Wicked Forest

.

  Everything Thatcher did that night seemed

  designed to flaunt our relationship before Palm Beach society. He'd reserved a table that put us in the front so that we would be constantly on display, and when we entered, he made sure to pause to introduce me as his fiancee to anyone and everyone he knew. I was already wearing the ring. He had presented it to me again as soon as we were in his Rolls.

  "I'm giving it back to you a lot sooner than you expected. I know." he said as he took my hand and slipped it over my finger.

  "Yes."

  He kissed me.

  "That's the way it will be from now on. Willow.

  You give me a task and I'll get it done. Your happiness is my happiness," he told me. I know it was only my imagination, but my hand felt heavier, especially after he began to introduce me as his fiancee. Whenever I shook hands with anyone. I watched the way his or her eyes and the eyes of those around us were drawn to the glittering diamond. By the time we reached our table, the whole place was chattering about us. I caught bits and pieces of phrases: "...never thought Thatcher Eaton would get serious about anyone... it can't be true... Grace Montgomery's daughter?"

  People who hadn't been in the "receiving line" made their way to our table to be introduced and to hear Thatcher say "my fiancee," as if the ring itself were no guarantee or proof of anything. It had to come from his lips as well.

  One woman who looked about my mother's age but dressed as if she were my age surprised me by seizing my hand and holding it up so the ring was clearly visible to anyone nearby. Then she blurted, "Do you realize what you have done? You have lassoed the wildest stallion on the beach!"

  "Really?" I said, sounding as unimpressed as I could manage as I retrieved my hand. I looked at Thatcher. "He's so polite and civilized when he is with me. I never would have known it."

  He roared, and the woman, who'd been introduced as Muffy Anderson, dropped her jaw so quickly it looked like it had unhinged. Her escort. a thin, small. dapper man. held a frozen smile. I thought they made a most unlikely couple. She looked like she could absorb him with a mere embrace, especially if he was drawn into the valley between her two bulging breasts.

  "Who was that?" I asked Thatcher as soon as they left our table.

  "Muffy? She's the widow of Lowell Anderson, who patented and manufactured a plastic wine battle cap that sold like hotcakes throughout western Europe. Her escort is just some Palm Beach walker, another Kirby Scott," he said through the corner of his mouth.

  I wanted to hear more about his meeting with Kirby Scott, but I knew almost from the moment we had arrived at Ta-Boo that we wouldn't have much time to talk seriously at the restaurant. There was a constant parade of Thatcher's friends and

  acquaintances marching to and by our table. Before the evening ended, a woman who looked like she had just come from a costume ball, wearing a jeweled cowboy hat, a beaded blouse, a pink quilted skirt, and a pair of what looked like alligator boots, came charging into the restaurant with a young man at her side who carried an impressive-looking camera. She made her way directly to our table. We were just having our dessert.

  "Thatcher Eaton, you rogue," she shouted. She nodded at me. "How dare you do something like this without giving me fair warning?"

  Taken aback. I looked to Thatcher, who sat with a wide, self-satisfied grin slashed across his face.

  "Somehow, I knew a little bird would be whispering in your ear. Suzy. Willow. this is Suzy Q. the most important and influential society columnist in Palm Beach."

  "I'll need a picture or two," she said as if we had nothing to say about it. She nodded to her photographer, who started to snap the photos. -Put your arm around her shoulders. Thatcher. Make it look as real as you can," she ordered.

  "It is real," he said, and lifted my hand to show her the engagement ring.

  She tilted her head and pulled in the corners of her thickly painted lips. I thought she looked like a walking billboard advertisement for cosmetic surgery. Her nose was clipped. Her eyes were pulled so tightly. I wondered if she was able to close them at night, and her chin looked tucked under so snugly, I had real doubt that she could swallow anything. Her gaudy blond hair hung straight down beside her cheeks like strands of plastic.

  "All right," she told the photographer. "that's enough. So give me the scoop, darling." she said, shoving what looked like a miniature tape recorder in our faces. "Where did you two meet?"

  "Wasn't it in southern France? Nice?" he asked me.

