A Bad Boy is Good to Find

chapter 8

Maisie poked her head out into the reception area and watched her childhood rival teeter across the terrazzo floor. That phone call had been a delicious surprise and frankly things were looking way up here at Celebrity Access. “Lizzie darling! Come in.”

Cousin Lizzie had decked herself out today in a garish red suit that showed off her thick calves. She may have lost a few pounds, but she still wasn’t skinny, poor thing. From the looks of it she’d straightened her hair herself—really, she should know better. “You look spectacular, sweetie.” She kissed both cheeks. At least she’d stopped wearing that awful rose concoction that made her smell like an old woman.

“Come in to my parlor,” she said, annoyed to find herself feeling a little nervous. She ushered Lizzie into her cramped, windowless office. Don had promised her a better one but she was beginning to learn a bit about his promises. She stepped over a pile of paper on the floor.

“Excuse the mess. I inherited it. We’re so madly busy I don’t have time to go through it. Do sit down.”

Lizzie eased herself gingerly into the chair opposite the desk.

“We’re just waiting for Don to get out of a meeting—story of my life! But really, it’s a dream job.” She plastered on a smile. “I was so happy to get your phone call. How exciting to produce my own cousin’s love story! Do tell me more about this man of mystery. I can’t believe you were so secretive with me. Honestly, I’m a bit put out about it.”

Downright peevish, in fact. With all the champagne she’d poured into Lizzie, she’d never dished the dirt. Just said her swain had broken up with her when he found out she wasn’t rich anymore. She never let on he wasn’t the Southern blueblood she’d mooned over.

Lizzie tossed her hair behind her shoulder, tugged at the hem of her suit jacket and looked Maisie right in the eye. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you, but I confess I was a little embarrassed about it. I mean, he didn’t even graduate from high school, and he has a gang tattoo on his butt. But I’m madly in love with him.” Her lips settled into a cool smile.

Maisie realized she was dribbling cappuccino onto her blouse, and she snapped her mouth closed. She snatched up a tissue and dabbed at the stained silk.

Lizzie tipped her head slightly. “Obviously Mummy and Daddy wouldn’t let me marry Con if they knew the truth, so I made up a story about him coming from Louisiana gentry.”

She had the audacity to smile warmly and toss her crudely straightened hair over her shoulder again. “Horribly devious of me, I know, but the stakes were high, at the time. Who knew I was as poor as a church mouse myself?” She shrugged, still smiling that chilling smile.

Maisie found herself blinking and staring. As much at Lizzie’s newfound self-possession as at her bizarre revelations. “I wondered why you never introduced me to him.”

“I know what a keen judge of character you are. I’m sure you’d have sniffed him out in a minute.”

“And there I was thinking you were worried about me stealing him away from you.” Maisie forced a cheerful smile.

“Oh, I wasn’t worried about that. You only did that once.” Lizzie returned her icy smirk. “And really, I’m sure you were doing me a favor stealing my first and only boyfriend. What if I’d married him? I’d never have met Con. I can’t imagine my life without him.”

They blinked at each other in a smiling standoff. Maisie didn’t know how to play this new Lizzie. Usually barbed remarks were enough to get her lip quivering, but now they seemed to bounce right back and poke her in the eye.

Onward and upward. “I remember something about you cursing the ground he walked on and never wanting to see his face again as long as you live. Why is he suddenly back in your good graces?”

“Oh.” Lizzie giggled and waved a hand in the air. “It was all a terrible misunderstanding! When he came all the way to Arizona to find me and beg me to take him back…” She paused, closed her eyes, put her hand dramatically to her forehead. “I knew we’re meant to be together, money or no money. It’s a true love match.” Her eyes shone with tears.

Scary. But funny as hell!

“That suit is quite something. Were they auctioning off the wardrobe from Dynasty?”

Aha! The lip quivered. She wasn’t entirely impervious. Must have thought she looked good in it, poor thing.

“Is Conroy joining us today?”

“No, unfortunately he had to drive his car back from Arizona.”

“You couldn’t hire a driver for that?” Sorry, couldn’t resist.

But Lizzie didn’t even cringe. “We’re penniless, Maisie, penniless! That’s why we need your show to make our wedding dreams come true.”

