The Taming of Billy Jones Page 3

  She opened the door, slowly and quietly. He saw that it was shadowy in there, that the blinds were drawn. She turned and discovered that he was still standing all the way across the room. She fanned the air in a come-on wave. He put one foot in front of the other, until he stood right beside her, before the open door to the shadowed room.

  Smiling as if something wonderful was going on,

  Grace or Hope put a finger to her lips. "I'd better go in with you. In case he wakes up – since he doesn't know you. All right?"

  Billy shrugged, elaborately, as if this whole thing was no big deal to him. "Fine."

  She went into the darkened room. Seeing no other choice, Billy followed.

  In there, in spite of the fact that it was pretty dark, he could make out more murals. There were airplanes in a blue sky and teddy bears dancing in a forest. And more toys. Damn, the kid had toys.

  The crib stood in a corner, not far from a mural of flying toasters and dancing computer screens. What's-her-name approached the crib and Billy did, too. When she got there, she moved toward one end of it, leaving the other end for him. He stepped automatically into the space she'd left for him.

  And then he had no choice. He was there. He had to look.

  The kid lay on his stomach, his face turned toward Billy and one fat fist curled under his chin. He looked big and healthy – and exactly like the kid in the picture that used to stand on his mother's mantel back in Sweethaven. If there was ever any lingering shadow of doubt in Billy's mind, it was gone now. This was his kid.

  His kid.

  It was too weird.

  Billy wanted music. Loud music. A drink. A hundred drinks.

  The kid's fat little mouth made sucking motions. It was the cutest damn thing Billy had ever seen.

  He could not breathe.

  He had to get out of there.

  He spun on his heel and made for the door, with Charity or Grace close behind.

  "Are you all right?" she asked in a hushed, baby-in-the-other-room kind of voice, once they were back in the playroom again and she'd carefully shut the door behind them.

  "I'm fine."

  "You seem – shocked."

  "Well, I'm not."

  She started toward him. "Here. Sit down and—"

  He put up both hands and backed away from her. "Look. I have to go."

  At least she stopped coming at him. "But I thought—"

  He waved her words away. "Later. Something important's come up and I—" He cut himself off when she started looking all soft again, those bulging eyes just brimming with sympathy and understanding. He knew that she knew the havoc inside him – and he was shamed to have her know it. He glared at her. "What the hell is your name, anyway?"

  She fell back a little. "Excuse me?"

  "Your name. What is your name?"

  She swallowed, then said it: "Prudence."

  "Prudence?"

  She nodded.

  He felt vindicated, cleansed. Under his breath, he muttered, "I knew it."

  "What did you say?"

  "Nothing. Look, Prudence."

  She seemed to realize she was cringing. She drew her shoulders back. "Yes?"

  "I have to go now, but I'll be back. And when I do come back…"

  Now she was wearing that knowing little smile again. "Yes?"

  "…you'd better…" He fumbled for something to say.

  "What?"

  It came to him. "…get my kid out of that crib and into a damn bed."

  That surprised her. She hitched in a tight little breath. "I beg your pardon?"

  "I said, he's too big for a crib."

  Her mouth pursed up tight. "Oh, and I suppose you're an expert on childrearing, Mr. Jones."

  "Just do what I said. Don't make him into some wuss."

  "Jesse is a very special little boy and—"

  "Boy, Prudence. Boy is the operative word. He's old enough for a real bed."

  "He's barely a year."

  "Just … don't argue with me. Just do what I said. I'll be back, you hear?"

  "Yes, I heard. Very clearly."

  "Good. So do it."

  "Mr. Jones—"

  "I gotta go."

  "But—"

  He turned his back on her before she could say another word. The door to the hall was right there. He yanked it open, stepped through it and slammed it behind him.

  * * *

  Chapter 3

  « ^ »

  Prudence Wilding stared at the door Jesse's father had just slammed in her face. She was glad to be rid of him. At the same time, she wondered if she should follow him and see him to the front entrance – just to make sure he found it. After all, the house was huge. Guests were always getting lost in it.

