The Man She Married

Maizie’s admission elicited a laugh from the saleswoman.

“I’m Cindi,” she said, sticking her hand out for a shake.

Maizie would just bet she dotted the “i” with a heart.

“I’m sure we can find exactly what you need.”

An hour later Maizie’s credit card was limp from exhaustion and she was the proud owner of three new tennis outfits—all super sexy, of course—a top-of-the-line racquet and a pair of shoes guaranteed to put a spring in her step. Now all she needed was a plan, preferably one that had a chance of working.

MAIZIE’S FRIEND AT THE TENNIS club had also informed her that Trip Fitzgerald wasn’t as young as he looked. He was actually closer to her age than to the young matrons who swarmed him like bees to honey.

But even so, Maizie had serious doubts about her ability to attract his attention. She wasn’t twenty anymore, nor was she a size zero. Would he think of her as nothing more than a middle-aged groupie? The last thing she wanted was to come off as a pathetic cliché.

That would be incredibly humiliating.

Maizie was closing in on D-day, or T-day, as the case may be. She had the clothes, the racket, the shoes and she’d signed up for a series of lessons. The only thing she lacked was confidence. So naturally she made an impromptu visit to Cousin Kenni’s salon, Permanently Yours.

Liza wasn’t on board with her “make Clay jealous” plan. Perhaps Kenni would be more encouraging. What would Maizie do if her cousin jumped aboard the “ohmigod, that’s a bad idea” bandwagon?

The Permanently Yours salon clientele ranged from senior citizens with tight perms to trendy adolescents and everyone in between. Like Miss Scarlett’s Boudoir, it was a happening place.

“Hey, Toolie, what’s up?” Maizie said as she walked in. Tallulah—aka Toolie—was an ex-pat from Atlanta, cute as a button and totally cool. Today she was sporting a spiked purple do that showed off her multiple earrings.

“Not much. Kenni’s in the back doing Laverne Hightower’s hair.” She made a face to indicate her “ick” reaction.

“Gotcha.” Maizie gave her a high five before heading toward the back of the salon.

“Hey, Raylene.” Raylene was Kenni’s other stylist. She specialized in the curly styles that were de rigueur with the over-eighty crowd. The hairdresser responded with a three-fingered wave.

“Hi, Kenni.” Maizie smiled at her cousin in the mirror.

“Hello, Mrs. Hightower. How are you doing?” She knew when to suck up.

“Hello, Maizie Walker. How are you?”

“Fine, thank you, ma’am. You haven’t been to the boutique lately. We’re about to have a sale. You need to drop by, now ’ya hear? I always have gourmet coffee brewing.”

“Gourmet, huh?” Laverne was renowned for grazing through the free samples at the Piggly Wiggly.

“Yes, ma’am.”

Kenni secured the last pink foam roller and twirled her customer around. “I’m going to put you under the dryer now.”

Kenni made sure Laverne was comfortable under a hood that looked like an old Saturday Night Live cone of silence and then crooked her finger at Maizie.

“Let’s go to the office.” The salon’s office/break-room was really a storage area filled with boxes of beauty products, but there was a comfortable enough Goodwill couch and adequate refreshments.

“Sit, girl. You look like you’re ready for a discussion.”

“Yeah.” Maizie moved a stack of hairstyle magazines and sat down in an old vinyl chair.

“How about something to drink?” Without waiting for an answer, Kenni rummaged in the refrigerator and came up with two cans of iced tea.

Before she could hand over the drink, Maizie blurted out, “Clay and I aren’t exactly burning up the sheets anymore and I plan to do something about it.”

Kenni froze. “Oo-kay.” She put the cans back in the refrigerator and retrieved a pitcher of fluorescent green liquid.

“That stuff looks radioactive. What is it?”

Kenni grinned at Maizie’s description. “It’s Raylene’s version of a margarita. I think we’re gonna need it.”

“What about Mrs. Hightower?”

“Raylene can finish her up. She owes me one, and that will keep both of them out of this conversation. I suspect the fewer people involved, the better.”

Once they were settled with plastic cups of Raylene’s brew, Maizie told her cousin everything. Including descriptions of her three new tennis outfits with the halter tops and plunging necklines.

When she finished, Kenni didn’t say a word. It was hard to speak when your mouth was hanging open.

“Are you serious?” she finally choked out.

“Absolutely.” Maizie placed her half-full cup on the low table in front of her. “I’ve tried sexy lingerie and romantic dinners.” She threw up her hands. “I’ve even done a striptease and you know what he did? He said he was dead tired and could we do it later. Later!” Maizie’s voice got louder with each word.

