Marriage of Convenience (5 page)

“Are you kidding?” The pitch of her tone increased, and Malcolm thought that he might be on to something. “Taking off my shoes at security, a warm seat, watered down drinks, cramped space, luggage limits … what’s to love? Besides, with satellite you can go anywhere without leaving the house and getting all sweaty.”

And then again, maybe not.

“But what about the sights and the sounds? The smells, the new people, the adventures? You don’t find it exciting?”

Tatum regarded him straight faced and silent. Then she smiled. “You’re such a Boy Scout. How cute! I can’t wait to show you off.” She patted his hand dismissively.

Finding a common interest: strike two.

“What about reading? Gloria said you were an English major in college. What are you currently reading?”

“I read the script my agent sent over last week. It was awful. He just doesn’t get me. I don’t want to be someone’s mother. I want to be the hot, sexy mistress.”

Malcolm laughed. She turned to face him, not sharing in the amusement. Apparently she wasn’t kidding.

“Seriously, I didn’t mean to make light of your career goals.” Malcolm reached across the bag to touch her hand. Despite the warmth of the sun streaming in through the windows, it was cold and clammy. Was she nervous? He didn’t think so. She’d been nothing but aggressive since entering the restaurant. She withdrew her hand. He’d hoped to make amends but also to bring a physical aspect to their meeting, however brief the contact was. He didn’t expect to feel a sizzle of desire, but a warm response would have been encouraging. Perhaps she was still upset over his laughter. Actors could be so temperamental.

“If you don’t like reading generally, what about books that focus on issues closer to home? Like books about the City. There’s a great new book out about a murder that took place during the late 1890s. The author uses a lot of firsthand information gathered from the newspapers of the day. It’s pretty fascinating to see how the City was changed in some ways over time and then not at all in others.” Malcolm offered to let her borrow his copy.

Tatum wrinkled her nose. “Murder? Don’t you get enough of that on television? Oh, that’s right you’re too good for television. Well, it’s not my thing. I’d rather spend time at the spa. My agent says I should spend more time rehearsing, but who has time? It’s just one casting call after another.”

Was she upset he didn’t watch more television? He thought of telling her that he saw murder and death all too frequently at the hospital, but he wasn’t convinced she was interested in knowing about what he did.

No chemistry: strike three.

They didn’t speak for the remainder of the ride. The traffic uptown had been light, but the taxi was forced to double-park at the curb. To Malcolm it was a sign. “Your door is blocked. You are not meant to get out of this cab, man.”

Tatum slid from the backseat, once again leaving her bag behind. Hesitating only a moment, Malcolm spoke to the driver quickly. He lifted the bag and walked it around to the curb. Tatum was nowhere in sight. Hefting the bag again, he entered the restaurant. Elaine’s was a NYC institution. And while the food was only passable, most patrons were more interested in the people watching and rubbing elbows with the famous and the want-to-be-famous anyway. The restaurant was packed.

Malcolm spotted Tatum across the room, laughing boisterously with a small group. In her element, she seemed to have lost her edge. He was torn between leaving the bag with the maitre d’ and lugging it across the room to join the conversation. Perhaps they’d find more common ground if she were more comfortable. Or perhaps this was divine intervention, and he’d be a fool not to accept it and run.

She was beautiful. He imagined that in her own element she could be charming, successful, and, for the right man, the perfect wife. He didn’t think he was the right man. And with so little time to explore the possibility, he grabbed a napkin, scribbled a note and left it and the bag with the maitre d’. He stepped back out into the fresh air and was relieved to see the taxi still at the curb. Stepping around waiting customers, he slid into the backseat.

He wasn’t missed.

“I can’t do this again. It was miserable. No, it wasn’t miserable. I’m sure she’s a great woman, just not the woman for me. And I can’t conceive of what would need to happen with the alignment of the universe for this to actually work out in such a short time. I think we need Plan B.”

“Malcolm, you can’t judge every woman by the actions of one. Not all women can be painted with the same brush. It’s not fair.” Gloria threw her hands into the air. She was pacing the living room in circles as she listened to Malcolm’s version of the previous night’s events. She’d already been through the routine with Tatum.