“Of course.” Wedding dreams! This got better every minute. She hoped they’d pick Atlantis. She’d put on a “dream wedding” there to make Hathaway eyeballs pop right out.

She looked right at Lizzie and nodded. “Lizzie darling, Celebrity Access will make all your wedding dreams come true.”

Gia the perky little production assistant stuck her head in the door. “Don’s ready!”

“Marvelous. We’ll be right in.”



Don, executive producer for the “documentary production” arm of the Celebrity Cable Network, including Maisie’s show Celebrity Access, was a middle-aged man with a thick head of gray hair and a deep salon tan. “Come in, Lizzie.”

“Thanks.” Lizzie felt horribly self-conscious in her ketchup colored suit now that Maisie’d compared it to something from Dynasty. She probably should have worn one of the outfits Con chose. He had far better taste, but none of them fit any more. She’d bought this one from a resale shop on Madison Avenue in trade for a pair of Jimmy Choo sandals she’d never wear in her newly sober state.

Maisie handed some papers to each of them. Without the soft filter of inebriation, her cousin intimidated her. When she’d been drunk it almost felt like they really were friends, but now the habitual cat-and-mouse relationship Maisie had always enjoyed with her threatened to send her scurrying again. She took a deep breath.

“So, Lizzie, Maisie tells me you’ve met the man of your dreams and you’d like our show to put on your wedding.” Don rested enormous tanned hands, fingers interlaced, on the oak conference table.

“Yes. As you’ve heard, my family has fallen on hard times.” She tossed her head like a down-but-not-out Scarlett O’Hara. “I’ve always been wealthy, but with my father under indictment and my bank accounts empty, I hardly know what to do.”

Don leaned forward. “I’ve seen a tremendous amount of press coverage about your family in the last few weeks, and you’ve attracted some attention of your own lately, mostly with party-girl Maisie here.” He shot an arch smile at Maisie. “So what can you bring us that’s new?”

“My love story.” She clasped her hands together. “Conroy Beale and I are meant to be together. He’s from a poor background, and my parents fiercely opposed our marriage, but—as you know, I’m sure—nothing can stand in the path of true love.”

His brow furrowed.

Had she overdone it? As a journalist of sorts he probably had a more sensitive bullshit detector than other people.

“He’s very handsome,” she quickly added. “Really, women swoon for him. He’d have been quite out of my league if I wasn’t wealthy. But even now that I’m not wealthy, he still wants to marry me.” Fake smile.

Guilt at her deception began to creep through her at the thought of taking their money, but nothing she’d said was an outright lie. Maybe he didn’t actually want to marry her anymore, but he’d offered.

Damn, she was starting to think like Con.

“I like it.” Don’s leathery face creased into a toothy grin. “I think if we can do it quickly enough we’ll grab some midseason switch viewers. Can you begin shooting next week?”

“Absolutely.” The sooner she could get this whole charade over with, the better.

“Perhaps Maisie’s told you, but in this company we don’t waste time hemming and hawing. We get the show on the road. Location?”

“Well,” Lizzie drew in a breath. “I know you sent us a list of locales, and they are all lovely. But Con and I have our hearts set on a very special place.”

She paused, looked down at her hands, then up at him with intense faux-sincerity. “Con is from a tiny town in Louisiana, a sweet little place in the mangrove swamps, and we’d love to return to his birthplace to exchange our vows.”

“Mangrove swamps? I thought those were in Florida?” Don’s eyes narrowed.

“Cypress swamps?” Lizzie flushed. “I’m afraid I haven’t been there, but Con’s told me so much about it. It sounds charmingly rustic.”

“Humph. It could work. What’s this place called?”

Lizzie licked her lips. “It’s called, um, Mudbug Flats.” She kind of murmured it.

“What?” One of Don’s impressive gray eyebrows shot up.

“Mudbug Flats.” The name rang though the air. Suddenly this all seemed like a terrible idea.

“That sounds like hell.”

“Don,” Maisie leaned forward and cleared her throat. “You have a glamorous New York City heiress, traveling to a Louisiana bayou town called Mudbug Flats. It has a charming fish-out-of-water quality.”

“Humph. You know, she just might be right.” He looked at Lizzie. “I hired your cousin because she knows the right people. Goes to the right places. She’s got class, so I’ll defer to her on this one if that’s what she wants. If Lizzie Hathaway wants to get married in Mudbug Flats, Louisiana, then Celebrity Access will make it happen.”

