Ten
Edie was in a mood. What was the point of lining the pockets of state senators if they weren’t going to help you when you needed them to?
Not to mention the useless Speaker of the House, which once again proved her theory that the state and the world would be better off if women just ran things.
Seriously, what part of hosting a thousand-dollar-a-plate fundraiser for him did he not understand?
She was entitled to something for that, and she didn’t have in mind democracy.
“Now, Edie,” Speaker Baines had said in the most condescending voice ever, “you know I can’t do anything about that.”
“Do I, Steve? Do I? That good-for-nothing was doing business in this state.” She’d told him all about Rocco Vitali, and how he’d taken money from old college friends then tanked his cryptocurrency.
“It was a Ponzi scheme,” she insisted. She was pretty sure it was, anyway, as it smelled like one from a mile away.
She’d done some research into the worm since Marcy’s tearful confession.
She learned that not only had he bilked his friends, but he’d also inherited a casino in Vegas.
There were news articles quoting him boasting how he would turn it into the first “crypto casino” run exclusively on cryptocurrency.
Even more articles about him investing the cold hard cash the casino earned into new crypto projects.
And more articles hailing him as a young visionary with a unique view of a digital future.
Others calling him the Philanthropist of Crypto for his donations to worthy causes. Edie wanted to gag.
There were a couple of detractors. The Green Energy Plan, for one, a non-profit organization that was worried about the drain on the power grid a massive cryptocurrency project like a casino could cause.
This casino thing, though. She learned that Rocco’s grandfather, Vincent Vitali (that name rang a bell so loud it clanged in her head), had died and left his Vegas casino to his only beloved grandson.
Somehow, Rocco planned to transform the casino into one that would run exclusively on cryptocurrency, from the high roller tables down to the slots.
The crypto exchange necessary for this endeavor was being built and would soon be up and running.
He intended to take the cash and chips on hand, move them to a bank, and fire up the exchange.
Tech wizards hailed it as a revolutionary model.
“Revolutionary my ass,” Edie had muttered to herself.
Her intention was to head that big casino victory off at the pass by seeing Rocco arrested and prosecuted in Tennessee. But Steve was not cooperating.
“I don’t like tossing words around like Ponzi scheme, Edie,” he said in a schmoozy voice. “I have no evidence of that.”
“I just gave you evidence of it,” Edie said.
Steve stood from his desk and came around to her side and stood close enough that she had to bend her head back to stare him down. “We like the Crypto King here in Tennessee. He’s good business and a generous donor to certain campaigns, if you take my meaning.”
Oh, she took it, all right. She’d glared at Steve’s bloated speaker face. “Enjoy spending my granddaughter’s hard-earned money, because he robbed her to pay you.”
Steve chuckled as he put his hand on her elbow and steered her to the door. “You say rob, others say she should have done her research.”
In response, Edie had called him a few choice names, left his office in a rage, and sped home.
She was sick of men. It wasn’t that she didn’t like men, because she did like some, very much.
Her sons were outstanding. Most male friends of the family were all aces.
But she was sick of them ruling the world and treating her like she ought to sit down and shut up, and her cheating husband was currently the worst of the worse, with Steve Baines running a close second.
The traffic from Nashville was ridiculous, and as she neared home, she’d been hit with a heavy downpour on a two-lane road behind some old woman’s Cadillac.
“Motherfucker!” Edie shouted as she floored her Porsche and went around the Cadillac, spraying water onto its windshield.
That would teach the little old ladies to get out in this weather.
By the time she reached Songbird Hill, the sun was shining again. She got out of her car, slammed the door, and marched into the house.
The first thing she noticed was the TV on in the formal living room. No one ever used the living room. Furthermore, they were not TV-in-the-middle-of-the-day people. If the TV came on at all, it was after supper. And to add even more horror, the program was a loud game show.
Edie tossed down her designer handbag and walked into the living room. Marcy. The girl had not yet picked herself up from her investment disaster.
Edie leaned over the back of the couch where Marcy was lying with greasy hair, baggy sweats, and a bag of chips into which her hand appeared stuck. “Marcy Anne Kessler!” Edie snapped.
