Sweet Caroline

by Micqui Miller

  "Hey, she made it, Larson," Brian shouted to one of the guys from Accounting who stood at the other end of the pool table. "You owe me five bucks."

  "After that shot, you owe me ten," Larson countered. Caroline noticed he didn't make eye contact as he waved hello.

  Hmmm. Accounting. The right department for financial intrigue.

  "Caroline, over here." Ramona Carini stood next to the bar at the far side of the room, waving while she looked out from behind a row of wine bottles and sodas.

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  "Are you hiding?" Caroline set her bag of treats alongside several unopened bottles.

  "As a matter of fact, I am. Brian loves to party. I hate it." Taken aback, Caroline said, "Why come with him?"

  "Because I love Brian, and Brian loves to party." Oh lord, Luke's dream woman. Stand by your man, always put his wishes ahead of your own.

  With a bright smile, Ramona said, "What can I get for you?

  We have everything."

  "A soda for now. I like to start slow." Ramona handed a can of cola to Caroline and took a hearty swallow of Bud Light. "Let's go over there where it's quieter."

  Interesting. She barely knew Ramona, yet she had the distinct feeling Brian's fiancée had something very specific to share.

  "This is much better," Ramona said once she sank down into a deck chair outside the party room. Caroline sat down in the chair beside her. "So, Caroline, how do you like Mecca?"

  "Mecca?"

  "You know, ZyQyx headquarters. Instead of out there." Ramona waved at infinity. "Wherever Ian said you worked."

  "I like it a lot. Nice to put faces to names."

  "How long have you worked for Ian? Did you know him before that?"

  Careful, Caroline, careful. "I've known Ian for quite some time."

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  Ramona finished her beer, then popped the top on another can Caroline hadn't seen her bring along. "Was he always like he is now?"

  She cocked her head to the side. "Like what?"

  "Um ... you know, so ... so ingratiating."

  "He's always been the same with me." Not really a lie, she reasoned. She'd been around him five days, and his behavior had been consistent.

  "I don't know," Ramona continued. "Sometimes he creeps me out—like he wants to be one of us."

  "You mean an employee rather than the boss?"

  "Yeah that too, but I think he'd like to be more like us personally."

  Caroline stopped herself from responding too quickly. This conversation was headed in an interesting direction. "I don't know what you mean by 'personally.'"

  "Okay, I'll say it even though Brian would kill me if he heard me."

  Caroline held her breath.

  "I think Ian wishes he were a Mahoney." That was the last thing she expected to hear. Foy openly disdained the Mahoneys. Had Ramona had that much to drink? "I really don't know the Mahoneys, but—"

  "Sure you do," Ramona insisted. "You're living with Mick. He must have told you what he thinks about Ian ... or Striker as he calls him. He's told everyone else." Caroline laughed, and this time she wasn't acting. "Sorry. I'm not living with Mick. I live across from him. He helped move my stuff into my apartment and I haven't seen him 70

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  since." A white lie, but what sense was there in sharing the story of his nightmare?

  "God, then he must be tired after this trip. I figured he was pounding on your door every night. All the gals think so, too. They're dying over it."

  "The gals at ZyQyx? Why? I'm sure he'd have rented my apartment to anyone who wanted it."

  "Don't kid yourself about that." Ramona slurred her words as she neared the end of the second can of Bud. "The apartment's been empty for a year. He allowed ZyQyx to lease it but only on a temporary basis."

  "How odd. I don't understand why."

  "There's a lot I don't understand about Brian's big brother, either. Except that he's irresistible. Every woman he meets falls in love with him—even I was for a while. I think Mick lets the place stand empty because he doesn't want the hassle of evicting some gal after the bloom falls off the rose, so to speak."

  Caroline smiled, remembering the candlelight and sensual music. "He's got a bloom very much on the rose tonight." After another swig, Ramona asked, "What does that mean?"

  "Well..." Oh shoot, why not let her think I'm one of the girls? "He's entertaining this evening—you know, soft music, candles."