He reached a hand across the table. Lizzie suppressed a nervous giggle and shook it. It was going to happen. Exhilaration and terror surged in her veins.

“Gia, can you track down the nearest big, fancy hotel. Maybe an old plantation or something? I want to move on this fast. The guest list is your job, Maisie. I’d like a truckload of New York high society, all the Hathaways’ old cronies and those people you hobnob with.”

Maisie blanched. “Um, I’m not sure that…”

Lizzie cut in, terror streaking along her nerves. “Con and I would prefer an intimate wedding. Just the two of us and a witness or two.”

“Humph.” Don’s face wrinkled up. “I do think a Rockefeller or two would add class. Maybe Donald Trump?”

“Maybe Donald Trump,” said Maisie with a poker face.

Lizzie struggled to keep a beatific smile in place. Somehow an anonymous television audience didn’t seem nearly as frightening as the possibility of a crowd of former “friends,” who were quite capable of flocking down to enjoy the spectacle. Maisie didn’t seem to like the idea either. She was probably describing her “journalism” career rather creatively at cocktail parties.

“That’s settled then. I’ll leave all the details to Maisie. Sitcom Stars of the Nineties is tanking on Tuesdays, and Ty’s looking for something to fill the slot. Let’s move on this while the story’s hot.” He stood and extended his hand to Lizzie. “I’m glad you came to us. We’ll put on a wedding you’ll never forget.”

As Lizzie tried not to wince at his hearty grip, his words echoed in her mind with grim foreboding.

Don left the room and Gia scurried after him.

“Good save,” said Maisie with a swift exhale. “I suspect you don’t want your Spence classmates there any more than I do.”

Her penetrating gaze made Lizzie wonder if her cousin suspected she wasn’t entirely on the up and up. Maisie might be a heartless bitch, but she wasn’t stupid.

“I prefer to keep things simple. If we had to invite several hundred people it might postpone our wedding for weeks, even months, and Con and I just can’t wait that long.” Another fake smile. Maybe she could paint one on with lipstick and save her facial muscles the trouble?

“Well,” Maisie rubbed her hands together. “I must say, I’m looking forward to it. I hope Gia can find a nice place to put us all up. I’d better talk to her and make sure she’s not calling the local Holiday Inns. Let me tell you, they need me around here.”

“I’ll bet they do.”

“And since I’ve been planning my own wedding to Dwight for two years, I have contacts at all the finest bridal suppliers. We’ll give you a wedding fit for a queen.” Smug smile. “I do hope Conroy won’t feel too out of place.”

“I’m sure he’ll feel quite comfortable in the familiar surroundings of his hometown.” She sipped her cappuccino. Hoped her forked tongue didn’t show.

“I admit I’m rather curious to see picturesque Mudbug Flats. Gia will be doing all the advance scouting, though. I’ve got this Princess Anastasia Rediscovered mess to clean up. It airs next week, and the voiceover isn’t even recorded yet. Don did it himself, and now I’ve finally convinced him it’s not working, I have to find someone else to record right over the edited film. Can you imagine?”

“I can imagine almost anything. My imagination has quite taken flight lately. I do have to ask, though…” Lizzie leaned forward and narrowed her eyes. “What on earth convinced you to take a job here?”

Maisie leapt from her chair and gathered her papers. “Even Christiane Amanpour had to start somewhere, darling.”



“Where are you?” Relief warred with anger at the sound of his murmured hello. She’d begun to think she’d seen the last of him.

“South Jersey. Coming up the ’pike. How’re you doing?” Con’s voice cut in and out like they were about to lose the cell connection.

“Why didn’t you answer my calls?”

“I’ve been driving. Had the phone turned off to save the battery.”

“What’s taking you so long?” She paced back and forth in the cavernous empty living room of her parents Southampton house.

“It’s a long drive. I’ll be up there in a couple of hours. I’m going to stay with a friend.”

“No, you’re not!” she shrieked. Get a grip, Lizzie. She’d been panicked for the last day and a half that he’d done a runner. Now she had him on the phone there was no way she’d let him get into the clutches of a “friend.” “You’ll come stay here. I’m at my parents’ house. You know where it is.”

