by Rose, Carol
“You need fluids,” Alex said firmly, putting a cup into her hand. “Sit up and drink.”
Eden propped herself up and took a drink.
“I’ve got some soup warming in the kitchen,” he said. “You need to eat a little to keep your stomach settled.”
“You made soup?” she asked, the thought seeming incredible.
“I stopped at a deli and got some. Tomato bisque. I just warmed it up a little,” he said. “I’m actually a decent cook, but I didn’t think you required a culinary treat, right now.”
“No.” Eden sank back onto her pillow, realizing she’d heard him moving around in the kitchen while she slept.
He got up and left the room, returning with a bowl and spoon. “Here, eat a little. However much you want.”
“Thanks.” She wasn’t hungry, but knew he was right about her stomach. Taking the spoon, she ate a few bites as he held the bowl for her as if she were a child.
Alex reached out and brushed his free hand along her cheek. “I think your fever is coming down a little. Do you feel any better?”
She felt ridiculous and disheveled, but her head did pound less. “Yes.”
“Do you want any more soup?” he asked as she leaned back on the pillow.
“No.” Damn, just eating a few bites left her feeling exhausted and sleepy. She closed her eyes again, slumber beckoning.
In a moment, he was back, sitting next to her.
“You need to rest, honey.” His voice was gentle and she felt him sift a hand through her messy hair. “Just rest.”
The combination of medicine, food and comfort drew her toward sleep, his hand rhythmically stroking through her hair.
***
“Are you all right, Eden?” Sarah Briggs asked, standing next to her in the racquetball court looking tanned and fit three days later.
“Yes,” Eden replied, gasping for air as she leaning back against the wall. “Really. I’m fine. Just a little winded.”
Make that a lot winded. For a fifty-plus year old woman, Sarah was a whiz with a racquet.
“It’s the flu. You’re not really over the bug,” Sarah commented generously. “We should play again in a week or two.”
“Sounds great,” was all Eden could wheeze as she levered herself away from the wall. Somehow between now and then, she was going to have to fit in some racquetball lessons.
“It feels great to get the body moving, doesn’t it?” Sarah said, walking beside her as they left the court.
“Yeah, great. Darned flu has kept me from playing,” Eden offered as heartily as she could manage. In actuality, she’d bounced back from her illness after only a few days. Partly, she suspected from Alex’s comforting presence that day.
Walking down the chilly gym hall as she and Sarah talked, Eden still felt the lingering warmth of his care.
She could not understand him.
“This is a great gym,” Sarah said, energetically swinging her racquet for emphasis. The woman seem indefatigable.
“It’s very well equipped,” Eden agreed. “And convenient to work. I may have to switch my membership.”
She didn’t have a gym membership, but Jessica had been after her to workout.
“You should,” Sarah encouraged. “I’d love to get together and play every so often. You’re good. Even with the flu, you gave me a challenge.”
Eden had to grin. “You’re too kind. I sucked. You, however, are amazing. How do you do it?”
The older woman looked pleased. “Thanks. I try to stay fit. It’s important when a woman gets to be a certain age.”
“You certainly don’t seem to be aging at all in the six years I’ve known you,” Eden said with complete honesty. After chasing that damned blue racquetball around for the entire three games they’d played, she herself felt ancient. Maybe she should also look into Jessica’s suggestions about eating more vegetables, or at least, taking a few vitamins.
“I do my best to take care of myself. Can’t give into the clock,” Sarah said as they entered the empty locker room. “Speaking of getting older, I hear Michele is talking about dumping the Swiss scientist’s research project.”
Glancing up quickly from the bench she’d subsided onto, Eden said, “Really? I hadn’t heard. At least, nothing definite.”
“I don’t know how definite she is,” Sarah said. “There was some sort of memo to the board a day or two ago. Sol Klineman and Jolly Hampton and I all got copies. I think the entire board did. I don’t talk with Dave Sanders often, so I don’t know for sure if he got it. Anyway, Michele mentioned several different things she wanted to do to bring the company better revenues. Cutting the research on the skin-refinishing product was one. It would be a pity, really. As our population ages, that sort of skin-renewal product could really take off.”
“I agree completely.” Having to hear this from Sarah confirmed to Eden that Michele was attempting to shuffle her out of the loop. For the past five years, Eden had sent out all the communications to the board members.
It was foolish of the older woman since Eden was the one responsible for the development of the product. The Swiss scientist working on it communicated only with her. Once, Michele had trusted her implicitly.
Sarah’s shrug seemed impatient. “Michele said something about reassigning the Bergere money to the marketing budget.”
This was it, Eden knew. She had to capitalize on the moment to convince Sarah she could run the company more profitably.
“It will be a pity if Michele makes that decision,” Eden said bluntly. “Product development is critical. We have an aging catalog of products. I’ve been trying to correct that. In our field, we have to keep introducing new items to keep customer interest up. The middle-age, high-end clientele is underserved by our product lines.”
Sarah turned to face Eden, her hand on her open locker door. “What would you do? The product is looking useless. Would you spend more money on it?”
