The Man With The Money

by Arlene James

  “And you did it,” she told him honestly.

  He lifted a hand and skimmed his fingertips over her cheekbone. Suddenly she was hot again, despite the brisk March breeze. It seeped from her pores, radiated from her bones, pooled in private places, turned her muscles to jelly. “We did it. Seems we’re darn good together.”

  She looked into those deep-brown eyes and felt the hairs lift on the back of her neck. This man was so dangerous! Much more dangerous than she had even realized, and somehow she seemed to be losing the will to resist him. But that couldn’t happen. It mustn’t happen. She backed up a step, and the world broadened again. Turning, she picked up the clipboard from the end of the bench and walked out onto the field. With every step she grew stronger, firmer, more in control. That was the answer then, distance. Somehow she had to keep her distance from Darren Rudd. Somehow.

  It rained and turned colder that week. Charly called Darren at the number he had given her to let him know that practice was canceled, leaving a message on his answering machine. He called her back that evening. She was wiping down the kitchen counter, just finishing the after-dinner cleanup, and Ponce had gone to his room to play with his miniature cars. He had set up an elaborate roadway system with plastic building blocks and could push his cars along it, crashing them at intersections, for hours. It was a completely foreign type of play to Charly, but her grandmother assured her that it was utterly normal and very “boy.” Expecting that it was her grandmother calling now—they spoke several times every day—Charly reached for the telephone receiver mounted on the kitchen wall.

  “Hello.”

  “Hello, there, coach.”

  “Darren.”

  “So we’re off for tomorrow, huh?” he asked in a chatty manner.

  “That’s why I called,” she replied dryly. “The practice field is a bog at the moment.”

  “Wonder if we could find someplace else, something indoors, maybe,” he mused.

  She rolled her eyes, chuckling. “That’s not necessary. Everybody’s in the same boat. Chances are this week’s game will be canceled, too.”

  “Guess there’s nothing to be done about it, then,” he said resignedly. “Need help calling the kids?”

  “I’ve already taken care of it.”

  “So what are you and Ponce going to do tomorrow evening instead? How about a movie? That new kid flick is supposed to be pretty good.”

  Charly blinked at her gray-green kitchen countertop. He was asking them out. Not her, well, not just her this time, but them, her and Ponce. The temptation to say yes was rich. Instead, she closed her eyes and told a blatant lie. “Uh, we’ve already made plans to have dinner with my grandmother.”

  Darren didn’t miss a beat. “Your grandmother? Hey, you’re lucky. I never knew my grandparents, and my dad passed on when I was a boy, so it’s just me, my sister and our crazy mom now. How about you? Any other family besides your grandmother?”

  “Uh, not around here,” Charly said, processing the knowledge of his father’s early death and that “crazy mom” remark. “My parents live in Florida.”

  “No brothers or sisters?”

  “Nope. Only child.”

  “I’d have hated that,” he said bluntly. “Even when my little sister was a pain, I enjoyed being the big brother. Always wanted a little brother, too, truth be told, but Mom never had any more. Babies, that is. Husbands, yes. Babies, no.”

  “I always wanted siblings,” Charly heard herself saying, “but my parents never intended to have more than one child. Their work was too important, and they thought they’d be spreading themselves too thin. They’re supposed to be retired now, but as far as I can tell that just means they don’t have offices to go to.”

  “Why kind of work do they do?”

  “Oh, they’re both attorneys.”

  He chuckled. “Naturally.”

  “Mom specializes in environmental concerns, and Dad is an expert in OSHA litigation.”

  “Sounds interesting. What is it that you specialize in?”

  “Lost causes mainly,” she quipped. “My firm’s in general practice, and frankly, I’m the token female. They shuttle me all the weird ones. Right now I’m working on an antidefamation suit involving two Mexican restaurants.”

  “Somehow I don’t see you spending your life litigating whose burrito gets bragging rights,” he quipped.

  She grinned and admitted, “Okay, so I strike a blow for the good guys once in a while. According to my boss I’m the office bleeding heart—and about as useful.”

  “Hey,” Darren said, “if I needed a hotshot attorney in my corner, I’d want it to be you.”

  Charly could not suppress the flash of satisfaction that produced. “Well, the next time some Tex-Mex chef sues you for saying his tamales are made with armadillo instead of pork, I’m your girl,” she quipped.

  The atmosphere changed instantly. The guy wasn’t even in the room, and everything shifted somehow. “I’d like that,” he said, his voice gone husky and soft, “if you were my girl.”

  For a moment Charly couldn’t get her breath. She felt his arms around her again, the solid warmth of his body, the pressure of his lips. She put one hand over the microphone in the end of the telephone receiver and gulped. This shouldn’t be so hard, not with so much at stake. She dropped her hand and said lightly, “Anytime you need a lawyer, just call.”

  He sighed and changed the subject. “Tell me about your grandmother. Sounds like you’re close.”

