Love Becomes Her (17 page)

N
ow Barbara was convinced beyond a shadow of a doubt that she hated perky little gym instructors more than any other creatures on earth.

She was sure she was dragging her left leg up the steps and that creak she kept hearing wasn’t the stairs. If she thought for one minute that the very young and athletic Michael Townsend had whipped her body in directions she didn’t know were allowed by law, he didn’t have nothing on Ms. Girl at the Sports Spot.

Her muscles howled, calling her every name but a child of God. She didn’t think she’d make it to the tub, and if she did, she’d probably sink beneath the hot water and drown. At least she would be put out of her misery.

Through pure force of will she made it into her apartment without collapsing. She tossed her hated gym bag into the corner, inched across the living room and plopped down on the couch.

The phone rang, beckoning her. She groaned, got
up and answered the phone. It better not be a telemarketer, she thought as she said hello, ’cause they were sure going to get an old-fashioned cussing-out.

“It’s Michael.”

She sat down on the stool in the kitchen next to the phone. “Yes?”

“I was calling to see how you were doing.”

“Fine,” she lied, and tried to stretch out her leg without screaming.

“I was hoping that I could see you.”

“See me? What are you talking about? You said you were in Miami.”

“I am. But I’m leaving in the morning. We need to talk.”

“I don’t see where there is anything to say right now, Mike.”

“Please, Barbara.”

She sighed heavily, too tired to argue. “Fine. When?”

“I’ll be getting in about noon tomorrow. Can I meet you at work for lunch? I have to get right back on a plane at six.”

“I suppose so.”

“Thanks. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

What could be so urgent? she wondered as she hung up the phone. He couldn’t have gotten the DNA results back yet. Even the muscles of her brain were
exhausted. Whatever it was, it would keep until tomorrow. For now she needed a hot bath with some Epsom salts.

Barbara’s first patient the following day was Mrs. Wells. She was a treat and definitely the lift that she needed.

“How are you and that young man doing?” Veronica Wells asked as she ceremoniously disrobed. Veronica was notorious for doing a virtual strip show each time she came in for her appointment. If you got it flaunt it was her motto.

Barbara sighed, pulled the drapes and sat down on the stool that was in front of the exam table where Veronica was daintily perched as naked as she was born.

“Not so good at the moment,” she confessed.

“Sorry to hear that. I knew something must be wrong, that spark is missing from your eyes.” She heaved a sigh. “Do you think I should get a Brazilian wax? I hear it’s all the rage.”

There was no telling what Veronica would say at any given moment, but this was definitely up there in the top ten.

Barbara didn’t dare answer. “Did you see the news the other night, the story about the basketball player and a pending paternity suit?”

Veronica frowned in thought. Then she brightened. “Yes, I believe so. Pretty little thing.”

“Well, the man she wants to sue for paternity is the man I’ve been seeing.”

“Oh.” Veronica twisted her lips in consternation. She shrugged nonchalantly. “And what is the problem? Men screw around all the time. This one just happened to get caught. Doesn’t make him a bad man, just careless.” She angled her head to look at Barbara. “So…why are you really upset?”

Barbara huffed. “It’s not so much that he had a life before me. I have a problem with him paying child support for a year and then stopping.”

“Maybe he had good reason. Maybe he found out something that changed his mind.”

Barbara chewed on her bottom lip. “I suppose.”

“Did you talk to him about it?”

“Sort of. I was too upset to really make sense.”

“Want my advice?”

Barbara nodded.

“See what happens before you make a decision. He may be totally vindicated. How many times are the claws put on athletes?”

“I know.”

“What’s important is how you feel about him, if the relationship is even important enough to pursue.”

She looked into Veronica’s eyes and told her about Michael’s proposal, something she hadn’t even shared with Ellie when she’d called to tell her about her harrowing date with Ron.

“Sounds like he’s serious.”

“Hmm.”

“Well, dear, as I said, go with your heart. You have a good head on your shoulders, use that, too.” She winked at Barbara and that made her smile.

“Thanks, Veronica.”

“Anytime. Now, let’s see how high I can get these legs up in the air. We’re planning a seven-day Caribbean cruise and I want it to be a trip that my husband will never forget and I don’t mean the food.”

Barbara laughed and shook her head.

She was a nervous wreck as she stood in the hospital lobby waiting for Michael later that day. He’d called on his cell phone nearly a half hour earlier to say he was on his way. She checked her watch. Her lunch hour would be over in another fifteen minutes.

Although he was hard to miss at six foot six inches, she barely recognized him. He wore a baseball cap pulled low over his eyes, a hooded Nike sweat jacket and matching pants. She hated to admit it, but he really did look like one of the kids she saw running around in the park.

He pulled off his shades as he approached. “Sorry I’m late.”

“Why are you dressed like that?” She was accustomed to him in casual attire, but he truly looked like a character from
Boyz in the Hood
.

“Where can we go to talk?”

“I really don’t have much time, Mike. I have to get back to work. I guess we can go to the employee cafeteria.”

“Fine.” He took her arm. “Sorry it took me so long to get here. I wanted to make sure that no press were dogging me.”

“Press!”

