Lonely Millionaire

by Carol Grace

  Mandy woke in the morning to the loud buzz of a chain saw. The sun was shining into the room as if there'd never been a storm and she looked around in a daze, wondering for a second where she was and how she'd gotten there. She stretched her arms in the extra-large sleeves of a navy blue sweatshirt. Feeling its soft fleece against her skin, she inhaled the combination of citrus after-shave and leather. Adam. She was wearing Adam's clothes and sleeping in Adam's boss's house.

  She jumped out of bed and stumbled into the bathroom, where she brushed her teeth and tried to tame her hair. Sitting on the edge of the firm mattress where she'd slept so soundly, she pulled on a pair of thick white cotton socks. The walls of the room were painted pale yellow, she noticed, with a thick, Chinese sculpted rug on the floor. Good taste, this Gene had, or had his long-departed wife decorated the house before she'd left during a bout of loneliness?

  Padding softly down the stairs, all Mandy could think of was how quickly she could get out of there. How fast she could escape the relentless charm of Adam Gray. The persistent sound of the chain saw was a good sign. It meant someone was working on the fallen tree. From the front window she saw a crew of hardhats halfway down the driveway and she smiled grimly and went to find Adam.

  He didn't hear her coming. He was in the black-and-white tiled kitchen at the rear of the house, feeding the bird. Elvis was standing on a newspaper, next to his cage, stabbing at morsels of food with his big, clumsy bill. As soon as he got something in his mouth he tossed it into the air, then caught it in his beak again. Mandy paused in the doorway and watched him do his trick. Then, to her horror, the toucan began flinging bits of leftover food against the wall. Adam swore loudly and ducked out of the way just in time to miss a glob of mashed banana.

  Elvis screeched, "Return to sender," then laughed insanely.

  In spite of herself, Mandy joined in the laughter, unable to control herself.

  Adam spun around. "Good God, I didn't hear you come in. Couldn't you have said something?"

  "I'm sorry," she said contritely. He'd probably forgotten she was even there at all. "I would have just left without bothering you, but..."

  "You would have left," he said, leaning against the sink and letting his gaze roam over the sweatshirt that came to her knees and the pants that drooped around her ankles, “without saying goodbye to Elvis?" He held out a plum and the bird took it in his giant beak. "He may be lacking in table manners, but, hey, nobody's perfect. Who does he remind you of?"

  "Jeremy?"

  "That's it. I couldn't remember his name." He grinned. "I'll never forget the look on your face when the little scamp threw his muffin across the floor."

  "No one ever did that before," she admitted.

  "Wait till you have kids."

  "I don't think I'll have to worry about kids," she said. "Not with my luck with men."

  "Now wait a minute. All men aren't like Jack."

  "Don't you dare say anything about Jack. You don't know him. You don't know why he did what he did." She was protesting too much. She was overreacting, but she couldn't stop.

  He froze. Lights flickered from the depths of his dark eyes, then dimmed. He held out his palms and shrugged. "You're right. You're absolutely right. I don't know anything about Jack, but I do know something about you."

  She picked up an apple from the fruit basket on the counter and examined it carefully. "You do? What do you know?"

  "I know that someday you're going to meet someone you love as much as Jack. Even more. Maybe you've already met him. You just don't know it."

  "Did I say I was in love with Jack?" she asked.

  "You didn't have to. I was there when you got his letter. I may not be a rocket scientist, but I know love when I see it."

  "Really." She polished the apple with the sleeve of her shirt. "So you think I was in love with him?"

  He nodded. "I know you. I can see right through you. For example, right now I know you need a big, hearty breakfast. And now that the tree's almost out of the way we can go to my favorite hangout on my way to work."

  Mandy looked at him, at his long legs in his well-pressed khakis, his cable-knit-sweater-encased shoulders, and sighed helplessly. What good did it do to protest? He always got his way. And what difference did one last breakfast together make now that she had it figured out? She was rebounding, right? She sighed.

  "I'll change back into my dress."

