, things happen."
"Sure they do."
"Wipe that smirk off your face. You can't lie to me, Mr. Jones. I know the truth. I know how it was. When she told you she didn't want to see you anymore, you fell all over yourself agreeing with her. You walked away, and you never once looked back."
"I did look back. I missed her. I---"
"Save it. I don't need to hear it. The point I'm making is, you don't deserve a son, especially not one as wonderful as Jesse, and I find that I honestly regret you ever found out you're his father."
Billy had that urge again, that urge to reach out and wring the woman's neck.
She must have seen it in his eyes, because she stuck her nose right up to him. "Go on. Try it. You just try it."
Billy had behaved badly with a lot of women, but he'd never actually hit a woman in his life -- let alone tried to strangle one. He wasn't about to start now. So he just glared at her. And she glared back. Heat seemed to vibrate in the air between them. Billy chose to believe it was the heat of anger. She had him pegged, and he knew it. He resented the hell out of her for it.
And for some insane reason, he felt a growing determination to prove her wrong.
At last he spoke. "One way or another, I'll make you regret it, if you leave town."
"Is that a threat, Mr. Jones?"
"That's a fact, Prue."
They both glared and fumed some more. Then, with a mocking bow, Billy stepped out of her way.
Prudence reached for the door, pulled it open and swept out, not pausing and not looking back -- and feeling wonderfully self-righteous.
After all, she had done her duty. Billy Jones knew where to find his son if he wanted to visit.
Which he wouldn't. The days would turn to weeks, then to months and eventually, to years. Somehow, he would just never find the time.
She had tried, she told herself. But it had simply done no good. Bad Billy Jones had neither the aptitude nor the inclination for fatherhood. He would never show up in North Magdalene. And that was just fine with her.
At four in the morning, one week later, Billy packed up his Jeep Cherokee. He tossed his garment bag and suitcase in the back. Then he set his Martin, safe in its case, between the two pieces of luggage, where it wouldn't get knocked around.
He drove straight through to Fresno, where he filled up the Jeep and ate truck-stop waffles smothered in butter and maple syrup. He hit the road again around eight and made it to Sacramento before
In Grass Valley and Nevada City, the sycamores and black oaks were aflame with the colors of fall. And the air had a bite to it. This wasn't L.A. Here, there would be snow on the ground when the winter closed in.
At a sign that said Downieville, Billy turned off the stretch of four-lane highway and drove on, deeper into the mountains. The two-lane road twisted and turned, leading him down into the South Yuba River canyon and then back up the other side. All around him, steep hills rose up, blanketed in tall firs and pine.
A half an hour after he left Nevada City, at
The highway ran right through the center of town, so he found himself on Main Street. Billy drove slowly, looking the place over. If he'd had a woman with him, she would have been sighing and gushing, calling the place precious and quaint and charming. Women went nuts for covered wooden sidewalks and gift shops with country-looking stuff in the windows. A row of maples, their leaves turned bright red and gold, lined the street on one side.
In addition to the cute little gift and variety stores, Billy drove by a motel, a grocery store, a post office, a bar and restaurant and a coffee shop. He'd just passed some store called Fletcher Gold Sales when he realized he was headed out of town -- and must have gone right by the street where Prue and Jesse lived. He swung into the parking lot of a new-looking town hall, turned around and went back the way he'd come.
This time he was paying more attention when he reached Prospect Street. He turned on his left blinker, since left was the only way to go. Then he had to wait for two old ladies carrying grocery bags to finish crossing the street in front of him.
They were a pair: one tall and scrawny, the other square and as solid as a bank vault. They caught sight of him through his windshield and both of them looked surprised for a moment. Then they frowned in unison, as if they already knew him and knew just the kind of trouble he was likely to bring to their peaceful little town. For a moment, he thought maybe his fame as a songwriter had preceded him. But that wasn't real likely. He was pretty well-known in some show business circles, but not by the public at large. And he doubted that many of his tunes would have much appeal for a pair of old biddies in North Magdalene, California.
Just for fun, he honked and waved. The thin one waved back, but disapprovingly, as if she only did it because she was too well-bred to do otherwise. Right then, he found himself thinking of Sweethaven, his hometown. Sweethaven had been a damn sight flatter than this place, windy as hell and not nearly so picturesque. But from California to Kansas, old ladies in small towns were pretty much the same. They moved around in pairs. And they recognized an undomesticated male on sight.
At last, the two ladies reached the other side of the street. Billy eased his foot off the brake and made his turn.
Not two minutes later, he pulled up in front of the address Prue had given him. He turned off the Jeep, silencing a great Randy Travis tune in midnote. Then, for a moment, he sat studying the two-story building where Prue had brought his son to live.
He estimated the place to be anywhere from forty to a hundred years old. It had been freshly painted white, with the trim and shutters a dark green. It had a nice, deep porch and a white picket fence around the yard. A big old rough-barked locust tree hung over the fence, looking a little scraggly now that it was losing its leaves for the winter. But the lawn was thick and green and the slate walk that led up to the porch steps seemed to just invite a man to come inside.
He had to admit it. The place seemed to be just what Prue had been looking for: the perfect setting for Jesse to get a good start on his "ordinary" life. It was also across and down from the white wood-frame community church. Leave it to Prue, he thought with some amusement, to find a house on the same street as the church.
Billy got out of the Jeep and went around back for his garment bag, suitcase and guitar. He slung the bag over his shoulder and took the suitcase and the Martin in either hand. Then he went through the front gate and up that pretty slate walk.
The look of stunned disbelief on Prue's face when she opened the door made the trip more than worthwhile. Now all he had to do was find that meddling uncle of his and knock his tonsils down his throat. Then Billy Jones would be a totally contented man.
"Billy." She said his name the way some might say, "measles," or "poison oak." Her glasses had a smudge on them. She wore jeans and an old shirt and her hair had a red bandanna over it.
"Getting a little cleaning done?"
"Billy," she said again, dazed. Disbelieving.
He savored her obvious stupefaction at the sight of him, here, where she had been so sure he would never come. "Your mouth's hanging open, Prue."
She snapped it shut.
"Can I come in?"
She fell back, still wearing an expression of pure bumfuzzlement. Feeling really good, really happy, really pleased with himself, Billy entered her house. It had no entry hall, so he stepped into her living room. It was just what he expected: hardwood floors and comfortable furniture, roses floating in a cut crystal bowl on the coffee table. The television was new, with a decent-size screen, but there was no stereo in sight. He'd have to do something about that.
He set the guitar and the suitcase down, though he kept the garment bag on his shoulder. "Where's Jesse?"
"Taking a nap."
He grinned. "In a bed, I hope."
She frowned. "He's too young for a bed."
He put on a reproachful expression. "He's still in a crib?"
"Uh, yes. Yes, he is."
"Well, I'll have to fix that." He grinned again. Ever since she'd left him in his office that night a week ago, he'd been making plans. For the things that he would fix.
Behind the smudged glasses, her eyes had lost that dazed look. They were starting to glitter dangerously. "Wait a minute. How dare you assume you can just march in here and---"
He cut in, sounding very reasonable, he thought. "He sure does sleep a lot. That worries me a little."
"He's hardly more than a baby. Babies do sleep a lot."
"Still, it could be a warning."
"A warning of what?"
He had no idea, but he wasn't going to tell her that. "Hell, lots of things."
She folded her arms under her breasts and tapped an impatient foot on the floor. "Oh, right. You're an expert on children now. After all, your experience with them is so vast."
She was starting to irritate him. "When it comes to my son, my experience is going to get vaster, Prue. Just watch." He hoisted the Martin and the suitcase again. "Now, where's my room?"
She blinked at him through those grotesque glasses that he knew damn well she wore as much to hide behind as to see through. "Your room?"
He hefted the suitcase, just in case she hadn't noticed it. "I'm staying a while. Contrary to your expectations, I'm taking you up on that offer of yours."
"What offer?" Boy, did she look bleak. With relish, he reminded her, "You know, to visit? To get to know my son. To learn how to be a father."
"But, you can't---"
"Oh, yes, I can." He stepped a little closer to her. "Unless..."
She moved back. "What?"
"...you were lying to me."
She gulped. "Lying?"
"About how I was so welcome to come and stay. Anytime. Were you lying about that, Prue?"
Her eyes darted back and forth in their sockets, as she desperately tried to find herself some avenue of escape. But there was no escape, and Billy knew it. He'd done a lot of thinking about Prue. And he'd come to a few conclusions.
The woman was hopelessly honorable. And she possessed an ingrained determination to do the right thing. Honor and integrity. Such commendable qualities. They put her right where he wanted her.
"Prue," he prompted softly, "were you lying?"
"No." She looked slightly pale. "I wasn't lying. I meant what I said. You're Jesse's father. He should know you."
"And he will know me. Now, where's my room?"
He watched the resignation come into her eyes. If he'd been a better man, he probably wouldn't have enjoyed seeing it there so much.
"All right," she said. "This way."
She led him out of the living room, to a bedroom that branched right off the dining room. He tossed his suitcase onto the bed and hung up the garment bag in the closet. She stood in the doorway, watching him, looking all sad and haunted, as if she were some bespectacled Southern belle forced to bed down a damn Yankee in her plantation home.
She sighed. "The downstairs bath is off the kitchen."
"Fine." Carefully he stood the Martin in the corner, in a space between the bureau and the wall, where it wasn't likely to be disturbed. Then he felt in his pocket for his keys.
"You're going somewhere?" she asked faintly, as he strode past her.
"Yeah. Out."
"Out where?"
He was almost to the front door before he turned and gave her a grin. "To find my uncle."
That snapped some starch into her. "Why?"
"To knock his teeth down his throat."
She started moving then. Fast. Toward him. "Billy, you can't---"
"Watch me." In four steps he'd reached the door. He pulled it open and then paused to tell her, "I'll be back in time for dinner."
"Billy, you're not serious. You wouldn't really---" He shut the door before she could finish. He was whistling as he strode down that charming slate walk.
\*
In the house, Prudence stared at the door he'd closed in her face and debated whether to follow him.
She decided not to. She didn't really believe he'd hurt Oggie. Billy might be a hooligan by nature, but he didn't seem the type to brutalize a helpless old man. Besides, Oggie wasn't really all that helpless. He had four big, strong sons who lived in town. And if his sons couldn't save him, his quick tongue surely would. Billy would confront the old man, work off a little steam with shouting and swearing, and then he'd return -- which was what she should be thinking about: Billy's return here. And how, exactly, she intended to handle it.
Because he clearly planned on staying a while. And she had no one to blame but herself for that. She had invited him, after all.
She started for the stairs. She still had some unpacking to do from the move, and she wanted to clean the bathroom up there. She would put away the last of her things and then get down on her hands and knees and scrub the bathroom tiles. She could decide how to proceed with Billy while she worked.
\*
Billy was already back in the Jeep and heading for Main Street again before he realized he should have tried to get Oggie's address out of Prue. During those memorable evenings when the old man had followed him around Bad Billy's trying to convince him to join the family fold, Oggie had babbled a lot about his four sons and his daughter, their spouses and their children, about his niece named Evie and his granddaughter, Heather, who happened to be married to the world-famous horror writer, Lucas Drury. Thanks to the old man's incessant jabbering, Billy had learned more than he ever wanted to know about the Joneses of North Magdalene.
Unfortunately neither a phone number nor an address had been included in the torrent of information Oggie had unleashed on him. Since Billy had never intended to get near North Magdalene or its surplus of Joneses, not having an address hadn't mattered much at the time.
But now, he needed one.
So he went to the little coffee shop on Main Street: Lily's Café. Usually, in a small town, all the gossips hung out at the café. He could ask there about his dear old uncle, Oggie Jones. Some talkative soul would be more than happy to fill him in. He slid on his Resistol and settled his shades over his eyes before he went in.
Everybody turned and looked when he pushed open the café door. For a moment, he knew how Garth Brooks must feel. He spotted the two pillars of society he'd watched crossing the street earlier. They sat in a back booth, sipping tea and giving him the evil eye. He felt sure they would know where he might find his uncle, but he doubted they'd tell him if he asked.
A man at the counter let out a hoot right then. "Well, I'll be hornswoggled. Another damn Jones. Even with them sunglasses on, there's no missin' that look."
The waitress, a big, motherly type, leaned across the counter and told the man, "Rocky, why don't you just toddle back on over to the Hole in the Wall."
"Can't," Rocky muttered in bleary regret. "Eden's over there now. She says get sober." He held out his coffee cup. "Fill 'er up." The waitress looked at him with equal parts affection and disapproval. He sighed, "Please?"
Eden, Billy was thinking. That would be one of Oggie's daughters-in-law. More of the old codger's ramblings came back to him. The family owned a bar and restaurant: the Hole in the Wall and the Mercantile Grill. Billy realized he'd driven by them more than once now. They were across the street and down a few doors, past the post office.
Billy slid onto the stool next to the drunk. "Hey, Rocky."
"Hey, yourself," Rocky said. "You are a Jones, ain't you?"
"I sure am."
"Which one?"
"Billy Jones. I'm a nephew of Oggie's."
The waitress poured Rocky's coffee, then held the pot toward Billy.
He turned his cup up and she filled it. "Thanks." He pulled a five from his pocket and slid it across the counter. "That'll do it." Ignoring the continued hush in the place, Billy picked up the cup and took a sip.
Rocky sipped, too, with some effort, since his hand was a mite shaky. "You Evie's brother or what?"
"No, my father was Nathaniel. I think Evie's father might have been Gideon."
"Right," said Rocky. "Gideon." He shook his head. "Died in prison, did you know?"
"I think Oggie mentioned that." Hell, Oggie might have mentioned that. He'd mentioned just about everything else, for God's sakes.
Rocky lifted his cup again, then set it down and lowered his mouth to the rim. He slurped in a sip.
The waitress, who had taken Billy's money to the cash register, marched over and slapped Billy's change on the counter. "Here you go."
"Keep it," Billy said.
"Thanks." She slid the change into her palm and dropped it into an apron pocket.
"Yeah," Rocky was saying. "Crazy old Gideon. Died in the slammer. But Oggie gave him a real purty funeral right here, at the church, back just a few months ago. Buried him right here, too, in the North Magdalene cemetery."
Billy decided it was time to cut to the big question. "Speaking of Oggie. I wonder, do you know where I can find him?"
Rocky's seamed face split in a gap-toothed grin. "Sure. The Hole in the Wall. The back room."
"He's there right now?"
"Ten minutes ago, he was."
Billy took one more sip, then set down the cup and slid off his stool. "Thanks, Rocky."
Rocky went on grinning. "Hey. You betcha. You take care a yourself now, Billy."
"I'll do that." Billy tipped his hat to the waitress. "Great coffee, ma'am." The waitress folded her arms across her middle, leaned back on the service counter behind her and granted him an itty-bitty nod.
He headed for the door, feeling about ten pairs of eyes burning holes in the back of his shirt. At the last minute, he turned, took off the sunglasses and hung them on his breast pocket. The two biddies in the back were looking right at him -- as he had known they would be.
He gave them a slow grin. "You ladies have a real nice afternoon."
The skinny one stared and the big one blinked. He kept up the grin as he pulled the door open and went out.
Two minutes later, he was pushing back the swinging doors and entering the Hole in the Wall. It was dim inside, as a bar should be. Billy stood for a moment, letting his eyes adjust. As they did, he saw dark wood walls and small round tables with bentwood chairs grouped around them. Three men sat at the bar to his left, sipping drinks, saying nothing. Beyond the bar lay a narrow hall -- to a back exit, it looked like. To the right of the hall, about midway along the wall, hung a heavy green curtain. The way to the back room, Billy had no doubt.
"What can I do for you?"
Billy looked toward the voice, which had come from behind the long bar. A tall, rangy character stood there. A familiar character, who resembled the guy Billy saw in the mirror whenever he bothered to look.
"You Jared?" Billy asked.
"You Billy?"
They both said, "Yeah," at the same time.
"The old man's been expecting you," Jared said.
Billy wondered what that meant. He had an urge to ask, but thought that might put him at a disadvantage, so he said nothing.
Jared offered, "Beer?"
Billy shrugged. He might be here to grind the old man's bones to dust, but he could take a minute for a cold one first. "Yeah."
"Bud?"
"Fine." Billy slid on up to the bar.
Jared filled a mug and set it down. Billy moved to pull out some bills.
"On the house," Jared said.
"Thanks." Billy drank, not stopping until he'd drained the mug. When he was done, he set it down.
"Refill?"
"That'll do it. For now."
A woman came through a door behind the bar. She had short strawberry-colored hair and carried a cash drawer, which she put in the ornate old-style National cash register. She stopped at one point and shared an intimate look with Jared. Billy decided that she must be Jared's wife, Eden, the one who had sent Rocky across the street to sober up.
"I'm going on home now," she said to Jared.
He nodded and she disappeared through the door again. Two of the men at the bar got up and went over to the pool table, which stood about five feet in front of the green curtain. They began racking up balls. The third man remained on his stool, staring morosely into his beer. He was a giant of a man, broad-shouldered and deep-chested, with red-gold hair clubbed into a ponytail down his back.
"My brother-in-law, Sam Fletcher," Jared said of the longhaired giant. Billy and Sam Fletcher nodded at each other, then Jared added, "Listen, if you're looking for the old man, he's not here."
Billy asked, "Where'd he go?"
"Back to the house, I think," said Sam.
Billy turned to the big man. "The house?"
"Our house. Delilah's and mine."
Delilah, Billy thought. Sam and Delilah. Real cute. Then he realized what the giant had just told him. "Wait a minute," he said in disbelief. "You live with that old snake oil salesman?"
Sam's expression remained carefully blank. "He lives with us."
Billy shook his head. "My condolences."
Sam nodded, looking weary.
Billy asked, "You think you could tell me how to get to that house of yours?"
Sam and Jared exchanged a look. Then Sam shrugged. "You go down to Bullfinch Lane. Hang right. Cross Sweet Spring Way. Our house is in the middle of the next block." He named an address.
"Thanks," Billy said.
"No problem."
Billy decided he liked both of these men and owed them the respect of honesty. "I guess you should know that I'm not feelin' real friendly. That old geezer has pushed me too far."
Jared shook his head, his expression regretful. "He's my father. I know how he gets." Sam didn't say anything. His eyes said it all.
Right then, the phone behind the bar rang.
Jared picked it up. "The Hole in the Wall." He listened. "Hold on." He held out the phone to Sam. "It's that new clerk of yours."
Sam took the phone. "Hi, Sharlee. Yeah. All right. I'm on my way." He gave the phone back to Jared and stood.
Jared said, "What's with her, anyway? She can't handle that store alone for ten minutes?"
"She's new. She needs the benefit of my expertise."
"She's got a thing for you," Jared said quietly. "People have noticed. They're starting to talk."
"People can go to hell." Sam headed for the door. Billy and Jared watched him go out. Then Jared dumped out the rest of Sam's beer, wiped the counter and washed the mug.
Billy said, "I'm gonna check the back room, just in case."
Jared shrugged. "Suit yourself."
Billy strode over and looked behind the curtain. He saw a felt-topped table with a hooded light above it, ashtrays, a few cigar stubs, but no Oggie. Satisfied, he turned for the door.
At the house on Bullfinch Lane, he knocked and got no answer. He'd turned for his Jeep again when a black-haired woman pulled up in a hatchback car. He waited on the step while she got out and came toward him.
"I'm Delilah. May I help you?" She was small and curvy. Her dark eyes told a man he'd better not mess. Billy found himself pondering the call from Sam's clerk and the cryptic remarks Jared had made. He had a feeling that if Sam didn't watch it, little Delilah would be clipping his hair but good.
Not that it meant a damn thing to Billy personally. "I'm Billy Jones -- your cousin?"
She smiled then. "Oh, yes. Father said you just might be coming to town."
I'll bet he did, Billy thought. "Yeah. Well. Here I am. Got any idea where I might find your father?"
Delilah said he could try Evie's -- either the shop she owned on Main Street or her and Erik's house, over on Pine. Or then again, Oggie might have gone to Patrick and Regina's, which was right next door to Evie and Erik's. Or possibly to Jared and Eden's, way out on River Road. Or Brendan and Amy's. Or even Jack and Olivia's.
Using the directions Delilah had given him, Billy went to each house. He struck out every time. But he did end up meeting a passel of relatives. He found it a sobering experience, all those cousins and their wives and kids, and all within about a three-mile radius.
By the time he finally gave up and wandered back to the Hole in the Wall, it was after five in the evening. And he was ready for another Bud.
Jared poured one without having to be told. Billy murmured thanks. Then Jared said, "By the way, the old man's been here the whole damn time." He slid the beer to Billy. "Just stepped out to take a whizz, that was all."
Billy swore low, with feeling, then drained the mug. Down the bar, he saw the drunk from the café, Rocky. He nodded. Woozily, Rocky lifted his glass in a salute.
Billy asked Jared. "He in back?"
Jared nodded.
Billy turned for the green curtain.
"Hey, boy, good to see ya," the old man chortled.
He sat at the felt-clothed table, a shot of whiskey at his elbow, a cigar clamped between his teeth and five cards in his hand. He waved his cigar at the other three men around the table and reeled off their names.
"I want to talk to you," Billy said. "Alone."
Oggie chortled some more and flicked his ash. "All right, all right. Just let me finish this hand."
Billy stood waiting as the bets went around the table. Oggie pulled in the pile after the rest of them laid down. Then, one by one, the other men got up and left.
A long silence followed. In the middle of it, Jared came through the curtain. He set a bottle on the table and a clean shot glass beside it. Then he went back out to the main room again.
Oggie filled the glass Jared had brought and then refilled his own. "Sit," he said. "Drink."
Billy stayed on his feet. But he did pick up the glass and knock its contents down his throat. It was smooth and hot going down. Good stuff.
Oggie said, "So. I suppose you got a longing to rearrange my face."
Billy did. But he wouldn't act on it. He had never intended to act on it. It had been fun, though, telling himself -- and Prue -- that he would.
Oggie shrugged and puffed some more on his cigar. The smoke trailed and curled in the light of the hooded lamp over the table. "I could call the boys back in. We could play a few hands. Have a few drinks. A few laughs."
Billy said, "I told you to stay away from my kid."
"So. Now you admit he's your kid."
"Yeah. He's my kid and he's none of your damn business."
"He's a Jones. That makes him my business. The way I look at it, I only did what needed to be done." Clamping the cigar firmly between his teeth, Oggie began gathering up the cards from around the table. "And I don't mind tellin' you, I'm glad to be home. I was gettin' real tired of followin' you around that club of yours." He picked up the last card, then began to shuffle the deck. "I got bored with waltzin' the help all the time, puttin' on the charm. It was gettin' old, you know? I was longin' to be back here where people have to put up with me just 'cause I'm me. And I sure as hell wasn't getting through to you. But then, I saw that kid. I saw my chance. And I took it. Talk to anyone in this town. They'll tell you. Oggie Jones ain't a man to miss his chance. So. You want in the card game, or not?"
Just then, someone put a quarter in the jukebox. "Up Against the Wall, Redneck Mothers" came on. A true classic by Ray Wiley Hubbard, sung by Jerry Jeff Walker himself.
Oggie slapped the deck on the table. "Cut."
Billy cut. Then he went over to the curtain and looked out into the main room. The men who had just left the card game were lined up at the bar. Billy caught the eye of one of them and signaled with a jerk of his head. One by one, they got up, walked around the pool table and came back through the curtain. They took the same seats they'd had before.
Oggie began to deal. "The game is five-card draw."
Billy slid into the vacant chair.
\*
A nice dinner, Prudence decided. She would fix Billy a nice dinner, and afterward, they would talk. They would talk reasonably, calmly. About what his expectations were. About what he wanted from this visit and how long he intended to stay.
Jesse sat in his high chair, gurgling and gumming crackers, while Prudence bustled around the kitchen. She prepared her favorite chicken casserole, one made with lemons and rice. It was very low fat and healthy, but also quite tasty, too. She cut up broccoli and put it in the steamer, all ready to go. She made a nice salad.
While the casserole was cooking, she bathed Jesse and read him a Dr. Seuss story, using lots of facial and vocal expression. Even at his age, he seemed to listen and understand. She firmly believed that you couldn't start too young when it came to reading to a child.
The casserole was finished at six-thirty. But Billy had not returned. Prudence left the food in the oven to stay warm and took Jesse up to her room. There, he played with blocks on the floor while she sat at her computer, redesigning her résumé for about the fifth time.
Prudence was a C.P.A. Even while working for her sister, she'd kept up her continuing ed and renewed her license every year. She had thought, when she moved to North Magdalene, that she might find a job with a local firm. But North Magdalene had a population under 250. Even in the larger towns of Grass Valley and Nevada City, C.P.A.s weren't in great demand. Fiddling with her résumé had become a sort of game to her, really. A way to start thinking of how she might make some kind of job for herself here. Eventually, when Jesse got a little older, she'd probably start a small bookkeeping service, just to keep her hand in.
Not that she'd ever need money. She'd made plenty and invested well while she worked for Randi. Then Randi had left her a small fortune when she died. And then there was Jesse's huge inheritance, which was always available if they needed it.
Prudence glanced at her program clock: almost seven-thirty. She was starting to wonder if something might have happened to Billy. Maybe he had gone too far with Oggie, after all. Perhaps Oggie's four big sons had been forced to step in. Billy could be over at the town clinic right now, getting patched up by Will Bacon, the practical nurse who handled all the local medical emergencies.
Over by the bed, Jesse was chewing on the bed linens.
"No, no," Prudence chided. "That is not food."
He looked up at her, puzzled, then turned to frown at the soggy corner of bed ruffle he held clenched in his plump fist. "Not?"
She got up and went to him. He dropped the bed ruffle and reached out his arms, his face blooming into one of those smiles that always turned her heart to mush. She bent and scooped him up. "Bedtime for you, mister."
He made what she thought of as a stinky face, wrinkling his nose and scrunching his eyes shut. "Nawp," he said, as if it were a real word.
"Yawp," she replied, and carried him downstairs.
It took about an hour to get him to bed. Jesse liked to have her sing to him and tell him stories before he'd go to sleep. Lots of songs and lots of stories. If she dared to stop before he'd heard enough, he'd start crying. All the books she read said she was just supposed to let him cry, and she knew that Alma always used to get him to go down with a minimum of fuss. But somehow, since Prudence had taken sole charge of his care, bedtimes had become protracted affairs.
The truth was, she couldn't bear to hear him cry. So she indulged him. So what if the books said she shouldn't? She had the time. And an excess of attention could hardly hurt him.
Finally, at eight-thirty, Jesse fell asleep.
A little tired from all the singing and storytelling, Prudence wandered back downstairs and took the casserole out of the oven. It looked a bit dry by then. But she was starved. She ladled a serving onto a plate, dished up some salad and ate.
Then she put the broccoli, still unsteamed, back in the crisper and cleaned up after the meal. If Billy Jones wanted dinner, he could get it himself.
But then again, maybe something really had happened to him. She decided to call Delilah's house, where Oggie lived. Maybe somebody there could tell her what had happened to her supposed houseguest.
Delilah answered on the first ring. She said that Billy had been there briefly that afternoon, searching for Oggie. "Try the Hole in the Wall," Delilah suggested, with the authority of a woman who had grown up with Jones men.
Prudence did try the bar. The night bartender, Nick Santino, answered.
"He's in the back room with Oggie and the boys," Nick said. "Been there for hours now."
"Doing what, may I ask?"
"Playin' poker, ma'am."
\*
Billy sipped his whiskey as he studied his hand. He shot a glance at the old man.
The old man was looking back. He pulled out a card and sloughed it. "So. How long you stayin' in town for?"
Billy sloughed two cards. "Depends." He picked up the two the dealer had laid in front of him.
Oggie picked up his single card and added it to his hand. "Where you stayin'?"
"At my son's house."
"In point of fact, that house belongs to Prudence."
Billy shrugged.
"That's a fine house," Oggie declared. "Used to be the Conley house, for years and years. It went to my granddaughter Heather when her first husband, Jason Lee Conley, passed on. A sad story, that was. Barely in his twenties, with his whole life ahead of him. Killed in a landslide, working on a county road. Left poor Heather alone. But not for long. Lucas Drury came for her. You heard of him, ain't you?"
"Yeah. Writes scary books."
"Horror novels, son. Horror novels. And now, Heather don't need that fine house anymore. Lucas has built her and their children a big fancy place up on Piety Hill." Oggie puffed on his cigar, making the tip glow read. "So Prudence has bought the Conley place, and brought your son to live there." He took the cigar from his mouth and looked at the end of it. "A nice woman, that Prudence. A woman of heart and grit." He stuck the cigar back between his yellowed teeth. "And she is fine-lookin', too, behind those disagreeable glasses and that scraped-back hair."
The dealer said, "Dealer takes two," and dealt himself two more cards.
Oggie arched a grizzled brow and looked straight at Billy. "Don't you think our Prudence is fine?"
Billy reached for the bottle next to the pile of money on the table. "You in this game or not?"
Oggie grunted, scowled at his cards and then, finally, placed his bet.
\*
"You want me to get him on the phone for you?" asked Nick the bartender.
Prudence said, "No, thank you," and hung up.
She couldn't believe her own foolishness. She'd actually been worried about Billy Jones. Concerned that he'd been injured. That he might be in pain. But no. Bad Billy Jones was feeling no pain. He was playing poker at the Hole in the Wall. With Uncle Oggie. Who ought to know better, at his age.
I'll make you regret it, if you leave town, he had threatened when she told him she and Jesse were moving here.
Already, he was proving his point.
\*
The poker game broke up around
There was a battered upright piano in the corner. Billy banged out the tune and Oggie playacted the old rake intent on seducing a sweet young thing. Even Rocky, who could barely sit up by then, laughed long and loud. Oggie knew a few other great tunes as well. Billy played some more and the old man performed. The guy was pretty amazing, really. In his eighties at least, and still up for partying hearty till all hours of the night.
The only sour note in the evening came around twelve-thirty, when one of the old bats Billy had seen crossing Main Street when he first hit town came in looking for her husband. The husband's name was Owen. He was one of the men Billy and Oggie had been playing poker with. The old bat's name, as it turned out, was Linda Lou. Linda Lou demanded that Owen come home right now. When the poor man hesitated, she grabbed him by the arm and hauled him toward the door.
Billy, totally by accident, ended up in her path as she dragged her husband out. He moved right back, but still, she shot him a look that would have curdled sweet cream.
Oggie slapped him on the back. "You should know better than to get in her way."
"One too many whiskeys," Billy explained. "My reflexes have slowed."
"Have another," Oggie suggested. "It'll settle your nerves."
"I believe I will do that," Billy replied.
But then, somehow, he must have ended up on the wrong block. He went in Prue's front gate -- he thought. And he went up the walk, which he should have noticed was made of concrete and not slate. The porch looked a little different, too. But by then, he was starting to think about hitting the sack, and not feeling real picky about details. He opened the door and went in.
He'd turned on a light in the living room and was looking around, trying to figure out where he was, when he heard the screaming. He blinked and turned toward the sound. A tall, skinny woman stood in the hallway that branched off from the far side of the room. She was clutching a blue quilted robe at her neck and wearing a blue hair net on her head.
"Oh my Lord! Help! Somebody, help me, please!" she screamed. About then, he realized where he'd seen her before: crossing Main Street the previous afternoon, along with that other battleax, Owen's wife.
"Help, oh, help me! A murderer! An intruder!"
Even as drunk as he was, Billy managed to deduce that she wanted help because she was terrified of him.
"Uh, look." He backed toward the door. "Sorry. So sorry. Big mistake. Leaving now."
She started running toward him, still screaming for help, as he got the door open and put it between himself and her. Something crashed against it and shattered; she must have picked up the vase on the side table and thrown it at him. He sprinted off down the walk, kicked the fence open and headed back toward Main.
A few minutes later, when he went through a second gate, he was more careful to check for familiar objects: the locust tree by the fence, the slate walk, the Adirondack-style porch furniture. Yeah, this was Prue's house. No doubt about it this time.
The problem came when he tried to open the front door. It was locked. Billy stepped back, puzzled. Then he smiled to himself. Probably she'd left a key under the mat. He bent over, braced himself on the door frame and lifted the thing. Nothing. He took a minute to straighten up again, and then he noticed that the house was really dark. She hadn't left the porch light on.
Billy started to understand. He'd stayed out later than he should enough nights in his life to know what it meant when a woman didn't even leave the porch light on. It meant a man would have to make a hell of a lot of racket, pounding on the door and shouting -- and then maybe, if he got lucky, the woman would have a little pity and let him in. But then again, maybe even a lot of noise and shouting wouldn't work. A man got no guarantees when it came to a woman who didn't leave the porch light on. No guarantees at all.
But that was all right with Billy. He'd handled situations like this before. He went back down the porch steps and around the side of the house to the window of the room Prue had assigned to him. He had to crush a few bushes to do it, but he got up close enough that he could study the screen, which was hinged at the top and had a hook at the bottom. As luck would have it, the hook wasn't engaged. He lifted the screen and eased it up. Then he slid it sideways and it came right off the hinge. He tossed it behind him, onto the side lawn. Now, for the window. The lock was the old-fashioned kind, a slide latch that anchored the top pane to the bottom one.
He grinned woozily to himself when he started to shimmy the bottom pane. The house was newly painted, but those windows were old. A few good nudges with the heel of his hand and the latch started to give. He hit the frame again, sharply, and then pushed. The latch slipped completely free and the window slid up.
"Hah!" he said, but quietly. After all, he knew it was late. He didn't want to wake anyone up. He just wanted a bed to sleep in. He swung his boot over the sill.
He saw her standing there, a shadow in the doorway, as he slid into the room. She flicked on the light. He groaned as the sudden burst of brightness attacked his eyeballs. Where in holy hell had his sunglasses gone? He'd had them with him earlier -- and his hat, too. But he must have left them at one of the Joneses while he was looking for Oggie, because he didn't think he'd been wearing either while he played that poker game.
After a moment, his poor abused eyes adjusted to the glare. He looked at her, from the bottom up. Her feet were bare. She had long, pale toes. Very nice toes. She wore white pajamas -- at least, what he could see of them was white. They disappeared under her white robe, which was belted good and tight around her waist. Her face was pink from sleep. Altogether, she looked better than usual. Her hair helped. She wore it in a braid down her back. Little crinkly red strands of it had gotten loose and stood up around her face. Unfortunately, even in the middle of the night, she had those ugly glasses on -- and a snapping-turtle look in her eyes.
He tried a sheepish grin. "You forgot to give me a key."
