One True Love

by Barbara Freethy

  He smiled somewhat awkwardly as he dug his hands into the pockets of his worn blue jeans. If Suzanne could really see him for what he was, she'd run as far away from him as possible. Sure, he'd seen desire in a few women's eyes over the past couple of years. But he still remembered that one scathing look of complete and utter rejection.

  "Nick?"

  He shook himself, not understanding why the memories had begun again. It probably had something to do with Silvia, Lisa's mother. Two days earlier, Silvia had asked him for the key to the storage locker where they'd put Lisa's things all those years ago. She'd said she wanted to get something out, something important.

  He hadn't asked what. He hadn't been to the storage locker in years. He probably should have cleaned it out or at least sent Lisa the bill, but for some reason, he'd just kept paying it.

  "Nick?" Suzanne repeated. "Shall I come by your place and pick you up?"

  "Don't like riding in my pickup truck, huh?" He knew the battered Toyota wasn't much to look at, but it was handy for moving furniture. "I can bring the jeep. It's not much better, but at least it has a solid coat of paint."

  "That's fine."

  "Why don't I pick you up at seven-thirty?" he suggested.

  She hesitated. "Is there something you're hiding in that house of yours? You've never invited me in. I'm beginning to think you have a wife stashed away inside."

  "No wife," he said bluntly. "If you'd rather I didn't come by, we can forget the whole thing."

  "No, no." She put a hand on his arm. "I'm sorry, Nick. I didn't mean to pry. You can pick me up. You can even stay for breakfast if you want."

  He saw the seductive invitation in her eyes and knew she'd make good on her promise, but what about the morning? What about breakfast, lunch and dinner? He had a feeling Suzanne Brooks didn't sleep with a man for the hell of it, and that was the only reason he'd slept with anyone in the past eight years.

  Walter kept telling him it was time to move on, to settle down, to get on with the rest of his life. Perhaps the old man was right. He could get used to breakfast at Suzanne's. He could forget that her skin wasn't dark, her eyes weren't blue, her hair wasn't the color of the night.

  Or maybe he'd spend the rest of his life haunted by a memory, by a woman he would probably never see again -- at least if she had anything to say about it.

  * * *

  Raymond Curtis took the elevator downstairs. Instead of descending to the underground parking, he impulsively stepped off at the lobby level. He didn't feel like going home yet. His Spanish-style house in the San Fernando Valley with its cool red tiles and slick hardwood floors would be neat and clean and waiting for him. The evening paper would be on the dining room table, and his housekeeper would have something warming in the oven, but Elisabeth wouldn't be there.

  No, Elisabeth was on her way to San Diego to rescue some childhood friend from a panic attack. Raymond frowned, still angry at his fiancé’s abrupt and sudden departure. He didn't like unpredictability. He didn't appreciate people doing what they weren't supposed to do.

  That was one of the reasons he'd stayed single for fifteen years after his first marriage ended in divorce. Margery had never done what she was supposed to do. She'd been impetuous, impulsive and impossible. She'd been young.

  The little warning voice returned to his head, Elisabeth was young, too. The difference was him. He was older now. He could handle a young wife. He wouldn't make the same mistakes he had made before.

  As he walked through the lobby and into the crowded Irish bar serving up happy hour, he thought about the strange present Elisabeth's mother had sent them, a charm bracelet with baby shoes, of all things. What an odd gift. It made him feel uneasy. Elisabeth had been upset by the present, too. Did she want children? Was she simply pretending she didn't, ready to trap him into fatherhood once they were married?

  He hated to think she could be that devious. He'd certainly never seen that side of her. She was always open and honest in her dealings with coworkers and clients. No, he was simply imagining problems. Pre-wedding jitters, he told himself, as he stepped up to the bar and ordered a gin and tonic.

  He'd asked Elisabeth to marry him the same day he'd discovered a new bald spot on the back of his head. He'd never admit that the two events were related, but deep down in his heart, he knew they were. He was getting older. He didn't want to end up alone.

  Not that he didn't love her. Who wouldn't love her? She was gorgeous, with her dark hair and striking blue eyes. She had great breasts, beautiful legs, a sharp mind. And she didn't talk much. She didn't question him about the past. She didn't analyze their lovemaking. She didn't ask him for anything.