  He nodded. "You do that. And I'll clean up the mess."

  She left the kitchen and Adam got Elvis back into his cage by bribing him with a bunch of grapes. As he closed the door on the bird, Elvis opened his beak.

  "Don't be cruel," he lectured.

  "I'm not being cruel, you dumb bird," Adam said. "Is it cruel to take her out to breakfast? Is it cruel to help her get over Jack? If anyone's cruel, it’s Mandy, holding Jack up to me like a saint. Sure, he's a good guy, but he's not worth the suffering she's going through. All I want to do is boost her morale. Is that cruel?" he asked, washing the wall with a sponge.

  Elvis didn't answer. He hopped onto his perch and stared straight ahead, awaiting transport back to the den.

  The restaurant was halfway between Gene's house and the office, and Mandy followed Adam in her car. The waitress knew Adam and gave Mandy an inquisitive look as she poured two cups of coffee.

  "The usual?" she asked Adam.

  "Right, and a special for the lady."

  "How did you know?" Mandy asked when the waitress left.

  "I know you better than you think," he said with a smile.

  She put her elbows on the table. "If you know me so well, then tell me what I'm doing wrong." Her blue eyes were troubled and he wanted to hold her hands in his and tell her she wasn't doing anything wrong. She did everything right, including breakfast, kissing and laughing and talking, walking.

  "Are we talking about Jack again?" he asked wearily.

  "Only partly. I just wonder what I'm doing that men don't like. What makes them choose someone else every time? Go ahead, you can tell me. I can take it."

  He studied her face for a long moment, her cheeks scrubbed clean of any makeup, her fine eyebrows arched over cloudless blue eyes, the proud tilt of her chin, the soft indentation of her throat, and his heart ached.

  "Didn't it occur to you that there's nothing wrong with you, it's them?"

  "No."

  The waitress set two glasses of freshly squeezed juice on the table.

  "Neither of the men you're referring to were right for you," he said at last

  "How do you know?" she asked, rubbing her glass with her thumb.

  "Because I'm a scientist. Not a rocket scientist, but trained to form hypotheses and make observations. And my observation is that you were too good for those guys. You deserve better."

  Her mouth curved into a hopeful smile and her dimple flashed. Suddenly it occurred to Adam, as if a light bulb had gone off over his head, that the only person who was good enough for Mandy was him. It was a brilliantly frightening insight that made his hands shake as he reached for his coffee.

  It was just too bad he wasn't a rocket scientist with a nine-to-five job testing rockets in the desert. They would have a little house on the airbase and he would come home after work to Mandy. But he was a geologist, the kind who was trained to hypothesize and observe and to drill for oil under the earth and sea in the most rugged and demanding conditions. The most exciting kind of work he could imagine, aside from rocket science. The kind that ruled out any kind of personal life, except for an occasional vacation.

  Maybe he could come back from time to time, on R and R, of course, and stay at the Miramar Inn with Mandy. He stared into her sky blue eyes and contemplated having a fling with her, then just as quickly dismissed the idea. It had to be a clean break, and it had to be now. Right after she ate her strawberry waffle and right after he finished his toast and eggs.

  Only suddenly he wasn't very hungry, and could only push the food around on his plate. Fortunately Mandy didn't noti
ce.

  A half hour later they stood on the pavement in front of the coffee shop, Mandy in her wrinkled silk dress, her trench coat over her arm. He took a deep breath in preparation for his farewell speech, but Mandy beat him to it.

  "Thank you, Adam," she said, reaching for his hand to shake it firmly. "You've been a great help to me, really you have. You've put things in perspective, and you've been good for my ego. Are you sure you're a geologist? You could have been a psychologist. You've got the insight and the right instincts."

  He held her hand tightly, not ready to let go. Not yet. He couldn't believe this was the end, the last time he'd ever see her. He fought off a feeling of panic, and searched his mind for something to say. Something meaningful, something memorable. But all he could do was to look at her and try to remember how she looked before she got into her car, her hair tucked behind her ears, the neckline of her dress revealing just a hint of pink lace, reminding him of all the things he wished he'd done but never would.

