The Million-Dollar Marriage

“I could pick you up. We could go for a burger or something, and...well, like I said, get acquainted. How about it?”

She said nothing. Just kept watching him. Feeling a funny coming-alive feeling.

“Look, I’m an all-right guy. Really. Give me a chance.”

That crazy lopsided grin. Full lips curving around white, even... No. One tooth was crooked, lapping over another...

“Well, say something! Wouldn’t you like to get to know me?”

“Not really.” she lied. She liked that crooked tooth. He wasn’t so darn perfect.

“Aw, come on. Why not?”

Why not? she echoed, wondering... Liking the laughter in his dark eyes.

“Look, it doesn’t have to be a burger. You like pizza? Or there’s this little Italian place down the valley. We could—”

“Six,” she said.

“Huh?”

“Six o’clock. I’ll be...ready then. Okay?”

“Okay!” Jubilant, but wary, as if he couldn’t believe his luck. “Shall I pick you up there?” He nodded toward the back door.

“Sure.” She turned to go. Couldn’t stand there looking at him all day, could she!

“Okay! See you,” he called after her. “Oh, and tell the cook thanks. I’ll bring the thermos back before I leave.”

She rushed in, not daring to look back. What the hell had come over her? She didn’t know this man from zilch. A gardener. Part-time gardener at that. Cheeky. And too good-looking. Probably had women falling all over him. For all she knew he could be some awful creep. He came on strong.

She laughed. Nothing creepy about that boyish grin, that open, honest... “Hey, give me a chance...I’m not a bad guy.”

The crisp air must have whetted her appetite, for she shared an unusually hearty breakfast with Cook, absentmindedly responding to the housekeeper’s cheerful chatter. Not once did she glance outside.

But his image stayed with her. The laughing, appraising dark eyes. That smile. The crooked tooth. His quick graceful movements.

When she was back in her room, she did look out. And was disappointed. He was gone.

Never mind. She would see him tonight, she thought, and was surprised by the jolt of anticipation.

Stupid. She didn’t even know him. Had seen him for about...five minutes?

But the feeling of excited expectancy remained. She hadn’t felt this way since... She swallowed, hating to admit it. Since Dirk...

She curled up on the window seat, and looked out into the yard again. It was raining now. A funny in-between-winter-and-spring rain. It had been winter when she met Dirk.

Dirk Johanson. Blond, blue-eyed Dirk Johanson, tall and... well, not movie-star handsome like... What was his name? Tom? No. Tony. But Dirk was striking, tall and muscular, so blond. He looked like a Viking or a Greek god, invulnerable against the high snow-covered cliffs. All the girls at the ski resort were wild about him. Me, too. And he chose me.

My head spun like crazy. I was all his. I would have gone to the end of the world with him... without one damn penny! I knew I would be safe in the loving and protective arms of this strong man. Hadn’t I skied with him over Nevada’s highest and most treacherous mountain slopes? A man who could conquer such mountains could...turn into a sneaking, conniving, self-serving, scurrying weasel when faced with the real world!

She didn’t believe it. Even after he had deserted like the swine he was, she had waited. She had sat in that crummy motel room for three days... waiting. And, when her father came for her, she had vented her rage against him, not Dirk. How could Dad, who had never denied her anything, send Dirk away, threatening disinheritance if they carried out their plans to marry?

“He dumped you for a measly fifty thousand dollars,” her father said. “He didn’t care about you. It was your money.”

She didn’t believe him. It hurt too much. Even now.

She pressed her face against the window, and looked out. The fresh green leaves of early spring trembled and danced under the battering of the late winter wind and rain, but clung tenaciously to the tree boughs.

As she had clung to her faith in Dirk. She had slipped from the motel and evaded her father’s detectives for three whole months. Even now she could smell the grease and cooking food in the Reno kitchens where she had washed dishes. Waitresses were too visible. She had called the Colorado ski resort and learned that Dirk had moved to a resort in Switzerland. Her letters to Switzerland were not answered, and she convinced herself that he never received them.

“Don’t keep on being a fool!” Jake, her cousin, never bothered to cushion his words. Knowing her habits better than her father’s detectives, he had traced her to that rooming house in Reno. “He got your letters, all right, just like he got that bundle from your dad! And he doesn’t want you tailing him? Why do you think he hotfooted it to Switzerland?”

She stared at him, her mind fumbling for an excuse.

Jake bent toward her. “And why do you think he took that little hatcheck gal with him?”

“He didn’t!”

“Oh, but he did.”

She didn’t want to believe that, either. But Jake had never lied to her. For that matter, neither had her father.

“Face it, Mel. Your dad did you a favor. You may as well swallow your stupid pride and come home.”

She had gone home. How could she hold on to something that wasn’t there!

“Forget him,” Jake had said. And she vowed that she would.

But she had lost more than Dirk.

She had lost trust. The wonderful, exhilarating, fulfilling love found on the snow-covered slopes was a lie. Sold for fifty thousand dollars. Buried forever in the drab kitchens and cheap motel rooms in Reno.

Tony Costello slammed the door of his battered pickup truck, and ran up the steps of the modest bungalow on Lotus Street. The door was opened by Jerry, his seven-year-old nephew.

“Tony!” The little boy looked up in gleeful anticipation. “You come to help me with that model?”

“Not tonight. Got a date,” Tony said, rumpling Jerry’s hair as he followed him into a steamy, noisy kitchen.

“Hi, Tony. You’re just in time. Sit over there by Patsy.” His sister-in-law pointed with the spoon she was using to ladle out heavy servings of savory spaghetti. She was pretty, but heavy in the last stages of pregnancy, and her face and hair were wet with perspiration.

Tony bent over her bulging belly to kiss her cheek. “Thanks, Rosalie, but not tonight. I have a date, and I want to—”

“No!” his brother bellowed, almost choking on a mouthful of food.

“Aw, come on, Pedro!”

“Is it Joan?” Rosalie, who had filled her own plate, took her place at the table and smiled at Tony. “I like her. She’s so—”