Your Bed or Mine? Read online

  And for being insensitive.

  And self-centered.

  And most of all, immature.

  He hated to admit it, but after the comments his own buddies had been making over the last couple of days, he’d started to realize maybe he wasn’t the easiest guy to live with, after all.

  Zada had a combative personality, sure.

  But so did he.

  Which only added more fuel to the raging fire that kept them apart—that burning desire they both had to constantly prove each other wrong.

  But was his expectation of marriage really that far-fetched? Was it really so unreasonable to want to be the king of your own castle? To have a wife who loved you in spite of all your flaws?

  Charlie had flaws, but he and Jen got along.

  Joe and Tish had their differences, and still made it.

  Was the magic phrase really the key to married bliss?

  His father had never used the magic phrase.

  He was positive of it.

  And his parents had recently celebrated their fortieth anniversary!

  Rick pulled his cell phone from his pocket. First, Nora and Sally showing up, and now thinking about his parents, reminded Rick he also hadn’t called them to let them know what was going on. At least he didn’t have to worry about his parents showing up the way Nora and Sally had just done. They would never think of showing up on anyone’s doorstep without calling first. But then, the relationship Zada had with her mother and her sister had always been a mystery to him.

  Rick shook his head.

  The three of them were always in a squabble about something, yelling at each other one minute, all hugs and smiles the next. Funny thing was, he also knew they loved each other dearly.

  Zada treats me like she treats her mother and sister.

  And maybe that was part of the problem.

  They’d come from such different family lifestyles. Zada’s life had always been nothing but chaos. He was used to life being neat and orderly.

  Rick hit the speed dial for his parents’ number.

  His father had recently retired from the military. For the past year, his parents had been living the good life in Phoenix, Arizona—a place where his father could play golf year round, and the climate kept his mother’s asthma at bay. Maybe after the divorce was final, he’d fly out and pay them a visit.

  Rick smiled when he heard his mother’s sweet voice.

  “Hi, Mother,” he said. “I should have called you Friday after I went to court, but things have been pretty hectic around here.”

  Mary Clark said, “I knew you’d call when you were ready to talk about it, Rick. I’m so sorry you and Zada couldn’t work things out. You know your father and I adore her.”

  Rick hesitated before he said, “The divorce isn’t final yet, Mother.”

  “You mean there’s a chance you’re going to reconsider?”

  Rick heard the hope in her voice. False hope was something he didn’t want to give her.

  “No,” Rick said. “I don’t think there’s any chance of a reconciliation. There are still some problems with the property settlement. But we’re trying to work those problems out.”

  He grimaced at her sigh of disappointment.

  “I just wanted to let you know to call me on my cell phone if you need me,” Rick said. “I gave up the apartment. That number’s already been disconnected.” Rick avoided his mother asking where he was staying with another question. “Is Pop around?”

  His mother laughed. “Oh, he’s around, all right. We’re having the patio extended. Your father’s out back barking orders to the poor contractor who didn’t realize what he was getting into when he agreed to do the job to a drill sergeant’s military standard of satisfaction.”

  Barking orders.

  Rick grimaced again.

  “I’ve come to realize I’m a lot like Pop,” Rick admitted to his mother. “Too much like him, if you want to know the truth about it. And since Zada isn’t anything like you, I guess our marriage was pretty much doomed from the start.”

  “What do you mean Zada isn’t anything like me?”

  “Your personalities,” Rick said. “Zada’s in my face every second, Mother. That’s our problem. You’ve always accepted Pop’s take-charge personality and lived with him in spite of it. Zada doesn’t have that capability.”

  Mary laughed. “Where did you ever get the impression I accept your father’s take-charge personality? I put your father in his place on a daily basis.”

  Rick was stunned.

  “But, but …” he stuttered. “I’ve never seen you and Pop have an argument in my life.”

  “Well, of course, we never argued in front of you,” Mary said. “Claude Clark might wear the pants in this family, Rick, but don’t you ever doubt that I tell him which pair to wear.”

