“My client is not some evil predator, Lou.” My own short temper was beginning to stir. “Solstice will abide by your rules. They’ll hand-carry the damn snakes to another location if necessary.”
Lou had his arms folded across his middle in unspoken defiance. I had a feeling my not-so-genteel speech had made him even more resistant—rebellious even. Big mistake on my part. My temper was always my biggest downfall. Well, if nothing else, I was learning a lesson in going head-to-head with an equally tenacious attorney. I lowered my voice. “Look, Lou, all we’re asking for is to drop the ridiculous penalties that run into the millions of dollars.”
“They’re not penalties. They’re the legitimate cost of development in an environmentally sensitive area.”
I started to laugh. If I didn’t, I’d end up throwing my prize crystal paperweight at Lou. “Legitimate cost is another name for egregious exploitation of a business to the point of beating it into the ground.”
Perhaps my words had struck home or maybe it was just exhaustion, but Lou’s stance relaxed a bit and he came back to his chair and sat down. “You’re good with words, lady. You’ll go a long way in this firm,” he said with reluctant admiration. “Listen, I’ll do my best to give your client a break, but I will not assist in breaking any rules.”
“But you can help bend them a little?”
An unexpected spark of humor appeared in Lou’s dark eyes. “Don’t tell me you’re asking me to do something illegal, Counselor.”
“Illegal, never! Friendly arm-twisting, yes.” Lou was growing on me despite our heated argument. “Hey, you’re not so bad with words, either.”
Lou smiled—a rather attractive smile. Gathering up his files and shoving them into his briefcase that looked more like a worn suitcase, he shrugged back into his jacket. “I guess I’ll have to start that arm-twisting early tomorrow morning. Convincing a bunch of bureaucrats isn’t going to be easy.”
“I know. Thank you, Lou.” I flashed him another brilliant smile. “I owe you one.”
“Don’t thank me yet. I may not get you what you want.” He looked at his watch. “It’s late. I might as well find a place to eat around here. I’ll never make it home in time for dinner.”
“You’re welcome to use my phone to call your family if you’d like.” I had noticed the ring on his finger, and Lou came across as a family man. Probably had a nice wife and a couple of kids. I envied him. Must be nice to be able to go home to a spouse and talk about the day, then tuck a kid or two into bed.
An image of Mrs. Draper, a pretty thirty-something woman with dark hair and coffee-toned skin, came to mind, standing beside two small children. Another one of my silly stereotypes.
But Lou shook his head. “I don’t have a family.”
“Oh, I’m sorry.” Once again my eyes fell on his ring finger.
“I lost my wife last year.”
An awkward silence fell over us. I lowered my gaze to my desk. What could one say to a man who’d recently lost his wife? The quick flash of pain on Lou’s face told me exactly how much he missed the woman he’d lost. “I’m sorry. I had no idea.”
“You had no way of knowing.” He glanced out the window, probably gathering his thoughts once again. “Any recommendations on restaurants around here?”
Talk of dinner made me realize my stomach had been gently rumbling for some time. “If you make a left turn outside the building and walk to the end of the block, there’s a nice little Italian place on the corner. I stop there often for lunch and sometimes dinner if I work late.”
An idea came to me in that instant. Lou had been more than generous in traveling all the way to Manhattan and offering to work out a fair deal for my client. The least I could do was show a little gratitude. “Lou, why don’t I treat you to dinner?”
Lou’s eyes narrowed in suspicion. “You’re not by any chance trying to bribe a government employee, are you, Counselor?” He laughed at my expression of horror. “Thanks for the offer, Soorya, but I’m not allowed to accept meals or gifts.”
“Forget it, then.” I was too young and new at this game of playing hotshot lawyer. How could I have been so stupid?
Perhaps recognizing both my naïveté and my embarrassment, Lou came back with a suggestion. “Why don’t we go to the restaurant together, if that’s okay with you? We’ll go Dutch. That way it’s all aboveboard.”