Her mouth was a flat line. "What I forgot to do is to call the sheriff's office and have you arrested."
He let out a tired breath. "Come on. Lighten up."
"Breaking and entering. That is what you just did."
As usual, she was irritating him into sobriety. "What? Is there some curfew around this joint that I should know about?"
"No, Billy. No curfew. Just common courtesy, that's all."
He tried to look pitiful. "I was being courteous. I didn't pound the door or shout, did I?"
"Oh, certainly. You break into my house. But you're quiet when you do it, so it's all right." She had her arms wrapped hard around her middle, as if she was holding her anger in there, good and tight.
He decided looking pitiful wasn't cutting it. He dropped to the edge of the bed. "There's nothing I hate more than a tight-assed woman, you know that, Prue?"
"I assume you're referring to me."
"If the shoe fits---"
"Oh, stop it. I'm not the issue here, and we both know it. You've been out gambling and drinking till the middle of the night."
"I surely have."
"Why?"
"Because I wanted to."
"You could have gambled and drank at your club in L.A."
"I make myself at home wherever I go. I like a good time. And I have a good time."
She gave him another of those long, mean looks. Then she sighed and shook her head. "I just don't understand."
"What's to understand?"
"You said you came here to get to know Jesse." She didn't look mad anymore. She just looked tired. And a little bit sad.
And all of a sudden, he found he felt about as low as he had that other night, at Bad Billy's, when he'd stolen her glasses and taken down her hair in front of his friends.
She was leaning against the door frame now. "Billy, there is no point in your being here, if you're just going to run wild in the bar all night long."
He rubbed his tired eyes and fell back on the bed.
"Billy..."
The light fixture overhead had two cut-glass shades shaped like flowers. In the center of the flowers, light-bulbs bloomed. He shouldn't be staring at them, but he was, anyway. The brightness made weird afterimages that floated in a circle around the central blossoms of light. He closed one eye and then the other, causing the afterimages to pop back and forth like the ball at a tennis match.
"Billy, have you gone to sleep on me?"
"No. I'm awake. And I did come here to get to know Jesse."
"Well, then." Her voice had softened. It was almost kind. "When are you going to start doing that?"
He was still a little drunk, he supposed. The flowers of light kept becoming four, then fading back to just two again.
"Billy, when are you going to start getting to know your son?"
"Tomorrow," he said on a heavy exhalation of breath. The flowers of light were fading, moving away.
She said something else, something quiet and low. But he didn't hear it. The wave of unconsciousness rose up over him. It was taking him under.
He went with it, murmuring, "Tomorrow, Prue. Hones'. Tomorrow. I will get t' know him. Tomorrow. I will..."
When Billy woke, he felt as if someone had freeze-dried his brain. He rolled over and squinted at the little clock radio by the bed: after nine. With a groan, he sat up and pushed back the blanket.
He hung his head and studied his socks. He was still fully dressed, except for those socks. Even though it hurt to do it, he smiled. Prue had a good heart. She'd pulled off his boots and thrown a blanket over him. Lots of women wouldn't have bothered.
His stomach felt dangerous. And his head...
Better get moving. Get some Alka-Seltzer. Pronto.
He launched himself at the door and stumbled out into the dining room. He saw his kid beyond a low gatelike contraption, sitting on the kitchen floor, chewing on something yellow -- a rubber duck or a toy chicken, he supposed. The kid stared at him. He stared back.
"Oh, Billy." It was Prue, standing beside the kid, sounding very discouraged.
"Bathroom," he muttered at her shoes, since he couldn't bear to face the disappointment in her magnified eyes.
She moved forward, unhooked the low gate and pulled it back. "That way." She pointed. He went through, barreling past her, headed for the door she'd indicated. He made it just in time to lose the contents of his stomach in the toilet bowl.
Even after he rinsed his mouth and splashed cold water on his face, he continued to feel like twenty miles of bad road. He looked in the medicine cabinet: no Alka-Seltzer.
She knocked on the door. He marched over and yanked it open. "What?"
She held up a glass filled with water. As he watched, she dropped two white tablets into the glass.
He took it from her. "Thanks." He shut the door. As he started to drink it down, he heard the phone in the kitchen ringing.
A few minutes later, he left the bathroom and headed back to bed. Prue was talking on the phone. The kid still sat on the kitchen floor. Now he was gnawing on a piece of biscuit. The kid looked up at him and made a gurgly, friendly, questioning sort of noise. "Awanna?" He held out the gooed-up biscuit.
Billy shook his head and kept on walking, almost tripping on the gate, which she'd put back across the door to the dining room. Somehow, though, he readjusted his stride for it just in time and managed to get over it. Then he staggered on, through the dining room and back to the bedroom, where he fell across the bed and shut his eyes with a grateful moan.
But not for long.
"Billy?" Prue was standing over him shaking him.
"Uh. Yeah." He opened one eye and looked at her. "Wha'?"
"That was Jack Roper on the phone."
The name sounded familiar. But Billy's mind wasn't operating at optimum efficiency. "Jack? Rope?"
"Jack Roper. He's Oggie's son by a woman he knew before he met his late wife, Bathsheba."
"Why are you telling me this? Why are you talking? Why are you here?"
"Jack Roper is also a deputy, over at the sheriff's station."
"Whatever it is, I didn't do it."
"Nellie Anderson filed a complaint last night."
"Never heard of her."
"She said a man broke into her house. She described the man. Her description sounded exactly like you."
Billy had a vague recollection of a blue hair net and a lot of shrieking. "Wait a minute. Tall, skinny broad? Hangs out with Owen's wife, Linda Lou?"
Prue just looked down at him and sighed.
He lifted a hand and waved it in front of his face. "It was an accident. I thought I was here."
"Oh, Billy..."
He dropped his hand and shut his eyes again. The world, blessedly, went away.
\*
The next time he woke, it was two hours later. And he felt better. Not good exactly, but better. He swung his legs over the edge of the bed and sat there for a while, gathering his energy, thinking of pulling on his boots. But pulling on his boots would take more effort than he was willing to expend right then.
He wanted coffee and a shower. He knew his own constitution. By the time he got a good shot of caffeine in his system and cleaned himself up, he'd be feeling just fine.
There was no one in the dining room. He started for the kitchen, but then he heard women's voices and children's laughter coming from out front. He looked that way and saw that the door was partway open. He started toward it. The sun was out and shining brightly. It looked like a warm afternoon, for November in the mountains.
Billy moved quietly through the dining room to the living room and the open door, drawn by the sunshine outside, by the soft drone of feminine voices.
When he got closer, he edged to the left, so he could see out. He spotted his son, playing on the lawn. The kid wore long pants and a red jacket and he was pushing a small plastic cart filled with stuffed animals. A little girl with shiny strawberry-colored hair sat on a blanket nearby, grooming the mane of a stuffed blue horse. The girl was Jared and Eden's. Billy had seen her yesterday, when he'd stopped in at Eden's house to ask after the old man. The comb she used must have been studded with rhinestones; it caught the sunlight and glittered as she worked. As Billy watched, his son grabbed a teddy bear from the cart and toddled over to the girl.
Jesse held out the bear.
The girl said, "You want me to comb it?" Jesse nodded. The girl set her blue horse aside. She went to work on the bear. Jesse dropped down beside her in a monkey crouch and watched the process with great interest.
Right then, Billy noticed a creaking sound. He turned his head a little and saw a baby, moving in and out of his view, swinging in a windup chair that had been set up on the porch. The baby had the same red-blond hair as the little girl. It was Eden's, too. Eden had been holding the child in her arms when she answered his knock the day before.
"Oh, Eden. What am I going to do?" That was Prue's voice, from farther down the porch, pitched low and confidential. Billy had been just about to pull the door open all the way and step through it, but instead he froze where he stood.
Prue went on. "Jack Roper called this morning. Evidently Billy walked into Nellie Anderson's house late last night by mistake. He was really drunk and he thought he was here."
"Oh, no..."
"Oh, yes. I guess Jack managed to convince Nellie not to press charges, but the poor woman was frightened half out of her wits. And that's not the end of it. You should have seen him when he finally did get here. He climbed in the guest room window around
Eden said something about how difficult it must be for a confirmed bachelor like Billy to deal with the reality of having a son. Billy thought he could get to like Eden.
But Prue wasn't finished. "Eden, he's an alcoholic, I'm sure of it. I never should have invited him here. It was foolish and wrong. Even at Jesse's age, it can't be good for him to see his dad like that. They say little boys need a father, in order to learn how to be a man. But I shudder to think what kind of lessons Jesse will learn from Billy. I just ... I hope he gets bored with hanging around here. I hope he goes back to L.A. where he belongs and never bothers to return. And I hope he does it soon."
Eden started talking then, reassuring and advising. But Billy was already backing away from the open door, from the two children playing in the November sunlight, from the anxiety and frustration in Prue's voice.
He went to the kitchen, where he should have gone in the first place. He found she'd left the coffeemaker all ready to go. He pushed the button and the brew cycle started.
Then he returned to his bedroom, got some clean clothes and headed for the bathroom. When he came out, freshly showered and shaved, Jesse was sitting in his high chair by the table and Prue was feeding him what had to be mashed bananas, from the look and smell of it. There was no sign of Eden, the little girl or the baby.
Billy stood for a few moments, watching Prue stick spoon after spoon of banana into the kid's mouth. She didn't even look at him. He cleared his throat. "Good morning."
Prue shot him an injured, long-suffering look. "Coffee's ready. Help yourself."
"I will." He was carrying his dirty clothes. "I'll just ... put these away first."
She shrugged and went back to feeding the kid. Billy knew he should just go toss his stuff in his room and get himself some damn coffee. But he couldn't stop thinking about what she'd said to Eden out there on the porch.
He shuffled from foot to foot. "Look. Maybe I didn't get off to such a great start here."
She shot him a glance.
He raised his voice -- just a little. "I am trying to say I know that I went too far."
She glanced at him again, a mean little eye-flick of a look. "You're right. You went too far." She dipped another spoonful of banana.
He gritted his teeth. "I apologize, is what I'm saying."
"Fine." She gave the kid another bite and dipped more from the bowl, carefully scraping the excess off the rim as she did it.
"I'll do better."
She paused, looked at him -- and didn't say a word. The kid pounded his fists on the chair tray. "Nana," he demanded.
Prue offered the bite of banana she'd already scooped onto the spoon. The kid gulped it down.
Since she looked so unconvinced, Billy said it again. "I will do better, honestly."
Another frigid glance. "That would be ... nice."
Nice, Billy thought darkly. She called him an alcoholic behind his back, and when he promised to improve, she said that would be nice.
And he didn't care what she said, he was no alcoholic. He'd always been able to handle his liquor just fine. Pretty much. Maybe lately, since he'd learned about the kid, he'd been hitting the bottle a little harder than usual. But damn it, he would deal with it. He would show her he could play this thing straight.
If it killed him.
She was looking right back at him, her eyebrows raised, waiting to see if he had anything more to say.
"Na-na, na-na!" the kid demanded.
She turned from Billy to dip another spoonful.
"Wait," Billy said.
She froze with the spoon still empty. The kid continued to pound his fists and chant, "Na-na, na-na."
"Give him the spoon."
She looked worried then. "Why?"
Billy said it again. "Give the spoon to him."
"Na-na! Na-na!" The kid was starting to get worked up.
Prue suddenly looked frantic. "Billy, he wants another bite."
"Now, Woo. Na-na now!"
"Give him the spoon."
"But..."
"Na-na! Na-na!"
Billy dropped his dirty clothes. "Give it to him. Now."
She didn't move. So he reached out and took the spoon from her.
"Na-na, na-na, na-na, now!"
Billy dipped up a spoonful of banana, grabbed the kid's pudgy hand and wrapped it around the handle. "There. Eat. And shut up."
Prue gasped. "There's no reason to be harsh with him. He doesn't know how to feed himself yet and when he's hungry he---"
Billy put a finger to his lips, in a signal for silence. By some miracle, she obeyed.
Eyes wide, the kid looked at his own hand and the spoon clutched there. Then he looked up at Billy. His little face started to crumple.
"Uh-uh," warned Billy softly. "None of that damn wussy crying. You eat now. Just eat."
The kid stared at Billy.
"Eat. Feed yourself. You can do it. You can."
Slowly, Jesse raised the spoon to his mouth. He poked in the bite of banana -- most of it, anyway. He swallowed. And then, slowly, he smiled.
"Good goin'," Billy said, and smiled back.
Jesse hit the spoon on the tray and threw back his head. "Na-na!" he crowed in triumph. "Na-na, now!"
Billy turned to Prue. "See, he can feed himself."
The blob of banana hit him on the side of the neck before Prue managed to warn him it was coming.
\*
About forty-five minutes later, Prudence put Jesse down for a nap. Billy was kind enough not to help her with that.
When she came downstairs from half an hour of singing Jesse to sleep, she found that Billy had left.
"Oh, no," she said in despair to the empty kitchen. No doubt he'd gone on over to the bar again. He'd be home after closing time, just like last night.
She sank to a chair, thinking that she had to find some way to get through to him, some way to convince him that he should return to L.A. and leave her and Jesse in peace. As she was shaking her head and sighing, she noticed the note stuck between the salt and pepper shakers: Gone shopping. Back by six. She blew out a breath in disgust. "I'll believe it when I see it."
She crumpled the note into a ball and tossed it into the trash under the sink.
\*
Billy returned at
He dropped the truck on the floor for Jesse, who immediately started pushing it around and making vroom-vroom sounds. Then he held out the flowers. "Put these in water. And whatever it is you're cooking, save it."
He held up the shopping bag. "CDs. About fifty of 'em. And I mean it, put that food away. We're going over to the Mercantile Grill for dinner. We have a few things to talk about it, you and me."
She dropped the carrot she was scraping, grabbed a towel and wiped her hands, irritation at him rising. He simply had no concept of what it meant to be responsible for a child. "Billy. Jesse's too young to take to a nice restaurant. He just won't sit still that long and I---"
"Jesse's not going." He shoved the flowers at her.
She took them, grudgingly, and then glared at him over the top of them. "And just what do you suggest we do with him while we're away?"
Someone knocked at the front door. Billy gestured at the bouquet. "Come on, chop, chop. Deal with those, will you?"
"There's someone at the---"
"It's Marnie. Patrick's second daughter. They say she's a hell of a soccer player, and she'd rather hang out with the guys than other girls. They also say she's pretty good with little kids."
"You found a babysitter?" Her irritation abated a bit. The flowers, mostly yellow roses, smelled lovely. And Billy actually appeared to be sober.
"I've had a busy afternoon." He was already halfway to the door. "Go on up and fix your nose, or whatever you have to do to get yourself ready."
She trailed after him, feeling uncertain about everything all of a sudden. "My nose is fine."
"Good. Then you're ready to go." He pulled open the door and ushered Marnie Jones inside.
\*
The food at the Grill was excellent. And they had a candle on their table. It was very civilized and adult and Prudence felt a little guilty at how much she enjoyed taking a night off from baths and bedtime stories.
"We do need to talk about this ... situation we're in here," she said when their salads arrived.
"We will. Later."
"But I thought you said---"
"Prue. I promise. We'll talk. Now relax. Enjoy the food." He smiled at her so sweetly, making her understand what Randi had seen in him.
"You're just trying to get on my good side," she accused, only half teasing.
"You bet I am."
It was so strange. It was almost like a date.
He ordered wine, which made the meal seem more festive, but also got her worrying that he'd end up drinking too much. And then he surprised her again, by only having one glass, which he raised in a toast to her.
"For loving my son," he said. Then he laughed low. "Maybe too much sometimes."
She laughed, too, though she didn't really believe it was possible to love Jesse too much.
For dessert, they had chocolate cheesecake and coffee. And then they started back toward the house, walking, since they'd walked over in the first place. It felt good to be out in the chilly night air. Overhead, the stars seemed brighter than in the city. Shadowy clouds scudded across the face of the full moon.
Prudence heard herself suggesting a stroll along Main.
"Let's go," Billy said.
But then she remembered Jesse. He hadn't fussed much when they left, but Billy had pretty much pushed her out the door before the poor child had a chance to understand what was happening. "On second thought, maybe we should just go on back to the house. It's Jesse's bedtime now."
"So?"
"He's very demanding at bedtime. I wouldn't want poor Marnie to have to put up with too much fussing."
"Marnie will do fine."
"But---"
"Prue."
"What?"
"Look up the street. Now look down. You can see all the way to the end both ways. It's an extra ten minutes, max. That's all we're talking about here."
She knew he was right, though she still felt uneasy about it.
He took her arm. "Come on."
They started up the street, toward the post office and the town hall. Just before they reached the post office, they passed a man and a woman Prudence had never seen before. Still, they waved and exchanged greetings. Since coming to North Magdalene, Prudence had learned to say hello to everyone she met. She considered it one of the real benefits of small-town life, that she felt safe exchanging pleasantries with strangers.
They met up with Nellie Anderson and Linda Lou Beardsly at the town hall. The pair emerged from the double doors in the center of the wide front veranda.
"Ladies," Billy said, with elaborate politeness. "What a pleasure to see you again."
The two women looked at him, then pointedly looked away. Each forced a smile for Prudence's sake as they hurried past.
After they were out of earshot, Prudence suggested, "I'd say you owe poor Nellie an apology."
"I did apologize. I think." He looked confused. "I seem to remember backing toward the door with my hands up, insisting the whole way how sorry I was. But the memory is pretty hazy. The way I recall it, she threw a vase at me for my trouble."
"I'm sure she was terrified."
"Yeah, well. She sure screamed like she was terrified. That woman has a set of lungs on her."
"She's actually very nice, once you get to know her. And so is Linda Lou Beardsly -- that's her friend."
"Right. I've run into her before, too."
"When?"
"She came into the Hole in the Wall last night, to pick up her husband."
"Linda Lou is very highly respected here in town. She just retired, after thirty years of teaching primary grades at the North Magdalene School. And Nellie Anderson is a pillar of the community church."
"A pillar, eh?"
She slid him a glance. "I'm picking up some serious sarcasm."
He faked a look of pure innocence. "From me?"
"Yes, from you."
"I know their type, that's all. They were born to hate guys like me."
"Oh, come on. You're exaggerating."
He wrapped her hand more snugly around his arm. She was surprised at how natural it felt to have him do that. "Let's forget about them, all right?"
She decided there wasn't much point in saying more anyway. They crossed the street and proceeded down the other side, past Sam's gold-sales store and Santino's Barber, Beauty and Variety, on by Lily's, and then past Evie's gift and clothing shop, which was called Wishbook.
It was
"Where's Jesse?" Prudence asked.
Marnie switched off the set. "In bed."
"Already?" Prudence couldn't believe it.
"You said to put him down at seven-thirty."
"I know. But he always gets a story or two."
"I read him a story. And then he went right to sleep."
"I think I'll just check on him."
Ignoring the look that passed between Marnie and Billy, Prudence headed up the stairs. She heard nothing from his room as she approached it, which surprised her. She'd expected a few hopeless sobs, at least. She tiptoed in and found him as Marnie had said she would: sound asleep. She adjusted the covers, resting a hand on his back for a moment, seeking the reassurance that only touch could bring her. His little body felt so good and warm and she loved to feel the movement of his small chest as it expanded and contracted with each breath.
He was fine. And if she didn't leave him alone, she would probably wake him. She tiptoed back out.
\*
The yellow roses Billy had brought her sat in a crystal vase on the dining-room table. Prudence paused at the foot of the stairs to admire them. They seemed to glow in the spill of light from the living room. Yellow was such a warm, alive color.
She shouldn't be so pleased with them, really. Roses were a little inappropriate, coming from Billy. Roses meant love. And romance. Prudence wasn't looking for either -- and especially not with bad Billy Jones.
"You like them." He was standing just beyond the arch to the living room, watching her.
"Yes. Very much. But you shouldn't have."
"Why not?" She knew his eyes were green. But with the light behind him, she couldn't see their color. They only looked dark. And very soft. "Why shouldn't I buy you roses, if I want to ... and if you like them?"
She didn't know why they were talking about this. "Never mind. It doesn't matter."
He went on watching her. It seemed way too personal, the way he was looking at her.
She thought of Randi, who could handle any man. Randi hadn't done so well with Billy.
"I think it matters," he said.
Her chest felt tight. And she wished her heart would just settle down and quit bouncing around so energetically inside her chest. "Thank you for the roses. Now, let's talk about something else."
But he didn't talk. He just looked at her. And she looked back. After a minute or two, it became ridiculous. She began to wonder if he planned to just stand there, staring at her all night long.
She made herself walk toward him and she assumed a no-nonsense tone of voice. "We have to talk now, Billy. About what you plan to accomplish here and how long you intend to stay."
He said nothing, only watched her approach.
She stopped a few feet from him and demanded, "Billy. I mean it. I want you to talk to me. Now."
He spoke, then. But not about anything they needed to discuss. "You hide behind those ugly glasses, don't you, Prue? What are you hiding? What are you hiding from?"
She gaped at him for a moment. Then she shook her head. "I do believe you are the rudest man I've ever met."
He actually smiled, a charming, rueful kind of smile. "Ever?"
And suddenly, she was thinking of her mother. Betsy Wilding had gone through a lot of men in her endless search for true love and a good provider. Some of those men had been considerably ruder than bad Billy Jones.
She sighed. "All right. I've met ruder men. But not many."
He was still smiling. "Now, about those glasses..."
"What about them?" She tried to sound confident, unfazed by him and his impertinent questions. "I need them. To see."
"You could get contacts."
"I don't know why I'm discussing this with you. We need to---"
"Contacts, Prue? Why don't you get contacts?"
"They ... don't work for me. They make my eyes water."
"Soft contacts, what about them?" His voice was like velvet, the way he could make it when he sang those beautiful songs he wrote.
"Really. No. Not for me."
"And they're doing incredible things with laser surgery lately. I read about it in Newsweek, I think. Have you heard about that?"
"I don't want surgery."
"Well, fine. But even if you stick with glasses, they make thinner lenses nowadays, even for really powerful glasses, and I know they can blend them so you won't have that old-lady line in the middle."
"It's a bifocal line, I'll have you know."
"Right, and you can have it fixed so that line doesn't show."
"It's none of your business, Billy. Just leave it alone."
He lifted a hand in a gesture that indicated her glasses as it dismissed them. "How long have you had those things?"
"A long time. And I like them. And we really have to get down to---"
He shrugged. "I know." He turned without another word and went into the living room.
\*
They sat at either end of the sofa.
He said, "I told you this morning I'd do better, and I meant it."
She didn't really believe him, but for Jesse's sake, she felt an obligation to give him another chance. "Say I take your word for it."
"All right. Say you do."
"How long, exactly, are you planning to stay?"
"A couple of weeks. How's that?"
Two weeks, she thought. How would she get through it? She wasn't used to the kind of tension being around him caused her. Whether he was climbing in the window drunk or showing up with roses and a babysitter, he had a talent for keeping her nerves on a razor's edge.
She cast about for reasons he shouldn't stay. "What about your club?"
"What about it?"
"Well, can you afford to be away from it for two weeks?"
"My manager, Alexis, runs the place just fine without me. The only thing she doesn't do better than me is book talent. But I took care of that before I left. So unless she calls me, she doesn't need me. Any other objections?"
She decided to just lay it right out there. "Your drinking."
"What about it?"
"I don't approve of it."
"I gathered."
"I don't want any more nights like last night. And I don't want to see you staggering to the bathroom in the morning, with Jesse looking on."
He glanced away, toward the far wall.
"I am serious, Billy."
He met her eyes. "All right. I won't get drunk again while I'm staying here."
"And if you do?"
"Then the visit ends. I'll take my guitar and go."
What else could she say to that but "All right"? She slipped off her shoes and gathered her knees up to the side. "Two weeks, then. And what's supposed to happen in that time?"
"We'll learn a few things."
"Like?"
"Like if I'm capable of being a decent father."
"And if you aren't?"
He looked around the room. "It's too quiet here. I hate quiet. I can hear the damn leaves falling off that locust tree out by the fence."
"Answer my question."
"You don't give a guy an inch, do you, Prue?"
"I want to know. I think I have a right to know. If you're not capable of being a decent father, what then? Will you just ... go away?"
He actually looked thoughtful, then he grunted. "No. I don't think I could do that. It's crazy. I never asked for a kid, but now I've got one..." He let a shrug finish the thought. "I'll want to visit sometimes. I'll want to help out, with the money, you know?"
"Jesse doesn't need money. He's a very rich little boy."
"Look. I'll do what I can, all right? I'll help out some way. We can figure out how when the time comes. And I'll come to see him, now and then."
"You'd have to call ahead when you plan to visit. I don't want you just dropping by anytime the mood strikes."
"I could learn to call first, if that's how you want it."
"It is."
"All right, then. I would check with you ahead of time."
She gathered her legs up closer to her body -- and made herself ask the next question, though she didn't really want to hear his answer. "What about if it turns out the other way?"
"What other way?"
"If you're ... good with Jesse. If he's good with you."
He let out a short laugh then. "You think that's likely?"
"We're just talking. Covering the bases, considering all the possibilities. Aren't we?"
"Yeah. Okay. Right."
"So, what if it turns out you're good with Jesse?"
He lifted a hand, ran it back through his thick, dark brown hair. "I can't believe you're even considering that."
She told him honestly, "I don't want to consider it. And I certainly don't believe it will happen. But anything's possible. And I'd like to know what you'd want to do -- if it turned out that being a father suited you, after all."
He tipped his head and studied her. "Prue, you're all right." It was a compliment, delivered with a musing smile.
His praise pleased her. And that made her feel vulnerable. She spoke briskly. "You haven't answered the question."
"Okay, let me put it this way. You're not exactly an easygoing gal. But you're fair."
"I try to be."
"Well, then. Whether I'm good with Jesse or not, I'll expect you to try to be fair in two weeks, when we talk about how much time Jesse should spend with me."
For some reason, Prudence thought of Randi then. Of the two of them, as teenagers, stretched out on the ugly shag carpet in their mother's house trailer, watching Some Like it Hot on television.
"Damn, she was good," Randi had said of Marilyn Monroe. "She was the best. But they used her. They won't use me, Pruey, you wait and see..."
And they hadn't. They hadn't used Randi Wilding. Randi Wilding had beat them all at their own game.
And still, she was gone. Lost to Prudence, forever.
How would she bear it if she lost Jesse, as well?
"Prue? Are you all right?" Billy's dark brows had drawn together.
That wasn't going to happen. No way in the world would Billy Jones prove himself capable of raising a child. Still, she felt the tears rising, pushing at the back of her throat. She tried to swallow them. "You are his father. I want to do the right thing."
One tear escaped and slid down her cheek. Billy watched that tear, remembering how he had raised his glass to her earlier, in a teasing toast about loving Jesse too much.
He saw then that her love was nothing to joke about. She loved Jesse enough to do what she thought was right for him, no matter the cost to herself. He didn't know if he'd ever seen love that pure before.
And for the first time he consciously admitted to himself that his son was not the only one he'd come to North Magdalene to get to know.
The delivery van showed up in front of the house at nine the next morning. Prudence answered the door to find two men standing there. They wore matching shirts with the words Stereo Express embroidered on the breast pocket. "Delivery for Mr. Jones."
Billy came up behind her then. "Oh, yeah. Great," he said when Prudence cast a questioning glance over her shoulder at him. "Bring the stuff right on in."
"You got it." The men headed back for their van.
Prudence turned to face Billy. "What stuff?"
"Stereos, Prue. Two of 'em. One for my bedroom and one for the rest of the house."
"Stereos?" she repeated, as his meaning slowly sank in.
"I told you I was busy yesterday. I drove into Grass Valley. And I went shopping. You saw all those CDs I bought."
"Yes. I saw them. So what?"
"Well, where did you think I planned to play them?"
"How about your car stereo?" she suggested hopefully.
He smiled and shook his head. "I got extra speakers, too. To put in the kitchen and dining room."
"Billy, I think you're unsure of the concept here. This is my house. And I don't need one stereo system. Let alone two."
"But I do."
"Billy, you can't just---"
He pulled her away from the door, so the men could get through with the boxes of equipment. "Please, Prue. I can do without the booze. But don't ask me to give up my music jones. I won't be able to do that, no way."
"Oh, stop it. There is no such thing as an addiction to music."
"Yes, there is. And I've got one."
"Billy---"
"I got headphones. Remote headphones. If it drives you too crazy, you won't have to listen. But then again, there is Jesse to consider."
"Jesse?"
"A music jones is an inherited condition, didn't you know? Think of it. The kid's probably sustained neural damage already, from poor management of his disease."
"Oh, you just stop."
"I mean it, Prue. Headphones. This won't be a problem for you, I swear."
One of the delivery men stepped up with a clipboard. "Mr. Jones?"
"That's my name."
"Sign here."
\*
Billy was still setting up his stereos when the bed arrived two hours later. Prudence, who'd somehow ended up hovering nearby and handing Billy things when he asked for them, looked out the picture window over the sofa and saw the furniture van pull up.
She had a sinking feeling. "What is that?" Jesse, who was sitting in one of the stereo boxes, wearing a currently nonfunctioning pair of headphones and chewing on a teething ring, let out a happy little chortle and a few nonsense syllables.
Billy took his head out of the back of the stereo rack and looked through the window, too. "Oh, that. It's the bed."
"Pardon me. I don't need a bed."
"I know. But Jesse does."
Billy stopped fooling with the stereo long enough to show the men the way to Jesse's room. Prudence scooped up the child and trailed along after them.
"The crib has to go," Billy said, and started shoving it to the other side of the room. Prudence stood in the doorway, holding Jesse, wondering how to stop this madness before it went any further.
Grunting and breathing hard, the deliverymen set the frame down. It was a bunk bed, bright red, made of some kind of metal tubing, with the springs built right into the frame.
"C'mon, Leroy," one of the men said to the other. "Let's get the mattresses. And the ladder." The two men went out, edging around Prudence muttering, "'Scuse me, ma'am."
She was left holding Jesse, staring at Billy, who was looking at Jesse's crib as if he'd like to burn it.
She tried to remain reasonable. "Billy, he won't stay in a bed. I can barely get him to go to sleep in his crib."
"You got an attic, right? Or a basement? Someplace we can store this thing, until you can get rid of it?"
"Billy, you're not listening to me."
"Sure I am. And we still need a place to put this crib until you can have it hauled away."
"I'm trying to tell you that I'm not ready to have it hauled away."
He looked at her levelly then. "Jesse's ready for a bed."
"No, Billy. He's not."
"Dow, Woo. Dow." Jesse was pushing at her. She bent and let him go. He headed right for the big red metal thing that sat where his crib had been. He wrapped both hands around the lower part of the frame and braced himself there, then he babbled out, "Abee me?"
"Yeah," said Billy, as if Jesse's chatter made perfect sense. "That is your bed. You'll be sleeping in it from now on."
Jesse bent and put his mouth against the frame. After gumming it happily for a moment, he looked up at Billy again and pronounced, "Awa baba."
"Yeah, you're gonna love it."
"Billy, I don't think this is a good idea."
"Prue, you have to let go a little. Let him grow up."
"He's barely a year old, for heaven's sake."
"Let me handle this."
She spoke with careful precision. "All right, I will. I'll let you handle it one hundred percent. I'll let you be completely responsible for putting him to bed. And making sure he stays there, for as long as you're visiting here. But I am not getting rid of that crib. I just might need it again, when you go."
"'Scuse us again, ma'am." The deliverymen were back with one of the mattresses. Prudence edged out of their way. "Uh, would somebody move that kid?"
Billy went over and grabbed up Jesse. The men set the mattress on the bottom bunk, then went out again.
Billy eased Jesse to the floor once more. "I bought sheets and blankets, too. Yesterday. They're out in my Jeep."
"Billy, you never said a word about this bed to me."
"Sure I did. I've said lots about this bed. You just haven't been listening."
"You know what I mean. You never said you actually went out and bought one."
"Look. Lighten up, will you."
"I hate when you say that."
"This is gonna work out just fine."
"I mean it, Billy. Until you give up this idiocy and let him go back to a crib, bedtimes and naps will be your responsibility."
"Don't you worry. I can deal with it."
She looked at the top bunk. "Wait a minute. You're not thinking of putting him up there, are you?"
Billy looked injured. "Hell, no. What kind of father do you think I am?" He caught the look she gave him and frowned. "Never mind, don't answer that. The top bunk's for later. You know, when he wants to have friends over."
"Oh, right. You're just looking ahead."
"You bet I am."
"You have never looked ahead in your life."
Jesse babbled out something incomprehensible.
"See," Billy said, "this kid is ready. Aren't you?"
"Me yeah," Jesse replied.
\*
Billy had to suspend his stereo assembly that afternoon, so he could stand guard over Jesse's nap time. Once she saw that Billy really intended to deal with the problem he'd created, Prudence resolutely stayed out of it. Soon enough, she knew, Billy would grow tired of spending half the afternoon and a good portion of his evenings making sure Jesse stayed in his bed. Jesse would go back to his crib. And Prudence would be proved right.
Billy spent that night in the top bunk in Jesse's room. The next morning, while Prudence was feeding Jesse his breakfast, he carried the crib down to the basement.
"You'll have to bring it up again yourself," Prudence said to him when he came into the kitchen, heading straight for the coffeepot.
"I'll bring it up. When whoever you give it to comes to collect it." He poured himself coffee, then turned around and leaned on the counter, sipping. "Let him feed himself."
Prudence mentally counted to ten. "Billy, you can't take over everything."
"Come on. Give him the spoon."
Actually she had read somewhere that most babies could feed themselves by the end of the first year. Maybe she had been a little slow to encourage Jesse to move on. On this particular point, anyway. She handed Jesse the spoon.
Twenty minutes later, there was baby cereal and canned fruit everywhere. But Jesse had fed himself an entire meal for the first time.
Prudence was changing his diaper, getting him cleaned up for church, when Billy leaned over her shoulder and suggested, "Have you thought about teaching him to use the toilet? I thought maybe I'd get him one of those little kid's potties, you know? And maybe we could switch him to training pants and---"
"Stop. We can talk about this later. Right now, I'm going to church."
"Fine. You can leave Jesse here. You only take him to some nursery anyway, right?"
"That's true." Prudence reached for a pair of toddler-size red corduroy overalls and started snapping Jesse into them. "Maybe you'd like to go to church with us?"
"Sure. And maybe your friend Nellie Anderson would like a double Scotch on the rocks."
Prudence shot him a long-suffering look. "I don't believe that Nellie indulges in alcoholic beverages."
