Faking It - Crusie Jennifer (читать книги бесплатно полностью .txt) 📗

“Why not?” Tilda said. “Nobody could buy that mortgage, we’ve been making the payments.”

“It’s been paid off,” Gwen said, looking like death.

“Paid off?” Tilda said.

“Really?” Eve said, cautiously delighted. “Really, it’s gone?”

Gwen looked at her and shook her head.

“Who?” Tilda said.

“Mason,” Gwen said. “It has to be Mason. He’s the only person we know with six hundred thousand dollars and a yen to run an art gallery. It has to be him. And I think he wants to marry me.”

“Oh,” Eve said, sitting down beside her. “Well, we’ll just give the money back. Unless you like him.”

“He’s nice,” Gwen said.

“Nice.” Tilda sat on her other side. “Gwennie, you cannot marry for nice. Or for six hundred thousand dollars. Tell me you’re not thinking about doing this in some insane bid to save the plantation. Because it’s not necessary. We can give the money back. We’ll be out of debt in-”

“About forty years,” Gwen said. “But no, that’s not why I’m thinking about doing it. Mason is sweet.”

“Sweet is good,” Tilda said doubtfully. “I mean, definitely when I decide to settle down, I’m doing the muffin thing.” She thought about Davy. If she stretched the definition of “muffin”…

“That’s Mason,” Gwen said. “All muffin.”

“I’m just saying, maybe not this muffin.” Tilda took her hand. “He’s just a little… bland for you. He’s bran, you’re orange-pineapple.”

“Muffins are bland,” Gwen said. “If they’re not bland, they’re just doughnuts without holes.”

“Well, take him for a trial run first,” Eve said. “Even for six hundred thousand dollars, you shouldn’t have to be bored in bed.”

“Right,” Tilda said, looking at her sister in disbelief. “Good advice, Louise.”

“We’ll be just fine,” Gwen said, standing up. “Uh, how exactly do I ask him if he paid the mortgage?”

“He’ll tell you,” Eve said, still channeling Louise. “Guys love to tell you stuff like that.”

UPSTAIRS IN Simon’s apartment, Davy said, “What would you think if I paid off the mortgage on this place? Don’t tell Tilda.”

“I’d think you were insane,” Simon said. “Why would I tell Tilda?”

“You told Louise we worked for the Feds,” Davy said.

“It seemed like a good idea,” Simon said. “You’re not serious about that mortgage?”

“Pretty much. I gather you told Louise you were a Fed, but you didn’t tell her you were a thief?”

“Good God, no.” Simon sat on the edge of the table. “About that mortgage. I think we’ve been here long enough. What do you say we go back to Miami?”

Davy felt like punching him. “You know, the thief thing would have turned Louise on a lot more than the FBI.”

“She’d have told Eve,” Simon said. “It’s been two weeks. Time to go home.”

“She did tell Eve about the FBI,” Davy said. “Who told Tilda. Who told me last night, which is when I realized why she’s been avoiding me. She thought I was an agent. You screwed up my sex life.”

Simon got up and pulled his suitcase out from under the bed. “I don’t see how.”

“I feel strongly,” Davy said, “that if somebody is going to lie to my girl, it should be me. That way none of us gets confused.”

“Your girl.” Simon shook his head. “We are definitely going back to Miami.”

“And leave Louise?” Davy turned to go.

“I’m ready to go,” Simon said. “You got your money back-”

Davy turned back. “Do not mention that to anyone!”

“Interesting,” Simon said. “I would think that would turn Tilda on even more than the FBI.”

“You don’t know Tilda,” Davy said. “I mean it. Nobody finds out.”

“You’re a lot easier to live with in Miami,” Simon said. “ Ohio makes you tense.”

“Not really,” Davy said, thinking about Tilda upstairs. “Have you ever met a woman you wanted to give everything to? Just turn over everything you had?”

“No,” Simon said. “Being of sound mind, of course not.”