  "It was nice. but it wasn't Nice." I said, and we both laughed.

  "I'm going to get all the nitty-gritty anyway, darling, so why play games with Suzy Q?"

  "She's right. Willow. There is no point trying to hide anything from her. She has eyes everywhere. behind the highest walls.

  Even Donald Trump isn't safe." He turned back to her. "Willow is my landlady." Thatcher said.

  Suzy raised her eyebrows and looked at me. "Really?"

  -She owns Joya del Mar. I figured if I married her. I'd get a break on the rent,- he said.

  Suzy Q dropped her gullible expression quickly, and dropped her tape recorder into the small black leather purse hanging at the end of a strap over her shoulder,

  -All right. Mr. Smarty-pants. I'll go round up my usual sources and get the truth, or something that closely resembles it. You'll have to take your chances."

  "Isn't that what everyone appearing in your column does, Suzy?"

  "Cute. Very cute. My dear," she said, turning to me. "you have my condolences. And my best wishes." she added with as warm a smile as she was capable of producing. I thought

  "I'll be seeing you... everywhere." She made it sound more like a warning than a promise. She nodded to her photographer, and left the restaurant as quickly as she had burst into it.

  Thatcher laughed. "Is it over yet?" I asked him.

  "I think so, for now," he said, nodding, and signaled for our check.

  Leaving was more difficult than entering since more people had arrived, seemingly because they had heard about Thatcher and me. I was introduced to nearly twice as many people on the way out as on the way in. By the time we got into the Rolls, I was exhausted and pretended to collapse.

  "I feel pinched and squeezed, examined under microscopes, and tested for every known social disease. There are eve prints over my whole face," I complained, scrubbing my cheeks.

  "I assure you, they weren't looking only at your face." Thatcher said.

  "We might as well be in a giant fishbowl!"

  "That's exactly what Palm Beach is." he said. laughing, "high society under glass."

  I groaned and sank deeper into the seat.

  "I hope you'll get your second wind," he said as we drove off. "The night is early, especially for us."

  "Oh. Thatcher, we're not going to another Palm Beach nightspot, are we?" I moaned.

  "No, we've done enough damage here," he said. "My mother and my sister will be on the phone all day tomorrow trying to field the questions and the comments. I've already made arrangements to be out of town so they won't be able to reach me. I'm taking a deposition dawn in Miami. Of course, with the speed of gossip reaching supersonic in this town, they could already be on the telephone, especially with each other. I can just hear Whitney calming and comforting our mother dean'. Dear old Dad will comfort himself with a Grey Goose vodka

  cosmopolitan on the rocks." He laughed.

  "You're enjoying this too much," I said with suspicion. "Is it because of me or because you're getting sweet revenge?"

  "Mostly because of you." he replied, "but I won't deny I'll enjoy the sweet revenge."

  "That's just great, Thatcher. How am I ever supposed to get along with your family if you rub me in their faces like so much hot pepper?"

  "Oh, they'll get over it and take you in with as much sincerity as they are capable of showing." he replied. "Besides. Willow, you're marrying me, not my whole family."

  "You know that's not realistic. Thatcher. Let's make a pact right
now and promise to try never to fool each other." I told him.

  He nodded. "Okay," he said softly. "You're right. I won't gloat. Once my family understands I am serious and we are for real, things will change. That's realistic." he assured me. "Speaking of which, we should think about a wedding date."

  "I'm starting college soon," I said "I've met with my advisor and I have my schedule. The semester ends in early June."

  "Good. So let's use that as a plan. Why don't we think of a late June wedding? I want to make a honeymoon reservation for us in Eze village in southern France, at a place called the Chateau de la Chevre d'Or, It's like being in a storybook world. but I've got to do it well in advance."

  My heart began to thump at the thought of planning it all. There was so much to do.

  "Maybe it's all happening too fast." I said. "We're moving back into the main house in May, and--"

  You could always postpone that," Thatcher said quickly.