  "Mick?" Ramona sounded surprised. "In his own apartment?"

  "Yeah." Did Ramona think he was making out in his Jeep?

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  "Can't be. Mick never brings anyone home. It violates his number one rule."

  Caroline raised a brow. "Which is?"

  "'Can't make a graceful exit if you're in your own nest,'" Ramona answered with a giggle and the slightest trace of a brogue—Mick all over again.

  "Meaning?"

  "Whattaya think? Love 'em and leave 'em."

  "Maybe this one's different. Maybe Mick's in love." At that Ramona laughed. "Mick loves every woman he meets, but he doesn't fall in love with any of them. He can't. Goes against the curse."

  "Oh, for heaven's sake," Caroline burst out. "What is this curse I keep hearing about? Curses went out with witch hunts about two centuries ago."

  "Maybe for other people," Ramona said her voice sounding sad. "Not if you're Mick Mahoney."

  "Why don't I get us some snacks?" Caroline offered. She was there to gather information, and the conversation was getting juicy. She had to stop Ramona before she drank herself into gibberish. "I'll bring you a soda." Caroline hurried inside the party room where she grabbed two bowls, one full of pretzels, the other, peanuts, and the large bag of chips she'd brought, and a couple of chilled sodas. If there'd been anything more substantial, she would have grabbed that, too.

  "Hey, where are you going with those?" someone called after her. She didn't stop or look back.

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  "Here we are." She handed the two bowls to Ramona, who pounced on them, and popped the tab on one of the drinks.

  "Okay, so tell me, why does everyone call Ian, Striker?" Ramona leaned her head back and closed her eyes, obviously savoring the flavor of the salty junk food. "Not everyone," she said while she chomped happily on a handful of nuts. "Mostly it's the Mahoneys, but a few others. Sometimes I think Ian likes the name—makes him feel like he's popular and one of the crowd. And sometimes I think it really ticks him off. Especially if Mick calls him that."

  "How do they know each other? Mick never worked at ZyQyx, did he?"

  Ramona shook her head. "They go way back, much farther than ZyQyx. In fact, Ian, growing up, used to spend his summers at the ranch. Brian says Mick's the one who gave him the name in the first place. Something he learned while he lived in Ireland—after his dad died."

  "Whose dad?"

  "Mick and Brian's—Michael Mahoney, the Seventeenth or something like that."

  Caroline gritted her teeth. Ramona was rambling. "I guess I'm confused."

  Ramona sat up and looked around, as if to make sure no one eavesdropped, then leaned closer to Caroline. "It's more than confusing. Sometimes I think they're all a little loony—

  except for Brian, of course, but then he's kinda the cause of it."

  "Sorry. You've lost me."

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  Ramona dropped her voice to a whisper. "Okay, I'm going to give you the quickie version. Brian hates it if I talk about it, but this is what I know."

  At last.

  "Way back, like sixteen-hundred something, the Mahoneys and another family, the Kellys I think, lived in the same county in Ireland. The Mahoneys we
re the ne'er-do-wells, and the Kellys, the movers and shakers. Dustan Kelly was the eldest son and betrothed to the most beautiful girl in the village."

  Caroline raised her eyes to the heavens. This tale was right out of the Brothers Grimm.

  "The night before they were to marry, Dustan's bride ran off with Michael. Dustan hunted them down and tried to take her home. Michael and Dustan got into a fight, she tried to stop it. They both fired and one of them accidentally killed her. Michael blamed Dustan and Dustan blamed Michael. When all was said and done, Dustan was dead at Michael's hand. Dustan's mother went berserk at the news, and put a curse on the Mahoneys."

  Caroline didn't even try to hide her disbelief. "The Mahoneys buy into this story? It's sounds like a fairy tale."

  "Oh, it gets better," Ramona assured her. "Except there's no happily ever after." She pointed to the can of soda Caroline had opened for her. "You wanna pass it over. These chips are salty."

