Ava focused on the framed photograph of her niece, taken minutes after her birth, then turned her attention to Lisa. The thirty-two-year-old woman was the single mother of four children, each from a different man. She would’ve had more children if she hadn’t made the decision to have her tubes tied.
Each time Lisa delivered a child she’d suffered acute postpartum depression. The last bout had far exceeded the first three episodes, lasting more than six months. Ava, with the assistance of her social-services caseworker, had helped Lisa get job training after a vocational aptitude test had indicated her strength in secretarial studies.
“How are you today?”
Lisa patted her freshly relaxed hair cut into a becoming short style. Her smooth, full, dark brown face belied her age. “I have a job interview this afternoon,” she announced proudly.
“Where is the interview?”
“It’s in the garment district. It’s only a part-time position answering telephones and opening the mail, but it’s a start, Miss Ava.”
Ava smiled. “It’s more than a start, Lisa. It is the beginning of the rest of your life.”
“I want to be able to take care of my babies, because I want them to be proud of me.”
“They are proud of you,” Ava said softly, “because you love them. Don’t ever let anyone tell you that you’re not a good mother. They’re always clean and well-fed.”
“That’s because I take care of them first then myself.”
Ava laced her fingers together atop the desk. “That’s all well and good, but if you don’t take care of yourself you won’t be able to take care of your children.” An expression of confusion clouded Lisa’s face. “Whenever you take an airplane you will hear the flight attendant say that in the event of a loss in air pressure, oxygen masks will drop from an overhead compartment. They caution adults flying with children to put the masks over their own faces first, then their children’s.”
“I see what you mean. I’m going to have to leave now, because I don’t want to be late for the interview.”
“What time is your interview?”
“Eleven.”
“Why didn’t you call and cancel if you had an interview at eleven?” She stood up. “Now, go and catch your bus or train.”
Lisa rose to her feet, extended her arms and hugged Ava. “Thank you so much, Miss Ava, for everything. I couldn’t have gotten this far without you.”
“Yes, you would, Lisa. It just would’ve taken a little longer.” She dropped her arms. “Call me and let me know how it went.”
Lisa blinked back the moisture filling her eyes. “I will. Wish me luck.”
Ava squeezed her hand. “You already have it.” She walked Lisa to the door, watching her as she walked, her head held high.
The fifty-minute session had ended early and that left time for Ava to complete the session notes on her earlier clients. Her former caseload of eleven clients and two groups had dwindled to four and one group. She had never realized how much she enjoyed counseling until faced with the ever-increasing bureaucratic paperwork. It had also become her responsibility to schedule supervision with each counselor to review their caseloads.
Her respite came when she went home. Since returning from Maryland she’d begun spending weekends with Kyle. Although he’d asked to see her more often, she didn’t want to get in over her head. Ava kept telling herself that she wasn’t in love with Kyle Chatham, but each time they made love her body said differently.
The buzz of her intercom broke into her concentration as she reread her case notes. She pushed a button on her telephone console. “Yes, Tina?”
“Do you still want me to hold your calls?”
“No. Are there any messages?” She always transferred her calls to Tina’s number whenever she was in session or supervision.
“There’s a Mr. Chatham holding for you. Should I put him through?”
Ava’s heart rate kicked into a higher gear. “Yes, please. Hey, you,” she crooned when hearing his baritone greeting. “I thought you were to be in court this morning.”
“It was adjourned until next week. I’m calling to ask if you would accompany me to a dinner party given by a friend. It’s going to be the first time they’re entertaining as husband and wife.”
“Where do they live?”
“Brooklyn.”
“Are you driving or should I drive?” She’d gotten her car back from the body shop and it looked as new as it had when she had driven it off the car dealer’s lot.
“I’ll drive,” Kyle volunteered.
“What if we compromise, darling?” she whispered even though there was no one else in the office.
“How, sweetheart?”
“You drive my car.”
“That sounds like a plan. You can drive to my place and we’ll leave from there.”
“That sounds like a very good plan. What day and time is the dinner party?”
“It’s scheduled for Saturday at eight. And before you ask, dress is casual. Now that we’ve solved our weekend plans, what are you doing tonight?”
Ava glanced at the open planner on her desk. “I have an appointment to get my hair trimmed.”
“What time do you expect to be finished with your hair?”
“Probably around six. Why, Kyle?”
“I want you to help me pick out an anniversary gift for my parents.”
“How long have they been married?” Ava asked.
“This Saturday will be thirty-seven years.”
Reaching for her mouse, Ava clicked on the online icon. “Do you have a few minutes while I go online to check on gift ideas?”
“Sure.”
“What did you give them for their thirty-fifth?”
“My sister and I sent them on a cruise to Alaska and my brother sent them a generous check.”
“It’s hard to top that,” Ava murmured as she scrolled through a site listing traditional and modern anniversary gifts. “There’s nothing listed between thirty-five and forty, so you have a lot of options.”
“What do you suggest?”
“It would depend on your parents’ lifestyle.”
“They’re very active. They golf, bowl and Dad cooks several times a week at a local Salvation Army Center.”
