Running from Fate

by Connelly, Rose

  The man across from her ran his hand through his bleached blond hair, in what was obviously a practiced move and adopted a pedantic, condescending tone of voice. “Normally, I’m sure you would be right,” he said, “but.” He held up a finger when she opened her mouth. “The fact of the matter is that you did sign the agreement and Mr. Haines has some very high priced lawyers on his side.”

  “Ok, so I just need my own lawyer then.” She looked at him pointedly.

  He examined his well-manicured nails. “I’m afraid that I won’t be able to represent you.”

  “Well why not?” she demanded. She crossed her arms and leaned back in her chair.

  “Now how do I put this?” He paused and tilted his head, as if considering. “It wouldn’t be good for my bottom line.”

  “I’ve got money,” Mira said. Well, she still had some of the inheritance her parents had left her and a bit in savings.

  “It has nothing to do with money,” he assured her.

  Mira uncrossed her arms, some of her anger fleeing. “They didn’t threaten you, did they?”

  He raised a sculpted eyebrow. “Of course not,” he said. “Carter, Stevens & Weston wouldn’t lower themselves to do such a thing, but I have no wish to get on their bad side. Especially, if I ever hope to gain any lucrative referrals from them.”

  Mira stood up and leaned over the desk. “Why you greedy, spineless…”

  “If that’s all Ms. Anders,” he interrupted. “I have work to do.”

  It took her the rest of the afternoon to find a lawyer who was willing to take her case. She didn’t blame most of them because, unlike the first slimy man she had gone to see, they seemed to have better motives for refusing her.

  A few of them felt they didn’t have the pull, as it were, or the resources to go against Mr. Mitchell’s lawyers. Several more did actually seem afraid of being blacklisted. Finally, as the first rush of humanity began to trickle from the high towers and squat office buildings, she walked in the doors of Stanton & Jones.

  The lobby exuded quiet, understated elegance as did the middle aged receptionist in his simple, but obviously expensive grey suit.

  “We’re almost ready to close for the day,” he told her. “Is there something I can help you with?”

  Mira smoothed her hair, hoping it was still in the neat bun she had put it in, but terribly afraid it looked more like a bird’s nest. “Yes,” she said. “I’d like to speak to someone. Today if possible.”

  “That just won’t be possible.” He glanced at a nearby computer screen. “Although I can set you up with an appointment for early next month if that suits. I’m afraid we’re all booked until then.” He offered her an apologetic smile and then looked at her more closely. “Wait a minute,” he said as his eyes went wide. “You’re Mira Anders.”

  “Yes.”

  “Wait right here.” He pointed to an elegant conversation grouping as he picked up the phone. “Someone will be right down to take you up.”

  Moments later that ‘someone’ came striding across the lobby in two inch heels and a classy skirt suit in bombshell red. Despite the woman’s obvious age, as evidenced by her impeccably styled but graying hair, she pulled it off.

  Perhaps, Mira mused as she stood up and offered her hand, it was the attitude.

  “Elizabeth Stanton,” the woman said. She shook Mira’s hand and stepped back.

  “Mira Anders.” So she would be dealing with one of the bosses it seemed.

  “Yes I know who you are.” Elizabeth turned and walked toward a bank of elevators, beckoning Mira to follow. “Can I assume,” she said. “That your visit here today has something to do with your former boss and his company?”

  “It does.” Mira stepped into the elevator. The doors closed behind them and the cab moved with barely a sound.

  Elizabeth leaned against a wall and crossed her ankles. “You know, I used to be quite the environmental activist in my younger days. It burns my ass when rich corporations think they can do whatever they want and damn the consequences.”

  Mira refrained from commenting on how obviously wealthy the woman herself was and followed her out of the elevator and into a well-appointed office with a gorgeous view of the bay.

  The woman rounded the imposing desk and took her seat. “So what can I do for you?” she asked.

  Mira sat down and crossed her legs. “I received a letter from Carter, Stevens & Weston this morning.”

  “Sharks,” Elizabeth muttered.

  “It seems,” Mira continued. “That Mr. Mitchell is suing me for breach of contract.”

  “Not to worry.” Elizabeth leaned back and rubbed her hands. “It could mean a bit of a fight, but I’ll take care of it. Now, what did you bring with you.”

  Mira opened the handbag that Lily had termed ‘monstrous’ and pulled out a thick folder. An hour or so later she walked out the door and into a balmy San Francisco evening, very much relieved, but quite a bit poorer. Ms. Stanton may have been a rebel in her youth, but she hadn’t come cheaply.

  She climbed in her blue convertible, tossed her purse on the passenger seat, and slid on a pair of sunglasses. It looked like her brief, well-deserved idle was over. She would have to start looking for work immediately.

  **********************************************************

  Mira came through the door, tossed her keys and bag on the coffee table, and collapsed onto the sofa. Her first interview in over a month of searching, contacting, and sending out resumes to every architectural firm in the immediate area and even some a few hours’ drive away, and it had turned out like this.

