Homecoming

by Janet Wellington

  “Ah, so he chose the right time to get on the elevator.”

  Jake turned his head and looked at her above his sunglasses, wiggling his eyebrows. “Don’t get all metaphysical on me.”

  She held her hand up. “Promise. Go on...”

  “Mr. Shelton didn’t say anything then, but the next day my position mysteriously had been modified. I got invited to observe at some of the planning meetings, which were pretty much free-form brainstorming sessions.”

  “—that you’re so good at,” she added.

  “Mr. Shelton—Carl—asked for my input one day, and my ideas were added to the pot. They ended up presenting my campaign to the client and at that moment I started climbing the corporate ladder. I still can’t believe he took a chance on me based on one idea, but thank God I’ve managed to pretty much keep my streak going.”

  “He sounds like a rarity in the corporate world.”

  “Oh, he is. He’s mentored me since day one, so he and I have gotten pretty close over the years—more like the father I should have had, maybe. I’ve got it made.”

  “And it sounds like they appreciate you there.”

  “Tillie always told me I’d ‘found my niche’ at Think Tank. I enjoy the work and the people I manage are great—my assistant takes infinitely good care of me, like I told you before—benefits are good, and the future looks promising. I have no complaints.”

  “And you’re up for a promotion.”

  “It would mean more travel, and a much bigger salary that goes with increased pressure and responsibility. It’s everything I’ve been working for all these years.”

  “Competition?”

  “Primarily Rod, who’s been snapping at my heels for years. I’ve managed to ignore him for the most part, which really irritates the hell out of him.”

  “Seems like he plays dirty.”

  “He’s really pretty good, though. Better qualified than I am if you consider his MBA from the University of Michigan, and how independent he is. I’ve seen him go through a slew of secretaries, though. He’s pretty aloof, holds onto everything pretty close, keeps everyone in the dark as much as he can. And he puts up a very convincing front that he’s a big team player, but I think he’s really just trying to build some kind of dynasty there. He’d love to be president one day, and doesn’t care how many people he steps on along the way.”

  “Does Mr. Shelton know all this?”

  “I think he does. Sometimes I think Carl might be giving Rod enough rope to hang himself—testing him to see if he’s got what it takes. He’s so self-sufficient....”

  Cory heard the wistfulness in his voice and an ache squeezed her heart, knowing he had bared his soul when he’d shared his disability with her, revealing his vulnerability. If this Mr. Shelton had any sense or intelligence, he was probably aware of Rod’s dirty little tricks and hopefully put more weight on Jake’s creativity and problem solving abilities than Rod’s education.

  “Sounds to me like you’re the perfect person in the perfect job. Can’t ask for much more than that.” Except maybe to share it all with someone at the end of the day. Did he feel that way?

  “I’m happy with what I’ve accomplished.”

  But are you happy? She buried the question as soon as it formed in her mind, instead asking, “Does your father know how successful you’ve become?”

  Jake raked his fingers through his hair which had become tousled in the wind, then he gripped the stick to downshift around a tight curve, using the time to gather his thoughts. Was he ready to answer these kinds of questions? This was Cory, he reminded himself. If anyone would understand, she would.

  “That day you found me out and I left in a huff for a drive,” he began, “on the way back into town I stopped at the board and care where my old man is living.”

  “How’d he look?”

  He paused for a moment. “Old. Really, really old. I didn’t even recognize him at first.”

  “It’s been a long time. People change.”

  “When Mabel Johnston let me in, she told me he might not know me because of the Alzheimer’s, but that his health was fine; that he had good days and bad days. I’m not sure what she meant, exactly. Did you take care of people like him?”

  “A few. With Alzheimer’s, sometimes it’s primarily the personality that disintegrates.”

  “I don’t know. He seemed his same old belligerent self to me. Reminded me of old times. None of them good. He was a mean bastard, Cory, really mean. And I’d be willing to bet he’s only gotten worse.” Sharp memories rushed to the surface and he swallowed to keep the bile from rising in his throat, amazed at the instant response his body had to his past. His old man wasn’t worth it. He shoved thoughts of his father aside, just as he had most of his life.

