Sins of the Mother

by Victoria Christopher Murray

  Alexis blinked and wondered what had happened to the man who had been there a moment ago. As Cabot shut her and took over the conversation, she put down her fork and picked up her glass once again. She tried not to roll her eyes when he spoke of the two star-studded fund-raisers he’d held at his home.

  “Now that I think about it, I wish that I’d invited you. You would have made a great date. Much better than—” He stopped himself, cleared his throat. “Well, anyway, I wish you’d been there with me. I could’ve introduced you to Magic and Cookie, and then Denzel and Pauletta were there. Samuel and LaTanya . . .”

  Alexis wanted to lean over and bang her head on the table as he named just about every celebrity who lived in Los Angeles.

  But when he said, “And you know, this way I was able to give more than the twenty-three-hundred-dollar limit,” her eyes got wide.

  “What?”

  “You know . . . those stupid rules limiting how much you can contribute to a campaign. Well, just by pulling a couple of names from a phone book,” he lowered his voice even more, “I was able to get around that.” Pride was all up in his grin. “I learned how to do that after I attended a Republican fund-raiser years ago. Now those cats, they know how to make the money work.”

  Alexis couldn’t believe it. Cabot Adams had just confessed to committing a crime, and if there’d been a policeman nearby, she would’ve had him arrested. Not for his confession, but for impersonating a man on a date.

  “And then,” he continued his soliloquy, “Page Six . . .” He paused. “You’re familiar with them, right?” Even though she nodded, he went on to say, “They’re the gossip page in the New York Post. Well anyway, my last fund-raiser was even mentioned in their column.” He flicked invisible lint from the sleeve of his jacket. “I couldn’t believe it.”

  That makes two of us, Alexis thought. She couldn’t believe it either—couldn’t believe that she was still here.

  It took more than thirty minutes for him to finish his Obama stories—and for the waiter to clear the table.

  Then the young man was back, saying, “Can I tempt you with dessert? A chocolate soufflé, perhaps?”

  “No,” she said.

  “Yes,” Cabot said, and looked at her. “Come on, this is a special night. Shouldn’t we share something?”

  Yeah, conversation! That’s what she wanted to say. But then she remembered her pastor’s sermon from last Sunday.

  “Only a fool says everything on their mind,” was what Pastor Ford had said. “I bring that to you straight from Proverbs.”

  So instead of telling Cabot off like she wanted to do, Alexis leaned back and pressed her hand against the purple silk of her dress. Rubbing her stomach, she said, “I’m watching my weight,” hoping that would convince him to end the evening.

  But all he did was put his arm around her shoulders and say, “Can I watch it with you?”

  When he laughed, she did the same, hoping that would fast-forward them to the part where they said good night. But after his laugh, he said, “Well then, you’ll just have a spoonful.”

  He nodded to the waiter, but Alexis stopped him. “Actually,” she began, looking at her watch, “it’s getting late, and I have to work tomorrow.”

  He glanced at his watch, as if his expensive timepiece was more accurate than hers. “It’s only eight. You can’t be tired already.”

  “I am,” she said lightly, and shook her head like she couldn’t believe it.

  It still took more than twenty minutes for him to pay the bill, brag a bit to the waiter about his latest client, then promise the maître d’ that he would get him tickets the next time Beyonce came to Los Angeles.

  She wanted to faint with gratitude when she saw her car right in front when they stepped outside. She dove inside before Cabot could say a word.

  Fastening her seat belt, she wished that she could ignore his tap on the window, but she hit the button and lowered the glass.

  “I had a great time,” he said.

  “Thanks for dinner,” she said. Because she had been raised right, she added a smile as she curled her fingers into a wave.

  “Wait!” he shouted as she put the car into drive. “Give me a call in the morning; let’s hook up this weekend.”

  Alexis wasn’t even going to tell that lie. But she didn’t want to tell the truth either—that when she got home, she was going to lose his number.

