by J. P. Hansen
“Oh no, Mr. Allman, I mean Mr. Chase, you do not have to do that.”
“Are you kidding? It’s the least I can do. I probably missed your birthday too. When is it?”
Oksana giggled. “My birthday last month…”
“I’m sorry, but better late than never. I’ll get you something, anything you want.”
“This place expensive—”
“Nonsense. Don’t worry about how much, just tell me what you would buy if you had a blank check.”
Oksana frowned, “What is blank check?”
Chase laughed, “Never mind. What would you buy if you found a bunch of money on the street?”
They passed For Beach Bums Anonymous. Oksana stared at the store and pursed her lips. Chase stopped, put his blinker on, then waved the car behind him to pass, saying, “Did you see something in that store?”
“My boyfriend wants to take me to beach, but I have no svimsuit. All the bikinis are so expensive—”
“That settles it then.” Just after Chase uttered the words, tail lights flashed ahead and a well-dressed woman sauntered to her driver’s side and opened the door. With his blinker, Chase reserved the spot, then parked, saying, “See, it’s meant to be—we even found a parking spot.”
Once inside the store, Chase excused himself to call the office. He felt uncomfortable helping his nanny find a bikini. He said, “Pick out as many as you like. Here’s use my credit card. I’ll be right outside.”
Before Oksana could protest, Chase bee-lined for the door with cell pressed to his ear. Once outside, he glimpsed back inside the store, then dialed Brooke’s number—voicemail. Dammit. He didn’t leave a message. Her irrational response to the severance package shocked him…he feared she planned on exposing him. He dialed and once again, she wasn’t answering—not a good sign. And I only have myself to blame.
His mind wandered; he felt like James Bond, with all the bad guys hiding around the corners. First, Heather and the blood-hound reporters, always salivating for a juicy story. Second, Henry, The Butcher, and the board of directors at Pharmical—all bulldozing him. Now, Brooke, who could destroy him in an instant.
Fine work, Chase.
“Excuse me, Mr. Allman.”
“Huh,” Chase spun around and met Oksana’s eyes.
“Sorry to bother you, sir, but the owner wants to see you.”
Chase shook his head, then followed Oksana to the cashier. The forty-something clerk said, “Is this your credit card, sir?”
Chase glanced at it and said, “Yeah. It’s okay. She’s with me.”
Oksana whispered in Chase’s ear, “Is $120. I am sorry. Is too much?”
“No, buy this one and something else while you’re here. You deserve it.”
The clerk peered over her thick reading glasses as she lifted the credit card up. Oksana said, “No, no. This is too much. Just this one please.”
Chase carried the bag for Oksana, wondering if it was empty. Swimwear was never this small when I was a kid. They passed his car and gazed inside each store window as they strolled.
Oksana said, “Thanks again. I would never be able to buy that bikini.”
“Don’t mention it. If you see anything else you want, tell me. What were the names of the stores we’re looking for again?”
Oksana stopped, pulled out her paper and read them again. Chase surveyed the street and said, “Of course there is no map when you need one.”
They strolled a bit and Chase realized he desperately needed to use a men’s room. He hadn’t noticed any signs and wondered if people who shopped upscale malls ever had to go. Not too far up ahead, he saw the Renaissance Raleigh Hotel. “Hey, I need to use the bathroom. Do you need to go, by any chance?”
“Sure, us girls always have to go.”
Chase laughed, then said, “I won’t be long, I hope.”
Oksana giggled and they ambled up to the front entrance. She giggled again at the funny looking rotating door, “I hate these moving doors.” Chase placed his hand on Oksana’s back and after several revolutions, guided her into the turnstile, jumping in beside her.
Little did he know, she was watching them less than fifty feet away.
Chapter 15
Is that why he tried to call me? I can’t believe it—that girl is half his age! Did he promise to show her his big package? Brooke’s heart exploded, with face flaring fire engine red. I should run in and warn her while he’s getting his little room key for The Players Suite. I’d love to see his face as I expose him to the entire lobby. Was that a lingerie bag he was carrying? I can’t believe I fell for his bullshit. He’s such an asshole!
