Black Ties and Lullabyes (13 page)

“Gee, thanks,” Bernie said. “That made things
much
better.”

“This place is a dump,” he muttered.

“I’m stil not moving.”

“You’ve made that clear.”

“So you can stop trying to talk me into it.”

“Oh, I’m through talking. That’s not getting me anywhere.”

“Wel , thank God.”

“It’s time for action. Later, Bernie.” As he trotted the rest of the way down the stairs and into the parking lot, Bernie felt a rush of apprehension.

It’s time for action?
What the hel did he mean by that?

Max swung the car around. Jeremy got in, and the car sped away. Just then, the door across the breezeway opened and Ruby peered out, a half-smoked Marlboro between her fingers. She wore pink terrycloth slippers and a leopard-print housecoat.

Ruby was fond of leopard. Said it was way better than zebra or cheetah for hiding cigarette burns.

“Is he gone?” she asked.

“Ruby. You’re spying again.”

“What else have I got to do? Is he a friend of yours?”

“Not exactly. With luck, he won’t be back.”

“I don’t know,” Ruby said. “Maybe you’re being too picky. Men don’t wander up here very often.” She hobbled out to the landing and glanced down at the half-col apsed railing. “Then again, he does kinda tear things up.” She looked back at Bernie. “So when
are
you gonna get yourself a man?”

“Same time you do.”

“Nah. I’m old enough to know what a pain in the ass they are. You’re young enough to stil get taken in. So who was he, anyway?”

Bernie sighed. “He’s the father of my baby.”

“Huh?”

“I’m pregnant.”

Ruby’s eyes widened. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Bernie said. “Imagine that. Me, thirty-six years old and pregnant.”

“Hmm. I take it you’re not loving the idea.”

“Let’s just say I have mixed emotions.”

“Yeah, I hear you. If men are the biggest pains in the ass, kids are a close second.”

“Particularly when you’re having two of them.”

“Two of them?” Ruby raised an eyebrow. “Twins?”

“Uh-huh.”

She shook her head. “Holy crap. You real y are screwed.”

So there it was. Confirmation of exactly how Bernie felt right then.

“Wel ,” Ruby said. “Look at the bright side. He’s good-looking, so at least the babies won’t be ugly.” Bernie couldn’t argue with that. She had no doubt that Jeremy’s genetic material was as domineering as the rest of him and would shove hers right out of the way. Unfortunately, attractive children would be a smal consolation for having to put up with a man like him.

“If I can help you out,” Ruby said, “you let me know.

You hear?”

“I hear.”

Ruby headed back to her apartment, only to look back over her shoulder. “Meant to ask.”

“What?” Bernie said.

“How come your shirt’s on backward?”

Bernie sighed. “Long story.”

“Better turn it around. People wil think you’re weird, or something.”

Bernie’s phone rang. She grabbed it from her pocket and looked at the cal er ID. “Gotta take this.”

“Okay,” Ruby said. “But when you get a chance, can you light another fire under Charmin? Now that handrail real y is screwed up.”

“Sure,” Bernie said. “I’l cal her in a minute.” Ruby shuffled back into her apartment, and Bernie hit the TALK button. “Hey, Max.”

“Hey, Bernie. You okay?”

“I’m fine. Bridges has been driving me nuts for years. Nothing new there.”

“You sure about that?”

“I appreciate you looking out for me,” she said, going back into her apartment. “But I can deal with him.”

“You let me know if the day comes when you can’t.

Because trust me—I can.”

Bernie couldn’t help smiling at that. Max wasn’t exactly al bark and no bite. He was just a very big dog who didn’t have to resort to biting very often.

“He’s listening to every word you say, isn’t he?” Bernie said.

“Yep.”

“Is he pissed off that you’re talking to me?”

“Yep.”

“Good. Let him stew for a while. Thanks, Max.” Bernie tossed her phone aside and col apsed on her sofa, a dozen emotions pul ing her in a dozen different directions. She hated that feeling of things being up in the air. Of not knowing when she’d turn around and find Jeremy standing there again. Of not knowing why, when she’d given him a gold-plated ticket right out of this situation, he’d chosen not to take it.

She didn’t know what his motives were, but she did know one thing: The fact that Jeremy hadn’t walked away didn’t mean he’d suddenly taken a 180-degree turn and decided he was going to leap into fatherhood with both feet. And even though he was making a lot of noise right now about running the show, when a father wasn’t also a husband, there was only so much he could do even if he wanted to.

In the end, she knew the truth. Raising these babies was going to be up to her.