“I wouldn’t waste time and money on unlikely products, but we desperately need new concepts in this line,” Eden said, meeting Sarah’s question unflinchingly. “I’d have an open conversation with Roberte Bergere. He comes highly recommended by his successes. His perspective on this formulation, and on anti-aging products in general, would be very valuable. I’ve learned to gather all the data before making that large a monetary decision.”
“You do tend to canvas opinions,” Sarah said, nodding.
Eden shrugged, feeling like she’d past a small test. “We can always terminate the funding if the next reports aren’t more promising. Some products take commitment. We have a lot to gain. The older population still has a discretionary income we can’t afford to ignore.”
There was no arguing with this reality. A successful anti-aging cream was gold. That was part of the reason Eden knew she had to keep Alex as in the dark as Michele about the true anti-aging results.
“I agree that we need to build our market share with an older demographic,” Sarah Briggs said, taking her gym bag out of her locker and shutting the door. “You have a good handle on things, Eden.”
***
“So Doyle actually called you when he was in the middle of his rehab session? Wow, that’s devotion. He was just checking in?” Jess asked, her head emerging as she pulled on a bright orange turtleneck sweater.
Eden grinned. “His exact words were that I shouldn’t get too comfortable handling production because he’s getting better every day.”
“Doyle McKenzie always was a stubborn guy,” Jessica said, laughing. “If anyone can make it back from that bad an accident in six months, he can.”
“I certainly hope so,” Eden responded. “I’m about to drowned with handling my work, Doyle’s work that his assistant, Pat, can’t do, plus Wendi.”
“Speaking of handling the Wendi situation,” her friend said, tugging the
orange sweater into place, “how did your game with Sarah Briggs go? Did you tell her about Wendi stealing money at her last job?”
“No, I’m holding that out a little longer. But our racquetball game went pretty well.” Eden smirked into the dressing room mirror. “She told me she thinks I have a ‘good handle’ on some company situations.”
“She said that? She said you have a good handle on things?” Jessica asked.
“Yes.” Eden grinned across the dressing room at her blond friend. “You’re not seriously going to buy an orange sweater.”
“I might,” Jess said, turning to look at herself in the mirror. “I feel invisible sometimes. You know, that mommy-thing. Greg’s wife and Haylie’s mom. Period.”
“You’re very visible, no matter what you wear. And even if you wanted to perk up your image, is orange the way to go?”
“Maybe not,” Jessica agreed reluctantly after looking at herself in the mirror. She pulled the sweater over her head and tossed it in the corner of the dressing room. “I’m just tired of feeling like background noise. You know, like wallpaper. Invisible.”
“Good grief,” Eden bent to pick up a hanger. “You should go back to work, girl. Not that that’s how anyone sees you, but if you’re feeling that way, definitely go back to work. Hell, when I’m CEO of Michele Cosmetics, I’ll hire you myself.”
Jessica made a face in the mirror as she took a pair of magenta pants off the hanger. “I can’t go back to work now. I don’t know what I’d do with Haylie. The day care thing just isn’t a comfortable fit and it’s not like we can’t afford a nanny, but I don’t want someone other than her parents to look after my kid. Maybe it’s time for Greg to stay home awhile.”
Then as if she’d just heard the last part of Eden’s comment, Jess swiveled around, staring at Eden. “You’re really going to do it, aren’t you? You’re going to bump Michele Broussard out of her own company.”
“Don’t say it like that!” Eden tried to keep the sharp note out of her voice. Every time she saw Michele in the hallway or at a staff meeting, she felt torn. How was it possible to feel such resentment and guilt, at the same time?
“I know, I know.” Jessica stepped into the brightly-hued pants. “If you don’t take the company, Alex will. I don’t suppose Michele and Wendi could fight him off for long.”
“I don’t know,” Eden said reflexively as she stared in the mirror at her reflection. The gray pantsuit with the deep red shirt actually fit her fairly well. “I don’t know if they could avoid a takeover, but if he tells them about my dear uncle George, I know I’ll be out of a job. Wendi would salivate at the thought of getting something on me.”
“Good thing you’ve got something on her,” Jess commented. “That’s a good suit. You should get it.”
“Maybe.” Eden began unbuttoning the jacket. “Anyway, my guilt aside, Sarah seemed responsive. Racquetball seems to be the way into her good graces.”
“She liked you aside from the racquetball,” Jessica reminded Eden. “You said you played horribly.”
“Not horribly,” Eden protested. “Just not well.”
Her friend grinned. “And you’re actually going to take lessons?”
“One lesson, anyway,” Eden tried not to sound gloomy. “Monday at lunch time with some guy who calls himself Adolpho.”
“Woo hoo,” Jessica hooted. “I’ll bet he’s got great abs and spends his days shaving his chest and working out.”
“If you’re a personal trainer, you have to spend a lot of time working out,” Eden agreed.
“Adolpho!” Jess chortled. “I’m going to leave a note on Alex’s Porsche. He should know he’s got a rival.”
“You’re nuts.” Unable to keep from laughing, Eden said, “Alex doesn’t know it, but Adolpho is the least of his problems.”
“Hey,” her friend said with a meaningful smile. “Are you really going to be able to double-cross a guy who made you soup when you had the flu? I’m not so sure.”