  My father?

  Fondly known as Claude the Conqueror?

  Taking orders?

  Rick went from stunned to downright angry.

  “Well, I hate to point this out, Mother,” Rick said sharply, “but if you and Pop had argued in front of me every now and then, I might have had a more realistic idea of what to expect in my marriage.”

  He heard her gasp.

  Uh-oh.

  “Now you listen to me, Richard Avery Clark,” she said, proving she could be every bit as feisty as she claimed.

  Richard Avery Clark?

  You haven’t called me that since I was a kid.

  “If you’d been present for every knockdown drag-out fight your father and I had when you were growing up, and still have in case you’re wondering, you’d be complaining our arguing was responsible for your marriage not working out.”

  “Now, Mother,” Rick said. “I was only saying …”

  “Oh, grow up!” Mary snipped. “Take responsibility for your own actions like an adult. And don’t call me back until you’re ready to apologize!”

  Rick looked at his cell phone when the line went dead.

  He couldn’t believe it.

  His mother had never talked to him like that.

  Never!

  Rick started to call her back, then thought better of it. He’d call his mother back and apologize later, after he apologized to Zada.

  Dammit!

  There was just no winning with the women in his life!

  “Go ahead and have a good cry, sweetie,” Tish said, after Zada finished a rundown of the humiliating visit from her mother and her sister.

  “Don’t be ridiculous,” Zada said. “Tears are nothing but a big waste of time and energy.”

  Jen looked at her funny. “I think you’re serious.”

  Zada sent Jen a puzzled look back. “Why wouldn’t I be serious?”

  “Because,” Jen said. “It’s a woman’s nature to cry. Tears are all tied up in our emotions. We cry when we’re happy. We cry when we’re sad. We cry when we’re hurt or embarrassed. Sometimes we cry for no other reason than the fact that we’re long overdue for a good, hard cry.”

  “You maybe,” Zada said. “Not me.”

  “You never cry?” Tish asked.

  Zada shook her head. “No. I don’t.”

  Jen and Tish exchanged worried looks.

  Tish said, “Through this whole divorce? You’ve never cried once?”

  Again, Zada shook her head.

  Tish and Jen kept staring at her.

  “I swear,” Zada said laughing. “I can’t even remember the last time I cried.”

  “Try,” Jen said.

  What?

  Maybe it was the whole situation: Her losing face with her mother and Sally. Her being so angry at Rick. Maybe even her feeling threatened by Alicia. Whatever the reason, painful memories surfaced.

  This time, Zada couldn’t hold them back.

  Her, holding Sally’s four-year-old hand, both of them crying as her mother followed her father to the car, begging him not to leave. Her father, finally taking her mother by the shoulders and shoving her out of his way so
he could get into his car.

  Her, standing by her mother’s bed, tears streaming down her six-year-old face, begging her mother to get up. Sally sitting on the floor, crying because their mother had been in bed for two days and she was scared and hungry.

  Her, going to the wall phone in the kitchen. Pushing a kitchen chair up to the wall so she could reach the phone. Going down the list of numbers on the bulletin board by the phone like her mother had taught her to do in case of an emergency.

  Her, calling her father at work. Begging him to come home. Telling him her mother was sick. Him, saying he would come. Her watching out the front window for hours. Him never coming.

  Her, finally drying her tears. Vowing she would never cry again. Leading Sally back to the kitchen. Fixing both of them another peanut butter sandwich.

  The mental filmstrip ended.

  Zada burst into tears.

  She cried.

  She sobbed.

  With her hands over her face, she wept her heart out.

  Twenty-six years worth of pent-up rage spewed forth, allowing bitter tears to wash away the anger she’d kept buried deep inside. Only then, did Zada finally forgive her father for being the incredible jerk that he was. And she finally forgave her mother for still loving him in spite of it.