"Fine. Nellie Anderson doesn't drink. And I don't go to church. We all enjoy different forms of entertainment."
"Oh, Billy," Prudence said, smiling because she couldn't help herself, though she knew it only encouraged him. "Are you sure you can handle Jesse alone?"
"I'm sure."
"Have you ever changed a diaper in your life?"
"Don't worry. I'll figure it out. I've watched you a few times."
"All right, then." She picked up Jesse and handed him to Billy.
Billy adjusted the suspenders on Jesse's overalls. "You get to stay here with me today. How's that?"
"Yah," Jesse said, grinning and drooling.
"We'll have a little discussion about toilets and how to use 'em."
Jesse nodded, his expression suddenly grave.
"And then we'll talk about how independent you're gonna feel once you learn to dress yourself."
Prudence left them, crossing the upstairs hall to her own room, where she showered and got ready for church. As she pulled her hair back and put on a gray skirt and white sweater, she realized she didn't have a single qualm about leaving Jesse alone with his father.
Three days ago, when Billy had first appeared on her doorstep, she wouldn't have trusted him to take out the garbage. Now, she found she was willing to leave Jesse in his care. Was that progress -- or delusion?
\*
"Oh, my dear. Are you out of your mind?" Nellie Anderson asked.
They were standing on the steps of the church right after the service. Nellie had just inquired where that sweet little Jesse was. Prudence had made the mistake of answering honestly.
Nellie huffed in outrage. "Did anyone tell you what that man did the other night?"
"Yes, Nellie. I heard about it."
"It took ten years off my life, I was so terrified."
"I am sorry. And so is Billy."
"I don't believe that for a minute. Men like him are never sorry."
Prudence had sense enough not to belabor the issue of Billy's remorsefulness. She said, "Well, it was kind of you not to press charges."
Nellie sniffed. "I must be honest. It was an option I did consider. But this is a small town. And it's full of Joneses. My grandchildren's stepmother is a Jones -- you know Evie Riggins? And I do love her. And then there's Delilah, born a Jones just like Evie. Delilah is one of my dearest friends. But then, Evie and Delilah are women. The women of the Jones family tend to be quite decent human beings. The men, however, are possessed of the devil."
"Well now, Nellie, I don't think they're that bad."
"Oh, but they are. Why, just look at Ogden Elijah himself. He married Bathsheba Riley, bless her sweet soul, over forty years ago now. And even I am willing to admit that he has probably remained true to his vows. I can almost admire him for his fidelity, especially taking into account the fact that, for the past twenty-eight years, his devotion has been to a memory.
"But faithfulness aside, Oggie Jones is still trouble. Capital T. He drinks whiskey and smokes cigars and gambles at the drop of a hat. He is loud and uncouth and when he wants something, he will go to just about any lengths to get it."
Right then, Prudence somehow managed to interject, "I love Uncle Oggie."
Nellie waved that remark away. "Yes, I'm sure. Ogden can be charming when it suits his aims. But for the most part, he's like his sons and that nephew of his -- a trial, pure and simple. Trouble waiting to happen. A walking slap in the face to good Christian folk. Don't try to convince me otherwise. I do my best to get along with them, because I have to live in the same town with them." She paused, but only to gulp in a breath. "And that one, that Billy. He's the worst of a bad lot. Which is why it was extremely unwise of you to leave that child with him."
Prudence felt she had to say something in Billy's defense. "Honestly, Nellie. Billy is trying hard to learn to be a father. I believe he deserves support and encouragement. And a little trust, as well."
Nellie's small eyes seemed to get smaller. And then, out of nowhere, she gasped. "Oh, my dear!"
Prudence jumped back. "What? What's the matter?"
"Now I see what's happening here."
"What are you talking about?"
Nellie leaned in closer. "Don't let him ... take advantage of you. That's all I'm going to say. Be careful. Keep your head."
"Excuse me?"
"The Jones men are ... notorious with women. I could tell you stories. And I'd bet my mother's second-best china that that one, that Billy, is no different from the rest. He may even be worse, from a few things I've heard."
Prudence could hardly argue with Nellie on that point; bad Billy Jones had a real reputation when it came to women. But Billy was no danger to Prudence personally. And she told Nellie so. "There's nothing like that between Billy and me."
"He's staying alone in that house with you, isn't he?"
"With me and Jesse, yes he is."
"Well, you just be careful, dear. That's all I'm saying. He's a Jones and you're a woman. A very nice woman. There's something about those Jones men and nice women..."
"What do you mean?"
"Those Jones men can't resist nice women. Haven't you noticed? To a man, they've all taken absolutely lovely wives."
Prudence was becoming a little confused. "Is that bad?"
Nellie looked down her rather beaky nose. "Well. What do you think?"
Prudence thought it was time to end the conversation.
Nellie said, "Never mind. Don't answer. Just be careful around that man. I warn you. He will toy with you, if you let him."
"Honestly," Prudence said again. "There is nothing like that going on between Jesse's father and me."
\*
"Let's talk," Billy said.
Prudence looked up from her copy of Forbes. Billy was standing in the arch to the dining room, a set of headphones dangling from his hand. She glanced at the mantel clock. "It's only
He braced a hand against the frame of the arch and leaned there, managing to look both cheerful and insolent at the same time. "Impressed?"
"What did you do, tie him to the bed?"
He cast a glance toward the ceiling, as if seeking heavenly intervention. "Oh, ye of little faith..." Then he pulled himself away from the arch and sauntered toward her. She watched him coming, feeling uneasy all of a sudden -- even more uneasy than she usually felt around him.
When he was just a few feet from where she sat on the sofa, he stopped and dropped the headphones on the coffee table between them. "So. What do you say?"
"About what?"
"Put that magazine away."
She frowned. "I don't understand what you're up to."
"I told you. I want to talk."
"About what?"
He hooked his thumbs in his belt loops and looked at her in a way she couldn't quite define. "About you."
"What about me?"
He let out a long breath. "It's too quiet."
"What?"
He turned for the stereo rack, which he'd set up on the far wall, between a pair of bookcases. He punched a few buttons and a moment later, music filled the room. Soft, seductive music. And a throaty, sexy woman's voice.
"Sarah Vaughan," he said.
She listened for a moment, charmed. "I thought you were strictly a country and rock 'n' roll kind of guy."
He came toward her again. "Don't try to pigeonhole me."
She put up both hands. "Sorry."
He dropped to the sofa beside her. She scooted down to the other end, putting a little bit of distance between them. In the process, her magazine fell off her lap.
He picked it up and tossed it on the table beside his headphones. "You scared of me, Prue?"
As if that was news. "You make me nervous."
"Why?"
"I never know what you're going to do next."
He laid his arm along the sofa back and his fingers brushed her shoulder. A shiver skittered across her collarbone. She couldn't decide if the touch had been intentional or purely by accident.
"So. How was church today?"
She couldn't help scoffing at that one. "As if you care."
"I care."
She frowned at him. "What are you up to?"
"Getting to know you."
"You know me. As much as you need to know me."
"Tell me about church."
She shrugged. "The sermon concerned abundance. My Cup Runneth Over, it was called. Somebody mentioned that the Reverend Johnson has a thing for the twenty-third psalm."
"I'm with the reverend."
"Sure, you are."
"I mean it. At least concerning abundance. I'm a big believer in abundance. It means plenty for me, and that's good."
"Only you could make abundance sound reprehensible."
"Tell me more -- about your morning."
"After church, I spoke with Nellie."
"How sad for you."
"She warned me about you."
"I'll bet."
"She said all the Jones men are possessed of the devil and that you're even worse than the rest of them."
He leaned a little closer to her. "Well, enough about Nellie. I want to hear about you."
She craned backward to get some distance. "What about me?"
"How did you start working for your sister?"
"Could you move down just a little? You've got more than half the sofa."
"You bet." He actually backed off an inch or two. "Now, tell me."
"What?"
He repeated, with great patience, "How you started working for your sister."
"She asked me."
"When?"
"About eight years ago. I was fresh out of college, slaving away at my first job."
"Doing what?"
"Working for a big accounting firm. Randi was still on 'Eden Beach' then." "Eden Beach" was the television series that had made Randi a star. "She was bringing in a huge amount of money. And throwing it all away. She asked me to manage her finances. I agreed."
"She said you did a great job with her money."
Prudence smiled a little, remembering. "It worked out fine for both of us."
"You went to college?"
"UCLA, yes."
"Randi told me she never went to college."
"Randi always knew what she wanted to do with her life. And for what she wanted, she didn't need college. I did."
"Randi told me you two grew up poor."
"That's right."
"So how did you afford UCLA?"
"I earned a few scholarships. And I worked."
"Prue. You are so admirable. What was your mother like?"
She said the first word that popped into her head. "Hungry."
"For what?"
"Love. Attention. Someone to take care of her. She had a lot of lovers." Now, why had she told him that?
"And what about your father?"
"What about him? He left shortly after Randi was born. He just went to work one day -- and never came back. I was three then, so I hardly remember him at all."
"And after that, for your mother, the men came and went, is that it?"
"Is this information going to be useful to you in some way?"
"You bet. So the deal is, you and your sister reacted in opposite ways to the same situation. Randi became a sex goddess. And you became---"
"Look, Billy. I really hate it when people call Randi a sex goddess."
"I know you do." His tone was gentle. "But that doesn't change the truth. Randi was a sex goddess."
Prudence stood. "I don't know what you're up to tonight."
"Don't go." He looked at her hopefully, his expression open and boyish. And vulnerable.
Which she shouldn't buy for a moment. After all, a man who had seduced as many women as Billy had would need a whole repertoire of appealing expressions.
"Come on. Stay." He tipped his head at the empty space beside him on the sofa.
She remained standing. "I'm going to bed now. If you're bored, why don't you go on over to the Hole in the Wall and have yourself a drink."
His face went blank. And then his eyes grew hard. She realized how rotten that must have sounded. Shame flooded through her, making her palms sweat and her face feel too warm. "Look. I didn't mean that."
"The hell you didn't. You want me to blow it."
"No, of course I don't."
"You want me to go get blasted, so you can tell me to get the hell out."
"No. No, I don't want that."
"You're lying. But get this. I'm not going to blow it. You're not going to get rid of me. We have an agreement. And I'm sticking by it -- no matter how many times you point me toward the bar."
"I did not point you toward the bar." It was an outright lie. Her shame increased as it passed her lips.
He made a low, disgusted sound. Then he picked up the remote and pointed it at the stereo. The nostalgic, seductive music stopped. He punched another button and ominous drums began playing. A man started to sing in a low, rough voice.
Billy smiled, but it wasn't a friendly smile. "This is the soundtrack from Natural Born Killers. Stick around. You'll love it."
She longed to leave him there, to simply turn and walk away. But she knew she had been in the wrong, and she wouldn't be able to live with herself until she had truly apologized. "Billy. Please."
"What?"
"I won't do that again."
"You won't do what?"
"Try to get rid of you by sending you over to the bar."
He gave her a long, assessing look before muttering, "Okay." Then he picked up his headphones and settled them over his ears. He pointed the remote at the stereo and the speakers went quiet. He leaned back and closed his eyes.
Prudence watched him for a few seconds, feeling edgy, wanting to shake him, make him look at her so that she could tell him -- what?
She had nothing to tell him.
She turned and left him there.
The next morning, Prudence felt apprehensive about facing Billy at breakfast.
However, when he joined her and Jesse in the kitchen, he seemed friendly enough. He greeted her in a pleasant tone and then immediately took over the supervision of Jesse's meal, followed by a visit, just the two of them, to the bathroom, where Billy showed his son how to use a toilet.
As soon as that was over, Billy went to his room and shut the door, which was just fine with Prudence. She and Jesse had a very pleasant and uneventful morning. Jesse played with his toys and Prudence put in some work on her stock portfolio. Now and then, she heard guitar music coming from behind Billy's closed door. She guessed he might be writing a song in there. It rather pleased her to imagine him writing a song in her guest room that famous singers would perform for years to come.
Billy emerged at a little before
Not so far, anyway.
Not long after the bathroom ritual was completed, it was time for Jesse's nap. Billy, of course, went with him -- to stand guard. The two of them came downstairs at a little after two, looking rumpled and still sleepy, but otherwise content.
Prudence felt a certain tightness in her chest at the sight of them. They really did look a lot alike. And then, occasionally in Jesse, she could see Randi -- in the tilt of his head or the flash of his smile.
At a little before three, Billy decided to take Jesse out for a walk. It was a gray day, and windy. Prudence started to advise against subjecting the toddler to the cold and damp. But one look at the set of Billy's jaw and she knew any protest would be futile.
She settled for insisting that Billy dress Jesse warmly. She even got the stroller out for them. Billy looked at it with disdain.
"This is a walk, Prue. A walk."
Prudence experienced a distinct and quite powerful urge to pick up the lamp from the side table nearby and bop him over the head with it. "Billy, be reasonable. He's hardly more than a baby."
"He can walk."
"You'll just end up carrying him."
"That's my problem, isn't it?"
They went out the door a few minutes later. Prudence stood in the living room, watching through the picture window as they set off side by side, with Billy holding Jesse's mittened hand. By the time they made it through the gate, Jesse was already starting to balk a little.
Resolutely Prudence turned from the window. By the end of the block, Billy would be forced to carry Jesse. They would be home much sooner than they would have been had Billy agreed to use the stroller.
"Which is good," Prudence muttered out loud. It was cold out there and the clouds threatened rain any minute now. The sooner they came back the better.
\*
Jesse sat down at the intersection of Prospect and Rambling Lane.
"Get up, Jess," Billy said sternly, tugging on the small hand.
"Nawp," Jesse said.
Billy tugged harder. He ended up lifting the kid clear off the sidewalk, but Jesse only hung there, refusing to put his weight on his legs.
The wind was up pretty good, reddening Jesse's button of a nose and making Billy shiver a little, even in his warm leather jacket. He wanted to turn around right then and head back for the house.
But at the house there'd be Prue to deal with. He'd get one of her smug little I-told-you-so looks when he walked back in the door not five minutes after having walked out of it. He could do without that.
And he was a little bugged at Prue anyway. She'd cut him off cold last night. Getting so upright and injured just because he'd called Randi exactly what Randi had been. And then as good as inviting him to go get drunk and blow what he was trying to accomplish here.
"Da?" Jesse said, using the name he'd started calling Billy just yesterday. He hugged his arms around himself. "Brrrrrr."
"I know," Billy said. "It's colder than a tax collector's smile out here. Come on." He knelt. Jesse reached out his arms.
Billy stood and walked on toward Main Street, carrying his son against his chest. Jesse was a pretty good-size kid, but he wasn't that much of a burden. And his little arms felt good, holding on tight.
"We're just going to walk on over to Lily's Café, what do you say?"
"Yeah, me."
"We'll have ourselves some fruit juice or something."
"Foojoo."
"Yeah, something healthy, so when Prue asks later, we can tell her we looked out for your nutritional needs just fine."
"Woo?"
"Yeah, Woo. She's a pain in the ass, but we won't hold it against her, okay?"
"Tay."
Billy turned onto Main Street, headed north, toward the café. Jesse laid his head against his shoulder and sighed, "Da."
Billy felt something absolutely terrific right then. A kind of swelling sweetness in his chest, a pressure at the back of the eyes. A father's job wasn't easy. But it did have its rewards.
He was feeling so good that he passed up the chance to say something provoking to his two favorite battleaxes, Nellie and Linda Lou, who gave him a wide berth as he and Jesse met up with them just beyond the North Magdalene Garage.
Jesse huddled closer. The wind did have a bite to it. Billy started walking faster, hoping Jesse wouldn't end up with the sniffles -- and give Prue more to criticize.
They were just approaching the shop called Wishbook that Evie Riggins owned when they heard the scream. Startled, Jesse pulled back. "Da?"
Right then, a chair came flying through the window of the Hole in the Wall across the street.
Jesse whipped his head toward the sound. "Wha'?"
"Hell if I know," Billy replied.
Now there were shouts coming from the bar and the sounds of things crashing, of wood splintering. Another chair came through the window, followed by a second scream.
And then Jared Jones flew headfirst through the double doors. He fell across the sidewalk, faceup. After that, he didn't move. Eden shoved through the doors after her husband. At the sight of him lying there, out cold, she gave a cry of dismay and dropped to her knees at his side.
From beyond the shattered window of the bar, the crashing and splintering continued.
Right then, Evie Riggins stuck her head out of her shop. "What's going on? Should I call Jack?" Billy must have frowned, because she started to explain, "Jack Roper, he's Olivia's husband and he works as a---"
"Never mind. I know who Jack is."
"Should I call him?"
"You better -- and an ambulance, too. And will you hold my kid? I think they need some help over there." Evie held out her arms. Billy passed Jesse over. "Thanks," he said over his shoulder as he took off across the street.
When he reached the opposite sidewalk, he paused to ask Eden, "How is he?"
Just then Jared groaned. "He's coming to, I think," Eden said. With great care, she lifted his head and cradled it in her lap.
"Evie's calling the ambulance."
"Good."
More furniture went flying beyond the double doors. Something hit them. Hard. Shaking his head, Billy started forward.
"Be careful," Eden warned.
Billy pushed through the doors. Inside, he saw a lot of broken furniture -- and Sam Fletcher, backing Oggie toward the corner where the upright piano stood.
Oggie had both hands up, and for once he looked worried. "Now, Sam. Now, listen---"
"I'll kill you," Sam growled. "I'll wring your neck like a chicken. I'll---"
"Hey, Sam!" Billy called.
Sam didn't so much as pause. He seized the old man by his grimy red suspenders and lifted him right off the ground. Then he started to shake him. Oggie's head wobbled back and forth like the head of one of those silly little dogs people put on their dashboards. Pitiful bleating sounds came out of his mouth.
With a sigh, Billy grabbed a chair. He move swiftly up behind Sam and brought the chair down hard across Sam's shoulders. The chair broke apart.
Sam grunted -- and let go of Oggie. He turned on Billy.
Billy put up both hands. "Look. Let me explain. I was just trying to get your attent---" That was as far as he got. Sam delivered a swift right cross, followed by a doozy of a left hook to Billy's jaw. Then he picked Billy up and threw him across the room.
Billy landed against the bar, hard. A jolting numbness went out from his lower back, the actual point of impact. His jaw had no feeling in it and the room spun in circles.
Meanwhile, across the room, Oggie had managed to get out of the corner. Now, he backed and dodged, alternately pleading and arguing with Sam, who advanced on him, silent and determined as the grim reaper himself, picking up chairs and tables and tossing them aside just as fast as Oggie could push them in his way.
Billy knew he had to do something, and fast. With a grunt at the effort, he reeled to his feet -- and headed for the storeroom in back.
He found what he needed right away, thank God. A nice big jar of maraschino cherries. He staggered back into the main part of the bar, where luck was with him. Sam was facing the other way. He was busy dangling Oggie against the wall by the suspenders again.
Billy rushed up on Sam, hefted the cherries high -- and brought them down squarely on top of Sam's head. The jar shattered. Red syrup and cherries splattered and flew.
Sam froze, releasing Oggie, who slid down the wall. Sam started to turn. Billy knew he was a dead man.
Sam got around, his blue eyes twin points of blue ice. "You..."
And that was as far as he got, because he went down. He just dropped, hitting the floor with a sound like a thunderclap.
Oggie and Billy looked at each other. And then they heard the siren coming.
\*
Prudence heard the siren, too. It sounded to her as if it came from Main Street. She almost walked over to investigate. But then the siren stopped and she told herself it was nothing, after all.
By five, Billy and Jesse had yet to return and it was pouring rain. Prudence had done the laundry, mopped the kitchen floor and fiddled with her résumé for a while. And she was worried. They'd been gone for two hours. What in the world could they be doing?
Lots of things, her wiser self answered. In a small town so thick with Joneses, Billy could have found any number of places to get in out of the rain.
But then again, he hadn't even taken an extra diaper. Jesse would certainly have needed changing by now. The little sweetheart had a mild diaper rash already. Having to sit around in a wet diaper would be bound to aggravate the condition. And if Billy had put him on a toilet in a public rest room, Prudence thought she might just buy a pistol and shoot the man.
And Jesse usually had a snack of fruit or graham crackers and juice sometime around four. Four was long past. Had Billy given him anything? And if he had, was it good, healthful food? She could just see Billy now, offering candy and soda pop in place of something with nutritional value.
She was staring out the front window again, trying to decide whether or not to make a few phone calls, when a light-colored van pulled up in front of the gate. Prudence recognized the vehicle immediately; it belonged to Evie Riggins.
Evie got out, went around to the back and took Jesse from the car seat there. Prudence had the door open for them as Evie ran up the steps, in a hurry to get out of the driving rain.
"He needs changing," Evie said as she handed Jesse over. "I keep some spares over at the store, but they're smalls, for Stephen." Stephen was her baby. He'd been born about a month and a half before.
"Where's Billy?"
Evie let out a big sigh. "Long story."
"Tell me."
"Tange, Tange!" Jesse demanded.
Prudence kissed his rain-damp cheek. "I will, sweetie. Right away." She started for the stairs.
"I have to get back to the shop and close up," Evie said. "I left Tawny there with Stephen." Tawny was her sister-in-law. "And it isn't fair to ask her to watch the baby and the store."
"Don't you dare leave until you tell me something about what is going on," Prudence commanded over her shoulder as she reached the foot of the stairs.
"Billy should be here soon. He'll explain everything. I really have to---"
Though Jesse was squirming, Prudence turned and faced Evie once more. "Just tell me what it's all about."
Evie shook her head. But then she said in a rush, "All right. Sam got so mad at Oggie, he came after him at the Hole in the Wall. Jared stepped in. Sam knocked Jared out cold with a bottle of Glenlivet and then threw him in the street."
Prudence thought of the siren she'd heard over an hour before. It must have been the ambulance, coming for Jared. "Is Jared all right?"
"He'll be fine, after the swelling goes down and the headache passes."
"But why did Sam get so angry at Oggie?"
"It's a long story. And I do have to go now."
"But what does Billy have to do with this?"
"He and Jesse were walking up Main Street when the problem started, so he ended up getting mixed up in it, too."
"Is he---?"
"He's fine."
Prudence realized that poor Evie was looking at her pleadingly. "All right, I know. You have to go. Thanks for looking out for Jesse."
"I was glad to do it. And Billy knows the whole story. As soon as he gets out of jail, he'll tell you all about it."
"He's in jail?"
"Relax. It's nothing serious. Jack just put him and Sam in there until he can check with Eden and make sure she doesn't want to press charges."
"Press charges? For what?"
"Prudence..."
"I know, I know. You have to go."
\*
Before Jack Roper locked Billy and Sam in the small holding cell at the North Magdalene Sheriff's Substation, he allowed them to clean up a little.
"'Preciate this," Billy said to Jack as he washed the cherry syrup off his face and neck.
"No problem," said Jack.
Sam said nothing. He rinsed himself off and went into the cell.
There were two skinny cots in there, one against each of the cinder block side walls. Sam dropped to one, on the far end, so he was facing the back wall with its one tiny barred window way up high. He closed his eyes and didn't say another word. Billy stood in the middle of the room for a minute, then wandered over and took the other cot, stretching out on it, groaning a little at the pain in his poor, abused back.
Fifteen minutes crawled past, and then the door to the main room of the station swung open. Billy sat up, hoping it would be Jack to tell them that Eden had said they could go.
But instead of Jack, it was Oggie.
Slowly, his expression bleak, Oggie hobbled toward the cell. When he got there, he stood huffing for a moment, as if the walk from the door had completely tuckered him out. He peered through the bars at Sam, waiting for the big man to turn. But Sam didn't move.
"Sam?" For once in his life, Oggie sounded subdued. "Sam, would you talk to me, please?"
Sam still refused to turn. He didn't so much as move. Oggie cleared his throat. "Well. I'm here to say goodbye, is all. I'm here to say, I only done and said what I thought was right. For you and for Delilah. Because she is my blood and you are as good as blood to me." He waited. Even Billy thought he was damn pitiful. But Sam remained facing the wall, as still as a stone.
Oggie continued, "Yes, I know I have been wrong. I have spoken out of line. And for that I sincerely apologize." He waited some more. Still no response from Sam. "So I have come to tell you I am leaving town, taking off for God-knows-where. I can't say when I'll be back -- or if I'll be back, to tell you true."
With a heavy sigh, Oggie looked at Billy. "Goodbye," he said, all the sadness the world could hold in his tiny black eyes. "You look after our Prudence and that little boy."
Though Billy seriously doubted Prue would welcome being looked after by him, he nodded anyway. He'd learned his lesson about arguing with Oggie. It never turned out to be worth it in the end.
With slumped shoulders and halting steps, the old man departed.
Once the door had closed behind him, Sam moved around to face the center of the cell. He leaned his head back on the cinder block wall and let out a long, sad groan.
Billy said, "You all right?"
Sam shrugged. "Doesn't matter. Nothin' matters. Nothin' matters a damn. Not anymore."
Billy had the feeling that Sam wanted to talk. And why the hell not, thought Billy. He had the time. "Tell me about it."
Sam lifted his head and looked hard at Billy. "You really want to know?"
Billy nodded. That was all it took. Sam launched into his tale of woe.
At
"Billy! You scared me."
Billy was grinning his best killer grin. He had a big bruise on his chin and a cut on his lip. "Found my hat." He tapped the brim. "And my shades."
"Well. Good. I guess." Actually she hadn't even realized he'd lost them.
In the tub, Jesse bounced up and down, clapping his hands and chortling in glee. "Da! Da!"
Billy pushed away from the door frame and entered the bathroom. He took off the hat and the sunglasses and set them on the sink counter. In addition to the bruise on his chin and the cut on his lip, he had a bandage on his forehead and a purple bump high on his cheekbone. With the sunglasses off, she could see that both of his eyes were clear and bright.
He hadn't been drinking.
Prudence realized then that she'd been worrying, subconsciously, all afternoon. She'd feared that maybe he'd show up drunk again -- and she'd have to make the bleak choice between giving him another chance and asking him to leave. But here he was, after all. Still on the straight and narrow. Still sticking to their agreement.
He blew out a breath. "Yeah, all right, I'm a mess. But Jared's worse, from what I've heard."
"What about Oggie?"
"Not a scratch on him."
"Evie told me a little of what happened, when she brought Jesse home. Was anyone seriously hurt?"
"Aside from Sam's broken heart, I'd say no. "
"Sam's broken heart?"
Billy nodded. "Delilah left him."
Prudence let out a small sound of dismay. "But why?" She didn't know either Delilah or her husband that well yet, but Oggie was always insisting that each of his kids had married well and forever.
Billy just shook his head. "The poor sucker."
He knelt beside Prudence and splashed Jesse playfully. Jesse giggled in delight. Prudence watched them. Billy smelled like sweat and dirt and something sweet, almost syrupy. She couldn't quite put her finger on what.
Jesse's giggles faded. He leaned toward his father. "Boo-boos," he said, his little face gone solemn. He reached out to touch Billy's chin.
Billy chuckled. "You bet, lotsa boo-boos." He pulled back then, and rolled up his sleeves. "But your dad is tough." He fished around in the water until he came up with the soap. "Let's finish this bath."
Prudence watched him for a moment, as he soaped up the washcloth. He looked so battered -- and so pleased with himself. Jesse splashed water at him and giggled. Prudence canted back on her toes and then pushed herself to her feet.
Father and child stopped soaping and splashing to gaze up at her.
"Woo?"
"Where you goin'?"
"I think you two can handle this job alone."
\*
He came to find her in the living room after he put Jesse to bed.
"
He stood just beyond the coffee table, in the center of the room. He almost looked nervous. "I smell like a hard-ridden horse. I could really use a shower."
She felt her face coloring a little, as if he'd said something terribly intimate. "Oh. Well, I..."
"If I cleaned up quick, would you still be here ... you know, to talk?"
"Certainly. Of course. Go right ahead."
He was back in ten minutes, his hair still shiny with water, wearing a clean pair of jeans and a soft-looking shirt with the sleeves rolled to just below his elbows. The bandage on his forehead was gone.
"That's a nasty gash," she said.
"It's nothing." He went over to the stereo and put a CD in the cartridge. It was something classical and soothing, with piano and strings. He adjusted the volume, then came and sat on the sofa with her, not so close as he had last night, but close enough that she could smell his clean, just-showered scent.
He really was an attractive man. Attractive in the way of someone totally comfortable in his physical body. Maybe that was what Randi -- and all those other women -- had seen in him. His naturalness. His ability to live right in the moment. He did what he wanted to do, and he enjoyed every second of it.
He was smiling at her strangely. "Have I got soap on my nose?"
She realized she was staring and laughed, a nervous laugh. "No, of course not. I'm just ... anxious to hear what happened."
The strange smile was still there. "You could have called Eden and got the story from her."
"Well, I know. But I didn't want to bother her. With Jared injured and all the uproar, I figured she wouldn't need me calling up to ask what was going on. And besides, I knew I could ask you. As soon as you got home. So what happened?"
"Well, like I said, Delilah left Sam. I guess things have been pretty rough between the two of them lately."
"Because?"
"They want a kid."
"But they can't have one?"
"I don't know if they can't. It just ain't happening. Sam says they've been to two different fertility clinics. He says he wouldn't even explain to another man the things he went through there -- or what he and Delilah have been through at home. Making love by thermometer, Sam calls it."
"Sam was the one who told you all this?"
"Yeah, while we were waiting in the jail. The deal is, the doctors haven't found anything wrong with either Sam or Delilah, but Delilah's never managed to get pregnant and both of them are in their forties now. It's put a big strain on their marriage. Especially in a small town like this one, where too many people pay too much attention to other people's business. Sam told me that in the last year or so, it's gotten pretty damn close to unbearable. Delilah can't walk down Main Street without someone stopping her to ask if she and Sam are ever going to produce a little bundle of joy."
"I can see how that would be hard to take."
"Yeah. And have you noticed that all the rest of the Jones women have at least one kid each? And most have two or more. Sam says even Jack's wife is pregnant now."
"Yes. Eden says Olivia is four months along."
Billy nodded. "According to Sam, that's another link in the chain of frustration for Delilah. Until Jack's wife got pregnant, at least there was one other childless couple in the family. But as soon as Olivia has her baby, Sam and Delilah will be the only ones."
"I imagine that would be hard."
"Sam told me they feel like a pair of freaks."
"Oh, no..."
"Yeah." He leaned in a little closer. "You know, if you think about it, the number of babies in the Jones family right now is pretty damn eerie."
"Well, I don't know if I'd call it eerie. I mean, people get married and they have babies. It's the natural thing to do."
"Fine. It's natural. But not for Sam and Delilah, evidently. And that was making them both miserable. Added to that, Oggie lives with them. And Oggie wants grandchildren."
"He has grandchildren."
"You know the old man. He's never satisfied with plenty when he might be able to get more. Evidently he's made one too many remarks to Delilah lately, about how she's not fulfilling his expectations."
"I do love him, but he can be thoughtless."
Billy grunted. "Thoughtless. Right. Put it mildly, why don't you?"
"He means well."
"He means to get what he wants. Anyway, he's been making remarks to Delilah. And then there's that new clerk Sam hired. She's young and pretty. And she's been playing up to Sam."
"But Sam wouldn't---"
"No, he says he wouldn't. He swears he didn't. But Delilah's been feeling pretty damn insecure lately."
Prudence filled in the rest. "And seeing a young, attractive woman chasing after her husband has just added to her misery."
"Right."
"So she left him."
"Yeah. Evidently she dropped in at Sam's store this afternoon, and found him making way too friendly with the help."
"Making friendly? What does that mean?"
"Sam says it really wasn't anything. That he and Sharlee -- that's the clerk, Sharlee -- were just looking over some equipment catalogs together, laughing and talking. That Delilah got the wrong idea. But she stormed out. Sam followed her home and found her packing a bag. He tried to reason with her, but she wouldn't listen. She told Sam that Oggie had warned her about that clerk, that Oggie had said she would lose Sam if she didn't watch it, and now she knew that Oggie was right. She accused Sam of betraying his marriage vows. Then she left."
"Where to?"
"She took a room at the motel. And Sam just snapped. He went after Oggie -- which doesn't surprise me a bit. Do you know that old man has been living with them for almost their whole married life? I figure if I lived with him for much longer than a half an hour, I'd end up trying to kill him, too."
"But did Sam actually hurt Oggie?"
"Hell, no. That old geezer has more lives than a black cat. First Jared stepped between them -- and got his head bashed in for his trouble. And then I showed up. In the meantime, Oggie just backed and dodged -- and somehow managed to come out untouched. When I got there, Sam hit me in the face a couple of times and threw me against the bar. That was when I knew serious action would have to be taken." He told her of the big jar of cherries and what he'd done with it.
"Poor Sam," she said when he was through. "Did he have to visit the clinic, too?"
"Naw. He refused medical help. By then depression had set in. He said if he ended up in a coma or something, maybe at least Delilah would come and sit by his bedside till he wasted away and died. Jack let us wash up a little, over there at the jailhouse. Then he locked us in. A few minutes later, Oggie showed up to say goodbye."
Prudence hoped she hadn't heard right. "Goodbye?"
"Yep. It was kind of sad, really. Sam wouldn't look at him, but the old man apologized for meddling, anyway. Then he said goodbye, said he was leaving for a while, maybe never to return."
"Oh, no. Do you really believe he would leave here for good?"
Billy waved the question away. "Hell, no. He'll be back. He's Oggie Jones and this is his town -- I'm telling you, Prue. This is a hell of a family I've gotten myself in to." He was shaking his head -- but his eyes were shining. He added, "Oh, and then, last of all, Rocky came by while I was in the cell to return my hat and my shades."
"The ones you lost, you mean."
"Right."
"And who, exactly, is Rocky?"
"Rocky Collins is more or less a fixture over at the Hole in the Wall. And as it turned out, I happened to leave my hat and shades at his place that first night I was in town. You remember that night?"
As if she could ever forget it. "So that's the whole story?"
"Yeah."
"Where's Sam now?"
"Home. Alone."
"And Oggie's really left town?"
Billy nodded. "He took off in his Eldorado. Probably for Tahoe or Reno. He likes to go both places and gamble, from what I heard."
"And Delilah?"
"She's still over at the motel."
It sounded so sad. Delilah at the motel and Sam at home, each of them all alone. "They'll probably work it out in the end, don't you think?"
He shrugged. "Who can say?"
The mood seemed so heavy suddenly. She tried to lighten it by teasing, "And you were quite the hero." She reached across and put her hand on his arm, right below his rolled-up sleeve. "You and your nice, big jar of maraschino cherries."