  But then Jesse began to cry. Prudence waited, listening. No doubt the raised voices and the slamming door had disturbed him. Maybe if she gave him a moment, he'd drift back to sleep.

  But no such luck. The crying only got louder.

  The nanny peeked her head out of her room. "Shall I—?"

  "No, Alma. I'll get him."

  Prudence turned and went through the door to her nephew's room. Jesse was standing up in his crib, his head thrown back, howling in frustration at the ceiling. The minute he saw Prudence, the crying stopped. He held out his chubby arms and hiccuped his own personal version of her name. "Woo, Woo!"

  "Oh, honey. I'm here." She hurried over and scooped him into her arms. He cuddled up close and hiccuped a few more times, smearing his runny nose on the lapel of her jacket. She patted his back and rubbed her chin against the downy crown of his head. "There, now. All okay, right?"

  He made a small, satisfied sound with a hiccup at the end of it. She eased him onto one arm and carried him with her as she went about opening the blinds to let in the afternoon sun. Then, when the room was full of light, she stood at the window, holding Jesse close, staring out at the pool and the cabana beyond – and trying not to stew about the hundred and one ways a difficult man like Billy Jones could complicate their lives.

  "So, how'd you like that nephew of mine?" The rough voice came from behind her.

  Prudence was already smiling as she turned to face the old man, her worries temporarily forgotten at the sound of his dear voice.

  Oggie said, "He was swearin' up a storm, tryin' to find his way out of here. These old ears turned blue at the things he said when he went stompin' past my rooms."

  She rubbed Jesse's back and kissed his round, sweet cheek. "Did you go out and help him find the door?"

  Oggie cackled. "Hell, no. Unless there's a percentage in doin' otherwise, I stay out of trouble's way." His grizzled brows drew together. "You tell him I was here?"

  "As a matter of fact, it never came up."

  "Fine with me."

  She rocked Jesse from side to side and went on smiling fondly at the old man. He'd come knocking on her door a week ago – to bring her the happy news of Jesse's huge family in North Magdalene. Of course, she'd been wary of him at first.

  He'd suggested that she hire a detective to check out his story. "But make it quick," he'd commanded. "I want to meet my grandnephew. I'm an old man and gettin' older. I can't hang around down here in the palm trees forever, you know."

  Oggie's story had been easily verified. Two days later, Prudence had called him at his hotel and asked him to come stay at the mansion for as long as he planned to be in L.A.

  He'd come right over and he'd been there ever since. Prudence was just plain crazy about him. He was the father she'd never really had, the wise old granddad of which she'd always dreamed. He offered Jesse a family – and he automatically included Prudence in the offer, as well.

  To have a family seemed very important to Prudence, especially since Randi's death. Prudence had shared a deep connection with her sister, a closeness and a feeling of belonging that she'd never known with anyone else, ever in her life. Their bond had been forged in a difficult childhood, and tempered over the years.

  Without Randi, Prude
nce felt frighteningly unmoored. Like a tiny boat cast adrift in a wide, unfriendly sea. And she had worried so about Jesse, that she wouldn't do right by him.

  But having Oggie around helped a lot. Since he'd appeared on the doorstep, Prudence had begun to believe that she and Jesse would manage after all, that everything would work out just fine in the end.

  At least, she'd felt that way until this afternoon.

  "I'm watchin' a smile turn to a frown," the old man said with gruff tenderness.

  "Billy certainly is a volatile person." Prudence shivered a little, just thinking of Jesse's father.

  Oggie grunted. "He's a man, that's all. A Jones. You'll get used to him. You got used to me already. And you hardly known me a week."

  Jesse had had enough comforting. He pushed at Prudence's shoulder. "Dow, Woo. Dow."

  Prudence set the child on the floor. He immediately ran off, falling forward from foot to foot, practicing his recently acquired skill of walking. "You're nothing like Billy Jones," she said to Oggie.

  "Oh, yes, I am. That boy and me, we're more alike than you could imagine." Oggie knocked some toys off a chest with his cane, then lowered himself carefully onto the cleared surface.

  "I see no similarity at all between the two of you."