He’d been there once. On the ill-fated meet-the-parents visit.

“Yeah, I can find it. You sure?”

“Why not. There’s no one here but me. The place is up for sale.” She glanced at the bare walls, the curtainless windows. “Plenty of rooms, we’ll barely see each other.”

“Alright. I’ll see you soon.”

The hollow sensation in her gut crept back when she hung up. Her footsteps rang out on the bare wood, the rugs long gone. No furniture. The door had been unlocked, left forgotten by a real estate agent. The house looked strangely smaller with no furniture, more generic, not a real place at all but a kind of stage set for a play that had folded.

It was nearly four hours before she heard the scrunch of tires on the gravel. She’d spent the last one pacing back and forth, mind revving with doubts. He won’t show up. He’ll leave you high and dry and lying to Maisie about why your wedding is canceled. You’ve been a fool to trust him or anyone else.

She stormed out the front door and stood with her hands on her hips as the familiar gold Mercedes convertible, top down, rolled to a stop on the rather weedy driveway. Glare on the windshield hid Con from view and an unwelcome surge of exhilaration made her hold her breath as the door opened.

He emerged, hair uncombed and pants wrinkled. No shoes, either.

“You look terrible. Isn’t it illegal to drive barefoot?” She hoped her snippy words concealed her excitement.

“Nice to see you too.” He shot her a smile, then leaned in to retrieve his bag from the back seat. “I’m exhausted.”

“I can tell from looking at you.”

“I’d kill for a shower.”

“Good luck. The power’s turned off so there’s no water.” Why did she have a sudden irrational urge to hug him? Relief he hadn’t ditched her, that’s all.

“The pool got water in it?” He walked toward her.

“I guess so. I haven’t looked.”

“That’ll do. Can I come in?”

He tilted his head, and she realized she was still barricading the doorway, arms akimbo.

“Um, sure.” She turned and walked into the house, a mass of odd sensations roiling in her stomach. Why had she thought this would be a good idea?

Oh, yes, to stop him from hooking back up with Frankie or whoever. She couldn’t trust him.

“Jesus. What happened to the furniture?”

“I think it all got auctioned off. The only stuff left is junk no one wanted. Most of my junk is piled up down in the basement.”

“Where’s your mother staying?”

“She’s gone to an ashram in India. To find herself.” Her voice sounded flat.

Con stared at her in amazement. “Your mom, in India?”

“It’s a popular vacation destination, you know.” She shrugged. She didn’t understand it any better than he did, but she didn’t need to let him know that. “Put your bag down anywhere you like. It doesn’t matter.”

He dropped it on the floor right where he stood. That lopsided grin creased his tanned face.

“What are you smiling at?”

“You. It’s good to see you.”

“I can’t imagine why.” She fought the warm sensation his smile churned up in her stomach. “I only want you here because I don’t trust you.”

“Can’t blame you. Mind if I take a dip right now? I haven’t washed in three days.”

“I can tell. I can smell you from here,” she lied, trying not to smile. “Did you sleep in your car?”

“Yup. Not too comfy.” He lifted up his arms and stretched. “I’m kinked up like a pretzel.”

“The pool’s out back,” she said, unnecessarily. Where else would it be? She was trying to distract herself from the spectacle of his tanned chest and bulging biceps as he stripped off his shirt. “I’ve got an extra towel.”

“’S okay. I’ve got one.” He bent over and fished a white towel out of his bag, and she followed him out the French doors. The hot sun of the Indian summer beat down on the browning, unwatered grass. Crabgrass had made inroads into the lawn in the month since the gardener was let go and maintenance reduced to a weekly mowing.

“It’s all set, you know, the show. I’ve even chosen the dress. It’s worth fifteen thousand dollars.” Her voice still sounded flat, like a recording. Maybe she was trying too hard to keep emotion out of it. To keep emotion out of anything.

“Fifteen thousand? Is it woven out of solid gold?” Con dropped his towel on the slate terrace surrounding the pool. They’d even taken the cedar Lutyens-style benches. Uneven blades of grass crept over the edges of the patio.

“Pearls. Freshwater. They’re sewn all over it in a kind of rippling pattern. It’s pretty.”

“Sounds nice. Do you get to keep it?” He unbuckled his belt.

