Nikki grinned at her young charge. “You're safe with me, kid.” Alexa was right, of course. The neighborhood was frequented by street people, drug dealers and prostitutes selling their wares. The avant-garde theater was gone, replaced by an adult bookstore. So much for urban renewal.
St. Anne's occupied a former flop house and hadn't changed much in the last ten years. From the looks of it, the funding that paid for its conversion into a shelter had been long depleted.
Nikki hesitated. Could she really re-immerse herself in the world of despair? The old feelings of hunger and hopelessness hit her like it was yesterday. Secure in her modeling career, she'd been safe and comfortable for too long. She'd forgotten how bad it really was.
No, she wouldn't run away, not this time. With a lot of help, she'd made it. Others could too.
She waved and caught the attention of the security guard. “I'm here to see Sylvia Moore,” she said into the intercom. The burly guard looked the two of them up and down. Apparently deciding they were harmless, he unlocked and opened the door.
Nikki nudged Alexa. “Come on. No time like the present,” she said, leading the way. She walked past smudged glass door into the lobby, looked around and sighed. Nothing had changed. It was still the dreariest place on earth.
The receptionist sat behind a counter leafing through a tabloid, never looking up from her scandal sheet. The clinic was situated to the left of the bleak lobby. Two avocado green sofas covered in cracked vinyl and a limp rubber tree made up the less-than-welcoming décor.
Nikki ran the numbers. She had yet to realize any money from the sale of the condo or beach house. While she'd have to discuss it with her accountant, she would earmark some of the proceeds for the shelter, instead of waiting for book sales. Unfortunately, the two properties wouldn't close for another month. That money was too far in the future. The shelter looked like it needed help now. She'd received half her advance on the book, but the other half wouldn't be forthcoming until after she delivered the final version.
Her mind reeled with possibilities ... Tom Alden, bless him—he was filthy rich and benevolent. She would definitely hit him for some operating funds once she had a better idea how much the shelter needed.
Alexa tugged on Nikki's sleeve. “Are we really going to work here three days a week?"
“Yeah,” Nikki answered. “We really are.” She looked at the teen. Alexa wore jeans and an ordinary T-shirt, but the difference between Alexa and the other youngsters at the shelter would be readily apparent. Alexa's curly hair and clear skin glowed with health and vitality, both noticeable benefits of good nutrition.
Nikki walked over to the receptionist. “Excuse me."
“Yeah?"
“We have an appointment with Sylvia Moore,” Nikki said.
The receptionist shot Nikki a look of annoyance, then nodded with a jerk of her head. “Down the hall, second door on the right,” she muttered, then returned to her scandals.
“Thank you,” Nikki murmured and refrained from gritting her teeth.
As they continued down the hall, Alexa whispered, “She wasn't very polite, was she?"
“No, but good manners aren't high priority in a shelter.” She repressed a grin. Max's protected daughter was in for a rude awakening. While Nikki didn't intend for her charge to be overwhelmed, she did hope the experience would broaden the teen's outlook.
They reached the indicated office. Nikki knocked and heard a disgruntled, “Come in."
Nikki opened the door, anxious to greet the woman who'd befriended her so many years before. The social work director sat at a scarred wood desk covered with tall stacks of paper, which threatened to topple any second.
Sylvia Moore looked up at Nikki, her frown immediately replaced by a wide grin. “I can't believe it. You're really here.” Her chocolate brown skin showed no signs of aging, in spite of the fact that it'd been ten years since Nikki had last seen her.
“Well, it's true. I'm back."
“I couldn't believe it when my assistant told me you planned to do some volunteer work down here. I still don't.” Sylvia glanced at Alexa and grinned. “This your daughter? No, it can't be. You haven't been gone that long."
“Sylvia, this is Alexa Devereaux. She's—"
“Right. The guy at the modeling agency—his daughter, right?” Sylvia gave a knowing nod.
Nikki swallowed. Even an oblique mention of Max still caused a lump to form in her throat. “Yes, that's right."
Sylvia stood up and cleared off a single straight-backed chair for Nikki.