  After Caroline handed her the soda, Ramona continued,

  "No one seems to remember what the curse is word for word, but it had something to do with ending the Mahoney line, and 74

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  that the firstborn son would die by fire. Of course that wasn't much of a stretch since they were into demolitions even then. Apparently, someone died every time they rubbed two sticks together."

  Caroline stopped Ramona. "Wait a minute. What do you mean, even then? I thought Mick was a scientist. And surely Brian..."

  "Oh, Mick is. But Gabe, their middle brother, and all the uncles and cousins—they're deep into the family business. They're probably the top demolition experts in the country, maybe even the world. Mick gets involved only after a project goes sour. Brian doesn't care about the business at all. He knows he'll never get rich programming, but give him a computer, and he's happy."

  "Finish telling me about the curse," Caroline said halting Ramona's digression.

  "Okay, like I said, the Kelly matriarch puts a curse on the first born Mahoney male. So like everybody did in those days, the Mahoneys go to a soothsayer to find a way to reverse the curse." Ramona belched, covered her mouth and giggled. "I guess that's what you'd call it."

  Caroline shrugged. "I'm clueless when it comes to curses."

  "Anyway, the soothsayer tells them the only way to reverse the curse is to keep naming their kids—all of them—

  Michael. A continuum, I guess you'd call it. That way, no matter how many blew themselves up, there'd always be another Michael left to continue the line."

  "Obviously the soothsayer was right." Caroline laughed.

  "Everywhere I turn, I meet another Mahoney." 75

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  "They've lost a lot of them." Ramona's voice turned somber. "Even Mick and Brian's dad. That's why Mick will never marry—at least not until he's too old to father a child. He's the firstborn, and he honestly believes that's the only way the curse will end."

  "Wait." She stopped Ramona. "How did their father die?"

  "This is where it gets dicey. Don't you dare tell anyone I told you. Brian would kill me."

  "I won't say a word."

  "Mick's the eldest brother. His name's Michael Gabriel. Next oldest is Gabe, Gabriel Michael. Then there's the twins, Michaela and Gabrielle—Mikey and Gabby. And a couple of years later, Brian."

  "You're not going to tell me..."

  Ramona bobbed her head. "You guessed it. Their father headed the family business. There were probably ten different crews then, and they traveled everywhere. Mick started reading at about the age of three—God, I've heard that one a million times since it took Brian until he was six to catch up. Anyway, back then, whenever Mick had time off from school, he went along with his dad and his uncles. According to Sheila, their mother, Mick knew more about the science and theory of implosion and explosion at six than most of the adults in the crew. He was eight when Brian was born. They were in New York or Boston, I don't remember which, but Sheila, who was back in San Francisco, went into labor. To this day, she claims she doesn't believe in the curse. Brian was born while his dad and Mick were on the road. I guess she just got tired of naming all her kids some version of 76

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  Michael Gabriel—kind of like George Foreman, y'know—so she named Brian after her father and grandfather, Brian Timothy. Michael had a fit, but she wouldn't change her mind. Two days later, there was a horrible accident. Michael was killed in the explosion, with young Mick standing right there."

  "How awful," Caroline said. "Especially for a child." That would explain the nightmares that still tortured Mick. Ramona shook her head sadly and took another draw from the soda. "Things were never the same. I don't think Mick's ever forgiven Sheila. Brian told me Mick refused to speak to her after the accident, except through their cousin Annie. Sheila shipped those two off to Ireland. During that year, Mick spoke more Gaelic than English, and he and Annie are still like this." She held up crossed fingers. "Annie left home for the convent a year later. I guess I understand where Mick's coming from, but doesn't it seem silly to believe in curses?" Caroline picked up a fresh can of soda. "Of course it's silly. All superstitions are nothing more than self-fulfilling prophecies."

  "Self-fulfilling or not, Mick's not about to take a chance on having a son he might lose."

  Disgusted, Caroline stood up and stretched. "Ramona, you're way too smart to believe this stuff, and so is Mick. Hasn't he ever heard of a vasectomy? You don't have to deprive yourself of a good life simply because you're afraid to sire a son."

