Texas rich (56 page)

Billie stared into the darkness. How could she be so wide awake so late at night? She tried to make out the objects on the dresser across the room. For some reason it seemed important that she know exactly what was on the dresser. Over and over she told herself Moss was the father of her children. Over and over she told herself she loved him. It wasn't supposed to be like this. Her marriage was supposed to be the ultimate fairy tale with the ultimate fairy tale ending where both the prince and princess lived happily ever after. But reality didn't hold with fairy tales.

All the words had been said. All the tears had been shed. Reality was being wise enough to know when something was finished.

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The churchlike silence in the house the following morning grated on Billie's nerves. If it wasn't for Sawyer's gurgles and cries of delight, she knew she would have screamed.

The young girl who helped out with Sawyer was waiting patiently by the front door for her charge. She enjoyed the pony cart ride in the morning almost as much as Sawyer did.

"Be sure to strap Sawyer in tightly and only keep her out for an hour," Billie said. "It looks as though it might rain. When you bring her back, give her a cookie and some milk and then fetch her over to my studio. Now, Sawyer, you be a good girl for Nancy, and later you and I will build a big castle with the blocks Grandma Agnes gave you." Sawyer reached out chubby hands and arms for a hug and a kiss.

"Solly good girl."

Billie laughed. "Yes, darling, you are. You're the best girl in the whole world. Now say Sawyer. Saw-yur."

"Solly." The little girl giggled.

Billie laughed, which had been Sawyer's intention. "Go along, then, Solly, and have a good time."

"'Bye, Grandma." Sawyer waved.

As soon as the door closed behind her, Billie headed down the hall to Moss's workroom. She made excuses to herself as she started to rummage through his desk. In the early hours of the morning she had awakened and made a pact with herself. If Moss was being truthful when he'd said this was to be a honeymoon trip, she would cancel her plans for the Orient. If, on the other hand, the trip was for business and he was taking her along for his own reasons, it was another story. She felt like a thief and looked over her shoulder constantly to see if Seth or Agnes was watching her from the doorway. Damn, she should have locked the door. What if one of the maids came to clean? A second look told her Moss's workroom was like her studio. No one from the house staff touched it. When she found the packet of papers, she smiled to herself. Under the blotter of course. Her hands trembled slightly as she withdrew the airline and cruise tickets. She laid them aside as she flipped through the other papers looking for Moss's itinerary. It only took one quick glance to tell her all she needed to know. The second honeymoon was a farce. With all Moss had outlined for himself in the way of business meetings, she would be lucky to meet up with him at dockside for the return trip home.

Perhaps the honeymoon was to take place aboard ship? But

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she was making excuses again. She was settling for less than she wanted. Moss had specifically said they would "tour Europe." Those had been his exact words. Billie looked again at the typed itinerary. Every hour of every day seemed to be accounted for. Nowhere did it mention her or Susan and Amelia.

Billie sat down with a thump. Moss's chair swiveled slightly with her abrupt move. As long as she was snooping, she might as well see what else she could find. In the bottom drawer behind a box of cigars and a bottle of Kenmcky bourbon she found a packet of letters addressed to Moss at a post office box number, all bearing a New York postmark.

Billie shifted the packet from one hand to the other. The letters represented a part of Moss's life. She knew she had no right to read them, regardless of what was going on between Moss and her. She was afraid to read them. Her thoughts were confused. They were married, and yet they weren't married. Not if Moss could do the things he had been doing. What about you? a niggling voice demanded. What about Jordan Marsh, and what about all those feelings you have for Thad? Shame rushed through her. Her eyes lingered on the top of the pile. The date burned her eyes. The letter was only a week old.

Billie replaced the letters and closed the drawer. The packet containing the tickets went back beneath the blotter. She felt dirty. Guilt and shame made her clamp her hands to her burning cheeks.

The walk back to her bedroom was slow, torturous. How could she have snooped and pried like that? Because, the niggling voice said, you were willing to give up your career plans, you were willing to sacrifice again, as you always do. You were willing to put your husband first. Now you see what his priorities are.