“Thank you.” Nikki smiled, seating herself. “The years have been good to you."
Sylvia beamed. “Me? They've been even better to you. You're more beautiful than ever. I thought I'd seen the last of you—except on magazine covers, of course."
“Thank you.” Nikki gave Sylvia a smile and shrugged. “Anyway, I'm not modeling anymore, and I think it's time I gave something back."
“Wonderful. What did you have in mind? We have several programs that could use funding—Crisis Line, the day care program, the clinic. We really need money. I know that sounds crass, but there it is."
“I know the shelter needs money. That's pretty clear. My money is tied up in the sale of some property right now, but I have a few contacts who might be persuaded to help, right away.” Nikki hesitated, realizing she still had a way out. Could she—should she—plunge into the subculture of the hopeless lives, whose greatest ambition was just to escape the streets?
Raising money would be so simple ... and a copout. Quickly, before she could change her mind, she added, “I want to do more than raise money. I'd like to establish a mentor program, if you don't already have one. Plus, I'm working on a book about my experiences, and I plan to donate part of the advance and any profits to the shelter."
Sylvia sat back, looking a little dumfounded. “You're serious, aren't you?"
Nikki could almost see the wheels turning in her old counselor's mind.
“Yes, I am.” Nikki studied her hands, then met Sylvia's direct gaze. “I wouldn't have made it, if I hadn't had a lot of help. I can't promise anyone will have the kind of life I've had, but I can offer hope and a lot of practical advice."
“And Alexa? How does she fit in with your plans?” Sylvia looked truly puzzled—not that Nikki blamed her.
“She's the closest thing to a little sister I have. I'm looking after her this summer, and I thought some experience here at the shelter might be good for her.
Sylvia looked over her wire-rimmed glasses. “And how do you feel about Nikki's big plan for your summer?"
Alexa shrugged, looked first at her feet, then back at Nikki. “I'm not too sure. I mean I don't know what I could do around here, anyway.” She shrugged again, then grinned good-naturedly. “But Nikki's the boss, so I guess I'm stuck,"
Sylvia raised an eyebrow and shot Nikki a skeptical look. “Well, it appears to me as if I have two new volunteers, even if one of them is a tad reluctant. I'm glad to have you both."
A thoughtful expression crossed Sylvia's face. “I think I have just the job for you, young lady. I hope you like kids. There are about a dozen or so here at the shelter, who're too young for school. During the school year we have teaching interns, who come in to tell the children stories, teach them their letters and numbers, but right now we're a loose ends. How would you like to be the new Storytime girl?"
The not-so-reluctant teen chewed her bottom lip. “Kinda sounds like it'll be fun."
“Sounds ideal to me. Thanks, Syl."
Sylvia stood up. “Why don't I show Alexa where the play area is? I'll be right back, and then we can discuss your ideas for the mentor program."
Nikki nodded, watching Sylvia lead Alexa from the office. She let out a deep breath. So far, so good. Alexa had been less than thrilled about spending three mornings a week at the shelter, but that still left two mornings a week for sports and music lessons. She intended to keep Max's daughter busy—very busy. Without enough time
to worry about dating a young man who was entirely too old for her either.
Sylvia's return interrupted Nikki's train of thought. “Okay, now, let's talk."
“You know I'll never forget how kind you always were to me,” Nikki said.
“Oh, yeah, like you were willing to accept kindness. You were such a hard case. Pretending to be so cool, but I saw through that mask you hid behind. Back then, you were just a big ball of hurt. I guess life's a lot better now?"
“Things are okay.” She shifted uncomfortably, not wanting to go into detail. “Not modeling is the biggest change. Selling the beach house and condo, trying to make adjustments. Writing."
“So, you're going through some transitions.” Sylvia nodded, then gave Nikki a wide grin. “You always had a habit of landing on your feet. Somehow I think you'll do just fine."
“It's a little scary. But actually, once I made up my mind to write, everything else fell into place."
