What I Did for Love

supposed to be out here.”

He blinked behind his glasses. The guy was a mess. Wiry brown hair exploded from his head, and whoever had picked out those big nerd glasses must have been blind. He dressed like a fat sixty-year-old man with his stomach hanging out over his belt and a checked sports shirt that pulled at the buttons.

“Okay.” He stepped around her to go back to the house.

She brushed off her hands. “What were you doing anyway?”

He shoved his fists in his pockets, adding to the bulk at his hips. “Taking a break.”

“From what? You’ve got an easy job.”

“Sometimes. It’s a little busy now.”

“Yeah, it looks like you’re real busy.”

He didn’t tell her to fuck off, which she deserved for being so rude, but she hated having all these people running around her house. And that whole thing yesterday in Bram’s office with Georgie and the camera had thrown her off. She should have walked right out, but…

She tried to make up for being a bitch. “Bram probably wouldn’t mind if you used the pool once in a while, as long as you don’t do it too much.”

“I don’t have time to swim.” He pulled his hands from his pockets and walked away from her toward the house.

She didn’t swim anymore, either, but she’d loved the water when she was a kid. He was probably embarrassed about the way he looked in a suit. Or maybe only women felt that way.

“It’s private back here,” she called out. “Nobody would see you.”

He went into the house without answering her.

She retrieved the net from behind the waterfall rocks and began to skim for leaves. Bram had a pool service, but she liked making the water all clean and smooth. Bram told her she could swim whenever she wanted, but she never did.

She tossed down the net. Until Monday, she’d been so happy here, but now, with all these strangers invading her space, the bad feelings were coming back.

Half an hour later, she entered Georgie’s upstairs office. A big, kidney-shaped desk, matching wall unit, and a couple of streamlined chairs upholstered in spice-colored fabric printed with a tree branch design made up the new furnishings. Everything was too modern for the house, and she didn’t like it.

Aaron had his back to her, talking on the phone. “Ms. York isn’t giving interviews yet, but I’m sure she’d be more than happy to contribute to your charity auction…No, she’s already donated her Skip and Scooter scripts to the Museum of Broadcast Communications, but every year she designs some Christmas ornaments for groups like yours, and each one is personally autographed…”

He sounded like a different person on the phone, sure of himself and not so geeky. She set a turkey wrap on the desk. She’d made it with a fat-free tortilla, lean meat, sliced tomato, a few spinach leaves, a sliver of avocado, and carrot sticks on the side. Dude needed to get a clue.

He took in the wrap as he finished his conversation. When he hung up, she said, “Don’t count on this every day.” She picked up the new issue of Flash with Bram and Georgie on the cover and sat on the corner of his desk to thumb through it. “Go ahead and eat.”

He picked up the turkey wrap and took a bite. “You got any mayo?”

“No.” She carried a perfume sample to her nose and sniffed. “How old are you?”

He had good manners and he swallowed before he answered. “Twenty-six.”

Six years older than her, but he seemed younger. “Did you go to college?”

“University of Kansas.”

“A lot of people who go to college don’t know shit.” She studied his face and decided somebody had to tell him. “Your glasses are lame. No offense.”

“What’s wrong with them?”

“They’re ugly. You should get contacts or something.”

“Contacts are too much trouble.”

“You have nice eyes. You should show them off. At least get decent frames.” His eyes were bright blue and thick-lashed, the only decent thing about him.

He frowned, which made his cheeks look as though they were swallowing the rest of his face. “I don’t think a person with holes in her eyebrows has room to criticize anybody else.”

She loved her pierced eyebrows. They made her feel tough, like a rebel who didn’t give a damn about society. “I really care what you think.”

He turned back to his computer and pulled up some kind of graph-thing. She rose to leave, but on her way out, she spotted his big ugly briefcase lying open on the floor with a bag of chips inside. She went over and pulled it out.

“Hey! What are you doing?”

“You don’t need these. I’ll bring you some fruit later.”

He pushed himself up from his chair. “Give those back. I don’t want your fruit.”

“You want this junk instead?”

“Yeah, I want it.”

“Too bad.” She dropped the chips to the floor and brought her foot down hard on the bag. It split open with a loud pop. “There you are.”

He stared at her. “What’s your problem, anyway?”

“I’m a bitch.” As she left the office and went back downstairs, she could almost see him reaching for those smashed chips.

Bram kept disappearing into his office, as if he had a real job, leaving Georgie no way to work off her frustration. She eventually wandered up to his exercise room and began going through the ballet warm-up routine she used to do every day. Her muscles were stiff and uncooperative, but she kept at it. Maybe she’d have a barre installed. She’d always loved to dance, and she knew she shouldn’t have let herself set it aside. The same with singing. She wasn’t a great singer. The big, belting Broadway voice that had made her so winning as a kid hadn’t matured with age, but she could carry a tune, and her energy made up for what she lacked in vocal nuance.

After her workout, she talked to Sasha and April on the phone and did some online shopping. Her daily routine had been whittled down to bothering her busy friends and making sure she looked good enough to be photographed. She cheered herself up by following Chaz around with the video camera and asking intrusive questions.

Chaz complained bitterly, but that didn’t stop her from talking, and Georgie learned a little more. Her growing fascination with Bram’s housekeeper was all that kept her from bringing in her own cook.

On Friday morning, day seven of her marriage, she and Bram met with a party planner, the stridently officious, very expensive, and highly recommended Poppy Patterson. Everything about the woman grated, but she loved the idea of a Skip and Scooter theme, so they hired her and told her to work out the details with Aaron.

That afternoon, her father decided he’d punished her long enough and finally took her phone call. “Georgie, I understand you want me to put my stamp of approval on your marriage, but I can’t do it when I know how wrong it is.”

She wouldn’t tell him the truth, but she also wouldn’t lie more than she already had. “I just thought we could have a nice conversation. Is that too much to ask?”

“Right now? Yes. I don’t like Shepard, I don’t trust him, and I’m worried about you.”

“There’s nothing to worry about. Bram isn’t…He isn’t exactly like you remember.” She struggled to conjure up a convincing example of Bram’s greater maturity, at the same time trying not to think about his drinking. “He’s…older now.”

Her father wasn’t impressed. “Remember this, Georgie. If he ever tries to hurt you in any way, promise you’ll come to me for help.”

“You make it sound like he’s going to beat me.”

“There are different kinds of hurt. You’ve never been rational about him.”

“That was a long time ago. We’re not the same people.”

“I have to go. We’ll talk later.” Just like that, he hung up.