“Shh! Mrs. Hightower might be under the dryer, but I’m fairly sure people in the next county can hear you.”

“Oh, okay.” Maizie fell back in her chair.

“Let’s look at this logically. Is there something going on at work that he hasn’t told you? Maybe he’s stressed—or he could really be tired. He loves you like crazy. Everyone can see that.”

Clay hadn’t said much about work lately and that was unusual.

“I’ll make a deal with you,” Kenni continued. “Go home, get dolled up, pull out all the stops on a romantic setting and ask him to take you away for the weekend. If that doesn’t work, I’ll reluctantly help you with this stupid scheme. What did Liza say?”

Maizie sighed. “She’s on the same page you are. But all right. I’ll give it my best shot.”

CLAY WALKER HAD HAD a hell of a day. In point of fact, it had been a hellacious six months. The engineering contract his company had with a public/private partnership road project had gone south in too many ways to count.

The private development corporation had insisted on changes the department of transportation bureaucrats had vetoed, and vice versa. Consequently, construction was so far behind schedule it was impossible to catch up, and everyone was blaming his engineering firm. During this debacle, Clay had put out so many fires he felt like a wildfire jumper.

He should have listened to his gut. He’d been hesitant to bid on the project, but the temptation was too hard to resist. It was their way to the big time. Uh-huh. If things didn’t improve soon their only option would be bankruptcy.

And then he had to add in the fact Maizie was making him nuts. They’d always gotten along so well, but lately it seemed she was constantly mad at him. He realized she wanted more attention, but he just didn’t have it to give. There were only so many hours in the day, and his had been maxed to the hilt for months. God, what he wouldn’t give for a week in the sun without emergencies and contentious situations.

Clay’s current schedule had been a nightmare of meeting after meeting. Tonight all he wanted was a cold beer and a quiet evening of TV. But when he walked through the front door, Maizie met him in the living room. There were candles on the dining room table and soft music playing on the stereo.

Please, please, please—not tonight. Any other time—at least any time other than the last six months—Clay would have been randy and ready, but not now. Please God, not now. He was so tired he wouldn’t be able to get it up even for the love of his wife.

Maizie was oblivious to his turmoil. But who could blame her? He hadn’t been willing to share. Not only had she gone to a ton of trouble, she was absolutely gorgeous in an off-the-shoulder pale blue silk blouse. Normally he’d have that blouse off in thirty seconds. And a heartbeat later he’d have her in bed, but not tonight.

Clay could tell she was getting ready to say something important. He hoped that in his addled state he could come up with the right answer.

“Clay.” Maizie put her arms around his neck. “I think we should go away for the weekend.” She emphasized the suggestion with a sexy shimmer up and down his body.

Oh, sheesh! He pulled her into his arms and rested his chin on the top of her head. She was tall, but at 6’4” he still had a couple of inches on her.

“Maizie, sweetheart. I can’t. There’s nothing I’d love to do more than spend a weekend with you, preferably somewhere far away from telephones and e-mail and nasty clients. But right now it’s impossible. I’m up to my ass in alligators on this project.”

Clay was tempted to tell her about the precarious nature of their finances, but decided against it. He didn’t want to worry her. Why should they both get ulcers? But even he knew that was a crock. The truth was he was embarrassed.

It was several seconds before Maizie pulled away, giving him a glance he couldn’t quite decipher. If he was lucky she wouldn’t be planning something nutty. But lately Lady Luck hadn’t been smiling on him.

Chapter Seven

Maizie prided herself on excelling in almost every social situation. She could pull off a dinner party for twenty at the drop of a hat. Give her a couple of weeks and she could organize a formal ball. But being at home on a tennis court? Nope, that wasn’t even vaguely in her repertoire.

“Mrs. Walker, I’m so glad you decided to join us.”

Mrs. Walker? Was Clay’s mother behind her? “Call me Maizie, please.”

“Sure,” Trip agreed before turning to the rest of the class. “Ladies, this is Maizie. Please make her feel at home.”

She already knew many of the women—for the most part young matrons who lived in the new gated community. They were skinny, they were toned and she wasn’t, not by a long shot.

She felt like a klutz. It’d been a long time since she’d played tennis in high school, so Maizie had started off with a beginner class, and it was a darned good thing. No matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t get the stupid ball over the net.

To make matters worse, Maizie had long since passed the glowing stage. Even though it was a gorgeous autumn day, and not all that hot, she was sweating like a pig. Now that was a real turn-on.

