Just the Man She Needs (10 page)

“If I leave you now, will you be all right?” He noticed that she still held the rose in her right hand. “Will you?” he reiterated.

“I’ll be okay,” she said. “You can’t know how much your coming here tonight means to me. I have a great deal to learn about relationships, Ashton, and you’ve taught me a lot tonight. My previous experience conditioned me to look out for myself.”

“Are you telling me that you had a man who mistreated you?”

“If you call pledging eternal love and, after several months of a blissful relationship, suddenly announcing that he had to get on with his life, that he’d spent too much time away from his wife and children—If you’d call that mistreatment, I’d say yes. And especially since up to that time, he’d represented himself as a bachelor. Yes, I’d say I was mistreated.”

His whistle split the air. “And I’d say that man should be horsewhipped. It explains a lot. How long ago was that?”

“Ten years, and you’re the only man who’s gotten close to me since then.”

Hmm. So her finesse and toughness covered a tenderness that he’d spotted a few times. Her warm femininity was almost always evident, but she cloaked that other part of her, the gentle sweetness and the tenderness that he needed. Yes, he’d go slowly, but he would cultivate in her what he most needed from her.

“I’d better go. Are we still on for Thursday morning at nine in my office?”

“Yes, of course,” she said, and he steeled himself against the sadness he heard in her voice. He didn’t pause when he reached the door, but reached for the doorknob. She stopped him with a hand on his shoulder, reached up and kissed his mouth, quickly and as if in theft. The fire of it shot through him with such speed that he let the wall take his weight. She gazed up at him, letting him know that she didn’t plan to cooperate in his plan to put some distance between them.

“Oh, hell, Felicia,” he said, locked her in his arms and gave himself to her. “See you Thursday morning,” he said, shaken and unable to hide it. He opened the door and walked out into the hallway, certain of one thing: Felicia Parker was in his blood. As he walked toward Riverside Drive, he didn’t promise himself anything. Deep down in his gut, he wanted more of what she gave him minutes earlier, that and much more. But he had to think of Teddy as well as of himself, and he meant to take it slow even if it killed him.

Ashton was not alone in resolving to put a lock on his life. For at least ten minutes after Ashton walked out of her door, Felicia remained where he left her. Finally, her equilibrium restored, she folded her arms across her middle and wound her way to her bedroom. He wanted space, and she’d give it to him, but she’d bet her mink coat that he’d make the first call. She had to interview him Thursday morning, but she intended to make it as businesslike as possible. He cared more deeply for her than he wanted to, but he’d come around. He hadn’t been able to leave her without holding her and kissing her as if he couldn’t get enough of her, and he’d be back for that…and more.

“I’m going to let him take the lead,” she told herself. “That is, unless he has too much success in staying away from me.”

She wore a tailored gray suit and a lighter gray felt hat to her interview with him—she had to buy the hat, for she hadn’t previously owned one. She ignored his raised eyebrow, conducted the most businesslike interview she’d ever pulled off, shook hands with him at the end of it, thanked him and left. From the corner of her eye, she saw him scratch his head as if perplexed when she walked out of his office. They hadn’t made plans to see each other again, but she knew that eventually they would be together.

“The longer he stays away from me, the more he’ll need me when we’re finally together.”

Several nights later she walked into the Exhibition Hall of the NewYork Public Library at a benefit for Off Broadway theaters, hoping to get material for her column and, while speaking with a famous author about whom she had decided to write—for want of a more interesting subject—her gaze landed on Ashton leaning against a wall, arms folded and looking directly at her. She nodded to him and smiled as brightly as she could, but if he didn’t come to her, they wouldn’t meet. For now, she planned to let him call the shots. The emptiness in the region of her heart served notice that she could expect plenty of pain, but she had resolved not to chase him, and she meant to stick to it.

