Sugar Street Read online

  “Carras probably doesn’t remember me.” Parker had a charming smile, Jess noticed. “But we all used to really admire her. I was a few years behind you on the Junior Nationals circuit. Parker Yung.”

  “Of course. Nice to see you, Parker.” Jess noticed that Carras furrowed her brow, maybe trying to place him. “I didn’t realize you were the tennis pro here?”

  “Not officially.” He smiled. “I’m freelance, but the pro here is a buddy of mine; I do the more advanced lessons. Whatever happened to you? Carras Lightbourne. Damn. You were, like, kind of successful, weren’t you?”

  “It’s Carras Prather now.” If she was offended by Parker’s characterization, Carras didn’t show it. “And I wouldn’t say successful. My eligibility ran out after undergrad and I really wanted a master’s degree, so I went semipro to pay for it.”

  Parker nodded. “Education. Great choice. Not for everyone, though. I did two years at Vanderbilt, but it was such a drag. The NCAA won’t let you borrow a Kleenex from a booster if you’re on scholarship, and I’ve never been one for the classroom. The money is better out here.” He nodded his head at the expansive country club campus.

  As Jess and Delia introduced themselves, he greeted them with equally warm smiles, and the small talk began. Tennis, the final weeks of school, summer plans. Belinda and her husband, Orson, were going away on some sort of exotic vacation this summer. Delia pressed her for information, but Jess was unable to focus on the details.

  It was warm for April, and the sangria went down faster than Jess intended after the morning on the court. She felt pleasantly disconnected. Up until today, she hadn’t been certain Belinda Hayes-Currington knew her name. And now, she was drinking cocktails with her on a school day and this guy was here—cute, smiling, flirty...

  When was the last time Jess had a conversation with an attractive young guy, even an innocuous one? Her freelance work had become almost rote. Her former coworkers and their underlings sent her work via six-word emails or texts. There was the occasional Skype call to liven things up, but never an in-person meeting. When Tom was on the road, Jess would bet she went entire weeks without interacting with an adult male who wasn’t bagging her groceries or delivering a package. Even then, they pretty much rang the doorbell and ran…

  “More sangria, Jess?” Belinda leaned forward to refill Jess’s glass, and Parker put a hand on Belinda’s back. An unconscious move, the way a man might touch a spouse or…a lover.

  “Oh.” Jess gaped. She knew she should be subtler, but it was too much information all at once. Jess wasn’t naïve, or at least she’d never thought so. Things happened; she knew that. She wasn’t a child. It was just…seeing it, with her own eyes. And with someone like Belinda, whose husband was well known in the community... “Oh.”

  “Jess,” Delia hissed.

  Jess clamped her mouth closed, embarrassed.

  But Belinda’s smile held. “It’s all right,” she said airily as the last of the white sangria dripped into Jess’s glass. “There’s plenty more where that came from.”

  She meant the drinks, Jess realized, as Belinda signaled to the waiter for another round. “Oh no, I couldn’t. I have work to do…”

  “Don’t be silly.” Belinda stared at Jess as though she had three heads. “You can take a day off, I’m sure.”

  Jess felt her jaw drop. Before she could respond, Parker cleared his throat and slid his chair back, excusing himself to the restroom.

  “How is Orson?” Delia asked as the tennis pro’s broad, retreating back disappeared into the clubhouse.

  “You know men.” Belinda rolled her eyes. “He’s always tinkering with something or buying something. Lately it’s flying lessons. He’s bought a small plane, which of course is terrifying. The man can’t park our SUV at the grocery store, but he thinks he’s going to fly us both to some horrible Alaskan wilderness? I told him not until the kids are in college, and only if there’s a five-star resort at the other end.”

  “Well, your last trip sounded marvelous,” Delia said. “A whole week on a nude beach? How positively liberating.”

  A nude beach? Belinda and Orson? Jess managed to cover her shock with what she hoped was a cool, “oh yes—a nude beach—how adorable—I do that all the time” smile, while Belinda rattled on about private cabanas and couples’ massages. Truthfully, it had been years since the beach made Jess think of anything other than bulk quantities of children’s sunscreen and sandy PB&J sandwiches. A solo vacation with Tom—beyond the odd anniversary weekend in downtown Atlanta—was something she didn’t even daydream about.

