Talk of the Town (26 page)
By Sunday, six calls later, Rebecca was so mellow she practically floated to Harry’s brownstone. He was waiting for her in his kitchen.
“You’re glowing, sweet pea. And all from a few phone calls.” He stuck out his perfectly shaped lower lip in a pout. “I wish the same happiness for all of us.”
“So do I. But David’s not going to be back in Chicago until the night before Thanksgiving. They’re all flying in together from California on the jet.”
“Lucky you.” He kissed her forehead. “Just imagine the sizzling sex you’ll have once he returns.”
She smiled dreamily at the totally X-rated images Harry’s remarks made race through her head, sending a shiver over every part of her David had touched
.
“Stop!” Harry demanded. “That sex-crazed look is making me envious. Take your mind off your sex life and go to Whole Foods. Remember you have to feed him before you can ravish him on Thanksgiving Day. We have recipes to try. Here’s the list.”
The Whole Foods at Huron and Dearborn had a shopping cart traffic jam in every aisle. Customers, Starbucks in hand, strolled the aisles like Sunday drivers out for a relaxing afternoon. This might be fun for some, but Rebecca was on a mission.
Checking her list, she slowly walked along the meat section. She stopped to look down at the chicken breasts. Harry didn’t need any, but for some reason they reminded her of David and their first dinner. Disastrous on so many levels, but oh-so-stimulating and sexy on others.
In the liquor section, she picked up the sherry on Harry’s list. It was across the aisle from the champagne. She felt light-headed, warm and tingling, the way she had the night she and David had drunk Cristal to celebrate the twinners.
As she ground coffee, its aroma drifted around her, rich and full. It smelled great, but she’d always preferred tea. Her gaze fell on the boxes of English breakfast tea. The kind David had brewed for her the morning after.
This place is practically an aphrodisiac. No wonder people hang out here.
In the next aisle, the Belgian chocolates sent her thoughts racing to her birthday party and David bringing the rosebushes. In the middle of the delicious memory, she glanced up to see Shannon and a tall, slim-hipped, dark-haired woman pushing a cart around the corner at the end of the aisle.
There was something familiar about the other woman. Rebecca’s instincts sent out the alarm to follow that grocery cart.
She found the woman looking over the organic strawberries, but Shannon had disappeared.
Why does she seem so familiar?
Trying to place her, Rebecca studied the perfectly made-up face, the trim body, the long legs encased in the newest narrow-cut pants.
The woman glanced up and spotted Rebecca.
The expression of distaste on her face warned Rebecca to brace herself. Years of professionally dealing with people, eager and not so eager to talk, had taught her how to single out foe from friend.
The moment she’d seen the woman with Shannon, Rebecca’s antennae told her she was on to something. “Hello. Have we met?” Smiling, Rebecca extended her hand. “I’m Rebecca Covington.”
The woman cut her off, pushing her cart past Rebecca and moving as fast as possible to the checkout counter.
Rebecca threw the last few items into her cart and followed. She needed the final piece of the puzzle to explain this circle of events that had so changed her life, and she had a hunch this woman was the answer.
The woman got out of the store faster than Rebecca. Finally done checking out, Rebecca raced after her.
In the parking lot Rebecca looked wildly around. Panic set in when it seemed she’d lost her. Then she spotted the woman loading groceries into the trunk of a navy blue Lexus
.
Rebecca approached her again, this time blocking the door to the driver’s seat. “I’m sorry to bother you again. I’m—”
“I know damn well who you are,” the woman interrupted. Her disdainful glare and cold voice should have sent any sensible person racing for cover.
Rebecca dropped her hand but held her ground. “I believe we have a mutual friend. Shannon Forrester.”
“Friend?” the woman barked in a harsh intake of breath. Her glare and voice left no doubt she had an ax to grind.
The elusive memory of this woman’s patrician features and short, wavy dark hair finally clicked together.
“You’re Charlene Jones. You’re on the Culinary Institute Board. And I believe you live at Eagle Towers.” She nodded, putting the last piece of the puzzle together. “I understand now.”
“You don’t understand anything.” Hatred blazed out of Charlene’s cornflower blue eyes. “You ruined my life. I’m glad I made problems for you!”
Other shoppers were staring curiously at them as they walked by into the store. Rebecca tried to stay calm, but something nasty and hot was filling the back of her throat. “I don’t understand.
