by Clara James
Her Last Love Affair
by
Clara James
Copyright © 2013 by Clara James
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Her Last Love Affair
All rights reserved.
This book is protected under the copyright laws of the United States of America. No part of this work may be used, reproduced, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording and faxing, or by any information storage and retrieval system by anyone but the purchaser for their own personal use.
This Book may not be reproduced in any form without the express written permission of Clara James, except in the case of a reviewer who wishes to quote brief passages for the sake of a review written for inclusions in a magazine, newspaper, or journal—and these cases require written approval from Clara James prior to publication. Any reproduction or other unauthorized use of the material or artwork herein is prohibited without the express written permission of the author.
Table of Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter One
Workaholic
Kyle Needham slammed his open palm on the desk and thrust his chair back. “You haven’t got enough to go on, Allie,” he insisted. “If we publish this, he’s going to sue.”
The young woman he spoke to paced the width of his office. “It’s the truth,” she argued, tossing the words over her shoulder. “Every single word of it is the truth. He can’t get away with pretending to be Mr. Squeaky Clean.” She continued to stride, her long legs taking her across the office in four steps. Reaching the wall, she spun on her heel and made short work of the return journey.
“I’m not saying you’re wrong,” Kyle sighed, recognizing the stubborn glare in her fiery brown eyes. “But you do not have enough evidence.”
“What about the statements from his ex-wife?” she quickly asked, halting her feet directly opposite his desk and folding her arms beneath her bosom.
Needham slowly shook his head, refusing to meet her stare. “It’s not enough, Allie, and you know it.”
Sucking her bottom lip between her teeth, she chewed thoughtfully on the soft flesh. She waited patiently for her boss to lift his eyes to hers, but sensed the wait was in vain. “I’m not letting this go,” she told him, as she flicked her head, tossing a few strands of dark brunette hair from her face.
“This isn’t up for discussion any more,” Needham responded flatly. “I’m reassigning you and as far as I’m concerned, that’s an end to it.”
“But-” she began.
“That’s the end of it,” he repeated, his tone stern.
A tiny muscle in Allie’s jaw clenched as she fought to maintain an already slender hold on her temper. “You want more evidence,” she huffed, exhaling a breath she’d been holding for almost too long. “Fine, I’ll get more evidence, but don’t take me off the story.”
Shaking his balding, weary head, Needham cast his eyes to the computer screen to his right. Fixing his gaze there, he pulled his chair back under the table and, with a sigh, lifted his hands to the keyboard.
“Chief,” Allie urged. “Chief,” she repeated more loudly than before, as it became apparent that she was not going to regain his attention. Allowing her arms to flop listlessly by her sides, she glanced helplessly at the ceiling. “I’ve been working on this for two months, you can’t just-”
The case for her story came to an abrupt halt, as a light tap sounded on the office door’s window. It was followed by the slow creak of hinges and a scruffy mop of sandy blonde hair that appeared in the opening. “Sorry to interrupt,” the face beneath the hair mumbled.
“It’s fine,” Needham stated, before Allie could open her mouth to tell the newcomer to go away. “Come in, Grant.”
“Oh,” the nervous youngster blurted. “It’s okay, sir,” he added, shaking his head. “I just came to get Allie.” Turning his focus towards the irascible female reporter, he flashed an apologetic smile. “There’s a phone call for you.”
“Just take a message,” she sighed, barely looking at the boyish-faced new recruit, whom she’d quickly come to view as being like a pesky younger brother.
“Umm,” he stalled. “Well, it sounded kinda important,” he carefully insisted, stepping back a pace, as though he anticipated an explosion.
Her eyes quickly left the frightened looking Grant to find her editor smiling benignly at her.
“Go ahead,” he nudged, jerking his head toward the door. “We’re done here anyway, remember?”
“We’re not done,” she argued, taking a small step backwards. “I’m not going to leave this,” she added, pointing her index finger at her employer. Despite herself, she took another step backwards, extending her right hand behind her and reaching for the door handle. “I’ve never let a story go yet,” she reminded him.
Needham wasn’t sure whether that was indicative of a threat or a promise, but he watched her go unable to dismiss his admiration for her steely determination; something that had prompted him to hire her six years previously. Knowing that he’d only managed to win round one, he sighed in preparation or the inevitable round two.
Allie left the editor’s office, closing the door more firmly than was necessary.
“I’m sorry, Al,” Grant mumbled still lurking nearby, but careful to keep out of arm’s reach. “I didn’t know you were discussing something important.”
Closing her eyes, Allie tried to take a calming breath. It did little to help, but, by the time she opened her eyes again, she couldn’t quite find it within herself to be angry at the office gofer. “It’s all right,” she said, aware that the words were spoken with such lethargy that even she didn’t believe the sentiment. “He’s trying to kill the Pelzer exposé,” she explained, her feet moving apathetically towards her desk.
“Oh,” Grant responded. “That sucks,” he shrugged, knowing how many hours she had devoted to building the story and having spent a few late nights searching for background on her behalf.