Tatum’s call, interestingly enough, had been very similar. It was terrible. No, not terrible, just not for me. He’s hot. But he’s too intellectual. No, really, he is hot. I just didn’t know what to say to him. I can’t do this. After reassuring Tatum that intensely hot men with above average IQs weren’t for everyone, she’d waited for Malcolm’s call.

Certain Tatum would recover, Gloria’s immediate concern was Malcolm. Everyone had bad dates, but not everyone threatened to join a school of monks as a result. And the fact that Malcolm had the means to move to Tibet and do it was disturbing.

“Have you been listening to what I’ve been telling you? How can you not be in complete agreement here? I may never be able to show my face in that restaurant again. I should probably just leave the City for a while,” Malcolm moaned plaintively.

“Yes, I hear you. But Tatum isn’t Caroline, and Caroline isn’t Tatum. And you don’t have any more time today than you did yesterday, so stick to the plan.”

“Maybe the plan is a bad idea. I don’t need this inheritance.”

“Maybe not from a financial perspective, but something led you to start this in the first place. I don’t see how that has changed.” Gloria paused and sought the right words. She knew this plan could work. She just needed to keep Malcolm motivated. “You said yourself, your father, for all his mistakes and selfishness, should be the one to fund this project. You said that because it wasn’t his idea, and because it wasn’t what he would do if he was still around it would be the perfect justice.” Gloria let that sink in. “Malcolm, you can honor your mother by doing what his father should have done. Doing it with your father’s money will be icing on the cake.”

“You’re right. But maybe we’re going about it the wrong way. I want a friend, a partner, a mother perhaps to some children. I just think what we’re asking is too much in such a short time.”

“I agree. I really do. But time is one commodity you can’t buy right now. So you do what you have to do.” Realizing she was perhaps being a little harsh, Gloria softened her voice for the next part. “Look, you’re good looking, hot even, you’re wealthy, smart, adventurous, and kind. Give one more woman a chance. That’s it. One date, maybe two. And then we’ll see where we are. You have four college degrees, Malcolm. That means you’ve sat through more lectures than most people care to think about. You can sit through one more dinner.”

“Bad analogy. I was guaranteed a reward for my time and effort. The same cannot be said here. But I understand your point. Let’s get it over with.” Malcolm sighed.

“I can do this. I will do this.” Gloria heard him exhale loudly and then pull in a long breath.

“Tell me about her.”

Gloria hadn’t realized she’d been holding her breath, but as it released with a loud “phweeeew” she wondered if she was too attached to this process. Or at least more than Malcolm was. Trying not to think about how much time she’d already invested in the process and how many meals had been late to the table as a result, she consoled herself with the notion that she was trying to be a good friend—both to Malcolm and to Caroline, who was on the verge of being stood up by a man she’d convinced her to go out with.

“You didn’t take the folder?”

“I did, but tell me about her. As her friend, not her pimp. Tell me about your friend.”

Gloria wasn’t sure she liked the implication of his words, but she bit her lip and paused to organize her thoughts. She’d known Caroline since their freshman year in college. Their personal backgrounds were completely different, and they hadn’t been fast friends. But the fact that they had so little in common before knowing each other and the fact that they were best friends now … didn’t that mean there was something amazing about each of them that they could have created such a strong bond?

“She’s my best friend. I’d do anything for her. She’d do anything for me.” Gloria realized that didn’t really say anything. She was still struggling to define the specific elements that made Caroline to her what Malcolm was to Denzel. “She’s funny. No, she’s not funny. She’s clever. And thoughtful. Brainy thoughtful, but personally thoughtful, too. She never forgets my mother’s birthday. She’s a daredevil. She takes risks. In a business sense, but also personally. She went sky diving before it was a fad. She has a law degree, but only does pro bono work. She opened up her own bakery with no formal training. And it’s the hottest little spot in midtown. She’s loyal. Fanatically so and perhaps to a fault. She’ll have to be the one to give you the details, but it’s amazing when you’re on the receiving end.” Gloria paused. “Honestly, I can’t remember a bad time she wasn’t there for me or a happy time that she didn’t share with me.” And, as though she felt she hadn’t made her point, “If I could marry a woman, she’d be the one for me.”

“Would you choose her over Denzel?”