He's the father of my children. I married him for better or worse, Billie reminded herself over and over. What about you? the pesky inner voice questioned. What about what you want? What about your feelings? What about your life? Martyrs finish last in this life.

In her room Billie paced the floor to an unheard drum. Her hands were clenched into tight fists in the pockets of her paint smock. The hands unclenched and her stiff spine relaxed. "No more!" she said coldly to her reflection in the mirror. "No more!"

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She twirled around and shouted to the empty room, "No more!" She would survive because she was a survivor. That much the Colemans had taught her.

A week later Moss left for Europe by way of Dallas and New York. Seth clawed at him with bony arms and hands, thumping him on the back and warning him to take care of himself. Agnes smiled and accepted the dutiful peck on the cheek that Moss never failed to give. Billie grimaced. Some things never changed. She was always last. This time she found it amusing.

"Billie, I'm sorry you aren't coming with me. We could have done Europe up in style. Susan will be disappointed. So will Amelia."

Moss was trying to lay guilt on her shoulders. She forced a smile and turned slightly to offer her cheek the way her mother had. "Give them both my love. Tell them I wrote a long letter and mailed it yesterday," she said. "Enjoy yourself. Moss."

"Enjoy myself? How can I do that without you there?" Moss waited. She could still change her mind at the last second and say she would go. He hadn't turned in her ticket. How still and unnatural she looked. Christ, she was starting to act like her mother. Giving him her cheek to kiss. Saying inane words that meant nothing. And that smile on her face was as false as the masks he used to wear on Halloween.

It was on the tip of Billie's tongue to say he'd never had trouble enjoying himself before without her along, but she held her tongue. Go already, go! her mind screeched. I don't want to hear the lies anymore. Just go!

"I'll see you when I get back, Billie. Pap, take care of my girl," Moss said. He wrapped his muscular arms about his father a second time. Seth growled something unintelligible and then Moss climbed into the car. Then he was gone. Billie sighed with relief.

Two weeks later Billie left for Hong Kong. Except that she had to leave Riley and Sawyer, she was ecstatic.

Going through customs in Hong Kong, showing her passport, and having her lyggage searched pleased Billie. She was handling it all by herself. She had studied up on the currency and felt confident enough to transact some simple shopping. Red, green, and blue bills that reminded her of Monopoly

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money were tucked into the zippered compartment of her handbag. Her letter of credit from the Coleman's bank in Austin gave her a sense of security.

There were hordes of people and no smiles in the airport. But Billie's smile didn't diminish as she motioned for a porter to take her bags. He nodded and bowed somewhat stiffly. Billie realized he was quite old and was appalled as he lifted her heavy luggage onto a cart to take to the taxi area. She'd have to give him a generous tip. When she was safely inside the taxi she handed the porter a five-dollar Hong Kong coin and watched his face for some kind of expression. When his features remained inscrutable, she hurriedly dug out another coin and offered it. The man nodded but still he didn't smile. How tired he looked, how weary. Billie knew it would take many five-dollar coins to make this man smile. Impulsively, she reached out to grab his arm. "Here," she said, handing him a fistful of coins. The man bowed again and stepped back from the taxi. She knew that she had been foolish, even that she had probably insulted him, but when she thought of the smile on his wife's face that evening, she felt justified.

"Peninsula Hotel on the Kowloon side," Billie told the driver.

The driver shook his head. "You want red-and-silver taxi for Kowloon side. I only drive Hong Kong side. You get out."

"What?"

"You get out and take red-and-silver taxi. They go Kowloon side."

"Will you help me with my bags?"

"I just drive taxi Hong Kong side."

"I'll pay you," Billie said in a panicky voice. Her first problem. She searched the milling crowds for some sign of her porter.

"For five dollars American I will help you."

Fifteen minutes later Billie was installed in a new cab that was indeed silver and red. Her luggage was stowed in the trunk and the driver leaned in the window. "How you pay, Hong Kong dollars or American?"

"What would you prefer?" Billie asked in her best businesslike voice.

"Twenty American dollars to drive you to Kowloon side. You pay toll in Hong Kong dollars."