Tossing him a glance, she nodded. “Yeah, you could say that.”
“But it’s not going to stop you, right?” he added, enthusiastically. “You’re Allie Mclaren, nothing stands in your way.”
She managed a light chuckle, as she tried to show her gratitude for the impromptu pep talk. However, by the time she tossed herself into her chair, she couldn’t manage to keep the smile in place.
“Oh,” the young man added excitedly, placing a hand on her shoulder. “I know you said you weren’t interested, but that guy from the press conference last week keeps calling. He offered to take you to dinner on Friday, and if that’s no good, a movie on Saturday.”
Shaking her head, she picked up a pile of haphazardly scattered papers on her desk. “I told him, I’m too busy,” she sighed, repeating herself for what felt like the hundredth time.
“Well,” Grant urged, squeezing her tense shoulder beneath his long fingers. “He seems keen, so if you change your mind…” As his words trailed off, he quirked his eyebrows suggestively.
“Is that the phone call you dragged me out her for?” she demanded, ignoring the innuendo of his brow and rummaging frustratedly through the sheaves of
paper.
“No,” he laughed, removing his hand and pointing at the phone in the far corner of her desk. “Line two,” he told her, before his head jerked up at the screech of his name. “Duty calls,” he muttered, following the direction of the impatient yell.
Allie raised her left hand in a half-hearted wave, before reaching for the telephone. Quickly gripping the receiver, she scooped it up onto her shoulder and clamping it to her cheek. With both hands once again free, she returned to her search through the mess on her desk. “Allie Mclaren,” she said flatly into the phone.
“Oh, Ms. Mclaren,” a female voice returned. “I’m calling from Dr. Reynolds office. He’d like you to come down to see him.”
The frantic movement of Allie’s fingers slowed, before coming to a complete halt. “What is it?” she asked in barely more than a whisper.
***
Dr. Reynold’s office was as homely as any doctor’s office can be. The cream colored walls were adorned with Monet prints and he offered his patients a high-backed brown leather chair. Everything on his mahogany desk was neatly arranged and, for reasons she couldn’t explain, Allie had always wanted to shift something out of line or, better still, tip his pen holder over.
This time, however, she paid no attention to the compulsively organized desk. Instead, she sat quietly and almost completely still. The only movement was the light swing of her right leg, which was crossed over its partner. She watched the black court shoe, as it swayed back and forth. Momentarily her eyes traveled to the bruise on the inside of her ankle, which was not very well masked by the tan pantyhose she wore. Another war wound; an injury she’d picked up while in the scrum of a press conference. Her brain was unable to focus on anything other than the slow, hypnotic motion of her foot. It was as though anything else, anything even slightly more significant, would be overwhelming.
“I’m sorry to keep you waiting.” The deep voice came from behind her, but she didn’t bother to turn around. She could hear the soft brush of his pant legs, as he made his way swiftly across the room. Allie caught a brief glimpse of the doctor in her peripheral vision, as he approached her right hand side and continued his route around the desk.
“That’s all right,” she said, her gaze lifting from her shoe, as she forced a smile.
Dr. Reynolds didn’t return the grin. The middle-aged man, with a slight potbelly, gently smoothed over his tie as he sat down in a chair almost identical to the one Allie was using. “Thanks for coming in so quickly,” he nodded, running a hand through his black hair, which was speckled with strands of white.
“Well,” Allie murmured. “You’re secretary said it was important.”
The doctor offered a hum in response, while the hand that had been in his hair dropped to the side of his face. One chunky index finger rubbed thoughtfully at his jaw. “We’ve got the results from your blood test,” he stated. “I’m afraid it’s not good news.”
“I’m still anemic?” Allie offered, trying to preempt what the doctor had to say.
“I’m sorry,” the doctor said, looking Allie directly in the eyes. “It’s much worse than anemia.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Allie,” Reynolds said gently. “You’ve got leukemia.”
There followed a deathly silence. Allie could no longer hear the steady roll of traffic outside, she couldn’t hear the hum of the air conditioning. “Cancer?” The word was half question, half resigned statement.
“I’m so sorry,” Reynolds responded calmly and professionally.
“But…” Allie stammered, her head shaking in disbelief. “I…No,” she eventually insisted, as though that simple statement of denial would mean that it wasn’t true.
“You’re suffering from the acute myeloid form of the disease,” Dr. Reynolds said in the same even manner he’d used since he walked into the room. “I want to put you on an aggressive course of chemo right away.”
Allie’s head stilled, as she began to digest the doctor’s words. The beat of her heart became more prominent, the rhythm no more quick than usual, but every pulse stronger than the one before. Her breathing slowed, as she drew in deep lungfuls of oxygen. “Am I going to die?” she asked simply, fixing Reynolds with an unflinching stare.
