Sloane was not completely sure what her mother did to stay busy during the week, but she knew Saturdays were particularly bad for Marianne. She had learned to fill her weekdays years ago. Her father was often absent for days- and nights – at a time. Weekends had been family time. In the warm months they would sit on the patio of their lakefront home or play tennis at the club; then in winter, there was skiing out West, or a city escape for the theater, museums and shopping.
The club had dropped them like a hot potato so there was no more tennis, even if someone had offered to play with them, which they didn’t. Of course, with the money all gone, there were no more days spent shopping. Instead, Sloane spent most weekends inviting her mother to come into the city or she made the drive north. They would sit together, watching TV, talking about current events and avoiding any touchy personal conversations.
Just last year, Marianne had been planning a huge wedding, a society wedding to top all others. She was busy, stressed and happy. Some nights of the week, her boisterous husband would come home by 7:00 and they would enjoy a cocktail and conversation followed by a lovely, leisurely dinner prepared with the help of a live-in housekeeper. Now she ate alone, usually in front of the TV or while reading a book, missing her husband’s stories of his workday and the housekeeper and pining for her daughter’s lost wedding.
“Mom,” Sloane called again, moving through the house to the bottom of the large staircase dominating the oversized foyer. “Where are you?”
Her mother’s large Mercedes SUV was still in the garage, so Sloane knew her mother could not be far from home. It was unlikely she had gone out with anyone else, because there was no one else, and Sloane was expected to arrive.
Sloane was halfway up the stairs when she heard the tap-tap of her mother’s shoes coming from the family room at the back of the house. She moved in that direction in time to see her mother come through the door from the sunroom. Her mother was still faintly tanned from her trip abroad, willowy and dressed in wool trousers and a silk blouse, her normal attire for sitting around the house. Marianne’s appearance was always impeccable. Anyone seeing the two women together would recognize them as mother and daughter, although - after her little vacation - Marianne could pass for an older sister.
“Darling, how wonderful to see you,” Marianne Huyler moved toward her in a breeze of Chanel No. 5 and clasped her in a warm hug. “I was just sitting in the sunroom and enjoying the beautiful day. Shall we go back in there?”
“Sure, just let me grab a La Croix,” Sloane responded. “Can I get you one?”
Her mother nodded and moved back toward the large sunroom where Sloane soon joined her, padding about in bare feet and balancing a small lacquered tray that held two flavored waters and two crystal glasses filled with ice. A small bowl of sliced apples was also on the tray along with two embroidered cocktail napkins.
Sloane filled the glasses, handed one to her mother and tucked her feet under her as she sat in an oversized wicker chair. Sipping her La Croix, her eyes hidden behind dark glasses, Sloane answered questions about her week, about work, and about the upcoming benefit. She managed to do all of this without mentioning she was struggling to keep the doors open at work, that she was planning to downsize dramatically and that she had not been chairman of the benefit committee for over two months.
Instead, she answered with responses like “I ran into Regan Howe recently. She and Ethan were heading to lunch and invited me to join them. They send their love of course. It is very exciting; they are developing some new properties. Actually, they have offered us an outstanding opportunity if I will move our offices in their new space early. They need some tenants to attract other lessees and I figure we can help them out.”
Her mother would nod at appropriate intervals, not asking many questions. It was better for them both if they kept these conversations close to the surface. The conversation was flowing nicely, about clothes, flowers, the weather and a bit about HI and Sloane was lulled into thinking she would have an easy time pretending everything was fine. That was, until they got to the benefit. Unfortunately, her mother was suddenly full of questions.
“How are plans for the benefit going? I expect my invitation in the next week or two. The event is only two months away, Sloane.”
“Great, Mom. Everything is coming along great. The invitations go out soon. We still have time, Mom. The event is still three months away, not two.”
“Well, two and half. And the auction and fundraising? How are the contributions coming?” her mother probed.
“Well, we had so many details to handle with the hotel that I jumped over to take care of that and left the fundraising to Allyson Riley. In fact, I did a fabulous tasting. You will like the menu.”
“Allyson Riley? You handed fundraising to Allyson Riley? Not likely. Sloane, what is going on? Allyson was in charge of the venue logistics, you were chairing the event. Now you switched?”
“Mother, it is fine, really.” Sloane’s tone conveyed her reluctance to discuss it further, so her mother changed the topic briefly, thinking she would return to the subject. When Sloane refused to respond with more than a grunt, her mother finally gave up and moved on to other aspects of the event.
“So I will like the menu? What did you taste and what did you pick? I have been to so many events at the Palmer House over the years. They always do a beautiful job, but I wonder if there is anything there I haven’t eaten.”
Sloane laughed at the possible truth of her mother’s statement and described the tasting in detail.
“ …And then we got desserts, four of them. I had no idea where I would put one more bite, but Randall managed to down those, too.”
“Randall? Who is Randall?” Her mother’s face lit up like a Christmas tree. “Is Randall on the committee?”
“Lord no. I just ran into him at the hotel and he manipulated his way into the tasting. Now that I think about it, I am not exactly sure how he did that,” Sloane mused.
