by Sandi Perry
"It means you're a terrible liar. If you were together with him, you'd be clawing Carrie's eyes out by now."
"And you? You don't mind that your date is hanging on another guy?"
"She's not my date."
"She's not?"
"No," he said as he handed her five darts with green wings. "Ladies first."
Allison took the first dart in her hand and narrowly missed the bull's eye on her first try.
"Whoa, what's that about?"
She threw the next four in rapid succession and they clustered in dead center.
He looked at her incredulously, "Do you do this often?"
She shrugged, "When I was a kid, I would sometimes get very frustrated with my teachers and some of the kids in my class. My grandmother bought me a dart board for Hanukkah one year, and I found it really helped with my stress if I visualized someone's face as the bull's eye."
"Which teacher especially annoyed you?"
She thought for a second. "I guess I'd have to say Mrs. Donovan, my fourth grade teacher."
"Why?"
She waved her hand at him, "It's all in the past, there's no point in talking about it."
"It's important to talk about the past."
She sighed as she thought to herself that they approached everything from different angles. "Fine. I don't remember the exact reason, but one time I decided that the best way to express myself was to remain mute and mime my way through a day of school. I had even learned some very basic sign language gestures, and with a note from my parents asking permission for my small indulgence, I set off to school." She smiled as she remembered the firestorm her simple act had set off. "Of course, the kids in the class did everything in their power to goad me into speaking, but Mrs. Donovan was furious. She thought it was disrespectful and had me hauled into the principal's office."
"Anyway, Mrs. Donovan demanded I speak at once, or I would be suspended for a week. So naturally, I spoke."
"What did you say?" Alex wondered.
"I said 'I hate you Mrs. Donovan.'"
Alex laughed long and loud, and Allison found herself joining him.
"And then I was suspended from school."
"I can imagine that didn't go over well."
"My father was livid. But not with me, oh no. He was annoyed with Mrs. Donovan and the small-minded principal. He marched into the school the next day and told them that a real teacher would know how to encourage individuality, and when presented with a child who was experimenting with different forms of expression, would be confident enough to embrace the action and not quash it." She shook her head as she continued, "And then he rescinded his twenty-five thousand donation toward the school library."
She remembered how happy she felt that her father had taken time off from his busy schedule to stand up for her. Later that night, she overheard him as he smoked his cigar on the porch and told the tale to his accountant. He patted himself on the back for finding the twenty-five thousand dollar loophole. The smoke tickled her nose, and she had to tiptoe quickly back into the kitchen before the sneezes would reveal her hiding place.
Alex nodded his head, "I can see your father doing something like that."
Allison had forgotten that Alex and her father had a relationship and suddenly got choking sensation in her throat. She coughed to try to release the vise grip on her air passage.
Alex looked at her intently, "You okay? You looked like you were going to pass out."
"I'm good, really. The smoke must have closed up my throat."
"No one's smoking here, Allison. New York bars have been smoke-free for several years, now."
She looked around in a daze as if suddenly registering her surroundings. "I have to get out of here."
She hurried toward Kenyon and yanked him off his seat, which was no small feat, since Carrie was wrapped around him. She hated that she hated everything about her life right now. She hated that Alex pushed her out of her comfort zone. She hated the way her life was intertwined with his. Some hopeless romantic would say it was Fate, but she hated hopeless romantics, too.
Chapter 23
Allison paced back and forth across the expanse of her upstairs loft. She dug her hands into the back pockets of her jeans. She glanced at the wall clock. Mr. Essex was bringing Kaitlin by for their first meet and greet. What would she do if his daughter turned out to be some rich, spoiled brat that demanded things be exactly her way? The doorbell rang, and she buzzed back to let them in the building, then heard them coming up the worn, wooden stairs. She ran to open the door and saw Michael was dressed as formally on a Saturday afternoon as he had been the past Tuesday.
She fixed a smile on her face and put out her hand, "You must be Kaitlin."
