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  “Yes,” his father said. “Let’s get off this nonsense and down to serious business.”

  Later, when Scott was alone with his father in his father’s office, he turned an uncharacteristic antagonistic tone on him.

  “That was an unfortunate and unnecessary display of family problems in there, Dad. You made me feel this big,” he said, holding his hand a few feet off the floor.

  “That’s how big you make me feel, putting up with this nonsense, rushing off to your attorney.”

  “What do you expect me to do? Really?”

  “You don’t just jump when she tells you to, Scott. Forgodsakes. Counter. Hire a private detective today to shadow her so you can come up with something. She’s probably having an affair.”

  “Megan? No way.”

  “I don’t know how you can be my son and continue to be so naive. Why couldn’t she be having an affair? What is she, Mother Teresa? Get all your telephone bills together. I have some friends in the telephone company who will track some of the calls for us.”

  “This is crazy. Forget about it. I’ll take care of my own situation.”

  “Right, but when you come crying to me because you found out I was right, be sure you apologize first.”

  Scott glared at him a moment and then left the office to show his defiance.

  But when he closed his own office door and stood there thinking, the accusation his father had made suddenly seemed possible. Look at how fast and how determined Megan was now to end the marriage. She couldn’t do this on her own. She couldn’t have gotten the courage. Surely she was being encouraged by one or more of her girlfriends, or maybe even Ernie Cornbleau. He was in criminal law, but a lawyer was a lawyer. He could have recommended an attorney to her.

  Megan did seem changed these past weeks. Her voice was harder, what he thought of as her delicious vulnerability gone. That takes a surge of selfconfidence. Should he hire a detective? It seemed to be a plausible idea, but he hated taking his father’s orders on this.

  Maybe when she got right into it, saw the actual paperwork, went to court, she’d have a change of heart. If he was just the opposite of what his father wanted him to be, he might win her back. Once he threw down the gauntlet, went aggressively at her, it would be permanently over, and despite how he had be haved and where his priorities had gone, he still loved her very much.

  No, he thought, I’ll wait to see. To put it out of mind, he buried himself in his work.

  Megan looked at herself in her bathroom mirror and thought, I look like I’ve aged years in weeks. I’m in no shape to go out with Tricia tonight.

  Scott always hated it when she went out with her girlfriends. “Especially these girlfriends,” he’d say, “and especially Tricia Morgan.” Tricia was a divorcee, but without any children. Her marriage hadn’t lasted a full year. Sometimes, she thought it was more Tricia’s fault than that of her ex-husband, Phil Myer, a radiologist working at Cedars-Sinai. She hated socializing with his medical associates and complained about their wives being “too Stepford.” The more frustrated she became, the more carefree and irresponsible. It was as if she wanted Phil to be the one to ask for the divorce first. Scott loved to say, “Phil should have turned the CAT scan on her and seen how flighty a woman he married.”

  Megan had to admit that Tricia was flighty, but she couldn’t help liking her. Tricia was never depressed, even when she was in the middle of her divorce. Her carefree attitude about men and marriage was refreshing at times. Everyone else Megan knew was so serious, so sensitive to every little hiccup. Also, one thing Tricia didn’t do that most divorcees were prone to do is flirt with other women’s husbands. She never came to any event without some man she was seeing at the moment-and “the moment” was a good way to put it. Since her divorce, she had yet to find anyone she thought was worth more than a couple of weeks of her time. Maybe the men thought the same of her, Megan thought. That was Scott’s take on it.

  But one thing was certain: Tricia was up on the dating game for women of their age. Megan’s other girlfriends were married with families, and when most of them learned what was happening between her and Scott, they would treat her as if someone in her family had died. She didn’t want that. She knew she would lose quite a few of them as friends and probably not be invited to any of their family functions. Jennifer would be hurt the most by that, she thought regretfully. Before these women had even shown their reactions, she was angry at them.