  His uneasiness increased. She didn't ask him for anything. She didn't need him.

  He took another sip of his drink to calm his unreasonable fears. Elisabeth looked up to him. She respected his business decisions. She'd told him she cared a great deal for him.

  Cared. It was a word he'd used a lot. Now, he hated it coming back at him, because he knew it didn't mean the same thing as love. But if she didn't love him, why the hell was she marrying him? For money, security? He hoped not. He wanted her to love him, to lust for him, to adore him.

  So why was he planning the whole goddamned wedding, while she took off to San Diego?

  Raymond picked up his drink and slammed it down his throat. He had half a mind to go after Elisabeth, to track down this friend of hers and make it clear that he was the most important person in her life.

  "Alone on a Friday night? You're slipping, Raymond." Beverly Wickham slid onto the bar stool next to him and ordered a Manhattan.

  "Beverly," Raymond said in cool, even tones. Beverly had worked as an account executive for him six years earlier. When he didn't promote her fast enough, she'd left him to start her own agency and had become one of his toughest competitors.

  A tall, statuesque blond in her late forties, Beverly wore a teal-blue Armani suit, matching high heels and sheer stockings. Although her face didn't have the natural glowing beauty of a younger woman, it was perfectly made up. She definitely knew how to make the most of her assets.

  "Raymond," Beverly said, her hazel-colored eyes filled with mischief. "I hear we'll be going head to head on the Nature Brand account. I do love a good fight."

  "It won't be a fight. It will be a knockout."

  "I seriously doubt that. Who's writing the copy -- Elisabeth?"

  "Of course."

  "Of course," she echoed mockingly. "Where is she tonight? Picking out pink bridesmaid's dresses?"

  "She's visiting a friend."

  Beverly arched an eyebrow. "You don't sound happy about it."

  "I couldn't care less. We don't live in each other's pockets." He looked down the bar, hoping to catch the bartender's eye. He needed another drink.

  "Not yet anyway," Beverly said. "When is the big day?"

  "April twenty-seventh."

  "That's four weeks from --"

  "Tomorrow."

  "Oh, my." She shook her finger at him. "Time is running out for you, Raymond."

  "I'm getting married; I'm not dying."

  "Then why the long face, the empty glass?"

  "I'm tired and I was thirsty."

  "Let me buy you a drink."

  Raymond hesitated. Beverly loved to push his buttons, and she seemed to know exactly how to do it. In many ways they were alike -- both ambitious, tough, and in love with the world of advertising.

  "Another gin and tonic for my friend," Beverly said as the bartender came over. "That is what you were drinking, isn't it?"

  He looked into her perceptive eyes and smiled. "Good memory."

  "You're actually paying me a compliment? I'm impressed."

  "You'll get over it." When the bartender set down the drinks, Raymond handed him a ten-dollar bill. "I'll take care of these."

  "You don't want to be indebted to me, even for the price of a drink?" Beverly asked, putting her wallet away.

  "I don't let women pa
y for my drinks."

  She shifted in her chair, sending him a thoughtful look. "One of the last few gentlemen in L.A. So, how do you plan to get married and dream up an advertising campaign for Nature Brand at the same time?"

  "The wedding is all done. Elisabeth and I have plenty of time to concentrate on Nature Brand."

  "One might think a man's thoughts would be more focused on his lovely bride than on cereal."

  "That's the beauty of marrying a coworker. We're both willing to make sacrifices for the company."

  "Sounds like the perfect marriage."

  "It will be."

  Silence fell between them.

  "Do you want to have dinner?" Beverly asked.

  Raymond took a sip of his drink. "I don't think so."

  "Because we're competitors, or because you don't like me?"

  He shrugged, not sure how to answer such a pointed question. "I haven't given it much thought."

  "I have." She ran her finger around the edge of her glass. "I'm forty-nine years old and all the men my age are dating younger women, some of them much younger. I don't understand it. I mean Elisabeth is what -- twenty-seven?"

  "Thirty-one," he said through tight lips.