"All right. Tell me something. How much do you charge to drive one of your countrymen to the Kowloon side?"

"Four dollars Hong Kong," the driver said as he pulled away

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from the curb. He narrowly missed a tourist bus. Billie shuddered at the near mishap and decided to forget that she had been taken. Tomorrow she would practice up on the art of haggling. Now she was too tired. All she wanted was a warm bath and a nice clean bed.

Rolls Royces lined the circular drive to the hotel and two boy pages in crease-free white uniforms flanked the entrance to the opulent lobby. Tomorrow, Billie decided, she would admire it all.

Billie woke instantly, completely aware of where she was. Kowloon. Her first full day in Hong Kong. She was alone to do as she pleased. She could get up or she could stay in bed. She could bathe and dress and go to the dining room, or she could have room service. Brunch. That's what she would have. She would dillydally now, take a long luxurious bath, work out the kinks from all the sitting on the airplane. Then a long, leisurely brunch before business.

Billie clapped her hands childishly and bounced on the bed. She was truly in Hong Kong!

Billie stood uncertainly in the wide central lobby of the hotel. Should she go outside to order the taxi or ask at the desk?

The majordomo looked at her from top to bottom, she thought. "May I help you, madam?" he said.

"I'd like to go to the central district."

"Would you like to take a taxi, or would you rather take the Star Ferry?"

Billie looked at her watch. "I think I'd like the ferry."

"Then may I suggest a taxi to the ferry?"

Outside, Billie watched in amazement as a taxi rolled to the foot of the steps. As far as she could tell, the man hadn't made a signal, had uttered no word. One of the white-uniformed pages took Billie's arm, escorted her down the steps, and held open the taxi door. Billie smiled at the boy and was rewarded with a solemn dark-eyed stare. He nodded slightly as he shut the door.

"Star Ferry, please," Billie said, leaning back on the seat.

Once there, Billie paid the fare and followed throngs of people down the wooden ramp to the ferry. She slid to the end of a long slatted bench so she could have a view of the harbor. She was busily snapping pictures of the colorful sampans before

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the ferry left the pier. She snapped an entire roll of film and was changing the camera when the ferry came to a stop. For a brief moment Billie panicked. She was alone, half a world away from Texas. Then excitement took over. Up the ramp she went like all the other ferry travelers. She tried to blend in with her black suit and white blouse. No one, she noticed, paid her the least bit of attention.

A wizened man held out his hand and smiled a wide, toothless grin. "Missie want rickshaw ride? One dollar American!" Billie stared at the old man and then brought up her camera. She laughed when the man brought his hand up to cover his face. "Picture is two dollars American."

"All right." Billie laughed. "But only because you're the first person in this land who has smiled at me." She aimed the camera and took three shots of the man. First he smiled, then he tipped his raggedy straw hat. Lasdy, he propped his foot up on the rickshaw and threw out his arms. "A ham, too," she said. "You'd be a hit on Broadway."

"You take rickshaw ride wherever. Wiggly wiggly."

"What does that mean?"

"That means I go where you want to go. Roads go wiggly wiggly. Taxis not go wiggly wiggly."

"Cloth Lane. Will you take me there?"

"I take for one dollar American. Pay now. Pay picture now."

Billie handed over the money. The man pocketed the bills in baggy black trousers that were the Chinese uniform. He wore only thin black slippers that looked like ballet shoes on his bony feet. How in the world, Billie wondered, could this old man who weighed no more than eighty pounds drag the heavy rickshaw with her sitting in it? He trotted off, his head bent and his back bowed.

The ride was pleasant, but Billy felt guilty that the little man was puUing her on foot. Once she got her bearings, she would walk the crowded, congested streets and drink in the sights on her own. In spite of herself she laughed. She knew, just knew, he made more money having his picture taken than he did hauling people around. .

"Cloth Lane," the old man called over his shoulder. "You get out now."

Billie reached into her bag and handed the man two bills. She was amazed to see him snort and look at her with disgust. Her brain whirled as she tried to compute the currency. A two-dollar tip seemed more than fair.

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