  "No," I practically shouted. That would be all that Linden needed to hear. I thought. It would confirm all his dreads, "I've promised my mother and Linden, and they are looking forward to it now. Thatcher. I'd much rather postpone our wedding a few months," I told him firmly.

  "I understand," he said. "Well. I don't think it will present any serious problems anyway. We have plenty of time to do everything."

  "We could always just elope," I said, and he laughed,

  "We could, but we'd have to have a real wedding anyway."

  Why

  "Why.? This is Palm Beach, Willow, Get used to it. You're a part of Palm Beach society now. That will be confirmed and stamped in tomorrow's papers."

  "Is that all it takes?" I asked.

  "All? You heard Suzy Q. You've corralled the most eligible stallion on the beach. Get ready. Your phone's going to ring off the hook, too."

  Why?

  "Invitations," he said. "Everyone is going to want a piece of you. You'll see. We're both going to be the most sought-after guests of honor.'

  "Is that good?"

  "It's good for me and my career, and what's good for me. Willow, will be good for you," he replied.

  I sat back wondering if I'd really and truly understood what I was getting into when I agreed to marry Thatcher. I looked at him, smiling and happy, a handsome and accomplished young man whose love for me was apparently so overwhelming, he couldn't tolerate the thought of any delays.

  "Don't look so worried," he said, and reached out to take my hand. "I'll always protect you from the sharks that swim on shore. What good is having a husband who's an attorney if he can't do that?"

  "I'm not worried for myself." I said. He nodded with understanding.

  "We'll take care of everyone now. Willow, you and I. We'll bring the glitter of joy back to Java del Mar, where it belongs, where it should be forever and ever" He smiled. "Did I tell you how sexy you look in that dress tonight?"

  Not enough," I said, and he laughed,

  "Hey, the night is just beginning," he told me, and turned onto the road that would take us to our beach-house rendezvous.

  His pager rang as we entered. He looked at it and nodded. "Your mother?" I asked.

  "I'm surprised it took this long. Must have been a jam up on the phone lines or something."

  "Are you going to call her?"

  "No, not tonight. We're closing the door on all that out there. In here, it's just you and me," he said, and pulled me to him to kiss me. "I couldn't think of anything else if I tried, Not with you in my arms looking like you do." He kissed me again, then scooped me up and carried me, laughing, to the bedroom.

  "What's left for the honeymoon?" I asked as he began to undress.

  He paused and smiled.

  "Wait until we're there on that mountain looking down at the sea. Then you'll know that every day we're together will be better than the day before. This," he said, kneeling beside the bed, just the coming attractions."

  "Sounds more like a movie than a marriage."

  "Our marriage will always be a romance. Willow," he promised, and kissed me on the tip of my nose as he rose slowly to lie down beside me and make love to me.

  I once overheard my adoptive mother tell one of her closer friends that when you made love with your eyes closed all the time, you were trying to forget the man you were with and replace him with either some fantasy or someone you wished you were with. Her friend said if that was true, she hadn't made love with her husband for years. They both laughed, and then my adoptive mother shocked me by saying she'd never made love to her husband: "Even on our honeymoon. I replaced him behind my eyelids."

  Their laughter felt like bee stings.

  If my adoptive mother was right and was at least to be trusted when it came to something like making love. I had nothing to fear about my feelings for Thatcher.

  Yes, his kisses and his caresses closed my eyes, and his hot breath on my neck made me tingle with pleasure and anticipation. but I loved looking at him. He was truly a handsome man, and when I watched him soaking in pleasure, he would open his eyes, too, and look into mine and smile and say, "You're so beautiful. Willow. You're so fresh and special."

  If something were to happen and we were not together forever and ever, and if I was with someone else. I thought, I would most likely close my eyes all the time and behind my lids see Thatcher Eaton.

  Such was the magic that jolted between us. We were like two sticks rubbed together to spark a flame that grew so hot and bright, it threatened to consume us in ourselves. Afterward, both of us needed a few minutes to catch our breath, to cool down our bodies and come back to earth. Still embracing me, he held me against his body and breathed normally. I had my back to him.