“Me, either,” Davy said. “I’d have told you that Clea was the great love of my life, but I never felt the slightest urge to buy her a diamond.”

“Smart boy,” Simon said.

Davy sat down on the edge of the bed. “I looked at that money in my account last night and suddenly felt this overwhelming need to pay off Tilda’s mortgage.”

“So we should be leaving now,” Simon said, opening his suitcase. “A good time was had by all. Cheerio.”

“It was only six hundred thousand.” He shook his head. “And then later…” He looked at Simon. “Did you ever watch a woman in glasses strip to ‘I Can’t Stay Mad at You’? Dumb song, but Tilda can sing the hell out of it.”

“I’ll make the reservations.” Simon picked up the phone. “Would you like me to hold on to your checkbook for you?”

“No,” Davy said. “Look, I can afford it. It would be a generous thing to do. I still haven’t paid for the bed.”

“Do not give money to women,” Simon said as he dialed. “They either take it badly, or they take it and want more. You can’t win.”

“I could tell her it was an investment.”

“In a broken-down art gallery that is rapidly going to the dogs that even she doesn’t want anything to do with? No.” Simon spoke into the phone. “Hello, love, it’s me, your favorite client. How fast can you get Davy and me on a flight to Miami? Out of Columbus.”

“I have to go see my sister on Sunday,” Davy said.

“Out of Columbus on Sunday night,” Simon said into the phone.

“You know, a smart guy could make this place work,”

Davy said. “Put in a little capital, start the old razzle-dazzle-”

“Absolutely not,” Simon said to him, and then spoke into the phone again. “No, not you, darling, that sounds brilliant. Two tickets, one-way.”

“Simon, I already did it,” Davy said and Simon hung up.

“ Sandy ’s got us on the ten o’clock direct flight on Sunday,” he said briskly. “That’ll give you time to see Sophie, and me time to say good-bye to Louise. In fact, why don’t you go see Sophie now? Spend the weekend?”

“Because the opening is tonight,” Davy said. “Did you hear me? I transferred the money to the Goodnights’ loan last night. It’s done.”

Simon crossed his arms. “You did. And what did Tilda say?”

“I didn’t tell her,” Davy said. “It’s going to be hard to explain.”

Simon nodded. “Because many women, when given large sums of money, expect that the giver will stay around for a while.”

“Well, yeah.” Davy stood up. “Actually, I’m thinking about staying.”

“No you’re not,” Simon said with heavy patience. “You’re thinking about sex.”

“Go away,” Davy said, wanting to punch him because he was probably right. “It’s Friday. I have to call my sister.”

“Much better to go see her,” Simon said, “now,” but he left as Davy punched the numbers into his cell phone.

“Tucker residence,” Phin said, and Davy thought, Oh, hell, not you.

“Harvard, old buddy,” he said. “It’s me. Sophie around?”

“Nope,” Phin said. “Council meeting. She’s going to come home bitchy, though, so I’d try again tomorrow.”

“Okay,” Davy said. “Don’t tell her I called in case I can’t get back right away.”

“You in trouble?”

“Dempseys are never in trouble,” Davy said loftily. “We just have stretches of life that are more interesting than others.”

“How interesting is your life right now?”

Davy thought of Tilda, singing “You’ve got me where you want me” a cappella as she shimmied her bra off. “Very.”

“How bad is it?” Phin sounded as calm as ever. “You just in trouble with the law or is somebody trying to kill you?”

“That’s not the problem,” Davy said. “For once, I’m innocent and everybody loves me.” Clea’s face rose before him, not to mention Ford’s. “Well, almost everybody.” And then there was Michael. “Did Sophie ever tell you about our dad?”

“Yes,” Phin said and then a beat later said, “Oh, no.”

“Yeah,” Davy said. “I can handle it, he doesn’t know where you are, but it’s Dad, so he’ll find out eventually. And then he’ll boost the kids’ college funds and sell the town council land in Rorida and take Sophie for every dime she has.”