Before she finished the sentence, she recognized her mistake.
His eyes changed. She saw heat in them. At the same time, she felt as if all the breath had fled right out of her body. The rain on the roof sounded louder, more insistent, suddenly. And Billy's eyes looked way too soft.
Very carefully, Prudence withdrew her hand. They sat for a moment, listening to the rain and the beautiful, haunting music on the stereo.
At last, Billy said, "You do hide behind those glasses, don't you Prue?"
How many times had he asked her that, now? Several times, surely. And each time, she'd felt invaded. Offended. Insulted.
Because it was true.
"Tell me why."
Why. She thought of her mother, in the bathroom, putting on her makeup, spending hours on her hair. And of all her mother's boyfriends, who had started eyeing Randi when Randi was barely in her teens. And of herself -- hiding, yes -- behind her glasses, her hair pulled back so tight it hurt sometimes. Safe from men and their hungry eyes.
"Come on," Billy coaxed. "You can do it."
Prudence stared at Billy, wondering when the moment had come that she had started to like him, trying to remember that he was bad Billy Jones, a rouser and carouser, a seducer of women, born wild and not meant to be tamed.
"Come on," he coaxed.
And she found herself confessing hesitantly, "There's ... a game that women play."
"A game?"
"For men."
"Women play a game for men."
"Well, I mean they play it to attract men. They ... dress provocatively and they make themselves up just so. When women play the game, they aim all their energy at men, at pleasing them. At making men want them. My mother played that game. It ate up her whole life. And Randi ... she was a master at it. But in the end, I think the game controlled her. In the end, when people looked at her, they didn't see what a beautiful person she was. They only saw the game."
"Maybe she wanted it that way."
"I don't believe that. I really think she wanted more. But she didn't know how to get it. She was trapped by the game, like most women are."
"And what about you, Prue?"
"I told you. I'm just someone who doesn't want to play the game at all. I want to live my life with dignity. I want fulfilling work and good friends. And to do the right thing by my sister's little boy. Is that too much to ask?"
"Naw," he said, his voice low and tender. "Not too much. Not too much at all." He leaned closer. "If anything, I'd say it wasn't enough."
"It's enough."
"But what if you could have more? Wouldn't you like more?"
"No."
"Prue. More is always better than enough. And everyone wants more, no matter what they say."
"Not me."
"I don't believe that." He had her backed against the arm of the sofa again, just like last night.
She hardened her expression, stiffened her spine. "You're pushing me, Billy."
Slowly that devil's smile appeared on his lips. "I am. It's a fact. I'm in your face and in your space."
"Back off." She bit off each word sharply and clearly.
And he did. He withdrew to his half of the sofa, though when he got there, he went on watching her in a way that made her want to get up and leave.
Prudence folded her hands in her lap and looked down at them. In her mind's eye, she saw Nellie Anderson's pinched face, heard her dire warnings: "Just be careful around that man. I warn you. He will toy with you if you let him..."
She asked, very carefully, "What are you trying to do here, Billy?"
"What do you think I'm trying to do?"
She smoothed her hair, straightened her blouse. "If I told you, you would only laugh."
"Tell me anyway."
She shot him a challenging glance. "If you keep after me, I will. I really will."
"Good. Go on. Hit me with it."
She made herself look at him full-on, right into his glittering green eyes. "It appears to me that you are trying to seduce me."
That shut him up. For a minute, anyway. He gaped at her.
And then he threw back his head and laughed. It was a deep, rolling laugh and it lasted a long time. Prudence waited it out. Eventually the laugh wore down.
He gave her one of those long, insolent looks of his, a look that started at the crown of her head, went down to her shoes and then back up again. "Seduce you, huh?"
"Yes." She refused to be cowed by his ridicule. "Yes, I believe that you are trying to seduce me. Am I wrong?"
He pretended to consider, making a big show of furrowing his brow and scratching his chin -- carefully, because of the bruise there. She wanted to demand again, Am I wrong? But somehow she made herself sit there and wait. Finally, when her patience felt stretched right to the breaking point, he answered her.
"No, Prue. I'd say you pretty much hit the old nail right square on the head."
Once the words were out of his mouth, Billy felt pretty damn stunned that he'd said them. After all, he'd only put it together himself just a minute before. She'd asked if he was trying to seduce her. And it had been like one of those light bulbs going on over the head of a character in a cartoon.
He wanted to get it on with Prue.
He wanted to take off her glasses and let down that red hair. He wanted to get naked with her. And he wanted to do it ASAP, because ASAP was always how he wanted the things he wanted.
All those sappy strings were irritating him. "Where's the damn remote?"
"Right here." Prudence picked it up from the coffee table and handed it to him. He pointed it at the stereo and the music stopped. Now only the rain filled the silence between them.
He tossed the remote down. "So, what do you say?" He felt impatient with her, suddenly. She didn't look as if she was going to be throwing herself into his arms anytime soon. "You don't want to be seduced?"
She blew out a weary breath. "Oh, Billy."
Damn, she was an irritating woman. "Oh, Billy what?"
"I thought I just explained it to you. I don't want to play any of those games."
The damn rain bugged him, the way it drummed away. No change in rhythm, just a steady, nerve-flaying, never-ending roll.
"Billy, are you listening to me?"
"Who turned off the music?"
"You did."
He grabbed the remote and pointed it. Something livelier this time, he thought. A little zydeco. Seconds later, a bouncy accordion riff drowned out the rain.
She was watching him, looking grim. He suggested, "It could just be fun, you know?"
She hitched in a gaspy little breath. "Fun?"
"Yeah. Fun. You're a woman. I'm a man. I'm single, so are you. We're both one hundred percent free of entanglements and that means no one gets hurt."
"But I just told you---"
He put up both hands, determined to get through to her. "No. Wait. Listen."
"This is insane."
"No. It's not insane. It's natural. It's good. You don't want to play any games. And I don't, either. You can be ... just you. I don't want you to dress any other way, or to paint your face. It's true I wouldn't mind if you would let down your hair and get a new pair of glasses. But even if you won't make those two tiny concessions, I gotta admit it. I still got a thing for you. You get to me. You ... irritate me. But in a way that makes me want to get down. So what do you say we go with it? Right now would be fine with me."
She just went on staring at him.
He said, "Your mouth's hanging open, Prue."
She snapped it shut, then instructed, "Find someone else."
He tried to stay patient, though patience was not an activity at which he excelled. "That's not the point. It's not just ... anyone. I've been there and done that. It gets old, I'm telling you. No. It's strange, it's impossible. But it's you. You get to me. I thought it was because I hated you. But now I see it was only attraction. That I was fighting it. And that's pretty stupid. I mean, why fight it? Why not just go with it and see what happens?"
"Billy, I do not want to have an affair with you."
He decided maybe the zydeco was a little too lively. He pointed the remote again. Got Elvis. "Love Me Tender."
"Billy, do you hear me?"
"I hear you, Prue." He dragged in a breath. "So I guess you're saying, not tonight, huh?"
"I'm saying not ever." Her eyes looked wide and scared and her face was flushed. A few strands of hair had escaped their scraped-back imprisonment and curled along her forehead and at her temples.
He said, "I really do want to kiss you. Maybe we could start with that. With one kiss."
"No."
He pointed the remote once more. For quiet. Into the silence and the endless drumming of the rain, he said, "You're really telling me no."
"That's exactly what I'm telling you."
"Not just for tonight. For good. Period. Zippo."
"Exactly."
"This could create tension."
She jumped to her feet and threw up her hands. "Tension? There's already tension. Do you think it's a picnic for me, having you here?"
He sat back and considered. "Well, I never really thought about how it's been for you."
"Oh, I'm sure you haven't." She windmilled her hands. "You never think. You just ... act on your appetites. You get an urge and follow it. Feel an itch and you scratch. You never think of consequences. The morning after does not exist for you. For you it's always the night before!"
He grabbed one of her flying hands. "Prue."
"Don't!" She tried to jerk away.
He held on. He liked holding her hand. It felt good. Right. "Prue. Come on. If you're not interested, you're not interested. It's okay." It wasn't, not really. But she didn't have to know that. Her face was all screwed up tight. "Are you going to start crying on me?"
Her sweet, wide mouth quivered and her eyeballs had that swimmy look behind the lenses of her glasses. "No, I am not."
"Sit down." He tugged on her hand.
She just stood there. He thought of Jesse, that afternoon, hunkered down on the sidewalk, refusing to budge.
"Come on." He tugged again.
And she just sort of crumpled back down beside him. Once she was seated, she jerked her hand away, then scooted over against the armrest and held onto it as if it might save her from his evil self.
"Prue, look---"
She cut him off. "You know my sister loved you! She told you she loved you."
"Huh?"
"Randi told you she loved you. Admit it. She did."
He wondered what it was about women. When they were upset, they felt no obligation to stick to the subject.
"Billy. She told you. She told me she told you."
"So?"
"You made such an issue out of how she dumped you. But we both know why she dumped you. Because she told you how she felt about you, and you didn't care. So she said that she wanted to stop seeing you. "
He wished he hadn't turned off the stereo. He picked up the remote again -- and she shot him one of those just-you-try-it looks of hers.
He tossed it down. "Why the hell are we talking about Randi?"
"You know why. You can't just ... tell me you want to sleep with me, and then not face up to what you did to Randi."
"I can't? Watch me. And, by the way, sleeping with you wasn't really what I had in mind."
"Oh, right. Fine. Play word games with me now."
He'd had about enough. He stood. "Look. This was a bad idea. Just forget I even brought it up, will you?"
She stuck that nose of hers high in the air. "I'd be glad to."
He said, "We'll get through the rest of my two weeks, somehow. And then we'll make some decisions concerning Jesse. And that will be that."
"Fine. Good night."
He started for the guest room.
"Wait."
He should have known. She just couldn't leave bad enough alone. Slowly he turned to face her again.
"Admit it. Randi told you she loved you."
He would have slapped his own forehead in frustration, if he wasn't afraid he'd open the gash there again.
"Admit it, Billy. I just want to hear you admit it."
"All right. Fine. She told me she loved me."
"If she dumped you, if she didn't tell you about Jesse, it was because you didn't care. Admit it. You didn't care."
He wasn't admitting that. No way. "I did care."
"You didn't."
He looked at her straight-on and he said it out flat. "I cared. Just not the way she wanted me to. And she gave me no choice about Jesse, no choice at all. You know that as well as I do."
That reached her. She had to look away.
He laid a final point on her. "Randi was a hell of a woman. But she was no candidate for sainthood. Maybe you just ought to face that, and move on."
He thought she sighed. But she wouldn't look at him. He turned and left her there.
\*
Prudence waited until he closed the door to his room. Then she climbed the stairs. She looked in on Jesse. He slept like an angel, in the bottom bunk of the bed his father had bought for him.
She went to the bathroom, filled the tub and took a long, hot bath to try to relax. But it didn't do much good. She ended up lying awake half the night, putting on her glasses now and then to see how late it was getting, thinking about the things Billy had said and telling herself she'd put him firmly in his place.
He certainly wouldn't be making any more passes at her. If nothing else, in confronting him about Randi, she'd completely turned him off. And that was good. That was fine.
She had better things to do with herself than provide some transitory sexual amusement for bad Billy Jones.
In the morning, she woke late. She looked at the clock and saw it was after ten. Downstairs, she discovered the note waiting on the table, stuck between the salt and pepper shakers: "We went to Grass Valley. Don't worry, took diapers. Back by five. Will feed no junk food."
\*
By eleven, minus Jesse to care for and Billy to argue with, Prudence began to feel pretty much at loose ends. She started to call Delilah and Sam's house, wanting to talk to Oggie, who always cheered her up. But then she remembered that Oggie had left town. She hung up before she even dialed.
She called Eden, who assured her that Jared was fine. "He's even gone into work today. He's not a man to let a knot on his head get him down. And how's the family hero?"
It took Prudence a second or two to realize that Eden referred to Billy. "Oh, he's fine, too. A little beat-up, but fine."
"I have to tell you, he showed up just in time yesterday."
"Yes. So I heard." She could see him, in her mind's eye, lounging on the sofa last night, telling her the whole story of how he'd knocked poor Sam out cold.
Eden asked, "How's he been, the past few days?"
"Pardon me?"
"You were worried, about his drinking."
"Oh, that. He's been ... good. He's stayed sober and he's put in some real effort with Jesse."
Eden laughed. "So there's hope then? For him as a father."
"Yes. Yes, I suppose there is."
They talked for a few minutes about Sam and Delilah. Eden said Delilah had stopped in to see that Jared was all right. Jared had told her to go back to her husband, and Delilah had walked out in a huff. Eden added that Delilah had never been one to sit still for advice from her hell-raising brothers.
After the call to Eden, Prudence decided to walk over to Main Street. The rain had stopped sometime in the night. Outside, it was clear and cold.
She went to Lily's Café and had a sandwich. All the talk there centered on Sam and Delilah. Prudence learned that, in spite of everything, Delilah had gone to work that morning -- she taught fourth and fifth grade at the North Magdalene School. Also, Sam had opened up his store right on time. The clerk, Sharlee, was still on the job.
"Business as usual," Linda Lou Beardsly was heard to whisper. "Except for the distinct possibility of d-i-v-o-r-c-e in the future."
After lunch, Prudence wandered into the shop next door, Santino's Barber, Beauty and Variety. A small dark-haired woman smiled at her from behind the register counter when Prudence entered the store. "Hi, how you doing? I'm Maria. Santino, like the front window says."
Prudence murmured hello and glanced toward the back of the shop. She could see two barber's chairs there, a sink and a hair dryer.
"You need a cut?" asked Maria.
"Oh, no. I didn't..."
Maria emerged from behind the counter. "I tell you true, I'm bored to death. You do me a favor, let me cut your hair. I give you a break on the price."
"Um, well, I..."
"Come into the light. Let me see." She took Prudence by the arm and led her back to the barber's chairs, where a big window let in the afternoon sun and the overhead lights were much brighter than in the rest of the shop. "Sit. Sit here." Prudence allowed herself to be pushed into one of the chairs. Maria stood behind her and began removing the pins that held back her hair. Absurdly Prudence found herself thinking of that night in Billy's club, when he had stolen her glasses and let down her hair.
"Not bad," Maria declared.
Prudence smiled to herself. That night in the club, one of Billy's friends had said the same thing.
"What's so funny?" Maria wanted to know.
"Oh, nothing. Really. Nothing at all."
"We shorten it," Maria murmured. "Four or five inches. Take it up some in back. What do you say?"
"Well, I..."
"A nice shampoo first, a little head massage. So relaxing. You'll see." Maria was already guiding her out of the chair, leading her to the shampoo sink.
Half an hour later, Maria hooked her blow dryer back in its rack on the wall by the mirror. "So. What do you think?"
Prudence's hair barely touched her shoulders now. It fell, smooth and sleek, from a center part. "It's just so ... red."
"A beautiful red." Maria handed Prudence a hand mirror, "Like dark fire. And this cut is good for the shape of your face."
Prudence used the hand mirror to check the back. "You think so?"
"I know so. I'm the expert, right? But let me give you a little bit of advice."
Prudence lowered the mirror and looked at Maria.
"Those glasses, they gotta go. You pay a visit to my cousin, Benny, in Grass Valley. He's an optometrist. He'll fix you up good. Wait right here. I'll get you his card."
Prudence left Santino's at a little past one. She went home and sat down in the kitchen for a moment and thought about brewing a pot of tea. Instead she called the number on the card Maria had given her. Benny Anselmo's assistant said he had a
Prudence said, "Well, maybe we should just forget this."
"Miss Wilding, that's certainly up to you."
Prudence closed her eyes, slid her thumb and forefinger under the nosepiece of her glasses and massaged the bridge of her nose.
"Miss Wilding, are you there?"
Billy was wrong about a lot of things, she thought. But probably not about her glasses. They were plain ugly. And it was time she stopped using them to hide from the world.
"Miss Wilding, will we see you at three today, or not?"
She sucked in a deep breath and forced out "Yes."
Billy knew the minute he saw Prue's new haircut that he was making headway, after all. Over dinner, he told her it looked good.
She said, "Thank you," as if the words caused her pain coming out.
He asked, "What made you decide to let it down?" as if he didn't know.
She said, "I thought it was probably about time. Pass the squash."
Jesse fell asleep two minutes after Billy put him in his bed. Now that was a record. But the kid was beat. Billy had kept him hopping all day. They'd visited two playgrounds and gone to McDonald's for lunch. Jesse had climbed around on the play-sets and dug in the sandboxes until he was plain wiped out. Yeah, Billy decided, standing over his sleeping son, holding the Martin on which he'd been playing variations on the theme of "Puff, the Magic Dragon," he just might turn out to be an okay dad, after all.
At
"Good book?"
She looked up. For half a second, he dared to hope she might crack a smile. Her newly liberated hair shone so pretty in the light from the lamp beside her. He wanted to run his hand down it, from the crown of her head to where it brushed her shoulders.
Then her face pruned up. "You know, the music you're always playing for Jesse is great. Children love and need the sound of music. But you have to make a point to read to him, too. Most studies show that a child who is read to consistently learns to read and write much earlier and with much less effort. And the state of a child's reading and writing skills are a direct measure of his success in his future working life."
"Thank you, Dr. Wilding."
She sighed. "Will you just try to read to him more?"
"Sure. I can do that."
"Good." She looked down at her book again.
He stood there, staring at her bent head, feeling dismissed. Then he turned on his heel and went to his room. He got his keys, put on his hat, his shades and a jacket. After that, he returned to the arch that led to the living room and leaned there, just as before. "Look. I think I'll go out for a while."
That got her attention. Her head snapped up. "Go out? Where?" He knew just what she was imagining: booze, naked women and broken furniture.
He shrugged. "Hell if I know. Maybe I'll go over and see how Sam's holding up. Can you watch Jesse?"
"I am his guardian." She spoke each word distinctly, as if making some major point. "Of course I'll watch him."
"Terrific. Do you think I'm old enough now to have my own key?" She'd been off somewhere that afternoon when be and Jesse got home. They'd waited on the porch, playing peekaboo and patty-cake, for twenty minutes until she showed up.
"Of course." Her face remained pursed tight. If she didn't watch it, it would probably get stuck that way. She set her book aside and stood. "I'll get you one." She had to walk past him to reach the stairs. He made a point of watching her go by because he knew it bugged her.
But then, once she disappeared from the upper landing, he felt edgy and discouraged. He didn't really understand what she did to him. She got to him. In ways he'd never been gotten to before. Last night, they'd had fun together, during that too-short time while he was telling her about Sam and Delilah and the fight at the saloon. Or at least, he'd thought they were having fun. But then, as soon as he admitted that he wanted to get naked with her, she'd turned on him. She'd given him nothing but grief from there on in.
What in hell did he see in her? She had way too much honor and integrity for someone like him. Most of the time she just plain annoyed him. She made him want to annoy her right back.
However, in the past couple of days, he'd discovered he wanted to do a lot more than irritate her. He wanted to reach out and touch her. To smooth a hand down her silky hair, to pull her pretty body close. To unbutton all her buttons and see what exactly she looked like under there. To take away her glasses and have her stare up at him through those half-blind sky blue eyes.
In short, he wanted to get started on the love affair they were going to have. And if she'd only stop aggravating him, he would make another move on her.
He heard her footsteps on the stairs. He turned and watched her descend. At the bottom, she held out a key. "Here."
He took the key and headed for the front door, pausing at the threshold to advise, "Don't wait up."
She gave him a tight, mean little smile. "Don't you worry. I won't."
Once he was out in the cold night air, he wondered what to do next. He considered a visit to the Hole in the Wall, and then rejected the idea almost before he thought of it. He was feeling too uneasy. And when he felt uneasy, he got an urge to howl. When he howled, he tended to drink too much.
And if he drank too much, Prue would throw him out. That, he couldn't afford. For Jesse's sake, mostly. And beyond that, for the sake of the father he was learning to be.
So howling was a no go. He shivered a little and flipped up the collar of his jacket. And then he thought of Sam, probably sitting all alone in that house out there on Bullfinch Lane. That first day Billy came to town, when he'd been hot on the trail of the old man, it hadn't taken him more than ten minutes or so to get out there from the bar.
Yeah, all right. Maybe he would go see Sam.
\*
Sam took so long to come to the door that Billy almost turned around and left. But at last, the longhaired giant appeared.
"Yeah," he said, staring blankly at Billy as if he'd never seen him before. "What do you want?"
Billy shrugged. "A beer, maybe. How 'bout that?"
"A beer," Sam repeated. He looked completely dazed -- the walking wounded in the aftermath of a major natural disaster.
Billy decided he shouldn't stay. "Look. Bad timing, huh? I'll come back some other---"
Sam cut in. "No. Don't go." And then he just stood there.
Billy really felt sorry for the poor guy. "What you do is you step back and ask me in."
Sam stepped back. "Come on in."
Sam led him into a living area, with a switchback stairway leading to the second floor, high, angled ceilings, and lots of full bookcases. Billy liked the place immediately. It was one of those houses that invited a man to sit down and relax. The furniture looked comfortable and there were lots of carvings around. Sam's work, he was pretty sure. Oggie had told him once that Sam was a real artist with a whittling knife.
Sam stared at the room as if he didn't recognize it. "Maybe we ought to just go in the kitchen, all right?"
"Hey. Fine with me."
They went to the kitchen and sat at a big wood table. Sam got a couple of bottled Buds from the fridge and popped off the caps. "You need a glass?"
Billy shook his head.
Sam pulled out the chair across from Billy, dropped into it and slid Billy's beer over to him. Billy took a long pull, then removed his shades and his hat and set them on the table. He gestured with the bottle. "How's your head?"
Sam frowned, not picking up the reference through the fog of his misery. Billy felt another surge of pity for the man. Delilah better come back to him soon, or he'd end up forgetting his own damn name. Finally Sam caught on. "Right." He felt in his hair, for the spot Billy had popped him. "Tender. But no big deal."
"Glad to hear it." Billy drank again. When he set the bottle down, he wondered what the hell to say next. At this rate a twenty-minute visit would come out feeling like a year.
Right then, the doorbell rang. Sam jumped up. "That might be Lilah." He flew out of the kitchen, headed for the front door.
Billy sat sipping his beer, grateful toward whoever it was. He could use a little help here, in keeping the old conversational ball on the move. And if it was Sam's runaway wife, he'd have a fine excuse to take his leave.
A moment later, Sam reappeared, followed by a small, early-twentyish blonde, a pretty little thing with a round, dimpled Kewpie-doll face. She carried a large rectangular casserole dish covered in foil. She was talking a mile a minute, as she trotted along in the giant's wake. "Sam, I'm only worried about you, that's all. I was sitting at home, thinking how you most likely weren't eating right, and it occurred to me that maybe I should just do something about that and so I---" Right then she caught sight of Billy. "Oh. You didn't say you had company."
Billy looked at Sam. No help there. The big man had stopped over by the sink and was staring blindly into the middle distance. Billy stood. "Hi. I'm Billy."
"Oh. Yes. I think I've heard about you. Billy Jones, right?"
"Yeah." He offered to shake.
The blonde held out her casserole and giggled. "Sorry. I do have my hands full. I'm Sharlee." The husband-stealing clerk. He should have known. "Pleased to meet you," she simpered. "I hope you're going to be all right."
He wondered what the hell she meant by that.
She giggled some more. "Your face, all those bruises."
He touched the bump under his eye, which was already going down. "Oh, right." He dropped into his chair again. "I'll be fine."
"Well, good then." Little Sharlee bustled over to the stove. "I'm just going to heat this up a tad, and then--- Sam, you haven't eaten yet, have you?" She set the casserole down and began fiddling with the oven knobs. "Sam?"
The big man blinked. "Huh?"
"I asked, have you eaten?"
"Eaten?" Sam's brows furrowed. "No, not lately, I don't think."
"Oh, I just knew it. You must keep your strength up, Sam. Good nutrition is the key to getting through a difficult time." She whipped the foil off the casserole.
Just then, they all heard the sound of a door shutting. "Now, what was that?" Sharlee asked brightly as she put the dish into the oven.
Billy said, "Sounded like the front door," just as Sam breathed, "Lilah," in equal parts agony and longing.
They hard footsteps, coming through the hall and dining room. And then, there she was: Delilah Fletcher, standing in the doorway, wearing some gypsy-looking swirly red skirt and a red jacket, her thick, caterpillar-curly black hair sticking out loose and wild around her face. "Sam, I---"
Right then, the oven door slammed shut. Sharlee squeaked, "Oh!"
Delilah's head whipped around. She saw her rival, standing at her own stove. Her creamy skin went pink. All at once she looked fit to chew nails. What a woman, Billy thought. He felt a swift welling of pride, to know that he could call her his cousin.
"Lilah," Sam said again, on a whisper of pure yearning.
Delilah looked toward Sam once more. Her face seemed to crumple. "I thought we could talk, Sam. I thought maybe..."
"Lilah, listen." Sam took a step in her direction.
She put up both hands. "No, Sam. No." She gathered herself. "You just tell me. What is that woman doing in my house?"
"Well," Sharlee started to say, rubbing her hands together. "It's a difficult time for Sam and I just came over to see that---"
Delilah cut her off with a chopping motion of her arm. "No." She pointed at her rival. "You, I don't listen to. You, I don't hear. I want my husband to tell me, I want him to explain."
Billy stood. "Actually we were just leaving."
Delilah's hot gaze swung on Billy. "What?"
"I said, Sharlee and I are going to go now." He went over and took Sharlee by the elbow.
She tried to jerk away. "I'm heating a casserole here!"
"Leave it. We are out of here. Now." He half pushed, half dragged her toward the door to the dining room. Delilah had the sense to step aside when they got to her. "Thanks for the beer, Sam," Billy said over his shoulder.
Sam muttered something indistinguishable in reply. "Wait." Delilah's voice stopped Billy in midstride.
He turned, keeping a good grip on the uncooperative Sharlee. "Yeah?"
"Did you bring her here?" Delilah's black eyes burned with accusation.
Billy shook his head. "She came by herself. And Sam didn't invite her. When the doorbell rang, he thought it might be you."
The fire and rage seemed to flow out of Delilah, then. She slumped against the door frame. Behind her, Sam said her name once more. She turned to him. "Oh, Sam..."
Sharlee was still squirming, making little, yippy complaining sounds. Billy headed for the door again. She dragged her feet all the way, but somehow he managed to hustle her out of there.
She started crying before he could get her into her little compact car that waited on the street behind his Cherokee. "Oh, I only wanted to help. I only wanted to do something nice for Sam. I ... care for Sam. He's been so good to me, so patient with me on the job. And she doesn't appreciate him. She's a cold woman. She's forty, at least. And she never gave him any children. It's all over town, everyone's talking about it. She doesn't deserve him. She doesn't even begin to understand the needs of a man like Sam. She---"
There was more in the same vein. Billy tuned it out as he tried to decide what the hell to do with her. If he put her in her car, she'd only sit there behind the wheel, blubbering away. She might even decide to wander back into the house. Or Delilah might come out again, or glance out the front window. Anyway he looked at it, he only saw more hell to pay.
"Oh, Sam, Sam," Sharlee chanted between hiccups and sobs. "Sam, why won't you let me help you? Sam, why won't you see me as the woman I am?"
Billy led her back to the Cherokee and boosted her into the passenger seat. She went on wailing and jabbering as he buckled her in. "I am no one, I have no one. I came to this town hoping to make a new start. But there's no new start for me. Oh, Sam, Sam, you were my new start!"
"Where do you live?" Billy asked, after he'd climbed into the driver's seat and started the engine.
"Live, live. Where do I live? How will I live? Who am I? Who will ever care?"
He flipped open the glove box, shoved a few CDs out of the way and found the little package of Kleenex he'd stuck in there a while back. He handed it to her.
"Thank you. Oh, thank you." She managed to get a tissue out and blow her nose resoundingly. "You're nice. A nice man."
It was the first time in his conscious memory that anyone had called him nice. He couldn't decide whether he liked it or not. He asked again, "Sharlee, where do you live?"
She muttered an address on Pine. He put the Cherokee in gear and steered it out onto the main part of the street.
As he drove through the darkness, Sharlee alternately sobbed and blew her nose and bemoaned the emptiness of her life. When he pulled to a stop in front of the small, rather run-down cottage at the address she'd given him, she turned to him. "Thank you. I heard so many terrible things about you. Now I know never to trust what other people say." She paused, to sob and sniffle. "Tell Sam goodbye for me, please. I won't be bothering him anymore. After tonight, I'll never bother anyone again." She popped herself out of her seat belt and leaned on her door.
Billy watched her as she started up the concrete walk, thinking that her chatter could drive a man bonkers, but she really did seem like someone who needed a friend.
And he hadn't liked the sound of her final remark. It sat on his mind, heavy and ugly with meanings he hated to let himself understand: After tonight, I'll never bother anyone again...
He pushed open his door. "Sharlee. Wait up."
She stopped in the middle of the walk, a small, forlorn figure, shivering in the light of the waning moon. He jumped down from the Cherokee and ran to her side. "Look. I don't think you should be alone tonight."
She stared at him, her eyes wide and wet, her mouth working in misery. And then she let out a loud wail and threw herself against his chest. "Oh, I can't ask you! It isn't right! I'm not your problem, not at all!"
He gave her an awkward pat on the back. "Hey. You come on, now. I'll take you home with me." Prue probably wouldn't be thrilled about this. But she'd no more be able to turn away poor, pitiful Sharlee than he could right then.
The porch light of the house next door to Sharlee's popped on just as Billy was leading her toward the Jeep again. He paused, caught by something familiar about that house.
And then he got it: it looked a lot like Prue's house. Right then, a tall, skinny woman in a blue robe with a blue hair net on her head came out the front door.
"What is going on out here?" Nellie Anderson demanded.
He should have known. He herded Sharlee toward the Jeep, calling over his shoulder as he went, "Nothing, Mrs. Anderson. Everything's under control."
"Is that you, Billy Jones?"
"Yes, Mrs. Anderson, it's me."
"What are you doing to that girl?"
Sharlee piped up. "It's all right, Mrs. Anderson." She paused to try to control a sob. "He's ... helping me."
"Oh, my dear. Help from him is the last thing you need."
Billy hustled Sharlee to the passenger side and pushed her in. Then he hurried to get in on his side.
"Billy Jones, do you hear me? I will call the sheriff's office!"
He jumped in. "Good night, Mrs. Anderson!" He pulled the door shut and drove off.
\*
Prue must have heard them coming up the walk. She pulled open the front door before they even got there. And then she didn't say a word. She just looked very slowly from Billy to Sharlee and back again.
Sharlee, still clinging and crying for all she was worth, gave an extra loud sob. "I...I needed help. And Billy was there..."
Prue moved back. "I suppose you'd better come in."
Billy pushed Sharlee inside and kicked the door shut. "This is Sharlee. Sharlee---?"
"St...St...Stubblehill," the girl said, stuttering to try to control her sobs.
Billy added, "Sharlee is Sam's clerk."
"Oh," Prue said, as understanding dawned. "I see."
Billy explained, "There was some trouble, at Sam's house. Sharlee came by after I showed up. And then Delilah arrived next." This description of recent events sent Sharlee into a fresh fit of weeping. She grabbed Billy's jacket front and pinned herself against him again.
"Sharlee is ... real upset," Billy said.
"Yes. I can see that."
"I thought we could put her in my room."
Prue started to get pinched-faced. "Your room?"
He gave her a look of high-principled disdain. "And I can take Jesse's upper bunk."
She blushed -- in embarrassment over how she'd misjudged him, he knew. "Oh. Yes. All right, that makes sense."
He peeled Sharlee off the front of him and gave her a gentle push. She fell into Prue's arms. "Oh, oh. Thank you, thank you," the girl whimpered, clinging as hard to Prue as she had to Billy.
Prue immediately did what women do. She rubbed and patted and made soothing sounds. "There now, come on now. It's all right. It's going to be all right..."
"You settle her down a little. I'll go ahead and change the sheets on that bed for her."
"There, there..." Prue paused to give him a nod. "Yes. Change the sheets." And then she began leading Sharlee toward the sofa. "Come on, sit down. Here are some fresh tissues. You cry it out. And then, if you'd like, we can talk a while."
The phone started ringing.
"I'll get it," Billy said. Prue didn't even hear him. She was too busy hugging Sharlee and urging her to let it all hang out.
It was Jack Roper on the phone. "What the hell's going on, Billy? I just got a call from Mrs. Anderson. She said---"
"Let me guess. That I kidnapped her neighbor."
"Something along those lines."
Billy briefly explained the events of the evening.
When he was finished, Jack suggested wryly, "As an officer of the law, I'd advise you to avoid all contact with Mrs. Anderson."
"I'm trying, Jack," Billy said. "I truly am."
\*
Sharlee took an hour to stop sobbing. And then, intermittently breaking down again, she told Prudence her life story. Her father had died when she was very young. She'd been raised in Southern California by an indifferent mother and a stepfather who favored his own natural children over her. She'd completed two years at business college. She'd come to North Magdalene to make a new start.
"But I can see now, I'm never going to fit in here. Sam never did fall in love with me at all. He was just trying to be nice to me, to help me out, since I worked for him and I was new in town. I understand that now, after seeing the way he looked at that awful wife of his tonight. And I can see the writing on the wall. I'm not a complete fool. Even though Sam didn't touch me, I've ended up the bad woman anyway. Everyone thinks I'm some kind of husband-stealer. And that wife of Sam's, she's a Jones. Everyone will take her side. No one goes against a Jones in this town. Oh, it's just not going to work for me here. Like always, I've failed."
Prudence sat on Billy's freshly made bed with the girl, hugging her and passing her tissues and listening.
"I have to leave this town. I have to get out of here."
"Sharlee, listen. Don't try to make any decisions tonight. You'll get some sleep. Things will come clearer in the morning."
"Yes, you're right. I know you're right..."
\*
It was a little past one in the morning when Prudence finally left the guest room. Alone in the dim dining room, she paused to take off her glasses and massage the bridge of her nose. When she put them back on again, her gaze fell on the roses Billy had given her. They sat in a cut crystal vase on the dining-room table. They were halfway open now. Prudence smiled, looking at them.
She went to the living room and turned off the light. Then she climbed the stairs, ready for the comfort of her bed.
Outside the door to Jesse's room, she paused. And then, as quietly as she had closed the door on the sleeping Sharlee, she turned the knob.
The light from the hall spilled in. If she wasn't careful, she would wake the two in the bunk bed across the room.