“Randall?” Her mother would not let go. “Would that be Randall Parker? His mother was such a lovely woman. So sad when she passed away.”
“Yes, Mother,” Sloane was biting back her impatience now that she could see where her mother was going with her questions. “It was Randall Parker. But while he may have lovely parents, Randall is a buffoon.”
“A buffoon? What are you talking about? He is a very handsome man, Duke and Northwestern educated, from a fine family and with a substantial fortune of his own. That is certainly no buffoon.”
Damn! Did her mother know the resume of every eligible bachelor?
Sloane felt exactly the way she had as a child when her mother scolded or corrected her. Dropping her head and shoulders in defeat, she conceded that Randall was everything her mother said he was.
“He is a very good catch, Sloane. You could do a lot worse.” She was like a dog with a bone.
“Drop this Mom, there is nothing going on between Randall and me. If anything, we hate each other. Besides, he is one of Wyatt’s best friends.”
There, that should shut her up.
“You know, hate is just the flip side of the coin with love. Strong feelings are strong feelings.” Marianne was more animated than Sloane had seen her in weeks.
Sloane just rolled her eyes. Her mother was not going to let this go. A withering glance from Sloane would stop most people in their tracks, but she had learned it from her mother, who was using it on her now. She sat silent and let her mother continue.
“Wyatt does not care about you any more, Sloane. I know that is harsh, but since you never really loved him, I feel I can say it to you. He is married to that jeweler now and he could care less who you date or who you marry.”
Marianne hesitated long enough to make sure she had Sloane’s attention.
“Now, that said, Randall would be an excellent date for you to invite to the benefit. You must go with someone, Sloane, and he cared enough to do the menu selection with you. Besides, it is a very good c
ause and he can afford to write a very large check.”
Sloane smiled and hopped out of her chair to give her mother a swift hug. “I cannot argue with that now can I?”
“You will think about inviting Randall?”
“Yes, Mother. I will think about inviting Randall.”
Pulling back from Sloane’s embrace and fixing her already perfect hair, Marianne responded in a tough no-nonsense manner. “Don’t think too long, Sloane. I mean it.”
Desperate to change the subject before her mother picked up the phone and called Randall herself, Sloane looked around the garden. It was beautiful, sloping down to a steep drop-off that muted the sound of the waves hitting the beach below. Sloane could just see the top of the wooden staircase that she knew would take her to their private slice of sand and the small boathouse empty of the two sailboats that were there in her youth.
“It really is special here, Mom. I am going to miss it.”
“Me too, sweetheart. So much. I came here almost thirty five years ago as a bride, and I haven’t left since. I cannot imagine living in an small apartment somewhere.” Marianne’s wistful voice and faraway look were heartbreaking for Sloane. Sloane had lived in the house most of her thirty years. She moved to the city after she finished graduate school five years ago, and she still spent most weekends and sometimes weeks at a time in the Glencoe house.
“I never understood why you and Daddy stayed here so long. Six bedrooms and just the three of us never really made sense to me. I know you never planned a big family. Daddy wanted a son though, didn’t he?”
“Oh, honey, you were all the son or daughter your father ever wanted. You played sports with him and went into the family business; you watched the Bears and the Cubs together. Really, why would he ever have wanted a boy?”
She had asked her mother this question almost every year of her life, but Sloane knew in her heart, no matter how many reassurances she received, that her father had wanted a boy. Therefore, when her mother had a series of miscarriages before finally deciding not to try anymore, Sloane made a promise to be the son her father always wanted. Even now, she was only keeping the business open because it carried the Huyler name. It was what Sloane believed a son would have done for his father, so she did it for hers.
“Well, I have some great ideas for places for you either in the city or out here. You just tell me what you want.” Putting lots of enthusiasm in her voice, Sloane helped her mother get excited at the prospect of selling the family home and downsizing dramatically. “You could stay in this area near the club and your friends, or come downtown, closer to me. You know I would love that.”
“Sloane, stop pretending. There are no more clubs and there are very few friends. I know the same thing is happening to you. I have faced facts. Even when your father is home again, things will never be the same for us. Just find me a comfortable, affordable, two-bedroom condominium in a safe neighborhood. Somewhere I can walk to a grocery or a restaurant, or for a coffee. Somewhere near a decent yoga studio.”
“You know, dear, I would never have spent all that time in France if I had understood how tight the money was,” Marianne continued. “It was selfish of me.”
“Oh, Mom, how could you know? How could any of us have known?”
“There were clues. I ignored them,” Marianne shook the thought from her head and faced Sloane with a tight smile. “Just find me a nice affordable place.”
They discussed a few possibilities and agreed that something in Sloane’s Gold Coast neighborhood would be ideal if it the price was right. Sloane informed her mother that Regan would help find a residential realtor to list the house, which would bring a sizable profit even with the mortgages on it.
“I am sure we can find something lovely,” she concluded.
“Then let’s soak up this delicious sunshine and enjoy our little enclave for a few more minutes, dear.” Her mother gave her a conspiratorial smile. “Because we are spending the rest of today cleaning out the attic and the basement. If we are moving, we have serious work to do.”