“And ... what about your personal life? I mean, do you have someone?” Sylvia asked with a grin. “That's a silly question. I'm sure you have to beat the men off with a stick."
Nikki hedged. “Not really. I tend to keep to myself.” She hoped the flush stealing up her neck wasn't visible.
“I see,” Sylvia said with a nod.
The doubtful expression on Sylvia's face told Nikki she hadn't fooled the perceptive social worker. Growing uncomfortable under her old friend's gaze, she insisted, “Really."
“If you say so, sugah,” Sylvia drawled, emphasizing her southern accent.
Attempting to change the subject, Nikki asked, “About the mentor program?"
Sylvia pushed her glasses up on the bridge of her nose. “Just what did you have in mind?"
“I'd like to come three mornings a week. Alexa will be with me this summer, but I plan to continue after she goes back to school."
“Who's your target group?
“I'd like to work with any of the women interested in finding employment and any teens interested in finishing school or getting their G.E.D."
“Well, I'll have to check on the scheduling and space availability. We already have several self-help groups that meet here like AA and Crisis Management, but I'm sure we can work something out."
“I've outlined a preliminary agenda.” Nikki opened a notebook-sized, leather portfolio and removed a sheaf of papers. “This outlines proposed topics of discussion and possible outside resources for guest speakers."
Sylvia gave the outline a quick scan. “It looks like you've thought this out pretty carefully. Are you sure you're going to have enough time for this project along with your book?"
“Yes, I'll still have plenty of time to write in the evening. I've always been a night owl."
“And chaperone a teenager at the same time?” Sylvia gave her a skeptical glance. “You're going to be one busy lady."
Nikki grinned. “I like to keep busy."
“Well, this'll do it.” Sylvia glanced down at her watch. “Speaking of the teenager, I'll fetch her for you."
“Great."
Sylvia walked around the desk, leaving Nikki alone with her thoughts. She'd always heard the expression, in for a penny, in for a pound. She would commit her time and energy, and backing out was not an option. Never mind the small fact she already had misgivings about her ability to affect change. But still, she had to try.
Sylvia returned with Alexa. “Here we are."
“Thank you, Ms. Moore,” Alexa said, definitely in her polite mode."
“So, how was it? Think you'll like it?” Sylvia asked.
Alexa nodded. “The kids are really sweet.” She lost her bored-to-death-teenager expression for a second, but then recovered and shrugged, “It might not be so bad."
“I'll take that as an unqualified ‘yes,'” Sylvia said with an abrupt bark of laughter.
“Sylvia, thank you.” Nikki smiled, offering her hand to her old friend and counselor.
Sylvia accepted with a warm, firm grip. “Thank you. I'll call you after I check the meeting schedule, and we'll set a time for you to start.” She shoved her glasses up the bridge of her nose, then smiled. “I'm really looking forward to working with you."
“Same here.” Nikki picked up her portfolio and turned to Alexa. “Ready?"
“Uh huh.” Alexa nodded, then said to Sylvia, “B-bye, Ms. Moore. It was nice meeting you."
“You too, Alexa."
Nikki placed an arm around the girl's shoulder, telling Sylvia, “We're going to leave you to your work now. I hope to hear from you soon."
Sylvia snorted, then said with good humor, “Don't worry, you will."
Seeing the frown lurking beneath the surface, Nikki rushed to reassure Alexa, “It won't be so bad, honest."
Alexa tilted her head to one side and admitted, “I guess it'll be okay ... as long as you're around."
“Of course, I'll be around. Wouldn't have it any other way.” Nikki hugged her semi-captive teenager.
Reaching the lobby Nikki and Alexa walked past the security guard. Nikki acknowledged him with a brief nod.
“Bye, Nikki,” the burly guard said, giving them a wolfish smile.
Quickly eyeing the guard's name tag, Nikki replied, “Bye—uh, Mac."
The guard lumbered to the door and unlocked it. He opened it, then stood aside, allowing them to leave.
“Are we gonna see ya soon, I hope?” Mac asked.
“Sure thing.” Nikki shivered. His smarmy smile jarred her insides.