  So she rolled up her window. She couldn’t say anything through the thick glass. Pressing her foot to the accelerator, she gained speed when she hit Santa Monica Boulevard.

  “You deserved that,” she scolded herself. Using one man to forget another was obviously not the way. But she would find something else to do, because there were two things she knew for sure. One, she was never going to call Cabot Adams again. And two, she was going to get Brian out of her heart. That was a promise—no matter what she had to do.

  Twenty-two

  I AM A MAN! A man on a mission! A man with a plan!

  That was Brian’s mantra as he took the turn on the second level of the underground garage. His tires screamed as he swerved, but then he slowed down and eyed the assigned parking spaces.

  “There she is,” he whispered when he got a glimpse of Alexis’s BMW. Not that he’d had any apprehensions; he’d already checked in with her assistant and had sworn Kennedy to secrecy.

  Pulling into a space three spots away from hers, Brian took a final peek in the rearview mirror. He didn’t need to do a thing. He looked good!

  He pressed the elevator button and glanced at his watch at the same time. Knowing Alexis, she had been at work for hours, even though it was not yet noon. But he was going to get her to have lunch with him; of that, he was sure. Because he was a man on a mission. A man with a plan.

  Glancing at the EXIT sign that led to the stairwell, Brian was just about ready to run up the twelve flights when the elevator doors finally parted. He stepped into the chamber with a quickness, then paced the small space as he ascended.

  It was amazing that he was here—less than a minute away from seeing Alexis, from spending some real time with her. Just two days ago he’d been prepared to give up, throw in the bouquet. But then with that last bunch of flowers, Alexis had done what he’d expected her to do months ago—she had come to him.

  That was the plan—for her to open the door, and he would walk right through it.

  He took a cleansing breath as he stepped off the elevator and pushed through the double glass doors stenciled with gold letters: WARD AND ASSOCIATES.

  Kennedy’s grin greeted him the moment he stepped inside. “It’s good to—”

  Brian smiled back but put his forefinger against his lips. Kennedy giggled, and pointed toward Alexis’s office.

  Even though there was a ruckus of activity behind Kennedy’s desk as account executives chatted on calls, prepared for meetings, or mulled over sales projections, Brian took soft steps toward Alexis’s door. He raised his hand to knock, but then he eyed her through the small space where the door was ajar.

  What he’d expected was for Alexis to be in front of her computer, feverishly tapping on the keys. Or sitting with her head down, studying some report. But she wasn’t anywhere near her desk.

  Instead, she stood at the window, staring out as if her focus was far beyond her office. He could see only her profile, but it was enough to know that she was smiling. She was so deep in thought that he could almost feel what was going through her mind.

  What he saw made his stomach turn over. Who was she thinking about? Who had her head, her heart, so much that she had stopped to fantasize about him in the middle of her day?

  He felt like an intruder, stealing in on her private moment. He needed to back away.

  But he couldn’t; it wasn’t part of his DNA.

  He cleared his throat; she turned around and pressed her hand against her chest, startled. “Brian!”

  “Hey,” he said softly.

  “I didn’t hear you come in.”
She moved away from the window, the lines in her forehead deep. “What . . . are you doing here?”

  He held up his hands. “Nothing’s wrong.”

  The worry lines in her forehead faded fast. But still, she said, “So . . . ,” leaving the rest of her question unspoken.

  “I hope I’m not disturbing you.”

  The corners of her lips twitched, as if she was trying to hold back a smile. “No.” With a motion toward the chair across from her desk, she invited him to sit down.

  It was then that he breathed, and forgot all about whoever was in her mind. His swagger returned as he strutted across her expansive office, which was decorated like a grand living room with a desk in the middle. The glint in her eyes let him know that this part of his plan—to wear the black blazer, black shirt, and jeans—had worked.

  He didn’t sit until she squirmed a bit in her chair; then he took his seat.

  Before he spoke, Alexis raised one finger as she buzzed her assistant. “Could you bring me a cup of coffee?”