“No. Sorry, you won’t get a cut of that.”

“Hey, I don’t want anything from you. I’m just here to help you out.”

She held her breath as he unbuckled his belt and slid his pants down over his strong legs. Cleared her throat. “I appreciate the help. The money from this show will give me some breathing room to get myself together and get a job.” Her heart jolted as he slid his boxers down past his muscled thighs. “What are you doing? You can’t take your underwear off! Someone might see.”

“No one around. And all these tall hedges.” He stepped out of his boxers, stark naked and dangling. She felt a flush creep up from her neck.

He took two powerful strides to the greenish pool, drew himself up, and did a graceful, shallow dive into the water. He swam a few strokes, pulling himself through the water with ease, then flipped over onto his back, droplets of water streaming off his face and hair.

“Damn this feels good. Why don’t you come in too?”

“No thanks. The filter’s been turned off for a while. There are probably all kinds of nasty bacteria growing in it.”

“Smells okay to me. And the temperature is heaven.” He dove deep under the water and swam almost the entire length of the pool, causing Lizzie’s eyes to widen, before he burst up for air, hair dripping into his eyes. “I haven’t swum in a long, long time. I’ve missed it.”

“Where did you learn how to swim? I don’t picture your shack having a pool out back.”

Con laughed. “A pool, no, the bayou. Flowed right past the old homestead. Right into it sometimes. I was swimming before I could walk.” He shook his head like a dog, scattering water droplets over a wide area. One stung her arm.

“This back in lovely Mudbug Flats?”

“Yes, and don’t say it like that. It’s beautiful there. You’ve never seen it.”

I will soon. “Do you wish you could go back there?”

“Hell, no! I’d sooner walk to the North Pole on bare feet.” He dove under the water again.

Lizzie felt a nasty curl of guilt unfold in her chest.

Don’t forget, he never loved you.

He only wanted your money.

Deep breath.

Con surfaced again. “Oh, man, I was sticky and dirty. The hotel in Phoenix left me with barely enough money for gas.” He scrubbed his face. “That place was expensive.”

She tried to ignore a twinge of guilt. “Well, don’t worry, the show will cover all our expenses. It’s negotiated into the contract.”

“You won’t hear me complaining.”

That’s what you think.

She touched her belly, which was flatter than ever. Nerves and no money for food. No car to drive to the store either, lucky thing the house was close to the train. “The only problem is how we’re going to eat until we get there. My credit cards are maxed out. That’s why I had to come back to the ancestral homestead. Think you can catch a deer and skin it?”

Con chuckled, treading water in the deep end. “I’ll think of something.”

He went out to get dinner, wet hair slicked back, the top down on his gold convertible. He returned nearly three hours later with two large pizzas on the front seat of an elderly Corvette with a loud engine rattle.

“What on earth…?”

“Ham and Mushroom still your favorite?”

“Sure, but where’s your car?”

“Right here.” He gestured to the Corvette, dingy black with white scrape marks on the rear wing.

“Where’s your Mercedes?”

“Sold it.”

Her gut tightened. “Why?”

“Money, of course. Lemonade okay?”

“Sure. But you loved that car.” Why was she feeling guilty? That car was a gift from his ex. Payment for services rendered. “It’s your pride and joy.”

“Times have changed.”

He slammed the door and scrutinized the Corvette for a moment. Nodded thoughtfully. “Wanna eat outside? This breeze is nice. We could eat by the pool.”

“Uh, sure.” She still couldn’t believe he’d sold his car. And for this scratched-up piece of junk? Why did that make her feel uncomfortable all over?

“How much did you get for your Mercedes?”

“A lot.” He plunked down on the grass and offered her a slice of pizza. “More than it’s worth.”

“Who bought it?”

“A guy who admired it. There’s a lot of money rolling around this town. I’d be a fool not to take advantage.” He took a big bite of pizza.

“Well, you certainly know how to do that.” she snapped, tense.

He shrugged and took another bite.

“So where did you buy this thing?”

“Saw it in a driveway with a for sale sign when I was on my way to the store. It called out to me.”

“What was it calling you—Sucker?”

Why did she have to keep sniping? She took a sip of lemonade. Bitter, like her.

“It’s a Corvette.”

“Is that supposed to mean something to me?”