Idling on a busy street, she slammed her car into park, flipped on the hazards, then jumped out. A passing truck veered, nearly running her over, then laid on his horn. With fists and jaw clenched, she stomped across the parking lot but then stopped at the half-way point; Brooke glared at the revolving door.
“You’re not worth it.” Brooke shouted at the top floor, then shook her head against her tightened neck. She did an about face, and strode back to her car. Wandering into traffic, a car honked at her, and she flipped her middle finger high in the air, without even looking at the driver. Brooke was beyond rage—one more honk in her face could trigger murder with her bare hands. I gotta get outta here.
How could I have been so stupid? I’m blocking his number from my cell. Screw shopping—I need to find a clinic that tests for STDs!
Brooke flung her car door wide open and plopped in. Though barely able to see the road through seething eyes, she screeched her tires and sped off like a rocket. What started out as a shopping trip for an interview outfit had turned into her worst nightmare.
Just when she thought it couldn’t worsen, the shriek of a siren blared behind her. Then she noticed flashing lights in her own rearview mirror. Oh shit.
Still inside North Hills complex, Brooke pulled off the access road and came to a stop over two spots in an empty parking area. The red and yellow flashing lights blinded her. Does he really have to keep those on? Brooke peeked at her side mirror and after a few moments, his door edged open in slow motion. A heavy-set officer approached in bow-legged stride. Oh great.
Brooke froze, staring straight ahead with hands on the wheel at ten and two, praying to any saint who would listen. Her window darkened as she heard tapping. Brooke turned to see his pudgy fingers and his mustard-stained tie that stopped short where his paunch protruded well above his overburdened belt. She noticed he had a badge of some sort, but couldn’t make out his name.
Brooke drew a deep breath, pressed her power window button, forged a smile and said, “Hello officer.”
“Mind tellin’ me what’s yer big hurry lady?”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, ya ran a stop sign, and you been squealin’ and speedin’ around here like it’s a NASCAR track.”
“I’m sorry officer, I’ve had a bad day.”
“Have you been drinkin’?”
“It’s only 12:30 in the afternoon.”
“Don’t matter. Answer the question.”
Brooke could only imagine how red her eyes looked. “No, I have not been drinking.”
“Step out of the car, ma’am.”
“Why? Are you arresting me?”
“I asked you to step outta the car.”
Brooke frowned, then pulled the door handle and pushed too hard. Her door nailed the officer in the groin and he doubled over. Good, I mean Oops.
He backed away in a crouch position, muttering, “That hurt. Get out slowly.”
“Sorry about that,” Brooke said, now attempting to stand up straight without laughing. She had been driving all day and her right leg had fallen asleep—and standing on heels didn’t help. She stood slightly taller than Officer Pudge. He reeked of stale Old Spice and onions—or, at least she hoped it was onions. He wasn’t wearing a gun or a night stick, just an ill-fitting uniform with smudged pleather shoes. She didn’t feel compelled to straighten
the wrinkles on her sun dress. Mall cop.
“Now, walk over to this line and stop.” Brooke gulped, suppressing a scream—is this mall cop going to make me walk a straight line?
“Can I take off my heels?”
“No, ma’am, just do as you’re told.”
“Okay, whatever,” Brooke took two steps, then caught her heel on some gravel on the uneven pavement. She braced herself to avoid falling, “I have an injured ankle and it’s hard to walk on these high heels. Do I really have to do this?”
“Your ankle looks fine to me, ma’am.”
“I can prove it. My doctor is Dixie, err, Dr. Dixon Carter over at Duke Raleigh Hospital.”
“That won’t be necessary, ma’am. Just walk along that parking line, then stop and turn around and walk back.”
Brooke rolled her eyes, then did as she was told. She concentrated on each step and avoided landing on any debris. At the end, she clicked her feet together like a drill sergeant, then glanced up. She gasped—he was gaping at her breasts with a creepy grin.
Brooke cleared her throat—his eyes didn’t move. She waved her hand from knee to knee, finally breaking his stare. “Oh, uh, sorry. You look fine to me…I mean, you passed the test.”