CHAPTER SIX
Friday nights at Gibson’s Steak House were always crowded. Navigating the neighborhood was a challenge due to the large number of inviting bars and restaurants that drew big crowds. Known to locals as ‘the Viagra triangle’, the small neighborhood was packed with hot spots where visiting business people and neighborhood regulars came to meet and hook up. The number of people, the valets and double parked cars and the confluence of one-way streets made it a crazy spot any night, but especially on those first few really warm weekends of Spring.
Randall walked over from his River North townhouse, enjoying the warm evening and the people watching. He never tired of looking at the gorgeous girls, frequently exchanging a wishful glance with them, occasionally a phone number. His long strides made quick work of the ten blocks to the restaurant so he was the first one at the bar at the scheduled meeting time.
Ordering an Oban, neat, he carried it himself from the bar to a table nearby where he had a clear view of the doorway. It was only minutes before Alex arrived, prompt as always. Randall watched his good friend move fluidly across the room, like the consummate athlete he was. He joined Randall at the table and exchanged hearty greetings before ordering a light beer from the server.
“Light beer? Really?” Randall ribbed his friend. “What’s with that?”
“I just worked out for a couple hours so I need to ease into the alcohol tonight,” Alex explained.
“What the hell? Didn’t I see you in the gym this morning?”
“Yeah, but I am training for the Chicago Marathon. You knew that.”
“Buddy, the marathon is not until October. You need to lighten up and have some fun.”
Randall’s words fell on deaf ears, just as he knew they would. Of the four friends, Alexander James Gaines had always been the most intense. He studied harder than the rest of them and went to Stanford on a track scholarship before joining them at Northwestern for an MBA. He knew how to have fun – they would not be friends with him if he didn’t – but he always showed a serious side, an underlying logic and focus that the others lacked.
“How many drinks have you had so far?” Alex asked Randall. When Randall indicated that he was just starting his first, Alex quickly reassured him. “I will be caught up with you in no time.”
The beer arrived and the two men were about to catch up when Tyler and Wyatt arrived. Backslapping and handshaking was interrupted only long enough for Wyatt to signal the server to bring them drinks. The four had been coming to Gibson’s for drinks and sometimes dinner for years, originally several times a week, now at least monthly. Women from all over the city knew that the four drank here and they came to try their luck with the highly eligible men. The server nodded her understanding and the men settled onto the high stools.
Tyler Winthrop had been Randall’s first friend in the entire world. Even before kindergarten, the two boys discovered they were neighbors and formed a lasting bond. They walked to school together, played sports together, chased girls together. Now Tyler was a successful attorney. Shocking them all, he had recently jumped ship from one of Chicago’s most prestigious corporate firms where he was a named partner to be top dog in the legal department of Wyatt’s new tech company. Even Wyatt had been surprised when Tyler accepted his offer. Tyler could be tough, in life and in the law, but if you were on the good side of the lanky lawyer, he could make you laugh until it hurt. He had helped Randall out of more jams growing up than Randall could remember and never asked for anything in return.
The man he entered with, Wyatt Lyons Howe IV, was now a married man, but he still turned the heads of women when he entered a room. When he was a bachelor, he could be counted on to attract the prettiest women. They came in droves and it actually worked out for his friends, who always attracted plenty of women on their own, but also had the option of hitting on the women Wyatt rejected.
He was a golden boy, in looks and in life. Raised to r
un the prestigious Lyons Howe Real Estate conglomerate, he had walked away from all the prestige it represented to start his own company. Now, just over two years later, he was on the cover of “Fast Start” magazine, touted as the new Mark Zuckerberg or Bill Gates. Last summer, he had married the girl of his dreams, a fiery redhead from a small farm town and watched her dreams come true too. Keeli Larsen Howe was now one of the most successful and recognized jewelry designers in the country.
Looking at him now, Randall was overcome with an unwelcome tinge of jealousy. This was not a common feeling for Randall, so it had been a while since the green monster had reared its ugly head. Randall pushed it back into the recesses of his mind.
It was astonishing to Randall as he watched Wyatt now. The man never even looked at another woman. He was oblivious and disinterested, except if it involved helping his friends find true love. He was a convert and now he was trying to find wives for the rest of them. Randall was still happy playing the field, thank you very much, but he was enjoying watching Tyler squirm week after week under Wyatt’s effort to hook him up with his sister, Regan.
They caught up on the last few weeks over the first round of drinks, making easy conversation and fighting off any intrusions from overly zealous women. When the second round was delivered, Wyatt started teasing Tyler about Regan.
“Seen my sister lately? Have you worked up the nerve to ask her out for anything but a business event or fundraiser? I thought you two did well at the last couple of Museum galas, and you did dance with her a few times at the wedding, but that was ages ago, Ty. Only a few dates in a year and group dates at that? What are you waiting for?”
“Get off my back, Wyatt. I escorted her to several benefits this winter and you know it. Besides, things are different now.”
Beholden (The Beguiling Bachelors Book 2) Page 6