Quickly and quietly, she slipped inside and closed the door all but a crack. Then she tiptoed over to where father and son slept. Jesse lay sideways, his head against the wall and his little toes hanging off the side of the bed. She gently straightened him up and then covered him with the blankets he'd kicked down. She indulged herself and kissed him, very lightly, on his warm, soft cheek. And then she rose and turned for the door.
"You gonna tuck me in, too, Prue?" The whisper came out of the darkness of the upper bunk.
She smiled in spite of herself and whispered back. "Not a chance."
"Sharlee said I was nice, Prue. What do you think of that?"
"She was right. You were nice to her."
"Could this be a trend?"
The question sounded rhetorical, so she didn't attempt to answer it. She went on toward the door.
Just before she slipped out, he murmured, "G'night, Prue."
"Good night, Billy." She slid around the door and out into the hall.
\*
The next morning, Sharlee called Sam and told him she thought it would be best if she didn't work for him anymore.
"Well," Sharlee said, after she'd told Sam goodbye and hung up. "That's that, I suppose. He was very nice. He said he ... understood. And that he'd make up a final paycheck for me. It'll be ready for me to pick up anytime after eleven at the store." Her lower lip quivered a little. "He left my casserole in the oven too long. It burned to a crisp and then he ran cold water on it and the dish cracked."
Billy, sitting at the kitchen table nearby, could see that the tears were on their way. To forestall a whole new shower of them, he suggested, "Come on, I'll take you over to pick up your car, how's that?"
"And then I have to go to my house, don't I?" She sank forlornly into a chair, her lower lip quivering away.
Prue jumped in. "Well, if you'd like to come back here---"
Sharlee didn't even let her finish making the offer. "Oh, yes. I would. Please."
Billy shot Prue a sideways why'd-you-do-that? glance. Her gaze slid away so fast, he knew she understood.
"Uh, yes." Prue forged on with it. "We can discuss your options. And you can come to a decision about where you'd like to go next."
\*
Billy ended up going over to the store to pick up Sharlee's check for her. She felt it would be too difficult to face Sam again, after all that had happened.
At the store, Sam handed him the check -- and the hat and shades he'd left at Sam's house -- and thanked him for stepping in and taking Sharlee out of the picture the night before.
"Did you work things out with Delilah?" Billy asked.
Sam, who had seemed reasonably alert when Billy entered the store, got that faraway look in his eyes again. "We talked. But nothing's solved." He looked down at the register counter, then off toward a barrel of shovels that stood in a far corner. "She went back to her room at the motel." He shot a glance around the store, though they were the only two people there right then. When he spoke again, he leaned across the counter and pitched his voice low. "She says she feels like she's not woman enough anymore."
Billy remembered his cousin, dressed in red, standing in the kitchen doorway, her hair all wild around her face. "If she's not woman enough, I don't know who is."
Sam grunted. "Yeah. But all the same, she's killin' me with her damn doubts. She says those doubts are all about herself. But that isn't true. Those doubts of hers have spread wide enough to include me. She doubts me, too. She thinks I'm just gonna find another woman, one to have kids with. She doesn't trust me -- and how's a man supposed to live with that?"
These were not questions to which someone like Billy was likely to have answers. But he didn't much mind standing there, listening and nodding and shaking his head. Somehow, he'd become the guy that Sam could talk to. And he supposed that was okay with him.
Sam said, "And who says she couldn't have a kid, if she found someone else? All those damn tests we took came out showing there wasn't a thing wrong with either of us. But do I accuse her of lookin' elsewhere?"
Billy shook his head.
"Hell no, I do not," Sam answered his own question. "Maybe I got a few doubts of my own, you know? Maybe I wonder, am I man enough? But she's the woman here. And she thinks that makes her the only one with feelings. You know what I'm sayin'?"
Billy nodded.
Right then, the shop bell rang. Two men came in. Sam sucked in a breath and drew his huge shoulders back. "Thanks for listenin'."
"Anytime."
Sam dredged up a smile for his customers. "Can I help you folks?"
\*
Three days later, Sharlee was still sleeping in Billy's bed.
And Billy had had enough. Exactly one week remained of his visit. And then decisions would be made, changes would come.
Before his time was up, he wanted his damn bed back. And he wanted a chance to have that love affair with Prue. It was a chance he couldn't see himself getting with Sharlee underfoot all the time, looking forlorn and pondering her "options."
In one of their rare moments alone, he gave Prue clear instructions. "Get rid of her. Now. "
She cast him a long-suffering glance -- and Sharlee walked into the room.
Finally, on Friday, after he got Jesse into bed, he marched downstairs, where he found Sharlee on the sofa and Prue in the armchair. Sharlee, as usual, was babbling away.
"And I just, well, I know I should get myself motivated. I know I need to pack up my things and move on. And I intend to, Prudence. You know I do. Really soon."
Billy strode over and grabbed Prue's hand. "Come with me." He looked at Sharlee. "We need a little time. Alone." He tugged on Prue's hand and she actually got up.
Sharlee said, "Well, of course. I don't want to interrupt anything, I honestly don't. You just go ahead. You just---"
"Fine. We will." He pulled on Prue's hand again and she followed along behind him, up the stairs. When they got to the top, he asked, "Your room okay?"
Her eyes narrowed. Clearly, she didn't trust him anywhere near a bed.
"Oh, come on," he said.
"Well, all right."
He pulled her in there, shut the door and leaned against it, so she couldn't get away until he'd said what he had to say. He glanced around. The room reminded him of the inside of a cloud, all soft grays and different shades of white. She had a nice, wide four-poster bed, with a white lace canopy and a fluffy white quilt and lots of big, soft white pillows. The windows had white trim and almost-white lace curtains. On the walls she had pictures of flowers and botanical prints, all matted and framed, along with several photos of Randi and Jesse.
"This is nice," he told her.
"You got me in here to admire my room?"
He cast her a look of great patience. "Prue. She really has to go."
"Well, I know that, Billy. And actually, I have been thinking..."
Relief washed over him. "You have?"
"Maybe if we helped her to find a job..."
"That occurred to me, too. So I've already called Alexis -- the manager at my club? She'll take her on as a waitress."
Prue shook her head. "No, I think she'd be happier doing something else."
"Such as?"
"Well, she has a bookkeeping background. And she's told me she has a hunger to contribute something meaningful to the world." If Sharlee had a hunger, Billy doubted it was for meaningful work, but he had sense enough not to say that. Prue smiled, "Maybe the foundation."
"The foundation?"
"The Jesse Wilding Needy Children's Fund."
"Whatever you say."
"You disagree?"
"Hell, no."
"Billy, you just snorted."
"Look. If Sharlee wants meaningful work, let her have meaningful work. Especially meaningful work four hundred miles away from North Magdalene."
"I really think the foundation is the place for her."
"Fine."
"I'm sure, if I call, they can find a job for her."
"All right, then. The Needy Children's Fund it is. And tomorrow, we will all -- you, me, her and Jesse -- go over to her house and see that she gets packed up."
"Yes. That would be helpful to her, I'm sure."
Billy smiled. Prue looked good standing there, with the bed behind her. She'd look even better in the bed. But all in good time. "Prue, you're getting so agreeable all of a sudden."
"Well, it is time that Sharlee moved on."
"Amen," he said on a breath. "Let's go tell her what we have planned for her."
\*
"I'd rather work at Bad Billy's, I think," Sharlee said.
Prue looked a little hurt. "Why is that?"
"Well, no offense, Prudence, but the foundation thing seems pretty dry."
"Dry?"
"Yes. It sounds like serious work. Meaningful work, you know?"
"But you told me you felt you needed to find meaning in your life."
"Yeah, but later. Right now, after all I've been through, I need a little fun. I've been to Bad Billy's once or twice a couple of years ago, when I first turned twenty-one. It was hot. The waitresses wear sequins, right? And cowboy boots."
"You bet," Billy replied.
"Oh, yeah," Sharlee declared. "A job at Bad Billy's is just what I need right now."
Billy glanced at Prue. She shrugged. He smiled at Sharlee. "Alexis -- that's the manager -- said you could start Tuesday, so we'll have to get you packed up and on your way."
"Fine, fine. Good bands play there, too. I might meet a drummer or a bass player who needs a special lady to make his life complete. It's a whole new start. Thank you, thank you. You've given me hope and the will to go on..."
Sharlee left for Van Nuys two days later, pulling a rented trailer behind her car. "Thank you, thank you. I'll never forget you," she called out the window as she drove away.
"And Alexis will probably never forgive me," Prudence heard Billy mutter under his breath as they stood waving goodbye on the sidewalk in front of the little house Sharlee had rented.
"Bye, bye, bye!" Jesse called and began toddling off down the street after the retreating car.
Laughing, Prudence went to catch him. "Come back here. Sharlee's the one who's leaving, not us." She captured Jesse's hand and turned him in the right direction. As she did, she glanced toward Nellie's house. Sure enough, Nellie stood in the front window, peering through a gap in the curtains.
Billy chuckled. "Wave to her." He lifted his hand.
Jesse cheerfully imitated his father, flapping his hand at the woman in the window. "Bye, bye, bye!"
Nellie jumped back and the curtain dropped shut. By then, the car and trailer had disappeared beyond the intersection of Rambling Lane. Billy took Jesse's hand. "Come on. Let's go home."
Jesse went along willingly, chanting, "Home, home, home."
\*
Soon after they returned to the house, Prudence walked across the street to church. Nellie caught her on the steps right after the service.
"Oh, my dear. How are you holding up? I heard Billy brought that troubled young woman to stay in your house. I was there, you know, when he abducted her."
"Excuse me?"
"I was there, the night he forced her into his car and---"
"Billy did not force anything on Sharlee. She was very upset and he didn't want her to be alone. So he brought her to my house."
"I'm sure he told you that."
"Nellie, that was how it happened."
"Whatever you want to believe, my dear. I heard she was leaving town, though."
"I thought you saw her leaving, Nellie."
"Yes, well. I like to know what's going on with my neighbors."
"I noticed."
"And I must say, it's good that girl is gone. Nothing but a home-wrecker, that one." Nellie shook her head, then put on a sugary smile. "And where is the little one?"
"Home. With his father."
Nellie's head went back and forth some more. "Oh, my dear. No. No. You really must not leave that child alone with that man."
"Jesse is just fine with Billy."
"How do you know that?"
"He adores his father."
"The child has told you this?"
"Nellie, I know Jesse. I would see if there was something wrong."
Nellie leaned closer. "How can you be sure what goes on when you're not there? You might think that little boy is fine now. But the emotional scars of childhood run deep. If you're leaving him alone with that man too much, he could be damaged for life."
"I happen to disagree with you, Nellie."
"I'm sorry you're so sadly misled."
That did it. "Nellie, I have had enough."
"I beg your pardon?"
"I happen to think Billy Jones is a fine father. And if you don't think so, then you can just ... keep it to yourself." Prudence realized she must have raised her voice a notch. The people nearby had stopped talking to glance her way.
"Oh, my dear." Nellie's thin, veined hand flew to her throat. "It's happening. It's happening to you."
"What is happening?"
"He's after you. I'm so sorry. You'll end up just like all the other Jones women."
Prudence had the urge to argue, No, I won't. The other Jones women are married. And Billy Jones is never going to marry anyone. But that would only serve to move the conversation along from bad to worse. So all she said was, "He's not after me," which felt like a flat lie, considering the things he had said to her the night before he brought Sharlee home.
Nellie kept on shaking her head. "Oh, my dear, my dear..."
Right then Evie Riggins emerged through the open church door behind them. "Nellie, there you are. Reverend Johnson wants to speak with you -- something about the Christmas Carnival, I believe."
"Oh, yes. Yes, of course. Isn't it just impossible, that the holidays are nearly upon us again already? I'm coming. Right now." She patted Prudence's arm. "At least think about what I've said." She turned and hurried back inside before Prudence could muster a suitably scathing reply.
Once the older woman was gone, Evie leaned close to Prudence. "Don't mind Nellie. She can be nosy and narrow-minded -- but she's got a good heart, underneath."
Prudence shook her head. "She just won't let up on me."
"Because she likes you."
"Well, that makes a lot of sense."
"It's true. She likes you very much. And she doesn't like Billy."
"There is nothing between me and Billy," Prudence insisted, too strongly by half.
Evie's smile was gentle. "I'll talk to her."
"Will it do any good?"
"Who can say? But I'm willing to give it a try."
A moment later, Evie's husband came to find her. Prudence headed home. As she let herself in, the phone was ringing.
Billy called from the kitchen, "That you, Prue?"
"It's me."
"You want me to get the phone?"
"No, I've got it." She picked up the cordless extension from the side table near the television.
It was Sam Fletcher. He greeted Prudence with a glum, "How you doin'?" and then asked if Billy was there.
Prudence started through the dining room. "He's feeding Jesse, I think. Just a minute."
"It's all right. I guess I can talk to you."
She paused in the doorway to the kitchen. Sure enough, Billy had Jesse in the high chair and was pouring Cheerios on the tray for him. Billy flashed her a smile.
Sam went on, "It's about Thanksgiving. Remember? Lilah invited you to our place?"
"Yes, it was so nice of her." The first day Prudence and Jesse had arrived in town, Delilah had paid them a visit She said she'd come to welcome them to North Magdalene -- and to invite them to the big Thanksgiving dinner party she was planning. "The whole family's coming," Delilah had announced. "Every Jones -- husbands, wives and kids -- for miles around. I hope you can make it."
Prudence had promised that she would.
Now, Sam was muttering, "Well, I'm still having it." He sounded defiant. Prudence didn't quite dare to ask if Delilah would be there, too. "Will you still come?"
The event sounded potentially disastrous. "I, well..."
"Look. Please come."
He sounded so weary -- and yet so determined. She didn't have the heart to turn him down. "Sure. All right."
"Great. Billy, too."
"Just a minute. I'll ask him." She tucked the phone beneath her chin. "It's Sam. He wants you and me and Jesse to come to his place for Thanksgiving."
Billy lifted an eyebrow at her. She gave him a shrug. He nodded then. "Count me in."
She spoke into the phone again. "We'll all be there."
"Thanks."
"What time?"
"Say around two."
"Good enough. What can we bring?"
"What's the matter? Don't you think I can cook?" His voice was teasing -- but with an edge.
"Sam. If you want to do it all, that's just great with me."
"Good. Just come. That's all I ask."
"We will." Discussion of the celebration brought Oggie to mind. Prudence hadn't heard a word about him since he'd supposedly left town after the incident at the Hole in the Wall six days before. She asked Sam, "Have you heard anything from Oggie?"
A silence, then Sam admitted grudgingly. "I heard he was in Phoenix. With Nevada -- that's one of Evie's sisters. He stayed there a few days, I think. And then he took off again."
"Do you know where he went next?"
"Haven't a clue."
"I hope he's all right." Prudence recalled Oggie's lined face, the way he leaned on that cane of his and sometimes winced when he walked. Once, in the nursery at the mansion, he had been sitting in the rocker, holding Jesse on his knee. Prudence had stood over him and looked down at the bald, age-spotted crown of his head. He'd seemed, at that moment, so frail to her. Someone infinitely vulnerable, though he'd never for the life of him have let anyone else know.
She told Sam, "I don't like this. He's not young, you know."
Sam let out a low laugh. "No, but he's tough as old boots. Don't you worry about Oggie Jones. He's fine. He's always fine."
"Maybe he'll be back for your Thanksgiving party."
"Right. Maybe. Listen, I gotta go. Lots of calls to make, to get the word out."
After Prudence hung up, she turned to find Billy watching her. "So Sam's giving a party," he said. "You think Delilah will come?"
"I guess we'll find out on Thanksgiving."
He frowned. "Some problem with the old man?"
"Pawbem?" Jesse stuffed a handful of cereal into his mouth and looked at her with the same curious, concerned expression his father wore.
Prudence stared at the two of them, thinking that the life she led with them now felt very much like the kind of life a family might share. But it wasn't, of course. It was only a temporary situation. She really must keep remembering that.
"Prue? Did you hear me?"
"Yes. Yes, I heard." She picked up the cereal box, closed the waxed paper liner and secured the cardboard flap on top. "And no, nothing's wrong with Oggie that I know of. He went to visit Nevada -- that's Evie's sister, in Phoenix. He left there a few days ago. Sam hadn't heard where he went after that." She took the box back to the cereal cabinet and put it away.
Billy came up behind her before she had a chance to turn around again. He put his hands on her shoulders and spoke softly, close to her ear. "Hey, Prue, feelin' blue?"
She should have jerked away, she knew it. Jerked away and told him in no uncertain terms to keep his hands off. But she didn't. His silly little rhyme of "Prue" and "blue" charmed her. And those hands of his felt good. He was standing very close behind her. She could feel his body's warmth, a warmth that seemed to communicate comfort and understanding and someone to lean against when things got rough.
Prudence did not consider herself a person who leaned. And bad Billy Jones was hardly a man suitable for leaning on. But still, there he was. Rubbing her shoulders gently, easing the tension away, making her feel better just by being there -- coaxing her, without saying a word, to go ahead and lean.
Prudence leaned. With a sigh.
Billy murmured in her ear, "Come on, what's wrong?"
"I guess I'm just worried about him."
"About Oggie?"
"Mmm-hmm. I just ... I hope he's okay." And Nellie Anderson thinks you're a terrible man who is up to no good. And, for the most part, I used to agree with her. But I just don't anymore...
Billy chuckled, a warm, low, pleasingly rough sound that vibrated all through her, since he was so close. "The old man is fine. He's Oggie Jones."
She sighed again. "That's pretty much what Sam said."
"Listen to Sam." He slid his hands down, eased them under her arms and clasped them around her waist.
It felt good to have his arms around her. It felt right.
Just as it must have felt good and right to Randi. And the legion of other women bad Billy Jones had known.
Prudence put her hands on Billy's hands and gently broke his hold. Without a murmur of protest, he stepped back and dropped his arms away.
She turned to face him, thinking she should say something to acknowledge and perhaps clarify the nature of the moment that had just occurred. The problem was, she couldn't decide what to say about it.
And then she discovered that no words were required. Billy had already turned away himself "How 'bout some milk?" he was asking Jesse.
Jesse pounded his little fists on the tray. "Yeah, yeah. Meeook, meeook!" Cheerios flew.
"Next up," Billy announced as he opened the refrigerator, "a few lessons in table manners."
"Man-ners. Man-ners. Meeook. Meeook." Prudence leaned against the counter and watched Billy get the milk, fill Jesse's safety cup and hand it to the child. Finally he turned to her again.
"You're staring, Prue."
"Yes. Perhaps so."
"Something you want to say?"
She considered, then shook her head. With a shrug, he returned his attention to his son.
\*
That night, once Jesse had been tucked in his bed, Billy sought her out again. He came down the stairs and he lounged there in the arch to the living room, the way he had done a number of nights before.
"Sixty Minutes" was just ending. Prudence picked up the remote and turned the television off.
They regarded each other across the width of the room. She knew what he would say before he said it: "Too quiet."
He went over to the stereo and put several CDs into the cartridge. She sat there on the sofa, feeling content, watching him choose the discs he wanted and shake his head over others that didn't quite make the cut. Finally he put the cartridge in place. Then he turned the music on.
He chose the easy chair nearest her end of the sofa.
She watched him approach, watched him lower his lean body to the cushions and stretch out his legs, wondering the whole time where her instinct for self-preservation had gone. She wanted to drum up a little fire and fight, say something quelling that would send him on his way.
But then again, she had a problem: she didn't want him to go.
Perhaps, during the days Sharlee had stayed with them, she'd become too complaisant. After all, with Sharlee around, they were never really alone. The girl could pop in on them at any moment, eager to discuss her poor, battered heart and what she should do with her life.
Tonight however, Sharlee wouldn't be popping in.
"You look sort of friendly tonight, Prue." Billy spoke low and teasingly.
She tried to summon a crisp response, but couldn't come up with a thing beyond a shrug and a smile.
"You're gonna talk to me, right? You're gonna tell me things."
She leaned on the arm of the sofa, toward him. "What things?"
"About you."
She felt a sort of shimmer all through her body, a ripple of sensation that might have been unease -- or anticipation.
Oh, this was bad. And delicious. And lovely. For a moment, she had to look away, toward the fireplace, where a fire danced behind the glass of the fireplace insert Billy said her name, softly.
She met his eyes again and challenged, "I have an idea. Why don't we talk about you instead?"
He let out a low laugh. "Me? I know about me."
"But I don't."
"You know enough."
"Come on, Billy. You had your turn quizzing me about my life. Fair is fair."
He shifted around, sat up straighter for a moment, then slumped into the cushions again, stretching his booted feet out once more, crossing them at the ankle, and then proceeding to stare at them. "All right. What do you want to know?"
She wasn't prepared for him to give in quite yet, so she had to think for a moment before she asked, "Well, how about your marriages -- there were two of them, right?"
He stopped communing with his boots long enough to shoot her a look from under his eyebrows. "Two. Right."
"Is this difficult for you?"
"I can take it. What else?"
"Well, tell me about them."
"About my marriages?"
She gave him a patient look. "Yes."
He sank farther down into the chair, and studied his boots even more intently than before. "Not much to tell. I married the first one, Serena, one night after a big party. Somehow, we ended up in Reno and I woke up wearing a wedding band. That lasted a year. My second wife, Lisbeth, said she was going to marry me the day that she met me. I said I wasn't a man any woman should marry. But she was relentless. She got to me one night." He shot her a grin. "You guessed it. After a big party. It was a party that started in Malibu."
"And the next morning---?"
"I woke up in Vegas. Married again. That only lasted six months."
Prudence really wanted to understand how he could have done such foolish things. "You probably had a terrible childhood, didn't you?"
He shook his head. "There was nothing wrong with my childhood. I was never abused. Unless you consider being bored to death abuse. My folks were too quiet and too religious. That was all that was wrong with them. All the dumb mistakes I made in life, I did all by my lonesome."
She watched him, thinking how handsome he was -- in a totally unconscious sort of way. She'd lived in L.A. most of her life and she knew very well that men could be every bit as vain about their looks as women were supposed to be. But Billy wasn't vain. Maybe that was part of his attraction. He didn't care in the least how he looked.
An up-tempo country song came on. Billy put his boots flat on the floor and began tapping rhythm on the sides of his knees. For a moment, he seemed lost in the beat of the song. Then he caught her eye. "You know the two-step, Prue?"
She refused to be lured off the subject. "Billy, we were talking about you."
He went on tapping out the beat. "So what else you want to know?"
"Well ... early love affairs?"
"Lots."
"Did you go to college?"
"Nope."
"You did finish high school, though, right?"
"You bet. Barely. GPA: 1.9."
"Impressive."
"Hold the irony, please."
"What did you do after high school?"
"I got out of Sweethaven, Kansas."
"Where did you go?"
"Nashville, where I worked odd jobs during the day and played country-western clubs for peanuts at night. I sold my first song in my early twenties. For fifty dollars, outright. To tell you true, I sold a lot of songs way too cheap. But then I booked up with Waverly Sims, my agent, eleven years ago. Since then, I've been making good money on what I write. What else?"
"When did you move to L.A.?"
"When I was twenty-eight. I opened Bad Billy's when I was thirty. And talking about all this is almost as boring as being raised by two aging Bible-thumpers in Sweethaven, Kansas, you know?"
"I'll bet Sweethaven is a very nice town."
"Aw, Prue. You would say that." He stood. "This song is almost over, Prue."
"So?"
In two strides, he was standing over her. "So come on. Let's dance."
"I don't know the two-step."
"I'll teach you." He held down his hand.
She didn't think she was ready to do that, to go willingly into his arms -- even for something as seemingly innocent as a dance. "No. I don't think so."
"Aw, Prue. You've shamed me into staying out of the Hole in the Wall. I haven't had a wild night in over a week. The least you can do is try a little two-step with me."
"No, Billy."
He dropped his hand. "Well, listen to that. The song's over, anyway." He picked up the remote from the coffee table and turned the sound down. Then he tossed the remote over his shoulder. It landed neatly back on the seat of the chair he'd just vacated. He looked down at her, open appeal in his eyes. "Prue, what are we gonna do about this?"
"About what?"
"This. You and me."
She wondered how everything had managed to get away from her so fast. "Billy, didn't we discuss this before?"
"Yeah. And that time it didn't work out so well."
"You mean because I told you no."
He winced. "I really hate that word." He reached for her hand. For some crazy reason, she let him take it. He gave a tug -- and she was on her feet. He put his right hand at her back and led her out into the middle of the room. They swayed to the music for a few lovely moments, Billy leading without effort, Prudence surprised at how easy it was to just follow along.
Still, her wiser self could not be entirely silenced. "I shouldn't be doing this," she whispered against his shoulder.
He pulled her marginally closer. "Don't talk, dance."
She danced, for a minute or two more. And then she pulled back a little. "When I said no, didn't I say never?"
"I don't remember. My mind's a complete blank."
"Liar."
"Hey, I've got my own agenda here. You oughta know that by now."
"I am actually flirting with you."
"Nice, isn't it?"
"It would just be so ... foolish of me."
He snuggled her closer. It felt good. So very good. "How many times in your life have you been foolish, Prue?"
She tried to remember at least one.
"I thought so," he said, though she hadn't given him an answer. He pulled back, looked down at her. "You need to be foolish, Prue. You need to be reckless."
"Says you."
"Yep. I'm sort of an expert on recklessness."
"So I noticed."
"And Prue?"
"What?"
"You not only need to be reckless -- you need to be reckless with me."
"Why with you?"
"Two reasons. Because I'm so experienced at it. And because I want to be reckless with you."
"This is insane."
"Naw. This is fun."
"But what about later, what about Jesse?"
"What about him? I'm his father. You're his aunt. What the two of us do in private will never change that."
"You mean he'll never even have to know."
"Now you're thinkin'."
"Well, but..." Her mind seemed suddenly about as sharp as molasses.
"Reckless, Prue. That's the word. The whole idea, when you're reckless, is you don't give a damn about later."
She stared up at him, thinking that all of a sudden, she could fully understand what the serpent must have done, back there in the Garden of Eden. "You really are trying to tempt me."
"I never try, Prue."
The song ended. They stood a foot or two from the coffee table. Prudence started to pull away.
Billy said, "Wait." He put his hands on her shoulders.
"What, Billy?"
He said nothing, only raised his hands to her temples and began sliding her glasses off.
It wasn't like that other time, at his club, when he'd moved so fast she couldn't have stopped him if she'd wanted to. This time, she could have stopped him easily. This time he did it slowly, giving her a wide-open window of opportunity to reach up and still his hand.
But she didn't.
And soon enough, her glasses were gone. The room, Billy -- everything -- went blurry, distorted and soft, all shimmery. Unreal.
He moved away, but only enough to set her glasses aside. And then he was standing tall, pulling her close once more.
"Billy?"
"Yeah."
"Every possible error of refraction there is, I've got."
"What does that mean?"
"It means my cornea is shaped all wrong and so are my eyes themselves. I'm severely astigmatic, as well as hypermetropic. In both eyes."
"So?"
"So I can't see a thing, Billy."
"Well, I know that. That's good."
She started to speak again. But before she could find words, he pulled her even closer. She stared, seeing the vague shape of him, feeling the heat of him, closer, hotter.
"Billy..."
"Shh." He touched her hair, his palm sliding down, from the crown of her head to where the strands curled under just above her shoulders. "Silky. Warm," he whispered.
He clasped her shoulders again, so gently. She knew he must be looking at her, and she smiled, a wobbly smile. She felt breathless, a woman frozen on the brink of something dangerous and splendid. Her heart sounded loud in her chest, but steady and deep. She was not frightened. She was ... exhilarated.
And then his face came closer. She dragged in a breath. Her heart beat a fraction faster.
His mouth touched hers, very lightly. It felt ... perfect. So right. He said that name he always called her, which she had told him not to call her -- which he called her anyway. "Prue."
She felt the sweet caress of his breath across her skin and remembered to exhale. He breathed in the air she let out, his lips moving against hers in what she knew was a smile.
He said it again, "Prue." His mouth settled more firmly on hers and his arms slid around her, pulling her even closer than before, surrounding her -- but not in a bad way, not at all. She heard a moan and it took her a spilt second to realize that she had made that sound herself.
He started kissing along her cheek, nuzzling her hair aside. Then he whispered in her ear. "Put your arms around me, Prue." She lifted her arms, slipped them up and around his neck. He made a low sound of satisfaction and approval. Then his mouth found hers again. "Kiss me back."
It sounded like a very good suggestion. So she did.
The longer the kiss went on, the better it got. But then Billy put his hand at the small of her back and tucked her up against him so close that there was no mistaking the hard ridge of his arousal pressing against her. It felt shockingly good. But it also reminded her that if she intended to stop this, she had better do it soon.
She slid her hands from around his neck to his chest. By applying steady pressure, she somehow managed to pull her mouth loose from his. "Billy..."
"I'm not done yet, Prue." He slanted his mouth the other way and captured hers once more.
"Billy..."
"Shh."
"Billy!"
That got his attention. He lifted his head. She knew he was looking down at her, though all she could see of his eyes were a pair of slightly darker spots halfway up in the fuzzy shape of his face.
"What's the problem now?"
"I just would really like some time to think about this."
He grunted. "Bad idea. You'll only change your mind." His blurred face came toward her again.
She pressed against his chest and craned her head away. "Billy."
He muttered a rude expletive -- but at least he did let go of her. Then he turned away. When he faced her again, he took her hand. "Here." She felt the reassuring shape of her glasses in her palm.
She put them on. The world swam back into focus. In the center of her visual field stood Billy. He didn't look happy.
"Billy, I just..."
He put up a hand. "Let's not beat this thing to death. You know what I want. If you make up your mind you want it, too, you let me know."
\*
Later, since sleep wouldn't come, Prudence lay in bed and worried about Oggie. She hoped he was all right. She reminded herself that no one else seemed the least concerned about him, and that everyone said he often took off like this, without telling anyone where he would go or when he'd be back.
Her thoughts turned to Randi.
Randi in a red crop top and striped leggings, sitting in the breakfast room of the mansion, her gold hair a glorious tangle around her incredible face, her untouched morning cocktail of blenderized vegetables and herbs waiting on the table in front of her.
Prudence had set aside the Wall Street Journal and watched her sister. Randi hadn't even seemed to notice she was being observed. Finally Prudence prompted, "Something's up. What?"
Randi shrugged. "A man." She picked up her drink, looked into it and then set it down untouched.
"What man?"
Randi sighed. Then, delicately, like a cat licking up the last bit of cream, she traced her upper lip with her tongue. "Billy Jones is his name."
"You like him."
Randi rested her chin on her hand and wiggled her perfect eyebrows. "I like him. I want him. I'm gonna have him. And then I'm gonna end up paying the price."
"What price?"
"He's a no-strings kind of guy. He's gonna hurt me."
Prudence couldn't understand. "Then why even start with him?"
And Randi smiled the saddest, sweetest smile. "There are some men a woman shouldn't pass up if she can help it, whether it lasts or not, whether she gets her heart broken or not."
"I don't get it."
Randi reached across the table and chucked her sister under the chin. "Phooey, Pruey." They looked at each other for a moment, and then they laughed together.
Then Randi said, "I want you to meet a man like him someday. I want you to have what I'm gonna have with him."
"No, thanks."
"There is nothing sadder than a life only half lived."
"I said, no thanks."
Randi shook her head. "Oh, Pruey, the way you limit yourself..." She let the thought trail off and reached for her vegetable drink.
In her bed in North Magdalene, alone, Prudence stared into the darkness and couldn't help wondering if her sister had been right.
\*
The next morning, Billy seemed cool. Civil enough, but cool.
He spent most of the day with his son. While Jesse napped, he went into his bedroom and played his guitar. That night, he went over to Sam's house. He came home around eleven, after Prudence had gone to bed. Since she hadn't managed to fall asleep yet, she heard him come in.
She wanted to throw on a robe and go downstairs, to ask him how Sam was doing. And also, to ask him if he would please just go ahead and do all those things to her that she shouldn't let him do.
But she didn't. She stayed in her bed and she tossed and she turned.
The next day, Billy and Jesse left the house at a little after nine in the morning. "I think I'll take him down to Grass Valley again. He's got a thing for that big play-set at McDonald's -- you know, the one with the balls and the tubes?"
"Yes. He does like that." She knew she sounded wistful, like someone hoping to be invited along.
But Billy didn't invite her. He said, "I've got the list you keep tacked on the refrigerator. I'll pick up the groceries."
"Thanks."
"Anything else you need?"
An endless kiss. Incredible sex. "No. That's all."
After they left, she felt so terribly lonely. She stood looking at the yellow roses on the dining-room table for a long time. They were way past their prime by then, many of their petals gone, the blossoms that remained drooping and brown-edged. She had been silly, to keep them so long.
She threw them away and washed out the vase. Then she called Eden. They talked about the weather -- and poor Sam and Delilah, who remained apart. Eden said no one had heard anything from Oggie since he'd left Nevada's house five days before.
"Is anyone starting to get worried yet?" Prudence suggested, with maybe just a hint of an edge in her voice.
"Hmm," said Eden. "Feeling a little tense, are we?"
"Even if no one else is, I'm worried about him."
"I gathered. And yes, we all get a little concerned when we don't hear from him for several days. But it's happened before. And he always comes back safe and sound -- and what else is on your mind?"
"What do you mean?"
"It's in your voice. Something's got you good and bothered. It's Billy, am I right?"
Prudence tried to think of what to say.
"I'm right," Eden answered the question herself. "Want to talk about it?"
"No. Better not."
"I'm here, if you change your mind. Off the record. For my ears alone."
"Thanks."
"And can I say just one thing?"
"Well..."
"I'm saying it, before you tell me no."
"Saying what?"
"Here goes ... if you don't send your ship out, chances are, it ain't gonna come in."
"What?"
"Take a chance, maybe, huh?"
"Could we talk about something else?"
"Sure." Eden good-naturedly shifted the subject to something innocuous. They chatted for another twenty minutes or so, and then baby Diana started crying and Eden had to go.
It was nine-thirty. To Prudence, the day seemed to stretch out in front of her, empty and vast. She trudged upstairs and worked on her résumé. She fiddled with different fonts, trying to make her name look better; she reworded the descriptions of all the responsibilities she'd assumed as Randi's business manager.
And more than once, she found herself just sitting there, staring at the computer screen, remembering the feel of Billy's lips on hers, picturing ships sitting in dry dock, or wherever ships that weren't sent out sat, hearing her sister's voice: "There are some men a woman shouldn't pass up if she can help it, whether it lasts or not, whether she gets her heart broken or not..."
