Born to Be Wild

by Berg, Patti

  “All I asked for was one small suggestion.”

  Charles walked toward the door. “And I’ve complied with that request.” He stepped into the hallway. “Good night, Miss Remington.”

  Why was it that Charles was always right?

  Blowing her nose again, she shot the tissue toward the trash and missed. She’d probably missed a lot of other things in the last two days— like her entire life.

  Get a grip, she told herself, and think of a way to get Max back. But her brain was too muddled to think. She needed help.

  Picking up the telephone, she punched in her brother’s number. It was just past seven in Wyoming and she knew she couldn’t possibly be interrupting anyone’s sleep. She’d done that once in the last couple of weeks and she couldn’t do it again, not when she thought about Sam’s delicate condition.

  Her sister-in-law’s voice was just the thing she needed to feel better. Trying her hardest not to sound hung over, not to sound like a woman on the brink of madness, she took a deep breath and tried to launch a calm conversation after all the hellos, how-are-yous, and how-are-you-feelings were exchanged.

  “Oh, Sam,” she cried, “I don’t know what I’m going to do.”

  “The first thing you’re going to do is stop crying,” Sam instructed, “and then you’re going to tell me what’s wrong.”

  Grabbing a tissue from the box in the middle of her bed, Lauren blew her nose, sighed deeply, then tried again.

  “I’m in love with Max Wilde.”

  “And that’s making you cry.”

  “Of course not. He loves me, too.”

  “I don’t see the problem here.”

  “Mother hates him.”

  “That’s your mother’s problem. Not yours.”

  “He’s a biker. He has a big mermaid tattooed on his arm, a goatee, and he wears earrings in both ears.”

  “Sounds like the kind of men I was attracted to before I met your brother.”

  “You’re not helping me a bit, Sam.”

  “How can I help when I don’t understand the problem?”

  Sam had a point. She always had a point, but she always had answers, too.

  Lauren took a deep breath. “I told myself I didn’t want to get involved with Max because he was all wrong for me, but goodness, Sam, he’s just so gorgeous, and wonderful, and he makes me feel special and loved in a way no one else has ever done.”

  “Then you should be with him.”

  “That’s the problem. He doesn’t want me.”

  “But you said he loves you.”

  “He does,” Lauren admitted, “or at least he says he does, and that’s the reason he doesn’t want to be with me.”

  There was a terribly long silence on the other end of the phone. “Are you there, Sam?”

  “Yes, I’m still here. Could I ask you a question about Max?”

  “Of course. Ask any question you want?”

  “Are you sure he’s sane?”

  “Positive.”

  “Then you’d better explain to me why he walked away from you because he loves you.”

  Lauren spent a good ten minutes going over the situation and when she was through, Sam simply said, “I think the man’s crazy.”

  “But he’s not. He’s wonderful, Sam. He’s adopting a boy and a girl, and they’re the greatest kids you’d ever want to meet. He spends a lot of his money on a place for underprivileged children. He donated all the money I was going to pay him for Betsy Endicott’s wedding to your charity. And I can’t forget the fact that he makes wonderful barbecue sauce, and well, everything else is pretty personal.”

  “You really do love him, don’t you?”

  “I never thought it was possible to love someone this much. You know,” Lauren said, lying back in the pillows and thinking about her time with Max, “I’ve always been afraid of trying something new, of stepping outside the boundaries of what’s expected, but Max made it all so easy for me. He encouraged me to ride a motorcycle, and baby-sit his kids, which I’m really pretty good at, and, goodness, Sam, he brings out the best in me.”

  “Sounds like he’s worth fighting for, but I don’t have any suggestions, Lauren. You’re on your own this time.”

  He’s definitely worth fighting for, Lauren told herself. She only hoped she could come up with the proper strategy, and that Max would be willing to get in the ring and go a round or two. Succeeding at this was far more important than planning the perfect wedding. This time, her future with Max was at stake.

  oOo

  “You look like hell.”

  Max jerked his head toward the sound of Jazz’s voice and the slamming kitchen door. She was dressed in her best throw-in-an-extra-twenty-and-I’ll-give-you-the-works streetwalker outfit, slinging a big floppy chartreuse plastic purse.

