Betrayal - Fern Michaels [77]
For me, Don thought.
Maybe he’d give in. This time.
“What time does the movie start?”
“Seven. It’s out at ten, so you’ll have to stay sober long enough to get them and bring them home.”
Don shrugged. “Then maybe you better pick them up. I don’t think I can stay sober that long. No, wait. Maybe I’ll send a taxi to pick them up. You’ll be too stoned to remember where they are.”
“What are you talking about?” Debbie asked.
“Do you actually expect me to believe I don’t know what a frigging pothead you are? You smell like a weed factory, Deb. I’m surprised you haven’t started snorting cocaine. That’ll be next.”
“Nuts to you, Don. Just pick up the girls. I have to leave.”
She stomped out of the den, and he heard the electric garage door open. Good. Having her out of the house is like manna from heaven. I just might cancel my round of golf and stay home. I might even join the girls for a movie. But that will humiliate them, so I’ll pass on that.
Debbie found the joint she’d rolled in her makeup case. She lit it up and inhaled. She held her breath until her eyes watered. She needed to relax. A joint now and then doesn’t hurt, she decided. Hell, half the people I work with toke a doobie once in a while.
She wondered how Don had found out she was into pot. Not that she gave a rat’s ass. He drank too much. She was convinced that if his liver wasn’t pickled already, it would be soon enough.
So we both have our vices. Who cares? I need something to get me through the days.
This was especially true since the business with Sara’s being molested had started. Debbie knew that the kid was a real mental case. She also knew that she might be to blame for some of it, but so was Don. He never gave Sara enough attention. He was always lavishing his affection on perfect little Emily. Sara was smart enough to see the difference. She was a sad kid, Debbie thought. She took another puff of the joint, held the smoke in her lungs until it felt like they would explode, then exhaled. She opened all the windows so her car wouldn’t smell like weed when she drove her clients to the house out at Marco Island.
She needed this sale badly. Her credit cards were maxed out. She owed that stupid little drug dealer in Fort Myers a fortune, in cash, for all the pot she’d been buying. She’d tried to talk him into sleeping with her in exchange for the dope, but he’d told her he was gay.
Just my luck to proposition a drug-dealing fag. Oh well. If he keeps on nagging me for the money, I’ll turn him in to the police. Nothing in life is fair.
She arrived at her office. Before she went inside, she took a bottle of Nina Ricci from the glove compartment and sprayed herself with it. It stank, but she didn’t care. One of the girls at the office had given it to her last Christmas. It had been in her car ever since.
She checked her makeup in the vanity mirror. Her eyes were glazed over. She spent most of her nights consoling Sara through another one of her nightmares. At least that’s what she told the girls in the office when they asked. They accepted her explanation without question. The prosecution of Alex Rocket for molesting Sara had been major news.
Once inside, she took care of some paperwork she’d been putting off. There was so much more to selling houses than running around from showing to showing. She’d love to see Don turn out as much work as she did. He thought she was stupid. She knew they were broke. Had seen it coming for a long time. They’d mortgaged their asses to the hilt. Don kept pretending they were rolling in the dough.
Didn’t he stop and think that I have access to all our accounts? He must be dumber than dirt. Unless, of course, he has an account I’m not aware of.
She doubted it. He wasn’t smart enough to be that devious. All he cared about was his Conehead-looking hair and making an impression on the guys at the country club. She should’ve reeled Alex in when she had the chance. He was a much better catch. Even now, she would take him over Don. She knew he