Texas fury

by Michaels, Fern

  "Mr. Assante! What are you doing here?"

  "Same thing you are. Join me. Let me help you. On second thought, I can either hold this table or help you." He'd noticed two men eyeing the situation. They wore three-piece look-alike suits. Madison Avenue. Something else to report at home: all the men still dressed alike!

  "Hold the table," Julie called in her sparkly voice. "You have to take the offensive in New York during lunch hour. It pays to carry an umbrella with a long point at the end. Survival, it's called."

  Cary held Julie's chair and then seated himself.

  "Mr. Assante, what are you doing in New York? Is Amelia with you?"

  "I thought we settled that 'Mr. Assante' business back in Austin. Why do you call me 'mister' and my wife by her first name?"

  Julie blushed."I really got to know Amelia, maybe because I felt like I knew her even before I met her. Thad and Billie speak of her on a daily basis. I adore your wife . . . Cary. Billie and Amelia are two of the finest people I've ever met."

  "I'll agree with that. But from now on, it's Cary, and you're Julie, okay? Now, what are you doing here?"

  "I work here. I just love New York. I decided to move down here, start the New Year off right, and it was a job offer I couldn't refuse. I'm adjusting nicely. I just wish New Yorkers were a little more friendly."

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  "I know what you mean. Do you work far from here?"

  "A couple of blocks. What are you doing here without Amelia?"

  "Business. Amelia couldn't make it. I've been shopping for her—I love to buy presents."

  Julie laughed. "I do, too. I spend hours and hours looking for just the right gift. I don't care how much it costs as long as I know the person is going to like it. I so enjoy the look of surprise and pleasure when they open it."

  "You sound like you don't receive too many presents. A beautiful girl like you should be getting baubles by the basket."

  Julie smiled. "Girl? I'm thirty-eight, thirty-nine in two days. I think that takes me out of the 'girl' class."

  "All women are girls to me," Cary said. He grinned. "Amelia loves it when I call her a broad. I just do it for fun," he added hastily. He liked the way she bit deep into the thick sandwich. Good appetite. He'd always heard that New York women starved themselves to model slimness or didn't eat so they could afford the sky-high rents. Julie was chewing industriously, savoring the spicy sandwich. A man's sandwich.

  "You're staring," Julie said. "Do I have mustard on my chin?"

  Her wide grin exposed square, perfectly aligned teeth that had never seen an orthodontist. He didn't remember them being so white. Of course, he'd spent only a half hour with her over a cup of cocoa in the Sunbridge kitchen, and the light had been dim. He'd been on a self-made high that night and into his own success. He'd missed the parade of light freckles on her cheekbones. He liked freckles. Amelia had "freckles" —large brown spots on her arms and hands, some on her neck, too. "Not at all. You're a neat eater, Julie."

  Julie's eyes crinkled up at the corners. "At least you didn't say I was a big eater, which I am. I love food."

  "That makes two of us. Have you ever had a gyro?"

  "I'd kill for one of those. I prefer it to pizza or even a deli sandwich. There aren't too many places that serve them. I'll find one, though; count on it." She leaned over the table. "What I don't understand is how people can give up meat and become vegetarians. I guess I'm basically carnivorous."

  "Me, too." How comfortable he was, sitting here with Julie, just talking about food.

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  "Shame prevents me from marching back through the line for another sandwich," Julie giggled. She leaned back against the cane chair. "Now for my one and only really bad vice, a cigarette. I allow myself seven a day. I don't recall if you smoke or not. Do you?"

  "Unfortunately, I do. I don't usually smoke in restaurants, but it seems to be okay here. It's a touchy subject these days."

  Julie drew deeply on the cigarette. She blew a perfect smoke ring. Cary applauded as he lighted his own Camel. "Can you imagine having sex and not smoking afterward?"

  Cary choked as he attempted to match her smoke ring. A warning bell signaled something in his head that he totally ignored. "I can't imagine that at all." No virgin here, and why should she be one? Not that it was any of his business. Sex made the world go round... and round, and round. No small talk about asking him if he was shocked at her words. No young-girl games. Straight from the shoulder. He did like her.

  "How long will you be in New York, Cary?"