Sobering, Eden reflected she had a growing concern regarding that issue. Damn, every way she turned she ran into guilt.
“He betrayed me first!” she insisted.
“I know,” Jessica commiserated, “but that fact still doesn’t make it easy to do something that’s just not part of your nature.”
“Maybe not,” Eden said grimly, “but you do what you have to do.”
***
The school gymnasium echoed with the squeaks and thunder of twelve kid-sized pair of athletic shoes, interspersed with the thunk-thunk of the basketball as whichever girl had the ball tried to dribble it.
From the bleachers, seated next to Alex’s sister, Lauren, Eden let the noise roll over her. A small, compact woman, Alex’s sister was pleasant without being effusive. She had long dark hair the same brown as her brother’s although her eyes were a cloudier dark blue. She looked like Alex facially, but had a quietness about her that Alex, with his aura of power mogul, never had.
On the basketball court in front of her, Alex bent forward talking earnestly to a small intent kid.
This just kept getting worse.
A self-made multimillionaire who brought his girlfriend soup when she was sick, donated big money for hospice care and…actually made time to coach his niece’s basketball team.
The guy was a beleaguered female executive’s best daydream/worst nightmare all rolled up in one. The perfect guy who was trying to steal her company.
“They’re getting better,” Lauren said, raising her voice to be heard. “Their skills.”
“Really?” For the life of her, Eden couldn’t see any skill in the melee of baggy-trunk-wearing skinny girls on the court.
“Alex said they have several kids who could end up in the Olympics,” Lauren confided, her voice pitched a decibel above the roar in the gym. “I don’t know what he bases that on, though. They just seem like a bunch of girls running around.”
Alex’s sister smiled at Eden, a steady good humor in her face.
“Yes,” Eden agreed. “That’s what they look like to me, too. But they seem to be having fun.”
The ref blew a piercing whistle shriek that brought the confusion on the floor over to the sidelines, where Alex’s team gathered around him.
The noise reduced momentarily, Lauren said in a more normal voice, “They do have fun with him. He’s a hoot with the girls.”
From the huddle of seven and eight-year olds clustered around Alex, he could be heard saying earnestly, “You’ve got to dribble the ball. At least, look like you’re trying to dribble. Sometimes that’s enough. And Clara, when you’re out there guarding, don’t be afraid to spread out a little, honey. You get teased for having bony elbows, but they can be our friends. If you bump into a member of the other team, well, that’s too bad!”
The cluster of girls burst into giggles, clearly catching his meaning.
From several rows up in the bleachers, Eden shook her head, laughing a little. “Good grief.”
“He calls it real world coaching,” his sister said with a hint of disapproval. “I keep telling him they can win by just playing better, but he says part of playing better is making the most of your abilities. He counts Clara’s elbows as ‘abilities’.”
With another burst of laughter, the kids left Alex on the sidelines, swarming back onto the court with the whistle.
“He’s really good with them,” she couldn’t help saying.
Lauren agreed. “I don’t know what I’d do without Alex as a positive male role model for Isabel and Kelsey. He talked the league into letting Kelsey play on the team even though she’s not yet seven. He says it’ll give her ‘character.’ I don’t know about that, but she seems to be having a good time.”
“He’s good at promoting good times,” Eden commented, watching Alex as he paced the sideline, calling out encouragement to his team. Whatever Alex
did, he did with complete commitment. “The girls’ father isn’t into sports?”
Lauren’s smile turned sardonic. “He’s just not into his children’s lives.”
“Oh. That’s…stupid.”
“Yes.”
The two women sat watching the game.
Lauren said, “It’s challenging to raise kids these days. Their education is very important, but they need physical activity and self-esteem.”
“I know what you mean,” Eden agreed, thinking of Jessica’s dilemmas. “My friend has a two-year old daughter. She thinks it’s particularly difficult to raise girls. According to Jess, boys are expected to eventually excel in their careers, but girls have the dual responsibility of career and family. Jess is very career-home conflicted right now.”
“Like many other women,” Lauren replied, flashing a rueful smile. “Parenting is all about worrying. You do your best, but there are a lot of things to be concerned about. I, for instance, can’t seem to avoid the reports of the studies that show how important fathers are in girls lives.”
Eden watched Alex, clapping and calling out encouragement as one of his team attempted to get the ball in the basket.
“It looks like your girls have someone filling that role pretty well.”
“Yes, Alex is the best uncle imaginable,” Lauren agreed, her smile turning speculative after a moment. “And today, he even brought his date to make the team’s audience bigger.”
Eden laughed.
“It’s nice of you to spend your Saturday afternoon watching peewee basketball. I understand you have a busy job and a lot of responsibility. You probably cherish weekends.”
“If Alex has been telling you about my job,” Eden returned, “he’s probably mentioned that I don’t normally have weekends. He thinks I spend way too much time obsessing about my job. I should thank your girls for giving me a non-work distraction. And for helping me see this side of Alex.”
“Yes,” Lauren said, turning back to consider the action on the court in front of them. “You know, you’re the only woman he’s invited to the girls’ games. In fact, we don’t usually get to meet his dates.”