Max returned his phone to his pocket and kept driving without saying another word. Jeremy thought it took a lot of gal for him to carry on a conversation with Bernie right there in front of him, but what was he supposed to do? Complain about it? Al that would accomplish would be to make Max hate him even more.

“So,” Jeremy said offhandedly, “you were talking to Bernie.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Given that I’m stil breathing, I take it you’re not feeling the need to beat my brains out on her behalf?”

“That’s right, sir.”

“But the possibility stil exists?”

“That’s completely up to you, sir.”

Sir.
God, how he hated the sound of that coming out of Max’s mouth. He might as wel have said,
That’s completely up to you, asshole
.

“She’s going to need some help,” Jeremy said.

“Depends on where that help comes from.”

“Believe it or not,” Jeremy said, “I only want what’s best for her.”

“That remains to be seen, sir.”

“Wil you stop with al the yes sir, no sir crap?” Jeremy said. “It’s getting a little old.”

“Just showing respect, sir.”

But Jeremy didn’t miss the scorn in Max’s voice.

“No, Max, you’re not. You don’t respect me in the least.”

When Max didn’t respond, Jeremy felt the strangest twinge of irritation. He didn’t remember a day in his adult life where he’d wasted a single minute worrying what anybody else thought of him. But this…
this
bothered him, and it was because Max was close to Bernie. But he just couldn’t understand why they both had such a big problem with him when al he was doing was trying to help.

He had to figure out a way to get Bernie to see things his way, to do what was best for her and the babies, even with Max in the mix. And he would. It was just a matter of time.

The security system at the Lone Star Museum of Art consisted of thirty-two cameras placed strategical y within the building, wired directly to the surveil ance room on a closed-circuit system. Inside that room, a bank of six monitors al owed Bernie to swap around to see what was happening within the overlapping radii of each camera. If she saw any irregularities, she phoned the information to the security guard posted downstairs and he investigated.

That was her job in a nutshel .

A building like this, unoccupied at night, normal y wouldn’t even have twenty-four-hour manned security, but with the donation three years ago of approximately a gazil ion dol ars’ worth of Egyptian artifacts, the board had decided the extra cost was worth it. But it was pure PR, designed to assure that donor, as wel as other potential donors, that any private col ections they chose to give up would have a safe home forever.

She’d started this job several days ago, and already the boredom factor had shot through the roof.

Nobody had tried to steal anything. Vandalism had been nonexistent. Even schoolchildren on tour had behaved themselves. It was so quiet that sometimes that she imagined one day she actual y would go crazy. She’d rip open the door and go screaming through the building. They’d cal the EMTs, who would strap her down and send her to a psych ward, where she’d spend the rest of her life in a padded room so drugged up she didn’t know her own name.

But so what if that happened? Would that life real y be much different from this one? Wouldn’t it be
better
than this one?

Shut up. It’s a job. One you desperately need.

As long as she didn’t actual y go stark raving mad.

Of course, if this job didn’t cause her to go completely insane, her mother would drive her the rest of the way. As much as Bernie thought she’d prepared herself for her mother’s intrusiveness, her expectations didn’t even approach reality. She cal ed twice a day to see how Bernie was feeling, offering advice on everything from prenatal vitamins to the kind of crib she should buy to the preschools she should consider. Or she’d drop by to show Bernie some random pacifier or baby socks she’d bought.

When Bernie told her mother she was having twins, she fel into paroxysms of swooning delight, launching the annoyance level straight into the stratosphere.

Unfortunately, it had been a few days since she’d stopped by her mother’s house to check on things, so she decided she needed to do that as soon as she left work today. Her mother would make her a cup of tea and feed her a homemade muffin, then launch into another round of baby talk. Bernie hadn’t yet told her that Jeremy was in the picture, and at least for now, she didn’t intend to. That he was here today didn’t mean he wouldn’t be gone tomorrow. If that was a disappointment she could spare her mother, that was what she was going to do.

She heard a commotion behind her. The door opened, and Lawanda came into the room. Bernie loved the sound of that door opening. She checked her watch. Yep, three o’clock. Time for Lawanda to take over and for her to go home.

Lawanda dropped a Subway sack on the desk, clunked her tote bag down beside it, and set a smal cooler on the floor. She wore a lime-green baby-dol top with layers of sequin-lined ruffles, a pair of jeans, astronomical green pumps, and silver hoop earrings so huge they grazed her shoulders. False eyelashes stuck out approximately a foot in front of her face, and her cherry-red lipstick glowed by the light of the security monitors. Lawanda’s sense of style entered a room before she did. And because she was a plus-size woman, it fil ed every molecule of space once it was there.

She flopped her considerable bulk into the chair beside Bernie. The chair groaned and squeaked, making Bernie wonder just how much more the poor thing could take.

