The Reconstruction of Carla Millhouse (20 page)

Richard ran his hand through his hair. He had to face what was really bothering him: he was a wuss. Or else he’d have told Carla how he felt about her no matter the consequences.

Every time Carla spoke about her plans to win back Martin she cut out another piece of his heart. He wanted to hunt Martin down and beat him to a bloody pulp for hurting her. However, he didn’t see how he could act on this desire any more than he could stop loving her. She obviously still loved her husband and telling her would only cause her to feel pity for him.

Richard forced himself to focus on the task at hand. He may not be able to win Carla’s heart, but he could win this case and snare himself that partnership he desired nearly as much.

* * *

Martin walked back to his desk full of himself. What a coup! This was the stuff his dreams were made of and he was already imagining a six-figure salary. He thought of all the wonderful, new toys he could purchase.

His handsome face beamed as brightly as a beacon on a lighthouse. Never in a million years had he expected Orson to tell him about a promotion when he’d expected the worst. Maybe he and Carla could move to a more affluent area in the valley.

Moving to a more affluent community would make Carla happy. Their children would grow up rubbing shoulders with the rich. In his mind Martin was already marrying his children off to wealthy partners. After all, hadn’t his mother often told him that the rich only marry people with money? His children would never have to go without like he had. All he had to do now was get in touch with Lynne to have her start scouting out a place. Doing business with her best friend would make Carla very happy, indeed.

A car pulled into one of the parking spots in front of the showroom window. The door opened and Lynne stepped out as if Martin had conjured her up. However, she wasn’t alone. The private investigator got out of the other side. Martin watched as she kissed him before opening one of the large glass doors and entering the showroom.

Well, I’ll be
…Martin thought.
She and the PI must be an item.
He rose out of his seat to intercept her.

“Hi! What brings you here, Lynne? I was about to call you.”

Her elfin face blanched and her hazel eyes widened with apprehension. “Nothing’s happened to Carla?”

He shook his head sharply. “Nah, it’s real estate business.”

She cocked her head and looked at him a moment wondering what kind of real estate business he had in mind. She gritted her teeth in response to the thought it might be a hideaway for his mistress. Would he be so stupid?

“Later. Gotta run, Martin. Your boss is waiting on me,” she said coolly.

Martin watched her stride away. Well, that explained what brought her here. He decided to catch her on the way out.

* * *

Martin couldn’t sleep. His mind was riding a merry-go-round of possibilities and wouldn’t shut down. He couldn’t stop thinking about his good fortune. Running one of the most prestigious dealership in town was the closest thing to owning it. It was as if all his dreams had come true.

Too bad Carla hadn’t reacted as he he’d expected her to when he’d surprised her with the news earlier this evening. Instead, she seemed preoccupied and gave him a perfunctory, “That’s wonderful, Martin.” He’d chalked it up to her involvement with some story she was writing.

Then again, she should have been excited about moving to a more upscale neighborhood. He’d told her about his chat with Lynne and the appointment he’d made to look at her listings. She hadn’t even been moved when he explained how he’d wanted their kids to grow up with all the things he’d never had. She acted as if her mind were elsewhere. Perhaps it had finally unraveled and she was lost in some fantasy place with her characters.

Then there was Heather. He knew all along his involvement with her was potentially as dangerous as a stick of dynamite and could blow up at any time. No matter how difficult, it would be smart to end their relationship now before some errant spark blew away everything he had achieved.

Then he recalled how she acted the last time they were together and felt suddenly uneasy. She’d said she loved him. If he sent her packing would she turn into a crazy like the Glenn Close character in
Fatal
Attraction?
That thought, alone, froze his blood. Maybe somehow, he should get Heather to make the decision to stop seeing him.

Who was he kidding? It was easier to think about leaving Heather than actually going through with it. He knew in his heart, that he never wanted his affair with Heather to end. She was way too thrilling.

In fact, as much as he loved Carla, she could never excite him the way Heather did. The very thought of Heather running her hands over his body took his breath away. All he had to do was reassure her that things would be okay. Orson would be too preoccupied with the new showroom to worry about anything else. He smiled as he thought,
que
sera
,
sera
.

* * *

Carla stared at the ceiling. She knew she should be happy that Martin finally wanted children, but she wasn’t certain if it would be enough to fill the feeling of emptiness that had engulfed her, keeping her awake.

Hadn’t she desired having a child above all else? Now she wasn’t so sure. The elation was gone. She felt deflated like an old tire. Having a child was not a solution. It was not the fairy dust necessary to save her marriage.

A child might only preoccupy her, while Martin was free to continue to do his own thing. And she knew what that
thing
was. Would she ever really know whether or not he stopped seeing his bimbo or bimbos? Could she ever truly trust him again? Though she wanted to with all her heart, she wasn’t certain she’d be able to. She thought she still loved him, though sometimes it felt different. It was as if she were looking at him through different eyes.

And why did thoughts of Richard continually pop into her mind?

One thing she did know for certain. Things that she’d once cared about so ardently were becoming less important. Why couldn’t she rewrite her life as easily as she could one of her kids’ books?

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Heather’s cell phone rang as she entered the house. She’d gone back to some of her mother’s old haunts looking for “Big” Phil and found out he was out of town most likely committing a felony. Just going back there made her feel dirty. What she now needed was a long hot bath to wash away the dirty feeling.

“
Ciao
, my sweet.” Hearing Salvatore’s voice immediately made her feel better.

“Hello, Salvatore,” she purred.

“Have I caught you at a bad time?”