Finally Prudence shut down the program, admitting with a bleak sigh that she hadn't made any changes that amounted to anything -- which was nothing new. She never made changes that amounted to anything. Because there was nothing really wrong with her résumé. It was ready, if and when she needed it.
Which just might end up being sooner than she had originally thought. In three days, on the day after Thanksgiving, Billy's two-week testing period would come to an end. She was going to have to make a hard decision, to try to make the best decision for Jesse. It wasn't a task she relished.
The doorbell rang. Prudence's sagging spirits lifted a little at the prospect of company. She ran down the stairs and pulled open the door.
Nellie stood beyond the threshold, clutching a clipboard. "Hello, my dear. I'm here to help you decide on your contribution to the Christmas Carnival."
Prudence seriously considered muttering, "Forget it," and shutting the door on Nellie's narrow face. But good manners won out. She led Nellie to the kitchen where she poured them each some coffee.
"Now," Nellie said, "as far as the carnival goes, let me tell you what I had in mind for you."
The Christmas Carnival was slated for Saturday, December 6. There would be game booths and Christmas crafts for sale, raffles and a bakery goods auction. In the evening, at the town hall, the kids from North Magdalene Elementary would put on a Christmas show. Prudence found herself agreeing to run a craft booth for a few hours and to bake a rather daunting number of brownies.
At last, Nellie tucked her clipboard under her arm and stood. "Thank you for the coffee, Prudence. And for your commitment of time and effort to the carnival. Now, I must be on my way."
Prudence herded Nellie toward the door, feeling gratified that they'd gotten through an entire conversation without one reference to bad Billy Jones.
But then, just as Prudence slid around Nellie and pulled the door wide, Nellie said, "I can see the child's not here. I suppose he's off with that man."
So much for feeling gratified. Prudence leveled a hard look on Nellie. "Do not start."
Both of Nellie's thin eyebrows rose toward her hair. "Pardon me?"
"I said, do not start."
"Someone must speak truly to you."
"You have, already, lots of times."
"Watch yourself, dear. Protect your character. Not to mention, your poor heart."
"Nellie, this is just none of your business."
"You could end up like poor, dear Delilah. Crushed and humiliated, living in a rented room."
"Delilah has not 'ended up' in a rented room. She's living at the Foothill Inn temporarily, until she and Sam work things out."
"In the divorce courts."
"You don't know that."
"You'd be surprised the things I know."
"And anyway, Delilah's situation and mine aren't the least bit similar."
"They are perfectly similar."
"How?"
"The men, Prudence," Nellie intoned. "Sam Fletcher and Billy Jones. They're cut from the same cloth, those two. Everyone knows Sam Fletcher is as much a Jones as any real Jones. Ogden has always thought of him as another one of his sons. And he's certainly behaved enough like one of them over the years. Why, I could tell you stories---"
"Please don't." Prudence took Nellie by the arm and guided her over the threshold. Nellie was still spouting dire warnings as Prudence murmured goodbye and gently closed the door on her. About fifteen seconds later, Prudence heard Nellie's footsteps retreating across the porch. She peeked out the picture window and saw the older woman, shoulders back and head high, marching down the slate walk toward the front gate.
With a sigh, Prudence sank to the sofa. A moment later, it occurred to her that she would go stark, raving out of her mind if she hung around the house all day, missing Billy and Jesse, pointlessly revising her résumé, at the mercy of the opinions of anyone who knocked on the door.
She jumped up, went to get her purse and coat and then headed out into the chilly November morning.
Once beyond the gate, she lingered on the sidewalk for a moment, trying to decide if she should head over to Lily's. It was almost
But then she turned for her car. She would go in to Nevada City and have lunch there. The steep, tree-lined streets and authentic gold rush Victorian houses always pleased her. She would shop for nothing in particular and forget her troubles for the afternoon.
At each and every sharp bend in the twisting road to Nevada City, Prudence found herself half expecting to pass Billy's Jeep headed back for North Magdalene. But it never happened. Which was all to the good. If she saw the Jeep going the other way, she'd only end up wondering how Billy and Jesse were doing at home, wishing she were there with them instead of enjoying the solitary pleasures of a free afternoon.
She had lunch at the Country Rose Café on Commercial Street, then she wandered up Pine Street to Broad. At Broad Street Books, she went in -- to browse and to treat herself to a sweet, creamy cup of cappuccino. And then she wandered back down Broad, looking in the shop windows, thinking what a beautiful town Nevada City was -- and wishing she could stop thinking about Billy.
It was just before two when she got back into her car. She meant to go on home. But somehow, she found herself headed the wrong way on the freeway that ran between Nevada City and Grass Valley. For no reason she could fathom, she got off at Brunswick Road, turned left at the end of the exit ramp, and drove back over the freeway to Sutton Way. A few moments later, she was parking in front of Longs Drugs.
Inside, she wandered the aisles for a while, pausing to look over the magazine racks and check out the stationery supplies. She'd progressed to the pharmacy section and found herself pausing in front of several shelves filled with contraceptives before she finally admitted to herself why she was there.
\*
Jesse had been cranky all day. As far as Billy was concerned, the trip to Grass Valley had been pretty much of a bust. Jesse fussed in every store they visited, and squirmed and cried when Billy took him to the park. Probably Billy should have given it up early and gone home.
But Prue was home. And he was mad at her. They had three days left on the agreement they'd made. Not much time for a hot and heavy affair. Hell. He had to face it. There probably wasn't going to be a hot and heavy affair. He'd had his best shot at it the other night -- and he hadn't made the grade. She'd said she wanted to think about it. Billy had known enough women in his life to realize that when they said they wanted to think about it, a guy didn't have a chance.
So he was mad at her. And he was punishing her by avoiding her. Which was pretty damn ridiculous, considering she probably felt nothing but grateful to see less of him.
Hell, this whole mess was driving him nuts. He wanted her. Now. It made no sense. She wasn't his type at all. But he was willing to just go ahead and take a chance if she would.
But she had to think about it.
So he spent the day in Grass Valley with a cranky kid.
Finally, at about two-thirty, he gave up and headed home. By right around three, he was walking up to the door carrying a crying child on one arm and a bag of groceries in the other. He was looking forward to handing Jesse to Prue, tossing the groceries onto the kitchen counter and retreating to his room. There, he would put on his headphones and lie down on the bed and forget for an hour or two that cranky kids and thinking women even existed.
But then he found the damn door locked. He almost dropped the groceries while he fumbled with the key. When he got the door open, he yelled, "Prue!" good and loud, which startled Jesse and made him wail all the harder.
Prue didn't come. He was forced to admit that she must have taken off somewhere. He set the groceries on the coffee table and sat down with Jesse. A few moments of soft talk and cuddling, and the kid seemed a little better. He hugged up close and sniffled and sighed.
Billy felt the kid's forehead, as he'd done more than once that day. But he didn't seem hot. He didn't even seem sick, not really. More like unhappy or maybe uncomfortable.
Billy carried him upstairs and checked the diaper he was going to damn well make sure the kid stopped needing pretty soon here. It was wet. Billy changed him.
"There. Feel better?"
"Nawp." Jesse cried some more.
Where the hell was that woman when a man needed her? "Come on. Jess. Tell your dad what's wrong. "
Jesse puckered his lips and rubbed at his face and said something that sounded like. "Awut, awut."
"Something hurts?"
Jesse squirmed and pushed, so Billy put him down. He lumbered over to the bed and started chewing on the bed frame. Billy let him chew for a few minutes because it seemed to soothe him, and then he went and pulled him away. Billy didn't approve of kids sticking things in their mouths all the time and he was trying to break Jesse of what he considered a bad habit.
But the kid started crying again the minute his mouth lost contact with the red metal frame. Billy tried to soothe him. Jesse cried louder. Billy tried singing -- a little Shell Silverstein, because his stuff was funny and could be acted out.
Jesse was not amused. He shoved his little fist into his mouth and went on sobbing.
Billy felt like screaming.
Maybe there was something really wrong. Where was Prue? She should be here at a time like this. He hoisted Jesse up and headed downstairs.
"Maybe a little snack, huh?" He got Jesse into the high chair and poured out some Cheerios.
Jesse looked down at them and then up at his father -- and started calling, "Woo, Woo, Woo!"
Billy wanted to shout, Woo is not here, and when she gets here, she won't be any good to you anyway, because I'm going to kill her! However, all he said was, "How about some juice?"
His fingers fumbling in haste, Billy filled one of Jesse's safety cups with apple juice, then handed it over. Jesse took one sip, tried to bite the top off the cup and then threw it across the room. It landed on the sink counter, the top popped off and apple juice exploded onto the splashboard, across the counter and finally dribbled down the side of the cabinet toward the floor.
"Cute," Billy said.
Jesse went on crying, wailing Prue's name.
"That does it, I'm calling the clinic." The number was posted in a list of important numbers, right beside the wall phone. He dialed.
Just as a woman's voice answered, "North Magdalene Medical Clinic," he heard the front door open.
"Never mind," he told the voice, and hung up.
"Woo, Woo, Woo!" Jesse sobbed.
Billy heard her footsteps and then, there she was, standing in the door from the dining room, still wearing her coat, carrying a small brown paper bag and her purse. She set the purse and the bag on the table. "What's going on?"
Billy was furious at her -- and he'd never felt so relieved to see anyone in his entire life. "I don't know. He's been fussy all day. Now he won't stop crying."
"Woo, Woo!" Jesse waved his arms and sobbed in a sort of urgent despair.
Billy backed out of the way as she went right to Jesse, pulled him from the chair and carried him to the refrigerator. She took an object from the freezer, removed the plastic wrapping and handed it to him. With an audible sigh, he stuck it into his mouth and started gnawing on it.
Billy backed up enough that he could lean against the sink rim. "What is that?"
"Half a frozen bagel. He's teething. He needs something to chew on. And the cold helps."
Jesse gnawed away, still hiccuping a little, but noticeably calmer. Gently Prue set him on the floor.
Billy stared at his son. He couldn't believe it. A damn frozen bagel and the kid was just fine. "He's been crying all day."
"Why didn't you take one of his teething rings with you?"
He didn't like her tone, so prissy and judgmental, but he answered her reasonably enough. "I don't like to see him gnawing on things all the time."
She started unbuttoning her coat. "Well, teeth hurt, coming in." She scooped up her purse and the brown bag. "Unless you want him in pain, you'll have to make an exception, I think." She turned around and left the room.
He stared at the place she had been, anger churning inside him, making his gut burn and his skin feel too tight.
A few moments later, she reappeared, minus the coat, the brown bag and her purse, but carrying the groceries he'd left on the coffee table. Pausing only to hook the child gate in place, she marched to the counter right beside where he stood -- and set down the bag in the middle of the puddle of apple juice.
She pulled a head of lettuce from the bag and went to the refrigerator, where she knelt and put the lettuce in the crisper. About halfway back to the counter, she noticed the spilled juice. With a long-suffering sigh, she lifted the bag and looked at the bottom of it. "Great." She looked at him, a look that clearly said. The least you can do is get out of my way. He stayed right where he was. Sighing again, she walked around him and set the bag on the other side of the sink. She sighed a third time as she was reaching for the sponge. He'd had about enough of those sighs by then. So he stuck out a hand and snared her wrist.
She gasped and stiffened -- which he found quite satisfying.
He said, very precisely, "I do not want my son to be in pain."
"Let go of my wrist."
"Do you believe that I want my son to be in pain?"
She tried to jerk away.
He held on. "Do you?"
She gave him one of those haughty, high-chinned looks she was such an expert at. "No. Of course not."
He released her. "Good."
She started for the sponge again.
"Don't."
She stopped in midreach and looked at him with one eyebrow raised above her glasses' rim. "Why ever not?"
"I'll clean it up."
"Don't be silly."
"I said, I will clean it up."
"Fine." She stepped back, folded her arms and waited.
He put the safety cup and lid into the sink and picked up the sponge. With great care, he blotted up the puddle of juice on the counter. Then he rinsed the sponge and wiped down the splashboard and the woodwork. That accomplished, he rinsed the sponge a final time and squeezed it out. Through the whole process, she stood there, waiting.
When he set the sponge back on the sink rim, she asked, so politely, he wanted to shout obscenities at her, "Are you finished?"
"Yeah."
"Then I'll finish putting the groceries away."
\*
It was like that the rest of the day. They spoke to each other only when they had to, and then in short, precise sentences.
Billy wanted to yell at her. He wanted to grab her and kiss her. He wanted to walk out the door and never come back. He wanted to break something. He wanted release from the tension that gnawed at him from the inside and didn't seem likely to go away until he either got his hands on Prue -- or got clear of her for good.
Dinner was pure hell. Billy chewed and swallowed and scowled.
Prudence pushed her food around on her plate and wondered how things had gotten so awful all of a sudden. He'd seemed to blame her for everything since she got home this afternoon. He was downright nasty.
She thought of the small brown bag she'd left on the bureau in her room and wondered what could possibly have possessed her, to imagine she might need contraceptives this evening. She shot a glance at Billy. He glowered back at her.
Never, she thought grimly. Never in a hundred thousand years. Not if he was the last man and I was the last woman and the future of the human race depended on it.
No way.
He growled, "You gonna eat that, or just shove it around on your plate?"
She inquired sweetly, "Why? Do you want it?"
"Hell, no. But you shouldn't play with your food. It sets a bad example for Jesse."
She granted him a cold smile. "Thank you, Dr. Spock."
In his high chair, Jesse mimicked, "Spaw, Spaw, Spaw." When both adults turned unsmiling faces his way, he put his nice, cold half bagel into his mouth and said nothing more.
\*
It took Billy until after eight to get Jesse down. Not a record night, but the poor kid had sore teeth and deserved an extra bedtime story.
When he left Jesse's room, he told himself he was going straight to his own room and shutting the door. If it turned out he couldn't stand it alone in there, he'd go visit Sam. He and Sam could commiserate on the evilness of women.
But then, when he got downstairs, there was Prue, sitting on the sofa in the living room. She had her nose buried in a book, though he didn't believe for a second that she was actually reading. No, she was just pretending. Her real purpose was far more sinister. She'd been lying in wait for him to come down the stairs. She didn't want to miss an opportunity to cut him down to size with that acid-dipped razor blade she called a tongue.
Well, he wouldn't disappoint her.
He lounged in his usual spot in the archway. She didn't look up. He coughed. She turned the page.
He straightened from the archway and approached her, not stopping until he stood right over her, looking down at the open book, which he saw was titled, Income Property Appraisal. She was on chapter six: "Compound Interest and Discount Factors."
"Now I know what your problem is."
"Go away, Billy."
He reached down and grabbed the book.
Her head shot up. She glared at him, furious, her lips pressed together, her bug eyes full of fire.
He shook the book at her. "No woman should be reading something like this in her spare time. A book like this is bad for you."
"Give it back."
"It's too dry, Prue. You don't need dry. You need juicy. Adventure. Romance. Something to heat you up a little. Something to get your imagination in gear."
"Give me my book."
He held it high and grinned at her, at the same time wondering what the hell was wrong with him, snatching her book up, waving it over her head, bullying her.
She stood. "Good night, Billy." Red head high, she walked around the other end of the sofa and headed toward the dining room.
"Prue."
She just kept walking.
"Damn it, Prue!"
She turned at the stairs and disappeared.
Billy stood there, more angry at himself by then than he'd ever been at her. He listened as her footsteps attained the landing, then faded away overhead. And then, very carefully, he set her book on the coffee table. He looked down at it, shaking his head, knowing that he'd gone too far -- and not sure what the hell he ought to do next.
\*
By the time Prudence reached her own room, she was trembling in rage.
She dropped to the edge of her bed, shaking, remembering...
Her mother and those awful boyfriends she was always bringing home. Men who usually started out nice, but turned mean soon enough, when they drank, or when Betsy did something that they didn't like. If Prudence closed her eyes, she could see their ugly, sneering faces, yelling at Betsy. And Betsy crying and yelling right back at them.
And Prudence and Randi huddled in a corner, trying to be small, trying not to be noticed -- while furniture got broken and terrible things were said. A couple of times, Betsy got beat up bad. She'd wander around their double-wide house trailer for days after that, looking like something from a horror movie, crying and smoking cigarettes and swearing that men weren't worth it at all.
But then, within a month or two, she'd come home with a new one.
Never, Prudence had sworn to herself, would she let a man talk to her that way, let a man invade her world that way. Never would she give one the chance.
She had planned her whole life around self-sufficiency, around total independence from the male of the species. And her plans had worked out just fine.
Until bad Billy Jones came along.
Prudence sprawled backward on the bed, closed her eyes and ordered her body to relax. But she couldn't relax. She was just too full of frustrated wrath.
Right then, she heard a tap at the door.
She could not believe his nerve. "Go away, Billy," she whispered at the canopy overhead. He only knocked again.
"Go away." She said it loud enough that she knew he would hear, and then she waited, listening hard, for the sound of his footsteps retreating down the hall.
It was a sound that never came. He tapped again and said something that might have been, "Please."
She sat up.
Another tap. "Please, Prue."
He sounded so pitiful. Her rage faded a little. She waited. He didn't knock again, he didn't speak. But she knew he was still standing there. She could see his shadow beneath the door.
Let him stand there all night if he wants to, a hard voice inside her head seemed to whisper.
But she knew she couldn't do that. Slowly she stood. And then she went to let him in.
He didn't know what to say when she opened the door. So he just looked at her. Even with those glasses on, she looked good to him now. He wondered what the hell was happening to him.
She said, "What?"
He said, "I'm sorry."
He thought she was going to shut the door on him. But she didn't. Her eyes looked stranger than usual. Maybe she was going to start crying on him. But she didn't do that, either. Not her. Not Prue. She pressed her lips together and stood a little taller.
He said, "I guess I'm just used to getting what I want."
She only went on looking at him, not quite crying, not quite mad.
He couldn't take it. He glanced away, down the hall.
"Billy?"
He made himself look back at her. "Yeah?"
"What is it you want?"
"You know." She waited. And he said it: "You."
She lifted a hand and brushed a few strands of that fiery hair away from her cheek. He wished with all his heart that she would have let him do that.
Something happened in her face. Another change. Now, instead of trapped between anger and tears, she looked purposeful. She moved back, clearing the doorway.
He stared, not understanding.
"Come in," she finally instructed in a small voice. He stepped over the threshold warily, expecting at any moment to be told to leave. She gestured at the bed.
The bed.
He wondered if this was a dream. An incredible, impossible dream that had somehow begun to come true at last.
But then again, it didn't have to mean anything that she'd let him in, that she'd signaled him toward the bed. He was probably just getting carried away with wishful thinking.
And damn, it was quiet in here. He sent a swift glance around the room. No stereo. It occurred to him that he might go nuts in this room, wishing and hoping in a silence so vast, it seemed to echo off the pale gray walls.
She was watching him, waiting for him to make the next move. He did what she'd told him to do, crossing to the four-poster bed, and sitting carefully on the edge of the fluffy white quilt.
He waited for her next command. What the hell else could he do? Whatever was going on here, he wasn't running it.
She flicked off the wall switch. The corners of the room turned shadowy. The only light left was the small lamp on the bed stand, making a golden pool of light across the whiteness of the pillows and quilt.
A tall bureau stood not far from her. She went to it. He saw that bag then, the brown paper one she'd brought in with her this afternoon. It was sitting on top of the bureau.
She picked up the bag and turned. "I went to Nevada City today. I had lunch. Then I went to Grass Valley. I stopped at Longs Drugs. I didn't admit to myself what I was doing there, at first."
Was he supposed to say something in response to that? He couldn't think of a damn thing. So he kept his mouth shut.
She came toward him. She was wearing a pair of gray chino-type pants and a white blouse, with flat-heeled black shoes and a black belt. She looked like some lady executive on her day off. A direct, no-nonsense, cut-the-crap sort of woman.
He wanted to grab her, mess up that silky cap of hair, slide off that belt, take down those chino-type pants. But all he did was watch her, hardly daring to breathe, hearing his own heartbeat, loud and hungry in his ears.
She stopped right in front of him, so close that one of her legs brushed his knee. The bag was rolled shut. Carefully she unrolled it, pulled the sides open and turned it upside down.
Two boxes of condoms, a dozen each, fell into his lap. One stayed there. The other bounced off and landed on the nubby gray throw rug beneath his feet.
His heart froze. Everything went absolutely still. And then he remembered that breathing was necessary. He sucked air into his lungs and let it out, still staring down at the one box of condoms that hadn't bounced to the floor. Altogether, twenty-four of the suckers. Wow. She really had faith in him.
She said, "I thought, if we were going to do this, we should be ... responsible about it. You know?"
He gulped. "Uh. Yeah. Good thinking."
"I mean, especially in our case. After what happened, with you and Randi. After Jesse..."
He reached out, still not daring to actually look up at her, and caught her hand. It felt so good, so soft and warm. Best of all, she didn't pull back. For a moment, she was still. And then she wrapped her fingers with his. He took the box of condoms from his lap and set it on the nightstand. Then he tugged on her hand. She stepped forward, so she stood between his thighs. He looked up, smiled. She smiled back, with some effort.
He said, "Jesse's turning out to be the best thing that ever happened to me."
She nodded, her eyes thoughtful. "Still..."
"What?"
"We don't need another accident. Having a baby should be a conscious decision."
He squeezed her hand. "Prue. Always on the high road."
She pressed her lips together, looked away. "You don't agree?"
He tugged on her hand once more, to make her look at him again. "I agree. One hundred percent."
She closed her eyes. "I guess it's not your fault -- that Randi loved you and you didn't love her back."
"That's really bothered you, huh?"
"Yes."
"Prue."
"Um?"
"You keep looking at the wall."
With visible effort, she met his eyes. "I feel ... disloyal."
"To Randi?"
She nodded. "At the same time, I feel as if Randi's up there in heaven, cheering me on."
He couldn't resist. "So you really think Randi made it to heaven?"
She let out a small sound of irritation. "Billy, stop."
"Come on." He bent to scoop up the other box of condoms and set it beside the first. That accomplished, he patted his knee.
She made another sound -- this one disbelieving. "You want me to sit on your lap?"
"Yeah."
"I am not the kind of woman who sits on a man's lap."
He laughed, realizing that his heart had settled down to a slow, deep rhythm. That he was anticipating, but no longer scared stiff that one wrong move would blow this whole deal. "Make an exception."
She sighed. He tugged again. She dropped onto his knee.
He put his arms around her and pulled her closer. She went, if somewhat reluctantly. He rested his head against her shoulder, breathing in the scent of her, which was a little bit like roses and also something else -- baby powder, maybe. He couldn't be sure, he only knew he liked it and could recognize her anywhere by sense of smell alone.
He also liked the feel of her, soft, but sort of resilient. She seemed smaller in his arms than she looked most of the time.
She coughed.
He chuckled. "What?"
"Well, what do we do next?"
"Wing it."
"Easy for you to say."
"Come on." He fell backward onto the bed, pulling her with him. She went, but slid off him in the process, so they ended up lying next to each other, his arm beneath her neck. They stared up at the lace canopy.
"Billy?"
"Yeah?"
"I have a feeling I'm going to be very bad at this."
He rose up on an elbow and leaned over her. "This your first time, Prue?"
She gave him the tiniest of nods.
He studied her plug-ugly glasses, her cheekbones, the really fine, slim shape of her nose, thinking that he was about to break one of the cardinal rules of being Billy Jones: no virgins. Billy had always considered a virgin as someone a man like him shouldn't mess with. Call it respect. Call it fear. Call it self-preservation. He didn't make love to women who had never made love before. He left the rites of sexual initiation to braver men than he'd ever be.
She was watching him. "Are you changing your mind?"
"What makes you say that?"
"I don't know. Just something in your expression."
He gave her a slow smile. "No, I'm not changing my mind. So don't get your hopes up. You're not getting out of this."
She lifted her hand and her fingers brushed the side of his face. "I don't want to get out of this." Her voice was all whispery. The sound of it, the little quiver in it, did him in. His pulse went crazy and his heart felt too big, thudding away in there, hard and insistent. Behind the buttons of his 501's, there was suddenly a shortage of space.
He kissed the tip of her nose. "You have a very fine nose, did you know that?" He kissed her lips, one soft, quick kiss. "And a good mouth."
She was smiling, relaxing a little. "Oh, Billy. A fine nose and a good mouth?"
"I like your eyebrows, too. What I can see of 'em, behind your glasses."
"They're too pale."
"Pale is good. Pale is fine." He lifted his hand.
She knew what he was going to do, and turned her head slightly away. "I won't be able to see."
"Please."
She looked at him forever. At last, she murmured, "All right."
He took her glasses away, set them behind him on the nightstand, between the condoms and the alarm clock. When he turned back to her, she looked at him in that soft, unfocused way he remembered from the night at his club -- and the other night, when they had danced and he had kissed her for the first time, and then she had turned him down.
She said, "I can't see, but I am not defenseless."
He touched her pale, golden red brows, one and then the other, tracing the shape of them, following the curves.
"Did you hear me, Billy?"
"I heard." He put his mouth against her temple, felt the pulse beat there, dared to put out his tongue, taste the rhythm of her heart.
"I think that's my deepest fear, Billy. To be defenseless in front of a man."
"You're not, Prue," he whispered into the sweet, dark central hollow of her ear. "You know you're not." He pulled back, looked down into her blind, yearning eyes. She looked back. What she saw, he would never know. But the way she looked at him made him hunger. Made him burn.
First, he wanted to watch her lose herself.
And then he wanted to get lost in her.
He laid his hand on that black belt she wore. Those pale brows drew together. But she didn't say a word, didn't try to move away. He pulled the tip from the keeper, the prong from the buckle. He undid the button of her gray pants and slid the zipper down. Underneath, he found silk panties. Silver gray silk. It didn't look as if they had any lace on them. Nothing fancy. Just fine, plain silk.
He slid his hand beneath those panties, felt satiny skin, a warm tangle of hair.
She was already wet. He had known by the look in those eyes that she would be. She moved her legs farther apart, giving him access. He stroked that sweetness, bending to take her mouth when she could no longer hold back the moans.
He swallowed her cries. They tasted so good. She moved against his hand, and he drank in what happened to her, all of her turning liquid, baby powder, roses, all around him as she came.
He broke the kiss at the last minute, to watch her toss her head, watch the way that dark red hair rubbed the white quilt, to see the sweat of loving on her pale skin.
When she went limp, he bent close again. He took her lips, biting them a little, tugging at her clothes, getting them off her as he kissed her. Her body felt easy, warm and ready under his hands. She helped him, in a slow, lazy sort of way, pulling her arms from the sleeves of her shirt, toeing off her shoes, lifting her hips so he could pull down the gray pants and the silk panties.
He had her down to her gray silk bra and a pair of ankle socks when she started shoving at him. He thought for a moment that she was going to want to stop. He swore and then scowled at her. "What?"
But then she whispered, "You, too..."
And he understood that all she wanted was for him to get his clothes off, too. So he did. He could do that pretty damn quick, as a matter of fact.
Within seconds, they both were naked. She looked just like he'd thought she would: slim and pale and a hell of a lot prettier than she did with her clothes on.
She was smiling at him, blindly. "I can't believe it."
He reached out, touched her shoulder, felt the silky smoothness of her skin. "What?"
"This is ... just fine. Natural. Okay."
He grinned back at her. "I told you so." He pulled her close, got that first incredible shock of her naked body against his own. "Kiss me, Prue."
She obliged, with enthusiasm.
A moment later, she was sighing. And then she was moaning.
When he pushed her back on the white cloud of the bed and put himself inside her, she cried out. He stilled and waited.
She was looking at him. "That hurt."
"Sorry."
"But it's starting to ... not hurt."
"That's good." He waited some more, sincerely hoping that he would not explode.
"Billy?"
He tried to say, Yeah? but it came out as more of a groan.
"Billy..." And then she moved against him, pushing her hips up to him, offering him more.
And more was fine with Billy Jones. He pressed deeper. She took him. And from about that point, there was only her body and his body and the white cloud of the bed, the golden pool of the bedside lamp. It all swam together, became an endless pulse, a glow, a sensation of expansion and glorious heat. Billy held on, he drowned in baby powder and roses, in silky skin and fiery hair and the soft, urgent cries that Prue made as she moved beneath him.
At the end, he was probably too rough for her. He pushed himself in hard and deep. She took him, but with a startled gasp. His climax rolled through him, yanking him under, then tossing him up, turning him inside out, so his body and his mind were one endless, exploding sensation. White heat. Expansion.
Then contraction. A feeling of falling. And the blessed sweetness of landing lax, satisfied -- and still naked, still with Prue.
\*
"Did I hurt you too bad?" Billy whispered in her ear.
Prudence smiled. He was squashing her, especially her hipbones and her breasts.
"Did I?" He sounded worried.
She rubbed her cheek against his. "No, you didn't hurt me too bad."
He let out a big, relieved-sounding breath. "Good."
She pushed at him, a light push.
"Don't make me move." But then, as soon as he got the words out, he was rolling, holding onto her as he did it, so that she ended up on top.
She looked down at his blur of a face.
He said, softly. "Please don't go away. We have twenty-four condoms to use, remember?"
She kissed his nose. "Twenty-three."
He let out another long breath. "Right. Twenty-three." She slithered backward, toward the night table. His arms tightened around her. "I said, you can't go."
"I'm just getting my glasses."
"Why?"
"So I can see."
"You don't need to see."
"Billy, I want to see. And I'm not going anywhere."
"Swear it."
"Billy, come on."
"Hell. All right. Get 'em."
She sat among the pillows and felt on the nightstand until she found them. When she put them on and saw Billy, stretched across her bed, naked and grinning, she went ahead and grinned right back. Then she noticed the red stains on the quilt. He saw where she was looking. He frowned, then he looked at her once more -- and they were grinning all over again.
He said, "I'm starved."
Her stomach actually growled right then. "Me, too."
"Let's raid the refrigerator." He grabbed her hand and pulled her off the bed toward the door.
She hung back. "But, Billy, we're naked."
He looked down at himself, then he looked at her. And then he shrugged. "We sure as hell are."
"Billy, I don't think I'm quite ready yet to go wandering around my house in the buff."
He laughed. "In the buff?"
"That is what I said."
"Well. Get a robe, then."
She did as he suggested, collecting her white robe from the closet.
"Ready?" he asked, as she belted the robe at her waist. She nodded. He pulled the door open and led her into the upstairs hall.
They stopped briefly in the upstairs bathroom, where he got rid of the condom. Then they went on down the stairs.
He took her to the living room first, led her to the sofa and said, "Sit down. Let me put on some music."
She dropped obediently to the cushions, tucking one foot up under herself and waited as he went through the CDs. Once he'd made his choices about what he wanted to hear, he went on to load up a cartridge, tapping his bare toes and humming to himself the whole time. Prudence watched him, thinking that there wasn't an ounce of fat on him. His muscles were all long and sharply defined. She marveled at how fine and hard his body was, as she knew how he liked to drink and she'd never seen him exercise on purpose in the time he'd been staying with her. But he had that easy grace of very lean men, that look of economy, of nerve endings right up close to the surface of the skin. When he turned to give her a smile, she noted that the bruises from the fight with Sam had faded to almost nothing, to green shadows against his skin.
"You'll wake Jesse," she chided, when the first tune came on, too loud.
He shook his head, but he did turn it down. Then he came for her, reaching out his hand, tugging her off the couch and into his arms.
They danced through the dining room and into the kitchen, where they made peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. They ate the sandwiches standing at the counter.
"Milk," Billy said, after the first bite. And she thought of Jesse, pounding his fists on his high chair tray, demanding, "Meeook, meeook, meeook!"
She went and got the milk and poured them each a big glass. He toasted her, then drank down the whole thing in one long gulp.
They started kissing again as they were rinsing their dishes and putting them into the dishwasher. Billy untied the sash of her robe and pushed it to the floor. The counter tiles felt icy against her bare bottom when he hoisted her up there. But soon enough, Prudence forgot the discomfort. She looked down at Billy's head, which was buried between her open thighs. She could see very clearly what he was doing, as he'd let her keep her glasses on this time.
She wondered, could this really be her, Prudence Wilding, doing these naughty things with bad Billy Jones?
But then Billy did something impossible with his tongue. Prudence held onto his head, closed her eyes -- and forgot everything but his endless, incredible, forbidden kiss.
At the end, after he pushed her right over the edge, she looked down at him. And he looked up at her, his green eyes gleaming with a devilish light and his lips all swollen and wet from what he'd been doing to her.
"You even taste like roses," he said.
And her heart just lifted up inside her chest. She cupped his face and bent over and kissed her own wetness right off his lips. He whispered her name. And then he stuck out his tongue and licked the corner of her mouth.
"Peanut butter," he said.
She wiped the spot. He caught her hand, rising up, so they were face-to-face. He set her hand on his shoulder, felt for the other one and put it there, too. Then he laid his own hands on her thighs. Gently, in long, feathery strokes, he caressed the tops of her thighs, from her knees to the place where her hips joined her torso. He leaned in, fitted his mouth to hers and kissed her until she forgot where she was and let her head fall back to bump against the cabinet behind her.
He made a noise of concern and pulled away enough to meet her eyes. "Hurt?" She thought of Jesse, asking, "Boo-boo?"
She rubbed her head. "I saw stars."
He laughed, and then the laughter faded. He looked at her, and went on looking, at the same time slowly caressing the tops of her thighs.
She stared back at him, a half smile on her lips to match the one he wore. And something happened. Something shifted deep inside her. Awareness dawned.
Twin creases formed between his dark brows. "What?"
She scanned his face, her gaze moving from his slightly crooked nose to his finely shaped mouth to the beard-shadow on his cheeks and chin. Her skin burned a little, on her face and in more private places. Beard burn. Randi used to say that, Beard burn. And then Randi would rub her tender, reddened cheek and smile, a satisfied smile. A smile that said it had all been worth the minor pain.
Billy was still frowning at her. "What, Prue?"
Prudence thought, But this is a lot worse than beard burn...
She heard Randi's words in her head: "I like him. I want him. I'm gonna have him. And then I'm gonna end up paying the price... He's a no-strings kind of guy. He's gonna hurt me..."
This is bad, Prudence thought. This is trouble. This is a man even Randi couldn't handle...
Billy lifted his hands to cradle her face. "What's wrong?"
I've gone and let myself fall in love with you, Billy. "Nothing. Kiss me."
For once, he simply did what she asked.
They went back to Prudence's bed soon after that. They used two more of the condoms that night. Just before they dropped off to sleep, Billy murmured, "Twenty-one to go."