  They stood there for what seemed like hours, her hand in his, but it was probably just a few minutes before she pulled away and crossed the street to her car. Later he thought about the way her eyes glistened, as if she might have even shed a tear or two over him, but that was just wishful thinking. It was actually just as she'd said. He'd been a great help to her, renewed her self-confidence and restored her ego. He could only feel good about that.

  But he didn't feel good, he felt awful.

  Chapter Eight

  When Mandy got home she found a whole bunch of messages on her answering machine. On an ordinary day she would have been thrilled. But thrilled was not what she felt that day. Yes, she felt proud of herself for having figured out what was going on in her head, but it didn't last very long. Pride was quickly replaced by an intense feeling of loneliness.

  How she could feel lonely with the house full every night, she didn't know, but she did. One good thing was that she was so busy she didn't have time to stare out the window at the gray-green waters of the Pacific, wondering what Adam was doing. The bad thing was that her guests were invariably couples, couples who gazed at each other with adoration. Couples who flirted, teased and touched each other right in front of her.

  Mandy tried not to notice, but she couldn't help it. It made her want to be a part of a couple, to touch, to flirt and to tease, the way she had with Adam. There were times she wished he'd never come to the Miramar Inn. There were other times she was just grateful for the happy memories. There were times when she picked up the phone and dialed his office number then hung up. She had no idea what she would have said. Chances were she'd have reached his boss. Chances were Adam was already back in the Yukon, a land so incredibly beautiful, living a life so challenging he wouldn't have time to think of her. It had been two weeks since she'd seem him. Not that she was counting.

  While Mandy was washing sheets and baking muffins and trying to be a gracious hostess to couples who scarcely noticed her presence, Adam continued to show up at the office every day, shuffled men and supplies around the world for Gene's company and wished himself anyplace but there.

  He didn't hear from Jack. He didn't hear from Mandy. He called her a few times, but he hung up without leaving a message. What message would he have left?

  I miss you so much I have a permanent pain in my chest. I think about you nonstop, especially when I go home to that big, empty house with only a bird for company. A bird that keeps telling me I can't help falling in love with you.

  No thanks. She would wonder if he'd gone crazy. But then things happened to Adam at work, funny things, terrible things, bizarre things and he had no one to tell them to, no one to share them with but Elvis, and he found himself missing Mandy even more. Elvis's company left something to be desired.

  There were days when he could hardly drag himself to work. One of those days he wished he hadn't. There, leaning against the door of Parvo Petrochemicals was a tall, scruffy-looking character in a plaid, flannel shirt, his hands in his pockets. Adam rocked back on his heels.

  "What in the hell are you doing here?"

  "Is that any way to greet your best friend?"

  "Sorry, but I thought you would be planning your honeymoon with Miss Illinois," Adam said.

  Jack shook his head. "It’s a long story. Can we go in and talk? I've been waiting outside for an hour. What time do you start around here, anyway?"

  Adam looked at his watch. "Eight or nine. Whenever I get here. You have a problem with that?"

  He knew he was being obnoxious, but he couldn't help it. Here was Jack, soon to be happily married, grinning like a cat who'd got the cream, come to rub it in.

  "Not me," Jack said cheerfully. "You can come in at noon if you want." He followed Adam into the office. "So, how's Mandy?" Jack asked, taking the chair on the other side of the desk.

  "That s a strange question for a man who's about to be married to someone else," Adam observed, stepping around his friend to get to his desk.

  "That's what I have to talk to you about. It’s all off."

  "What?" Adam sat down hard in his padded office chair.

  Jack scratched his head. "Everything was fine until we got to Illinois. Then, I don't know why, but it all fell apart."

  "When you told her you weren't a millionaire?"

  "That's the funny thing. My mine is producing. I am a millionaire, or I will be as soon as I get my check. I sold out to a consortium up there. Now what do you think?" he demanded with a broad smile.