Maizie hit an errant ball that pinged off the net before bouncing out of the court. This game was obviously not her bag, and she’d better improve—PDQ—or there would be a whole bunch of new tennis stuff for the next garage sale. Of all the schemes she’d concocted this one had to be the most ridiculous. And to be truthful, the chances of it working were almost nonexistent.

“Don’t worry. You’ll get better,” Trip assured her.

“I’m not so sure about that,” Maizie said with a chuckle. Everyone else had wandered off to the clubhouse in search of a cold drink.

“You’re doing fine. Just keep trying.”

That was easy for him to say. He could keep the ball inside the lines.

“Would you like some help gathering up the balls?” Maizie asked, wondering why the nubile young things hadn’t stuck around. This was clearly a prime flirting opportunity.

“That would be great.” Trip picked up one of the handled ball baskets that allowed for ball retrieval without bending over.

Maizie grabbed a ball sweeper that resembled a toy pop-up vacuum cleaner and went about corralling the tennis balls that littered the court. The pros made the game look easy, but the same could be said for gymnastics and ice skating. So even if her flirting idea was a bust, it might be fun to actually learn to play.

CLAY REALIZED HE WAS FRESH out of ideas about Maizie, so he decided to call in the cavalry—aka Liza and Kenni. He’d had to resort to cajoling and a smidgen of begging before they agreed to meet him at the Coffee Cup, a café at the opposite end of town from Miss Scarlett’s Boudoir.

Clay’s stomach was flip-flopping like a D.C. politician, so coffee was out of the question. What was the name of that tea Eleanor loved? Earl Grey—that was it. He ordered a cup and was about to take his first sip when his wife’s sister and cousin strolled in.

“Over here,” Clay said, trying to sound casual but failing miserably. The rumor mill in Magnolia Bluffs was remarkably efficient, and Maizie would have a fit if she heard they were meeting behind her back.

“What can I get you ladies?”

“A small latté for me,” Kenni said.

“Make that two,” Liza agreed.

To an uninvolved observer this would be nothing more than a coffee date with friends, but appearances could sometimes be deceiving. It didn’t escape Clay’s notice that as soon as he walked off, Liza and Kenni put their heads together for a private conversation.

“Here you go,” Clay said when he returned with the drinks. The ladies were obviously not discussing the church social or even the price of tea in Timbuktu.

“So, what do you think?” he asked.

Liza took a deep breath. “We really can’t tell you anything. I would if I could, honestly. But I can’t.”

“Can’t or won’t?”

“A little of both.” She glanced at Kenni who nodded in agreement.

Clay rested his head on his fist. “Look, I’m not asking you to betray a confidence. I simply need some help. She seems angry with me all the time and I don’t know how to fix it. I don’t know what’s wrong.” He held his hands up in supplication. “I’m desperate.”

Liza rubbed the back of her neck. “Why don’t you tell us what you think the problem is. Maybe we can help you without really helping you, if you see what I mean.” Wink, wink.

Clay nodded. “Fair enough. I suspect there are a couple of things going on. First off, I think when Hannah moved out she started feeling unfulfilled. But she doesn’t want to admit it. You know Maizie, she’s always pooh-poohed the empty-nest idea.”

Kenni spoke up. “That’s a start, and for what it’s worth I agree with you. So we have an empty nest, what else?”

Clay couldn’t meet their eyes. “She wants me to spend more time with her.”

“What’s so hard about that?” Liza asked.

He sighed. “Maizie doesn’t know this, so you can’t tell a soul. Do I have your word?”

Although Kenni grimaced, she nodded. Liza followed suit.

“Our firm is in financial trouble. We won a contract that’s now in the middle of a huge crisis. We’re working on that new overpass on the interstate and the moron we’re dealing with at the Department of Transportation has required more change orders than we can deliver. Alter this, move that, do that—nope, that’s not right, try again. It’s been one thing after another. Frankly, I think he’s trying to tube the project. Consequently, the construction company has gone into a penalty phase and is about to go belly-up. If that happens, we don’t get paid. And we’ve spent well over six months on the project.” Clay massaged his temples. “After I’ve spent all day putting out fires, I’m too beat to do anything but fall into bed.”

“There goes my advice.” Liza huffed out a breath. “How about you?” she asked Kenni.

“Uh, me, too.”

Liza took Clay’s hand. “You need to tell Maizie what’s happening. She really, really needs to know.”

“I’ve waited too long. She’s going to be so pissed that I didn’t come to her right away. And to be completely honest, I’m humiliated that I let things get this out of hand.”

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