She took satisfaction in the fact that no woman hung on to his arm. After wondering for a moment why Ashton Underwood, a businessman, would attend a fund-raiser for Off Broadway theaters, it occurred to her that he might be a philanthropist. She tried to focus on the author, but his obvious self-absorption made that difficult.

“Does the play have a message other than that urban life is hazardous to one’s well-being?” she asked him, hoping to get a perspective on his views about the obligations of playwrights and authors to the theater-going public.

“It’s the best job I’ve done in years,” the man replied. “Of course, I have to adlib in the key places, because the writers didn’t give me much to work with.”

Dear Lord, and I’m stuck with this for a column. A glance at Ashton told her that he sensed her frustration and refused to extend his sympathy. If she had the nerve, she’d turn her back to him, but she imagined the immense pleasure he’d get from that. “I’m not spending the rest of the evening with this loser,” she told herself.

“I’ve enjoyed our conversation, Mr. Orlan,” she said, and started away from him, but he detained her with a hand on her arm.

“Be sure and quote me correctly, Ms. Parker. I noticed that you didn’t take notes while I talked. Here’s my card in case you want to check anything with me.”

She managed not to gasp, but took the card, smiled and stepped out of his way. She hadn’t realized that he knew who she was, and it vexed her that she’d even considered reporting the nonsense he’d fed her. A ballet dancer who she admired waved at her as he passed, then came back and greeted her with a kiss on each cheek as theater people are wont to do. She wished Ashton hadn’t seen that, because she didn’t want him to think she was caught up in that world of make-believe and pretense.

The dancer went his way, and she wondered if she’d have to write one of the gossip columns that she hated: who was seen where with whom and when. Just as she decided to find one of the fund-raiser’s promoters and write about the event and its importance, she saw Ashton walking toward her.

“Hello, Felicia. Were you planning to ignore me all evening?”

“Hi, Ashton. I was surprised to see you here. You indicated that you’d like us to slow down, sit back and take stock, as it were, so I figured it was your call.”

“Really! And that tells you we can’t greet each other? Woman, I’ve been almost as close to you as a man can get, so don’t tell me you can act as if I never existed.”

“I didn’t say I could do that, Ashton. You’re the one with the misgivings, so I have to take my cue from you. For now, that is.”

He stood with both hands in the pockets of his trousers, relaxed and more handsome than a man had a right to be. She ran her tongue across her lips and, realizing what she’d done, focused her gaze on the glossy polish that covered his shoes.

“What do you mean by that?” he asked her.

“I mean a butterfly doesn’t wait for a flower to bloom, it dips into one that’s already open.”

Both of his eyes narrowed, an indication—she’d come to realize—of his displeasure. “And that’s what you’ve been doing tonight?”

She couldn’t help laughing, for she hadn’t realized he would consider those men of interest to her. “Ashton, I’m working. If I’m fortunate, I’ll get material for an interesting column. So far, I’m batting zero.”

“In that case, I’d better let you get on with your work. It’s good seeing you.” He leaned down and kissed the side of her mouth. Her surprise must have been mirrored on her face, for he grinned and said, “In this kissing crowd, nobody would take exception to that. See you.”

She gazed at his back, wondering if he noticed how the women stared at him.
If, by that kiss, he meant to knock me off balance, he succeeded,
she admitted to herself. After a few minutes she saw from across the room a black woman with red, wooly hair, and headed for Dorothea Epps, copromoter of the event.

“Looks as if it’s a success, Dorothea. You must be gratified. What can you give me for my column?”

“Felicia, darling. I’m so glad you’re here. Come with me, and we can talk.” An hour later, with enough material for two columns, she went home and got busy writing.

This man is serious, she thought when Ashton didn’t call her the next day or the next. That Sunday night, two days after she’d last seen Ashton, it stunned her as she walked into the Lincoln Center jazz festival in Columbus Circle, that Ashton Underwood followed her by no less than three feet.

“Hi,” she said. “Imagine running into you here. Of course, I recall that you like jazz.”

