Sins of Innocence by Jean Stone Page A

kicked off her shoes and, plate in hand, made her way down the wooden stairs to the beach.
    Ginny knew she was getting restless again. She’d be forty-three years old in January and was still trying to figure out what the fuck it was all about. She dropped down on the sand and munched at the crab, as she stared into the moonless sea. Jake was the best husband she’d had, and Ginny had been with him five years—longer than she had with any of the other three. But though his demands were fewer, like the others, Jake wanted her to be
his
, and she’d yet to decide if it was worth the price she had to pay for financial security.
    She polished off the avocado slices, tossed the plate into the sea, then drew her knees up to her chest. Sand ground into her ass like tiny shards of glass. In the distance Ginny could hear the muted sounds of the senseless bullshit.
    “I thought I saw you sneak out here.” It was Jake’s voice, behind her.
    Ginny looked up to see his silhouette against the lights from the beach house. “I was bored,” she said.
    He squatted beside her. “I know you hate these parties. I only ask you to come when they’re really important to me.”
    “Yeah. I know.”
    He put his arm around her naked shoulders. She pulled away.
    “Aren’t you cold?” he asked.
    “No.”
    He removed his arm and sat down. “Jorgenson likes you.”
    Ginny stared at the ocean. “I don’t know why you have to go through this. You already have the job.”
    Jake shook his head. “It’s not because of this job. It’s for the one that might come after. Jorgenson has interests all over the world. And contacts.”
    “You’re almost sixty years old, Jake. And you don’t need any more fucking money.”
    Jake winced as though he’d been stung. “How do you think I manage to keep you in hundred-dollar haircuts and fifteen-hundred-dollar dresses that you feel free to lounge around on a beach in?”
    Ginny looked down at her dress. It hadn’t cost fifteen hundred. More like twenty-three hundred.
    “What would you rather have me do?” Jake went on. “Stay home and play with you all day? Go to the health club with you? Eat watercress sandwiches at the Wilshire every noon?”
    Ginny looked back to the sea. “We could travel,” she said. “Monte Carlo, Hong Kong, Rio. Anywhere. Just to get out of this shit hole. Find some action.”
    Jake was quiet for a moment, then he spoke quietly. “So I could watch you hit on a different bartender every night?”
    Ginny didn’t answer. They never talked about her escapades, but Ginny had always known that Jake knew. Shit. He was an old man, with neither the interest nor the ability to get it up often enough. So he let her have her fun and probably thought she really got off on it. And she did. At least in the beginning. Christ—she smiled as the bartender’s contorted face came to her mind—Jake should’ve seen what happened a few minutes ago.
    “Besides, Ginny,” Jake spoke again. “It’s not the money. It’s the opportunity.”
    “For what? To be able to keep coming to these shit-ass parties?”
    “More like the chance to keep learning. To interact.”He was thoughtful for a moment, then added, “To stay in the game.”
    “Jesus,” Ginny whispered, and dug her nails into the sand. Then she stood up and brushed off her dress. “I want to go home,” she announced.
    Jake pulled himself up. “Wait, Ginny.”
    She turned and looked at him.
    “Why don’t you come on the shoot with me? A few weeks in Napa is bound to be better than hanging around L.A.”
    Ginny laughed. “Can’t. Got my charity work, you know.”
    Jake bent his head. “I hate it when you lie like that.”
    “Oh, Christ, it’s not like he’ll ever find out. Besides, doesn’t that make me sound like the perfect wife?”
    “Ginny …”
    She turned on her heel and headed back to the house.
    “I’m not going to any fucking vineyard,” she called back. “You’re lucky you got me to come here.”