“What about a spa, Kyle? You can send them to a spa in Arizona where they can get in touch with their inner selves and nature. I heard Sedona is really beautiful.”
“Ava, you’re incredible! I love you. Thanks.”
“You…you’re welcome, Kyle.”
“I’ll talk to you later, baby.”
Ava held the receiver long after she heard the recorded message telling her to hang up and try her call again. She couldn’t believe Kyle could be glib. How he could tell her he loved her then hang up.
Get a grip, Ava, she told herself. People said I love you all the time and it was quite different from being in love.
However, it was different with her because not only did she love Kyle Chatham, she was in love with him.
* * *
Kyle and Jordan sat in the reception area, their gazes fused to the flat-screen television. The piece about the tenants’ strike was scheduled to air on the evening news.
Pressing his palms together, Jordan touched his chin. He’d spent weeks waiting for the segment to air. Kat had called to tell him that her producer didn’t think it was newsworthy enough for immediate airing, so she had to wait for an opening in the investigative scheduling.
His hands came down. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “It’s about to begin, Chat.”
Kyle, who’d assumed a similar pose, shook his head. “Get ready for the fireworks and the backlash.”
Katrina Nichols appeared on the screen. The camera favored her because she looked prettier, softer than she did in person. When the camera panned over to Jordan, Kyle registered the soft gasps from the women in the reception area. It was apparent they recognized that the man sitting only feet from them was the s
ame as the image on the screen. He was at the perfect angle for the sunlight to slant over his face. His eyes shimmered like multifaceted citrines and peridots. The inky darkness of his cropped hair and bronzed skin was mesmerizing.
The network aired Jordan’s rant in its entirety, followed by Katrina’s attempt to gain access to Wyatt Wainwright’s office for feedback or a rebuttal.
Jordan straightened, his face a glowering mask of rage. “She didn’t tell me she was going to him before the network aired the piece.”
“Maybe she wanted to get your grandfather’s side of the story at the same time.”
“His side of the story!”
Kyle came to his feet. “Let’s discuss this upstairs, Jordan.” There was a slight edge in his voice that made the suggestion a command. He waited until they were seated in his office to round on his associate.
“I told you, motivation fueled by revenge is risky. You were ballsy when you decided to go to the press. Would I have done it? Probably not. But then, Wyatt Wainwright isn’t my grandpa. You took a risk, Jordan. You put yourself out there, now you have to deal with the fallout. And you did a very noble thing when you promised to underwrite the costs for the repairs to their apartments, but it’s also risky because your granddad could possibly play golf or poker with the judge who hears our case and we end up with nothing. Or he could have engineers rule that the building’s structurally unsafe and should be condemned. You lose your money and the tenants lose their only home.
“A threatened man is a dangerous man. We’ve filed the papers for the suit, so I suggest you call your grandfather and set up a meeting. We can ask the officers of the tenants’ association to come along. I’ll chair the meeting so it doesn’t get personal. And if your grandfather refuses to compromise, then we’ll resort to nonviolent tactics.”
“What are you suggesting?”
“I’ll pay someone to picket his home and his office building with signs outing him as a slumlord. He can’t have the picketer arrested because they will be on city property. And because it will be a lone picketer there won’t be any need to get a permit for assembly. If people see the picketer day after day it’s bound to make an impact on Wyatt’s so-called impeccable reputation. The man can’t continue to give his money to his favorite charities while at the same time subjecting people to squalid living conditions.”
Jordan inclined his head. “When do you want me to call him?”
“Now.”
Removing the cell phone clipped to his waist, Jordan hit speed dial and the speaker. “May I please speak to Wyatt. This is Jordan.”
“Hold on, Jordan. I’ll see if he’s available to speak to you.” Jordan met Kyle’s steady gaze as he waited for either his grandfather or the man’s loyal secretary to come back on the line.
“What the hell do you want, Judas?” asked a booming voice pregnant with sarcasm.
Jordan’s impassive expression did not change. “I need to talk to you.”
“Haven’t you done enough talking to the press, sonny boy?”
“I didn’t say all that should’ve been said, that’s why I want to set up a meeting to talk to you.”
“There’s nothing to talk about.”
“Oh, yes, there is, Grandpa. It would be a good thing if we can resolve these issues before it winds up on a court calendar.”
“It will never get that far. I know enough prosecutors and judges in this city who will make certain it will never hit any docket in this state.”
“Careful, Grandpa. I could be taping this call.”
“You traitorous little sonofabitch!”
“Don’t even go there! You have exactly sixty seconds to give me an answer. Yes or no.” The sweep hand on Jordan’s watch made a full revolution.
“Okay. You’ll get your meeting.”
Jordan and Kyle each gestured a thumbs-up at the same time. “Call me tomorrow at my office and give me several time slots. My number is—”
“I know where you work.” The call ended abruptly with Kyle and Jordan touching fists. They’d scaled the first hurdle.
“‘I know where you work,’” Jordan said, mimicking his grandfather. “The old blowhard used to scare the hell out of me just by walking into the room.”