  She glanced at Carras, who was staring at the stem of her glass, expression neutral. Carras was from Turks and Caicos originally, so her feelings about nude beaches were probably not so loaded.

  “What about Orson’s work?” Delia asked. “Didn’t you tell me he took you to Paris for Valentine’s Day? How does he manage to get away?”

  “Oh, he manages.” Belinda glided a pink nail down Parker’s arm as he returned to the table. “I’ve made it clear that I have needs and expectations too. And when mama ain’t happy…well, I’m worse than a room full of angry stockholders.”

  Jess watched the woman across the table in awe. Belinda was like a caricature of herself: beautiful and tan and expensive, in the same pink SMCC tennis visor Jess had seen her wear in the elementary school carpool line. But here she was in broad daylight, talking about her sex life as though she were Mae West. Jess picked up her sangria glass, saw it was already half-empty again, and put it down.

  Parker rubbed Belinda’s tanned shoulder with an impassive smile, seemingly unaffected by the mention of Orson. Maybe Jess was misinterpreting their interaction? Perhaps this Parker was just a physical guy, the kind who would casually touch anyone? She glanced at Delia, but her friend’s gaze was over Belinda’s shoulder. “Speak of the devil, Belinda. Orson himself’s coming this way.”

  Delia’s smooth Southern lilt was a half-octave higher, which told Jess that she shared her concerns about the nature of Parker and Belinda’s relationship. As a huffing Orson approached the table, however, Belinda greeted her husband with a smile. “Babe. I thought you were in meetings all day today. You remember Parker, my tennis coach?”

  “Sure, sure.” Orson extended his hand and shook Parker’s. Like his wife, Orson wore a visor, but his was faded maroon with the University of Alabama A and a circular sweat stain across the front panel. With his soft beer belly and the way his coarse reddish hair spiked around the visor, he looked more like an aging fraternity boy than the president of his family’s beverage company. “Hey, ladies.” He greeted the rest of the women as a unit before returning his gaze to his wife. “I snuck out for the afternoon, asked Maria to pick up the kids. I figured we’d go shopping for your birthday a few days early?”

  “Orrie, you’re sweet, but you know I have my tennis lesson this afternoon.” Belinda laid a hand on Parker’s muscled arm. “It’s so expensive, I can’t possibly ask Parker to reschedule at the last minute.”

  Orson glanced, for a second, at his wife’s fingers on the other man’s skin. “Parker won’t mind, will you, bud? We’ll pay the cancelation fee. You can have an extra lesson next week.”

  “Not a problem,” Parker said. “A week off won’t hurt your serve, Belinda. Enjoy your birthday.”

  “I’ll make sure she does,” Orson said, a low, smiling growl. “I always do.”

  Once again, Jess had the distinct feeling she was intruding on a private moment. Something primal, maybe a little dangerous. The two men reminded her of tigers circling a fire, preparing for battle. And Belinda, the fire between them, sat with a gratified smile on her face, eyes hidden under her pink visor and $200 sunglasses.

  The tension broke when Parker’s phone buzzed on the table. “I need to return this text. Would you all excuse me? Ladies, it was a pleasure. Belinda, I’ll see you next week?”

  “Yep,” Orson said on his wife’s behalf. “Take care, Parker.”


  “You, too, man.”

  With a winning smile for everyone, Parker sauntered off the patio toward the parking lot. Jess felt as if she’d been watching a soap opera, but the tennis pro’s shoulders were relaxed, his pace unhurried.

  “Should we go, babe?” Orson asked. “I figured we’d swing by the house…take a nice long shower, head over to the Lexus dealership.”

  But Belinda stared after Parker with a pout. “I can’t believe you rescheduled my tennis lesson without asking. Now you want me to leave these girls? I invited them here.”

  “I am sorry, babe. I’ll make it up to you.” Orson didn’t sound sorry. He sounded like a child angling for dessert. He took Belinda’s hand and lifted her out of her seat, taking her face in his ruddy hands for an embarrassingly long kiss. Carras, Jess, and Delia exchanged furtive glances as the café’s few other patrons visibly tried not to stare. When the kiss ended, Belinda’s pricey sunglasses were askew and she was breathing heavily. Orson whispered something in her ear; if Jess had not been there herself, she would never have believed the way Belinda giggled in response.