  Max grinned, always amazed at the way Jazz dressed for work. “You look like hell, too.”

  “Thanks. I do my best.” She dropped her bag on the kitchen counter, kicked off her five-inch heels, and climbed onto one of the barstools.

  “What’s for lunch?” she asked.

  Max stared at the concoction in front of him. “Salmon tartare.”

  “You’ve got to be kidding.”

  Max shook his head. “That’s the specialty of the house today.”

  “No fried chicken?”

  “I’ve got leftovers in the fridge. Want me to heat it up for you?”

  “I’ll get it. Don’t stop what you’re doing.” Jazz slid off the barstool, sauntered to one of the refrigerators, the same thing she did two or three times a week, pulled out a dish of cold fried chicken, and sat back down at the bar.

  “So, what’s with the salmon tartare?” she asked, lifting the plastic wrap off the plate in front of her and grabbing a drumstick.

  Max looked up from the salmon. “I got a very discreet call from some woman who was at Betsy Endicott’s wedding, asking if I could cater an intimate dinner she’s having this evening. She loved the Caribbean brochettes and she’s just dying to try some of my other specialties.”

  Jazz chewed on the chicken, staring at him as if he’d gone mad. “You don’t sound happy about it.”

  “I spent years getting away from preparing this kind of stuff.”

  “So why’d you take the job?”

  Because, damn it, he wanted the people of Palm Beach to like him. “It’s my attempt to fit in.”

  Jazz laughed. “Is that possible?”

  “Hell if I know.”

  “Is that what Lauren wants?”

  “I haven’t talked with her in a week.” He slammed the broad side of the knife down on the salmon and flattened it in one whack. “I’ve been busy trying to figure out how the two of us can be together without starting a feud between bikers and society snobs.”

  Jazz grabbed a napkin from a holder, pulled the lid off the cookie jar, and dug for a fresh oatmeal pecan, not the least disturbed by his disgruntled behavior. “Does she know what you’re trying to do?”

  Max smacked the knife down again on the fish. “No.”

  “So why don’t you tell her?”

  “Because I might not be successful. Because she might try talking me out of what I’m doing or, worse yet, come up with an idea that’s worse than mine.”

  “In other words, you’re afraid of calling her.”

  “And why would I be afraid to call?”

  “Because if what Bear told me is true, you walked out on Lauren with one of the most half-assed excuses I’ve ever heard for calling it quits, and now you’re afraid she won’t want you back.”

  “Okay, I made an ass out of myself. I’m trying to remedy the situation the best way I know how, and I don’t need help from you.”

  Jazz bit into another cookie and glared at him from across the counter. “You know, Max, you’ve been ready to kill for a week now. It could be several more weeks before your remedy’s ready. If I were you, I’d go see her before she decides you’re not worth waiting for.”

 
; “I’ve got three parties to cater this week. I’ve got an appointment with the adoption attorney tomorrow. And I’ve got Harry calling every other day to report on one false lead after another. I’ve got two kids that need help with their homework, I’ve got the Hole.”

  “If you want her badly enough, you’ll quit making excuses.”

  In his heart, he knew Jazz was right. But what if he went to see Lauren and found out she’d already lost interest—and had turned to another man.

  oOo

  Lauren uncrossed and recrossed her legs for at least the fifteenth time since her friends arrived for brunch. She’d invited them over because she’d needed a break. Trying to figure out how to get Max back by bringing together two worlds that were at the opposite ends of the spectrum was not an easy task. Senseless prattle was a wonderful way to rest one’s mind.

  “I still can’t believe it,” Bunny Endicott babbled, as they sipped tea and feasted on watercress sandwiches.

  “What can’t you believe?” Lizzy LaFontaine asked.

  “You mean you haven’t heard?” Bunny asked, her hand clasped to her chest.

  “Heard what?” Lizzy asked, again.

  “Kitty Whitfield has hired that avant-garde caterer, the one who made all those delectable foods for Betsy’s wedding, to prepare an intimate dinner for her and Guy Thrasher.” Bunny’s words seemed to echo through the room, and Lauren’s ears perked.