  Adam rocked back in his swivel chair until the back of his head hit the wall with a thud. "I'm speechless."

  "Is that why you didn't answer my question?"

  "I don't know how Mandy is," Adam said brusquely. Then he narrowed his gaze. "Why?"

  "You know why. You told me I had to see her, you said she was the one. Kind, caring, warm, sensitive, eight on a scale of one to ten," Jack prodded.

  "I said that?" Adam asked, stalling for time. He had to keep Jack from seeing that Mandy was a ten-plus, from throwing himself and his million dollars at her. Why? Because it wasn't fair. To whom? To Mandy, of course. Mandy, who was on the rebound from Jack and who just might rebound right back to Jack. He had a duty to protect Mandy from Jack, who was bouncing from one woman to another like a rubber ball.

  "You said that. How far away is her place from here?" Jack asked, propping his feet on Adam's desk.

  Adam frowned, wondering if he could say the road was impassable, and the coast was cut off from the rest of the world.

  "Not far," he said at last. "But she may not be there. She may be out somewhere."

  "There's only one way to find out." Jack swung his legs down from the desk and hinged for Adam's telephone.

  Adam watched while his friend dug a small address book from his shirt pocket and then dialed her number. She wouldn't be there, Adam hoped, and she wasn't. But he was forced to listen while Jack left a lengthy message telling her who he was and that he was on his way over there to see her. Adam bored holes through Jack with his eyes, but it didn't do any good, he just kept talking. On his phone. In his office. Finally, he reminded Jack in a hoarse whisper that he had work to do and business calls to make. Jack wound up his message and hung up.

  "Just because you don't have to work anymore." Adam said, watching Jack walk to the coffee machine.

  "It’s a great feeling," Jack admitted, filling a cup. "You ought to try it. You seem tense and irritable. You need a vacation."

  "I just had a vacation. Which I spent doing research for you."

  "Which couldn't have been easy. I know. I owe you for that."

  Adam shook his head. "Forget it," he said wearily.

  "I won't forget it. We'll name our first child after you."

  Adam snapped a No. 2 lead pencil in two.

  "Well," Jack said, draining his coffee cup, "I guess I'll mosey on over to the Miramar Inn. I picked me up a map at the gas station and got directions just in case I couldn't find you.'' He patted the pocket of his shirt.
<
br />   "Wait a minute," Adam interjected, "you didn't tell me what happened with Julie."

  "I thought you had work to do."

  "I do, but you said you wanted to talk about it."

  "Not now. I don't want to keep Mandy waiting."

  Adam watched helplessly as Jack went out the door and got into a shiny new red sports car. Short of throwing himself across the hood, Adam couldn't think of any way to stop him. He just stood there in the doorway, staring at the place where Jack's car had disappeared from view, feeling as if he was sinking into the icy waters of the North Sea.

  The worst part was that it was his own fault. He was the one who had praised Mandy to Jack. And Jack to Mandy. What would happen when Jack arrived at the Miramar Inn? Would Mandy come running to the door and fling out her arms in a warm welcome the way she'd done for Adam?

  Would Jack help her wallpaper, get breakfast in bed, and take her sight-seeing? She'd be too busy for that, wouldn't she? Too busy to notice that Jack was a damn nice guy. Adam didn't know why he'd been so short with him. He was his best friend, an almost-millionaire, and all he needed to make his life complete was a wife. Mandy was available. She had a wonderful house and no one to share it with. Jack had a million dollars but no house. They needed each other. They deserved each other. And to stand in their way was the height of selfishness.

  Adam was able to keep to that line of reasoning for three days, then he broke down and called the inn. It was ten o'clock in the morning and instead of the answering machine, he reached Mandy herself. He sucked in a deep breath and forgot what he was going to say.

  "How's everything?" he asked finally, bracing one hand on the edge of his desk.

  "You won't believe who's here," she said breathlessly.

  "The B52's?" he asked.

  "No. Why, can you hear the music? I play it when I'm cleaning."

  "Or wallpapering," he suggested.