  Sure the company had been impressed with her education and had gushed over her samples. The woman interviewing her had seemed genuinely exited about adding her to the staff, especially since the company was fairly new and still trying to build a client base. That and the fact that the place had been a little more than an hours drive outside of San Francisco were probably the only reasons she had even gotten an interview — the hiring manager hadn’t recognized her.

  Unfortunately, one of the other members of staff had and, after a whispered conference between the pair, she had been summarily sent on her way with a polite, “We’ll be in touch.”

  Of course they wouldn’t be. The stellar reputation, which had once ensured her bigger and bigger projects and constant offers from companies trying to steal her away, was now shot. No one wanted to come near her.

  She looked around her spacious living room — at the furniture she had carefully picked out and used a chunk of her savings to pay for, the pictures on the wall that she had spent years collecting. She thought about the beautiful, expensive clothing that filled her walk-in closet upstairs and the credit cards she had stupidly used to buy some of the pieces, thinking she could pay the balances off when she got another raise.

  The car she was driving didn’t even belong to her. She had leased it from a dealership just before the trouble started so that she could decide if she really wanted to buy a convertible to go with the lifestyle she had been creating. She had even spent months searching for her perfect house and had only signed the papers seven months ago. She leaned back and rubbed her tired eyes. At least real estate in the area was moving pretty quickly.

  Because, if something didn’t change quickly it would all have to go. She could probably keep up with the bills for a few more months, but it would eat into the little she had in savings — money she might need to start over. To start with, she’d need to find a good, and relatively cheap real estate agent. The thought of losing her home, a place she’d spent so much time making her own, was heart wrenching, but it was much too expensive for her too keep up with. She hadn’t even built up equity, but it looked like she’d be downgrading.

  A blinking red light caught her eye, pulling her from her depressing thoughts. Perhaps, she thought, the interview had gone better than she had imagined and they had called to offer her a job. With a glimmer of her former optimism she jumped off the sofa and hi
t the play button.

  The atmosphere in the living room immediately darkened as a heavy silence came from the answering machine. Technically, there was nothing really threatening about the calls, from what the police said anyway. There was no heavy breathing, no softly spoken words. It was as if someone had called, realized they had the wrong number, and hung up improperly.

  But Mira knew there was a person waiting behind the silence, wishing her nothing but harm. She started shivering uncontrollably and hit buttons until the message stopped. She had been thinking about a glass of wine, but right now the whole bottle sounded better. Heading into the kitchen, she grabbed a bottle from her diminishing stock, found her corkscrew, and took out a glass.

  She brought them back into the living room and placed them on the coffee table while she sorted through her collection of movies. A nice, cheerful romantic comedy seemed just the thing to take her mind off the situation.

  Half way through My Big Fat Greek Wedding and on her second glass of wine she noticed that the light on the answering machine was still blinking, indicating another message. With her composure fully restored she got up. If it was another threatening call she could just erase it along with the first one, which she should have done earlier.

  The minute the message started she was transported back to her younger days. She found herself smiling as Pat Kelly’s voice filled the room.

  “Why have you not called me lass? Have you had any luck finding work? Are ye getting enough to eat?” He sighed heavily. “You know I’ve no liking for these things as I’d rather be talking to a person. Well, ring me as soon as you can. I’m too old to be worrying like this.”

  As if Patrick Kelly spent all his time sitting around at home worrying about her. He was far more likely to be out at a baseball game or down at the bar with one of his friends, or involved in some project or another, but she did miss him.

  It might not be such a bad idea to pay him a visit after she took care of things here and found a good realtor. Who knows, Mira thought, as she settled back on the sofa with a new glass of wine, she might even find some architectural firm on the East Coast who had never even heard of her.

  Chapter 5

  May 28th, 2009

  Boston

  From the outside the house looked exactly the same. The same two oak trees, a little bigger than she remembered them, still flanked the wide, stone path. On the narrow front porch sat an old rocking chair with a faded afghan tossed over it. Down the street Mira could hear the sound of barking. From the wheezing, labored sound of it, Mr. Johnson’s ancient dog was still protecting the neighborhood.

  She stood, taking in the faded brick façade of the townhouse and breathing in the sweet scent of the lavender that Fiona Kelly had planted years ago. Fiona had been dead for a long time now, but it was obvious that someone was still tending her flowers. The sight of the pretty blossoms made her smile, something she sorely needed.

  The past few months had been a difficult and trying time for her. Having to sell her beautiful house because she could no longer afford the mortgage had been hard enough, but the loss of a career and reputation that had taken years to build had been devastating.

  Coming here, to the place that had been like a home to her for almost 15 years, had been the right decision. Her friends would have been full of advice and sympathy, but Patrick Kelly was the only person who would tell her to get over it and move on. Since the death of her parents so many years ago, he had become, first her rock and then her friend. Providing advice and comfort when she needed it and a place to spend the holidays when all her friends were with family.

  She stepped onto the weathered, but solid porch and knocked briskly on the door. It opened almost immediately and there he stood, as tall and broad as ever with only a little white marring the brightness of his read hair.

  “You look like hell,” Patrick Kelly said by way of greeting. After a quick once over, he pulled her in for a quick, tight hug. “What did you do to yourself?”

  She leaned back and looked at him. “You look great. What are you now, 50?” she joked.

