“You have a son? How old is he?”
“Five. You have kids?”
He raised three fingers. “Do they live with you?”
“No, sadly. Their mother remarried and moved to Oregon. She took them with her. I see them on holidays and a couple of weeks during the summer. Your glass is empty. Want another?”
“Not right now. Thanks.”
Ken chugalugged the rest of his beer, and then raised his hand, snapping his fingers to get the waitress' attention. He held up one finger, pointed to himself, and returned his attention to Dana. “So, your son lives with you all the time?”
“Yes.”
“Must be tough, career and all.”
“Not at all. I like my life this way.” She twisted her glass around. “How long have you known Patrick?”
“Since the day he came to Ashton. He's like a brother. We own a couple of nags together. He's a great guy.”
“So this riding thing is serious, huh?”
“We long-distance race a couple of times a month and we try to ride most mornings before work. Good exercise.”
“Well, you both look fit. It must agree with you.”
Ken's second drink arrived. He laid a twenty on the plastic tray with the tab. “You should join us some morning. They have other horses at the stable. Bring your son. In fact, why don't you come with me Saturday morning?”
“Sometime maybe. Thanks for the offer.” She glanced up at the clock over the bar.
“I knew it. You have to go.”
“It’s my son. Thanks for the drink.”
“Believe me, my pleasure.” He rose with her. “Thanks for joining me. May I call you?”
She nodded over her shoulder as she left.
On the way out to her car, she felt a terrible emptiness. Patrick had gotten to her. The more she saw him, the more she wanted to be with him. She met Ken, a nice eligible man, and she blew it. He even wanted to take her and Michael riding. He had his own business. Could she spend the rest of her life alone? Would having an occasional affair be something she could handle? Each day she seemed more confused.
Deep down, she understood the way Patrick responded to Michael drew her closer to him.
Wrong place, wrong time!
* * *
Teal DeLuca disembarked the flying tricycle that Air West had the audacity to call an airplane, at Los Angeles International Airport. Outside, she hailed a cab for the hour-and-a-half crawl across the metropolis. Just being here amidst the din and confusion reinforced her love for Ashton, the town she vowed she'd never leave.
If she were home right now, she and Dana would be lunching. At least now, she had an excuse not to be there. She couldn’t face the woman after being with Joel for three weeks, in his bed, cooking his meals, playing house, and plotting against Dana.
She didn't love Joel as she thought she would when Dana had him. Life was truly a bitch, and she had promised Joel more information to fuel his case. A small part of her felt rotten.
An hour-and-a-half later, and thirty dollars poorer, she sat in the front office of Local 281 waiting to see her boss, Sam "the Letch" Jenkins. He had given her a one-day notice to come to L.A. for a briefing. Normally, he gave her a week.
The sparse offices of Local 281 gave the appearance the union had fallen on hard times, but they had always been tight-fisted with the buck. Posh offices were not their thing. They were a no frills organization--good times and bad. Rumor had it they had lost three major elections in recent months. Her trip to L.A. meant one of his famous pep talks. She had organized the small Allen Spice Company, with less than two hundred employees, in the last year--hardly enough in dues to pay her salary, let alone add bucks to the coffers of 281.
The "Letch" leered out from behind his office door. "Comein.”
His portly frame, bald dome, and Hitler mustache gave Teal the creeps. Every time she attended a meeting with him, she had to drink with him afterwards and then fight him off until her flight left... Thank God, she only met with him every three or four months.
"Have a seat.” He headed around his scratched desk and pulled out a cigarillo from a drawer.
Teal took the seat in front of him, making sure her knees were covered. To discourage any of his usual advances, she had chosen a sedate, basic-black dress with a high neck and below-the-knee hemline--her funeral dress. She tied her hair back in a bun, and wore little makeup to keep Jenkins’ mind on business.
"So why the sudden decision for a meeting?" Her tone was crisp and clear.