“Okay.” I was grateful to him for finding a graceful way to handle my faux pas. He was an experienced lawyer and had probably been in situations like this before. I tidied up my paperwork and left a Post-it Note for Sandy with a few instructions for the next day.
Retrieving my purse from the desk drawer, I joined Lou and we walked out into the hallway together. I asked him to meet me by the elevator in five minutes. I needed a chance to freshen up. “The men’s room is in the other direction,” I told him and pointed the way before I hit the ladies’ room.
As I stood before the mirror to fix my makeup and hair, I hoped dinner would prove as interesting as our meeting. It had been a most stimulating encounter. Most of my other business conferences thus far had been quite boring—nothing like the unpredictable, fun-filled meetings in all those TV shows about lawyers and law firms.
I wondered what Lou Draper’s idea of a compromise was. I couldn’t wait to find out.
Chapter 7
Some fifteen minutes later, Lou and I were seated at one of the small tables at Joseph’s Sicilian Kitchen. The place was packed as always. Most of the tables were occupied by people like Lou and me, working people in business clothes, folks who had put in a long day at whatever they did for a living.
Snippets of conversation around us seemed to center on shop talk. At a nearby table, a bunch of lawyers were passionately discussing a tax fraud case. I felt right at home.
The restaurant smelled of Italy, the aroma of virgin olive oil and garlic mingling with the sweet scent of the vanilla candle burning in an ashtray at our table. The worn red tablecloth and dull lighting combined with Pavarotti’s voice playing in the background could have come out of a scene from The Godfather or from a ristorante in Sicily.
Posters of Sinatra decked the walls alongside pictures of well-known Republican politicians from the state of New York. The restaurant owner, Joseph Travaglione, was a staunch Republican, but thankfully his prices were more Democratic and affordable for this part of Manhattan. Lou’s expression as he studied the menu said the fare was definitely suitable for his wallet, too.
The waiter, a baby-faced young man named Vincent whom I’d gotten to know well, greeted me with a familiar hello. “The usual?” he asked me with a knowing smile. I nodded, which meant my standard antipasto, with no black olives or anchovies or any kind of meat.
Lou ordered lasagna and a glass of Chianti. He seemed surprised when I ordered Diet Sprite. “What, no alcohol? Is it against your religion?”
I had to go into yet another long explanation about my unusual diet.
He merely chuckled and took an appreciative sip of the wine Vincent brought to him in literally seconds. “That was prompt service!” Lou seemed impressed with Vincent.
Minutes later, Lou dug into his tossed salad with the enthusiasm of a five-year-old attacking a triple-decker ice cream sundae. I started on my antipasto with little eagerness. But I was starving and needed nourishment.
Needless to say, all those wonderfully fragrant sauces and gooey cheeses being served at the neighboring tables were driving me nuts. I tried hard not to look.
Dinner turned out to be a remarkable meal—even more interesting than I’d hoped. But instead of more business, our conversation involved personal topics. Lou didn’t believe in spoiling a perfectly good dinner with shop talk.
He was an easy man to talk to, so I asked him questions about his job, his life, his town. I was genuinely interested in the life of a bureaucrat. And Lou told me his whole history while I listened to his low-pitched voice with rapt attention.
I’d never expected that a bl
ack man, raised by foster parents in a poor neighborhood in Philadelphia, would turn out to be so intriguing. Compared to his life, mine had been a cocoon of indulged luxury composed of private schools, ballet lessons, catered birthday parties, trips to the theater, exotic vacations, and finally Ivy League universities followed by a plum job.
I’d never really paid attention to anything beyond my safe little world.
Lou’s life reflected the opposite end of the spectrum. He had attended a variety of urban public schools, dropped out at one time, experimented with drugs, almost joined a gang, then eventually returned and finished high school.
He had managed to get a degree from Temple University on a football scholarship. My guess about football was accurate. After that he’d studied law on a part-time basis at the same school while working in a mayor’s office.