  "Tell me about Kirby Scott now, Thatcher. What was he like? What did he say about my mother and Linden?"

  Thatcher slipped his arm out from under me and turned onto his back to look up at the ceiling. I spun around to face him and propped myself up on my elbow.

  "I will say this," he began, "there is something to be said for the life of a rake. Never really warningabout anything, living the free life without

  responsibility or conscience, has kept him looking remarkably young. What aging there is in his face just distinguishes him, When I first set eyes on him. I thought this must be a different Kirby Scott, The man I was looking to meet had to be in his early sixties at least. I mean, he was married to your grandmother.

  "Then I remembered he was about five years younger. Maybe he was even younger than that, but lied about his age. Who knows? The reality was, I could understand how he continues to charm and beguile women years and years younger than he is.

  He is presently the escort of Jill Littleton, Hunter Littleton's widow. Hunter was CEO of Mars Industries, the company that specializes in

  constructing airport malls. I did some work for her two years ago, and that's how I arranged to have the face-to-face with Kirby."

  "But what was he like?" I pursued, impatient.

  He was a cocky, confident son of a bitch. He had some idea about why I wanted to see him, but that didn't shake him a bit, at least so I could see. He wore a blue sports jacket, white pants, and Italian loafers without socks. He flaunts his gold in a thick necklace and a gold bracelet that looks like it could be used as the anchor of a battleship. He had a pinky ring with an emerald the size of a Ping-Pong ball."

  "I'm happy you noticed all of his jewelry, Thatcher, but what was he like?"

  Thatcher laughed.

  "Hey, I can't help being impressed with all that, especially on a thief. That's all he really is, a glamorized thief.

  He was crafty and oh, so polite and refined. He tried to show his concern about Grace. How was she? He wished he could visit her and see Linden, but he didn't think it would do either of them any good. The way he spoke about those days, he has either convinced himself or perfected the fabrication that he was young and innocent and impressionable. According to him. Jackie Lee took advantage of him, used him, and then, as if he were something d
isposable, threw him aside to have extramarital flings.

  "Frustrated and alone, he claims, he was vulnerable to Grace's young charm. She worshiped and admired him so much it made his head spin, and he gave in to temptation. Yadda. yadda..." Thatcher added, waving his hand in the air.

  "I got into the business about my mother, and that's when his disposition and confidence took a nosedive. His lips actually began to tremble with his denials: If I was seeking to start some sort of lawsuit... on and on, until he produced some hard evidence that I could follow up and, as I told you. confirm,

  "We returned to talking about Grace and Jackie Lee. He claimed Grace was always quite an

  introverted girl, had few friends and hardly socialized. She was content living through his experiences and would sit for hours and hours to hear him describe his travels, his adventures. He made himself sound like Othello charming Desdemona with tales of battle and journeys to exotic lands.

  "Of course. according to him, he never realized how attached to him she was becoming. She was a very beautiful young woman, and when she enticed him, he weakened. Once he realized what he had done, he says, he made the decision himself to leave Joya del Mar,

  "I told him if he continued to spread such a fantastic tale, especially now. I would indeed take him to court. He surprised me by 'mowing all about you and confidently declared that your existence and Grace's affair at some clinic demonstrated the truth of what he was saying and had been claiming as a defense. In other words. he wasn't a bit frightened of me when it came to that and. instead. suddenly showed great interest in you."

  "In me?" "He was intrigued and began asking all sorts of questions."

  "Like what?"

  "Just questions." Thatcher replied quickly. "I told him if he should so much as come within ten yards of you. I would personally put him in a permanent coma. I wanted to leap over the table at that point and choke him. but Jill came out and I had to be civilized. My eyes continued the hot threat. and I'm sure he understood I was serious.

  "Anyway. I followed up on his information, leading me to the wonderful conclusion that he is by no stretch of the imagination my father. After having met him and seen what a shrewd, conniving, and unfortunately charming rogue he can be. I was happy to disprove what my sister and my mother were trying to convince me to believe. It made me even angrier, and I told my sister off like I have never told her. By the time I was finished. she was crying over the phone."