“Good, so I can go now?” Brooke lunged toward her car.
“No, not yet. You broke a bunch a traffic violations. I need your license.”
Brooke sighed, then said, “Officer, after the week I’ve had, please don’t give me a ticket.”
“Whaddya mean by that?” His eyes still fixed well below her chin.
“Well, let’s see, I was fired Monday, then I just saw my…um, boyfriend walk into that hotel with some bimbo. So, I guess all lousy things happen in threes, so you may as well write me a ticket.” He raised his eyes to hers, then glanced away and frowned as her words rattled inside his head.
“I’m sorry, I’m just doin’ my job. I need to see your license.”
Brooke marched back to her car and just as she touched the door, her ankle turned—the bad one. Pains shot up her leg. She winced, but managed to climb inside her car. Brooke leafed through her purse, then pulled her driver’s license and jabbed it at him as if plunging a knife into a pumpkin.
He wobbled back to his rent-a-cop car with its annoying lights still swirling, and struggled to swing his knees in before shutting the door. Brooke felt numb. She squinted through both side mirrors, trying to see the entrance of the hotel—hoping to catch loverboy sneaking away from his nooner. Ugh, she was a tad young for you, Chase.
Mall cop’s door swung open, much faster than the last time, but he still struggled to walk. Brooke peered through her side mirror; he was carrying papers in his hand—oh great.
He stopped beside her car like the Goodyear Blimp, hovering just inches away from the window. He handed her what looked like a ticket, and gripped her license just above his paunch, “Well, Brooke Anne Hart, I’m only going to give you a warning this time, but please be more careful.”
Brooke smiled, then said, “Thank you.”
“Just to show you I’m a good person, here, I’ll give you my card. After the week you’ve had, I’d like to help you—that’s what I do ma’am—serve and protect. My cell phone number’s on the back. I get off at six tonight.”
Brooke reached for the radioactive card, relieved she hadn’t eaten anything all day. Brooke feigned a smile, then raised her power window. After it clenched shut, she waved her hand with wiggling fingers, blocking his view. Accelerating, she felt a sense of accomplishment for not saluting him with her middle finger like earlier. Brooke crinkled up the warning and the card and tossed them to the passenger side floor. They landed on three pennies—that’s odd, I thought I picked those up? Weren’t they dimes?
With mall cop watching her drive away, Brooke hit her brakes, keeping her speed at twenty-five miles per hour—though she wanted to set the land speed record. She swallowed hard, fighting back the bile rising in her throat. Checking her rearview mirror, he was still standing, hands on hips, dwarfing his car’s hood. With the lights spinning above his head, he looked like a chubby lighthouse. As he faded out of view, she replayed the more horrifying picture still emblazoned in her mind.
I still can’t believe it. I thought he was wonderful. Why did he have to be such a jerk? I wonder how many girls he sleeps with in a week—and how he keeps track. Some guys are serial sexers. Asshole. Brooke flipped on the radio, hoping to cheer up. Fire and Rain—no freaking way. She switched to the Top 40 channel—commercial for a BMW dealer—definitely not. She pressed CD, then hit play—Crash Into Me—I can’t win. Brooke spun the dial off, then reached for her cell—two missed calls from Melissa—I swear she’s psychic.
“Hey, sorry I missed your calls, but I was getting strip searched by a mall cop.”
“What?”
“Long story.”
“I can’t talk right now but I really need to tell you something. Can you meet me tonight?”
***
“You’re a lifesaver, you know that?” Chase figured Oksana saved him at least two days and a dozen headaches. He had no idea how complicated birthday shopping was for a four-year-old.
“You are easy to shop with for a man. I am surprised.” Oksana giggled.
“Thanks, I guess.”
“No, I am serious. I really had fun today. Thanks again for the svimsuit. I would never buy it for myself.”
“Don’t mention it. After all you’ve done, I feel bad I didn’t remember your birthday.”
“That is most I ever got for my birthday.” Oksana blinked a tear.
Chase said, “I was supposed to go into the office, but I can cancel my meeting. What time do you usually pick up Parker?”