  “Like horny teenagers,” Jess whispered to Delia.

  Orson released his wife, who wobbled, ineffectually straightening her tennis dress. “Lunch is on me, ladies,” he said. “Whatever you’d like, charge it to our club account. Just remind my wife that if she isn’t naked in our bathroom in twenty minutes, the punishment will be severe.” He patted Belinda firmly on the ass and walked away.

  Jess sat with her mouth open. If Tom had talked to her like that, especially in front of people, she would’ve smacked him. And yet, there was something compelling about the interaction that sent a stab of envy through her chest.

  Belinda sank into her chair and downed half a glass of sangria before speaking. “Sorry, girls. I wasn’t expecting him to intrude on our meeting.”

  “Seems like things are going well for you two?” Delia said slowly.

  “Things have been amazing for weeks now.” Belinda leaned in confidentially. “And, if you want to know, they’ve been amazing on the couch and the kitchen table, too. And on my new $4,000 rug in front of the fireplace.”

  Carras looked up. “$4,000? For a rug?”

  “On sale,” Belinda stage-whispered. “Never thought I’d see the day Orson would let me spend that kind of money on something he didn’t either get to shoot or drive.” She toyed with a straw wrapper. “Though, I guess you could say he has done some driving on that rug.”

  “What’s your secret?” Delia poured herself more sangria. “Did you do one of those thirty-day sex challenges? You know, Pure Indulgences sells a great kit for that challenge. I’ve had several customers say they love it.”

  There it was. In every conversation with Delia, it was a matter of time before Pure Indulgences or VikingHome or Skin by Suzette came up. Delia had been selling every multilevel marketing product available for at least a decade. She was good at it, probably because it came naturally to her to mention products offhand in conversations like this. Sometimes Jess thought Delia didn’t notice she was doing it. Her myriad product lines ran in the background like music.

  “Honey,” Belinda said. “Of course I tried it. But Orson doesn’t like any challenge he doesn’t set for himself. And we’re not into…toys and lotions and all that mess.” She wrinkled her nose. “Too…sticky. Unhygienic. No offense.”

  Glancing at Delia, Jess could see the internal war between her ingrained need to defend Pure Indulgences’ hypoallergenic massage oils and sensual creams, and the desire to win the approval of the elusive Belinda Hayes-Currington.

  “So, what did you do?” It was Carras, fiddling with her still-full glass. “I mean, to spice things up with your husband?”

  Belinda leaned over the iron table, and Jess found herself tilting forward, intrigued in spite of herself. Belinda lowered her voice. “Ladies, I’m going to tell you right now: the best investment I ever made in my personal life was tennis lessons. I’m in the best shape of my life and everyone is happier.”

  “Tennis lessons?”

  Belinda considered Jess with unmitigated pity, as though it hurt her that someone could be so slow. “Oh, girls. Do yourselves a favor.”

  She reached into her tennis bag and pulled out three embossed lime-green business cards, dropping them on the table as she stood. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a date with my husband. You heard Orrie—lunch is on him. Order whatever you like.”

  And with that, she scooted away, long tanned legs sashaying beneath her tennis dress. The other three women were left to stare at one another, and at “Parker Yung, Advanced Instruction” on the cards she’d left behind.

  Jess turned to Delia. “Did you know about this?”

  Her neighbor’s smile was slow and sweet. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  That evening, Jess had put the kids to bed and settled down to work when her phone buzzed on the desk next to her. She saw Delia’s name light up the screen and let the call go to voicemail, hands perched over the keyboard. She stared at the document in front of her, re-reading the same sentence over and over.

  She wasn’t in the habit of ducking Delia’s calls, but Jess knew this conversation would be about Belinda and Parker, and it would be a long one. Since Jess and Tom had moved in ten years ago, Delia had been a steady source of neighborhood gossip. The fact that Belinda Hayes-Currington seemed to have something going with the tennis pro—and had possibly suggested that the three of them should do the same—would be conversation fodder for weeks.