  The tension eased, and Charly gratefully launched into a long monologue about the woman who had essentially raised her, Delphina Michman, now nearing eighty and painfully arthritic but still vibrant and so very wise. Darren occasionally interrupted to ask pertinent questions or make remarks that clearly demonstrated his interest. Delphina kept Ponce every day after kindergarten, just as she had Charly at that age, and Ponce called her Granna Pheldina. They laughed over that.

  Then Darren said, “Man, I wish I’d had someone like her when I was growing up. Jill and I pretty much fended for ourselves. Mom was always more interested in the men who were interested in her, and believe me, with her looks, there has never been any shortage of those. Even now her social life’s busier than mine, but at least she’s stopped marrying everyone who asks her. I know a couple good divorce lawyers who’ve made a living off her.”

  Charly noted that though he spoke somewhat disparagingly of the woman, his voice contained a good deal of fondness, even a tinge of pride. “That must’ve been rough for you,” she murmured.

  “In a way. On the other hand, I turned out pretty self-sufficient, and Jill has made it her life’s ambition to be as different from Mom as she can be. The result is that she’s a darn good mother and wife.”

  “I can tell you’re proud of her.”

  “Oh, yeah. Jill’s the best. She keeps me sane, you know, her and her family. When the world gets crazy, as it will, I drop by Jill’s and let her fuss over me for a while, or I’ll just play with my nephew. These days I’m the road over which he prefers to drive his toy cars.”

  Charly laughed. “What is it with you boys and your cars?”

  “What, are you kidding? A car is freedom, power. It’s a cool measure. The cooler the car, the cooler the guy.”

  “Silly me, I thought it was transportation, something else to be taken care of.”

  “You sound just like my sister now.”

  “Go figure.”

  “No, a lot of women consider a car an accessory, like a cute purse or something.”

  She laughed. Suddenly it occurred to her that they were becoming friends. That was nice, real nice—and dangerous. She cleared her throat. “Listen, I have to go. It’s time for Ponce’s bath.”

  “So early?”

  “We start our days early around here. If I don’t get him down by eight, I won’t have time to get myself ready for tomorrow.”

  “What do you think our chances are for having a practice on Thursday?”

  �
�Slim. That field is a sea of mud after a good rain.”

  “Guess our best hope is that they’ll call the game, then,” he said with a sigh. “That means it’ll be a whole week before I can see you again. Unless I can convince you to go out with me.”

  Charly bit her lip. It was so hard to say no, but somehow she got the words out. “That’s not a good idea, Darren. Ponce takes up all of my free time, and he comes first with me.”

  “I understand,” he said, “so why don’t the three of us—”

  “That’s not a good idea, either,” she interrupted. “You see, Ponce has a problem with men. His biological mother often left him with strangers for days at a time and even alone once that we know of, so she could go off with a man. He never knew his father, and apparently her boyfriends weren’t very nice to him.”

  “All the more reason for him to get to know a stand-up kind of guy, don’t you think?”

  “He has a male therapist,” she said. “I’m afraid for now that’s all we have time for.”

  “And what about you?” Darren asked softly. “When are you going to make time for you?”

  “When Ponce is really, truly mine,” she said. “When the papers are signed and the judge says I’m his legal mother.”

  Silence, and then Darren mused, “Maybe you’re more like my sister than I realized.”

  “Well, thank you, since you seem to think so highly of her.”

  “Yeah,” he muttered pensively, “I do.”

  “I have to go now,” Charly said softly. “I’ll call you to let you know when we can practice next.”

  “Call anytime,” he said.

  “Goodbye, Darren.”

  She hung up the phone without waiting for him to return her farewell. For a moment she couldn’t help wondering what might have been and if it could still be at some future date. But, no, it was best not to even go there. No matter how much she might want to.

  Chapter Five

  When the elevator door opened, Tawny whirled around and smiled, clearly pretending that she hadn’t known Darren’s private elevator was on its way down. Quickly Darren reached over and punched the first button within reach. As the doors began sliding closed again, Tawny’s expression of innocent surprise altered to one of anger. Darren shook his head. He wasn’t going to play this scene again. Twice in the past week, she’d managed to “bump into” him. Both times they’d wound up arguing, but no matter what she said or did, he was not going to give in. He wanted her out of the apartment, out of the building, out of his life.

  As the elevator rose again, he thought about how much his life, how much he, had changed lately. He still couldn’t quite understand it. All he knew was that it had to do with Charly Bellamy. She wasn’t like all the other women in whom he’d been interested. She wasn’t like his mother. No, Charly was more like his sister. Except that Charly was determined to keep him at arm’s length. And it hurt. It hurt more than seemed possible, certainly more than was reasonable. Some part of him felt…empty because Charly wanted nothing to do with him—nothing personal, anyway.