  "A few days. Business. I'll be here through your birthday. If you don't have other plans, I can celebrate with you. My gift to you. Amelia would kill me if I left you alone on your birthday. You're kind of like family."

  "I'd like that, Cary. I live on East Seventy-ninth Street." She took a slip of paper from her purse and wrote out the address for him. "I get home about six-thirty and I can be ready by seven-thirty. If I appear eager, it's because I am— you'll be my first date. I mean, I haven't met any men that I want to spend an evening with yet."

  She liked him enough to want to spend an evening with him. Her birthday. "Listen," he said impulsively, "we don't have to wait till your birthday. How about having dinner with me this evening? I'm going to have to eat alone, and evidently, you are too. What do you say?" Cary held his breath waiting for her answer. He wasn't sure what he expected, but her words startled him.

  Julie made a production out of closing her flip-top cigarette box and nestling it into her bag. She liked Cary Assante. She adored Amelia Assante. She'd liked all the Colemans. She'd enjoyed that late-night cup of cocoa and knew even then that he was someone she'd like to get to know better. Damn, why were the good ones always taken? Dinner was harmless, and so was a birthday. There had to be a rule about something like

  {76}

  this. She'd have to think in terms of family. Keep it all in its proper perspective. "Tell you what, Mr. Assante—Cary, I mean—you call Amelia and tell her you're having dinner with me at my apartment and that I'm cooking. If she doesn't object, it would be my pleasure to whip you up some spaghetti and Ragu. Garlic bread on the side and some salad. I might even throw in some baklava if I make the deli in time."

  "You're on. I'll bring the wine, and I'll call Amelia. Amelia liked you, Julie. So do I. You're family." He wondered what Ragu was. He'd have to ask Amelia.

  Family. It was such a wonderful word. Thad and Billie were her family, but aside from a few scattered cousins, there was no one else. It was nice knowing the Colemans liked her and considered her family. But Cary Assante wasn't family. Not really. She wished she didn't like him so much. Perhaps she could think of him as an older brother, one she could talk to, share things with. Like her approaching birthday. Thirty-nine was so awesome. Thirty-nine and not married was even more awesome. Thirty-nine with no children was so awesome it made her want to shrivel up within herself. The biological clock ticking away...

  "This was nice, Cary. I'm so glad we ran into each other. Give Amelia my love when you speak with her. I'll see you ... sevenish? Is that all right with you?"

  "I'll do that, and I'll also walk you back to the office if you want company. Just let me get my bags together."

  "Oh, are those Amelia's presents? How nice. What did you get? Show me. I have a few extra minutes."

  Cary preened while Julie lifted out his purchases. Nothing would do but to wind up the piggyback bears. She didn't laugh, she guffawed. Not for the world would she tell this kind man sitting across from her that Amelia would—what would Amelia do with piggyback bears? Smile indulgently and acknowledge that Cary bought the wind-up toy for the boy in himself. The brilliant belt and scarf dazzled her. She could almost see herself strutting down Third Avenue wearing them. Where would Amelia wear them? She wished she knew. The price tag on the perfume made her blink. She sniffed appreciatively. It was too heavy for her but pleasing nonetheless. Amelia would love it. How charming and thoughtful this man was. She nodded, her
smile brilliant, as she placed the items

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  back into the shopping bag. "A wise, diversified selection," she said.

  "I'm not finished yet. I want to go back with a whole cartload of presents for Amelia. These are just fun things, things to make her laugh. She's taking herself very seriously these days, ever since she got involved in those nursing homes."

  "You sound as though you don't exactly approve."

  Cary reached for Julie's check. She handed it over without protest and walked alongside him to the cashier. She thanked him nicely and smiled. A smile that would linger with Cary for the rest of the afternoon.

  Outside in the sunshine Julie poked his arm. "You didn't tell me if you approve or not about Amelia's volunteer work."

  "I've never been a crusader. I guess I don't understand people who can devote eighteen hours a day to a cause and get nothing back. I don't mean that to sound selfish. I've always had to work, and work hard, for my money. Right now I'm at loose ends and I feel guilty. I need to work, I need to do things. I guess what I'm saying is I have to contribute. It's wonderful what Amelia is doing, but she's obsessed with it. There's no time for anything else. I wanted her to come to New York, but she had wall-to-wall meetings."