  “A good many years older than that me lass, but it’s been almost that long since I’ve seen you,” he grumbled. “Did your glittery career in California mean you couldn’t see fit to spend just a wee bit o’ time with an old man?”

  When Mira blushed guiltily, he laughed and slapped her on the back. Before she could fall forward from the force of it he grabbed her arm and pulled her inside, shutting the door behind them. He steered her toward the book-lined study and pushed her into one of the leather armchairs that sat in front of a mellow brick fireplace. “Sit here,” he commanded, “and I’ll go and see that we have a spot of tea.”

  Fifteen minutes later Patrick came back into the room carrying a tray with a tea pot and cups on it as well as two blueberry scones that looked store bought. He carefully sat the tray down on a low coffee table and took the seat across from Mira. He waited for her to prepare her tea and take a healthy mouthful before he spoke.

  “Why did you no tell me about your troubles at work,” he said. “I had to hear about it on the Television. It was all over the national news a few days ago.”

  Mira gasped and almost choked on her tea. She sat the cup down and coughed a few times to clear her airways. “The national news,” she moaned, already thinking about the consequences. “I can’t believe there wasn’t anything more interesting to talk about. I mean, J&J Architectural Company wasn’t even a really big company.” She leaned back and closed her eyes. “I really am ruined now. No one will hire me.”

  “Ah, now, you’re just being melodramatic.” Reaching over, he laid a big hand on her knee. “You did the right thing and the people on the news thought so as well. Well, most of them,” he qualified. “They even brought some environmentalist types on to discuss it.” He leaned back against his chair. “You stopped that beautiful piece of land from being destroyed and halted a criminal while you were at it. I’m sure that earned you a lot of support. Maybe one of those people can help you.”

  “Unfortunately,” she replied fatalistically. “I doubt most of those people are in the market for an out-of-work architectural designer. They’re more likely to need a lab assistant. Anyway, siding with the environmentalists isn’t the issue and neither was stopping the land deal. The fact that I testified against my employer will really cause a problem.”

  He looked slightly mystified. “I’m no sure I understand. You did the right thing. Your boss falsified paperwork to get that permit.”

  It would be nice to be that innocent, Mira thought, but she knew that wasn’t how the business world worked. A whistleblower, no matter what their reasoning, would always have a hard time finding a job. Their loyalty would be questioned. She frowned.

  “If you keep your face like that you’ll get wrinkles,” Pat warned. He sat his half-eaten scone down and stood up. “Where are your bags?” he asked. “We’ll get you settled in the guest room and I’ll take you out to dinner. You can forget all about things for a wee bit.”

  “You don’t need to do all that. I didn’t want to impose so I thought I’d stay at a hotel. I’m already checked in.” In truth, she knew Pat and she didn’t want to spend the next few days being grilled about the court case or, more likely, her romance life or lack of it.

  “Then you’ll just have to go and get your bags won’t you? You’ll be staying here,” he stubbornly insisted. “What would your parents think if I made you stay at a hotel? Besides, a pleasure it would be to have the company. I’m too much by myself these days.” He walked over to a side table and picked up the phone. “I’ll be calling a cab for you, but I want you back in an hour. Wear something nice and I’ll take you somewhere fancy.”

  She sighed and stood up, giving in gracefully. There was no point in arguing.

  **********************************************************

  She wore the Armani as it was one of the last pieces of designer clothing that she had left. Most of it, u
nfortunately, had been sold to help pay for her lawyer and supply the money her creditors had demanded when they heard of her new employment status. This dress, however, she couldn’t bear to give up. It was dark blue, strapless, and fitted to her figure like it had been made for her. The lines showcased her lithe curves and the hemline that flirted just above her knees brought attention to her toned legs without looking indecent.

  Paired with sleek black heels that killed her feet, the outfit was guaranteed to knock men to their knees. True, that wasn’t her purpose tonight, but it was gratifying to know she looked good despite everything. Plus, she rationalized, it was incredibly sweet of Uncle Pat to take her out to dinner and she wouldn’t want to embarrass him. After once last glance in the mirror and a quick brush of her hair she headed downstairs to meet Pat.

  As the taxi drove along I-90 and out of Boston, Mira turned her attention from the blacktop speeding by and glanced at Pat. “You look really nice,” she commented, glancing at his gray, pinstriped suit, snowy white shirt and red tie, “but I didn’t know that there were any decent restaurants this far out of Boston. Where exactly are we going?”

  “We, my girl, are headed to a little place that I discovered a few years ago. The owner is a Scot and a decent man for all that he’s no Irish. I’ll have you know that they serve the best steak pie this side of the pond.”

  “If you say so, but I’ve always thought steak pie was more of a pub food. That doesn’t really seem like the kind of environment that requires dressy attire.”

  “Not generally, no.” He grinned. “But good food brings all types of people and you had a need to feel good about yourself. I promise you won’t be feeling out of place.”

  Twenty minutes later they pulled in front of what looked to be an English gentlemen’s hunting lodge. Even with the addition of a paved parking lot it seemed like a place slightly out of time and place. She almost expected to hear the sound of carriage wheels as they clattered over cobble stones.