“Intimidation only works when the one being intimidated exhibits fear. I want to remind you that Rashaun Hayden and his parents are coming in early Friday morning. After I talk with them, I’ll decide whether we want to embarrass the D.A.’s office or the NYPD.”
“If it were me I’d prefer ripping the D.A. a new one.”
Kyle smiled. “Only time will tell who’ll jump out of the trick bag first.”
* * *
Ava looked at the mirror, not recognizing the eyes staring back at her as her own. She’d spent the past four hours in the hospital at the bedside of a former client who’d been beaten so severely that she’d lost her sight in one eye.
When she’d got the call from the hospital social worker telling her that her name and telephone number were listed as an emergency contact for a patient who’d been found unconscious near the Lincoln Tunnel, Ava knew who it would be even before being told her name.
Julie Douglas was only twenty-two, but after turning tricks for almost a decade she looked twice her age. Rain, as she was known on the streets, had come from Seattle to New York with an older cousin. The cousin had hired her out to men when he ran low on cash, and by the time Julie was fourteen she’d become a hardcore hooker with an off-and-on drug habit, earning a long rap sheet for soliciting and pandering. A sympathetic judge offered Julie an alternative to jail: counseling.
Ava had assisted Julie in getting a place to live and had helped her get into a job-training program, but the lure of drugs and the street had proved too powerful, and, after a year of staying clean and sober, Rain was back with prostitution. She’d come by the agency, heavily made up and scantily dressed in her “working” clothes, just to talk. Although she was no longer a client Ava gave her all the time she needed to vent and to perhaps consider changing her lifestyle.
She hadn’t seen or heard from Julie in nearly a year, so Ava had hoped that she’d gone back to Seattle to reconcile with family. She refused to believe that something had happened to the young woman who’d occasionally come in with a black eye or bruises. Whenever Ava asked if her pimp had beaten her, Julie’s response was that she was her own woman and there was no way she was going to lie on her back then turn her money over to a man.
When Ava asked her why she slept with men for money, Julie’s response was that if men were willing to pay for her services then she was a fool if she didn’t take their money. She said they felt sex was better if they paid for it.
As she sat staring at Julie’s face, bruised and swollen beyond recognition, Ava wondered if, when she recovered enough to leave the hospital, Julie would return to the world’s oldest profession.
Turning on the faucet, she splashed water on her face, then blotted the moisture with a paper towel. An announcement came through the speakers indicating visiting hours were over. Ava would go home, but once Julie was discharged where would she go? The address on the card in Julie’s purse did not exist and the telephone number was a business listing. The only hint of truth was the business card Ava had given Julie years before.
She knew she wouldn’t be able to talk to Julie until the doctors decreased the powerful sedative that helped her rest comfortably. Gathering her handbag, she walked out of the bathroom and headed for the exit.
Once outside the hospital she turned on her cell. She had two voice-mail messages. The first one was from Debra, who wanted to know about Julie Douglas. She called Debra, giving her an update on Julie’s condition. When she called Kyle she couldn’t hold back the emotions that had started building when she walked into a room to find her former patient hooked up to tubes and machines.
“Someone tried to kill her, Kyle. She’s only twenty-two. She had her whole life ahead of her and now she’s blind in one eye and may lo
se the other.”
“Ava, where are you?”
“I’m outside St. Luke’s-Roosevelt Hospital.”
“Stay there. I’m coming to get you.”
“Don’t, Kyle. The subway’s right here. I’ll be home in a few stops.”
“Do not get on the subway.”
“Then I’ll take the bus,” Ava said.
“Ava! Listen to me. Stay where you are and I’ll come pick you up. Now, tell me you’ll wait.”
She closed her eyes. “Don’t yell at me, Kyle.”
“I’m not yelling at you, baby.”
“Then you were raising your voice.”
“I’m sorry if I raised my voice. Go back into the hospital and sit. Give me about twenty minutes to half an hour. Okay?”
Ava opened her eyes. She was too emotionally drained to fight or argue with Kyle. “Okay.”
CHAPTER 14
Kyle handed Ava a mug of steaming liquid. “I know it’s hot, but it will help you to relax.”
She wrapped her hands around the ceramic mug, the heat warming her chilled fingers. Nighttime temperatures were in the seventies and even with the cool air coming through the vents in Kyle’s house it wasn’t cold, but Ava was freezing. She glanced up at him over the rim. “What’s in it?”
“Tea, honey, lemon and brandy.”
She took a sip, then another until she drank all of the toddy. The soothing liquid slid down the back of her throat, settling and warming her chest. “It’s good.” She set the empty mug on a coaster on the bedside table.
Kyle got into bed next to Ava, pulling her to his chest. Instead of driving her back to her apartment he’d brought her home with him. She was monosyllabic when he filled the bathtub with water, gave her a bath and dried her without a word passing between them. He knew she was upset about a hospitalized client, yet he hadn’t broached the subject because he didn’t want her to relive the ordeal.
Leaning over, he turned out the lamp on his side of the bed, plunging the room into darkness. Diffused light from the solar lights in the backyard came through the sheers at the French doors.
Man of Fate Page 17