Marcy clearly hadn’t heard her enter the room—and who could with the bells and whistles of the game show on full volume—and flung the bag across the room in her startlement. Suddenly, corn chips were everywhere on Edie’s hand-knotted Turkish carpet.
Edie marched around the couch, picked up the remote, and turned the TV off. Legs braced apart, arms folded, she glared down at her granddaughter.
“What?” Marcy said.
“What do you mean, ‘What?’ You can’t live like this, Marcy. What about your job?”
“I told you, I’m taking some time off.”
“You’re taking time off from your fledging PR company instead of hustling clients?”
Marcy looked down at her lap.
“What about your friends? Your apartment? What about your mother’s couch? She wouldn’t mind it as much as me.”
“Yes, she does. Mom won’t let me hang out there.”
Great. “Your father called just last night and told me to send you home.”
At the mention of her father, Marcy sat up and pushed her hair out of her eyes. “Okay, I know this looks bad.”
“And smells bad, too,” Edie said curtly. There was a definite funk of unwashed body and despair in the room.
“I’m trying to get it together, Nana,” she said, and her eyes began to well. “I really am. I’m just struggling a little. I don’t know what my life is about anymore.”
Edie’s heart softened a bit. She remembered feeling rudderless.
Unsure of who she was. She sat next to Marcy on the couch.
“You made a mistake, darling. Everyone makes mistakes. The bad news is your self-esteem and bullshit meter took a hit. The good news is, unlike others who lose all their money, you still have a place to call home. But you’re going to have to pick yourself up and get on with it, because the last time I checked, the world is still spinning around on its axis. ”
Marcy hung her head. Her hair fell in long hanks around her face. “I know, Nana.”
Edie stood up. “A hot shower will help you to feel better.”
“Yeah.”
Edie patted Marcy on the head, then walked out of the formal living area. She had hardly quit the room before the blaring sound of the game show was back.
With a roll of her eyes she carried on, up the stairs. At the top, she kicked off her heels, then bent down to pick them up. She was tired. She used to jog up the stairs to change for tennis or golf or a run. She still could, but recently, she just hadn’t felt like it.
She walked into the large primary suite and was startled by the presence of her husband.
She came to a halt and stared at him. Simon stared back.
He was seated in the armchair near the large picture windows, just beneath the small oil Cézanne painting of four oranges on a table.
His feet were propped on the silk-braided footstool, which had cost the same as a car.
On the table between the two chairs was a whiskey, neat.
He was wearing a smoking jacket (absurd), his cashmere-lined slippers (too warm yet), and suit slacks that were a bit too tight on him.
Simon’s hairline had receded, and his waistline had expanded, but he still very much resembled the young, debonair pseudo-aristocrat she’d met all those years ago. “What are you doing home?” she asked.
“Can’t a man relax in his castle?”
“I’m not questioning your credentials, my lord,” she said. “But you’re usually not home until late.” Because lately, he was at Linda’s until late.
He shrugged and picked up his drink. “Decided to call it a day. Where have you been?”
“Taking care of this family.” She walked into the massive closet to deposit her shoes on the rack with the other red shoes. She had an entire wall of shoes, arranged by color. She stuck her head out the door as she unzipped her dress. “I paid a visit to your old friend Steve Baines.”
“Ah,” Simon said. “How is my old friend Steve Baines?”
“Unhelpful.” She ducked back into the closet and slipped out of her dress. She picked up a silk bathrobe and put it on.
“What could you possibly have to talk to Steve about, anyway, love?” Simon called.
Edie grit her teeth against the endearment.
That was a sure sign that he and Linda were bickering.
It was his usual pattern—he practically ghosted her until he drove the other woman crazy, then came back to drop sweet nothings on her, like it was perfectly fine to step out on his wife.
Granted, he thought that because Edie let him get away with it for reasons that were entirely murky and unjustified in her own head. But she still hated it.
“I needed a favor,” she said. She came out of the closet and headed for the sideboard to pour herself a bourbon.
She hated bourbon. Give her a shot of tequila with a lime chaser any day.
Bernie only stocked the sideboard with what Simon liked.
“And he’s not handing them out, apparently.
” She knocked back the bourbon, squeezed her eyes shut against the burn in her gullet, and then poured another finger of it into her glass.