  “Did he hit you?” Her voice was soft and filled with concern, as though she was ready for the worst.

  “Let’s just say he’s wasn’t one of those ‘spare the rod’ guys—he didn’t hesitate to let his fists do the talking. It started the first day I moved in and lasted until I got big enough that he must have been scared I’d take him down. Most of the time he was drunk; the next day he didn’t even remember half the stuff he did to me.”

  “You hid it well.”

  “I know. I got good at hiding a lot.” He glanced at her, but she was staring straight ahead and he was glad to not see the look in her eyes, afraid he’d break down if he saw too much sympathy there. He stared back at the road. “He was cruel, Cory, and—probably because I was so young—somehow I assumed he had the right to do anything he wanted because he took me in after my mom died.”

  “Did you ever tell Tillie?”

  “No. Now I know I should have. She’d have probably slapped a lawsuit on him so fast...no, she never knew how he—” The words had been right on his lips, coming so easily. Then he pulled them back.

  “You can tell me anything, Jake. You know that.”

  He turned his head again to look at her face as he pulled to a stop at a traffic light. This time, she was staring straight at him. Her chin was tilted up, her eyes focused, almost steely. She was trying to be strong for him, strong for Jake-the-little-boy. He looked away as the light changed to green, relieved to be moving again. “I think what I hated most was when he’d put me in the basement.”

  “To punish you?”

  “He’d lock the door and I’d never know if it would be a few hours or a couple days. He’d get drunk and forget I was even down there. When he was sober enough to wonder where the hell I was, he’d be screaming my name in the house and in the street. Finally he’d check the basement and slap me for not answering him right away. I guess he figured I was down there hiding from him. He never bothered to think that the door was locked from the outside.”

  He wiped his mouth and inhaled sharply. When she didn’t say anything, he continued. “I smartened up pretty quick. Always made sure there was water and a little food hidden down there. When I was really young I’d pretend I was camping or that I was a knight on some kind of quest and I’d been captured and thrown in the dungeon.”

  “That’s horrible, Jake. I’m so sorry.”

  “He told me stories of his own old man, sometimes. There were those times, just before he got really wasted, when he’d get kind of funny—nostalgic, almost. His eyes would glaze over a little and he talked about how he’d grown up in Faythe. How he’d never finished school and had to get a job when he was in the eighth grade, and how his old man treated him.”

  “The same as he treated you?”

  “Exactly. So, the gene pool ends with me. It’s what I promised myself a long time ago. What got me through it, was knowing I would never risk it—that I wouldn’t ever get married or bring a kid into the world and chance carrying on the Randall tradition.”

  They were both quiet for a few minutes, then Cory asked, “Did he know you at Mabel’s?”

  “I think so. Before I left, I talked to him a little. He accused me of being interested in his mo
ney. Insulted me. The usual. You think he’s aware of what’s happening to him now?”

  “It depends. If he’s in the beginning stages of the disease, he might. But there’ll be days when he won’t connect with the world at all. He might panic at a sudden noise, or be afraid of someone he’s seen every day for years. Eventually he won’t know his past at all, which is kind of a blessing.”

  “Then what?”

  “You sure you want to hear this?”

  Without looking at her, he nodded. Why did he even care? His old man had managed just fine without any contribution from him and, besides, Jake was pretty sure his father would rather spit in the wind before he’d allow him to have any say, anyway.

  “End stage Alzheimer’s can be pretty ugly. The patient can’t talk or walk, sometimes they have trouble eating. It gets...complicated. Tough decisions sometimes have to be made.”

  He let her last words die in the silence between them. He had a feeling she was probably sugar-coating it, but it was enough for now.

  After a few minutes, she asked, “You mind if I snooze a little while you drive?”