  "She's only six years older than your son, Raymond. What on earth do you have to talk about? Or is talking not one of your priorities?"

  Raymond felt the color rise in his cheeks. "Elisabeth and I have a great deal in common."

  "Okay, maybe you do. Maybe she's the love of your life, but just out of curiosity, have you ever dated a woman of your own generation?"

  "I married one."

  "That was years ago, when you were both young. I'm talking about recently, the past fifteen years since your divorce."

  Raymond finished his drink and slid the glass across the counter. "I have to go."

  "Why do older women scare older men?" Beverly persisted, putting a hand on his arm as he attempted to stand up. "I'd really like to know, because I don't want to spend the rest of my life alone, but I also don't want to spend it with some young twenty-year-old to whom JFK is as unfamiliar as George Washington."

  Raymond peeled her fingers from his suit sleeve. "You'd be lucky to find a twenty-year-old, Beverly. It's not your age. It's you. You talk too much. You push too much."

  Beverly's hand dropped to her side. She didn't look insulted, just thoughtful. "Maybe you're right. I just want to meet a man who understands me, who knows my mind, who can relate to where I'm coming from. All the men I want seem to be taken by younger gals. I just don't get it. I'm a lot better at sex now than when I was twenty, believe me. I'm in better shape, too. Some day, somebody is going to have the thrill of his life."

  Raymond swallowed hard, his gaze drawn to her ample breasts, the curve of her hips. Simple physical reaction, he told himself. He certainly had no interest in Beverly. She'd eat him alive. "I have to go."

  "Don't worry. I wasn't going to make a pass at you."

  "I wasn't worried."

  "After all, you're in love with Elisabeth, right?" she said with a mischievous sparkle in her eyes.

  "Right." And he'd better get the hell out of this bar before he forgot that. "I'll see you around."

  "Raymond? If I was thirty..." Her eyes met his. "Any chance?" She shook her head before he could answer. "Never mind. I don't really want to know. Sometimes, it's better just to live with the fantasy."

  As Raymond left the bar, he realized Beverly had just pushed another button. She wasn't the one living the fantasy, he was -- a fifty-two-year-old man and a thirty-one-year-old woman. He could have been Elisabeth's father. A wave of doubts washed over him, almost drowning him in insecurity and fear.

  He knew why he wanted Elisabeth; he just didn't know why she wanted him. And he was afraid to ask.

  Chapter Three

  Normally Lisa could make the trip from Los Angeles to San Diego in about two hours, but on a late Friday afternoon in early April, it took almost three. It was seven by the time she reached the strip of highway that ran alongside the sandy beaches and blue rocking waves of the Pacific Ocean. As she turned off the freeway, the sun dipped past the horizon, making a glorious, fiery descent, reminding her of all the sunsets she'd watched from the beaches of this southern California city.

  She rolled down her window and helplessly inhaled the ocean breeze, the distant scent of jasmine. It smelled like home. She'd grown up here amidst the palm trees, the boats and the beaches, graduating from middle school, high school and finally San Diego State University.

  At one time, she'd thought she'd live here forever, near the sand and the sea and the people she loved. But San Diego had changed over the years, and so had she. It was no longer a sleepy beach town but a busy metropolis, expanding in the south from immigrants pouring out of Mexico and in the north from weary, disillusioned city people escaping L.A.

  Everywhere she looked she saw new buildings, unfamiliar signs. San Diego was a stranger, and so was she.

  She'd been foolish to fear coming down this road. It was not the same road she'd left. Just because she'd come back did not mean she'd come home.

  Maggie's street didn't bring back memories either. The house Maggie lived in now was a recent purchase, bought a few years earlier when Keith had taken a job as a chemist at Bellatrix Labs. The job had brought Keith a hefty increase in salary, and he'd wanted a house to show for it, so he and Maggie and the kids had moved out of their small apartment into this new subdivision of modern two-story houses.

  Lisa had only visited once, shortly after Keith's funeral, almost a year ago.

  Lisa stopped her car in front of Maggie's house. As she stepped on to the sidewalk, she smiled to herself at the homey touches. Maggie's windows boasted planter boxes filled with irises and daisies. A porch swing blew in the breeze. As she made her way to the front door, Lisa noticed the welcome mat on the ground, the brass knocker with the name "Scott" engraved on it.