Why
do you think I ruined your life?”
“Think.” Charlene’s hands gripped the handle of the grocery cart so tightly her skin turned chalk white, making her nails look like bloodred talons. “You wrote one of your so-called blind items about what socialite on the Gold Coast is having an affair with her yoga instructor. Who knew my husband read your stupid column?”
A sense of needing to make retribution washed over Rebecca, and she steeled herself to take whatever tongue-lashing Charlene gave her. “I never mentioned names when I dropped in a blind item. I’m sorry if it caused problems in your marriage.”
“He divorced me. After having me followed and drawing his own conclusion.” A tear trickled down Charlene’s smooth, flushed face. “The irony is I hadn’t even had an affair. I’d only fantasized about it with my friends.”
Rebecca’s whole gossip column career flashed in front of her eyes. How many others had been hurt like this? Some images brought the bile back up in her throat. “I’m sorry,” she whispered.
“Go to hell and get out of my way!” Charlene snarled, shoving Rebecca aside to get into her car.
Rebecca felt like she was descending into guilt hell with every step she took back to Harry’s brownstone. By the time she reached the kitchen and put the grocery bags down, she had entered whichever circle of Dante’s
Inferno
was reserved for doomed souls who had hurt others
.
Harry found her sobbing into the sweet potatoes.
“What happened to you? Come here and tell me all about it,” he coaxed.
She stepped into his comforting arms and sobbed out Charlene’s story. At the end, Rebecca sniffed and stepped away to wipe at her wet face with the back of her hand. “I think she’s right about me. What gave me the right to decide who deserved to have their secrets revealed?”
“Sweet pea, stop beating yourself up over this. Trust me. There’s more to the story than this woman is telling you. If her husband decided to divorce her after having her followed, then there was something more than mere lusting in her heart.”
She could hear the anger in his voice on her behalf. “I know. You’re probably right. But if the columns I intended to be witty and provocative had
anything
to do with ruining someone’s life, then I have to think seriously about whether or not I want to do it again.”
On Monday morning, still agonizing over what part she might have played in the dissolution of the Jones’ marriage, Rebecca walked into Shannon’s office and shut the door behind her.
From the stony look on Shannon’s face, Rebecca knew Charlene had called her about their Whole Foods confrontation.
“We need to talk, Shannon,” Rebecca said warily, exhausted to her bones with her soul-searching weekend.
Shannon relaxed back in her chair, swiveling it gently to and fro. “It’s about time someone told you what they thought of your irresponsible journalism. You cost Charlene Jones the love of her life.”
“I understand you plotted with her to get even with me by planting that false tip about the senator at Eagle Towers and rigging the Culinary Institute auction.”
Shannon tossed her hair over her shoulder. “I admit to nothing.”
Feeling sick at the way Shannon was looking at her, Rebecca perched on the edge of the chair in front of the desk. “I deeply regret any pain I caused Charlene, and you with George.”
Something flickered in Shannon’s slightly bulgy blue eyes. “I’m not discussing my personal life with you, of all people.”
Still vulnerable from guilt, Rebecca hesitated. “Shannon . . . I’m truly sorry. I didn’t know you had feelings for George when I started seeing him.”
Shannon jumped up, slamming the chair back against the wall. “Charlene’s right. Your egotism is appalling. You don’t know anything about my feelings for George.” Shannon blinked several times, like she was fighting back tears. “George didn’t mean anything to you, but we were perfect for each other. All our friends said so.” She glanced down at the goldfish swimming in the bowl. “Chris and Kara were even setting us up before George started seeing you.” She curled her lip. “But you ruined it. I’d die before I’d stoop to take your rejects.”
Her fingers hidden in her lap, Rebecca twisted them together, struggling to find the right words to calm Shannon’s near hysterics. “George isn’t my reject. We were simply two consenting adults who shared a brief fling. End of story.”
“You’re eleven years older than he is!” Shannon shouted, her face turning a molten red. “You’re nearly old enough to be his mother!”
Shannon’s behavior over the last several months had caused Rebecca pain and sadness, but this last remark made her laugh. “Hardly. I was a late bloomer.”
“Don’t you dare laugh at me.” Shannon slammed her palms flat on the desk. “You’re the laughingstock, hanging on here when no one wants you. Why don’t you admit you’re over the hill? Finished.”