With a flick of his Bic, he lit his cigarillo, took a deep drag, and with one billowing puff he filled the air around her with smoke and the horrible smell of cigar. As if the smog in this town wasn't bad enough. She coughed.
He strolled back around and sat on the edge of his desk with his knee almost touching hers. She crossed her legs and shifted her weight to put space between them.
"You've been working Ashton alone for two years and we represent only one additional company. Doesn't foot the bill. What've you got in the hopper?"
"I'm working on Templeton. If I get it, there's a possibility of four hundred new members. I have two other drives going on right now. Not as big as Templeton but better than the spice company."
"How do they look?"
Teal's stomach churned. "Good," she lied. Jenkins acted somber and quizzical, not his usual jovial, lecherous self. He had not even looked at her cross-eyed since she arrived. Something negative hung in the air she did not like.
"In the past, you've been a helluva organizer, Teal. But lately you haven't been pulling your weight."
Teal bolted up from her chair. "Ashton is not what you'd call a union town, Sam. I've been breakin' my ass for you and getting nowhere."
"I thought you had an old friend at Templeton."
"I do. She knows I want in, but she's not having it.” Teal stood and gave him a hip-cocked pose. "It's been seven years or more since Dana and I've seen each other. A lot of water has passed under the bridge. And Patrick's got a strong hold there."
Jenkins stubbed his cigarillo in the large clear glass ashtray behind him, and stood to his feet.
"You've got three months to get Templeton. If you don't, you're out."
She gasped, realizing a shiver of panic running through her. "Out? Just like that?"
"You know if you don't earn your keep around here you're kaput. Consider yourself on notice.” He strolled back to his seat behind the desk.
"I've worked two-eight-one for six years. I've pulled my weight. I can't help it if some of these small companies break away when the employees get what they want without us. You're treating me like I'm only as good as my last picture show."
That's the name of the game. Get me Templeton by November…or start looking.”
While he shuffled papers, her mind raced. She'd lose everything, her beautiful condo, her Corvette. She might have to consider leaving Ashton…move in with Joel. Heaven forbid. What a crappy predicament.
He glanced up from the papers he'd been shuffling into a neat stack. "These aren't the good old days anymore, my darling girl. Unions are having a hard time all over. I've got people here with more seniority than you. If you don't make your salary, I can't keep you."
Teal refused to shed the tears that welled up in her eyes. She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction. She would get into Templeton, even if it was the last thing she would do. She’d be damned if she lost everything she had worked for because that woman wouldn’t help her.
"I'll get Templeton, the other two, and I'll get two-eighty-one into the County. She marched over to Jenkins and punched his chest with her finger. “Then I want a raise and a little more respect."
"That's the way I like to hear you talk. Now get back to Ashton and show me what you're made of."
Teal headed for the door. "Can I use the beach house for a little schmoozing?"
"Sure." Jenkins reached into the top drawer of his desk and threw her the keys. "Call Lilah and give her the da
tes."
"How about someone taking me to the airport? It cost me thirty bucks to get here in a cab."
He pushed down the intercom. “Lilah, give Teal thirty dollars from petty cash and tell Jerry to take her to the airport.” He glanced up. "Don't let me down."
Under her breath on the way out the door, she muttered, "Screw you, Letch. I'm doin' this for me.”
Nine
Patrick shoved his notes into his briefcase, pressed the intercom, and waited for the secretary to answer. The wall clock in his office, hanging slightly askew on the walnut veneer paneling, clicked at second intervals. He buzzed again. The office secretary took her time answering, which could make him late for negotiations.
Angie Munson poked her delicate, oval face around the door. “Sorry, Patrick. Ed was dictating when you buzzed. What do you need?”
“The Templeton file.”
“Right away.”
Somewhere in that file were notes about verbal agreements covering the contract's expiration. An expired contract made him edgy. That window period meant open season for an election with any other union who wanted in. Teal DeLuca had election cards in hand, with a mouthful of false promises.
