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“Well, you do seem to favor a lot of guys for a woman who’s about to get married.”
“It’s not like it’s going to happen next week.”
“And you’re sowing your wild oats?”
She tilted her head. “Absolutely.”
“And that’s your final answer?”
“Yeah, Reege.”
She thought he would argue more. Secretly, she wanted him to argue more, but instead he sighed, giving up on her. “Okay, then we’ve got lots of work to do, but if we focus, we’re cool. I’ve come up with a five-point plan strategically designed to fix your image.”
She slammed the door in his face and stripped off the teddy. “I don’t need to fix my image.”
“You do if you’re going to go through with this,” he answered matter-of-factly.
She flung open the door, because she hated the cool, matter-of-fact tone he used. This was her life he wanted to fix, as if she were some chipped statue, or a knockoff purse with a broken zipper.
“You said no nudity,” he reminded her.
She slammed the door shut. “No, you said that.”
“But you promised.”
“Fine,” she said, picking out the demi-bra and garter belt. “Tell me about this brilliant plan of yours,” she said, sliding on a pair of red panties, gritting her teeth the whole time.
“Okay. There’re five basic areas that we can target—personal life, artistic endeavors, sports, giving back to the community and what I call the “little man.”
Giving back to the community? The “little man”?
Sheldon pulled on the hose, nearly running them, and then snapped the demi-bra in place. “You’ve given this a lot of thought.”
“It’s my job.”
“Of course,” she said, and examined herself in the mirror.
Artistic endeavors? What a crock. She’d show him artistic endeavors. She pulled the bra cup down half an inch, exposing one nicely artistic nipple. Then she opened the door. “Should I get this one?”
He didn’t move.
She waved a hand in front of his face. “Jeff?”
He gave his head one hard shake. “You are so paying for this, Sheldon.”
“For what?”
He pulled at the bra cup, covering her up, but she didn’t miss the way his thumb lingered.
“Nothing,” he answered. “All we need to do is focus.”
Focus. He thought they needed to focus. She knew they needed to have sex. Mad, passionate, glorious sex so that she could exorcise Jeff Brooks from her system before he “fixed” her.
Sheldon went back into the dressing room and pulled on her sundress and sandals, a pleased smile on her face as she remembered the feel of his hands on her. Outside the door, she could hear his pacing. All that restrained tension.
Someday. Someday soon, Jeff Brooks.
Yeah, Sheldon knew exactly what she wanted.
3
THE SUMMERVILLE ENCLAVE WAS situated overlooking the ocean in the Hamptons. Sheldon had spent every single weekend of her summers there, and the smell of the sea air never failed to stir her senses. The sun was setting over her shoulder, casting a glimmering reflection on the water.
There was something about the solitude of the water that called to her. It was a time when she could turn off all the extraneous aspects of the Summerville legacy—of which there were many—and simply be.
As she sat on the boat dock, watching the gray waters of the Atlantic, she took another deep breath. A seagull perched on a wooden post, waiting for bread crumbs. He’d be waiting for a long time because Sheldon wasn’t the bread crumb type.
Being a Summerville had its privileges, that was for sure. She could jet off to Aspen or the Alps, take off for the Caribbean whenever she got the urge and could spend three times the GNP of Cuba on clothes.
It’d be really, really petty to complain, so she didn’t. She rose and took a few steps closer to the water, the catamarans lazily riding the swells, the gentle lapping of the waves soothing her nerves, clearing her head of all negativity.
Sometimes she thought she should be doing something meaningful with her life. But then she’d go out and tie one on and would eventually come to the realization that there were people in the world destined for meaningful things.
Sheldon wasn’t one of them.
She spotted her sister, Cami, leaving the house, walking down the steps toward Sheldon. As if she needed a reminder of her place in the grand scheme of things.
Camille Summerville, at age twenty-four, was two years younger than Sheldon and a paler, more refined version of her sister. Sheldon still loved her in spite of it. Cami didn’t have the flash of Sheldon, she wore khakis and linen shirts and she gardened. As she walked out on the beach, her sneakers kicked in the sand. Another difference—Sheldon wouldn’t be caught dead in sneakers.