Rebecca found herself on her feet. “Shannon, calm down. Of course I’m not finished at forty-five. I’m in my prime. I’ve never felt better, sexier, or more alive.”
“The rest of the world doesn’t think so. Look at the tabloids and television. It’s youth they want.” Shannon pushed herself up and took a deep breath. “I admit I didn’t want your job until I realized it would be the perfect intro into print, radio, and television. It’s the perfect start to becoming a media personality. At thirty, I’m ripe for it. You’re too old. I simply helped your inevitable departure along. It was time.”
Rebecca shook her head in disbelief. “You silly girl. Don’t you know things have changed? Look at Diane Sawyer. At forty-five, if I choose, I’ll be the one doing print and television. I’ll have it all because
I paid my dues.
I earned it.” Heartsick at all the pain they’d caused each other, Rebecca tried again to reach Shannon. “I’m going to give you some advice I wish I’d gotten when I believed I’d lost the only man for me. Learn from the pain and move on to discover who you really are and what you truly want out of life.”
“I wanted George, but you made it impossible.” Shannon flicked something suspiciously like tears out of the corners of her eyes. At this moment, she looked very young and very confused.
Rebecca’s feelings of guilt were gone, replaced by a deep sadness. “Nothing is impossible at any age if you want it badly enough to work hard to get it. I hope you understand that someday.”
O
n Thanksgiving Day, Rebecca woke up feeling like it was Christmas morning. There was an urgency in the air. The possibilities for wonderful surprises stretched endlessly in front of her.
Yawning, she glanced at the clock next to her. “No!” she screamed, nearly falling out of bed in her eagerness to get to the kitchen.
Harry’s written instructions were right where he’d left them last night after they’d finished making the mushroom and water chestnut stuffing. It was already fifteen minutes after the estimated time Harry had calculated for her to begin preparing the turkey to be done for dinner at five.
She flew around the kitchen, the floor tiles cold on her bare feet. She shivered in her “There comes a time in every woman’s life when the only thing that helps is a glass of champagne” sleep shirt, which fell only to her midthighs.
She lugged the turkey to the sink to rinse, salt, stuff, and baste. Huffing from hefting the twenty-three-pound bird, she shoved it into the oven and glanced at her watch. She’d cut her losses to eleven minutes.
Mission accomplished, she collapsed at the kitchen table. Now she had six hours of basting to fill before Harry arrived with the rest of dinner and eight hours to count off until she saw David again.
Another eight hours to worry whether or not he’d have the same erotic look in his eyes when he saw her. Another eight hours to live in fear that his children would loathe her on sight.
David time,
minus eighty minutes, Kate stood at the door balancing a long, low, lush arrangement of russet roses, cockscomb, sedum, eucalyptus berries, and chocolate cosmos. “This is quite beautiful, but also quite heavy.”
Kate gladly relinquished one side of the open florist box to Rebecca, and they carried it into the dining room. With Harry’s help they positioned the flowers in the center of the table Rebecca had spread with her granny’s heavy lace cloth.
Stepping away, he nodded. “Perfection. And I must say, Kate, you are looking quite fetching. Join me in the kitchen for a glass of wine while I cook?”
Blushing, Kate pulled at the turtleneck of her black cashmere sweater, which perfectly complemented her long red and black plaid skirt. “I believe I will. Are you joining us, Rebecca?”
“No. Go ahead. I’ll be hovering by the door in stomach-churning fear, which is what I’ve been doing all day.”
Chuckling, Kate left her to it.
Rebecca wished she hadn’t given Malcolm her guest list so he wouldn’t have to call her every time someone arrived. Each time the doorbell rang, her heart leaped into her throat.
David time,
minus thirty-five minutes, Pauline walked in, followed by the girls, each carrying a pie.
“Mine’s apple crumb,” Polly declared, holding it up for Rebecca to admire. “It tastes better than Patty’s pumpkin one.”
“Does not!” Patty shouted.
“Take them into the kitchen, girls.” Pauline rolled her eyes. “I brought along the DVD of the third
Pirates of the Caribbean
movie to watch in your den. It’s our bonding moment together. Me drooling over Johnny Depp, and them screaming for Orlando Bloom.” She gasped. “Rebecca, I love that outfit. It’s wonderful on you. New?”