Dana's negotiating tactics were so good she became a real threat to the job he wanted in New York. If she stood in the way of his getting a contract, his only out would be to call for a strike. He had to uncover her strategy in order to get what he wanted before this round of negotiations ended.
Angie returned with the file. “Ken Burrack is out front.”
“I can't see him. I'm late. Tell him I'll call him after work.” Patrick stuffed Templeton’s folder into his briefcase and snapped it shut. “Never mind. I'll catch him on the way out.”
In the outer office, Ken stood next to the receptionist’s desk, leaning against the wall, his arms across his chest, a packet of folded papers in one hand. “Sorry to drop in like this, but I wanted to bring these leases by.” He held the folder out to Patrick. “One of them ends in a week. Guess I caught you at a bad time.”
“I'm late. Give them to Angie. Ed will sign them. Can I call you later?”
“Sure. I'll walk you down to your car.” Communication between them lately had been sparse. Because of busy schedules, they hadn't been riding the past few days. Ken handed the contracts to the receptionist, and he followed Patrick out the door.
“What’s bothering you?”
Patrick pushed the elevator down button, held his briefcase with both hands, and rocked on the balls of his feet. “You never drop by the office like this.” The smugness on Ken’s face began to irritate him.
“What's the matter, man? You look like the cat that swallowed the canary.”
“Wanted to talk to you about Dana,” Ken said in a pensive tone.
“Why?”
The elevator doors slid open. They stepped into the empty cubicle. Ken knuckled the ground floor button.
“How'd you two hit it off?” Patrick squeezed the handle of his briefcase.
“She didn't give me a tumble.”
Relieved he asked, “She tell you about her son?”
“Yes. I offered to take them riding.”
Patrick froze. Ken had beaten him to the punch. He wondered if she told him about Michael’s autism. “She going?”
“Nope. Refused me.” The elevator bounced to a stop on the ground floor. Patrick led the way through the lobby to the back door.
“I'll give you a buzz later at your office, or we can ride in the morning.” Patrick pushed the glass door open to the cool, fresh, gray autumn day. Ken's BMW sat next to his Fiat.
He pulled at Patrick's arm. “I think you should rethink this thing about Dana. She's crazy about you.”
Patrick swung around. “You're supposed to keep me from getting into one of these traps. Remember?”
“I’m telling you, she's crazy about you.”
Ken piqued Patrick’s interest. “What'd she say?”
“It isn't what she said, it was the way she looked at you, and how she spoke of you, the things she asked about you after you left.” He released Patrick's jacket sleeve. “If I were you, I wouldn't let that one out of my sight. She's not the type you see once or twice. She's the kind you have a relationship with.”
“I think I already told you that. So much for our pact to keep each other from getting involved. The damn deal is falling apart all over one skirt. You're no help.”
Unlocking his car, he slipped in, opened the window, and looked up at Ken. “Thanks for the tip, buddy. I can handle it from here.”
Ken gave him a friendly warning smile. “I'm giving you a month. If she's still free, all pacts are off and I’m moving in.”
That brought a smile to Patrick’s face. He recalled the fond high school memories, where he and his friends bartered over girls, as if the girls had a choice in the matter. Backing away, Patrick left Ken standing with challenge written all over his face.
Patrick made a grand entrance, greeting both teams with his broadest smile.
Dana glanced up and smiled. “Did you pick up the evening paper on your way in?”
“Touché.” He returned her smile, sat down, cocked his head, and studied her while she thumbed through her papers. While her words drifted over his head, he tried to imagine what it would be like having a relationship with a woman so dedicated to her work and so fiercely protective of Michael--a woman who commanded the attention of everyone around her. His ex-wife, Elaine, had none of these qualities. ‘Selfish’ and ‘Vindictive’ were her best dishes served cold and on a silver platter. He suspected she fought so hard for Lisa just to spite him, to force him to bend to her will. Dana had none of those qualities. She possessed strong and resolute personality traits--the consummate mother and professional. For a relationship to develop between them, one would have to change careers, and that left him out. He'd had enough experience to see the ending from the beginning. The day moved slowly. Both made concessions.