“I love jazz,” he said, his deep and lilting voice rolling over her like the waves of an incoming tide. “Who’re you hoping to interview?”

“At these events, I catch as catch can, so I never know who I’ll get. Not everyone is newsworthy. See you later.” She’d like to know why Ashton arrived at the concert more than half an hour early since he would certainly have a ticket that guaranteed him a seat. Using her cell phone, she called the music director and two of the performers and asked for interviews. She got the interviews, but it meant remaining there for an hour and a half after the program ended. What a way to make a living.

When she got home, the red light on her answering machine sent her heartbeat into a gallop for she hoped her caller was Ashton. She checked her voice mail, lifted the receiver and heard, “This is Ashton. Please call me when you get home.” She couldn’t call him at two o’clock in the morning, although it would serve him right if she did. It was his fault that they didn’t get together.

She phoned his office the next morning but was told that he was out of town for the weekend. She remembered then that he’d planned to visit his grandfather. What would he think about her not having returned his call last night? He’d probably jumped to the wrong conclusion.

He couldn’t believe that Felicia ignored his request that she call him. All right, so she didn’t plan to telephone him, but she could at least return his call. He started to say, “To hell with it,” but remembered that it was he who had set the terms; she accepted his wishes and evidently meant to abide by them. Maybe she means to show me that she doesn’t need me, he thought, but didn’t believe it.

He went into Teddy’s room and gazed down at the face of his precious son, peacefully asleep. “Wake up, Teddy. Don’t you remember that we’re going to see Granddad today?” The boy opened his eyes slowly, and as his father moved into his line of vision, he raised both arms for a hug. He gathered the child in his arms, lifted him from the bed and hugged him as he carried him to the bathroom.

“Now hurry. We leave in an hour. I’ll be back in five minutes for your shower.”

“I can take a shower by myself, Daddy.”

“Not yet you can’t. I at least have to be there to prevent you from drowning.”

“That’s what Miss Eartha says. Okay. I’ll count to five and—”

“Teddy, you don’t bargain with me. Do you understand?”

“Yes, sir. But I love to count, Daddy.”

Ashton went to his own room to finish dressing. Had he been that conniving when he was four? Admittedly, Teddy would soon be five, but how could his little mind work as it did? He went back to find Teddy brushing his teeth and humming an unfamiliar tune. After breakfast, he told his housekeeper, “We’ll be back Sunday evening, so have a good rest.”

“Why do I have to sit behind you, Daddy?” Teddy asked as he strapped the child into his car seat.

“How many times have I answered that question, son?”

“A lot. I want to sit up front with you.”

“You can’t, and you know it. I want you to relax and enjoy the ride.”

“Okay, Daddy. Let me know when we stop for ice cream.”

Ashton laughed at the boy’s attempt to manipulate him. He couldn’t help it, and the laughter continued to roll out of him.

“What’s funny, Daddy?”

“I’m happy,” he said, and put on a CD of Mozart chamber music and headed for the New Jersey turnpike.

He had considered flying, but decided that, considering the crowding, confusion and time wasted at airports, traveling by car with Teddy would be easier. With very little traffic and one stop, he arrived in Rose Hill a few minutes after twelve noon.

Eighty-three-year-old Jake Underwood opened the screen door of the front porch and walked down the steps to meet his grandson and great-grandson. “I know it’s still early, but it seemed like you’d never get here.” The big man opened his arms and embraced Ashton, who held Teddy in his arms.

He took Teddy from Ashton and walked into the house with him. “Gee, Granddad, are we going to swim in that pool and ride on those horses? Can’t I stay down here with you sometime? Daddy won’t let me bribe Miss Eartha, but he didn’t say I couldn’t bargain with you.”

“Son, your father’s rules apply here and everywhere.”

Teddy stared up at him. “What does that mean, Granddad?”

“If you want something, ask for it. If you can’t have it, you can’t have it. Your father has a rule against bribery, so you don’t bribe anybody anywhere.”