  Ramona stood on wobbly legs and joined her. "You tell him that. I'm not going there."

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  "You're not going where?" a voice asked. They turned to see Ian Foy walking toward them, followed by tray-toting caterers and enough food to feed all of those at the party and sixty more.

  * * * *

  "SO WHAT DO you think? A good party?" Ian steered Caroline to a couple of chairs as far from the action as possible.

  "Everybody looks like they're having fun." She tugged at the hem of her shirt. The moment Caroline had turned to greet Ian, she'd seen the disapproval in his eyes at how she was dressed. She knew too much of her midriff showed, and the v-cut neckline was too deep. He'd be apoplectic if she'd worn her gold sandals.

  "Ian, I'm sorry about what I'm wearing." She put her plate of food on the empty chair beside her. "I'll shop for something more appropriate this weekend."

  "Nonsense, Caroline." He placed one hand over hers. She didn't flinch, but there was something in his touch that made her want to snatch away her hand. "This is a party. Look around. You fit in perfectly."

  "I suppose you're right."

  "Of course I am. Now eat up and I'll see you home." Caroline looked at her watch. Quarter to nine. Early by anybody's standards, and she'd spoken only with Ramona. She'd learned a lot about the Mahoneys, but nothing about ZyQyx. "I'm going stay a little longer. I haven't had a chance—"

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  "No, I think you've stayed long enough. We don't want anyone getting suspicious about what you're doing at ZyQyx." What would look more suspicious than staying only long enough to leave with the boss? Suddenly the food tasted like cardboard. Her stomach churned at the realization that Ian wanted these people to think she'd waited only for him. That they were together. A couple.

  "Ian, I don't think that's a good idea. You want me to gain their confidence, not put them off."

  "Trust me, Caroline, I know them better than you do. You're still new. You don't want to overstay your welcome." He did know them better than she did, but she was here to do a job not pretend to be his girlfriend. "Compromise? Ninethirty?" Foy stared at her a long moment with a look in his eyes she could not read. "You're quite persuasive. I like that. Ninethirty it is." As soon as
she could manage, Caroline tossed her plate in the trash and headed outdoors to the pool where most of the group had drifted with their food. Someone had changed the CDs so that slower music now poured out over the sound system. She waved to Ramona and Brian, who cuddled together on a chaise while they ate, then turned toward the group from Marketing. Not only were they laughing the loudest, they were clustered as far from Ian as possible without leaving the party.

  They'd also tapped the keg the hardest. Their conversation had turned to bawdier things than business. Two groups away, Caroline saw Larson from Accounting standing alone. 79

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  She'd tried to smile at him several times. Each time they'd made eye contact, he quickly looked away. Either he was the shyest of the ZyQyx employees, or the one with the most to hide.

  She drifted toward him. A song came on that was slower still. She bit back a grin. He'd probably faint if she asked him to dance.

  "Hi, there," she said, sidling up beside him. For the life of her, she couldn't remember his first name. "You look like you could use company."

  His posture stiffened and he wouldn't meet her eyes. "Nno," he stammered, then rushed his words, "I was just going inside to get some food."

  "Wouldn't you rather dance?"

  "N-no ... no, not right now."

  Even drawn up to his full height, he stood an inch or two shorter. She smiled and tried not to lower her gaze. "No problem. I'll catch you later."

  He looked so relieved she feared he might implode. "I guess so," he answered and took off as if he were being chased by demons.

  She ran her hand along the length of her French braid then across the back of her neck. She was tired, and she hoped to heaven no one had been watching. Rejected by Larson. What could be worse?

  Then Caroline turned around and saw exactly what was worse. Leaning against the steps to the diving platform, arms folded across his chest, one ankle crossed over the other, Mick Mahoney stood like the cock of the walk, a prankish grin 80

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  turned up the corners of his full, soft mouth. "Doesn't get much worse than a turn-down by Larson." The heat of a blush bloomed on her check. He looked incredible in a pair of camel slacks, a silk shirt, open at the collar that was the same shade of violet as his eyes, and a pair of soft leather loafers.