“G. Dwayne and I weren’t close, so he never put me on his guest list.”
“You bought a house without looking at it?” She thought about the car she was riding in and didn’t know why she was even surprised.
He climbed out without replying and began to unload. She got out, too, and stooped down to pick up one of her suitcases, only to have him brush her aside. “You’re in my way. Get inside. It’s unlocked.”
With that gracious invitation, she mounted the marble stairs and opened the front door. As she stepped inside and caught her first glimpse of the interior, she saw that it was even worse than the outside. The open foyer had at its center an overly grandiose fountain with a marble sculpture of a Grecian maiden pouring water from an urn balanced on her shoulder. The fountain was running, thanks, no doubt, to the realtor who had unloaded this monstrosity on Cal, and the multicolored lights hidden beneath the water gave the whole thing a certain Las Vegas look. Hanging above the foyer like an inverted wedding cake was an enormous crystal chandelier made up of hundreds of prisms and teardrops held together with gold swags and filigree.
Turning to the right, she entered a sunken living room that was furnished with fake French rococo furniture, elaborately fringed draperies, and an Italian marble fireplace complete with cavorting cupids. Perhaps the room’s most vulgar piece was the coffee table. Its round glass top was supported by a center column shaped like a kneeling blackamoor, naked except for a crimson-and-gold loincloth.
She moved on to the dining room where a pair of crystal chandeliers topped a table that could easily seat twenty. But the most oppressive of the downstairs rooms was the study, which was outfitted with Gothic arches, thick, olive green velvet drapes, and dark, heavy furniture including a massive desk and a chair that looked as if it could have belonged to Henry VIII.
She reentered the foyer just as Cal was bringing in his golf clubs. As he leaned them against the side of the fountain, she looked up toward the second floor, which was surrounded by a balcony of grillwork that was even more ornate than the balcony outside. “I’m afraid to see the upstairs.”
He straightened and regarded her with cold eyes. “You don’t like it? I’m hurt. Hillbillies like me spend our whole lives dreaming of owning a beautiful place like this.”
She barely repressed a shudder as she turned away and headed upstairs, where she wasn’t surprised to find more swags, fringe, velvet, and gilt. She opened a door at one end and stepped into the master bedroom, which was a nightmare of red, black, and gold. It held still another chandelier along with a king-size bed resting on a platform. A red-brocade canopy decorated with heavy gold-and-black tassels topped the bed. Something caught her eye, and as she walked closer, she saw that the underside of the canopy held an enormous mirror. She quickly backed away, only to realize that Cal had entered the room behind her.
He went over to the bed and looked under the canopy to see what had caught her attention. “Well, what do you know? I always wanted me one of these. This house is even better than I thought it’d be.”
“It’s awful. Nothing more than a monument to greed.”
“Doesn’t bother me none. I wasn’t the one who cheated the God-fearing.”
His narrow-mindedness maddened her. “Think of all those people sending Snopes money they squeezed out of their food budget and social security checks. I wonder how many malnourished children went into that ceiling mirror?”
“A couple dozen for sure.”
She shot him a quick look to see if he was joking, but he had wandered over to explore an elaborate ebony cabinet that held electronic equipment.
“I can’t believe how callous you’re being about this.” She didn’t even know why she was trying to make someone so self-involved and intellectually impaired see beyond his limits.
“You’d better not say that in front of G. Dwayne’s creditors. More than a few of them are finally getting paid because I bought this place.” He slid out a deep drawer in the cabinet. “He sure did have a taste for porn. There must be a couple dozen X-rated videos in here.”
“Perfect.”
“You ever see Slumber Party Panty Pranks?
“That does it!” She stomped over to the cabinet, dug into the drawer, and filled her arms with the cassettes. The pile was so large, she had to brace it under her chin as she headed out the door to find a garbage can. “Starting now, this house is G-rated.”
“That’s right,” he called after her. “The only use you’ve got for sex is to get yourself knocked up.”
She felt as if she’d been kicked in the stomach. She stopped at the top of the stairs and turned to face him.
He glared at her with those damn-the-torpedo eyes, his hands splayed on his hips, chin jutted forward, and she wouldn’t have been surprised if he’d told her to meet him outside so they could settle this with their fists. Once again, she realized how woefully ill equipped she was to handle this man. Surely there had to be a better way than sniping.
“Is this how we want to live for the next three months?” she asked quietly. “With the two of us attacking each other?”
“Works for me.”
“But we’ll both be miserable. Please. Let’s call a truce.”
“You want a truce?”
“Yes. Let’s stop all these personal attacks and try to get along.”
“No dice, Professor.” He stared at her for a long moment, then walked forward, his steps unhurried, but still threatening. “You’re the one who started this dirty little war, and now you’re going to live with the consequences.” He brushed past her and headed down the stairs.
She stood there with her heart pounding as he disappeared out the front door. Moments later, she heard the sound of the Jeep driving away. Deeply depressed, she dragged herself to the kitchen, where she deposited the videotapes in the trash.