Ties That Bind

By Jeannine D. Van Eperen

When waiter Miguel glances up from the tray of food he has delivered he sees a beautiful girl sashaying through the fancy dining room wearing low-slung jeans with a ruby winking in her belly-button. He is stunned by her beauty as well as her audacity to enter Casa Rodriquez so inappropriately attired. He marvels at her poise. Trinity holds his gaze while thinking the handsome hunk is just what she is looking for to carry out her private plans. She winks.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Wings ePress, Inc.
• Release date: Aug 18, 2023
• ISBN: 9781597051903

Book preview

Dedication

For Lou and Danny

One

H ey, boy!

Miguel shifted his eyes toward the sound of the shrill female voice. The sun glared off of the pool’s surface and made seeing her difficult. She sat in the shade under a stand of palm trees before her private cabana, dressed in a bright-colored full-skirted garment of some sort. For an instant he tried to recall what the type of garment was called, but could not remember. He squinted. "You talkin’ to me?

What’re you doing?

Cleanin’ the pool, ma’am.

Oh.

Miguel continued his work, but the woman’s gaze made him nervous. This was only the second pool he had cleaned by himself. He felt her steady gaze. You want me to come back later? He hoped she would answer yes.

No, go on with your work. She put down something, probably a book, he thought, and stared at him. I don’t think I’ve seen you before.

You haven’t.

The woman rose from the chair on which she reclined and ambled toward him on stiletto heels, her long loose skirt swirling about her. She smiled. New on the job, huh?

He turned toward her again, eying her fully. This job, yes. He sighed. I can come back later. Her watching made him uneasy. She was a good looking female, her breasts large enough to even stand out in the multi-colored tent she wore. Too old for him. Probably in her thirties. Miguel often flirted with the younger girls whose parents brought them along to enjoy the Puerto Rican resort where he worked, but he knew without a doubt this woman was off-limits.

She stood beside him now. Where’d you work before?

Before? The lady was a small woman and he peered down at her.

You said you were new on the job. She brought her right hand up shielding her eyes from the rising sun.

Oh, this job, yes, but I’ve been with the resort almost a year. I wait tables.

A waiter.

Yes. He looked at her from under his lashes, not wanting to completely return her gaze. It might seem too bold and get him in trouble. Guests were not supposed to be aware of the workers. Just do their job quickly and quietly and not disturb anyone. Usually, no one was around and about this early. Miguel did not have a watch but he was sure he had not been at her pool longer than ten minutes. Probably not even six yet; however the morning sun was very bright.

You waiting tables tonight?

He nodded.

What’s your name?

Miguel. Miguel Santuro. Go away and let me work. Why did I tell her my last name? What if she reports me for something? Why would she report you? You’ve done nothing. He tried to maintain a friendly expression as he mentally did battle with himself.

You’ll probably be wearing a lot more than you’ve got on now. She chuckled.

He could feel his skin heat in a blush. Damn her! He admitted to himself that he was scantily clad, wearing only white trunks. I didn’t think anyone would be around this early, he stammered. I’ll put on my shirt.

Never mind. She brought her long red-nailed hand to his shoulder and touched him momentarily. He stiffened, did not want her touch. I’ll go inside now. I’ve a feeling I make you nervous. She didn’t wait for him to answer but strolled off.

Miguel watched her undulating figure retreat for a moment but then could not see her beyond the growth of bushes and several palm trees. Miguel hoped she returned to her cottage. He bent to lower the pool vacuum into the water, observing momentarily as it skimmed the pool.

Pool maintenance workers were allowed to wear swim trunks since it was sometimes necessary to enter the pools to retrieve an object or stalled pool vacuum. Later in the day, he hoped to find an excuse to enter a pool. Usually, Miguel swam in the ocean. He went about his work, hoping he did a good job. If he learned yet another trade, he considered it another notch on his belt. He chuckled at the thought. He had little experience in anything, but then, he was just nineteen.

