A Man In Demand

by Cheryl Anne Porter

  “No. That’d take too much energy. But I don’t trust you.”

  Her smile faltering, she stepped back and gave her attention to retrieving the few remaining packages from the car’s trunk. “Oh? Do you trust Julie?”

  Mike nearly dropped the packages he held. “How do you—? Who told you about Julie?”

  She shifted the presents to one arm and closed the trunk. Her green eyes reflected a sly gleam. “You did, of course. When I was at the door. You called out for Julie to hold on a minute—twice. Does Caroline know about Julie?”

  For the first time since he’d met Julie, he was glad she was related to Caroline. Their shared bloodlines made a very long story short—at least, in this instance. “Julie is Caroline’s cousin, so yeah, I guess she does know her.”

  “Ah, I see. How convenient.”

  Mike pulled himself up sharply. “What the hell does that mean?”

  Tory smiled. Like the Cheshire cat. “Now, Mike, don’t forget to whom you’re talking. I know how your voice sounds when you speak to the woman you love.”

  JULIE BOPPED, lighthearted as all get out, around the corner of Mike’s building—and stopped dead. Mike was standing in a pool of light by a maroon Jaguar, not twenty yards away. His back was to her. Facing her, though, was a gorgeous dark-haired woman. Both of them had their hands full of packages, and they were obviously very engaged in an intense conversation.

  When the woman smiled up into Mike’s face, Julie clutched tighter at the glass rim of the cooled baking pan she held. Who could the woman be? A neighbor? A friend? Maybe someone she and Caroline didn’t know about?

  Julie knew one thing. She didn’t want Mike to see her right now. What he did with his time was none of her business. She certainly had no claim on him. The brownies—a silly idea, she decided—began to weigh her down like so much cement. For two cents, she’d heave them, pan and all, over the six-foot wooden boundary fence to her right. But she couldn’t lift her arms. Or move her feet. She just stood there in the shadows, afraid she was staring like some starved orphan faced with a banquet of riches she couldn’t touch.

  When Mike jerked upright and raised his voice to the woman, Julie heard only two words—”Julie” and “convenient.” Okay, time to disappear. Julie began backing up slowly without turning around. Once she was out of the weak illumination cast on her by the breezeway lamp, she would hotfoot it away from here.

  But no more than two or three steps into her retreat, someone clutched at her legs from behind. Not daring to look Mike’s way, she looked down, holding the pan away from her, and saw chubby little arms encircling her thighs. Her heart sank.

  Aaron peeked around her legs, calling out, “Daddy, Mommy, look! It’s Julie!”

  Mommy? Surely she hadn’t heard him correctly. Still, having no choice, what with Aaron glued to her, Julie forced herself to look at Mike and…Mommy. She tried to smile, but her face muscles wouldn’t cooperate. So, figuring she looked like a drugged Betty Crocker with the stupid pan of brownies in her hands, she awaited her fate.

  Mike was quickly approaching her, his arms loaded with wrapped or boxed packages. “Julie,” he said when he stopped in front of her, his voice clearly reflecting his surprise. Close on his heels was…Mommy. “I wasn’t expecting you.”

  “I know.” What else could she say? Julie heard him saying something else to her, heard him tell Aaron to let her go. But she couldn’t take her eyes off the gorgeous woman who stood so close to Mike and who was looking at her as if she’d discovered her stealing the silverware.

  A little dachshund who’d suddenly found itself competing in a race against an Arabian mare. That was her—a weenie dog dressed in jeans and a sweatshirt and carrying brownies, against the thoroughbred’s sleek, cashmere outfit and bundles of expensive-looking packages. This, she concluded, was a cruel world. And, another thing, where did Mike get these women? Caroline wasn’t rich and beautiful enough for him? Oh, lovely. Now she was on Caroline’s side.

  When the moment stretched out, it was Mommy, surprisingly enough, who broke the stalemate. “Hello. I’m Victoria Lane DeAngelo. Aaron’s mother. And you, obviously, are Julie.”

  Julie blinked. Wait a minute. V. L. DeAngelo. Aaron’s mommy was the world-famous photographer and writer? She blinked again. Apparently so. Lovely. “Yes. I’m obviously Julie.”