“Nah. You’re a girl. Trust me, it’s an investment.” He took another bite of pizza. Chewed it. “It’s really nice here.”

The setting sun pierced the trees with long shards of harsh light that bounced off all the windows. An unpleasant reminder of her last visit. “Appearances can be deceptive.”

“I wouldn’t have minded growing up here.” He stretched out on the grass.

She looked up at the house that was so familiar she barely noticed it. A vast shingle-style “cottage,” weathered dark brown except for the white trim and the rusty new layer of cedar shingles on the arching rooftops. Too big for the puny one-acre backyard. She’d never understood why her parents didn’t buy a house right on the dunes, but they liked being in town.

“I hate it here. We only came in the summer, but you try being the fat girl on the beach in a town like this.” She sipped her lemonade again. She had no appetite for pizza. Somehow the loss of Con’s car made her feel empty. Another beautiful thing that was gone for good.

“Wouldn’t bother me. Not if I had my own pool.” He leaned over and dipped his fingers in the water. Circles flew out across the shimmering surface.

“You probably would have liked it. You’re an upbeat kind of person. Guess I’m just spoiled rotten and don’t know how to be happy.” She lay back on the grass. Crabgrass prickled her neck. “Do you know why I’m looking forward to this TV show?”

“Why?”

“Because it’s going to be perfect. The dress, the cake, the flowers, everything. And do you know why it’s going to be perfect?”

“Why?”

She’d closed her eyes, shutting out the sunset.

“Because it’s fake. An illusion.”

“The cake is going to be fake?” She heard the grass next to her crinkle.

She laughed. “You know? It probably will be. A real cake would melt under the lights. The icing would slide right off. They’ll have to spray it with all kinds of gunk to hold it together. Maybe they’ll just make it out of cardboard and spackle. Oh Con, why is illusion so much better than reality?” She opened her eyes, and he was right there beside her on the grass.

“Maybe reality is better.” His dark eyes looked serious and good humored at the same time.

“Nope. I’ve been up to my neck in reality lately and it stinks. Do you know I called three of my so-called friends to ask if I could come stay with them and not one called me back? My mom is AWOL. My father is under house arrest in their Manhattan brownstone. I couldn’t go there.” She shuddered. Not sure if it was the memory of her last encounter with her father or the image of him in an ankle bracelet. “My old apartment is gone too. Repossessed by the co-op for fees owed, or something. I found out from the doorman who wouldn’t let me in. Like I said, reality stinks.”

“Look on the bright side. It’s a beautiful night, nice and warm, you’ve got this great pizza to eat and a friend to share it with.” His eyes glittered with the last of the sunset he squinted against.

She picked a fleck of dried grass off his collar, trying to ignore the funny feeling in the pit of her stomach. “Yeah, a guy who drives a ratty old used car. What a catch. I liked you better when you were a French aristocrat with a gold Mercedes.”

“Me too.” He smiled ruefully. “But I guess it’s time I grew up.”

“Not so fast. I’m just warming up to this illusion thing. I need to pick up some tricks of the trade.”

“Yeah? Well…” He looked at her, a half smile lifting his lips. “The first rule is to live in the moment. Don’t fret about where you’ve been or where you’re going, just love the summer breeze when it’s on your skin.”

“It does feel nice.” She closed her eyes, blocking out his smile.

“The second rule is to appreciate the people you’re with. Enjoy the good things about them and forget the bad.”

Her eyes snapped open. “So instead of focusing on the fact that you are a deceitful con-artist, I should concentrate on how you’re actually a pretty caring person and give a great massage, that kind of thing?”

“Exactly.” His eyes sparkled. “And don’t forget my well-toned physique.”

“How could I? You put it on display with such casual ease. I bet there are women all around us with binoculars trained over the hedges hoping you’ll skinny-dip again.”

“Only if you’ll come too.”

“Oh, they’d love that. Maybe a journalist will get a picture of my fat white ass for the local paper.”

“What did I say about focusing on the positive?”

“I guess it’s going to take some practice.”

“Kind of like kissing me?” A smile tugged at his lips and a shimmer of unwelcome heat stirred in her belly.

She scrambled to her feet. “I think I’ve had enough practice there, thanks. I’ll wait until I’m getting paid before I do that again.”