"It's nice to meet you, Miss Ross," Kaitlin responded.
"None of that," Allison scolded, "It's Ally. I expect we'll become fast friends over the next few weeks." She straightened and saw Michael smiling warmly at her. She fumbled with the buttons on her sweater, as beads of sweat broke out on her forehead. "Well, Kaitlin, it looks like you're in ..." He paused as he looked at Allison's elegant fingers, "...very capable hands." He nodded at the two of them, then turned around abruptly and left. Allison became acutely aware that she was the sole entertainment for his poised and lovely, porcelain-skinned daughter.
Kaitlin walked around the room, picking up painting after painting, silently taking it all in. Finally, she turned toward Allison, "What's with the gloom and doom? Most of these have dark backgrounds and a stormy feeling to them. Do you have any happy paintings?"
Allison bit her lip, "Hallmark does happy—I haven't figured out how to do that, yet. On another note, how do you feel about this—me painting you?"
Kaitlin stopped making her circuit, "It's a little creepy, but Dad is freaked that I might turn into some out of control monster overnight, and he's desperate to remember me like this." She swept her hand over her body with a noteworthy imitation of Vanna White.
Allison laughed, "I don't know your father, but he did appear somewhat panicky."
Kaitlin leaned in conspiratorially, "He's terrified. He knows he's out of his league with all this female stuff. It's kind of fun to see him so unnerved. You might have noticed that he's usually unflappable—that's one of my new vocabulary words; I try to use it every chance I get."
Allison smiled, "I like you. I was afraid you might be spoiled."
"Oh, I am, but my Dad drilled good manners into me."
"It shows. It must have been difficult growing up without a mother," Allison grimaced, "I hope it's okay I just said that... it sorta fell out of my mouth."
"Don't worry about it—it's been a long time."
"Do you have an aunt or a grandmother that's prepared to step in and show you how to use a tampon? I think that conversation would throw your 'unflappable' Dad right into 'flappable'."
"I have Aunt Lizzie, my dad's sister—she's okay, but it's not like she's my mother, or anything."
Allison nodded sympathetically.
"You must know the story that everyone does—about my mom," she said as she picked up a paintbrush and dipped it in some paint daubs. "The truth is she suffered from severe post-partum depression and killed herself a few months after I was born. My father was crazy over her and couldn't bear it—he thought she was perfect. They made up that story about an aneurysm. But what I want to know is what kind of saint kills herself and leaves a defenseless baby on her own?" She looked at the abstract spots her doodling left.
Allison was speechless. Kaitlin was so candid and insightful about the tragedy. "I assume you've had counseling?"
"Of course—years of it. I have friends who get counseling when they break a nail."
Allison was uncomfortable, and determined to lighten things up. "Do you want to talk about this anymore?" Allison asked.
"Nope, I'm done."
"Good. So, how about some waffles and hot chocolate at The Cupping Room?"
"Only if they have fresh whipped cream, none
of the stuff that comes out of a can."
"I'm pretty sure they can manage to come up with some freshly-made whipped cream for Michael Essex's daughter."
Chapter 24
"Natalya, please follow up with Bradley and see if he's made any headway on those price projections for the new jet interiors?"
"I'm right on it, Ms. Ross."
Allison leaned back in her chair and closed her eyes for a minute. When she opened them, she looked out over the gray city. The weather forecasters had been threatening snow all day, but the streets were bare. She looked up at the sky. The clouds were leaden and angry-looking. Well, I feel angry too, you're not the only ones, she thought. The company had found its footing at least, and she was feeling more comfortable with handing over the reins. But to whom, was still the major sticking point.
Should she play it safe or go rogue? I've played it safe for the past twenty-nine years, maybe it's time to stir things up a little, she thought.
Her musings were interrupted by a knock on the door. "Come in," she called and grimaced when Bradley entered.