  Brian grinned. Sat back, unbuttoned his jacket, crossed his legs. He said, “I wanted to come by—”

  “Please don’t tell me that you brought more flowers?” she joked, as Kennedy placed a mug on her desk.

  Chuckling with her, he said, “No, sorry. This time, all you get is me.” Then he paused, giving her a chance to say words he dreamed about. Something like, That’s fine ’cause all I want is you. But all Alexis did was bring the coffee mug to her lips. He continued, “I have some news.”

  Another sip. “Good, I hope.”

  He nodded. “I wanted you to be the first to know, ’cause you stood by me.”

  She held on to her mug.

  “Doctor Perkins . . .” As soon as he mentioned his sex therapist, her smile slipped away. But Brian kept on, “I had my last meeting with her yesterday. She said that I’m cured.” Another pause. More silence. Until Brian added, “It seems that I’ve made so much progress, there’s no reason for me to continue.”

  With just a bit of a frown, Alexis finally placed her mug down. “I didn’t know there was such a thing as a cure.”

  “Maybe cure is not the word. It’s just that I’ve learned all that I can. I mean, look how long it’s been . . . so now, it’s up to me.” He leaned forward. “And believe me, all of that is in the past.”

  Her head bobbed up and down. “I’m really glad for you, Brian.”

  “I figured that since this is what destroyed our marriage, I had to tell you. And I think . . .” He stopped.

  “What?”

  “I think you should go to lunch with me.”

  She was already shaking her head.

  He said, “Sort of a lunch date.”

  More shaking. “I’ve passed my date quota for the week,” she said with a little chuckle that made him frown.

  But he had no intention of being denied. Brian pushed, “I just want someone to celebrate with.”

  Although her head kept shaking, this time she didn’t say no out loud.

  “Come on,” he urged. He lowered his head. “Look, I don’t want anything from you. It’s just that . . . this is pretty big, and there’s no one else I want to share it with. It’s important to me, Alex.”

  It was hard to believe, but it didn’t look like any of his words had moved her. She stayed quiet, just looking at him. He was ready with more, and he moved to the edge of his chair. “I’m sorry. I guess I was just excited and—”

  “I can’t have lunch with you today,” she interrupted.

  Okay, he thought. That’s not a total no. And he had to remember what had happened with the flowers.

  She said, “I’m swamped, so how about dinner?”

  It took a moment, then, “Dinner? Oh, okay. Dinner.”

  “It’s just a meal, shared between friends, Brian.” She paused and then added words in a tone that was meant to be a warning, “Nothing else.”

  “Of course not.” He kept his expression solemn. “I don’t know what you’re thinking.”

  “Well, I know what you’re thinking,” she said.

  He held up his hands. “It’ll just be a great evening, two friends, talking. Celebrating.”

  She nodded. “That’s all.” And then she buzzed Kennedy for another cup of coffee.

  He wanted to jump up and kiss her. But all he did was rise from the chair and strut toward the door. Over his shoulder, he told her that he’d call her in an hour. By the time he looked back, her head was down; she was back at work.

  Inside the elevator, he would’ve given himself a high five if he could have. By the time he got to his car, he was laughing full out. Reality was so much better than the plan—he hadn’t had a single hope for dinner.

  But really, how could she resist? He’d gone to her with all guns drawn. He had dressed the part. Spoken the part. There was nothing else she could do.

  Looking in the rearview mirror, he bobbed his head as if he heard music, even though the radio wasn’t on. “Yeah, that’s what’s up!”

  He guided his car from the garage and headed toward home. It had been a long time since he’d had this feeling—like he was the champion of the world.

  Twenty-three

  BRIAN WAS NOT PLAYING FAIR.

  He was forging forward, a full-court press. And to Alexis, he was committing every foul in the book.

  It had started this afternoon, when he’d shown up at her office wearing all black on the top and blue jeans on the bottom.

