Operation Gigolo. Vicki Thompson Lewis
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She stared at Tony as the truth dawned. “They’re bored out of their skulls, aren’t they?”
“Looks like. We’ve sure seen plenty of couples like that come through here.”
“Why did I suppose my parents would be any different?” Lynn threw her hands in the air. “Textbook case.”
“Well, I wouldn’t go that far. I don’t remember any other middle-aged couple filing because they couldn’t figure out how to share a cemetery plot.”
“They will not file for divorce. Not if I have anything to say about it.” She crossed her arms and glared at Tony as if he would challenge her claim.
“It’ll probably blow over,” Tony said with a show of conviction.
She wanted to believe him. “I don’t like the sound of things, though. My dad’s checked into a motel in the red-light district and my mother’s busy shuffling coffins. We’re not talking your general run-of-the-mill argument, like whether to give Goliath a bath in the bidet.”
Tony’s mouth twitched. “And Goliath is a…?”
“My father’s toy poodle. Mom has a rottweiler named Snookums.” Lynn glanced at him. “You’re trying not to laugh, aren’t you?”
“Not me. Is this funny? I don’t see anything funny.”
“Well, at least they’ve always been entertaining.”
“And you’ve always had to keep a cool head.”
She leaned back in her chair. “Yeah, I’m the straitlaced one.”
“Oh, I wouldn’t say so. You’re the one who suggested we hit a fun park the night after my divorce became final.”
Lynn smiled at the memory. They’d scoured the suburbs until they’d found what she was looking for—bumper cars, pinball machines, noise and people. “That was a special case. I don’t do that for clients, as a rule.”
“Just the pro bono ones.”
“Hey, I don’t take money from a good friend and colleague. I may need your services sometime. Besides, after the way Michelle—” She saw the look on his face and wished she hadn’t started the sentence in the first place.
“After the way Michelle screwed up my life, you were going to say.”
“She was a fool.” Lynn couldn’t understand Michelle at all, cheating on a man like Tony. His Italian good looks, intelligence and career choice made him what Lynn’s mother would call a “catch,” but he was also a damned nice guy.
“We both were fools. To be honest, I’d rather talk about your folks’ problems than mine.”
“Makes sense. Sorry I brought it up.” She figured he had to be grieving. The divorce was only six months old, and Michelle had been the center of his universe.
“So, how are you going to keep them from splitting up?” Tony asked.
“Well…” Lynn propped her elbows on the desk and rested her chin on her hands. She and Tony had brainstormed cases many times and she’d come to trust his input. This situation wasn’t so different from a complicated point of law. “They’re creating conflict because they have no real problems, right?”
“That’s my best guess.”
“What if I give them one?”
Tony crossed his ankle over his knee and leaned back in the chair. “Like what?”
Lynn thought back to her childhood. “Whenever I used to get in trouble—”
“Yeah, right.”
“Okay, it was pretty tame stuff. But considering how my parents debated everything from how to hang toilet paper on the roll to the background pictures on their checks, they never disagreed on how to handle me. On that issue they were a united front.”
“Gonna get yourself in trouble?”
She doodled on a pad of paper as her plan took shape.
“Yes, I am. It’s time their logical, sane daughter kicked over the traces. And I’m going to get in trouble the old-fashioned way.” She looked up. “I’ll get pregnant.”
Tony lurched forward in the chair. “Hey, not so fast! I don’t think this situation requires you to—”
“Not really!” She grinned. “I’ll just say I’m PG.”
“Oh.” He sank back in his chair. “I was afraid you were heading to the nearest bar to rustle up a one-night stand.”
“For heaven’s sake. Does that sound like me? Besides, that would take too long. I need to be pregnant right this minute.”
“Lynn, it’s a creative idea, but have you thought it through? You’re a terrible liar. Even I know that, and you’re setting out to fool your parents, the people who raised you.”
She tapped her pen against the blotter. “As usual, you’ve hit on the biggest glitch in my plan. But it’s such a good idea.”
“You could practice your story.”
“I’d have to. Can I practice with you?”
“Sure. I’ll even help you come up with it. First of all, you need an identity for the imaginary father of this imaginary kid.”
She smiled at him. “I have a feeling you’ve had some practice with telling tall tales.”
“Let’s just say I got in more trouble than you did when I was growing up.”
“Okay, who’s the father? Somebody my parents will go into an apoplectic fit over. Swaggering, macho, cigarette dangling from the corner of his lip, tight jeans, a tattoo. No job prospects, but he’s happy I’m working and keeping him in beer. In short, a gigolo.”
Tony started to laugh. “You’re overdoing it. There’s no way they’ll buy a story that far-fetched. They’ll know you’re lying through your teeth the minute you start describing this make-believe lover of yours.”
“Ah, but logical women are notorious for becoming attracted to some sexy loser and having their good sense destroyed by great sex. Besides, I’ve always been completely honest with them. They’ll never expect me to make up an elaborate story like this.” The thought pricked her conscience. She didn’t like the idea of lying to her parents, but she couldn’t actually get pregnant to bring them together, so she had no choice.
“Even so, I think they’ll want proof for anything this wild.”
“Possibly. But I can’t imagine how I could…hmm.” She gazed at him, narrowing her eyes as she mentally rearranged his appearance. Maybe, just maybe, he was her solution.
Tony shifted in his chair. “Why are you looking at me like that?”
“Take off your jacket.”
“Why?” He looked uneasy.
“Humor me.”
He shrugged. “The lady wants the jacket off, I guess I’ll take the jacket off. It’s been a strange morning.” He stood and removed the jacket of his pin-striped suit.
“Now take off the tie.”
He stared at her.
“Come on, Tony. I’m working on a concept here.”
He sighed and took off the tie.
“Now unbutton the first three or four buttons of your shirt, and mess up your hair.”
“Mess up my—” He looked at her as if she’d gone totally bonkers.
She got up and came around the desk. “Like this.” She rubbed her fingers vigorously over his scalp.
“Hey!”