  “Julie gots brownies,” Aaron announced proudly, drawing their attention down to him. “I can smell them. Yum.”

  Everyone, including Julie, stared at the brownie pan she held. Then Mommy came to the rescue. Again. “Why don’t we take all these packages inside and have one of Julie’s yummy brownies? Then we can get to know each other.”

  “No.” It was out before she could stop it. But she meant it. With everyone staring at her, she gave the glass dish to Aaron. “Here, sweetie, take this inside. I’ll see you later, okay?” She turned to Victoria. “It was nice to meet you. I hope you enjoy your stay.” She turned to Mike. “Drop dead.”

  Her piece said, she turned on her heel and left. She stomped all the way back to her apartment. After letting herself in, she slammed the door with enough force to send a picture to the floor. The startling, jagged sound was good. She paced up and down the length of her unit, from the front door to her bedroom, and back. Hands fisted in rage and humiliation and embarrassment, she walked on, glaring through tears at the emptiness in her heart.

  She would still have been pacing Monday morning if someone, about an hour later, had not banged on her door. Already on the return circuit to the front door when the knocking began, Julie stopped by her couch. By God, it better not be him. Please, God, let it be him. See? See why you’re pacing? See why you’re so mad? Julie raged to the door, jerked it open, confronted Mike, poked out her lip and grabbed him two-handed by the front of his jacket, hauling him inside.

  “Julie, listen to—”

  She slammed the door behind him. Another picture hit the floor. Strengthened by her anger, she forced him against the wall. His eyes widened in shocked surprise, but he didn’t resist her. “Shut up. Just…shut up, Mike DeAngelo. Don’t say a word.”

  She let go of him and stomped across the room. “I have never in my life been this angry, so I don’t know what I’m capable of. Just tell me one thing—did you know your wife is the V. L. DeAngelo—the award-winning, world-famous photographer and writer? Did you?”

  Mike pushed away from the wall. “Hell, yes. Of course I knew. And she’s my ex-wife.”

  “Aha! Just as I suspected. If you knew, why didn’t you tell me?”

  “Tell you what, for crying out loud?”

  “Who your wife is. was.” She threw her hands up and resumed her pacing. Men.

  Mike called after her as she neared her bedroom. “I did, if you’ll calm down and think about it, Jul—”

  Rounding her turn, she again faced him and strode stiffly toward him. “Oh, no, Mike. No. You said your wife was.skiing in Switzerland or something.”

  “No, I didn’t. I said she was hang-gliding in Holland. She was.”

  “That’s not much of a clue, buddy. I mean, V. L. DeAngelo? I’ve read her stuff. I’ve seen her pictures in art galleries, for God’s sake. I cannot believe I did not put two and two together.”

  Mike stopped her interminable pacing by grabbing her arm when she paced by him. “Julie, I think I know what this is all about. Admit it—you’re not this mad because my ex-wife is who she is.”

  She wrenched her arm free and stepped away from him. “Oh, yes, Mike, I am. I am this mad exactly because of who your ex-wife is. Trust me on this one.”

  Mike shifted his weight to his other leg and ran a hand through his hair. “Why? Why should it matter?”

  That did it, Bam. Right over the edge. Julie stalked right back. “Why should it matter, you ask? I’ll tell you why, Mike. Because I can’t compete. That’s why. I can’t compete with your women. I mean, look at me.”

  She stepped back, looked down at herself and swept her arms wide.
“Look at me. I’m just a middle-class girl. I’m not some great beauty. I’m not in the newspapers. My work doesn’t hang in a gallery. I don’t save unwed mothers and troubled youth. Oh, yeah—that’s Caroline. Isn’t she beautiful and rich and quite the humanitarian? I mean, Mike, where do you get these women? And how many is enough? I guess I should have known. A guy who looks like you-Men like you get women like them. But what I can’t figure is, why are you with me? Am I just for convenience’s sake? Is that it?”

  Mike had his hands on his hips by this time. With his eyebrows drawn and his mouth firmed to a thin line, his face resembled that of a hawk—a mad-as-hell hawk. “Will you calm down and let me talk to you, instead of wallowing in this little pity party?”

  “Pity party? Is that what you think this is?” Beside herself now, Julie stepped up to him again and poked her finger repeatedly in his chest. “All right, then, mister, I’ll give you pity.” Ignoring the burning tears in her eyes that blurred him, she said, “Look at me, Mike. Really look at me.” She shook her head.