She woke to gray daylight, Billy's caresses and the sound of rain drumming steadily on the roof.
She suggested on a sigh, "We should check on Jesse."
"I just did. He's still asleep."
"But not for long."
"Let's not waste time, then." He pulled her closer and immediately began doing things that made her sigh some more.
\*
They didn't leave the house that whole day. Of course, with Jesse around, they weren't able to spend all of it making love. But they had their own kind of nap time when he took his -- and they ended up in bed again within a half an hour of the moment that Jesse's little head hit his pillow that night.
By the time they went down for breakfast the next morning, the rain had let up a little. While Billy put Jesse in his high chair and mixed up his oatmeal, Prudence poured herself a cup of coffee and wandered over to the window that looked out on the backyard. Beyond the big walnut tree in the middle of the lawn, the sky was like a sheet of gray steel. Everything looked misty and cold.
Billy came up behind her and wrapped her in his arms. "Happy Thanksgiving." He lifted her hair and breathed a kiss onto the side of her neck.
"Same to you." She leaned against him, enjoying the feel of him at her back, thinking that tomorrow would be the last day of his two-week trial period. It would be time for the big talk.
That was how she had started to think of it: the big talk. Something grim and enormous that would ruin the fantasy she had foolishly allowed herself to start living.
Perhaps, now they were lovers, they could just go on as they were for a while, let the big talk wait.
But for how long? A few days? A week? Not much longer than that, surely. Billy had his life in Southern California, after all. And decisions would have to be made.
Billy asked, his voice a pleasant rumble in her ear, "What time do we have to be at Sam's?"
"Around two."
"Hmm. There'll be time for a little nap before we go." He lifted his hands and cupped her breasts. Inside her, everything turned molten, a delicious, hungry, burning ache. He must have picked up her body's response to him, because he let out a teasing growl.
Behind them, Jesse pounded his chair tray and crowed, "Meeook, meeook!"
"Hell," Billy muttered, dropping those wonderful hands away.
She turned to watch him till the safety cup, her love a deep, warm, sad little secret down in a place she doubted she would ever let him see.
\*
Perhaps because she was Delilah's friend, or maybe because Evie's stepchildren were her grandchildren, Nellie turned up at Sam's Thanksgiving party.
"Look," Billy whispered to Prudence at the sight of the older woman. "It's the president of my fan club. Should I introduce you?"
She gave him a poke in the ribs and a long-suffering sigh, which only made him laugh. Eden came over and led them to the downstairs bedroom, where they piled their coats on the bed with everyone else's. Billy set his guitar, which Prudence had urged him to bring, in the closet, where it wouldn't be disturbed.
When they returned to the living room again, Sam appeared from the kitchen, his long hair tied back and a white apron around his waist. "Welcome. I hope you're making yourselves comfortable." He gestured at a table near the wall, where several Jones children lurked around a big bowl of something pink and a variety of chips and dips. "Punch and stuff's over there. If you want anything stronger, I set it all out on the kitchen counter. And there's hot spiced cider on the stove." He looked around, his eyes going vague. "Lilah's not here yet. But she'll come. I know she'll come." Without another word, he turned and headed back for the kitchen.
Billy, who stood close to Prudence, muttered in her ear, "You get the feeling that means she told him she wouldn't come?"
Prudence whispered back, "Unfortunately, yes."
They shared a fond, knowing smile, after which Billy planted a quick kiss on her nose. Beyond his shoulder, she could see Nellie, watching, her thin lips screwed up tight in disapproval.
"Dow, Da. Dow." Jesse had started to squirm in Billy's arms. Billy set him down.
Prudence suggested, "I'll follow him around for a while. You go see if Sam needs any help in the kitchen."
"The kind of help Sam needs, only Delilah can provide."
"Still..."
"I know, I know. I'm going." He headed for the kitchen.
Across the room, Nellie started on the move in Prudence's direction. At the same time, Jesse took off the opposite way. Grateful for small favors, Prudence turned her back on Nellie to follow the child.
For the next hour, Prudence managed to avoid conversation with the older woman. She chatted with Eden and drank punch with Evie. Billy appeared and took charge of Jesse again. Relieved of her responsibility for child care, Prudence sat on one of Sam's big, leather sofas and enjoyed a nice talk with Heather Drury, who was Jared's daughter by an earlier marriage and who had sold Prudence the house on Prospect Street.
But Nellie Anderson wasn't someone who could be avoided indefinitely. She was lurking on the stair landing, sipping a cup of hot cider, when Prudence emerged from the upstairs bathroom at a little after three. At the sight of her, Prudence considered heading for one of the bedrooms. She could lock herself in, and not come out until she felt certain Nellie had given up and gone away.
However, knowing Nellie, that might never happen. So Prudence pulled her shoulders back and marched for the stairs.
Nellie spoke up just as Prudence reached her -- and before she could move on past. "Evie has told me I must learn to accept that your private life is none of my business."
Well, Prudence thought philosophically, it was a better opening than some. She put on a smile. "Evie is right. And I believe I've told you the same thing myself, more than once."
"I'm entitled to my opinion -- my opinion, which is right."
Prudence shook her head. "Oh, Nellie."
Nellie gestured with her cider cup. "However, I know it's too late now. I can see by the way that man looks at you that the worst has happened."
Prudence said nothing.
"My warnings just never do any good." Nellie looked sincerely distressed. "I mean to be helpful and honest. A true friend."
Prudence thought of Billy, of the love affair they were having that they probably shouldn't be having. Her wiser self agreed with Nellie. Bad Billy Jones hardly represented a wise choice in a man. "Nellie, it's good to be honest. But once you've made your point, you have to let people lead their own lives."
Nellie hung her head. "I suppose." She straightened a little, sipped from her cup. "I was watching him, just now, with the child..."
Prudence braced herself for the worst.
Nellie surprised her. "I must admit, he actually seems quite good with the boy."
Prudence relaxed a little. It just might be possible, over time, that she could learn to like Nellie. "Yes," she agreed, "Billy's turning out to be a real father, after all."
\*
By four-thirty, when they sat down to eat, neither Delilah nor Oggie had appeared.
To make it possible for all the Joneses to sit down at once, Sam had put four tables together, down the center of his large living room. He had borrowed china and silver from his sisters-in-law, but he'd cooked the huge meal himself, including the turkey and the ham and the mountains of potatoes and stuffing and vegetables. He had everything carved and piled high on platters, ready to pass. And when he sat down at the head of the table, with that empty chair opposite him way down at the other end, Prudence thought she had never seen a man look so sad.
As soon as all the chairs but two were filled, Sam tapped his spoon against his water glass. Everyone fell silent, even Jesse and two other small Joneses, Diana and Eliza, in their high chairs.
"I want to thank you all for coming," Sam said in his deep, rumbling voice. "I guess..." He hesitated, breathed in deeply and let the air out slowly. Then he made himself go on. "Well, I guess I thought some things would get worked out by now, for me. And for Lilah. That I would have what I most want. But as you can all see, that hasn't happened. Yet." A melancholy smile played at the corners of his mouth. "But still, sitting here, looking down this table, I figure I am grateful, after all. I might not be a Jones by birth, but when I look at all of you, and see you all came here for your Thanksgiving just 'cause I asked you to, well, I know I got a true family, no matter what. And I say, thank the good Lord for that."
"Amen," said Jared. And down the table, the word was picked up and repeated, "Amen, amen, amen..."
After the "amens" faded, there was silence. Outside, the rain had started coming down again. It drummed against the windows, as steady as a long, drawn-out sigh. Beside her, Prudence felt Billy shift a little in his chair. His hand found hers.
There are moments a woman never forgets. Prudence knew she was living one right then. A moment that had everything in it. Sam's sad and beautiful little speech. The rain on the roof. The Thanksgiving feast. A roomful of Joneses -- and Billy's hand in hers.
Brendan, the youngest of the Jones brothers, announced, "I'm starved. Let's eat."
Sam picked up the platter piled with turkey, speared himself a big slice, and passed it on. Within seconds, the room was filled with talk and children's laughter and the clink of silver against china plates. The doorbell rang about ten minutes later, after everyone had been served and they'd all settled down to some serious eating.
At the sound, Sam's head shot up and his eyes went blank. The whole table fell silent, so the drumming of the rain outside seemed louder, more insistent again.
Eden pushed back her chair. "I'll get it."
Even the little ones stared as she walked the length of the four pushed-together tables and disappeared into the foyer. A moment later, she returned -- with Delilah at her side.
Eden returned to her own chair. And Delilah went and stood behind the empty chair opposite Sam.
"You're all wet," Sam said, his pale blue eyes taking in all of her, from the drops of water that gleamed in her wild black hair, to the high color and sheen on her cheeks, and the dark waterspots on her clothes. Prudence, in the seat directly to Delilah's right, could smell the rain on her, wet and fresh and cool, a smell of the forest, green, secret and dark.
"I went for a walk," Delilah said. "Then ... I couldn't stay away." She looked around the table, her black eyes soft and shining in what seemed to Prudence to be equal parts joy and pain. "This is beautiful, Sam."
He said, "Sit down. Eat."
She looked at him, and in those black eyes, Prudence saw that the pain had overshadowed the joy.
Sam said, "It's all right, Lilah. It doesn't have to mean anything, if you stay. If you eat with your family, on Thanksgiving day."
For a moment more, she hovered there, tottering on the edge between leaving and staying. At last, she pulled back the chair and sat down.
One by one, they passed the bowls and platters to her. She piled her plate high. By then, everyone was talking and eating again.
\*
After dinner, they cleared the plates and all but the youngest ones helped to scrape and stack. Then Sam brought out the coffee and three kinds of pies. They sat down again, for dessert.
It was past seven by the time all the eating was done. Billy brought out his guitar. And Regina, Patrick's wife, sat down to the piano that Delilah said had once belonged to her mother, Bathsheba. They played together, and everybody sang, mostly children's songs, to keep the kids entertained. By nine, a few of the youngest ones had started to droop. Jesse sat in Prudence's lap, his little head nodding, more than ready for bedtime, but unwilling to let go of all the fun he'd been having. She kissed his warm, fuzzy head and looked up to meet Billy's eyes.
He set his guitar aside. "Time for us to be heading on home."
Jenny and Becca, Evie's stepdaughters, protested. "Just one more song," they begged. But the adults were already up and moving toward the downstairs bedroom, where all their coats lay in a high, rain-damp tangle on the bed.
Prudence sat, rocking Jesse gently, and waited for Billy to comeback with their things. By the time he was standing over them, wearing his own jacket, holding out her coat, Jesse had slipped off into dreams. Carefully she traded the child for the coat, slipping her arms into the sleeves and buttoning up.
The doorbell rang just as they were standing in the foyer, saying their goodbyes to Sam and Delilah. Prudence's heart leapt a little at the sound. Who else could it be but Oggie? The sight of him, safe and well and ready to meddle in everyone's lives again, would make the magical evening complete.
Delilah, closest to the door, reached out and pulled it open.
A big, gray-haired man in a khaki uniform stood there. The nameplate on his breastfront read Pangborn. And the patch on his jacket sleeve said he was the sheriff.
"Mind if I come in, folks?"
Delilah stepped back. Sheriff Pangborn entered the foyer. Delilah shut the door behind him, closing out the driving rain.
From just beyond the foyer, Jack Roper caught sight of his colleague, "What's up, Carl?"
The sheriff looked from one expectant face to the next. He shook his head. "I just got a call, folks. From the boys over in Tahoe."
An ominous silence descended. Someone in the living room murmured, "Oggie..."
Pangborn nodded. "I'm afraid so."
"Where is he?" Delilah's face had gone chalk white.
"Tahoe Forest Hospital."
"What's happened to him?"
"He blew a tire. It happened out on Highway 80, up near the summit early this afternoon."
Delilah demanded, "A flat tire? He's in the hospital because of a flat tire?"
Pangborn put up both hands. "Easy, Delilah. Give me a minute." He looked around at all the Joneses, then met Delilah's eyes once more. "Maybe we should talk alone."
Jared spoke up from the arch to the living room. "Is this something the kids shouldn't hear?"
Pangborn thought about that. "Well, no. I suppose they'll be finding it out, anyway."
"Then you better just tell us. We're all family here, and we'll all want to know."
A chorus of agreement went up.
"Yes."
"Tell us."
"Tell us, please..."
Pangborn eyed the group warily. "You're sure?"
"Positive," said Jared.
"Just tell us what you know," Delilah insisted.
Jared spoke more calmly. "You said he blew a tire?"
Pangborn nodded.
"So just start with that. Where did it happen?"
"Past Truckee. Not far from Donner Summit. It was a steep, twisting section of road. Really treacherous, a canyon on one side and a mountain on the other, with almost no shoulder. And it was raining hard -- sleeting, really. It's almost cold enough for snow up there now. When the highway patrol got there, they found the car up against the mountain, good and snug. Oggie had pulled in as tight as he could. But it just wasn't tight enough. It was the left rear that blew, the side out toward the highway."
"But what happened?" pleaded Delilah.
Pangborn cast her a pained look as Jared commanded, "Let the man talk."
Pangborn continued, "The point is, Oggie ended up pretty close to the oncoming traffic while he knelt there to change the tire. A semitruck went by. At the same time, some idiot in a camper tried to pass on the trucker's left. The trucker had to swerve to give the camper room."
Delilah interrupted again, her voice tight as a hard-coiled spring. "You're saying my father's been hit by a semitruck?"
Sounds of distress went up from the group.
Pangborn hastened to reassure them. "No, he wasn't hit by the truck. He evidently scrambled off his knees just in time to avoid getting clipped. But in the process, he knocked the jack loose."
Delilah put her hands over her mouth and let out a little moan of distress.
"That Cadillac dropped like a rock," Pangborn said. "It more or less ejected the jack, which bopped Oggie a good one up the side of the head."
Someone murmured, "Oh, God."
"Luckily the trucker was one of the good guys. He called for help, then pulled over as soon as he could and ran back with flares, to wait with Oggie until the ambulance came." Pangborn glanced around at all the shocked, worried faces. "Look. It could be worse. There's no skull fracture, and no hemorrhaging that they've been able to find so far. And that's good."
Delilah had a wild light in her eyes. "What are you saying, Sheriff? What are you telling us? Are you saying he's all right? Are you saying he's just fine?"
Sam stepped up close and wrapped an arm around her, pulling her against his side. "Lilah, go easy..."
At first she stiffened, and then she acquiesced to lean on her husband. She sighed. "Sam, it's my fault. I drove him away..."
He pulled her closer. "If anyone drove him off, it was me."
She reached up, touched his face. "Oh, Sam..."
Eden chided, "Don't you two go blaming yourselves. You know how Oggie is, always taking off for somewhere. This could have happened on any one of those trips of his."
Jack stepped forward. "Carl, tell us. Is he going to be all right?"
Pangborn let out a long breath. "He should be."
"Should be?"
The sheriff cleared his throat. "There is one little problem."
Everyone waited -- silent, fearing.
The sheriff said, "The old man seems to have forgotten who he is."
Delilah, Sam, Jared and Eden all went to the hospital right away. Eden told Prudence later that Oggie was sleeping when they got there. They took turns in his room through the night. The next morning, when Oggie woke, he didn't seem to know any of them. Wearing a blank, pleasant smile, he looked from one face to the other.
"Well, hi. It's so nice to have visitors. Who are you folks, anyway?"
Shaken, they turned to the doctors, who counseled patience. They still found no physical signs of brain damage. More than likely, very soon, Oggie's memory would return.
Through the entire day, Friday, Sam and Delilah both refused to leave Oggie's side. The two of them slept in his room that night, sitting up in chairs, holding hands.
And a miracle happened. When he woke the next morning, Oggie greeted his daughter and her husband by name. In a gentle, patient voice, he said he was sorry for all the pain and frustration he'd caused them over the years. From that day forward, he vowed, they would find him a changed man, a man who minded his own business and let others mind theirs. Since Oggie had always been prone to grandiose declarations, they didn't take him too seriously at the time.
Twenty-four hours later, Oggie was released into the care of his family. They brought him back to his room at Sam and Delilah's house. Once she saw Oggie settled in, Delilah returned to the motel -- but only to pay her bill and collect her things. Then she went home to her husband and her father.
Sunday afternoon, while Jesse napped, Billy paid a visit to the old man. When he returned, Prudence was waiting at the door for him.
"How is he?"
Billy shook his head. "I don't know. He's fine, I guess."
"You're frowning. Something's wrong."
"He's just so ... different."
"Different, how?"
"I can't explain it. He's so ... nice. So soft-spoken. So polite. It's not like him at all. And do you know, he never once called me 'boy'? That really bothered me, for some crazy reason."
"But did he know who you were?"
"Yeah. He knew me. He asked how you and Jesse were doing."
"So he is okay?"
"Hell. I don't know. What's okay? I talked to Delilah afterward. She said he really has changed, that he claims getting hit on the head has helped him to see the world in a new light. He says he'll do no more interfering. No more telling people what they should be doing with their lives. He swears he's never going to meddle again. That should be good, right?"
"Yes. I suppose."
"You don't sound like you think it's good."
"Quite frankly, I don't know what to think."
The next day, Prudence went to see the change in Oggie for herself. Delilah showed her to Oggie's room, where she found him sitting in a reclining chair, staring out the window at a leafless tree in the backyard.
"Father. Prudence is here."
He turned his head and smiled amiably. "Ah. Prudence. Real nice of you to drop by."
Prudence took a straight chair near his recliner. They visited for a half an hour, during which time he never once called her "gal," which bothered her just as much as not being called "boy" had bothered Billy. In fact, at more than one point in the conversation, she had the eeriest feeling she was talking to a very sweet, very well-behaved stranger who just happened to look like Oggie Jones.
Finally she couldn't stand it anymore. She leaned across and put her hand on his. "Uncle Oggie. Are you really all right?"
He laid his other hand on hers. "I am just fine. I have learned my lesson is all. Turned over a whole new leaf, yessirree. It's live and let live for this old fool from now on. "
She spoke to Delilah before she left. "I can't get over it. He really does seem different."
Delilah nodded. "You'd think I would like it, after the way he's driven me crazy for just about all of my life. But I'm not sure..." She let the thought trail off.
Prudence dared to ask, "And how are you doing?"
Delilah's face looked softer, suddenly. "It's funny. Sometimes you can be so hungry for that one important thing, that you lose sight of all you do have. And then, something happens to wake you up. You look around and you realize you have a lot already. And you're so busy suffering over not having that one other thing, you're throwing away all the rest. Does that make any sense at all?"
Prudence nodded. "It makes complete sense. I'm glad for you." She started for the door, but Delilah stopped her with a hand on her arm.
"How did things turn out for Sharlee Stubblehill?"
"As far as we know, she's fine."
"She went back to Southern California, didn't she?"
"Yes. Billy got her a job at his club in Van Nuys. She was glad to go, glad for a new start."
"I have to admit, I'm glad she moved on."
"It was the best thing."
"But I do believe she was a sweet kid at heart -- even if she was after my husband."
"Sam never looked twice. You know that, don't you?"
Delilah's smile went all the way to her eyes. "Sharlee was never really the problem. I understand that now."
\*
The day was cool and breezy, but sunny. Prudence pulled her sweater a little closer to block out the bite of the wind as she walked down Rambling Lane, headed home. She pondered the change in Oggie, and remembered the softness in Delilah's face when Prudence had asked her how things were going.
Sam and Delilah had a good marriage, Prudence could see that. A marriage strong enough to withstand the worst disappointments life can dish out. Until she'd moved to North Magdalene, Prudence hadn't seen many good marriages. Now, though, observing what was possible, Prudence couldn't help but feel just a little bit envious.
Billy was lounging in the open front door when she got home, with the stereo going behind him. Prudence shook her head at him as she went up the walk. "You know, it costs money to heat the whole outdoors."
"You give me the heating bill when it comes. I'll take care of it."
"That's not the point. It's wasteful."
"Don't nag, Prue." He had a certain look in his eye. A look she knew very well now, a look to which her body responded automatically.
She mounted the steps, her gaze locked with his. When she got about a foot and a half away, he reached out, grabbed her hand and yanked her over the threshold into his arms. "I've been waiting for you." He kicked the door closed behind them and leaned against it, pressing a hand at the small of her back so that her body fitted right to his.
That delicious, warm ache was spreading down inside her. She tipped her head up to him. "Glad to see me, are you?"
He pressed her closer. "Feel how glad."
She remembered Jesse. "What about---?"
"Nap time." He kissed her. When his nose bumped her glasses, he took them off. Then he grabbed her hand and pulled her toward his room.
As he pressed her down onto his bed, she thought, we really can't go on like this forever. The big talk had to happen. It was supposed to have happened two days ago, on Friday. But neither of them had breathed a word about it. They'd waited near the phone for news of Oggie and taken care of Jesse and continued on, playing house as if it was never going to end.
Billy pushed her sweater out of the way and kissed her breast right through her shirt and bra. It felt good. Wonderful. She pushed herself up toward him. His hands went roaming. Incredible, what he could do with those hands of his.
Prudence let those hands have her. The big talk could wait.
\*
That night, as soon as Jesse went to sleep, Billy went to find Prudence. She was waiting for him, where he'd hoped she'd be, in her bedroom.
It surprised the hell out of Billy, how good Prue had turned out to be in bed. She was better than booze or any drug he'd ever tried. She gave endless pleasure. And he never had a hangover after.
She dropped off around
Her hair looked almost black in the darkness, her skin so pale and fine. Billy liked to look at her. She had so many different ways she could look. From butt-ugly, to downright beautiful. Sometimes, in the morning, when she woke up, before she groped for her glasses and settled them on her nose, she would blink and then open her blind eyes so wide. She would look just like Mr. Magoo. And then other times, like now, as she lay sleeping, he would think that he'd never seen anyone so damn beautiful in his life.
She turned her head, sighing, showing him the side of her neck. He lowered his head, put his mouth there. She lifted her arms, pulling him closer. "Billy..."
"One more time," he whispered, trailing his hand down over her belly, kissing his way up the smooth line of her neck.
"Billy..."
He covered her mouth with his own.
\*
The next morning after breakfast, Billy had some calls to make -- to Alexis and to his agent in Los Angeles. Prudence took Jesse and went over to Eden's, where she drank more coffee than she should have and she and Eden discussed the change in Oggie and the touching reconciliation of Sam and Delilah.
Around ten, Jared came into the kitchen. "Heading over to the Hole in the Wall," he said, and dropped a kiss on Eden's forehead.
She grabbed his arm before he could escape her. "Check the produce over good when it comes in, will you? Some of the lettuce has been coming in looking pretty ragged lately."
"Yes, ma'am."
They looked at each other for a moment, then Jared bent briefly and brushed his wife's lips with his own. Eden promised, "I'll be in by two."
"Good enough."
Watching them, Prudence had the sudden, embarrassing urge to burst into tears. She got up, went into the living room and checked on Jesse, who was playing happily by himself under the conscientious supervision of Sally Louise, Eden's four-year-old.
"He's doing fine," Sally Louise announced in her most grown-up voice. "He tried to eat the chair leg, but I said, 'no, no, no.' So he stopped."
"Very good. Thank you." Prudence glanced at Sally's baby sister, Diana, who lay on a blanket nearby, sucking on her toes, in clear view of Eden in the kitchen. "And I see Diana looks happy, too."
"Everybody is haiving."
It took Prudence a moment to realize that "haiving" stood for behaving. "Yes," she said, "you are quite a good babysitter."
"I certly am."
Prudence praised the little girl some more and then wandered back into the kitchen. Jared had left and Eden was waiting for her. Prudence tried a bright smile.
Eden wasn't buying. "Okay. What's the deal?"
Prudence considered denial and rejected it. In the past weeks, Eden had become a true friend. Someone Prudence could trust. Someone she could really talk to. Prudence sank to the chair she had left a few moments before.
"What?" Eden prodded. "Tell me."
Prudence folded her hands on the table, her coffee cup between them. "You and Jared look so great together. So solid, you know? So permanent."
Eden let out a groan and raked both hands back through her short cap of red-blond hair. "It's Billy."
Prudence stared down into her empty cup. When she looked up, Eden was nodding grimly. "It's Billy," she said again.
Prudence leaned her chin on her hand. "At first, I thought there was no chance of anything, you know, happening between us."
"Okay."
"And then, when he first ... expressed interest, I told him no way. Ever. Forget it. Get lost."
"And now, you're in love with him."
Prudence picked up her cup, went to the coffeemaker and got a refill. "More?"
Eden shook her head. "Have you told him?"
Prudence leaned against the counter and sipped. "No."
"You should tell him."
"No. It's never going to be anything but temporary with him. I know that. That's ... the way he is."
"Prudence, that's the way he was. Maybe, with you---"
"Oh, stop it. Have you heard the stories about him? Every woman he's ever been with has thought that."
"Still, I think you should tell him. Tell him how you feel and what you want. You do know what you want?"
"Yes."
"What?"
She dared to say it. "What you and Jared have."
"Marriage?"
Prudence turned, set her coffee cup on the counter and spoke without turning back to her friend. "Oh, it's crazy. I never wanted that. Never in my whole life. I wanted ... to take care of myself. To lead a productive life. And then, lately, to bring Jesse up right."
"But now?"
"Now Jesse has a father. A real father. You know what I mean?"
"You mean Billy is fully capable of bringing up Jesse himself."
"Yes."
"You would let him do that?"
"Yes. Yes, I would. Selfishly I wouldn't want to. But for Jesse, I really believe it's the right thing."
Eden asked softly, "And what about you and Billy?"
She turned then, and faced Eden. "You said it a minute ago. I'm in love with Billy."
"And where does that lead you?"
"It leads me to ... want it all. And if I can't have it all, I want to know. So I can move on."
"So tell him."
"Oh, God."
"You have to tell him."
"I know."
\*
"Talent problems," Billy said the minute Prudence and Jesse walked in the front door.
Prudence knelt to help Jesse out of his jacket, then, still wearing her own, she went to sit by Billy on the sofa. "What kind of talent problems?"
"I had Buddy Bobiles and the Hawaiian Rockers starting Friday and scheduled through the end of next week. But the band broke up. I called around a little, trying to come up with something from here. But it doesn't look like that'll work. Everybody I can think of already has a gig. That means I've got to go down there and listen to a few new groups. I figure, if we leave tomorrow morning, I'll have tomorrow night. Thursday and all day Friday to come up with another group. It shouldn't be that big a deal." He leaned toward her, brushed her shoulder lightly with the tips of his fingers. "But then I got to thinking, maybe we could just stay on for a while. I could line up a few more acts, get together with Alexis, go over the books and all that stuff, so things will be under control until at least after the holidays."
Prudence stared at Jesse, who sat on the floor a few feet away. He'd found a rubber hammer under the coffee table and was gently tapping his knee with it "Prue?" Billy touched her shoulder again. "You in there?"
She blinked and looked down at Jesse's jacket, which she still held wrapped over her arm. "Yes. I heard what you said."
"So can you handle this? A few days, maybe longer, in LA.? The weather should be nice. You can shop. Visit old friends."
She made herself look at him. "Billy." He knew immediately. She saw the veil of wariness come down in his eyes. "That two weeks we agreed on when you first came here has been and gone."
He pulled away, back to his own side of the sofa. "Yeah, so?"
"So, before we go running off to Van Nuys together, we really have to ... discuss a few things."
"No, we don't."
She stood and cast a significant glance at the child on the floor. "We can talk all about it at nap time, how's that?"
Billy made a low sound in his throat. "Do I have a choice?"
Now she found herself beginning to feel angry. In some ways he was just like a child. He wanted what he wanted when he wanted it, and he didn't want anything interfering with his fun. She spoke carefully. "A few decisions do have to be made."
"Why? Things are going just fine, as far as I'm concerned."
She had the distinct urge to shout at him. She cast a glance at Jesse, who'd picked up the tension between the grown-ups and stopped hammering his knee to stare at them. "Let's just talk about it later."
He looked at Jesse, too. "Fine. Later." He stood and went to kneel before his son. "Hey, mister. How 'bout lunch?"
Jesse stuck the rubber hammer into his mouth and drooled out something that might have been yes.
\*
Two hours later, Billy stood over Jesse's bed. The kid looked so sweet and peaceful when he slept. Watching him made Billy want to climb into the top bunk and catch a few z's himself.
Sleeping would sure be preferable to what waited for him downstairs: Prue, in a mood for a serious talk.
It was enough to ruin a guy's whole day. Sure, he'd known it had to come sooner or later. But later would have been a hell of a lot better, if you asked Billy.
Which nobody had.
With a rueful shrug, he turned from the sleeping child and headed for the door.
She was sitting in one of the easy chairs when he got down to her.
He dropped to the sofa. "Okay, what?" As if he damn well didn't know.
She rubbed the chair arms with her hands, looking toward the fireplace, the front window, and then finally at him. "This is so difficult."
He sat forward, braced his elbows on his knees. "So don't do it."
She blinked. "Excuse me?"
"Look. Things are going along fine. Just let it be. Let what happens happen."
She stared at him, the way people stare when they're spoken to in a language they don't understand. "Billy, maybe that works for you. But it doesn't work for me. I want to know where we're going together. I want to know what we really are to each other."
He decided he might as well go ahead and make his offer. "You want me to marry you, Prue, is that it?"
She hadn't been prepared for that one, he could see it in her look of round-eyed surprise. "You would actually marry me?"
"Yeah."
"But..."
"But what?"
"Billy. You've always sworn you would never get married again."
He shrugged. "I changed my mind."
"But why?"
He sat back, let out a long breath. "You want me to say I love you, right?"
He knew her next words before she said them: "Do you love me?"
He looked at her, thinking that with women, it always had to come to this. To negotiations. Definitions. To tying everything up in a neat little bow. To tying him up, if they could manage it.
Generally, once it got to this point, he was ready to move along anyway. No woman had tied him up yet -- excepting the two who'd had the sense to get him good and drunk before they whipped out the rope.
Prue, however, was another situation altogether. He wasn't even close to being through with her yet. Even now, irritated as he was with her for springing this crap on him so early on, he wanted her.
And besides, there was Jesse to consider. The three of them -- him and her and Jesse -- got along just fine together. Why bust up a good thing when all he had to do to keep it was to trot out a few love words and slide a wedding ring on Prue's finger? True, love words and wedding rings went against his principles. But now, with Jesse in his life, some things would have to change.
"Time's up," she said dryly.
"I was going to answer." He sounded defensive, even to his own ears.
But she only smiled sadly and shook her head. "Look. Let's put aside this marriage thing, okay? Let's settle the question of Jesse's custody. That's the real issue anyway, isn't it?" He supposed that it was, though he didn't reply. She demanded, looking pinched. "Isn't it?"
He shifted uneasily, dreading what she'd hit him with on this front. "Fine. All right. It is. So get it over with. What are you going to do?"
"I'm going to sign over full custody to you."
If she hadn't been so hurt and angry, Prudence would have laughed out loud at the blank shock on Billy's face.
He asked, very quietly, "Would you repeat that?"
She kept her tone strictly businesslike. "I'm going to sign over custody of Jesse to you. You're going to be responsible for raising him. I'm sure you'll do a fine job."
She could see he still couldn't quite get his mind around what she was telling him. "You're going to let me have him?"
She nodded. "I'm not certain yet just how we'll go about it, since Randi didn't put your name on Jesse's birth certificate. I imagine blood tests might be necessary, and certainly there'll be a hearing. But eventually, guardianship will be yours."
The stereo remote sat on the coffee table. Billy reached for it.
"Don't," she said, thinking she would scream if he turned on his music right then. "Let's finish this."
He sat back without touching the device. "All right. Finish."
She watched him, wondering how in the world, if she just had to love a man, she'd managed to choose this one. "I have a few suggestions -- conditions, really."
He was looking at her sideways, not at all sure what was going on here. "Fine. Let's hear 'em."
"I think any single parent raising a child should have ... community around them, people who can and will help out sometimes."
"Wait a minute."
She didn't want to wait. She just wanted to get this over with. "Listen to me, Billy. If you want custody of Jesse, I really will insist that you make arrangements to live here permanently."
He put up both hands. "Whoa. Hold it. Single parent? What about you?"
"I said I'm giving you custody. Full custody. I won't be staying here."
He stood. "What the hell? I said I'd marry you."
"No, thanks."
He dropped to the couch again, rubbed a hand down his face and then slumped against the cushions. "Come on, Prue. Don't go there."
"I don't know what you mean."
"You do. Don't go there. Don't play this game."
"It's no game."
"The hell it's not."
"I'm not going to marry you, Billy," she told him again, since he seemed to have such difficulty believing her. "It wouldn't work. I can see now that it's better to just cut it clean."
"Cut it clean." He gave her words back to her in a voice that lacked inflection.
"Yes."
"When did you decide that?"
"Just a minute ago. Now, can we get on to what matters here?"
He looked at her for a long time before he said, "Sure. Get on with it."
She realized she was clutching the chair arms as if they could save her -- from what, she couldn't have said. She ordered her grip to relax. "Randi wanted Jesse raised in a place like North Magdalene. And I think she was right. I think this is just the right place for him to grow up, in this particular small town, with his family all around him. Will you raise him here?"
He was staring at her. Just staring.
She prodded, "Billy. Will you raise Jesse here?"
"You're done with me. Finished. All at once. Just like that."
She knew if she said the word, yes, it would come out a hoarse croak, without power. Without dignity. She settled for one fast nod -- and got back to what had to be dealt with. "Will you raise Jesse here?"
He seemed to shake himself. "Yeah. All right."
"Maybe while you're down in L.A., you could come to some agreement with the manager of your club. Maybe she could handle things most of the time and you could---"
He waved a hand. "I'll deal with it. It's my damn club."
"Well. All right. Of course." Her voice caught. She had to swallow before she could go on. "Actually I think you do like it here, for yourself. You like your family. I think you want to stay."
"You're just jam-packed with opinions, aren't you, Prue?"
She flinched at his sarcasm, then told herself to ignore it, to stick to the issue here, to get things settled. "Do you want this house?"
He lifted an eyebrow. "Oh, that's right. You're leaving. You won't need it."
"Yes."
"And where are you going?"
"I thought ... Sacramento." She hadn't really thought about where she would go, not seriously. Not until this very moment.
"Why Sacramento?"
She cast about for reasons -- and found them easily. "It's less than two hours away. There are several major public accounting firms there. I would even be able to cultivate a client base if I wanted to open up some kind of bookkeeping or financial planning service on my own. And I'll be close enough to visit Jesse often."
