Show Her The Money. Stephanie Feagan
Читать онлайн книгу.
later. I sucked in a deep breath. “I went to look for an apartment.”
“Did you find one?”
“As a matter of fact, I did. It’s a one-bedroom on the west side of town. The Windmills.”
“I’ve seen those before. Not too dumpy, but kind of old.”
“This one has turquoise appliances.” I was waiting for her to start the lecture about the danger of living alone and the foolishness of wasting my money.
“When do you move in?”
“Anytime I want. I signed the lease effective today.” Any time now, she was going to get wound up.
“Let me know if you need some help. My air-conditioner guy does some other stuff for me, and he’d be available.”
“Okay, sure, Mom. Thanks.” I waited for her to say it.
“I think I’ll go take a quick shower before dinner.” She turned and walked out of the kitchen.
Watching her go, I coulda caught several flies, my mouth was so wide-open in shock. Where was the lecture? Where were the hangdog looks? Where was her favorite martyr routine?
Something was up with Mom, and I intended to find out what it was. Shoving off the barstool, I trailed her into her bedroom and confronted her in the bathroom. “Mom, aren’t you going to say anything about me not staying here with you?”
She tossed her skirt into the hamper, then turned my way. “No, why would I?”
“I don’t know. I just figured you’d be upset about it.”
“Why would I be upset?”
Looking down, I nearly had heart failure. “Where’d you get that bra?” It was a black lace thing, a push-up. Mom’s breasts were way, way out there, her cleavage so deep, she could hide a television in it.
“Picked it up on sale at Missy’s Lingerie. You like it?”
“Yeah, but, Mom, it’s kind of sexy,” I said, thinking maybe she didn’t realize that bras like that were designed for appearance, not comfort.
She turned and preened in the mirror. “It’s not kind of sexy. It’s real sexy.”
“Why do you care? You hate men.”
“So? Doesn’t mean I don’t want to feel sexy. I’m only fifty-five, Pink. Not hardly ready for the home.”
It finally dawned on me. “You’re dating someone, aren’t you?”
“Heavens, no! After your father, I’d rather be shot than date someone. Men are such a pain in the ass. Can you imagine me living the life I do with a man hanging around, expecting me to cook and clean and wash his underwear? No thanks. I like being single. I can go where I want, work when I want, spend my money how I want.”
“Mom,” I said pointlessly in an age-old argument, “not all men are like Lurch. There are some real nice guys out there.”
“Maybe, but not after I get hold of ’em. I’m just no good with men.”
That was true. Mom has iron ovaries when it comes to work, but around men, she reverts back to a doormat. I don’t know why. She doesn’t, either. “Speaking of Lurch, how is he?”
“I haven’t talked to him since he moved up to Lake City, right after his divorce from Nelda. That was maybe four months ago. I expect he’ll call when he gets sick of fishing.”
“You know, of course, it’s totally weird that you helped Dad divorce his second wife, and you still talk to him.”
“It’s not out of any great benevolence on my part. I’ve got a vested interest in him hanging on to his retirement fund. I get a thousand bucks a month off him until he croaks, and he can’t pay me if he loses his whole wad to some idiot like Nelda. The very idea, buying pink phones for her Mary Kay business. She was a piece of work, that one. And your father was stupid enough to let her run through half his retirement fund before he woke up and smelled the disaster.”
“Good ol’ Lurch. He just stays clueless.” At the best of times, my relationship with my father is lousy. At the worst of times, it’s closer to war. I don’t get along with my dad. No one gets along with my dad. He’s gruff, rude, arrogant and just not a very nice guy. One of my cousins called him Lurch once, years ago, and it stuck. We’ve called him that ever since, but not to his face. I slipped up a couple of times and he asked me, ‘Why do you call me Lurch? Who’s that?’ That sums up Dad to a tee. Who the hell doesn’t know who Lurch is? Nobody, that’s who. Nobody except my dad.
Mom unhooked her bra, then stepped out of her panties. She got in the shower and continued talking, her voice coming over the glass door, along with clouds of steam. “I still don’t know why you thought I’d be upset about you not living with me. It’s maybe more dangerous, but it’s not as though I’d be much defense against this nutcase who’s stalking you. The thing is, Pink, you’re thirty-one years old, and living with your mama would be kinda pathetic. For another thing, and don’t take this the wrong way, I do actually have a life, and you living here would cramp my style.”
“Cramp your style? What style? All you ever do is work.”
“How would you know? You’ve lived in Dallas the past eight years. Maybe I’m a real swinger and you just don’t know it.”
Конец ознакомительного фрагмента.
Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес».
Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию на ЛитРес.
Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.