There was a moment’s pause before he responded. “There’s a chance that with strong doses of chemotherapy and radio-”
“How long?” she interrupted, knowing that the man’s brief pause answered her question more truthfully than the positive spin he was now trying to put on the situation.
Reynolds cocked his head to one side, regarding the stoic features of the young woman before him. “I don’t know,” he honestly replied. “These things aren’t an exact science. It depends how quickly the cancer spreads to your organs or…” The thought trailed off, as he noticed the glazed eyes of his patient. “Allie,” he nudged. “I know an excellent oncologist.”
Allie was no longer looking at her doctor. Instead, she was looking through him. Her eyes landed on the window, the thousands of people that were going about their daily business. She couldn’t help but wonder what was on their minds. What stupid, unimportant things were they worrying about? Moreover, what inconsequential things had she spent the last fifteen years worrying about? How much time had been wasted? How many opportunities squandered?
Dr. Reynolds was still talking, explaining her options and the success rates of chemotherapy. But Allie didn’t hear him, as she rose slowly to her feet. “Thank you for your time,” she mumbled, tossing the strap of her leather briefcase over her shoulder.
“I really think we need to discuss this further,” Reynolds replied, placing his hands on the desk and pushing himself upright. However, he knew that his young patient was no longer listening. “It doesn’t have to be right now,” he quickly added, hoping to draw her attention back to him. “But if we start chemo as soon as possible, there’s a chance-”
Allie had already reached the door when those words found her ears. Her fingers firmly gripping the handle, she twisted her head over her shoulder. “An aggressive course?” she asked, repeating his words from a few minutes earlier. “Which means it’s going to make me sick, very sick. I’ll have to spend days, maybe even weeks or months in the hospital and then what?” she demanded.
Reynolds made no effort to reply, he knew it was a rhetorical question. He simply offered a sympathetic shake of his head.
“I don’t want to die like that,” she insisted. “If this is it, then I’m going to make the most of it while I’m still able to.” Her unwavering statement ended with a smile. “I’m not wasting any more time,” she told him, yanking the door open and striding through the waiting area with her head held high.
Chapter Two
Breaking Out
Three soft taps reverberated from the door and filled the small living room, causing Allie to wrench herself from her comfortable corner of the couch. Tossing the book she’d been reading onto the glass coffee table in front of her, she padded barefoot across the hardwood floor. With a quick glance at her watch, she reached the door and gently pulled it open.
“Hey!” The greeting was joined by a swirl of action, as a blonde-haired woman breezed across the threshold. “I know you said two,” she quickly added, barely pausing for breath, as she pulled at the tight-fitting skirt that was riding up her thighs. “I got caught at this stupid meeting, you know how it is.” It was barely an apology, but it was as close as the woman ever came to offering one.
“It’s okay,” Allie responded, eyes wide as she found herself once again amazed by the mass of energy that was squeezed into an incredible hour-glass figure. She had been friends with Rosalinda Evans for almost five years. And, in all of that time, she’d been at a loss to quite explain why. On the surface of it, the women had nothing in common. They were in the same business, sort of, but writing for a fashion magazine was hardly Allie’s idea of serious journalism. Rosalinda was also a party girl, more concerned with having a good time than wi
th where her life was heading. If she wanted to get ahead in her career, she did it by flirting with her male features editor, not by putting in any additional work. In short, she was the polar opposite of Allie. And, if Allie were honest with herself, perhaps that’s why she was so drawn to the wild child. Rosalinda did all of the things Allie couldn’t or wouldn’t let herself do. So she was able to live vicariously through her best friend.
Closing the door, while she mulled over the truth of that thought, Allie spoke again, “I just wanted to ask your advice about something.”
“Ooh,” Rosalinda exaggeratedly cooed. “You, asking for my advice?” she chuckled. “You’re the grown up one, Allie, remember?”
“I know,” Allie agreed with a nod, as she gestured towards the couch. “That’s why I need your advice.”
Not needing to be asked twice, Rosalinda followed the silent invitation to sit. Although, with her thigh hugging skirt, she could not lounge back in the seat and had to remain perched precariously on the edge. “So,” she sighed, flicking her overly long bangs from her eyes. “What can I do for you?”
Settling beside Rosalinda, Allie tucked one leg beneath her butt and sank back against the couch’s plush cushions. “This might sound kinda strange,” she confessed, with a self-deprecating smile. “I mean…” she added, but didn’t seem able to proceed from there. “I’ve been doing a lot of thinking over the past two days,” she said, slightly more confident with the change of tack. “And I’ve decided that I want something different from life.”
“Okay,” Rosalinda slowly offered, elongating the ‘o’. “You’re going to join a commune?” she asked.
“No,” Allie responded, laughing at the absurdity of the notion.
“Good, because I wouldn’t have been able to help you with that.”
Dipping her face, Allie searched the floor, her gaze focusing on the strange patterns made by the knots in the wood. “Listen,” she sighed, wringing her hands awkwardly, before tiring of her their movement and thrusting them between her knees. “I was just wondering if you would share your secret.”