Marriage of Convenience (2 page)

And he knew Gloria was right. It was his habit to call on Denzel to talk about anything and everything, but perhaps his subconscious knew that in this case, it was Gloria he needed to speak with.

“You’re right. I know you’re right. But this is an emergency.”

“Malcolm, you’re sounding desperate, dear. What’s going on?”

Stopping at the hospital entrance, Malcolm relayed the morning’s news. He emphasized his plans for the money. It was imperative that he use his father’s money for the center.

“And what’s amazing is that dad never discussed any of this with me. We spoke not three days before he passed, and he just wanted to talk about his charitable distributions. You’d think my impending forced marriage would have been on his radar. I know I would have liked to have talked about it.”

Disgusted, Malcolm rolled his shoulders and stretched his neck, pushing his face toward the sky. It was a beautiful day in the City. He would have liked to have enjoyed it. But between the paperwork on his desk, the patients who dropped in, and the wife he had yet to identify, he was swamped. It wasn’t likely he’d be able to enjoy the weather.

“Wow.”

Gloria’s response was the understatement of the century.

“That’s it!” Malcolm struggled to understand how he was supposed to interpret the word. “What…? How…? If I could—” He swung his arms around and nearly knocked over a woman exiting from the hospital. She ducked at the right moment, but rewarded him with a hostile look. He mouthed his apology. He ducked into the vestibule and headed for the elevator. Ensconced in his own office he’d be less likely to be heard or to take out another visitor.

“Hush, let me think!” Gloria nearly shouted from the other end of the phone. “Malcolm, you’re one of the hottest bachelors in the country. You were on People’s Most Beautiful People list last year and the year before. You’re smart, athletic, interesting, and let’s be honest, one of the wealthiest men in the world. And you’re no stick in the mud. You travel the world, sail frequently, and fly your own plane. And all of that with a great sense of humor.” Gloria paused and inhaled deeply. “I cannot believe this is going to be a problem. Now, we haven’t discussed children—though you adore ours—but for many successful women children are negotiable.” Gloria laughed easily. “How could you not find a wife? In fact, this could be fun!”

Malcolm took in her assessment of himself, and though he was inclined to agree, there was still the very real problem that he wasn’t dating anyone. If fact, he hadn’t dated anyone with real potential recently and honestly didn’t have a clue of how to begin solving his problem. And he definitely didn’t see the humor in it.

“Malcolm, this isn’t a problem. You just need the right introductions. Time will do its thing, and you’ll have the woman of your dreams.”

“Time? Time is not on my side here, Gloria.”

“Malcolm, you’re being melodramatic. Listen, babe, Denzel’s birthday is next month. I’ve started making plans. I’ll make it a double duty extravaganza, and we’ll find you a partner.”

“Next month? Gloria, were you listening?” Malcolm tried to keep the exasperation from his voice. Gloria’s use of “babe” indicated to him that she was trying to calm him, trying to understand his dilemma. But clearly they were not on the same page yet.

“Sunday, Gloria, Sunday. I have to be married by Sunday.” Malcolm fell into the chair behind his desk as he spoke the words as if just by saying them he was physically weighed down by the impossible task of identifying, meeting, romancing, and marrying a woman in less than a week.

“Sunday? This Sunday?” Gloria asked incredulously.

“Yes. This Sunday. Help me.” Malcolm whined into the silence.

“Ok. I need to think. Let me call you back, Malcolm. Don’t freak out. We’ll fix this.”

Nearly jumping out of the chair, eyes wide, Malcolm cried, “No! Wait! Don’t hang….” But his words were answered by a dial tone. Slouching further into the supple leather, Malcolm closed his eyes. With his elbows resting on the edge of his desk, he steepled his fingers and pressed them under his lower lip, letting them support the weight of his head.

Cursing his father yet again, he racked his brain for a solution. Over the last year he’d been on four dates.