“I’m supposed to tell you that dinner will be served at seven,” said Cami.
“Yeah, sounds great.”
“Monique called an hour ago, and left a message. She wants you to go out with some of her friends.”
Monique was their mother’s tennis coach, Sheldon barely knew her. “What now?”
“I don’t know, but she kept talking about some tennis tournament.”
“I don’t play tennis.”
“I think she’s angling for someone to sponsor her,” admitted Cami.
“Why can’t people just come out and ask? Why pretend to be friends, or to be nice, or to be interested in anything about me? Why not just be honest?”
“Don’t shoot me, I’m just the service.”
Sheldon laughed. “I don’t believe that no one ever hits you up for stuff. Use your influence, Sheldon,” she said in a mocking voice.
“I solved that a long time ago.”
“How?”
“I told them that Dad gave it all to you. I’m the poor, struggling medical student.”
Sheldon swung a mock fist, and Cami dodged. Somehow Cami always managed to escape.
This time her sister gave her a sympathetic look. “The Conrads will be here, too. You should wear something nice. Dad would like that.”
“Yeah, I will. I thought you were in the city for the weekend.”
Cami was finishing up her second year of medical school at Columbia and never had time off, summers included. Cami was destined for meaningful things.
“I should be. Got the boards to study for, but I needed to talk to you.” She stuffed her hands in her pockets and bit her lip, looking majorly guilty.
“What about?” asked Sheldon, curious about what sort of thing would give Cami a guilt complex. A B- on a test? A parking ticket? Walking past a homeless guy on Tenth Avenue without throwing money in his direction?
“I want to go to the islands this weekend, and I need you to cover for me.”
And no, it wasn’t anything wicked at all. Cami just wanted a break. “Why can’t you tell Mom?”
“Two reasons. One, she’d give me serious grief for skipping out on my studies. And two, Lance. She thinks it’s a ‘rebellious phase’ I’m going through.”
“Lance?”
Cami’s faced turned all dreamy, and she let out one of those long, seventh-grade sighs. “Lance. He’s a drummer in this band.” Cami looked around to see if anyone else was listening. Satisfied that the bird wasn’t going to tell, she continued. “We’re gonna do it, Sheldon.”
“Have sex?”
“Heck, no, we’ve done that hundreds of times. We’re going to go away for a weekend. And I want to skinny dip in the ocean and have sex on the beach and do all those crazy tropical things that normal people are rumored to have done. Have you ever had sex on the beach?”
Actually, Sheldon hadn’t because the beach was her place and her place alone. But Cami looked all goo-goo about the prospect, so Sheldon put on her best “dreamy-flashback” smile. “It’s great. It’s really hot, and you get all sweaty and sticky, but then, just when you think it’s totally yuck, you can dive into the ocean and cool off, the warm waters wrapping around you. Five stars, Cami. Definitely.”
“Oh, I can’t wait. And I bought a new bikini. With strings.”
“You and Lance will have a great time.”
Playfully, Sheldon kicked some sand in Cami’s direction. Sheldon didn’t have any of Cami’s important things to worry about. Yeah, no muss, no guilt. Until the day she was engaged, she was as free as the bird still perched nearby, waiting patiently for crumbs.
Sheldon fished in her pocket and tossed the bird an Altoid’s mint. Not a piece of bread, but he’d have great breath. He flew down and picked up the mint.
Cami shook her head.
“You know, you and Josh should get married in the Caribbean. Barefoot. Maybe some quiet guitar music in the background. What do you think?”
“Yeah, maybe,” answered Sheldon. “Let’s go inside. After all, don’t want to keep Josh waiting.”
THE FORMAL DINING ROOM SEATED forty when necessary. Tonight the table was set for eight, but Sheldon really wished they’d put in the extra leaves so that conversation would be kept to a minimum.
The four extra seats were occupied by the Conrad family: James Conrad, his wife, Marge; their daughter, Jennifer; and the favored son, Josh, Sheldon’s soon to be fiancé.