I looked at him wide-eyed. “My God! It’s amazing what you’ve done with your life, and against all those odds. You must be so proud of what you’ve achieved, Lou.”
I sincerely hoped he didn’t consider my remarks condescending. I couldn’t even begin to imagine the horrors he’d lived through: going to bed hungry most days; sleeping on a cold floor with no blankets; shoot-outs and stabbings on a regular basis near his home; drug pushers hanging out on street corners; teenage girls getting pregnant at thirteen.
How had Lou dug himself out of that dark, depressing pit? How had he motivated himself? How had he become such a polished professional?
“I’m satisfied with the way my life turned out,” he said, twirling the stem of his glass as he stared into its depths. “There were times when I never thought I’d get anywhere, do anything more than scavenge for food for the rest of my life.”
“What changed?”
“Reverend Bronson, pastor of the local church. He nearly beat me into attending school.” Lou’s face broke into a nostalgic smile. “He said I was smart and God had put me here for a purpose, and if I didn’t heed my calling, I’d rot in hell. I resented the old man then, because he lectured and bullied me into studying.”
“But it paid off?”
Lou nodded. “Today I think of Reverend Bronson as my personal savior and guardian angel.”
How touching. Despite the surge of emotions that threatened to flood my eyes with tears, I matched Lou’s smile with one of my own. “I hope you remember to tell him that often.”
“He’s been dead a long time. I wish I’d told him thanks. But I was a cocky punk then. Anyway, now I remember him in my daily prayers.”
Lou’s lasagna arrived, an enormous plate stacked high, redolent with the aromas of ricotta and basil. And he stabbed it with his fork with renewed zest, as if talking about Reverend Bronson had given him a fresh perspective on the meal.
I tried not to stare at the lasagna. I was dying to plunge my own fork into the endless layers of curly noodles and sauce and stuff my face till my belly groaned. Only the thought of shocking Lou’s sense of gentility kept me from making a pig of myself.
“That’s nice, Lou,” I said instead. “I’m sure the reverend hears your prayers.”
Mom and Dad had never exposed me to anything that remotely smelled of unpleasantness. At that moment, I wasn’t sure if I should be grateful for their overprotectiveness or irritated that they’d never let me learn about the darker side of life.
Even now, finding me a good husband was their main goal. Although they were doing that in my best interests, the pressure it might exert on me was something they’d probably never considered. The husband-hunting game was unpleasant for me, even painful at times.
Of course, I couldn’t lay the entire blame on my parents for my keeping myself aloof from the repulsive side of life. As a grown woman, I had every opportunity now to explore and educate myself about the world outside my immediate circle.
I’d had everything in life that Lou hadn’t. It had taken me this long to realize the deeper meaning of it—because only now was I sitting across the table from a man who had drawn a vivid picture of it, a man who was a product of that scary other world.
Polishing off his sauce with a piece of bread, Lou sat back in his chair and patted his stomach, pulling me out of my thoughts. “That was delicious! Thanks for recommending this place.” He looked about him and nodded in satisfaction.
“They sure make a mean Italian meal.”
Vincent returned to pick up our empty dishes and Lou ordered coffee while I shook my head at Vincent’s raised eyebrow. I’d already overstepped my quota of food for the day by eating every last bit of my antipasto.
“Hey, that’s enough about my pathetic life. Now tell me about yours,” said Lou while we waited for his coffee to arrive.
“Mine’s rather boring, Lou. I’m an only child of doting parents. What can I say?”
“I’d like to hear all about how the rich and spoiled folks live,” said Lou with a good-natured grin. Since Lou didn’t seem the type who’d be envious of my privileged lifestyle, I told him everything about my childhood. He frowned. “Tell me if it’s none of my business, but as a young Indian woman, isn’t there a husband or fiancé in the picture?”
Reluctantly I told him about my parents’ obsession with arranging a marriage for me. However, I didn’t mention the number of failed bride viewings. I couldn’t.