  Home and family. That's all Maggie had ever wanted. She'd been the anchor in their group, the one who wanted to nest, to savor simple pleasures. For a while Lisa had wanted the same things, until her life had gone in a different direction. She smoothed down the skirt of her navy blue business suit, suddenly worried that she and Maggie would no longer have anything in common.

  Maggie threw open the door before Lisa could ring the bell. "Thank God, you're here," she said, pulling Lisa into a warm hug. "I thought you'd changed your mind."

  "The traffic was bad. Everyone wanted to get out of town, I guess."

  "I know that feeling. Come on in." Maggie led the way into the house. "I have to apologize -- the house is a mess."

  The sight of clothes, toys, dishes and general signs of chaos in the living room, dining room and kitchen startled Lisa. Maggie's disclaimer was not the usual polite apology of a hostess caught unawares. The house truly was a mess, which disturbed Lisa even more. Maggie had always been neat. A place for everything and everything in its place.

  Lisa followed Maggie up the stairs and into her bedroom.

  Maggie shoved the pile of laundry from the bed to the floor and sat down. She looked Lisa straight in the eye. "I think I'm losing my mind."

  Lisa tried to smile reassuringly, but Maggie's pale face, her tangled blond hair, her old jeans and sweatshirt didn't indicate a healthy state of mind. "Okay, what's wrong?"

  Maggie took a deep breath. "Two weeks ago Keith got a letter from a woman named Serena Hollingsworth. She wondered why Keith hadn't been in touch."

  Lisa stared at her in bewilderment. "I don't understand...”

  "I had never heard of this woman, Lisa."

  "You don't think Keith was seeing someone on the side?"

  "No, of course not," Maggie said immediately, then her voice faltered. "At least, I don't think so. I don't know. All of a sudden, I don't know."

  Lisa sat down on the other side of the bed, trying to think of what to say. She didn't know what she'd been expecting, but it certainly wasn't this. "Keith adored you and the kids.
He wouldn't have cheated on you. He was too honorable."

  Maggie stared at her for a long moment. "He increased his life insurance two months before he died, Lisa. He never told me he was doing that."

  "He was providing for you."

  "Maybe. There's something else. The day before he died, Keith made a huge cash withdrawal from our savings account, eight thousand dollars. We were saving it to buy a new car. I have no idea what he did with the money." Maggie's gaze drifted over to the picture of Keith she still kept on her dresser. "I thought I knew everything about him. Maybe I didn't know anything."

  Lisa plucked at the bedspread with her fingers. She didn't like what she was hearing, a strange woman, insurance money, cash withdrawals. None of it sounded like Keith. He'd been an intellectual, a family man, not a womanizer. "You're probably worrying about nothing," she said finally. "Maybe Keith took the money out to put a down payment on a car to surprise you. He loved to surprise you."

  Maggie didn't smile or look comforted. She flopped onto her back, staring at the ceiling. "I wondered about the money before, but I put it out of my mind. When I got that letter from Serena Hollingsworth, it all came back, and I panicked. I couldn't breathe. I couldn't sleep. I kept wondering about her, about him, the money, the life insurance, the fire. There was nothing left but ashes and some teeth that could have..."

  "That could have what?"

  "Belonged to anyone," she said flatly.

  "They checked Keith's dental records."

  "Right. He had a filling in his third molar. So what? You don't think anyone else has a filling in their third molar?"

  "They found bits and pieces of his clothes, his briefcase. The security guard said he'd seen Keith go inside just minutes before the explosion."

  Maggie sat up and slid off the bed. She began to pace restlessly around the room, "I know. Keith is dead, and I'm just imagining things." Her eyes met Lisa's. "I think I might be having a nervous breakdown."

  "Maybe you should see a doctor."

  "Maybe. I can't let the kids down, Lisa. I have to be here for them, but right now, I just want to get away. I got in my car yesterday to drop the kids off at school, and I almost didn't come back. The urge to leave was incredibly strong, and I can't believe I'm saying that. I'm a mother. What kind of a mother wants to leave her children?"