  Through her anguish, Jen and Tish had comforted her. Murmuring words of encouragement. Holding her hand and patting her back. Staying with her until there were no tears left to cry. When she finally pulled herself together, Zada didn’t know what to say.

  “I’m so embarrassed,” she admitted. “I never expected to have a nervous breakdown on you.”

  Tish handed her another tissue. “If it makes you feel any better, I have a nervous breakdown at least once a month. I’d say you were well overdue.”

  “And whether you believe it or not,” Jen said, patting her hand, “a good cry always makes you feel better.”

  “I already feel better,” Zada said. “So much better, the first thing I’m going to do is call my mother and Sally and apologize for being the incredible ass I’ve been my entire life. I’m beginning to realize men can make a liar of you no matter how strong you think you are.”

  Jen said, “You mean like letting Rick move back in?”

  Zada nodded. “Does that sound mature enough for you?”

  Jen smiled. “Extremely mature. And now I want you to tell me the second extremely mature thing you’re going to do is sit down with Rick tonight and put an end to the madness.”

  “Don’t push it, Jen,” Zada said, getting up from the table. “I think one mature thing a day is a good place to start. Besides, I’m still too angry at Rick to be mature about anything where he’s concerned.”

  Zada walked into Tish’s half bath off the kitchen. She took one look in the mirror, and almost passed out.

  Crap! What a dirty trick.

  Her eyes were so red and swollen, she looked like she’d been in a fist fight.

  “I know why crying makes you feel better now,” Zada yelled out to Jen and Tish. “Crying makes you feel better so you can handle looking like pure hell afterwards.”

  She heard them both laugh.

  “And speaking of pure hell,” Jen said when Zada walked back into the kitchen. “Please tell me you aren’t going to live in the hellish mess you and Rick have made in your house.”

  Zada said, “Does that mean I can borrow your Queen of Clean title for the afternoon?”

  “Absolutely,” Jen said.

  Zada grinned. “How much damage do you think a caustic cleanser could do to an expensive set of wood drivers?”

  Tish gasped. “Oh, Zada. You wouldn’t dare! Joe would kill to have a set of drivers like Rick’s.”

  Zada said, “I bought Rick those clubs. I can do whatever I want with them.”

  Jen shook her head. “You really are mad at Rick, aren’t you?”

  Zada looked at Jen. “How mad would you be if Charlie invited your mother and sister into a kitchen that looked like mine does right now?”

  “Use a Brillo pad,” Jen said. “A Brillo pad will do more damage to the wood.”

  Chapter 11

  Alicia wasn’t sure what happened after Rick’s walk.

  Only that it wasn’t good.

  She’d glanced out the window in time to see Rick and Zada in a face-off in their driveway. She’d watched Zada stomp across the street to Tish’s house, Jen right beside her. Watched Rick back down the driveway and zoom off.

  Guilt tugged at her conscience for a second. But only for a second. She had nothing to feel guilty about. All she’d done was tell Rick the truth. Zada’s assumptions were her own.

  Assumptions.

  How Alicia hated assumptions.

  People had made unfair assumptions about her all her life. Assumed she was rich, spoiled, and conceited. Never giving her a chance to prove otherwise. Never taking time to get to know her as a person.

  She’d spent her whole life wishing she hadn’t been born into money. Wishing she was dumb as a stump. Wishing she was average-looking enough not to stand out from the crowd. But no more. From now on, she was going to take advantage of every asset she had.

  And she was going to start with Zada.

  Zada saw her as a threat, so she was going to be a threat. Until Zada gave her what she wanted.

  Alicia’s head jerked toward her bedroom phone.

  She smiled as walked across the room.

  Maybe Zada’s ready to give me what I want sooner than I expected.

  Alicia frowned when she saw the caller ID: her twin, Alfie. Calling, she was sure, with his latest crisis du jour.

  “Still in Woodberry Park exile?” were the first words out of Alfie’s mouth when she answered the phone.

  “For now,” Alicia said, “but I’m working on it.”