“Not possible, darling.” Heather knew those words would make him simmer and practically felt the heat through the phone.

“Will you be here soon?” he inquired.

“Sooner than you think. I’m working on it.”

“My arms are empty and my heart is aching for you.”

“When I get there I promise to make it up to you.”

“And I intend to hold you to that promise,
inamorata
.”

They bantered back and forth for a few more minutes before they said goodbye. Starry eyed, Heather dropped the phone into her bag. She had twisted the truth only a trifle. When “Big” Phil returned in a few days, she’d ask for his help. There was no way that he’d turn his “baby girl” down—especially for the right price.

Heather poured herself a glass of wine before going upstairs to start her bath. Tossing her bag on her bed, she didn’t notice her phone slip out and fall to the carpeting. As the bath filled, she undressed, her mind on the conversation she’d just had with Salvatore.

When the tub was full, she closed the taps and tested the water with a manicured hand before slowly lowering herself into the tub. When she was comfortably settled, she reached for the glass of pale rose-colored wine and took a sip. Savoring the sweet liquid on her tongue she thought back to the evening Salvatore had introduced her to the wine.

He’d taken her back to his apartment in Rome, a cozy little flat that had a view of the St. Regis Hotel. Heather stood at the window and looked at the hotel.
She would stay there one day
, she had mused.

Dropping her purse on a small table, she sat down on the small brocade sofa. Salvatore took a bottle of wine from the bucket of ice on the table and poured two glasses.

“I figured you’d enjoy this Chianti,” he said handing her the glass.

Salvatore had been right. She did like the wine. But it was his slow, warm kisses that drugged her. As his tongue explored the recesses of her mouth, she gave herself freely to the passion that was building inside her.

Now years later, as she closed her eyes, she nearly felt those sensual lips on hers once again as she began to play with her tight nipples and stroke her clit. Pleasuring herself, she made believe Salvatore was there with her.

* * *

Hemmings came home early in a good mood. Expansion plans for the new dealership were going well and he wanted to take Heather out to an expensive restaurant to celebrate. He had also picked up the diamond necklace she’d been hinting about for the past two weeks. After dropping his brief case and draping his suit jacket across a chair, he called to Heather. However, the only response he got was a lukewarm string of barks from Lovey, who was apparently upstairs.

“Shut up, stupid mutt!” he muttered, feeling his good mood evaporate. He called to Heather again, but got only yaps in reply. By the time he went in search of her, his mood had soured. Lovey met him at the top of the stairs and he followed her back to the bedroom. The dog hopped onto the bed and continued to gnaw at a toy bone as she kept one eye on Hemmings.

He pursed his lips and shook his head. “Dumb mutt.” The bathroom door was closed. Her highness must be soaking in a bath, he mused. Then he noticed her cell phone lying on the floor. Curiosity and his innate paranoia caused him to pick it up and scroll through her calls. Of course the showroom’s number appeared numerous times, but that was to be expected. Nonetheless, one particular number popped up with an area code he didn’t recognize and that intrigued him. Hemmings took out his cell phone and keyed the number in. It was answered on the second ring. “
Ciao, questo e il Salvatore
,” a deep voice said.

Hemmings disconnected the call. He was livid. So she was getting calls from an Italian. The private investigator had to have been a dumb ass, because Heather had found a way to outfox him with her “I tie”. And she’d
nearly
pulled the wool over his eyes. Ah, but she got snagged. Like he always said, “No one ever gets the better of Orson Hemmings—and gets the chance to boast about it. No one.” He was seething.

Just as he was about to put her phone down, it began to ring. He quickly put the phone under a pillow to muffle the ring, but not before he read the caller ID. It had said Phil Rubino. Hemmings wondered why the name seemed so familiar to him, but he was too enraged to think. The guy had left her a text message. Curiosity and anger compelled Hemmings to read it. What it said nearly drove his blood pressure through the roof.

“Hey, baby girl, I’m back in town. Heard you were looking for me. Call me, Phil.”

Another one?
Orson stormed out of the bedroom and went into his office to call his lawyer. Furiously, he scanned his list of telephone numbers looking for his lawyer’s. Just as he was about to hit the send button, he paused.

He remembered.

Just after they were married, Heather had pointed to the picture of some guy named Phil in the newspaper. It had been linked to an article about the investigation of a mob boss murdered in Vegas and this Phil had been under suspicion for the killing. The guy was a hit man for chrissakes! And he used to date Heather’s mother. Reality hit Hemmings like a semi. There was only one reason she was in contact with someone like Phil Rubino now.

Okay, he’d fight fire with fire. Why spend the big bucks to divorce the bitch? Besides. it would be difficult to prove she’d been cheating on him especially after a paid PI had already given her a clean slate. A smile appeared on Hemmings’ face. He’d do onto her what she’d intended to do onto him.

Hemmings unlocked the top drawer on the left of his desk. Underneath a sheaf of papers sat a small, black, leather-bound address book. He removed it and leafed through the pages until he came to the name Louis Taglione, better known as “Grinning” Louie.

Actually Louie was his ex-wife’s first cousin. Good ole “Grinning” Louie, had a mouthful of perfect choppers. Always smiling, his leering grin was the last thing his victims saw before he blew them away. Louie was a hit man who performed his job well and also took great enjoyment from it.

Hemmings had bonded with him early during his first marriage by supplying Louie and some of his pals with wheels way below cost. He also helped some of Louie’s lowlife friends get jobs when they got out of prison. They remained in contact despite Hemmings’ divorce. Louie always said to come to him whenever Hemmings needed a special job done.