“Yeah, they’ve been all over me since the story broke. One of several reasons I needed to get out of Miami so I could breathe. I’ve been like a prisoner in my apartment.”

It hadn’t occurred to her how all this was affecting him and his life.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”

“Not your fault.” He looked down into her upturned face. “None of this is.”

They continued down the corridor and turned right, toward the cafeteria. It was busy. No one paid them much attention.

“There’s a table in the back,” Barbara said, leading them to it.

Once they were seated, she launched right in. “What was so urgent that you needed to see me today?”

He dug around in his pocket, pulled out a box and put it on the table between them.

“Don’t open it yet. Hear me out.” He took a breath, collected his thoughts. “When you came into my life, not as my therapist but as a woman, my life
changed, for the better. I know I may not be all that you want, but you are what I want. I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life. When I asked you to think about marrying me it was the biggest step I’ve ever taken in my life. I’ve never asked a woman to share my life. You are the first and I hope the last.” He opened the box and Barbara’s heart stopped short then beat at an alarming rate. “This is only a small token, something that I want you to hold on to while you think whether or not you want to share my life.”

The diamond, sitting on a platinum band, was blinding in its brilliance. Light bounced off the stone in a kaleidoscope of colors. She didn’t want to guess how many carats. This was Elizabeth Taylor action.

“Michael…I don’t…can’t…”

“Please, don’t say anything. I don’t want an answer. Take it. Think about it. And when the decision comes back from the test, whichever way it turns out, make your decision then. That’s all I ask.” He pushed the box toward her.

The diamond called out to her,
Take me, take me.
Trancelike, she reached for the box. She looked at him, looked at the diamond and closed the box.

“Michael, I can’t take this from you.”

“Why?”

“Because to me it’s the equivalent of saying yes I’ll marry you, and I haven’t said that or know that I will.”

He exhaled heavily and nodded his head in under
standing. “Fine.” He stood. “I need to get back to the airport, my flight was changed.” He licked his lips. She handed him the box. He ignored it.

“I’ll call you in a couple of days.” He turned to leave.

“Michael!” She jumped up. He walked faster. She started off after him and noticed the eyes that were turning in her direction. The last thing she wanted was a scene and for the assemblage to actually recognize Michael, if they hadn’t already. She slowed her step. In her moment of hesitation, Michael walked out and was gone.

Barbara straightened, gripping the velvet box in her hand. She slid the box into the pocket of her smock. A diamond bigger than her eye? What would the girls have to say about that?

She hurried back to her office, shut and locked the door behind her. Like a kid coming down too early on Christmas morning, she looked over her shoulder before opening the box. The diamond flashed in her eyes.

“My goodness,” she said in awe.

Reverently she took it out of the box. This sucker was heavy, too. She tentatively slid it onto her ring finger and held her hand out in front of her. Perfect fit. She turned her hand slowly from side to side, watching the light dance off of it.

A slow smile crept across her mouth. “Damn, that looks good.”

S
tephanie set up an interview with a photographer that would be taking pictures of Pause for the catalog and print material that she was putting together. He was actually one of the names she’d pulled from her Rolodex but had never used. Anthony Dixon. She’d checked out his Web site, which was impressive, but she was always one who believed in seeing things live. She knew the power of Photoshop. Someone skilled could make Medusa look like a runway model.

She sipped a glass of lemonade while she waited for him to arrive and flipped through her folder of things she still needed to do. They were scheduled to meet at two. She hoped he could convince her of his skills in an hour. She wanted to sit with her sister and have dinner with her if she was having a good day. And she had one more appointment before she could see Samantha.

“Ms. Moore?”

Stephanie looked up and hot damn it was Morris
Chestnut’s dad or a darn good look-alike. He was a dead ringer for the actor or rather what the actor’s father must look like: tall, chocolate dark and layered in the matured assurance of masculinity.

“Yes, I’m Stephanie.” She stood and extended her hand.

“Anthony Dixon. Everyone calls me Tony,” he said, taking her hand. He smiled. She stuttered.

“Glad…you could make it. My office isn’t set up yet, so I hope this isn’t an inconvenience.”

“Not at all.” He took a seat and put his portfolio on the table.

“You mention in your information that you do company brochures, logos, etcetera.”

“Yes.” He flipped open his portfolio and turned several sheets until he reached the sample he was looking for.

Stephanie was fixated on his lashes. They were inky black, long and gently curled. And there was a subtle, intangible, stirring scent that floated lightly around him. She felt compelled to move closer and inhale until her lungs were full. That is, until she spotted the simple gold band on that telltale finger.

Damn, damn, damn. What am I, some kind of married-man magnet? Is it written on my forehead?

“…this one is the corporate brochure I did for Virgin Records.”

Stephanie snapped to attention. This was business.
Probably best that he was married. She would be forced to concentrate on the project and not what his lips would feel like brushing across her…

“What did you have in mind?”

“Excuse me, I’m sorry. What were you saying?”

He smiled and it nearly did her in.
Good teeth
.

“I was asking if you had any ideas in mind.”

“Actually, yes. Let me give you some background on the project….”