  “Some friends,” she muttered at her image in the mirror. No, there wasn’t any question about it. There wasn’t a better guide to help her navigate through these new rough waters than Tricia Morgan. Tricia knew the places to go and how to handle the men who frequented them. Despite her laissez-faire attitude about love and romance, Tricia never went for any extremes. She never dated much younger men. She was no Mrs. Robinson.

  What’s more, Tricia wasn’t in any rush. She didn’t buy into that old idea that her biological clock was running down. Whenever she was serious about it, she would shake her head and say, “I’m not rushing into anything. I didn’t have enough fun out there to start with, and paid for that inexperience.”

  Was that true for me as well? Megan would often think. She was thinking about it tonight.

  Is that why I’m in this place I’m in, this situation? Maybe Clare was right. I jumped too quickly into my marriage, and now I’m paying the price for that impulsiveness.

  She had no idea what to expect out there. She might fall on her face and look foolish. Or she just might regain some desperately needed selfconfidence. What woman wouldn’t want to be thought of as pretty and sexy? It was just important not to lose her head over any compliment and to be careful about whose compliments she welcomed. Surely, Tricia would be a good advisor when it came to that.

  Maybe there wouldn’t be any compliments. Maybe she was fantasizing. She knew that no matter what, however, she wasn’t going to go running back to Scott.

  I might as well find out sooner than later, she concluded, and went about fixing her face and her hair and then choosing the sexiest outfit she had. That was easy to find.

  It was the one Scott hated the most.

  CHAPTER THREE

  Maybe his mother wasn’t all wrong, he thought. The possibility occurred to him on his way to a swimming-pool construction job in the valley. He had picked up the job when one of the company’s regulars had to go into the hospital for a double bypass. Matt Lowenstein, for whom he worked regularly, was friends with Paul Stanley, the CEO of the company, and he had just completed working for Matt on a pool in Brentwood. Matt appreciated his work ethic and how, unlike the others, he didn’t look for every possible opportunity to slack off.

  Maybe his mother was also right about the women he sort of pursued. Perhaps he just wasn’t looking in the right places because he relegated himself to a certain…how should he say…level, category, of watering holes? Perhaps he should be setting his sights on better prey. The truth was, he did himself a disservice by settling for this class of woman. True, he hadn’t attended college and he was nowhere near rich, even with owning his boat, but he had always been a good reader, kept up with news and had done some traveling. He’d always felt head and shoulders above his fellow construction workers. He was confident that he could hold his own anywhere, if he so chose. He would just have to dress better and watch the way he spoke. Can’t sound like a redneck.

  Of course, he really didn’t know where to go. He didn’t hang out with lawyers and businessmen. He didn’t take three-hour lunches and work in a tie and jacket. What was he going to do, turn to the Yellow Pages and look up “High-class Watering Holes”? The problem discouraged him, but maybe, maybe, he could do some reconnaissance-say, in Beverly Hills.

  The whole idea seemed more and more farfetched and stupid as the day rolled out. He couldn’t help thinking about it, however, and being in such deep thought as he worked alienated him from the others who liked small talk, coffee and cigarette breaks or just general bullsh
itting. Maybe it kept them from thinking about who they were and what they were doing. He could see the way they were looking at him as the day drew closer to an end. A man as silent as he was couldn’t be trusted.

  Matt’s friend Paul Stanley, however, was very pleased with him. He didn’t know he was being watched so closely, but before the day ended, Paul came over to him.

  “Nice work,” Paul said, standing beside him and looking at the Pebble Tec they had been pouring. Paul was about his height, with blue eyes and curly blond hair that belied his age. In fact, it was his youthful appearance that kept his employees from holding him in great respect. The truth was that even though he looked like he was in his early thirties, he was well into his forties.

  “It’s a nice property,” he told Paul. “The pool’s well placed, too. I like the natural privacy those trees provide, and I can see you didn’t have to do much grading here to prepare.”