Gloria was glad her husband wasn’t around to hear her hesitate. “That’s not a fair question.” Surely avoidance was the best policy here.

Malcolm chuckled into the receiver. “She sounds too good to be true. I’ll let you know how it goes.”

Carter turned in his chair to access his computer and pull up the business records. If he had to hear his father nag one more time about replacing him, he’d fucking scream. Replace him? He swore under his breath, and ran a hand through his hair, impatience getting the best of him as he waited for the system to boot and load. If he hadn’t stepped in a few years back, his father’s precious lackeys would have run Dollar Tree into the ground a long time ago. The only reason it was still operating in the black, albeit just barely, was because of his business savvy. His night school classes had paid off, but good. He’d volunteer to give Girl Scouts etiquette lessons before he allowed his father to take the fruits of his labor.

Carter was aware that returns were down. He was a paper and numbers person; he didn’t like dealing with the sad waifs who flocked to the retail stores. But the economy had driven more clients in than in recent history, and all they had to do was wait it out. Still, not wanting to hear any more grief from his father, he picked up the phone.

As it rang, Carter drummed his fingers impatiently on his desk, waiting for an answer.

He’d hired Ronnie because he could admit to himself, and no one else, that he was indeed the squeamish sort. Ronnie would have none of it. Or if he did, he didn’t let on. Carter knew he hired people who hired people, but Carter took that as insulation. The less he knew about the incentives his clients were offered to settle their debt, the better.

“Yeah, Ronnie here.”

“Ronnie, Carter.”

Silence.

“Carter, how are you? Nice of you to call. What can I do for you?”

“I’ve been going over the accounts and see no improvement since the last time we talked. That concerns me. It concerns the old man.”

“Well, that’s not exactly true, Carter.”

Carter raised his brows. Was his numbers knowledge being questioned? “I beg to differ. Word on the street is that Dollar Tree is an easy mark.”

Ronnie didn’t answer immediately, no doubt feeling the noose closing around his neck. “I don’t know anything about that. I’ve gathered a handful of new accounts recently….”

“Like real clients, or people who use Dollar Tree because they’ve heard we’re a bunch of pushovers?”

“No, man, real ones. The kind that keep on giving.”

“Paltry sums, Ronnie. These individuals borrowed substantial amounts from the company and have reaped the benefits of our generosity. Repayment—swift repayment—is needed if the company is to make a profit.” Carter kept his voice slow and his tone calm, knowing that it had more of an effect on Ronnie than did yelling. His old man had never learned that trick.

“Right, well, some of these people don’t have much lying around, you know. That’s why they come to us in the first place. They pay when they can.”

“Understood, Ronnie, but we’re not running a charity. People always claim to be hard up. But with sufficient motivation, they find the resources they need, don’t they?”

“Motivation? Why didn’t you say so?” Ronnie’s voice reached a crescendo. “Let me check the files. I got paper on everybody, just in case. You want someone’s head on a platter, no problem.”

“Right, that’s what I want. Perhaps you’ve been putting on some pressure, and perhaps your concept of pressure is different from mine, because when I envisioned you handling this after our previous conversation, I didn’t think a follow-up would be necessary. I would have thought the pressure would have yielded much greater results than those I see on the page in front of me.”

“Yeah, yeah, I get it. I didn’t quite see the full picture, but I’m getting it. I’ll show them we mean business.”

“Right. Choose someone, and make sure everyone knows what happens when a person falls behind in their payments. Hell, if it even looks like they’re going to fall behind on their payments.” Carter let his demand sink in. “I want you to make a lasting impression, Ronnie. Get me those numbers. Now.” Again, a pause for effect. “We go way back. You know what this company means to me, to the old man. If this company falls apart….”

“I understand what you’re saying, man, and I’ll take care of it.” Ronnie’s voice was pleading. “I’m sitting up straight, taking notes. I’m not saying I agree with your conclusion, but I’m on it. I’ll fix it, Carter.”

“See that you are. I’ll be in touch.” Carter’s voice was cold when he hung up. He didn’t like playing the heavy, and Ronnie had been a friend in the old neighborhood. But he hated kow-towing to his father even more. With his father’s new business interests, perhaps he’d consider turning Dollar Tree over to him officially, if he could get things turned around.