ABIGAIL WELLINGTON kicked off her high-heeled sandals as soon as she entered the cottage. She hated wearing heels but being just five foot one and a half, she endured aching feet except in the privacy of her own quarters. In her youth she aspired to be a Rockette, kicking her heels and dancing every night, but since she did not make the height requirements, she settled for snagging a producer. Sometimes when they were alone she danced for him. She sat on a footstool and rubbed her aching feet, smiling, remembering how surprised everyone was when Melvin Duke Wellington married little Abigail Seymour ten years ago. She had been nothing, a bit player but she caught his roving eye and held it. Abigail picked up her shoes and headed to her bedroom.

Melvin was sitting up in bed, still reading. Probably doesn’t even realize I left. Still reading, sweetie?

Umm.

Must be a good script.

Umm. It is. He took his eyes off the reading material long enough to see Abigail drop the float she wore to the floor. Delicious.

You hungry, Duke? Her expression was one of innocence. It was a look she had perfected, and it had hooked the lecher, or she decided she ought to think former lecher. Abigail was the fourth of his wives and God only knew how many other liaisons, but since finding her he had settled down.

Come here, you.

Don’t let me take you away from your hot property. She undulated toward him slowly.

Duke laughed and reached for her. My favorite hot property is right before me. Let’s not waste time, Lovie. He playfully grabbed for her. Besides I need to rest my eyes for a bit.

MIGUEL WORKED AS QUIETLY as he could, not wishing to disturb any of the resorts wealthy occupants. He had six pools to do and then he could nap before it was time to get ready for his evening job. Being a waiter, even a junior waiter such as he, was a good paying job. The patrons usually gave good tips, and Miguel had quickly learned just how to please the resort’s dinner guests to garner the best gratuities. He knew some of the women guests found him charming, and he admitted, he could be when he wanted to be. He could also maintain an aloof manner when prudence deemed that the best policy. He believed that being a waiter could be helpful in learning to act and thought that might be the foremost reason so many would-be actors worked as restaurant help. Two of the men he worked beside had confessed this acting ambition to Miguel.

As he worked, he daydreamed. Some day he would own a large house, preferably in the States. He had never been to the mainland but going there and making money was his prime ambition. He had no idea how he would achieve this goal, but achieve it he would. Perhaps, he could be a big star like Ricky Martin, a Puerto Rican who had made good, even marrying beauty queens and actresses. Some of his friends talked about nothing else but making it like Martin did. Latinos of all sorts were in style now and he was half Latino. No one knew he was half German. His mother used her own name and gave it to Miguel when the German sailor ran off for greener pastures. He was not certain whether he was a bastard, but he deemed it most likely. His mother, too, had run off three years ago, and he had not heard from her since then. Naturally, he dropped out of school, but later somehow managed to take tests that gave him the equivalent of a high school diploma.

Ricky Martin, what a charmed life he led! Some day I’ll be more important than he. He grinned. A rock star sounded intriguing, but what he really wanted to be was a physician, someone who could help people. If someday, he could earn enough money, doing whatever, he might save for college. Miguel shrugged his shoulders, wondering just how he would reach his dream. He didn’t have a great voice like Martin. He had no talent save for science and math, which his school grades had proved, but he had looks and drive, and he believed that had to count for something. Thus far, he had not found a job where his high school good grades in science and math were considered for employment, only the ability to take orders from his bosses and patrons at whatever diner or restaurant hired him. Working at the plush resort restaurant was a big step from the hamburger house he previously put in his hours. Sometimes his feet and legs hurt from constant standing and walking and his back, too, ached from carrying heavy trays, but then he thought of the women waitresses, many of whom did the same work in high heels, and counted one of the blessings of being a male.

Miguel finished one pool and quietly and quickly moved on to the next.