  "You're lonely. And you're right, you have to do something. Why don't you get involved with Amelia and help her? There are never enough volunteers in any job. A few people end up doing all the work. Or is it that you don't want to get involved in something that deals with aging?"

  Right to the heart of things. Cary nodded morosely. "Come along, we have the light." He didn't want to talk about Amelia and her pet project with this young woman. Not now, anyway. He felt disloyal saying as much as he had.

  Julie was quick to pick up on Cary's change of mood. She walked along, her long-legged stride matching Cary's. "How's Mrs. Buckalew? You know, she hustled me into having my chart done, but I've never received it. I paid her three hundred dollars. I know it was a foolish thing to do, but astrology has always fascinated me. I read my horoscope every day. When it's good I believe it, and when it's bad I call it hocus-pocus. I'm an Aries. What are you?"

  "A Leo. Can't you tell? Tess told Amelia she knew I was a

  {78}

  Leo from the moment she spotted me. Does that mean we're compatible?"

  "Very compatible," Julie said quietly. The perfect match. Aries and Leo. The lion and the ram. Tomorrow she'd pick up an astrology book and read up on Leos. And she'd write to Tess Buckalew and ask where her chart was. She had certainly cashed her check in a hurry.

  "Here we are. I work on the twenty-seventh floor. I enjoyed lunch, Cary. Thank you for adding some sparkle to my day. I'll see you around seven." With a light wave of her hand she was through the revolving door. Cary watched to see if she'd turn around for a second wave. His hand was poised to wave back. But she didn't. Feeling foolish, Cary turned to get his bearings. For the moment he had absolutely no idea where he was. Well, when in doubt, take a taxi and let the driver do the worrying.

  A Checker pulled up to the curb, disgorging two giggling girls and one emaciated male with long hair. Cary tossed his shopping bag onto the backseat and climbed in. "Cartier's."

  Discreet. Ultraposh. Amelia would be at home here among the precious gems and black velvet. The subdued lighting added luster to everything. Cary reminded himself that he could buy out the store and still have plenty left over, so he shouldn't feel intimidated.

  "I don't exactly know what I'm looking for," he told the haughty-looking salesman.

  "I need some sort of an idea, sir. Earrings? What sort of stones are you interested in?"

  "Diamonds. A bracelet, I think. Perhaps some earrings. It's for my wife."

  "Her birthday? An anniversary?"

  Cary felt a sudden desire to punch the man in the jaw. Where was this anger coming from? He was being ridiculous. If he'd gone into a hardware store looking for at tool, the clerk would need a little information to help him make his selection. The difference was that in a hardware store the merchandise was on display. Here the "good stuff was in a vault, brought out one piece at a time. In a hardware store they asked what price range you were interested in. Here, if you had to ask the price, you probably shouldn't be in the store in the first place.

  Forty-five minutes later, Cary made his selection—a lacy platinum-weave bracelet studded with diamonds, and a pair of

  {79}

  emerald earrings. He wrote out the check and was suddenly $66,437.28 poorer. If he were the wealthiest man in the world, he'd never get used to spending this kind of money on jewelry. He tossed the gift-wrapped boxes into his Blooming-dale's shopping bag and was pleased to see the clerk's elegant wince. He grinned in return.

  Outside he took a deep breath. That kind of shopping he hated.

  His first thought was to head back to the hotel and call Amelia. His second thought was to take a stroll in Central Park. If possible, the day was even brighter than before.

