He shrugged. “It wasn’t easy, but for my physical and mental well-being, I’ve had to give up a few things.”
“Like what?”
He grinned. “Alcohol, loose women, and the Macarena.” He moved forward and hung his wrists over the top rung of the chair. “Now that you know the skeletons in my closet, answer something for me.”
“What?”
“Seven years ago, when I bought you a ticket home, I was under the impression you were broke. How did you live, let alone start a business?”
“I was very lucky.” She paused a moment before adding, “I answered a help wanted ad for Heron’s.” Then because he’d been so truthful with her-and because nothing she’d ever done could equal marrying a stripper-she added a little fact about her life that no one knew but Mae. “And I was wearing a diamond that I sold for ten thousand dollars.”
He didn’t bat an eye. “Virgil’s?”
“Virgil gave it to me. It was mine.”
A slow smile, which could have meant anything, worked the corners of his mouth. “He didn’t want it back?”
Georgeanne folded her arms beneath her breasts and tilted her head to one side. “Sure he did, and I’d planned to give the ring back, too, but he’d taken my clothes and donated them to the Salvation Army.”
“That’s right. He had your clothes, didn’t he?”
“Yep. When I left the wedding, I left everything but my makeup. All I had was that stupid pink dress.”
“Yes. I remember that little dress.”
“When I called him to ask about my things, he wouldn’t even talk to me. He had his housekeeper tell me to drop the ring off at his offices and leave it with his secretary. The housekeeper wasn’t very nice about it either, but she did tell me what he’d done with my stuff.” Georgeanne wasn’t especially proud of selling the ring, but Virgil was partly to blame. “I had to buy all my clothes back at four and five dollars a pop, and I didn’t have any money.”
“So you sold the ring.”
“To a jeweler who was happy to get it for half of what it was worth. When I first met Mae, her catering business wasn’t doing real well. I gave her a lot of that ring money to pay off some of her creditors. That money might have given me a little help, but I’ve worked my tail off to get where I am today.”
“I’m not judging you, Georgie.”
She hadn’t realized that she sounded so defensive. “Some people might, if they knew the truth.”
Amusement appeared in the corners of his eyes. “Who am I to judge you? Jesus, I married DeeDee Delight.”
“True,” Georgeanne laughed, feeling a little like Scarlett O’Hara unburdening her dishonorable deeds to Rhett Butler. “Does Virgil know about Lexie yet?”
“No. Not yet.”
“What do you think he’ll do when he finds out?”
“Virgil is a smart businessman, and I’m his franchise player. I don’t think he’ll do anything. It’s been seven years, and it’s water under the bridge, anyway. Now, I’m not saying he’ll be real happy when I tell him about Lexie, but he and I work together fairly well. Besides, he’s married now and seems happy.”
Of course, she’d known he’d married. Local papers had reported on his marriage to Caroline Foster-Duffy, director of the Seattle Art Museum. Georgeanne hoped John was right and that Virgil was happy. She harbored him no ill will.
“Answer me something else?”
“No. I answered your question, it’s my turn to ask you.”
John shook his head. “I told you about DeeDee and my drinking. That’s two skeletons. So you owe me one more.”
“Fine. What?”
“The day you brought the pictures of Lexie to my houseboat, you mentioned being relieved that she didn’t struggle in school. What did you mean?”
She didn’t really want to talk about her dyslexia with John Kowalsky.
“Is it because you think I’m a dumb jock?” He gripped the top rung of the chair and leaned back.
His question surprised her. He looked calm and cool as if her answer didn’t matter one way or the other. She had a feeling it mattered more than he wanted her to know. “I’m sorry I called you dumb. I know what it’s like to be judged for what you do or how you look.” A lot of people suffered from dyslexia, she reminded herself, but knowing that famous people like Cher, Tom Cruise, and Einstein endured it also didn’t make it any easier to reveal herself to a man like John. “My concern for Lexie had nothing to do with you. When I was a child, I struggled in school. The three Rs gave me bit of trouble.”
Except for a slight crease between his brows, he remained expressionless. He said nothing.
“But you should have seen me in ballet and charm school,” she continued, forcing levity into her voice and attempting to coax a smile from him. “While I may have been the worst ballerina to have ever leaped across a stage, I do believe I excelled at charm. In fact, I graduated at the head of my class.”
He shook his head and the crease disappeared from his forehead. “I don’t doubt it for a second.”
Georgeanne laughed and let down her guard a bit. “While other children memorized their multiplication tables, I studied table settings. I know the correct positions for everything, from shrimp forks to finger bowls. I read silver patterns while some girls read Nancy Drew. I had no problem distinguishing between luncheon silver and dinner silver, but words like
His eyes narrowed a little. “You’re dyslexic?”
Georgeanne sat up straighten “Yes.” She knew she shouldn’t feel ashamed. Still, she added, “but I’ve learned to cope. People assume that someone who suffers from dyslexia can’t read. That’s not true. We just learn a little differently. I read and write like most people, but math will never be my forte. Being dyslexic doesn’t really bother me now.”
He stared at her for a moment, then said, “But it did as a child.”
“Sure.”
“Were you tested?”
“Yes. In the fourth grade I was tested by some sort of doctor. I don’t really remember.” She scooted back her chair and stood, feeling resentment build inside of her. Resentment toward John for forcing her problem into the open as if it were his business. And she felt the old bitterness toward the doctor who’d turned her young life upside down. “He told my grandmother I had a brain dysfunction, which isn’t altogether a misstatement, but it is a rather harsh term and a blanket diagnosis. In the seventies, everything from dyslexia to mental retardation was considered a brain dysfunction.” She shrugged her shoulders as if none of it really mattered and forced a little laugh. “The doctor said I’d never be real bright. So I grew up feeling a little retarded and a bit lost.”
Slowly John stood and moved his chair out of the way. His eyes got real narrow. “No one ever told that doctor to go fuck himself?”
“Well, I-I-” Georgeanne stuttered, taken back by his anger. “I can’t imagine my grandmother ever using the F word. She was Baptist.”
“Didn’t she take you to another doctor? Have you tested somewhere else? Find a tutor? Any damn thing?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“She didn’t think there was anything else that could be done. It was the mid-seventies and there wasn’t as much information as there is today. But even today, in the nineties, children are still misdiagnosed sometimes.”
“Well, it shouldn’t happen.” His gaze roamed her face, then returned to her eyes.
He still looked angry, but she couldn’t think of one reason why he should care. This was a side of John she’d never seen. A side filled with what felt like compassion. This man standing in front of her, the man who looked like John, confused her. “I should go to bed now,” she uttered.
He opened his mouth to say something, then closed it again. “Sweet dreams,” he said, and took a step back.
But Georgeanne didn’t have sweet dreams. She didn’t dream at all for a very long time. She lay in bed, staring