IN ANOTHER PART OF the world, conservative Tustin, California, Presley Walters awoke groggy after a night of partying. He glanced at the bedside clock. Nine thirty-six. He heard the dim sounds of a vacuum. What day is it anyway? Presley thought for a moment than decided Saturday. His father would be home unless he had gone out on some emergency. A light rap on his door and his mother’s words told him she was home.

Pres? Honey, are you going to sleep all day?

I’m up, he answered, and swung his legs off of the bed and grabbed his robe.

I brought coffee.

He smiled. Good old mom. He knew she spoiled him. Just a sec. He drew his satin robe around him and went to the door. You’re a saint, you know?

Rowena smiled as she handed him the steaming cup. You were out late last night.

Yeah. A great party. Ran a little longer than I thought.

Well, you’re a big boy now. Nineteen. You ought to be able to stay out beyond midnight once in a while. Rowena put her hands on her son’s shoulders and brushed his cheek with a light kiss. I’m glad you’ll be home for a while. I missed you.

He took a sip of coffee before answering, I missed you, too. He set the cup on the night stand. Thanks for bringing me a cup of java. I’ll be up and at ’em soon.

Dismissed, his mother headed for the door. Dad’s been off golfing. He should be home soon. Maria’s busy cleaning, so I’ll get your breakfast. Scrambled eggs?

Yeah. Fine. Presley gave his mother a parting gift. You make the best scrambled eggs in the world, you know.

PRESLEY BARELY GLANCED in the mirror while he brushed his teeth, and quickly took a shower, setting the hot water to turn cold to rejuvenate him so he could face a boring day at home. He got out of the shower and wiped away steam that still clung to the mirror. Hmm. Don’t look too bad. He had expected his eyes to be bloodshot after all the booze he had guzzled. He had never drunk so much at one time. His eyes brown with gold flecks stared back at him as he ran a comb through his wavy dark brown hair. He was proud of his good looks and physique and he hoped he would not some day get a paunch like his father. Everyone said he had the wiry frame of a tennis player, so he had taken up the sport and proved that having the look and excelling were two different things altogether. A dedicated tennis player he wasn’t. But all in all, Presley thought he was too nice looking to spend his days digging into peoples’ intestines and stomachs like his father. He had no ambition to save the world, just have fun, and he hoped his father would not raise the roof when he told the man he had no intention of going back to Yale, no intention of becoming a clone of his father.

WHAT HAD YOU UP READING all night? Abigail asked as she lay spent and satisfied beneath her husband.

This property. A play based on an old novel. I had Ted Mueller write a new screenplay. The movie was done back in the early 50s and I think ought to be made again. Melvin rolled away from his wife. It needs just the right individual for the lead. We thought we had Nat Young all tied up but overnight he gave it a thumbs down. Melvin sighed and reached out to caress his wife’s breast. Need a young, dark haired, sexy stud.

That doesn’t sound like Nat Young to me.

Yeah, I know. He’s a good actor though and with makeup...

Abigail laughed. Sounds like our pool boy. Young. Dark haired. A real sexy stud.

Melvin frowned. You ain’t fooling around on me.

Ha! Abigail planted a big, sloppy kiss on Melvin’s cheek. Not me, but I’m sure he has his pick, if he wants. Just saw him for a sec.

A pool boy.

A waiter, too. That’s his regular job. He’s just helping out today.

Melvin started to get out of bed. He grabbed his tan terrycloth robe from the floor where it lay in a heap beside the bed. Maybe I’d better take a gander at the young man.

Oh, Duke, I’m sure he’s left by now. Abigail sat up and stared at her husband. You don’t even know if he can act or anything about him. How can you even think of considering a no talent boy who cleans pools and waits tables for a living?

Melvin gave a snort. "That’d really tick off old Nat Young. Replaced by an unknown. I can make anyone give a good performance. Remember that ding-a-ling who got an Oscar for my Love’s Promises? She couldn’t act for nothing! And I even made Nat look good. I’ve made up my mind to direct this one, too. I haven’t done that for awhile."