  “Nah. I’m fine. I’ll just daydream about what I’m going to do to Rod when I’m back at work next month. Payback will be sweet.”

  Cory turned her head away from Jake and leaned back against the headrest. Eventually, the scenery began to blur as she succumbed to the pull of sleep, not waking until the first blare of a car horn as they neared downtown Chicago.

  She glanced at her watch. They’d made really good time and she had a feeling she’d probably been better off asleep than keeping an eye on the speedometer. Jake seemed completely relaxed at the wheel, expertly weaving the car through the congested traffic.

  “We’re almost there,” he said as he pointed out the windshield toward a block of impressive, tall buildings. “That’s where I live. The one with all the glass.”

  Her gaze followed his finger and she looked at the breathtakingly tall, modern building, its graduated glass windows drawing her gaze upward. Halfway up the building she glimpsed a bit of green, a patio garden perhaps or maybe the outdoor eating area of a restaurant. The building was mixed-use with high-rise apartments above retail stores. As they got closer she saw there was even a Starbucks tucked in between the Gucci and the Ferragamo stores on the street level.

  Jake pulled into the building’s underground garage and stopped at the valet station. A uniformed young man rushed to open his door and Jake walked around the front of the car to help her out.

  He nodded at the valet, saying, “Hey, Brent. She’s all yours. Oh, and we’ve got some things in the trunk. Will you see they get upstairs?”

  The valet’s face brightened and he grinned at Jake before he jumped into the driver’s seat and sped away.

  “He wants one someday,” he explained, “so I know he’ll take care of it.”

  Cory smiled at his nonchalance—most men would have cringed at seeing a fresh-faced teenager behind the wheel of their pride and joy. She followed Jake to the elevator where he slipped a card key in a special slot that gave them an express ride up to the penthouse.

  The elevator door opened into a small lobby. The tall, intricately carved double doors were soon opened by Jake and Cory stepped into his apartment.

  “This is home,” he said. “Our bags should be right up—I’ll wait out here for them. Go ahead and look around, if you want. Kitchen’s through there if you’re thirsty. There should be Evian and an assortment of sodas; my housekeeper keeps it pretty well stocked.”

  Cory chewed on the insides of her cheeks so she wouldn’t gush out loud at the opulence of the apartment. The view of the lake was incredible; the decor just as dazzling.

  “Did you do all this?” she called to him.

  He poked his head through the doorway to answer her. “Nah, it came furnished.”

  She swore she’d seen the room before on the pages of a magazine. Architectural Digest, , or maybe Chicago Magazine. Turquoise leather couches strategically placed, finely woven geometric-patterned rugs, a scattering of pillows to soften things a little, modern art on all the walls, glass and chrome coffee table and end tables. A polished chrome bar filled one corner of the large room, tall stools lined up underneath, and a mirrored wall reflected shelves filled with every size glass imaginable.

  On one end of the bar, a bottle of champagne was chilling in what looked like a lead crystal ice bucket, and next to it was a plate of chocolate-covered strawberries covered in gold flecks.

  When she turned around, their bags were being rolled in on a cart. Jake was talking in a lowered voice with the young man who’d delivered the cart; his hand was on the bell hop’s shoulder and they shared a laugh. The bags were quickly offloaded, her garment bag draped over a chairback. Jake gave him a tip and they shook hands.

  “You okay?” he asked as he closed the door.

  “Me? Oh, fine. You should have warned me, though. This place—”

  “It’s nice enough. Good for the mandatory social stuff for the agency. Clients love the view.”

  “Don’t you?”

  “I’m just not here that much, I guess.”

  She pointed at the bar. “There’s champagne.”

  “Something they automatically do when I come home from a trip. Maid service, laundry service...champagne service.” He shrugged.

  “What a lovely idea.” Keep it light, keep it light—don’t act like this is your first trip to anyone’s penthouse, let alone Jake Randall’s penthouse. What would one of his dates do?

  He held up the champagne bottle. “Want some?”