"Here are the price projections," he said. "I worked the numbers using less expensive materials that still have a luxurious feel. Microfiber suede is less costly than imported leather and is just as comfortable for the seats. A glossy, smooth-grained walnut works well for the tables and is more cost-efficient than Makassar."
"And not as exotic-looking," she interrupted.
"Yes, but in these times, the ability to charter or own a private jet is luxury enough without overdoing the interior space," he challenged.
She looked at him carefully. "Perhaps, but our wealthy clients have high standards."
"Look at them; let me know," he turned to leave and paused. "I've given a lot of thought to what you said to me a while back."
"You mean when we were in L.A. for the near-disastrous meeting with the interior design team?"
He nodded, "It's been a couple of months, and you were right. No one cares where you come from, as long as you get somewhere in life."
"And that somewhere is up to you. But Bradley, unfortunately, people do care where you come from. It's up to you to prove to them that it doesn't matter."
She turned her attention back to his report. "It looks like you've put a lot of effort into this presentation," she said as she thumbed through the report. "Initiative is important at this time when so much about the company is in a state of flux."
She smiled at him. "It feels good not to be fighting with you. I think our grandfather would be proud if he could see us now."
Bradley winced.
Allison continued, "One day I'll sit down with you and show you your heritage, I think you'll be surprised to learn that your grandfather was a kind and gentle man." Her attention was redirected towards Alex as he stepped into the room.
"I was just leaving," Bradley said. "Allison, you'll let me know what you decide."
She nodded. "So, Alex, what can I do for you?"
"Nothing," he said as he took a seat, "Just admiring the view."
She looked out the window, "It's so bleak out there; there isn't much of a view."
"Not from where I'm sitting," he smiled impishly.
"Seriously, this is a place of business."
"You won't let me get near you when we aren't at the office, you leave me no choice."
"Did it ever occur to you that maybe you're not interesting to me?"
"Nope, that's not the vibe I'm getting off of you. You're pushing me away so hard and so fast; I bet you've never spent two minutes contemplating me in any 'interesting' kind of way."
"Once again, I find you so infuriating..." The phone interrupted her and she picked it up on the third ring. "Yes, of course I remember." She shook her head slowly and finally said, "I'll be up there as soon as I can. Thank you."
She got up wordlessly and starting gathering her things.
"What's wrong?" His eyebrows knit in concern as he watched her hurried, purposeful movements. She headed toward the door, but he jumped in front and shut it just as soon as she opened it.
"Let me go,"
"Not until you tell me what that phone call was about."
"It's nothing I can't handle."
"I'm not questioning your capabilities, but you don't have to go through everything alone. I'm not the only infuriating person in the room."
"I don't have time for your shenanigans, Alex. Step aside."
"Talk to me first," he said in a steely tone.
She looked at him and understood at that moment that he was much more than she had bargained for and much more than she could handle at present. Still, the time had come to start trusting someone, and he was standing right there, in her face, with no sign of stepping away. She took a deep breath and jumped off the deep end.
"That was Detective Fitzsimmons. There's been a break in the case. Finally. Some piece of evidence turned up, and they need to show it to me."
He nodded, "Up in Nyack?"
"Yes."
He glanced out the window. The snow that had held off all day was starting to fall in heavy, menacing flakes. "I drove my Range Rover in today because of the weather reports. I'm parked in the lot across the street. I just have to go to my office to get my coat." He opened the door purposefully and tried to usher her out.
"Wait a minute; this has nothing to do you. Why are you coming along?" she protested.
"It has something to do with you, and therefore it has something to do with me. Get used to it."
"Don't you have a meeting at Teterboro with Jeffrey Katzenstein this afternoon?"
He held her gaze as he hit a number in his contacts. "Excellent, we'll do it Wednesday; hopefully the storm won't be too bad." He pocketed his BlackBerry, "Anymore excuses? I'm nearly out of patience. Let's go."
She opened her mouth in protest but shut it back up again. There was no use arguing with him when he got like this, and besides, she didn't even have a car with her.