Oh, sweetie, you work too hard. You gotta take time out to enjoy life.

Hell, Abby, what d’ya think we’ve been doing this past week? Melvin plodded to the shower, dragging his robe behind him.

Abigail shrugged her shoulders, and dropped back on the pillow again. She chuckled to herself wondering what the good-looking kid who cleaned the pool would think of their conversation. Duke was just spouting off because he was ticked at Nat. She couldn’t understand Nat turning down a chance to work with Duke Wellington again. Duke had given Nat his first starring role. So much for gratitude in the business. It would serve Nat right if Duke did find some unknown and groom him. Someone who would outclass Nat Young. Abigail reached for the telephone on the table beside her bed and ordered room service. Wonder if the kid ever provides room service? Food or otherwise.

Two

Nat Young reclined in an overstuffed chair in his agent’s office in Los Angeles. He was casually dressed in tan shirt and trousers but looked elegant as he put out a cigarette, one of his many vices. He had condescended to come to downtown Los Angeles to make his agent happy, but he had made up his mind and no one was going to change it, not even George Oberlin, one of Hollywood’s best.

Nat, I don’t think you should have turned down Duke. He won’t take refusal lightly, Nat Young’s agent said. George sat behind his cluttered desk and looked at Nat sternly, adapting a fatherly attitude that usually proved to be successful in taming errant, puffed-ego actors into doing as he saw fit.

Nat gave George his most charming smile. That part isn’t me. I want to do the other one. It’ll make me be seen as a serious actor.

Being a serious actor isn’t going to put another Rolls in your garage, George Oberlin said. He studied the man before him. Yes, Nat Young was tall, dark and handsome. He made some women swoon, his bed was never empty, he was personable and photographed better than he actually looked, but he would never be a serious actor. He wasn’t Tom Hanks or Richard Burton. George personally thought Nat a little old for the part Duke tried to hand him, but he also thought working with Duke Wellington was in Nat’s best interests. He changed his stern demeanor, urged with a smile. Why don’t we call Duke back and tell him, you’ll do the flick?

Nat shook his head. Nope. My mind’s made up. I’m off to England so you’d just better finagle the best deal you can for me. That’s what I’m paying you for, isn’t it?

George nodded. Silly nincompoop! He didn’t express his contemptuous thoughts, but merely added, And for me to give you advice.

Nat smiled his boyish smile and stood. Well, you did and I thank you but I don’t agree. I need something meaty. I’m getting older, nearly thirty, and I can’t play pretty boys all the time.

What you say is true, but Duke Wellington isn’t a man to cross. George leaned forward hoping that Nat would stop his silly smirking and listen to reason. Duke made you into a star and...

And what? Nat chuckled. He can break me? I don’t think so. Besides, I very politely declined. I’m no Nicky Romano. He ought to see that and find someone who is more of that character.

George rose, deciding that the ass would never agree. He held his hand out to Nat. You’re right about that, but Duke’s right in wanting you. He could make you into Romano.

But I don’t want... Nat insisted, letting his words peter out like a stubborn child.

I’ll talk to the boys in Merry Old England and see if we can up the ante.

You do that. Nat shook George’s hand and sauntered out the door.

Asshole! George privately fumed, venting his anger for several minutes before punching in the numbers to reach Wellington’s cell phone number.

Wellington.

This is George.

SO?

He won’t do it. Nat’s one stupid, stubborn asshole!

Duke chuckled. Well, we agree on that.

Rick Austin might be available. George’s tone of voice told Wellington that the man was desperate to do something to mend any breach, Nat’s refusal might have caused between the two men.

Naw, I don’t think so. I’m thinking of finding some unknown.

Unknown? What unknown? Who?

Don’t know yet.

I thought you had production set for fall. That don’t give much time to find...

Yeah, I know, Duke cut in. He remembered his wife’s description of the pool boy, and having never seen the guy, decided anyway to