They talked for more than an hour, her next appointment all but forgotten. Anthony was easygoing, intelligent, a brilliant graphic artist, as well as an accomplished photographer, and he gave her some good ideas. He’d worked for some of the major firms in the city, having started out as a copywriter at Ogilvy and Mather, one of the top ad agencies in the country. By the time their meeting concluded, she was sure she’d found the right person for the job.

Stephanie stuck out her hand. “If you’re willing to take on four women, you have the job.”

“I love a challenge.” He shook her hand. “When can I get over to the house to take some preliminary shots?”

She turned on her Axim and used the stylus to check her calendar. “How’s next Monday, about two?”

He turned on his Palm Pilot and confirmed. “Not a problem.”

“Great.” She checked her watch. “Oh no!”

“What?”

“I was supposed to meet someone nearly twenty minutes ago.” She shoved her folder into her oversize shoulder bag and jumped up.

“Maybe you should give them, him, her a call.” He handed her his cell phone.

“Right. Thanks.” She took his phone even though she had one of her own. She punched in the number from memory and listened to it ring. His phone had his scent, too, she noticed as it floated to her brain.

“Hi, Sylvia. This is Stephanie Moore, I am so sorry…”

She breathed a sign of relief when she hung up. “We’ve rescheduled,” she said, and handed him back his phone. “Thanks.”

“No problem. Uh, can I drop you off somewhere?” He gathered up his presentation materials.

“Thanks. I have my car.” She hesitated, wishing she could draw out the moment a little while longer.

“Then I’ll see you on Monday.”

“Two o’clock. Any problems, give me a call.”

“Sure.”

They walked out together.

“My car is right across the street,” Stephanie said, pointing to her BMW.

“Nice ride.”

She grinned up at him. “Thanks. A treat to myself for my last big account.”

“Must have been some account.”

“Maybe I’ll tell you about it one day,” she said, and smiled.

“Love to hear that story.”

“See you Monday,” she said, and sauntered across the street.

What in heaven’s name was wrong with her? She put the car in gear, checked her mirrors and pulled off. She was flirting with an obviously married man. Maybe it was some kind of defect in her personality, some masochistic gene that reared its ugly head whenever a married man entered her sphere. Not again, never again. No matter how sexy, handsome, rich, famous or intelligent. No more married men. Period.

She repeated the mantra all the way to her next appointment, but all during the meeting with Sylvia, she couldn’t keep Anthony “Tony” Dixon off her mind.

This was not good.

When she arrived at the facility, the staff was preparing the residents—they preferred the term
residents
as opposed to patients—for dinner.

“Ms. Moore,” the head nurse greeted her. “You’ll be joining Samantha for dinner?”

“Yes. How is she today?”

The nurse smiled. “She had a very good day today. She actually seemed happy.”

“Thanks. I’ll go see her now.”

Stephanie walked down the pristine hallway to
her sister’s room. She knocked lightly on the door and walked in.

Samantha was sitting in a chair by the window.

“Hey, sweetie.” Stephanie slowly approached. “How are you today?” She stroked Samantha’s hair and knelt down in front of her. “It’s me, Steph.” She lifted Samantha’s chin with the tip of her finger so that their eyes met. Stephanie smiled and for an instant a brief light of recognition seemed to shine in Samantha’s eyes. But like morning mist it disappeared.

Stephanie pulled up a chair and sat in front of Samantha. “I want to talk to you about some things. So much has been going on.” She held her sister’s hands as she told her all about her job, the mistakes she’d made with Conrad, the opportunity that was opening up for her with the spa, and starting her own business. She laughed, she talked and she cried, unburdening her soul, needing to get it all out to someone who wouldn’t judge her, wouldn’t think less of her. She rested her head on her sister’s lap and something she only dreamed about happened.

She felt her sister’s hand on her hair, patting her head the way she used to when they were little girls. The moment was so precious, so fragile, so surreal she dared not move.

Stephanie slowly reached up and took Samantha’s hand and held it. She lifted her head and looked into Sam’s eyes, hoping against hope that she would see
something behind those vacant brown eyes. And for the first time in more than a decade she did. Herself. And then the moment was gone.

“Sam, Sam, come back to me,” she pleaded. “Please.” She clasped Samantha’s cheeks in her palms. But Samantha had retreated to that place that Stephanie could not reach.

When Stephanie returned home she was ready to call it a night, even though it was only eight o’clock. After the visit with Samantha she was mentally and emotionally exhausted.

She hung up her jacket and took her cell phone out of her bag to put it on the charger and was surprised to see that a message was waiting for her. Must have come in while she had it turned off at the facility.

She dialed in for her message. And the last person she needed to hear from was on the other end. Anthony Dixon.

“It was great meeting you and I’m really happy that you selected me to work on your project. I know this may seem out of line, but I’d rather ask on the phone than in person and get shot down. I was hoping that on Monday after our meeting at the house I could take you out, maybe for a drink or to listen to some music in the Village. Anyway, you have a few days to think it over. Have a great evening and I’ll see you on Monday.”

She played the message again just to make sure
she’d heard him right. She blew out a breath and pressed the off button on her phone.

She’d heard him right. Damn, damn, damn.