  Foul!

  She remembered even now, the way her eyes had roamed over him. And then she’d committed her own foul—she had undressed him with her eyes. That’s when she’d called Kennedy for her first cup of coffee.

  As if he had no idea what he was doing to her, Brian had leaned back in the chair and stroked her with his voice, caressed her with his smile, made her insides swoon with his eyes.

  Foul!

  Finally, blessedly, he’d left her alone, but then an hour later, he’d moved into flagrant foul territory when he’d called and said so casually, “Let’s go to Heroes for dinner.”

  She’d just taken a sip of coffee and a long stream exploded from her mouth, landing right on top of the computerized storyboards for Addicts Anonymous that sat on her desk.

  “No,” she’d told him after she’d gotten herself together.

  “Why not?”

  “’Cause that’s where we’ve had all of our good times,” she said, as if her logic showed just how illogical he was.

  He’d laughed. “Well, I want to have a good time tonight, don’t you?”

  No! “I guess.”

  “And anyway,” he’d added, “where else can we go?”

  As if there weren’t a million restaurants in Los Angeles. As if there wasn’t one in a million that wasn’t filled with their memories.

  But then he said, “What about if we do it early. Then it won’t feel so much like . . . a date.”

  She agreed. That did feel better. Four o’clock was much more innocent than eight.

  So now they were at Heroes, where Brian was committing his final foul. Where Brian was just being Brian.

  Without her saying a word, he’d ordered all of her favorite Heroes dishes: Barbecue Salmon, Shrimp Mousse, and Pecan-Crusted Chicken sat in the middle of their table, as if they were in a Chinese restaurant, rather than this upscale Continental eatery.

  Then, of course, there was her favorite wine—Sauvignon Blanc—that seemed to be filling her glass much faster than his.

  Their conversation flowed with ease; their banter was effortless. He was as attentive tonight as he’d been on their first date all those years ago when they’d sat at the edge of the Pacific Ocean from noon until the moment the sun settled in the west. Tonight, just like then, Brian was making their time together all about her.

  “Jefferson told me you worked on the Obama campaign. What did you do?” he asked.

  It was a déjà vu question; but unlike last night, when she’d been given little time to answer,
tonight she talked leisurely, and proudly, without interruption.

  “Wow, that’s impressive,” Brian said. “You make me feel a little guilty. I didn’t do half as much.”

  Then their chatter turned easily to the books they were reading, to the movies they’d seen, to the songs they loved.

  “By the way, I saw this great article about the rise of all things Christian—literature, music,” he said. “I’ll get the magazine and bring it to you tomorrow.”

  She didn’t miss the way he said tomorrow, as if it was just an extension of tonight.

  “So, any surgeries this week?” she asked, then froze. Both were taken back to the days when they were married and she’d asked him that same question. Every Sunday.

  Brian broke the quiet and told her of an upcoming surgery on a six-month-old girl whose parents were bringing her to Los Angeles from Texas. Alexis sipped and listened with the same fascination she always held when he discussed his responsibilities as an ophthalmologist.

  The moments moved along, and they kept right on talking. About everything. Then, anything. Sometimes, nothing.

  When Brian said, “I think we should share a dessert,” she frowned. Was it time for dessert? She glanced at her watch and wondered who’d stolen their time. It couldn’t be almost eight.

  “So do you want some?”

  She looked up and into his eyes. His lips were so close. Lover’s lips. In the old days, she would have just leaned forward two inches and pressed her lips against his. But today, she stared and wondered if he still tasted like chocolate.

  Foul!

  She backed up and took a final sip of wine. “No dessert for me,” she said.

  With a chuckle, he raised his hand for the waiter and settled their check.

  “Thanks so much for dinner, Brian,” Alexis said, and then she stood. “Whoa.” She wobbled just a bit, then steadied herself against the table. In an instant and without a word, Brian was at her side. He scooped the palm of his hand underneath her elbow and led her through the maze of tables.