  “That can’t be true,” Lizzy gasped.

  “But it is,” Bunny went on. “I heard about it from my butler who heard about it from Kitty’s personal maid.”

  “What would ever possess Kitty to do that?” Lizzy asked.

  They didn’t know Max, Lauren thought, or they wouldn’t be so quick to judge him, to think he wasn’t worthy enough to cater an intimate—or even a non-intimate—Palm Beach affair. “He really is a wonderful chef,” Lauren piped in.

  Bunny glared at her as if she’d lost her mind. Lizzy’s perfectly plucked brows almost knit together, she was frowning so hard.

  “I didn’t know Guy Thrasher was a chef,” Bunny said.

  “Me neither,” Lizzy added. “I was under the impression that he couldn’t do much of anything any longer, not even with the help of Viagra. And from all the things I’ve heard about Guy in the past, even when he could do something, he wasn’t very good at it.”

  “I’d heard exactly the same thing,” Bunny went on, leaving Lauren completely confused. “What just amazes me is that Kitty could fall for a man like that. He’s a terrible bore, not to mention an absolute snob. Why, I tried to get him to work at that soup kitchen in West Palm Beach last Thanksgiving and he flat-out refused.”

  “And I couldn’t get a donation from him when the last hurricane hit the coast. All I wanted was a few old clothes, and we all know Guy has plenty of those.”

  “Wait a minute!” Lauren interrupted. “Do you mean to tell me it doesn’t bother you that Kitty’s hired Max Wilde?”

  “You mean the chef?” Bunny asked, looking totally perplexed.

  “Yes, that Max Wilde.”

  “Of course not, Lauren. Why should that bother—” Bunny clasped a hand to her mouth. When she’d regained her composure, she smiled slyly. “I forgot. You’ve been seeing that man, haven’t you?”

  Here it goes. The inquisition. The snide remarks. “He’s a friend,” Lauren stated.

  Lizzy grinned as she reached for a watercress sandwich. “If I were you, Lauren, I’d want him for much more than a friend. You may not be aware of this, but several of us were checking out Mr. Wilde’s body at Betsy’s wedding. Absolutely gorgeous! And I hear that Angie Hart made a pass at the man tending bar.”

  “Wasn’t he attractive!” Bunny quipped. “And would you believe he’s a dentist? Quite well-to-do, in fact. I can’t believe I thought he might be a thief.”

  “We all make misjudgments like that from time to time,” Lizzy stated. “It’s just one of those things that happens.”

  Lauren smiled as she listened to the conversation. She’d often found these friends boring, superficial, with lives that were trivial, at best. Today she’d listened, though. Really listened, and she’d heard such incredible things.

  Why didn’t she know that Bunny spent Thanksgivings working in a soup kitchen? Why was it that the only things she’d known about Bunny were that she had breast implants, that she was looking for husband number four?

  And Lizzy. When did she start collecting money for disaster relief?

  What else didn’t she know about her friends? Maybe she really had been a snob—in more ways than one.

  Her life really had gotten better since Max appeared in it. Not just because he made her happy—before he’d insanely called it quits between them—but because he was helping her see the other side of the people she’d always known.

  Suddenly, everything became clear. She knew exactly what she had to do to bring Max into the world she loved—she was going to take her world to him.

  oOo

  It was just past midnight when Max led a half-asleep Ryan to his bedroom and watched him collapse in bed, clothes, shoes, and all. Even with a sound asleep Jamie in his arms, Max pulled off the boy’s Air Jordans, turned out the light, and took Jamie to her room. She’d been asleep for over an hour and hadn’t made a sound when he lifted her from the car.

  Pulling back the covers on her bed, he laid her down, took off her sandals, then tugged the sheet up to her shoulders.

  “Thanks for taking us to Disney World,” she said, her voice muffled by the pillows. “It was fun, but it would have been nicer if Lauren had gone with us.”

  Max sat on the edge of her bed. “You think so?”

  Jamie nodded, then tucked her hands under her cheek. “I thought you liked her.”

  “I do.”