  “What do you see? I’ll tell you. A stinking yuppie. That’s what. I’m not even thirty yet, but I have the MBA, I have the career in business, I have the BMW. Heck, I even have the clothes and the apartment. This year, next promotion, I’ll even have the condo. And that’s always been enough. Or so I thought. See, since college, I never let anyone close enough to get in my way. Not guys. Not even friends. Oh, I know a lot of people, sure, but they’re not real friends. They call, they come over. But they’re not close to me. But that’s okay. That’s what I wanted because my career always came first.”

  She saw a change come over Mike, a subtle hardening of his face. But she kept on going. “Achieving something in my life, on my own—that was important to me. And I’ve done it. I’m still doing it. I’m the baby in my family-and that’s how they all still see me. The baby. Everyone has to help Julie. She can’t stand on her own two feet. Well, I can. I’ve proved that. And I didn’t need anyone else to help me do it. But you know what’s left? A chocolate Easter bunny, Mike. The kind that’s hollow on the inside.”

  “Hollow? The woman I held in my arms last night was anything but—”

  “Shut up,” she raged. “This is my pity party, remember?” The tears rolled unheeded down her face. “And then there was you.” She gave in to a sobbing laugh before going on. “My mother brought me.you. I didn’t know I was hollow inside until I met you and fell like a deflated blimp—smack, Goodyear hits the dirt. I opened my heart to you. Ha! I did more than that—”

  Mike stormed to her, hauling her up against him. “I will not listen to you making yourself out to be cheap. I won’t. You’re not at all like you’re saying!”

  Julie wrenched free and stumbled back. “I’m like whatever I say I am. You can’t tell me how I feel. You can’t even tell me how you feel. And why not? Because there are too many women in your life. I can’t fight it anymore, Mike. You see—and this is the funniest part of all—I love you.” An anguished sob ripped from her heart. “Isn’t that hilarious? I love you. For the first time in my life, I love someone. And I can’t have him. That’s hard for a spoiled baby like me to accept.”

  Mike started toward her. Julie put up a hand. “No! Don’t touch me—please. You’re not free, Mike. You have no right to touch me. You have Caroline—my cousin, whom I happen to really like. Now that I know her—thanks to you. And then there’s V. L. DeAngelo. Your ex-wife. Beautiful, rich, self-assured, jet-set. Do you see the pattern here, Mike? I’m none of those things. I’m just.me. And I would never be enough.”

  Mike ran his hands over his face and then dropped them to his sides. His features were twisted with emotion. She’d won. He was defeated. Her heart ripped in two, like an unwanted Valentine. He turned away from her abruptly and made a ragged sound. Then he did an about-face. Decision was written on his ruggedly handsome features. Julie gripped at the cotton fabric of her couch.

  “Julie, you are so wrong about me and about yourself that I don’t even know where to begin. I—” He stopped and shook his head. “I’m not going to say any more. Not tonight. Look, Tory just left with Aaron. I can’t think straight right now. Just let me say that I never meant to hurt you.”

  An unnamed but jagged emotion tightened Julie’s chest. “What do you mean, Tory just left with Aaron? Who’s Tory?”

  “My ex-wife.”

  “Why does she have Aaron? Oh, Mike, I—”

  He put up a hand. “It’s okay. She took him with her to Atlanta. Her parents live there. And it seems she’s getting married again, too. To her editor.” He laughed. “That is so damned perfect. I’ve met the guy. He and Tory are two peas in a pod when it comes to selfishness. They’ll be very happy.”

  Rage and fear evaporated, leaving Julie feeling only concern. For Mike. “Are you okay, Mike? Is she.is she bringing—? Is he coming back?”

  His face hardened. “Oh, yeah, he’ll be back. A week’s her limit for mothering. It’s really okay. I’ve never kept Aaron away from Tory or her parents. It’s hard enough on him without me adding to it”

  What a screwy time for him to turn noble and selfless on her. Suddenly seeing herself through Mike’s eyes, suddenly realizing how her tirade must have sounded to him, on top of everything else he’d been through tonight, Julie drew herself up. “Look, Mike, I know I’ve said some pretty selfish and mean things here tonight. I meant them. Well, most of them. But I want you to know that if there’s anything I can do—”

  “About what, specifically?”