"Yeah. We'll really be looking forward to visits from you, Prue."
His ridicule was getting old fast. "Billy. Come on."
He surged to his feet again and came around the coffee table toward her. "Come on, what?"
She realized she should have escaped the chair before he stood. Now, he had her cornered in it. "Let's just ... not do this."
He looked down at her, his lip curling in a nasty snarl. "Not do this? What does that mean?"
"Let's not get angry. Let's not say ugly things. Please."
"But I am angry, Prue." His tone was a mean caress. "Out of the blue, you're telling me it's over. And I am thinking a lot of very ugly things."
"Well, keep them to yourself."
"The hell I will."
She managed to slide to the side and get free of the chair, which she immediately put between them. "I mean it, Billy. Let it go."
"I'm not ready to let it go."
Something inside of her snapped then. "Right. That's it. That's it exactly."
"What are you babbling about?"
"You're not ready to let it go."
He glared at her, refusing to understand.
So she explained it to him. "You want things -- and people -- when you want them. For as long as you want them. That's all that's bothering you. That I'm leaving before you're through with me."
"Bull." But his eyes shifted away.
She kept her gaze dead on. "It is not bull. It's the truth. I know the way you operate. I saw you with my sister. And it worked out just fine with her, didn't it?"
"Why is it you always end up talking about Randi?"
"Because she matters. Because you hurt her. Because by the time she started making those scary commitment noises, you were ready to walk out the door anyway. But with me, it's not working out so well. I'm making the scary noises, and you're not done with me yet. So you pull out the big guns. You break your own rules about women. You agree that you'll marry me. "
He let out a derisive snort. "And you fix me up good on that score. You turn me down flat. Because your damn pride's hurt."
"No, that's not it."
"Your pride's hurt, Prue. I didn't come up with the I-love-you's fast enough. I didn't drop to my knees and beg you to hook a ball and chain to my leg."
"This is not about pride."
He grunted. "Right."
"It is not."
"Then what? Lay it on me. What is this about?"
"This is about ... my own foolishness, to have ever let myself become involved with you in the first place, after what I know from my own sister's experience."
"Randi, damn it. Randi again."
"This is about my own foolishness," she repeated, low and tautly controlled. "It is also about your disgusting willingness to do whatever you have to do in order to get what you want."
"My disgusting willingness?"
She refused to waver. "You want me around now, so you'll say anything to keep me around. You'll agree to marry me. You even would have said that you love me. Eventually. If I'd stood here waiting long enough. You have no ... respect, Billy. You take no care with people. You don't think about what's right. You don't think about the future. About the consequences to both of us -- not to mention, Jesse -- if we get ourselves into a marriage that isn't going to work."
"Stop. Stop right there. I think about Jesse. I think about him all the time."
She sighed -- and knew she couldn't deny that. "Yes, all right. I know you do."
"Really kills you to admit that, doesn't it?"
"No, it doesn't. Not at all. I think you are a wonderful father. And I believe that you will do a fine job of raising your son. However, in your relationships with women, you have a lot to learn. I hope you do learn. But you will not be learning with me. Is that clear?"
An ugly laugh escaped him. "Yeah. As glass. We're finished. Fine with me." He turned from her, and dropped to the couch again. "Anything else?"
Weakness washed over her. Pity. For him. For herself. For a brief time of beauty that was suddenly ending in such small meanness. She wanted to reach out, to cry, Wait. I don't know how we got here. We have done this so badly. Let's try one more time...
He picked up the remote, weighed it in his hands. "Finish it up, Prue."
So she did. "I expect you to take Jesse with you to Van Nuys tomorrow. I suppose it will take a while to work out all the legalities, but as far as I'm concerned, you're his father and he lives with you. However, this afternoon and this evening, I would like to spend as much time with him as possible." She paused, to give him a chance to say something if he wanted to. He didn't speak, just continued to balance the remote on his palm, waiting for her to be done. She went on, "As soon as you are gone, I will pack up and be on my way. Of course, I will keep you informed of my whereabouts at all times, should you need me for anything concerning Jesse's care." She remembered the issue of the house. "You still haven't told me, do you want this house?"
He shrugged. "Yeah, I want it."
"All right. I'll talk to Heather and get the number of the agent who handled the sale when she sold it to me. I'll have the agent call you, in a week or two. Good enough?"
He muttered, "Sure."
"As far as my furniture goes, once I get settled, I'll want my bedroom set and my desk. The rest of it---"
He waved the remote at her. "Look. Do we have to go into every little detail right now?"
He was right, she knew it. "No. Of course not." She hovered for a moment, behind the chair, feeling as if there was something else she ought to say. But then he looked away.
She knew then that the talking was done.
The music started as she mounted the stairs. And then, abruptly, it stopped. She hesitated on the third step, thinking maybe he would be coming after her, to tell her he wanted another chance, too. To say, Let's start over. Let's give it one more try.
But he didn't come. She realized he'd only put on his headphones. He was showing some consideration -- and cutting her out at the same time.
\*
Billy and Jesse left the next morning. Prudence saw them off, kneeling on the porch to get a last hug from Jesse. He wrapped his little arms around her neck and she breathed in his sweet nearly-a-baby smell and the breakfast Cheerios on his breath. When she kissed him, she closed her eyes so the feel of his downy-soft skin against her lips would be what she remembered. Later.
"We've gotta go." Billy was standing over them.
She pulled back from Jesse, straightened the collar of his shirt. "You have a nice trip."
Jesse gurgled, a happy, agreeable sound, then reached out and hugged her once more. "Woo." A baby giggle in her ear. She kissed him one more time.
At last, there was no way to stretch the goodbye one bit further. She stood, relinquishing the child that she had once almost dared to think of as her own.
Billy said, "Good luck." His eyes were open, but everything in them was closed to her.
"Thank you. You, too."
"You'll be in touch, right?"
"I will. We'll settle everything, eventually. But I'll need to get established first, if that's all right."
"Whatever. You let me know."
"Yes." Huge spaces, she thought. Empty holes. "I'll let you know." He's standing right next to me, but neither of us is really here.
A flash of memory went off in her mind, blinding in its brightness. The first night they had made love. She had tossed the boxes of condoms in his lap. And he hadn't been able to look at her. He had taken her hand. Finally he had dared to look, to smile. Such stunned desire there, in his eyes.
Now there was nothing in his eyes.
"Okay, then." He took Jesse's hand and they went down the walk and out under the gray early-December sky. She followed at a distance, standing back a little, as Billy put his son in the car seat in back, closed the door, went around to the driver's side and got in.
Jesse waved at her through the window, grinning broadly, mouthing "Bye-bye." She pasted on a bright smile and waved back until the Jeep pulled away from the curb. And then she turned, wrapped her arms tightly around her middle and headed up the walk to the empty house.
\*
The next morning, Prudence said goodbye to Eden. They had coffee at Eden's house one last time.
Eden said, "I honestly believe that Billy does love you. I know these Jones men. They don't give in to loving gracefully, but when it's all said and done, I swear to you, Prudence. They're worth the pain. If you would only give Billy a little time, give him a chance to---"
"Please, Eden."
And Eden sighed. "All right."
On the way home from Eden's, Prudence stopped in at Nellie's house and told the older woman she would not be able to help out with the Christmas Carnival after all, as Billy would be taking care of Jesse from now on, and Prudence intended to move to Sacramento.
An I-told-you-so look flashed in Nellie's eyes. But Prudence had to give her credit. She didn't say a word beyond, "We will miss you. Greatly. Are you sure you won't consider staying in town?"
Prudence made regretful noises -- and said she really did have to go.
Once she left Nellie's house, she had planned to go over and say goodbye to Oggie.
But she just couldn't bring herself to do it. She didn't know how he would react to her news. He was so different now. The old Oggie, she liked to think, would have yelled at her. The old Oggie wouldn't have wanted her to leave his town, because he thought of her as part of his family and he wanted his family nearby. Of course, she would have stood firm in her determination to move on. But something inside her would have been nourished and uplifted by his obvious desire to have her stay.
The new Oggie, she feared, would do little more than wish her well. She didn't think she could bear that, so she took the coward's way. She decided she would visit him in a few weeks, when she came back to work out all those details that she and Billy would ultimately have to handle.
Prudence returned to the house on Prospect Street. She finished the last of her packing. Then she called a nice hotel in Sacramento and got herself a reservation for that night.
At five that afternoon, she put her bags in her car and headed out of town.
\*
Everything went smoothly for Billy in Van Nuys. It turned out that Alexis's oldest daughter, Sheilah, was getting a degree in child development. She worked at a day-care center about six blocks from Bad Billy's. For a certain price, Billy could drop Jesse off there anytime. Sheilah gave him a list of trustworthy babysitters, so if he needed someone to help out at night, he only had to make a few calls.
On Wednesday and Thursday, Billy left Jesse at day care. He spent from ten in the morning until two in the afternoon listening to a succession of bands. After that, he closeted himself with Alexis.
"Sounds like you want a partner now, more than a manager," Alexis said, when he explained that he intended to start living in North Magdalene most of the time.
"Yeah, I think you're right."
"I'll buy in."
"What? You got rich managing this place? Should I look closer at the books?"
"You know the books are solid." Alexis seemed very pleased with herself. "And I have been saving, I admit it, hoping someday you'd be ready for this. I can get a good-size loan, too. And since I'm going to be doing most of the work, I figure you should give me a deal on my share of the buy-in."
Billy looked around his cramped, dusty office. Once, he had lived for the place. "Getting Bad Billy's off the ground was the only time I ever worked hard in my life."
Alexis leaned back in the extra chair, whipped out her nail board and started filing away. "But you haven't had the interest, the last couple of years."
He knew she was right. "I guess it's time I moved on."
She stopped filing. "Partners, that's what I want. You come down a few days, once or twice a month. Book the bands, go over the money situation. Maybe agree to get out your guitar now and then. What do you say?"
"Sounds good."
By late Thursday afternoon, they had worked out a basic agreement. Alexis said she'd get a hold of the lawyer they always used, have him put it all down in writing.
Friday, Billy went to see his agent. The news was good there, too. Waverly had done a brisk business with Billy's most recent songs. A top country-western singer would use "Never To See You Again" as the title cut on her next album.
Billy should have been on top of the damn world. He had his son, and a family he hadn't even realized he needed. His music was making him lots of money. The club he'd grown a little tired of would run along just fine with Alexis in charge. He could book the bands and cash the checks Alexis sent him. And live in the mountains most of the time, teaching Jesse the things he needed to know: how to hit the urinal, how to dress himself, how to move back and then up on a fly ball.
What the hell more could he ask for?
As soon as the question took shape, the answer followed: Prue.
But he couldn't have Prue.
Hell, he wouldn't have Prue. Not if she showed up at his door and begged him to take her back, on his terms, for as long as he wanted her.
For the past few days now, that had become a fantasy of his -- adolescent, yes, but nonetheless gratifying.
A knock at the door. And when he opened it, Prue. Standing in a driving rainstorm -- for some reason, in this fantasy, it was always raining hard. And Prue was shivering, her hands stuffed into the pockets of a dripping wet trench coat. Over her hair she'd tied a scarf, all soggy and drooping now, from the rain. Behind her water-spotted glasses, her eyes were fixed on him in abject appeal.
"Oh, Billy. I can't live without you. Just give me one more chance. I'll do anything you want..."
Of course, he would be tempted. Prue willing to do anything -- that would be something.
But he would hold firm. He would look her over good, from head to toe and back again. And then he'd shake his head.
"Forget it, Prue. You blew your chance." And he'd close the door in her face.
Unfortunately, after that fantasy, he'd always find himself remembering things he shouldn't let himself remember. Dancing with Prue in the living room of the house on Prospect Street. Or taking her hand at Sam's Thanksgiving dinner. Or the sight of her at the kitchen table in the morning, bending over her coffee cup, her fiery hair falling across her pale cheek. Or her blind look, with her glasses off, her face all soft and bewildered just before he would kiss her...
It all went in a circle. The wanting. And the infantile fantasy of rejecting her -- and the sweet, aching memories that rose up when the fantasy was through.
It got him nowhere, he knew. The hard fact was, he didn't have her. And he had damn well better get used to not having her, because she wasn't coming back.
Wednesday night and Thursday night, he stayed home, with Jesse. It was kind of a habit he'd acquired lately: staying home. And since he'd left Jesse in other people's care most of the day, it seemed important to give the kid his evenings, at least.
His bungalow in Studio City had hardwood floors, perfect for toy trucks. They'd get down on the floor together, he and Jesse, and roll the trucks around. Funny, how quick those vroom-vroom sounds came back to a man. He and Jesse would vroom the trucks around and crash them into each other and laugh. They'd sing songs. And read stories. And by
And Billy would be going nuts, trying not to think about Prue. Wanting to call the house in North Magdalene, just to see if she would answer, just to see if she was still there.
By Friday night at eight-thirty, he gave in. He called. The phone rang four times. And the damn machine picked up. He heard her voice. "Hello, you have reached..." He listened to the mundane words, something dark and hungry moving inside him, something violent. Something lonely. When the beep came, he slammed the phone down.
And then he picked it up and punched redial. He listened a second time to the message, to the sound of her that wasn't really her. Just an echo, captured on a machine.
And this time, when the beep came, he said, "Prue. Damn you, Prue. Pick up."
Silence. Endless. Maddening.
He punched the disconnect button. Then he called Sheilah. She answered on the second ring. He told her he wanted to go over to the club for a few hours and asked which of the people on her babysitting list he should call first.
She said what he'd hoped she might. That she had a mountain of studying to do and there was no reason she couldn't do it at his place and keep an eye on Jesse at the same time.
\*
The band that night was glad to let Billy sit in. He played three sets with them, joining them at their table in between, laughing too loud at bad jokes, drinking a little more than he should have, maybe, trying to tell himself he was having a good time.
He saw Sharlee, sashaying by in her red cowboy boots. She held her drink tray high and looked as happy as a heifer in an alfalfa field. She caught his eye and winked at him.
Surprisingly, according to Alexis, Sharlee was working out just fine. "Bakes cookies for the bartenders, can you believe it?" Alexis had told him. "And if someone's feeling low, she'll go and sit with them on her break, listen to their tale of woe. Everybody loves her. And she's always right on time for her shift..."
Little Loretta was still around, too. And up to her old tricks, licking her lips and flashing her gorgeous teeth, rubbing those plump breasts against him when she served him his drinks. Maybe he played up to her a little more than he should have, because he'd had a few too many and he was here to forget a certain bossy, bug-eyed redhead.
At one point, when things had started to get pleasantly hazy, he put his arm around Loretta and asked her how the world was treating her. She smiled up at him, dreamy-eyed, the way a woman ought to look at a man. "The world is treating me just fine, Billy. Just ... spectacular."
"Glad to hear it." He bent his head a little and she lifted hers and all of a sudden, he was kissing her.
The girl really went all out. When he came up for air, the guys at the table were applauding. With a mock bow, he dropped into his chair and wiped the lipstick off his mouth. Then he picked up the shot of Black Jack she'd brought him and knocked it back. He squinted against the heat of it, going down.
When he opened his eyes again, Loretta had moved off to bring more drinks -- and Sharlee was standing over near the platform stairs that went down to the dance floor, glaring at him. He frowned back at her, wondering what the hell she thought she should be giving him dirty looks about.
"Women," he muttered under his breath.
Soon enough, Loretta was back. "Dance with me, Billy."
Now, how could he refuse a sweet request like that? He went down the platform stairs with her and took her in his arms. They danced two jukebox numbers, close and slow. She rubbed herself against him, making sure he got the message just in case he'd missed it so far.
He pulled her closer, fitting her up and into him. She was pretty and she smelled good, even if she didn't smell like Prue.
Too young, though, he knew that.
But hell. Lately he was breaking all his own rules anyway. He'd gone and said he'd marry Prue. Stone sober, he had offered her marriage.
Not that it mattered, since Prue had turned him down.
The second song ended. But Loretta hung on, offering up her full, soft little mouth.
Some shred of sense must have remained with him, because he stepped back, and said, "Thank you, darlin'," and headed the hell away from her.
Either he dodged through the crowd faster than she could keep up, or she got wise and decided not to follow him. Whichever it was, when he came up the stairs beside the main bar and ducked into the door that would take him back to the safety of his office, she was nowhere around.
He strode on, through the relative quiet of the deserted storeroom, shoving through the door to his office at last and dropping into his desk chair without even bothering to turn on the light. He slumped down in the chair, low.
With the door partway open, he could hear the music from the main part of the club, not loud enough for his taste, but pretty clear. The band was starting in again. Their final set. They had a hell of a fiddle player, name of Charlie Parvenu. Damned if old Charlie couldn't make those strings scream.
Billy swung his boots up on the desk, leaned back and closed his eyes.
"Billy." The soft voice came from the doorway.
He glanced over. Sure enough.
"Billy, you shouldn't have just left me there."
He told her, slow and clear, "You go on now, Loretta, get on out of here."
The light from the storeroom shone on her hair. Dark red hair. Longing sliced through him, sharp and singing, like a knife. Like Charlie Parvenu whipping that bow over those strings.
The girl came on, into the darkness with him, carefully closing the door behind her, shutting out the light.
"I told you to go," he said one more time.
"But I don't want to go." She was leaning against the door. He could see the shadow of her there.
Loneliness. All through him.
He heard her moving, the soft tread of her boots on the floor, coming toward him. Farther away now, that singing fiddle, the noise from the club.
Things sliding on the desk as she pushed them out of her way. And then she hoisted herself up, so she was sitting there, on the desktop, her thigh against his legs. He rocked back, dropped his booted feet to the floor.
She laughed, low. Knowing. And then she was bending forward, the unfamiliar scent of her all around him, her mouth opening on his, her hands fanning out against his chest.
He wondered in a distant way if he might possibly be able to get it up with her. After all, she did have red hair and he had an imagination. Maybe it would be like him and Jesse and the toy trucks, like the vroom-vroom sound that came right back to a man, even if it had been over thirty years since he did it last. Because that's what he felt like. Like he was playing some game he'd grown out of long ago.
Her mouth sucked his and her hungry, seeking hands moved downward. In a minute, she was going to find out that he wasn't as involved as he should have been. He wondered how the hell he was going to handle that.
But he didn't have time to wonder long, because right then the door swung back and the overhead light burst on, blinding him.
Loretta gasped and jerked back, bumping the desk, and then dropping with an undignified, "Oof!" to the floor.
"Billy Jones, I am ashamed of you." Sharlee was standing in the doorway.
Billy rubbed his blinded eyes. "What the hell?"
Sharlee wasn't finished. "Didn't you learn a darn thing from what happened to me?"
"Huh?"
"It's a pity. It's a crying shame. What you are doing here tonight is only going to make things worse."
Loretta came up then, spitting mad. "You nosy little bitch. Get out of here. Now."
Sharlee planted her hands on her hips. "Don't you get nasty with me, Loretta. Don't you even try it."
"Why, you..." Loretta started toward Sharlee.
Billy stood. "Loretta."
Loretta turned and looked at him, her eyes a little wild, her lipstick smeared down to her chin. "I'm getting rid of her. Now."
He wiped his own mouth. "No."
Loretta frowned. "What?"
"You'd better go." His palm was greasy pink. "Take the night off, if you want to."
"But, Billy---"
He put up that lipstick-smeared hand. "It wasn't a good idea, Loretta."
"But I thought you---"
"Let it go, Loretta. Sharlee did you a favor, I promise you."
She stared at him, caught now between fury and incredulity. He shook his head.
"Fine," she said. "Just fine." And she whirled on her heel and marched for the door. Sharlee slid to the side as she flounced out.
There was a smashed-looking box of tissues on the corner of his desk. Billy yanked one out and wiped the lipstick off his hand, hoping that Sharlee would follow Loretta and get lost. But he might as well have whistled for the moon.
"You love Prudence," Sharlee said. "How can you let some other woman crawl all over you?"
Billy dropped to his chair again.
Sharlee demanded, "How can you do that? It's revolting, is what it is."
All at once he was weary, right down to his bones. "Sharlee, leave me be. I've had enough for one night."
"But I was there. I saw what was happening between you and Prudence. I thought it was so beautiful, you and her and little Jesse. Didn't it work out, is that it?" Her round Kewpie-doll eyes brimmed with honest concern.
"Sharlee..."
"Well. Didn't it?"
"No. It didn't work out."
"Oh. Oh, how sad..." She took a step toward him. "Maybe you want to talk about it?"
"No, thanks."
"You listened to me for a week straight. Now I've learned to listen. I'm not so bad at it. And I really don't mind."
"Sharlee. Thanks. But no thanks."
"You're sure?"
"I'm sure."
Still, she wouldn't go. "Maybe it will work out, after all. They say true love always finds a way."
He shook his head.
Sharlee let out a heartfelt sigh. "Oh, Billy. Life can be so ... disappointing."
"Good night, Sharlee."
Her cute rosebud of a mouth quivered at the corners. "I'm ... sorry, Billy."
He said nothing more, just sat there, waiting for her to give up and go. When she finally did, he went over and turned off the light again. Then he sat back down in the dark, swung his feet onto the desk and listened to that screaming, far-off fiddle until the last note died.
At his house, he gave Sheilah a fifty and thanked her for helping out. Then he went to the room he'd put Jesse in, just to see that his son was all right.
He found Jesse dreaming. His feet moved and so did his little mouth. Billy bent closer, wondering what a one-year-old would dream about.
He caught one word, "Woo."
That was enough. He turned and went quietly out the way he had come.
\*
Billy and Jesse returned to North Magdalene the next day. They got in around dinnertime. On Main Street they were closing up the booths for something called the Christmas Carnival, that had evidently taken place that day. Billy was hungry, so he stopped to get a hot dog from a booth that hadn't closed yet.
Marnie Jones waited on him. As she squirted mustard on the bun, she reminded him of the kids' Christmas show at the town hall.
"Seven sharp," she said. "But you need to get there by six-thirty, to get a good seat."
"I don't think I'll make it. Sorry." He handed her the money and she passed him the hot dog.
"Tell Prudence, then, okay?"
He just looked at her.
She made a face. "Oh. I forgot. She left town, right?"
"Right." Jesse started grabbing for the hot dog. "Gotta go," Billy said.
"Sure. Okay." She made the words sound like an expression of sympathy.
He turned and walked away.
The house was cold, the air in there icy and strange. Billy built a fire and turned on the heater, which helped a little.
There was a message on the machine from Prue, giving the name and room number of a hotel in Sacramento. "I'll probably just stay here for a week or so, maybe longer, until I find a house or a condo. Something. I'm not sure what. Call me -- if there's anything about Jesse, I mean."
He played the message three times, Jesse standing beside him, sucking on a teething ring, his green eyes wide.
"Woo?" he asked.
Billy knelt and got himself nose-to-nose with the kid. "Yeah. Woo is fine. She'll be back to see you soon." You. Not me.
Jesse gave him a sweet, drooly smile and then turned and toddled away, still munching that teething ring.
Once Jesse was asleep, Billy wandered into Prue's room. He stood over that white cloud of a bed, staring down at it, remembering the first night they'd made love. The twenty-four condoms. The red stain on all that white.
Where was that damn stain, anyway? He pushed aside a pillow -- and there it was. She'd gotten most of it out, but not all.
He turned and sat down. Pure self-indulgence, to be there, he knew it. But somehow, he couldn't stop himself. Just as he couldn't stop himself from thinking of the things they'd done there, couldn't stop himself from remembering what she'd said to him at the last.
You don't think about what's right. You don't think about the future. You don't think about the consequences to both of us...
He supposed she had him nailed, as usual. He supposed he hadn't thought about the things that mattered. Until now. When it was too late.
He ended up pulling open the bed stand drawer. One last condom waited there. He picked it up, turned it over, regret sluicing through him, burning like acid. Then he fell back on the bed and closed his eyes.
\*
He woke to someone ringing the doorbell downstairs. He rolled his head and looked at the clock.
Then he thought, Prue, and his stupid heart started beating like the drums in those jungle movies, when the cannibals are getting ready to boil up the missionaries for lunch.
But it couldn't be Prue. She had her own key. And anyway, she wasn't a woman to come ringing doorbells at three in the morning. She'd wait till a more decent hour. Decent. That was Prue.
The bell rang again. If he didn't get down there soon, the noise would wake Jesse. He pushed himself off the bed and staggered out to the upper hall.
When he pulled open the front door, he found Oggie, leaning on his cane, grinning as if it were three in the afternoon instead of the middle of the night.
"Don't just stand there, boy. Let me in. It's colder than the smile on a dead snake out here."
Still half-asleep, Billy ran a hand down his face. "You just called me boy."
"Damn tootin'." The old man hobbled forward. "Stand back. I'm comin' in."
Billy stepped aside. Oggie stumped over the threshold, turned and shoved the door shut. He grinned at Billy. "Coffee. I want me some coffee. Dark and sweet."
"At three in the morning?"
"Indulge me. I'm an old man."
They went into the kitchen. Billy brewed the coffee, while Oggie sat at the table, smiling in the way he used to smile -- as if he knew something no one else knew and he wasn't telling what. It was a smile that had always made Billy feel edgy.
Just as Billy set the full cup and the sugar bowl in front of the old coot, the phone rang. Billy picked it up.
"Yeah?"
"Billy, it's me. Jared. Is my dad there?"
"You bet. You want to talk to him?"
"Hell, no. This is more in the way of a warning. He left the Hole in the Wall about ten minutes ago. And I had a feeling he was headed your way. "
"What gave you the feeling?" Billy watched the grinning Oggie, who would end up in a diabetic coma if he piled much more sugar into that coffee of his.
"He's not happy about you letting Prudence go. He's been blabbing about it all night, whupping everybody at five-card draw and moanin' how Prudence took off without even sayin' goodbye to him."
Billy glared at the old man, who winked back. "It's none of his damn business."
"Like that's gonna shut him up. Look, you want me to come and drag him out of there?"
"Thanks anyway, but I'll handle this." Billy hung the phone back on the wall.
The old man stirred his coffee and let out a cackling laugh.
Billy said, "I thought you turned over a new leaf."
Oggie set his spoon down, picked up the cup, guzzled a big sip and smacked his lips. "To hell with a new leaf. Our Prudence didn't even come and say goodbye to me. I was mightily injured, I gotta tell you. What the hell is goin' on, I want to know? I mind my own damn business for a few days, and everything goes to hell in a handbasket."
Billy dropped into the chair nearest the phone. "You finish your coffee. And then go on home."
"You love our Prudence."
"Stay out of it."
"You ain't never gonna find no peace, until you go and track her down."
Billy got up, went to the coffeepot, poured himself a cup, then plunked it, untouched, on the counter and whirled on the old man. "I'm fine. I got no problems."
"Yeah, and I never played poker in my life." He squinted at Billy, tipping his grizzled head sideways. "Did you tell her you love her?"
Billy folded his arms across his chest and said nothing.
"Right. I didn't think so." Oggie slurped more coffee. "You go to her. You get down on your knees. You beg. You plead. You do whatever you have to do. But you don't come back without her."
"You finished that coffee yet?"
"Maybe you're still tryin' to tell yourself you're gonna get over her. Wrong. This is the one for you. I knew it that day you came to the Bel Air mansion and set eyes on your son in the flesh for the very first time. I knew it from the way you shouted and swore when you stomped out of there, from the look on Prudence's face a few minutes later." He faked a woman's voice. "'Billy certainly is a volatile person,' she said to me. Her eyes said a lot more. Those eyes of hers said she was afraid of you, but not in the way she thought she was afraid of you."
"This is the most convoluted line of bull you have ever dished out," Billy said.
Oggie chortled. "You listen to me, boy. You do what I tell you. That woman loves you and you love her."
Billy had heard about enough. He advanced on the old man, took his elbow and his cane and hustled him toward the front door.
Oggie jabbered the whole way. "I warn you, your wild days are through. It's over and done for you, that life. And you know it, too, boy. You know it in your heart. There ain't gonna be no savor in any of that no more. There ain't gonna be a bit of fun. Not without Prudence. So you go to her. You give in to her. That's what a man does in the end, and you know it now. He gives in to a woman. He gives in and they get on with their lives."
Billy pulled open the door, handed the old man his cane and guided him over the threshold.
"Three little words, boy. 'I love you.' Spoken sincerely, right from the heart. It ain't gonna kill you to say them. In fact, you're gonna find that sayin' 'em will give you the life you really want."
"Good night, Oggie."
The old geezer was still babbling away when Billy shut the door.
\*
The rest of that night, the next day and that night, too, Billy found he couldn't get the old rascal's crazy words off his mind.
Around ten on Monday morning, a woman called from a Dr. Anselmo's office in Grass Valley. "Ms. Wilding's new glasses are ready," the woman said. "We are so sorry it's taken such a long time, but the lenses came in scratched at first. And we had to send them back. Please tell her she can drop by anytime during office hours to have them fitted."
"I'll do that." As he hung up the phone, Billy knew what he would do.
He packed up Jesse and took him to Eden's. "I know it's a lot to ask, but could you watch him for four or five hours, do you think?" He reconsidered. "Hell. Maybe more than that, I'm not sure. I'll call you by six or so, if I'm not back. Okay?"
A hit of a smile tugged at the corner of Eden's mouth. "Where are you going, Billy?"
"I've got business to take care of."
"Business in Sacramento?" He didn't answer and Eden's smile grew wider. "You go on. We'll look out for Jesse."
He thanked her and left.
\*
At Dr. Anselmo's office, they didn't want to give him the glasses. The Nellie Anderson type behind the reception desk pursed her mouth at him. "This is highly irregular. She'll need them fitted. And who are you, anyway?"
He lied like a rug. "I'm a business associate and dear friend. And she has to have those glasses right away. She'll be back in to take care of the fitting within a day or two, I swear to you. How much do I owe you?"
The woman cleared her throat, looked away -- and finally named a figure. He gave her the money, she handed him the glasses and he was out of there.
He got to the hotel at a little after one in the afternoon. Probably Prue wouldn't be there. Probably she was out finding a place to live or a job or something. But he went straight to her room anyway, running on pure hope.
And damned if she didn't answer his knock.
She pulled back the door and gasped, "Billy!" those bug eyes wider than ever. He looked at her and he knew that he was going to grab her soon, and when he did, he would never let her go.
"Wh ... what's happened? Is it Jesse?"
"No." He stepped toward her. She fell back. "Jesse's fine. He misses you. Eden's taking care of him right now."
"Then what are you doing here?"
He shoved the door closed behind him. "Your glasses are ready." She was wearing a fluffy white terry-cloth robe and, in his expert opinion, not much else. Her hair was wet. "Just got out of the shower, huh?"
She clutched the facings of the robe at her throat and demanded a second time, "What are you doing here?"
It was a suite, with a sitting room in front and a bedroom beyond. He spotted a television in the corner -- and a remote control on the coffee table a few feet away. He scooped up the remote.
"Don't," she commanded, anger replacing shock. "Don't even start..."
He pointed the remote at the television. A war movie popped on. The room came alive with the rat-tat-tat of machine-gun fire, the whistling of rockets through smoky air. "There. Better." He tossed the remote down and smiled at Prue.
She shook her head slowly. "Billy. Billy, no..."
"You never told me you went and got new glasses."
"I ... um..."
"Don't you want your new glasses?" He started toward her.
She backed up, watching him warily. "Oh, well. Yes. I'll ... drive up to Grass Valley soon, to get them."
"No need." He whipped them from his breast pocket and held them up.
She kept backing away. "I... Don't they have to be fitted? I don't understand..." She reached the wall. There was nowhere else to go. She let out a whimper.
He moved right up close. Carefully, to the accompaniment of several sharp bursts of machine-gun fire, he took her old glasses away and stuck them into the pocket where he'd carried the new ones.
"Billy." She was shaking. She smelled like shampoo. Like Prue. The best smell in the damn world. "Oh, Billy, no..."
"Yes, Prue. Yes," he whispered. He put the new glasses on her. Rockets went off on the TV battlefield. "Nice," he said. "Very nice. A little crooked, but they can fix that."
The tears came then, overflowing her eyes, trailing under those new glasses and down her soft cheeks. "Why are you doing this?"
He touched her hair. Wet. Wet silk. And then he tipped up her chin. "Did you find a job?"
She sniffed, straightened her shoulders. "Not yet. I ... I've got some prospects, though."
He saw the truth in her eyes. She'd been holed up here, licking her wounds -- wounds he had inflicted.
"Prospects, huh?" He smoothed her hair, brushed a tear away with a thumb.
"Yes. Prospects." She swiped at her nose with the back of her hand. "Excellent ... prospects."
All he wanted was to kiss her. He tried. She turned away.
He whispered, "I love you," against her wet cheek.
"Oh, no." She sniffed some more. "You don't."
"I do."
"You can't. What's to love?"
"You, Prue. Just you."
"I'm quiet and boring and drab and shy."
"...and beautiful and brave and damn sexy when you want to be."
"You'll get tired of me."
"The hell I will."
She looked at him then. "You'll break my heart."
"No. I'll love you forever."
She gasped. "You? You? Bad Billy Jones?"
"Yeah. Me. Bad Billy Jones. Listen. I've done a lot of things you don't want to know about. But I swear to you, I never told a woman I loved her in my whole life until now ... at least not when I was sober."
She let out a small moan that was almost a giggle.
"Look. I know I'm a loser. I know I don't have a clue how to love. I haven't done it enough, I've been one self-absorbed S.O.B. as a rule. But Jesse's been helping me with it. And you'll help me, too, won't you, Prue? You'll help me do it, help me learn how to love you like you deserve to be loved?" He could feel her trembling, see himself in her eyes. He knew his crazy old uncle had told the truth. "You love me, too. Don't you, Prue?"
"No. I..."
"Yes."
"Billy, I..."
"Take a chance on me, Prue. Marry me, Prue. Make an honest man of me, for once in my damn life."
"I can't..."
"To hell with all this talk." He captured her face between his hands and put his mouth on hers.
She stiffened -- and then she melted. He knew then that everything would be all right, so he scooped her up and carried her to the bed in the other room.
On the TV, land mines exploded and cannons fired.
Tenderly he slid off her new glasses. With great care, he set them on the bed stand. Then he bent close to her again. "Say you love me, Prue."
Prudence could hold back no longer. Staring blindly at the blurred outline of his beloved face, she confessed, "Oh, Billy. I do. Heaven help me, I do..."
\*
They were married the following Saturday at the white church across from their house in North Magdalene. Outside, the first snow was falling. And inside there was a little boy who needed them both. And a whole churchful of Joneses.
\*