After the door closed behind them, Alexa turned to Nikki and asked, “Do you know him?"
“No, but every man on the street thinks he knows me. That's the price of fifteen minutes of fame."
Alexa shuddered. “I don't think I ever want to be famous."
“Well, it just happened. I didn't plan it."
“Daddy made you famous."
“Yes, he did.” Nikki stopped at the curb and raised her arm. “Taxi!"
The taxi screeched to a halt in front of them. Alexa asked, “Do you love Daddy?"
No, I hate him. Not that she could say that to his daughter. Ignoring the question, Nikki gave Alexa a slight nudge. “Get in the taxi. Your cello lesson is in thirty minutes and we're over thirty blocks away."
Alexa jumped into the cab, and Nikki followed, slamming the door shut. “You didn't answer my question,” the girl persisted.
Stubborn child. Like father, like daughter. “No, and I don't intend to, either,” she muttered.
Alexa crossed her arms and gave Nikki a smug smile. “That means yes."
“That means nothing."
Thirty-four
Paris
Max threaded his way through the crowd and walked onto the marble columned balcony of the Rousseau mansion. In moments like these, he craved a cigarette. He hadn't smoked in years, not since before Alexa had been born. Social gatherings like this ... The sidelong glances he received from former friends, reminded him he'd never been cleared in the death of his wife.
He hadn't planned on attending any social functions during this trip; however, his old friend, Gilbèrt Rousseau, had invited him, and rather than offend one of his few true friends, Max had agreed to come.
He stared into the night sky at the thousands of twinkling lights that had given the city of his birth its nickname. In spite of all the bad memories he associated with Paris, he felt centered and at home. His roots were here. For centuries his ancestors had been born and buried here. Maman and he were the first of their families to live on another continent. His daughter was totally immersed in American culture, which he considered neither good nor bad. He supposed it really didn't matter, since Alexa seemed happy with her life, or at least as happy as a fourteen-year-old girl could be.
He couldn't change the past ... Solange ... and dear heaven, most of all Nikki. Whether his decision made sense to anyone else or not, he had to protect Nikki—at all costs—no matter how much it hurt both of them.
“M. Devereaux, is the party too muc
h for you?"
Max turned and discovered a lovely woman with wide-set, dark brown eyes and auburn hair, styled to frame her face. A flawless ivory complexion did nothing to hide the feral intensity of her gaze. He felt an inexplicable uneasiness in her presence.
“Madame? You have the advantage of me. I do not think we have met."
“Emilie Balladur, M. Devereaux. I was at school with your late wife."
Max stepped back. “You-you knew my wife?” It was possible, he supposed. He hadn't known all of Solange's friends. She'd certainly managed to keep her lover a secret.
“Yes, not very well, but we had some friends in common."
“I see.” Max desired nothing more than to forget his past, yet here was another reminder staring him in the face. He turned away. Surely the woman would take the hint.
Instead of leaving, she leaned against the balcony railing next to him. “It's beautiful, n'est-ce pas?"
“Oui, madame."
“Do you not miss living in Paris, M. Devereaux?"
“Sometimes,” he admitted.
“Then why do you not return to live here? Europe is the center of the fashion world."
Max shrugged. “It's complicated, madame..."
“The dark cloud still hangs over your head? Yes, I suppose it is complicated."
“Madame, if you please, I do not wish to discuss—"
“I see this is still very painful for you, M. Devereaux. Perhaps you need to make some new memories, M. Devereaux.” She cast him a meaningful glance through lowered lashes, before adding in a sultry voice, “More pleasant ones, I mean. It's been a long time, n'est-ce pas?"
Merde. Why doesn't she drop it? “Not long enough. I am in Paris on business, not pleasure. I should not have come tonight."
“But I am so glad you did. This is a wonderful party, but if you would like to leave, I would not mind."
“Pardon, am I not being clear?” The woman was rapacious and oblivious, as well. “If I leave, I leave alone.” He had seen women like her before, accustomed to having their way, but he was not interested in her having her way with him.
See You In My Dreams Page 30