“Hello?” she said, hoping it was Brandon.
“Marjorie, I hope I didn’t wake you. It’s your mother-in-law,” Lena said silkily.
“Is there something I can do for you?” Marj asked in a business like tone.
“No, I’m perfectly well. In fact, I wanted to check in on you. I was, after all, married to a Cates man and they are, I’m afraid, very much alike on this score. Married to the corporation, treating the wife as a mistress. Tell me, dear, how many nights you’ve been left alone? All of them? My husband, God rest his soul,” Marj smirked at that, “made business calls every night of our honeymoon. I was half his age and besotted, and he could not tear himself away from business long enough to spend a single evening with me.”
“Your point is what exactly? That my marriage makes you want to reminisce about the bad old days, Lena?”
“That I am in the unique position of understanding how lonely it can be when you’re a rich man’s wife. A Cates wife, to be polished but sexy and above all else, not demanding. Low maintenance,” she said, “as if we were a car they bought which made an irritating, squeaking noise from time to time and might be called defective.”
Marj wanted to shout Amen at that one, but she reminded herself that this woman was her enemy as long as she herself was on Brandon’s side. So she continued to dismiss Lena, all the while wishing she could ask the woman how to cope with loving someone who loved a company more.
“That’s sad for you. I hope you find someone new who doesn’t mind more maintenance,” she said flippantly.
“I know you don’t trust me. And you probably shouldn’t trust anyone in life except your lawyers. But I’m trying to help you, from a place of good faith. You may not believe it, but I could help you.”
“If I need help, I’ll keep you in mind, thanks,” Marj said and hung up.
She needed help and counsel. She needed her best friend, but she couldn’t tell Britt the marriage was a sham. She’d promised Brandon to keep it quiet. So she found herself isolated, marooned with only her conflicted feelings for company.
Brandon called her late.
“Want to go to LA at five in the morning? It’s business, of course, but there’s a dinner you could attend, and you could do some shopping, spend a bit of time with me on the plane,” he offered, not sounding overly excited at the prospect.
“No thank you,” Marj said sweetly. “I know you’ll get everything fixed. I promise I’ll be here when you get back. It’s best we keep this professional, so feelings don’t get involved.”
The less time she spent with him, the better. She was already too needy, too attached. She had to find a way to fill her days without being dependent on Brandon Cates, especially since it was a temporary arrangement. So she decided to quit whining and start doing.
Chapter 15
That afternoon, she researched volunteer opportunities in the city for someone with her skill set. She didn’t want to work in a soup kitchen. The greasy smell of cafeteria food was not her idea of charity. She didn’t think she was fit to be a legal advocate, so she applied to work at an after-school program tutoring fourth and fifth graders. The same day she submitted the paperwork she got the email welcoming her to the program. Apparently they were desperate for volunteers.
The very next day, she put on her designer jeans and went way downtown for orientation and fingerprinting since her background had checked out. She was given a brochure by a very rushed black woman who was the administrator and showed to a crowded cafeteria where students of all shapes and sizes were crowded at low tables with their obviously worn textbooks open before them, scribbling in notebooks. The place smelled sweaty and had the stale greasy cafeteria smell she’d planned to avoid. She’d be washing her hair tonight for sure.
The administrator introduced her to a group of students, all of whom were bigger than her and in fifth grade, who could use some help in a literature class. Soon she was learning their names and telling them about her upbringing and they were getting to know each other. The story about her dad driving to the liquor store on the lawnmower went a long way to helping her fit in. She skimmed the short story they were studying and soon she was trying to help them phrase their answers to essay questions.
She whipped out her phone and googled something about the literary criticism of the story and pulled a few quotes for them to use in their answers—attributed, of course. She showed them how to do a citation in the text, relying on a website for backup when she couldn’t remember the exact order for a publication date and page number. It took them the better part of two hours to do four essay questions and she was exhausted when they finished. She decided next time, as she watched them sip at tiny juice boxes, that she was having pizzas delivered or something.