  Oggie rested with his arms out, both hands on his upright cane. "Truth is truth, whether you want to see it or not."

  Prudence decided not to argue the point any further. With Oggie, arguing never did a lot of good anyway. She sank into a wicker rocker with a sigh, leaned her head back and began to rock. For a few pleasant minutes, both of them watched Jesse, who had found his favorite stuffed rabbit under his crib. He was cooing to it as he alternately chewed on one of its ears and petted its matted head.

  "It's all gonna work out," Oggie said finally.

  Prudence rolled her head to look at him. "Oh, Oggie. I hope you're right."

  "I'm always right."

  "I just … he makes me so uncomfortable. I understand that he's confused right now. Finding out all of a sudden that he's a father has upset him. Randi once told me that he was adamant about two things – never getting married again and not having children. Well, now, whether he likes it or not, he's a dad. He's furious and frightened. And I sympathize with that. But at the same time, he can be so intimidating. I can't help wishing I didn't have to deal with him."

  Oggie only looked at her, a chiding sort of look.

  She hastened to add, "I know, I know. It's the right thing. He is Jesse's father. He should be a part of Jesse's life. But I just … don't know how I'll be able to get along with him."

  "You'll manage."

  Prudence shrugged and rocked some more, watching Jesse, thinking gratefully again that Oggie's appearance in their lives, coming right when it had, was like some perfect gift from above. Randi had wanted Jesse to have a simpler, saner kind of life than he would ever have been likely to get as the son of a notorious sex symbol. And since her sister's death, Prudence had been determined to see Randi's wish fulfilled. Oggie had shown her how to do it.

  "I didn't even get a chance to tell him about the move to North Magdalene," Prudence said.

  "You'll make the chance." As usual, Oggie's tone left no room for disagreement.

  Prudence went on rocking. "He said he'd be back."

  "Good. You'll tell him then."

  * * *

  The next day, Oggie left for North Magdalene. Prudence and Jesse went, too. The town was just what she'd dreamed it might be. And she loved the wood-frame two-story house that Oggie had chosen for her. She paid cash for the house and arranged to have it painted inside and out. Then she and Jesse flew back to L.A.

  Prudence put the last of her sister's affairs in order. By October 31, all the household staff had found new jobs. The mansion was in escrow. Very soon it would belong to a nice basket importer from Nepal. The Jesse Wilding Needy Children's Fund could run all on its own now; it occupied a building in downtown L.A. and employed a capable crew of five. Prudence was just about ready to take Jesse and go.

  But before she could do that, she felt an obligation to inform Billy Jones of her plans. After all, he was Jesse's father. He had a right to know where to visit his son if he ever decided he wanted to see him.

  But, in spite of his threat to return, he'd neither called nor come pounding on the door. Prudence knew she would have to take the initiative. Reluctantly she called the club Billy owned in Van Nuys. A nice man named Tim answered. Tim promised to tell Billy she'd called and to pass on her request that Billy call her back.

  She waited forty-eight hours. Billy didn't call.

  Prudence tried the club again. This time she spoke with the manager, a woman named Alexis. Prudence explained that it was very important that she talk to Billy right away. Alexis promised to pass on the message.

  Another day went by. No word from Billy.

  Prudence considered speaking with Alexis again. Maybe the manager would work harder to get Billy to come to the phone if she knew it was his son's aunt calling.

  But somehow, Prudence couldn't bring herself to do that to Jesse's father. She had no idea what Billy had told his manager about the son he'd recently learned he had. Probably nothing. Which made Prudence feel uncomfortable about broadcasting his private business. She kept thinking how Randi would have felt if Prudence had done something like that to her.

  Randi's erotic exploits had been legend. Few people knew, though, that most of the stories had been started by Randi herself. Randi used to read them in the tabloids and laugh. "More shocks in the tabloids, more butts in the theater seats," she'd say.

  But it always bothered Randi when the stories were true. Then she felt that her public was prying into her private life in a way they never could if she made up the stories herself.

  Prudence sensed that Billy was a little like Randi. He seemed to live wild and free, but she didn't believe he'd want his private business known.