…Later, at his apartment, after a quick shower and change of clothes, Patrick wondered if he should try one more time to drop by Dana's apartment. After thinking all day of what Ken had said, he felt compelled to see her and Michael.
Even though she refused Ken's offer to take Michael riding, Patrick still wanted to convince Dana to let him take Michael out to see the horses at least. If she didn’t want company, she could say no; he could handle that. So what if he bulldozed his way right into the middle of the firing line.
For a full five minutes, he stood on her landing, vacillating for the first time since he decided to come over, marshaling the courage to knock.
She answered the door barefoot in a baggy T-shirt and jeans. Patrick liked what he saw--the picture of innocence, fresh and natural, not sophisticated looking enough to be the top executive she was. An open novel dangled from her hand. Her brows arched in surprise. Her voice cracked.
“My goodness, what brings you here?”
“I was on my way to see a friend and thought I'd stop by to see how Michael is doing.” What he wanted to say was, I'm drawn to you and Michael, but he couldn't, so he just stammered a bit and felt foolish, hoping for acceptance of his spontaneous visit.
She hugged the half-opened door; a guarded pose he knew meant either no you can't come in, or maybe.
“It's not a good idea.”
“You're right. It was a crummy idea.” He cleared his throat, stiffened, embarrassed for doing this without calling first. “Sorry.”
He turned to head back to his car when a disconsolate cry from Michael stopped him. He whirled around in time to see the boy appear next to his mother, reaching out with one hand, bidding Patrick to come back.
Dana drew a fist to her mouth, appearing shocked to see Michael responding to Patrick again.
“I’m so surprised. Do you have some magic potion to make my son react this way to you? With all his exposure to other men in the family and friends, he’s never once displayed an ounce of friendliness toward any of them. With y
ou, it was an immediate bonding.”
She stepped aside. “Come in.” Her hand rested on Michael's shoulder.
Patrick strolled into the living room, glanced around at the meager furnishings, and felt a pang of sadness for her. A woman with her prestigious job should be living in a fancy condo on the north side, with designer furniture and all the trappings a woman of her station deserved.
“Not much to look at, but its home until I get my life back together financially. Michael and I were just going to have chocolate milk and cookies. Would you like to join us?”
“You sure it's all right?”
She shrugged. “Michael usually goes right to his room when someone comes in. When you arrived, he marched to his seat at the kitchen table and waited for his cookies.”
Sweat broke out under Patrick's arms. He couldn’t remember when he'd felt this uncomfortable. He followed the boy and sat across from him. “So how was your day, son?”
Michael covered his mouth with both hands and looked down at his lap. She set the cookies, cups, and hot chocolate on the table.
“It’s very daring of you to come over like this. What if someone from work sees you?” she asked calmly, without challenge.
Their meeting outside of work, could be misconstrued as a conflict of interest if anyone found out they were personally involved. It could put their chances of getting a contract in jeopardy. One of them would have to secede. The stakes were high.
“I thought of that but then dismissed it. Does someone from the hospital live in your building?”
“Not that I know of. The hospital is only a few miles from here, though.”
“Don't worry. I won't do this again. It's just since the night I drove you and Michael home, I've wanted to come by and see him again. He's been on my mind. I thought it might be fun if we took Michael out to the stables, so I could show him my horses.”
A warm smile spread her lips. “Ken suggested the same thing. I turned him down. I didn't tell him Michael was autistic.”
A distinct feeling swept through Patrick thinking of Michael as their secret, and for some childish reason that made him extremely happy. “Why didn’t you tell him?”
Conflicts of the Heart Page 9