  She chickened out. Champagne always went to her head. No, what she needed was time to adjust. Adjust to the new planet she’d just dropped onto...planet Jake. “Maybe later. What I’d really like is a shower and primping time.”

  “Why don’t you take the main bathroom. It’s roomier. Take your time. I’m going to check some email, make some calls. We should leave around six or so.”

  “Which way?” She put the dress bag over her arm and grabbed her overnight bag, then went in the direction he pointed. He was already focused on setting up his laptop, eyes focused on the tiny screen.

  The bedroom was all male, bare of any personal items; the color scheme black and white. The contemporary-styled furniture was of polished ebony; a four-poster with a sheer cotton organdy canopy dominated the room, and the suite had matched dressers and night stands. There was a sitting area next to the floor-to-ceiling windows where an overstuffed black leather recliner sat on a red Berber area rug.

  There was nothing in the room that told her anything. It was clean, nothing out of place. Elegant, but impersonal.

  The bathroom was bigger than Tillie’s bedroom and every surface was white Italian marble; there were towel warming racks, and two fluffy bathrobes hanging on wall hooks. Were there always two? She ran her hand along the smooth, cool counter. There were double sinks, and a spacious Jacuzzi tub; all the fixtures were polished gold and modern in style. There was a separate shower made of clear glass block in one corner. In an opposite corner, makeup lights surrounded a round mirror on the wall above a low counter.

  She walked to the vanity and pulled the chair out, then sat down to look at herself. Timid eyes stared back and she shook away the thought that immediately sprang to her mind. Sorry, Jake, you’d better go on without me; I’ve got one of those awful headaches....

  No. She had the perfect dress...she was going.

  “You have everything you need in there?” Jake’s voice came through the crack in the door and echoed in the big room.

  “I’m never coming out—just have my meals delivered in here.” Keep it light, keep it funny. It was her new strategy and she was sticking with it.

  “Cory, things are a little nuts at the office. Would you mind terribly if we met each other there? I’d like to go in and check on a couple things and spend some time with my boss. I can have my tux delivered there, change and just walk over to the Sheraton.”

>   “Sure. I’ll just get a taxi—”

  “I’ve already arranged for a car to pick you up at 6:30—just tell the doorman your name.”

  “Okay.”

  “Cory?”

  “Yes?”

  “Thanks for doing this.”

  She heard his footsteps on the hardwood floor in the hall and she checked the time; she hoped three hours was enough time to transform herself. She had a feeling she’d need every minute.

  She laid out her newly purchased cosmetics on the counter—glad Sara had insisted on new makeup before they’d left Tony’s. Her hodgepodge of ancient eye shadows and blush wouldn’t have done justice to the personae she needed to create for the evening. The salon’s esthetician had easily chosen everything she needed to compliment her skin tone, hair color, and even the shade of her new dress.

  Sara had peeled off the price tags of the Alterna White Truffle shampoo and conditioner Tony had suggested Cory add to her purchases, simply telling her if it was good enough for Jennifer Aniston, it was good enough for her. And besides, when would she ever have the chance again to treat her hair to white truffles and Caspian Sea caviar extract?

  With all her new bottles and cases unpacked, the vanity counter looked more like the cosmetic department at Bloomingdale’s. Would she even remember what to do with everything?

  She picked up her new exfoliating citrus shower scrub, the Jennifer-Aniston-shampoo-and-conditioner, putting both inside the pristine shower; then stripped off her clothes.

  The water felt like a tropical shower; there were extra shower heads and knobs along the walls inside the stall. A shower for two? Yum. She scrubbed her skin with a loofah and shoved away the picture that kept materializing of Jake in the shower with some gorgeous blonde or redhead...or both? She shaved her legs, careful to avoid nicking herself; then shampooed and conditioned her hair.

  When she was finished with the luxurious shower, she patted her skin with a heated towel, then wrapped up her hair in another towel and finally herself in one of the white fluffy robes. Why not? Somehow it helped confirm the role she was going to play tonight.