  Julie’s heart leaped in her chest. His tone of voice left no doubt that he was hardening his heart, right along with his expression. All right. He’d closed himself off to her. Which was exactly what she’d meant to do herself, wasn’t it? Wasn’t saying goodbye—and meaning it—the only avenue left to them?

  With regret thundering through her veins, Julie recanted. “Nothing, Mike. You’ve got so much going on in your life that the last thing you need is me complicating it further. Just know that I’m glad we had last night. I don’t regret it. Not now, anyway. Maybe I will later. Who knows? But—” And then she couldn’t go on. Not with the painful lump clogging her throat. “Could you leave, please? I’d like to be alone now.”

  Mike didn’t say anything at first. He just roved his gaze over her, as if memorizing her. Finally, he said, “That can be arranged.”

  He turned and, for the third time, walked out of her life at her own insistence. And this time, just like the time at her office, he didn’t go quietly. No, he slammed the door behind him—the door that separated their worlds. Another picture bit the dust.

  THE PHONE ON MIKE’S DESK rang Monday at midmorning. The same way it hadn’t stopped ringing since he got here. He hit the blinking red button for his extension and picked up the receiver. “DeAngelo here.”

  He listened to Maureen down in the lobby tell him he had a female visitor. He looked at his watch. Damn, that was fast. He inadvertently cut the receptionist off before she could tell him the lady’s name. “Yeah, I’m expecting her. Go ahead and sign her in. I’ll be right there.”

  He hung up and came to his feet. “Hey, Sal, I gotta go downstairs and play escort. I talked with Mrs. Garcia over in Ybor City this morning. She’s got one of those guys on her answering machine tape. She’s bringing it to me. Pull her file, okay?”

  Sal looked up from the overstuffed, open drawer of the filing cabinet he was sorting through. Like Mike, he was coatless, and his shoulder holster stood out in stark contrast to his white shirt. “What—that interstate fraud thing with the old folks?”

  “Yeah. Damned scum. Taking those peoples’ life savings and then cutting out on them. Guess it’s Florida’s turn to be involved. Maybe she’s got something solid. Anyway, I’ll be right back. Catch my phone, okay?”

  Sal held his hands out as if he expected to catch a football. “Yeah, throw it here.”

  Mike slipped into his suit jacket, shrugging it over his own shoulder holster. He buttoned it w
hile he stared at Sal. “Don’t give me any ideas, partner. Not today.”

  As Mike was leaving their office, Sal called out after him. “Hey, DeAngelo, when you get down there, if it’s really some well-endowed young chick, bring her up here and I’ll…interrogate her for you, huh?”

  Mike waved his hand without turning around. “Pig.”

  Sal got the last word in. “Oink!”

  Shaking his head, Mike walked to the elevator. When the doors opened, he got in, pushed the button for the lobby, put his brain on autopilot and stared up mindlessly at the blinking numbers as the cage descended smoothly. If he allowed himself to think about his personal life right now, he might start running when he got out and never stop.

  The doors opened and he stepped off. As usual, the lobby was crowded with people. Mike saw them as a blur, a backdrop, as he walked up to Maureen. He spoke first to the security guard next to her. “Hey, Connelly, what’s new?” Then, turning to Maureen, a pleasant, efficient woman of about fifty with big hair, he asked, “Where’s Mrs. Garcia?”

  “Who?” Maureen pulled the pencil out of her graying hair, where she always kept it, and used it to scan down a sign-in sheet.

  “Mrs. Garcia. You know—you called me and said I had a female visitor?” Mike moved around beside her to look over her shoulder.

  Maureen’s pencil stopped about three names from the bottom. “Ah, there it is. Cochran. She said it was personal. Anyway, I told her to have a seat over there against the wall. She’s all badged and ready to go.”

  Mike tore his gaze away from the name written on the page to look at the receptionist. “She’s really pretty.”

  His heart hammered. His gut felt like he’d been punched. “Yeah, but you know you’re the only woman in my life, Maureen.”

  The stout woman hooted her opinion of that and waved a hand at him. “Don’t tell my husband that. Now, go on with you. The poor little thing’s pretty nervous.”