Sylvia was a pediatrician. Her office was three floors above his own. He wouldn’t term the experience a disaster, but it had been damn close. He’d seen her in the cafeteria a few times and liked what he saw. She seemed light and funny. She had a lithe body and graceful movements. He hadn’t known much else, but wasn’t that what dating was for? He hadn’t asked anyone out since college, so he admitted to himself that he’d been rusty. Still, he should have known. She’d said yes to his offer of dinner, smiling and interested. They’d made arrangements over email throughout the day, and he’d been looking forward to the evening. He made reservations at Cipriani and offered to pick her up. She’d declined, indicating she liked to walk before and after dinner to aid digestion. Understandable. She’d arrived talking on her cell phone. She sat down at the table and continued to talk on the phone. The waiter had appeared, and she had given her order while on the phone. Malcolm had finished his salad and was working on his entree by the time she apologized for the call. She had explained that her ex-lover was in a crisis and needed a shoulder. He’d smiled to make a show of understanding, but inwardly he’d begun to doubt their future. He was beyond doubt and into certainty after she spent the remainder of dinner discussing her ex-lover’s problems and expressing her desire to get through the meal so that she could pay him a visit. Malcolm had been relieved when she’d begged off dessert. They said goodbye at the door, and he hadn’t seen her socially since. He’d heard via the hospital grapevine that she’d eloped with Mr. Phone a month later.

He shuddered at the memory of two other less than stellar dates and instead focused on his latest experience, Sarah.

Once a year the hospital opened its doors for a community holiday celebration. It coincided with Christmas, but in the spirit of openness and inclusion, the Board had determined to focus on snow as a theme rather than take on the daunting task of including every religiously significant symbol and potentially alienating or offending guests.

Sarah, typically in the role of a nurse practitioner, had transformed into a snowflake princess for the benefit of the visiting children. Though he learned she’d been volunteered for the role by her supervising attendant, she played the role as though it had been her own idea. She introduced herself to the children, led them in songs and games, and took pictures with them for keepsakes. He remembered approaching her with a joke, lame to his own ears, but she’d laughed good-naturedly and introduced herself.

They’d made eye contact across the room throughout the evening. Encouraged, Malcolm had waited for her in the lobby as the last guests were leaving. At the late hour he didn’t have many options, but he offered a late dinner at the diner two blocks over. Rubbing her stomach through her costume, she said she hadn’t had time to eat during the celebration and that she was starving. If he was willing to wait for her to change, she’d love to go. He would have waited for just about any length of time. Her eagerness had suckered him in, and he was excited.

He found they both liked breakfast for dinner. The coffee had been mediocre, but they’d shared lively conversation. They agreed on books, cities they’d visited, and movies. As they left the diner, she said she wasn’t tired and didn’t feel like going home. She shared an apartment with two girls and, from time to time, their out of work boyfriends. Malcolm had suggested a late movie, and she’d placed her hand in his. They’d walked to Times Square. He couldn’t remember the name of the film, but he remembered the kiss that followed.

She’d snuggled up to him during the movie, and he’d welcomed the contact. Not used to dating, he’d forgotten how warm it could be to simply sit close to someone. After the movie he had offered to walk her to the subway station. They’d analyzed the film on the walk. They’d held hands, and he’d marveled at his great choice of women. Perhaps there was hope for him yet. She insisted that he didn’t have to walk her below, and in saying goodbye, had taken both his hands in hers and leaned into him. Surprised, but eager, he’d held her weight in his hands and leaned down to her, eyes closed. Her lips had been soft and warm with just a hint of maple syrup left over from the diner pancakes she’d had earlier. It didn’t last long, but it had stirred in him a desire for more. She had pulled back and smiled sweetly, almost unwilling to meet his gaze. She had laughed lightly and said she’d see him the next day at work. He had said he looked forward to it.

But he hadn’t seen her. Not the next day or the one after that. He didn’t have her number and felt desperate contacting her through hospital channels.

He wondered now how he could have let that slip through his fingers. But of his most recent prospects, she was the most likely to be wife material.

He straightened up and looked at the mess on his desk. When he didn’t have a full consultation or surgery schedule, Betty was always ready to unload some of the contents of her desk onto his. She had a stamp of his name, but even after six years together she was reluctant to use it. She wanted his eyes to see everything that could have legal consequences for either him or the hospital later. He knew she was right, but it increased his work load exponentially.