  The phone lit up again, this time with a text.

  Quit dodging my calls, Jess. I know you’re there.

  Tom’s out of town, and the lights are off in the kids’ rooms.

  Jess rolled her eyes and called Delia back. “Sorry, I was in the bathroom.”

  “You were not,” Delia said. “You’re sitting at your desk. I can see the back of your head reflected in the mirror by your closet.”

  And that was the drawback of befriending the neighbor across the street. So much for a peaceful evening.

  “So, what did you think?” It was the same tone of voice Delia used when Jess tried out a new VikingHome tool for her, or the new Skin by Suzette catalog was in.

  “I think I’m getting curtains,” Jess said drily. She glanced out the window at Delia’s house and closed her blinds.

  “Oh, come on. Belinda! And Orson, and Parker! Isn’t it fascinating?”

  “That’s not the first word that comes to mind.”

  “Don’t be judgmental, Jess. It’s not becoming on you.”

  “I’m not being judgmental. I am…” Jess struggled for the words. “To each her own.”

  “I couldn’t agree more. And I’m thinking we should get a little of Belinda’s own for ourselves.”

  “What?” Jess froze. “Did you say… What?”

  “I’m 100% serious. Did you see how happy she was today? And Orson?”

  “I saw.” Jess had been trying all afternoon to remember the last time Tom told her to drop what she was doing and meet her in their bathroom naked. Well, never. The answer was never. “But she’s playing with fire. Having an affair with some guy right under Orson’s nose?”

  “Come on, Jess. You can’t be this naïve. It’s not an affair, and he’s not some guy. Tell me you know what he is.”

  Jess sighed. She knew, or thought she did. Some instinct had been explaining the situation to her throughout the whole surreal interaction this afternoon. It was why Parker hadn’t been bothered at all by Orson, the way a regular lover might have been. And why Belinda had recommended him as though he were skin cream, or a workout video. “He’s a…prostitute, right?”

  “That’s a crude way of putting it.” Delia, always proper. “I’d call him an escort.”

  The confirmation took Jess aback. It’s not that she found the idea of prostitution shocking—Jess wasn’t naïve, despite Delia’s teasing. She just always thought of it as something that happened in
other places—not their sleepy, affluent suburb, where the biggest conflicts were about trim paint color and trees on the property line. “Whatever you call it, I can’t believe the way she was acting in front of her husband. She’s lucky he doesn’t suspect something.”

  “She’s lucky he does,” Delia corrected. “At least, on some level he does. Did you see how attentive he was to her? And all those trips?”

  Jess was fully aware Delia had pointed out the trips on purpose. Jess had complained about her travel yearnings over the past couple of years, missing the adventurous life she and Tom used to love. That wasn’t even something she could blame on the kids, because they were old enough to join them now. But there was always something more pressing. Like the work Jess should be doing right now, instead of having the most insane conversation ever with Delia. “They seem happy. Good for them.”

  “That’s exactly it,” Delia said. “It should be us being that happy. When was the last time you had a high-quality, screeching orgasm? I mean, while your husband was in the room?”

  Not counting the fabulous line of products from Pure Indulgences, obviously.

  “That’s beside the point. My marriage is fine. Just because every day isn’t a Chris Isaak video doesn’t mean Tom and I aren’t happy. This is real life, Delia. I don’t need to hire a prostitute for meaningless, awesome sex.”

  “Don’t be crass. I’m not suggesting that anyone should have sex with a prostitute.” Delia sounded offended. “None of us has to have sex with him.”

  “What are you saying, then? Because even if I could afford actual tennis lessons, they’d do nothing for my marriage.” Jess paused. “What do you mean, ‘none of us’?”

  “I’m saying, what if our husbands had the same impression that Orson did today? What if we hire this guy—you, me, and Carras, I bet Belinda can get us like a group discount or something—and we pay him to make our husbands jealous? God, if Gage would look at me the way Orson devoured Belinda with his eyes today…”

  Jess thought about the kiss at the table, tried to remember the last time Tom had done something embarrassingly affectionate in public. Or anywhere. “Where would I get the money, and how would I explain it to Tom?”