Lawanda had gone to work for Gabe three years ago doing contract jobs like this one, and she’d worked the evening shift here at the museum for the past six months. Bernie went crazy watching those monitors when the building was occupied. She couldn’t imagine the boredom when it wasn’t. But the only thing Lawanda seemed to hate about the evening shift was that she missed their once-a-month poker games with the guys.

“Hey, girl,” Lawanda said, the light from the monitors reflecting off her blinding white smile.

“What’s up?”

“What’s ever up around here?” Bernie said.

“Good point.”

Lawanda dug through her cooler, pul ed out a Red Bul , and popped the top. “Anything happen on your shift I need to know about?”

“Nope,” Bernie said. She stuck her iPhone into her backpack and stood up. “I’m out of here.”

“You hate being here, don’t you?”

Bernie glanced back. “Gee, how could you tel ?”

“I know job disgust when I see it.”

Bernie sat back down. “How do you deal with it?”

“Deal with what?” she said.

“The boredom.”

“Oh, yeah. That.” She reached into her tote bag. “I got my magazines. I got my music. I got my Subway and my Red Bul . I got my phone. You train yourself to look up every twenty seconds or so and to swap around the cameras on a regular basis, and you’ve done your job. The rest of the time you read, you text, you drink, you eat. It’s stil like spending eight hours a day sitting in a traffic jam, but it sure beats the hel out of being a prison guard. Try getting cussed at and spit on eight hours a day. After putting up with that, this job is heaven.”

“I’l have to take your word for that,” Bernie said, thinking that if she were getting cussed at and spit on, at least
something
was happening.

“And you ought to try wearing a prison guard uniform,” Lawanda said with disgust. “At least on this job, I’m free to express my personal fashion sense.”

“But nobody’s around to see it.”

“But I get to
feel
it,” Lawanda said with a smile, her palm against her chest. “Contributes to my positive mental health.”

“Sounds like a smal consolation for being bored to death.”

“I figured you’d like this job, being pregnant and al .”

“I don’t have much of a choice.”

“So how you feeling these days?”

“Okay.”

Lawanda asked a few more baby-related questions that seemed innocuous on the surface. But Bernie knew they were designed to zero in on the burning question everybody at Delgado & Associates was wondering about: Who was the father of her baby?

But until Bernie knew just how far Jeremy intended to take the issue of fatherhood, it was a question she had no intention of answering, and she was certain that Max wouldn’t tel anyone, either. She stood up and tossed her purse over her shoulder.

“Wait,” Lawanda said. “Forgot to ask. Could you stay a couple of extra hours this Friday? I got a meeting with that lawyer, the one my friend Sylvia recommended. Al I could get was an evening appointment, and she’s in Mansfield.”

“Mansfield? That’s a long way from here.”

“Chick’s worth it. She handled Sylvia’s divorce.

Took her husband to the cleaners. If she can do the same for me, I’l fly to the freakin’ moon to meet with her.” A wicked smile spread across her face. “Teddy isn’t gonna know what hit him.”

Two months ago, Lawanda had found out her husband of three years was having an affair with their next-door neighbor. It had been a tough sel , but Bernie had final y convinced her that legal action was preferable to homicide.

“Sure,” Bernie said. “I can stay. See you tomorrow.” As Bernie left the room, Lawanda was already unwrapping her Subway sandwich, settling in for the long eight hours ahead. When the heavy metal door clanged closed behind Bernie, she was already dreading having to come back there tomorrow.

After the babies were born, surely she could find another job. But for now, she was stuck. Pregnant or not, as long as she could make it to this room every day, sit upright, and stare at the monitors, she was employable. She made money. She had health insurance. And right now, those were the only things that mattered.

Half an hour later, Bernie was driving down the street toward her mother’s house. She slowed down when she saw a couple of kids playing too close to the curb, then stopped completely when their bal bounced into the street and they went after it. Did they bother to check for traffic? Of course not. Kids. Good God. It was a wonder most of them made it to adulthood without getting stuck to the bottom of a Uniroyal.

A few minutes later, her mother met her at the door with a big smile. They went into the living room, which was fil ed with overstuffed furniture, a thousand knickknacks, and the too-heavy aroma of Glade

“Always Spring” air freshener. Bernie was convinced that her childhood memories of dainty doilies, china cabinets, and giant silk flower arrangements had been a big reason she’d decided to go into the military and shoot things.

“How are you feeling?” her mother said.

“Better every day.”

“How’s the job?”

“Good. It’s good.”

“You just sit right down, and I’l get you a cup of tea.