"Fine. I'm willing to let you come along, but that doesn't mean I'm agreeing to anything. With you. In the future." She looked at him purposefully, hoping he understood what she was trying to say.
****
"The snow is really coming down, I think we should get off the parkway and find somewhere to stay for the night," Alex said.
"You're probably right, this is so frustrating! Finally the police call and this stupid storm!" She looked out the window as she tried to make out where they were. "Look, we're so close; it's only a few more exits to the precinct," Allison said.
"I know it feels really close, but it's nearly white-out conditions here. It's dangerous to go any further. We'll get to it first thing tomorrow as soon as the roads get cleared." He squinted through the flakes, "Are there any hotels around here?"
"I don't really know this area. Let's drive down the next road and see what comes up." Allison tried to hide her disappointment. She'd had some time to gather her thoughts on the treacherous drive up and realized that Alex was being a supportive friend. She didn't want to seem ungrateful now and push him to continue driving.
They inched along slowly as the wind and snow swirled around them. The area was quaint, with no signs of a hotel anywhere.
"Wait, Alex, slow down, I think I see some sort of shingle. Could that be a bed and breakfast?"
"That would make sense, I don't think any hi-rise urban hotels are about to appear on this road, and I don't relish the thought of a Super 8 motel."
"Turn here! It seems like a long driveway, but...wait, it looks like someone converted his or her own farmhouse into an inn. Thank goodness for four-wheel drive that can get through anything!"
They got out and hurried up to the large wraparound porch peering through the heavy-leaded glass, they could see the lights on inside. The doorbell pealed its sound of welcome, and they nodded at each other as they heard hurried steps.
"My, my, two snowmen have come to visit me!" The door was opened by an attractive woman in her mid-sixties, dressed for wa
rmth in a cozy sweater and cords. "Come in out of the storm. I guess you saw my shingle. I'm not really running and fully operational for another couple of weeks, but you two don't look like you'd mind very much at this point!"
They shook their heads in unison. "We don't mind," Alex spoke up. "We'll sleep on the floor if we have to, as long as we're out of the snow."
"No need for that, I'll think of something. My name is Rebecca Morrison, but everyone calls me Becca."
"Becca, thank you, I'm Allison, this is Alex...we work together."
Alex flashed her a grin at that. Allison just wanted to avoid the awkward moment when Becca would show them to 'their' room.
"Separate rooms—I've got it," Becca smiled as she watched the exchange between the two. "It just so happens that I have a large pot of beef stew bubbling on the stove, and some homemade bread in the oven. I thought it would be a good time to try out some recipes for when I'm up and running in a few weeks. Here, let me take your wet coats—I'll hang them up to dry. I'll be back in a sec."
They looked around the cheery Great Room with its warm, cranberry-colored walls and creamy-white bead board wainscoting. There were overstuffed chairs in plaid and an oversized shabby chic sofa in a pumpkin-colored velvet. A chenille throw lay casually over the sofa's arm.
Becca came up behind them, "What do you think? You're my first customers."
"It's inviting and cozy. I love it," Allison said.
"That's what I was shooting for, well, come into the dining room. I have a fire going. What were you two doing out in this kind of weather?"
Allison was taken aback by the question, but realized Becca only meant to be conversational. She couldn't possibly know that she'd hit a nerve.
"I live in Nyack, and I was going to visit my Mom. When we left, the city there was barely a coating on the ground. As we hit the George Washington, it really started coming down."
Becca nodded, "I'm glad you had the good sense to pull over. Please, have something to eat, and then I'll show you to your rooms. Only one room is operational, the others were painted yesterday — oil-based, I'm afraid, for authenticity. Unfortunately, the fumes last much longer than water-based paint. Alex, there's a small handyman's room in the attic that should be alright for one night. I'll show it to you, and you'll decide if that works for you. If not, I'll come up with something else," she said as she turned toward the kitchen.