“Four o’clock sharp. I usually get there a little early. Miss Stanton appreciates it.”
“Well, this time, I’ll pick up Parker.”
She sniffled, “Oh, he will love that. You are good dad.”
“You’re a good liar. I would’ve forgotten my son’s birthday if it weren’t for you.”
“With everything you do with your job, and without wife to help, you do good job. Parker loves you.”
“I couldn’t do it without you. Oh, what about a birthday party?”
“I booked Frankie’s Fun Park for ten people for the Saturday after next. I hope that’s alright?”
“You never cease to amaze me.”
“Is good?”
Chase laughed. He loved her accent and even her struggles with English and its goofy nuances. Though he understood a little textbook Spanish, he would be lost in Russia. “Yes, that’s good. Very good. I have no idea who to invite other than Parker’s friend Will.”
“I asked Miss Stanton for list of Parker’s friends and already invited nine of his classmates at Angel’s Academy—including Will. Frankie’s Fun Park is close and Mary said she would help me and you, how you say, chaperone?”
“Yes, that’s right. Not an easy word. What do you need me for—you’ve got it all covered.”
“You still have to pay for it and I am sure they all want you to go on rides with them.”
“Are you kidding? That’s the easy part. I’m still a kid at heart. Do they have mini golf?”
“I think so. Oh, I will order an ice cream cake at Dairy Queen with his favorite flavor.”
Chase pulled into his circular driveway, and dropped Oksana off at the front door. She wanted to wrap and hide Parker’s gifts. Driving away, Chase glanced in the rearview mirror and grimaced, thinking he didn’t even know his kid’s favorite flavor of ice cream.
Since Heather flew the coop, he felt so helpless. He had taken domestic duties for granted. Going through a key event like a kid’s birthday, he actually felt for his estranged wife. It must have been hard for her to leave the modeling limelight to the mundane—cooking, cleaning, shuttling, planning kid’s birthday parties, while being a model wife. She doesn’t know what she’s missing. Thank God for Oksana.
After checking voicemail—
still no message from Brooke—Chase pulled into the immaculate grounds of Angel Academy. The building resembled a country club with its red and tan brick façade, manicured shrubbery, and lively flowering. Chase was impressed by owner Betsy Stanton. She had planned everything so well, positioning it as a learning center rather than daycare, targeting affluent families, and personally teaching lessons that reached young kids. If there was an award for Top Toddler Teacher, the grandmotherly Miss Stanton would win.
When Heather took off, Chase worried about Parker. Her implosion came at an awful time, as if her fall was inverted to his rise. He couldn’t understand how she could just walk away from so much, especially an adorable son. When she left, Chase had nowhere to turn—he couldn’t go public and lose his lofty position at the company. Betsy had been a godsend; so incredibly helpful and understanding. Her extra attention made the difference. Miss Stanton treated her vocation like a vacation. She cared; she had passion for helping small children, and it showed. Parker adored her and the rest of the staff too, and Chase enjoyed listening to his son’s animated recanting of her stories.
Chase parked his BMW behind the line of minivans and waited in his car. Most of the moms took notice. He wondered if Parker was the only one without a mother. It had to be confusing to his son, Chase thought, knowing it still baffled him.
The door swung open and Betsy Stanton and another teacher led the kids outside like ducklings. Chase waved to Betsy, whose eyes popped open, then smiled. Chase spotted Parker, who was searching for the familiar white SUV. Chase jumped out just as he spotted his son, then Parker looked like a kid seeing Santa’s gifts on Christmas morning. Parker stepped forward, then stopped, and glanced up at Miss Stanton.
Chase lifted Parker up in the air and plunked him into the booster seat, “Can you put your own seatbelt on for me?” Parker nodded as his little fingers pulled the shoulder harness on. Chase felt someone’s presence, then glimpsed over his shoulder—“Hello Miss Stanton.”
“Hello to you.” She surveyed the convertible as she whistled, then eyed inside, “Parker, how fun to have your father pick you up in this nifty car.” Betsy covered her mouth and coughed.