Just a Little White Lie(57)

“Lucinda Darling.”

“Lucinda…what…” She cleared her sleep-frogged voice. “What can I do for you?”

“Actually,” Lucinda said, “this call’s about something I’d like to do for you.” Quickly, she outlined her plans for the day. “So, what do you say? Want to give it a go? Knock Shorty out of his socks?”

“Oh, I’d absolutely love to, Ms. Darling.” Excited, Marsha squealed. “But why would you do this for me?”

“Because I want to. Because I can.” Lucinda realized the truth of her words. It was about time she stopped feeling sorry for herself and thought about someone else. This didn’t even begin to compare to what Jake was doing down in the Gulf area, but it was a start. It would make Marsha happy—and maybe Shorty. And wasn’t that really what it should be about?

“And Marsha? Please, call me Lucinda, not Ms. Darling.”

“Okay.” Beyond excited, the young waitress babbled her thanks and agreed to meet her at Birdie’s Beauty Shoppe.

Okay, Lucinda thought. One down, one still to go. Jiggling her phone in her palm, she dropped onto a flowered-chintz chaise and took several cleansing breaths. She was a mess.

Regardless, she had to make this call. Had to contact her father. Now there was something guaranteed to make her feel better.

What a tangled web.

A reluctant finger hit her father’s number.

When he answered, his voice brusque and business-stiff, she decided to forego the social niceties and said simply, “Donald’s here.”

Silence greeted her on the other end.

“You knew, didn’t you, Dad?”

Again, absolute silence.

“How did you find me?” she asked. “I didn’t tell you where I was.”

Her father made a low guttural sound. “Your friend Maynard, of the sixty-second TV fame, was real forthcoming when he heard how your mother had taken to her bed, sick with worry about her only child.”

“How is Mother?”

“I imagine she’s fine.”

“Such a wonderful, caring family.”

“You’re a good one to talk, Lucinda. The way you went flying out of the church, leaving us holding the bag. Didn’t seem you cared about anything much but yourself.”

“I learned from the best.” She fought for indifference, fought to keep her voice calm. Sparring wouldn’t accomplish anything. Before she hung up, she and her father needed to clear the air on a few issues. “We have to talk, Dad.”

Methodically and unemotionally, she laid out what Jake had shared with her. Told him the effects of his business dealings in the Gulf region.

He didn’t deny any of it. Nor did he surprise her with his charity and goodwill.

“Exactly what do you expect me to do about this, Lucinda? Write off their debts? Tell them to keep my money and have a good life? I don’t think that’s going to be happening anytime soon.”

She rubbed at her forehead, hoping to hold the threatening headache at bay. Her stomach clenched painfully.

Jake had said something to his dad the other day about it being time to fish or cut bait. Although she’d never fished in her life, she understood the concept. Her typical behavior at this point with her dad would be to cut bait. No more. Today she intended to keep her line in the water.

“I expect you to come up with a compromise, Dad. Something we can all live with. Something that will allow the shrimpers and the others to keep their businesses and homes. A way that will let them pay Darling Enterprises in a reasonable length of time. Otherwise, you’re going to find yourself in a real battle—both in the courts and in the media.”

“Are you threatening me?”

“No. I’m simply telling you how it is.”

“Lucinda, you need to get real, girl. It’s past time for a reality check.”

“Believe me, Dad, I’ve had one. This week has put me in touch with what’s real. What’s important.”

“That’s not what Donald told me.”

“No, I imagine it’s not. But to be perfectly honest, I couldn’t care less what Donald Kimball says about anything.” She paused. “And speaking of Donald. You need to be prepared for some rather nasty photos in either today or tomorrow’s newspapers or maybe in one of the tabloids. I’m not sure who the photographer worked for, but I am sure the shots are courtesy of Mr. Kimball, who arranged for him to be in the right spot at the right time. Goodbye, Dad.”

With that, she hung up. She didn’t want to argue with him. She simply wanted him to fix the problem. To understand she would not align herself with him in this.

Needing a familiar voice, she dialed her grandmother, the one person who had provided a modicum of constancy in her otherwise unstable childhood. She’d spent a lot of time with Nana, both when her parents were still together and jet-setting around the world, then later as they flitted off with the latest fling du jour.