  “Yeah. The jerk who owns this just got divorced and bought the place to show up his ex-wife. That’s what he told me,” Paul said.

  “Any kids?”

  “That’s why he’s building the pool. He’s got three—nine, twelve and thirteen, all boys.”

  “Why did he get divorced?”

  “Says he caught his wife with another woman.”

  “What? But they had three children?”

  “You ever hear of AC/DC? She liked it both ways. That’s what he says. ‘Course, he admits to screwing around himself. He’s some business exec at an independent film studio. Claims the temptations are just too great for any man to withstand.”

  “That’s bullshit,” he said.

  Paul laughed. “Hey, live and let live. I got this job out of it and you got some work.”

  “You married?” he asked.

  He didn’t think Paul Stanley was going to answer and he figured the man thought he was being too personal now, but after another moment, Paul nodded.

  “Was,” he said. “My wife was killed in a horrendous car accident on Cold Water Canyon. Some teenagers after a wild party slammed into her. As usual, they weren’t harmed seriously and later, through legal manipulations, were slapped on the wrist and sent off to do it again.”

  “Sorry,” he said.

  “What about you?” Paul asked.

  “My wife was killed in a boating accident a little over a year ago. No kids,” he added quickly.

  “No kidding? Two widowers?” Paul shook his head. “What are the chances of that?”

  He shrugged.

  “You start dating again?” Paul asked him.

  “Not really,” he said. “You?”

  “A little. It’s not easy. Some friends of mine are always on me, getting me to go out with them. Two of them are bachelors, so that’s easier.”

  “Where do you go?” Steve asked.

  “Usual kind of places. I mean I go to some charity events, but it’s not easy meeting someone there.”

  “I don’t know where to go these days,” he admitted.

  “Well,” Paul said, “I can give you a few where the choices are usually pretty good pickin’s.”

  “Anything in or around Beverly Hills?”

  “Beverly Hills? That’s trouble. There is one place my friend Sandy takes me to occasionally. It’s on Robinson. The Cage. Ever hear of it?”

  “No.”

  “You ever hang out in Beverly Hills?”

  “Not really.”

  “Don’t blame you. It ain’t cheap,” Paul said. “You’ll pay three to five dollars more for a drink than I bet you pay at the places you go to. If you go, put on all the jewelry you own,” he added with a laugh. “And bone up on your clothes designers, Hollywood gossip, and the latest world hot spots.” He laughed. “If you’re anything like me, you won’t last ten minutes in the place. Anyway, thanks for filling in and giving me a good day’s work. I’ll see you on Monday.”

  “Right,” he said.

  He caught the way the others were looking at him as they wrapped up. Not one looked pleased. All looked as if they resented him for making them look bad.

  This isn’t a job I’ll have long, he thought.

  He wrapped up and headed for home. Paul’s description of the Cage both interested and frightened him. He would hate to make a fool of himself or be the object of some mockery, especially by arrogant and snobby women. It probably made little or no sense to go there, given his motives.

  But on the other hand, he was tired of the places he did frequent. Three to five dollars more a drink wasn’t one of the things that frightened him. He didn’t drink that much anyway, but what if he had nothing to say to any of the women there or anything he did say was uninteresting to them? He could fall on his face. What would that do to his self-confidence?

  He drove on, realizing he had picked up the train of thought he had followed going to the job. It was as if it had been kept on hold, just waiting for him to return. I can’t do it, he concluded.

  I can’t be someone I’m not. That’s what Julia tried to do to me.

  When he arrived home, however, and saw the way his mother looked at him when he entered the house, he reconsidered. Staying home with her would be veritable torture tonight, he decided.

  He went directly to his room and searched his wardrobe, choosing what he thought were his nicest clothes. Even those shirts and pants looked inadequate, however. He berated himself for taking so little interest in himself, this past year especially. He hadn’t bought a single new item of clothing, not even a new pair of shoes. His dress shoes looked old-fashioned and needed a good polishing, and as for jewelry, what did he have? A emerald pinky ring that had been his father’s, a sort of dress watch, even though most men would wear it as an ordinary daily watch, and a stupid name bracelet Julia had given him on his birthday.