  Alfie said, “I still don’t know why you don’t sell the house and move back to the city with me.”

  Alicia said, “You know exactly why I’m not selling the house.”

  “What’s the big deal about giving Edward half of the proceeds?” Alfie argued. “It’s not like we’ve ever been desperate for money. Dear old real estate mogul Dad saw to that before we were ever born.”

  “It’s the principle of the matter,” Alicia said.

  Alfie said, “And speaking of dear old Dad, he’s still on me every minute about talking you into coming back to the bosom of the family business.”

  “Why? So I can meet another devious neurosurgeon who wants to destroy my life?” Alicia quipped. “No thank you.”

  “You didn’t know Edward was devious when you sold him the commercial property for his office building, sis,” Alfie said. “You also didn’t know he was devious when you married him. Edward had us all fooled. Not just you.”

  “It doesn’t matter,” Alicia said. “The answer is still no!”

  Alfie sighed. “Then at least come to a party in my building tonight. I just got dumped again, so I don’t have a date. I want you to go with me.”

  “Whose party?” Alicia wanted to know.

  “Eddie Salvo,” Alfie said.

  “Public Dick Eddie?” Alicia laughed. “Again, no thank you.”

  “The term is ‘Private Dick,’” Alfie corrected. “And Eddie has the reputation of being the most successful private detective in Chicago. Plus, he has a major crush on you.”

  “Eddie has a major crush on anything wearing skirts,” Alicia said. “Which is why public dick suits him much better. I repeat. No thank you.”

  “At least you wouldn’t have to worry about Eddie’s sexual preference,” Alfie said right back.

  “I’m hanging up now,” Alicia told him.

  “Seven o’clock,” Alfie said. “Sixth floor. Eddie’s apartment number is six B.”

  “I said I’m hanging up now.”

  And Alicia did just that.

  It was nine PM when Rick pulled into the driveway. He slammed on the brakes when he saw Zada’s Lexus, out of the garage, and parked back in its
usual place on the turnaround.

  Rick sat there for a second, contemplating exactly what this meant. A bomb, maybe? Ready to explode if he tried to reclaim his junk-free side of the garage?

  He eased the Hummer up the drive and stopped again.

  It took a second before he found the courage to use the garage door opener. When he did, and the garage light came on, what Rick saw blew his bomb theory all to hell.

  He couldn’t believe his eyes.

  Not only was his side of the garage free of debris, Zada’s side of the garage was basically spotless. All of her boxes of God only knew what were neatly stacked in one corner. Her yard sale junk for that yard sale she insisted she was going to have some day, had disappeared. She’d even gotten rid of that old refrigerator from her college dorm days that she insisted still held sentimental value.

  Rick didn’t know whether to be ecstatic or terrified.

  Common sense told him to lean toward the latter.

  His fear only mounted when he entered the house through the garage and walked into a pristine kitchen. Sweat broke out on his brow when he hurried down the hallway and found a neat and tidy living room. He held his breath as he tiptoed up the stairs and down the hall, switching on the lights in his immaculate bedroom and his squeaky clean bath.

  Terror arrived when he glanced at his golf bag.

  The grips were sticking up out of the golf bag, instead of the heads. Panic propelled Rick forward. Rage took over when he pulled the first driver out of the bag.

  Zada was sitting up in bed, pretending to be reading when the loud banging started on her bedroom door.

  “Go away,” she yelled. “It’s Simon’s turn to sleep with me.”

  “Dammit, Zada,” Rick yelled back. “This isn’t about Simon and you know it.”

  Simon sat up on the bed, wagging his tail.

  “Stay,” Zada whispered. “I may need you for protection.”

  When Rick barged through the door, Zada realized how true those words were. A new vein she didn’t even know he had popped out on Rick’s forehead. Zada didn’t like the way he was holding on to his ruined golf club, either.

  Rick held the club up.

  Zada glanced at it nonchalantly, then back at him.

  “I can’t believe you did this!” he yelled.