“Amazing!” Lou seemed fascinated by arranged marriage. “I’ve read about the custom and wondered about it. It actually works?”
“That’s the way my parents and aunts and uncles and even some cousins got married, and they’re all happy.”
“But you’re in America. You don’t mind this arranged marriage thing?”
I thought about it for a second. “Not really. I’m not the type to date, so why not go the traditional way?” I didn’t want to tell him I was too afraid to date. First of all, I had never been asked out by any man. Secondly, I feared that if on the off chance I got lucky, the guy would be asking me only out of pity or because no other girl was available. Why else would a guy approach someone like me?
And at some point, dates would likely involve sex. Deep down I was terrified of sleeping with someone who would find my body unattractive and get turned off entirely. How crushing would that be? It was best to stay away from that kind of experimentation.
“You’ve never dated anyone, period?” Lou’s dense brows shot up.
“No. My girlfriends and I have been going out with a bunch of boys since we were teenagers, but it’s a friends group. Nothing even remotely romantic there.”
“Mostly wealthy Indian girls and boys, I presume?”
“That’s presumptuous of you, Lou,” I said.
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to be. I’m just curious.”
“Well, we’re not highly wealthy. We’re upper middle class, and not all of us are Indian.”
“Still, must be nice, having most everything,” Lou reflected, but with no trace of jealousy or grudge.
“Even the richest folks don’t have everything. I hate to bring up the old adage, but money really can’t buy happiness.”
Then Vincent brought Lou’s coffee to the table and we stopped talking for a few seconds while Lou added cream and sugar to his cup and stirred thoughtfully.
“How long were you married, Lou?” I said, wanting to switch subjects and break the long, awkward silence. Lou’s life was much more inspiring than mine and I was curious about his late wife.
He stared at his cup for several seconds. “Nine years and three months.”
“Long time.” I got the feeling this wasn’t something he talked about much.
Lou sipped his coffee and sighed. He looked tired. “Lynne was the best thing that ever happened to me.” His deep-set eyes seemed to stare at nothing in particular on the table. “She gave me what I’d never had growing up: stability, unconditional love, and pride in being black.”
I wanted to lay a hand on his to offer comfort, but I didn’t. Despite having come to know him somewhat well, I’d met him face-to-face only hours ago. My heart co
nstricted nonetheless. “You mean . . .” What did he mean by pride in being black?
“Lynne was a white woman, part Polish, part Italian,” he added, guessing my thoughts.
“Any children?” I wondered if I was prying too much and if he’d be offended, but I had an inquisitive mind that refused to quit.
“Sadly, no. At first we put off starting a family because both of us were trying to get our careers in order. Lynne was a high school counselor and I was just starting out as a law clerk. But Lynne was diagnosed with breast cancer three years after we were married, so children were out of the question by then.”
Dear God, his wife had suffered for six years? “Long illness,” I said, finding nothing else to say.
“Initially, after the mastectomy and radiation, the doctors said she was in remission, and Lynne was doing fine. But a year or so later the damn thing came back with a vengeance. After that it was pure hell.”
He closed his eyes for a moment, as if to shut out the painful memories. “In a way it was a good thing we had no kids. I’d never be able to care for the kids and Lynne at the same time, in spite of switching to a nine-to-five job.”
“Is that when you went to work for the DEP?”
He nodded. “I worked long hours for the law firm I was with and I couldn’t do that and take care of Lynne, so I applied for various government jobs, and ended up at the DEP.”
“No regrets?”
He set his empty cup aside. “Not many. Government jobs have easier hours and they let me take several weeks of family leave when Lynne needed me.”
“Hmm.” I really had nothing to add. It was heartbreaking all the way around.
Lou offered me a half smile. “But I sometimes wish we’d had a kid. A child would have been something pleasant to go home to every night.”
This time the tears gathered in my eyes, in spite of my iron self-control. Lou must have noticed my expression, but was too much of a gentleman to comment on it.
The Full Moon Bride Page 8