  I know nothing of Hollywood gossip, he thought. He looked at himself in the mirror.

  Who are you kidding? You couldn’t be successful in a place like the Cage. Go off with your tail between your legs and hang out at Mahoney’s or something.

  “No,” he told his image in the mirror as if he really were two different people. “I’m going to try it. Maybe, just maybe, there’s someone there waiting for a real man like me. You can go hide in the closet and wait here for all I care.”

  He liked that burst of outrage. It gave him encouragement. Moments later, he was in the shower shampooing his hair with the sweet smelly stuff Julia had used.

  How ironic, he thought. I’m using her stuff to find another woman.

  Ain’t that poetic justice?

  He started singing and when his mother saw him all dolled up, she broke into a wide smile.

  “Got a date?” she asked.

  “Not yet, but maybe I will by the end of the evening.”

  She pulled her head back.

  “What’s that mean?”

  “I’ll tell you in the morning, Ma. I don’t know myself,” he said, and left her shaking her head.

  Jennifer Lester looked up from the puzzle she was working on with her teenage babysitter, Margaret Sanders, when Megan walked into the family room. Megan could see the confusion in her face. Jennifer was more like she was, Megan thought. She had no deception, no connivance, at least not yet. She revealed everything going on inside her honestly, openly.

  On the other hand, Megan hadn’t been entirely honest with Scott. Jennifer wouldn’t treat his absence from their lives as just another day. Despite how poorly Scott had invested himself in their daughter’s daily life, she still loved and missed him. His presence was something she not only relied upon, but cherished. She didn’t understand why he was as aloof as he was when it came to her and Megan, but she didn’t love him any less for it. He would always be her father, absentee or not.

  “How do I look, honey?” Megan asked, hoping to get her mind off the impending divorce. She spun around in her designer leather slacks, high heels and a black leather vest over a frilly blouse. The slacks clung like another layer of skin. She added long, silver earri
ngs and had her hair brushed down.

  Jennifer stared in semishock. She was quite precocious, as are most nine-and ten-year-olds these days.

  “You look…different,” she offered first. “But very pretty,” she quickly added. She’d almost said “sexy.”

  “You do, Mrs. Lester,” Margaret seconded with so much enthusiasm, Meg couldn’t help but laugh. “If I didn’t know you, I’d think you were still in college or something.”

  “Really? Well, thank you, Margaret.”

  “I wish my mother would dress like that sometimes.”

  Jennifer looked at her, considering, wondering why her mother was going out dressed like this.

  “You going to see Daddy tonight?”

  “No, Jen. I told you. Your daddy and I won’t be seeing each other socially anymore.”

  “He’d be sorry if he saw you now, Mrs. Lester,” Margaret blurted.

  For a moment Megan didn’t know what to do. She finally smiled and shook her head.

  “Why is it young people can see clearer than adults most of the time?” she asked hypothetically.

  “We’re just not as cluttered, Mrs. Lester,” Margaret said. Margaret was an honor student, very responsible but, Megan thought, as unsophisticated when it came to socializing as she had been when she was her age. Sometimes, she wished she could take her aside and tell her not to be so choosy. Have some fun and be less judgmental.

  Megan nodded.

  “I think you’re right, Margaret. I’m about as cluttered right now as anyone can be. Okay, give me a kiss good night, Jen, and please make it easy for Margaret when she tells you it’s time to go to bed, okay?”

  Jennifer rose and went to her. She gave her a quick peck on the cheek and returned to her puzzle.

  Scott’s warning in the driveway about children from broken marriages returned to her. She saw how Jennifer was trying to organize and digest all this and how difficult it was and would be when things were made final.

  It’s still going to be better for us, Megan thought. We won’t have to suffer so many disappointments.