She picked at her peas and watched Josh from the corner of her eye. He was handsome, with sun-bleached California hair, earnest blue eyes, a dimple in his chin and a mouth that was a hair too wide, but it fit him. Josh was the eternal optimist. For some reason, every time Sheldon laid eyes on him, she wanted to kill him. Not the best start for a marriage.
“Sheldon, how’s your steak, honey?”
Sheldon smiled at her father. “I think I’m going to become a vegetarian. Do you know how they make steak? Cutting up the cows, all that blood—”
Sheldon’s mother held up a perfectly manicured hand. “Not at the dinner table, Sheldon.”
Sheldon blinked vacantly. “Sure, Mom.”
Her mother, ever the peacemaker, turned to Josh. “So, Josh, what’s new and exciting at Con-Mason?”
He speared a piece of meat with his fork, his mouth curved into an even bigger smile than usual. “Sales for the new line of bathroom cleaners are up seventeen percent, and we’ve put some incentives in place for the sales team. Very exciting stuff. I think third quarter growth will surprise everyone—especially the analysts.” Then he took a bite of his steak and chewed. Still smiling.
“Isn’t that nice?” Sheldon’s mother, Cynthia, looked every bit the Hamptons matron. Golden blonde, tanned and still gorgeous. That would be Sheldon in about twenty years, although Cynthia was missing Sheldon’s vacant expression. Her mother actually cared about things.
Then Cynthia turned to her oldest daughter. “Isn’t that nice, Sheldon?”
“Better than nice, Mom.” She looked in Josh’s direction. “Nuclear.”
He met her eyes, smiled, and then went back to his dinner. Oh, yes, theirs would be a match made in heaven.
The dinner conversation followed a well-established order. Gossip, excluding the Summerville and Conrad families, of course. Next up was the polo season. No one at the table played, including Josh, who was a golfer like Sheldon’s dad. However, lack of participation never stopped a heated discussion about how disappointing last season was.
Over dessert, Marge Conrad and Cynthia would launch into a full critique of the fall fashion season, each woman bemoaning her loss of figure. Both were size four.
Scintillating stuff, and after twenty-six years of it, Sheldon knew it all by heart.
After the last of the plates had been cleared away, her father opened a bottle of wine, pouring everyone a glass. Then he moved to stand behind her, his hands on her shoulders. “I have an announcement to make. I think y’all are going to be seeing a new side of Sheldon. Gave me a big surprise when she came to me and talked about expanding her world. Giving back to the community, trying artistic endeavors, taking an interest in New York’s fine array of sports offerings, turning her personal life into something more meaningful. I was tickled pink. And then, she told me about her favorite idea, sticking up for the ‘little man.’” He raised a glass. “To Sheldon, apple of my eye and owner of my heart.”
Sheldon raised her glass, pasting a smile on her face. So Jeff was that confident of his five-point plan that he’d pitched it to her father like a new advertising slogan?
Rage burned inside her, an oddly unfamiliar emotion. She’d be damned if Jeff was going to treat her like dishwashing powder.
Maybe she had a meaningless existence, maybe she was a black hole of humanity, but this time he had pushed her too far. This was a new and improved Sheldon with extra strength for tackling stubborn PR flacks where they lived.
Little did he know it, but Jeff Brooks had just issued a declaration of war.
MERCEDES BROOKS WAS JEFF’S younger sister and partner in crime, usually against Andrew. Then, when they were done with that, they’d turn on each other in that genuine, loving yet exquisitely painful sibling way that had endured since the dawn of time.
If she’d been homely or fat, Jeff might have cut her some slack, but Mercedes had looks. Not model looks, like Sheldon, but she had a unique I-can-kick-your-ass glint in her eyes that seemed to drive guys wild.
Jeff, having been the recipient of said glint more than once, was immune.
Currently, his pain-in-the-butt sister was curled up in his office, hogging his favorite chair, reading the New York Times—not her usual reading material. She pushed her dark hair out of her eyes and continued to bitch. Another one of Mercedes’ finer qualities.
She pointed to the article she was reading and scowled. “I don’t think sex is cheapening America, do you?”