And I made some lemon poppy seed muffins.” She scurried toward the kitchen, only to turn back. “Oh! I went to that new baby store in the strip center by the mal . They have such cute things! Just a minute. I grabbed a catalog—”

Suddenly Bernie heard the toilet flush. “Mom?

Who’s here?”

“Uh…”

The bathroom door opened, and Bil y emerged.

Just the sight of her worthless cousin made Bernie’s blood pressure shoot through the roof.

As always, he wore holey jeans and a crappy T-shirt, and his muddy brown hair hung down in his eyes. He had the kind of face that showed up regularly on
America’s Most Wanted.
Of course, to be on that show, he’d have to be something like a serial kil er, and Bil y just didn’t have the work ethic to pul off more than one murder before he expected somebody else to do his kil ing for him.

“Bil y?” Bernie said. “What are you doing here?” He flopped on the sofa and picked up the remote.

“Aunt Eleanor said I could stay in her spare bedroom for a few days.”

Bernie snapped to attention. “Why?”

He clicked on the TV. “My roommate freaked out.”

“What do you mean he freaked out? Did you stiff him again on the rent?”

“Hel , no. I was just a little short, and he went nuts.”

“In other words, you were three months behind and he final y kicked you out. Which does
not
mean that you’re going to come here and—”

“Aunt Eleanor?” Bil y said sweetly. “You did tel me I could stay here, didn’t you?”

Eleanor gave him a smile. “Of course, dear.” Bil y gave Bernie a smug look before turning back to the TV, jacking up the sound so he wouldn’t miss a single critical moment of monster truck ral y commentary.

“Mom?” Bernie said. “Can I see you in the other room?”

Once they were in the kitchen, Bernie turned to face her mother. “What is he doing here?”

“He just needs a place to stay for a little while. Until he finds another job.”

Bernie’s eyebrows flew up. “He lost that job? The one I gave him a reference for?”

Eleanor shrugged weakly. “You know Bil y has problems. His panic attacks—”

“Mom. The only time Bil y has a panic attack is when he thinks he might actual y have to work for a living.”

“He won’t be staying long.”

“Are you forgetting what happened last time he conned you into letting him stay here? He left cigarette burns in the guest room dresser and pawned your microwave!”

“He took my microwave only because he had too much pride to ask for a loan.”

“So why doesn’t his pride stand in the way of him
stealing
from you?”

Eleanor turned away, picking up a dishtowel to wipe away a few imaginary water spots on the counter.

“Where’s his car?” Bernie asked. “I didn’t see it out front.”

“It’s in the shop.”

“Has he asked to use your car?”

“No.”

“You mean not yet.”

Her mother didn’t respond.

“Why do you do it?” Bernie said. “Why do you help him when he refuses to help himself?”

“Because he’s family,” Eleanor said. “You always take care of family.
Always.
”
Family.
Every time her mother invoked the “F” word, Bernie realized her hands were tied. For Bil y, being “family” was nothing more than a fortunate accident of birth that prevented Bernie from taking him out back and giving him the ass-kicking he desperately needed. But what real y pissed Bernie off was that Bil y knew what her mother was facing in the next few years, and stil he took advantage of her. But Eleanor Hogan had always believed the best about everyone even in the face of overwhelming evidence to the contrary, and that was never going to change.

“It’l be okay,” her mother said. “He’s going job hunting tomorrow, and he’s only staying for a week.

Then he says he’s moving in with a friend.” Bernie wanted to pul her hair out. The blind spot her mother had where family was concerned was positively gargantuan.

“Promise me you won’t tel him to leave,” Eleanor said.

“No, Mom,” Bernie said with a sigh, feeling as if she wasn’t in control of anything anymore. “I won’t tel him to leave.”

Her mother smiled. “It’l be okay. You’l see.” No, it wouldn’t. And when things fel apart, Bernie would just have to be there to pick up the pieces.

“Did you get groceries this week?” Bernie asked her mother.

“Of course, dear. And I got the ingredients to make a salmon recipe from the Chef Al en cookbook you gave me. Would you like to come for dinner one night this week?”

Bernie glanced into the living room with heavy sigh.

“It’s real y best if I don’t.”

“I understand. But Bil y wil be gone in a week. Then you can come over, okay?”

Bernie knew better. One week would turn into three

—or more—before he final y cleared out.

“I’m sending a guy over here tomorrow,” Bernie said. “It’s getting near fal , and I want him to service your heating unit.”

“That’s fine,” her mother said, putting a teakettle on the stove. “What kind of tea would you like?”

“I think I’l pass on tea today, Mom. I have a hundred things I have to do. I just wanted to drop by and see how you’re doing.”