  Cary walked slowly up Fifth Avenue, stopping to peek in at the Children's Zoo. He marveled at the tenacity of a five-year-old climbing the monkey bars, to his mother's horror. He couldn't help wondering what kind of father he'd have made. Amelia had been a wonderful mother to Rand. Still was, for that matter. He and Amelia would have had children, of course, if she'd been younger. His brain seemed to freeze for a brief instant. No, they couldn't have had children anyway, because of Amelia's botched-up abortion. He wished now she'd never told him about it. He didn't feel it as a loss, exactly. It was more like curiosity. Parenthood was too demanding. He'd probably have been a lousy father. Still, a daughter would be nice, someone to call him Daddy. Amelia would have seen to it that she made a debut. Society. It really was all crap. He tried to picture Amelia with children, Amelia in a housedress with a toddler clinging to her skirt and a baby in her arms. Dinner cooking, the television on, toys scattered all over a small frame house with a picket fence and garden. He shuddered. No, his life was perfect the way it was. Maybe when he was older he would regret it more, but not right now. Jesus, he was only forty-eight. Amelia was sixty-seven. The thought stopped him in midstride. A woman in sweatpants and a headband ran into his back. He apologized. She grumpily accepted his apology, remarking that if he wasn't feeling well, he should sit down. He nodded slightly and headed for one of the benches along the wall on the park side of the avenue.

  A vibrant, witty, charming, loving sixty-seven. Younger women couldn't hold a candle to Amelia. So what if she had brown spots on her hands and arms. So what if she had fine lines around her mouth and wrinkles around her eyes. He loved every goddamn spot and wrinkle, and he wouldn't give Amelia up for anything in the world. He'd give up his busi-

  {80}

  ness, everything he owned, his life, if Amelia needed it. He loved her, body and soul. He always had and always would. She was his life, and by God, he'd had enough of this stupid, aimless walk and people crashing into him. He would go back to the hotel, order a couple of drinks, and put a call in to Amelia. His heart started to beat furiously. Amelia was the only woman who had been able to make his heart beat like this.

  Cary got the drinks and tried to call Amelia for the rest of the afternoon. By the time he finally reached her, six-fifteen New York time, he had a buzz on and he was a little grumpy. Her voice turned husky as she realized who it was.

  "I've been trying to call you all afternoon, Amelia. I wanted to talk to you. I needed to talk to you."

  "You are, darling. I'm so glad you called. I miss you. How's New York?"

  "I wish you had come with me. Christ, I miss you. Are you sure you can't drop what you're doing and come for at least one day?"

  "Darling, I would if I could. We went through all that before you left. How did the meeting go?"

  "It didn't. I don't want any part of it. I'll find something else. I don't want you worrying about me. This deal was never important, just something I wanted to check out. Listen, you'll never guess who I met at a deli where I stopped for
lunch. After my shopping spree."

  "Spree!" Amelia gurgled. "Spree! Tell me, quick, what did you buy?"

  "I bought myself a cashmere sweater at Bloomingdale's. I was all over the place and I have two full shopping bags to prove it."

  "Full?" Amelia squealed like a girl. Cary laughed. "Tell me; give me a clue, a hint."

  "Nope. You're just going to have to wait."

  "I hate it, Cary, when you get me all revved up."

  "Well, I love it when you rev me up. I have a hard-on right now, so big it's a killer."

  "I love it when you talk like that. Keep it that way till you get home."

  "Sure. A cop would arrest me the minute I walked through the door." Amelia giggled. The hard-on stayed. Cary massaged himself and groaned. Amelia giggled again. She loved this game and so did he.

  {81}

  "Who did you meet at the deli?"

  "Amelia, I need you," Cary said through clenched teeth. "Julie Kingsley."

  "What's Julie doing in New York? Vacation?"

  "Hell no. She's working here now. We ate lunch together, and yes, I picked up the check. She said she came here after the first of the year. She likes it, but she's lonely. I guess she's pretty choosy about making friends."

  "Did she look as lovely as she did at Sunbridge?"

  "She looked okay to me. Did you know she has freckles? I didn't remember the freckles. They aren't as dark as yours, though."

  "Darling, mine are called liver spots. I lie when I say they're freckles. They come with age. Julie's are natural, and yes, I knew she had them. She's a beautiful woman. I hope you're going to take her out to dinner. I insist, Cary. Do up the town. I like that young woman. She's my kind of gal."

  "I can do that." Cary looked down at his zipper and wasn't surprised to see that his trousers were lying flat against his belly. So much for that. He sighed.

  "You don't have to sound so put upon. It won't hurt you to go out of your way and show Julie a good time. Take her to my favorite restaurant, the Lion's Rock. Promise."