  “Then how come you haven’t seen her in a while?”

  “I’ve been busy.”

  “That’s not a good excuse.”

  “Yeah, well, I plan on calling her tomorrow.” And with all his heart, he hoped she’d take him back.

  Jamie smiled, apparently satisfied with his answer, and snuggled further into the pillows.

  “Good night,” Max whispered, kissing her brow.

  “Good night, Dad.”

  Max closed his eyes, enjoying the lingering sound of that word Dad. It was the first time Jamie had used it since the attorney called to say Jamie and Ryan’s biological father had decided to give them up. There hadn’t been any remorse from either kid. It had been far too long since they’d seen or heard from the man, and as far as Jamie and Ryan were concerned, the man had pretty much ceased to exist. Now the children Max loved were legally his.

  Getting up from the bed, he headed for his office and slumped down in his desk chair. They’d been gone three days, and the recorder showed a slew of messages. He hit the rewind button, yawned, then hit play, figuring he ought to get this out of the way before going to bed.

  Mrs. Fabiano had called to thank him once again for Luigi’s birthday party. Bunny Endicott—of all people—wanted him to cater an intimate dinner, and if he wasn’t mistaken, he could have sworn he heard Bear’s laugh in the background. Two more calls were from prospective Palm Beach clients, a call from Bear, one from Jazz, and then he heard Lauren’s voice, soft, sweet, sexy, maybe even a little hesitant.

  “Call me. Please.”

  The call had come two long days ago. What a fool he’d been not calling her before going away with Jamie and Ryan. Hopefully, when he called her tomorrow, she’d still want to talk.

  Surprisingly, the next message was also from Lauren.

  “Sorry to bother you, Max. This is Lauren. I don’t believe I left my name on the last message, so I wanted to call again, just in case you weren’t sure who had asked you to call. So now that you know it’s me, could you please call?”

  He grinned. Her voice was definitely more encouraging.

  Beep.

  “This is my third call, Max. It’s been three hours since
my first one, and I really do need to talk with you. Please. Call me.”

  Beep.

  “Fourth call. I really do want to talk with you, Max.” This time he heard trembling in her voice. “Call me. Please.”

  Beep.

  “All right, Max, it’s Lauren again. I don’t know why you’re not returning my calls, but ... but, oh, hell! I’ll be at the Hole in the Wall at noon on Tuesday. You may not want to see me again but I want to see you. Please be there. If you don’t show up, well ... She sighed deeply “I love you, Max. Please be there.”

  He’d be there at noon no matter what, and then he’d never let Lauren out of his sight again.

  Beep.

  “Hey, Max, it’s Harry. I might have some good news for you. Call me as soon as you can.”

  It wasn’t quite nine-thirty in California. Max grabbed the phone, punched in Harry’s number, and waited.

  “Harry Crow.”

  “It’s Max Wilde, Harry. I’ve been out of town and just got your call.”

  “I’m glad you called,” Harry said. “I’ve got another lead.”

  “How good a one?” Max asked, his hopes high in spite of all the past failures.

  “Promising, that’s the best answer I can give you. I managed to find a retired agent who handled a few child actors nineteen, twenty years ago. He distinctly remembered a little girl named Charlotte Wilde.”

  “Did he have any records, any—”

  “All he had was a vivid memory of the girl’s mother. Loretta Wilde.”

  Max plowed his fingers through his hair. This was the first Charlotte Wilde Harry had ever connected to a woman with the same name as Max’s mother. “What else did he tell you?”

  “Not a lot. The woman was a tyrant, He couldn’t place the girl in commercials or anything because of Loretta’s demands on everyone. I checked a few other leads, found out Charlotte had been adopted, and finally tracked down her adoptive parents.”

  “Christ, Harry. What do you mean this is just a promising lead?”

  “Because her adoptive parents won’t give me any information.”

  That wasn’t what Max wanted to hear. “Why not?”

  “I don’t have a clue. He’s a retired Marine Corps chaplain. She’s a housewife. They live in Barstow and that’s where they lived when Charlotte was growing up. Charlotte Mattingly’s the name she went by.”