Stacking the papers into various piles, he cleared a space in the center. It at least it looked like he’d made some headway.

He looked up and around the room, wondering if he should straighten the whole place. The door was directly across the room. To the left was a leather couch with an area rug in front of it. In decorating his office Betty had recommended muted colors to set patients’ nerves at ease. Bright colors, she said, made people tense. He didn’t know if he agreed, but why argue the issue? She was a mother, and perhaps she knew of such things from experience. Throw pillows on the couch coordinated with the rug. In front of his desk were two leather chairs. The entire lower part of the right wall held cabinets storing research, drafts of articles he’d written, formulas he intended to investigate, and the like. The top of the cabinets served as a snack station. Ostensibly it was, again, to ease patients’ nerves, but hidden away in one of the containers was Malcolm’s favorite treat, pecan clusters. He didn’t know from where they came; they just appeared from time to time. But he was very aware of when they were present. He could smell their nutty caramel goodness from across the room. Above the refreshments, extending wall to wall, were built-in shelves laden with reference books. Behind his desk, framing his chair, were two floor-to-ceiling windows. Each offered a view of the street below. He enjoyed looking out of them as he thought about a particular case. The movement from the street seemed to help organize his thoughts.

Aside from the stethoscope, there were few personal items. He used to have a picture of his mother, but after her passing, it was too painful to see it, so the only image of her was housed in his wallet.

“Betty, could you find a number for Sarah Suzan? She’s down in the ER.” He released the call button on his phone and clicked on his computer screen. With the prospect of his immediate problem being taken care of he hoped to be able to focus on other pressing medical issues. He was momentarily sidetracked by the notion of someone having two first names as their first and last name. He had a patient named Reagan Parker. And two other patients named Parker Stevens and Reagan Aaronson.

“Sorry, Doctor, there’s no Sarah Suzan in the ER.”

Puzzled, Malcolm sat back. Surely he had her name correct—he wasn’t likely to ever forget it. “Are you sure? She’s a nurse….”

“I called both duty stations. No Sarah Suzan, nurse, doctor, or patient.”

Curious.

“There was a Sarah Klein, though. Could you have gotten the name wrong?”

Sarah Klein. “Is she related to Doctor Klein in Audiology?”

“His wife, I think. I’d heard he married someone on staff, but with all the gossip, who knows what’s fact and what’s fiction? Anything else?”

“No. Thanks.”

Malcolm couldn’t be sure that Sarah Klein was his Sarah Suzan, but it would be an amazing coincidence if she wasn’t.

Deflated to have his plan pulled out from underneath of him so quickly, he forgot about accomplishing anything on the computer and once again sat slouched in his chair, staring at his desk.

He hadn’t doubted that the task of finding a wife in seven days would be difficult, but he was now feeling it was impossible. He’d have to forgo his inheritance and, more importantly, the opportunity to honor his mother by creating a center to support single mothers using his father’s money.

“So what’s the plan?”

Denzel had listened to his wife intently as she’d relayed Malcolm’s story. Still not quite believing it herself, she’d been hopeful he’d have an idea. He and Malcolm had been best friends since middle school. They’d grown up across the street from each other in a small town outside Chicago. They’d gone to the same high school and college. They’d split ways afterward, Malcolm to medical school and Denzel to business school, but they’d remained strong in their friendship. They celebrated each other’s birthdays, in person, regardless of what the other had going on. They celebrated each holiday together since Malcolm’s mother passed and talked about every day. Gloria teased Denzel that Malcolm was his man-wife. Neither man found the description amusing.

She had a plan. She always had a plan. But she liked to give Denzel time to think and express himself first. Over the years she’d noticed that often Denzel just ran with what she’d come up with rather than valuing his own thoughts. If she allowed him time and space to talk first, she could confirm his idea and then add her own to it, so they were both valued. She knew he was on to her strategy. They’d been married for years after all. He’d often said he didn’t mind, that he thought she was creative and often developed ideas that he didn’t think anyone else could think of on their own. Still, she hesitated, giving him an opportunity to generate some suggestions.