  Why Prudence should even care what bad Billy Jones wanted known was a mystery to her. But at any rate, she didn't call Alexis at the club again. Instead she looked up Billy's home phone number in her computer files and called him at seven in the morning, an hour at which she felt almost certain she would find him in bed. She hoped that maybe the ringing phone would surprise him from sleep and he'd answer without thinking about it.

  It didn't work. The phone rang four times and then a machine answered. "Leave a message," Billy's recorded voice growled.

  Prudence stammered out something about the necessity that she speak with him immediately concerning Jesse, left her name and number and hung up feeling angry and foolish. When he didn't call her back, she tried again at three that afternoon. He didn't answer. She put the phone down and sat there, drumming frustrated fingers on her desk.

  She had everything packed. Tomorrow, at ten in the morning, she would visit the title company and sign the final papers on the mansion. Meanwhile, the movers would be here, loading things up. By afternoon, she and Jesse would be on their way.

  And if she intended to speak with Billy Jones before she left, she was going to have to think of some other way to reach him than by telephone.

  * * *

  At eleven that night, Billy sat at a table in the back room of his club. There was a nice pile of cash in front of him.

  "That's it for me," said the man to his left.

  One by one, the other men around the table threw down their cards. "Okay, you cleaned us out," one of them said. "You damn well better play us a tune."

  Billy knocked back the rest of the drink he'd been nursing. "The band starts another set in ten minutes. I'll see if they'll let me sit in. I'm in a mood to wail."

  "I'll bet," muttered another man, staring ruefully at the money he'd lost.

  Agreeing to meet them all out front, Billy gathered up his winnings and took them back to the safe in his office. Then he went through the storage area and emerged near the long bar that took up nearly an entire wall of the lower floor of his club. />
  The place was jumping.

  "Hey, Billy!"

  "How's tricks?"

  "Sing us a song, why don't you?"

  Billy waved and smiled and signaled to the nearest bartender to pour him another shot of Jack Daniel's. A waitress – that cute little redheaded Loretta, as a matter of fact – scooped up the drink as soon as it hit the shot glass and carried it right to him.

  "Here you go, Billy." Her full mouth bloomed in a smile full of gorgeous teeth. Southern California was an amazing place. Every face had fabulous teeth in it. Billy had lived in the L.A. area for nearly a decade and still, at times, he felt dumbfounded at all the dental perfection around him.

  "Thanks, darlin'."

  "Anytime." She drew in a deep breath and widened her eyes at him. "I mean that."

  He knew she did. He also knew that he would never take her up on it. Even a man like Billy had to learn to draw the line somewhere. Beyond a little harmless flirting, he no longer fooled around with women who were likely to have attended a high school prom within the past four years. Really young women were just too damn romantic. They confused lust with love. If you told them you would never marry again, they would nod their pretty heads. But they never believed you meant it.

  Both of his wives had been young. Young and determined. Just like sweet little Loretta, who was still sighing and smiling at him. He saluted her with his glass before he drank it down.

  "Can I get you another one?" She licked her lips and widened those eyes even more.

  "Sure." He set the glass on her tray and gestured at a table not far from the bandstand. "I'll be—"

  "I know where you like to sit, Billy."

  "Good enough. Thanks." He slid around her and worked his way through the crowd.

  One of the guys from the poker game must have warned the band that he was on his way. The fiddle player handed him his guitar. He eased the strap around his neck and stepped up to the mike.

  They swung into a couple of fast tunes first, to get the folks going. Billy fingered and strummed like a madman, tapping his foot in rhythm and singing lead full-out, giving it all he had. Down below him, on the big dance floor in the center of the club, couples whirled in each other's arms, separating to form lines when the pace quickened, then partnering up again when the rhythm slowed. At the tables on the raised platform that surrounded the dance floor, people laughed and drank and clapped along to the music. Upstairs, which was open in the center to the floor below, the last of the evening's dinner customers finished their coffee and watched the dancers below. Everywhere, waitresses in sequined Western shirts and red boots moved through the crowd, making sure that the liquor kept flowing.