  Yet, he wasn’t ready to cut his losses and move on. It would have been the smart thing to do, and he knew it, but he just couldn’t. He could not back away from her. Maybe if he hung around, not pressing her, just as a friend, once Ponce was formally adopted, she would be more open. He wiped a hand across his forehead, fully aware that no one who knew him would ever believe he was even thinking this way.

  The elevator door opened on the eighth floor. Darren strode out and turned a corner. The next one brought him to a full bank of elevators. He punched the down button, waited, then got on an elevator already containing a young couple who had recently moved into number 84. He had the distinct impression that they’d been kissing. Security guys must’ve gotten a real eyeful. Darren decided they were due a friendly warning, a rather oblique warning; he didn’t want to embarrass them.

  “Hi. How you doin’?” he asked, poking the garage button. They were going to the first floor, which was at street level.

  The man glanced at the woman before answering Darren. “Good. You?”

  “Not bad. Off to coach a Little League soccer team.”

  “That explains the jersey.”

  Darren glanced down at himself, smiling. “Yeah, well, I like the kids if not the clothes.”

  The man glanced at the woman again, and the words just tumbled out of him, his happiness obvious. “We’re expecting a baby.”

  “Hey! Congratulations!” Darren shook his hand. It was the perfect segue. “You’ll really appreciate all of this building’s security features, then, like the cameras in all the elevators and public areas.” He pointed to the tiny aperture containing the lens.

  The woman reached for the man’s hand. “Is it always on?”

  “Twenty-four hours a day.”

  The man jingled change in his slacks pockets. “They, uh, they don’t have audio, do they? I mean, they can’t hear what we say, can they?”

  Darren smiled apologetically. “I don’t think they actually listen, not usually, I mean. There are about two dozen setups, and while you might be able to monitor that many screens, you wouldn’t want to listen to that many speakers. That would be too confusing. But the audio is recorded and listened to at times.”

  The man and woman traded looks. “Why would they listen to the audio, do you think?” she asked.

  “Oh, if they saw a crime taking place, maybe.”

  They both relaxed visibly. “How long would they keep something like that on tape?” the man wanted to know.

  “The tapes recycle themselves every forty-two days unless pulled.”

  The relief was palpable. Darren couldn’t help smiling. “Listen,” he said brightly, “have you checked out the rooftop garden?”

  “Not since we moved in,” the man said, “but it’s one of the reasons we picked this place. We work downtown and didn’t want to fight the traffic every day.”

  “This way we’ll be close by if the baby should need us for any reason.”

  “We already have a nanny lined up.”

  “The garden will be a safe, beautiful place for our little one to play.”

  “Most of the buildings around here don’t want children.”

  “Or they’re not right for children.”

  “This one’s perfect,” they said in unison.

  Darren laughed. “I’m glad. I’m really glad.” The elevator had come to a halt, and the door slid open as he spoke. Darren stood back to let the pair exit in front of him. The man held the woman’s arm as if she were made of spun glass and might break just by exiting the elevator. “Nice talking to you,” Darren said as they flipped him waves and moved away.

  He folded his arms, still smiling, as the doors slid closed again and the elevator continued on its way. They didn’t have enough kids in this building. The designers had told him not to plan with kids in mind, that no one would want to raise a family downtown, but instinct had told him otherwise. He wouldn’t mind raising a kid of his own down here someday. His thoughts abruptly slid back to Charly—and Ponce. For a moment everything just seemed to stop, his heart for one thing, the elevator for another, the whole world, in fact. Then he realized that the elevator really had stopped and that the doors were standing open.

  Shaking his head, he walked out into the garage and headed toward his car, his spirits lifting with every step. In his jeans pocket he carried an elastic band designed for athletes who wore glasses.

  “I think it’s a grand idea,” Darren announced, much to Charly’s chagrin.

  “That’s because you don’t have to build the thing,” she muttered.

  “Well, of course I’ll help build it,” he said, bringing his hands to his hips. “We’ll all help build it. That’s why it’s called a team float.”

  The kids applauded and began hopping up and down. Most of them didn’t have the slightest notion what a float or neighborhood pride was, but everyone understood the concept of a parade. The mother wh
o had proposed the idea beamed, her smile a startling white in her dark face.

  “All the kids should get to ride in the parade,” she said excitedly, “in their game uniforms.” The kids cheered and hopped up and down some more. “I was thinking we might get a trailer, you know, and put a goal on one end of it and make it like a comet going into the net.”

  “Sounds good to me,” Darren said to the woman. “Think you could draw up a design for us?”

  “No, not me,” she said quickly.

  “I can!” Maria insisted, raising her hand.

  “I can, too,” Kental vowed.

  “Tell you what,” Darren said, “everyone who wants to should draw a picture of what he or she thinks our float ought to look like. Then Coach Charly and I will choose the one we think will work best, and I’ll take it to a designer I know and have a plan made of it.”

  “And where will we build this amazing float?” Charly asked pointedly.

  Darren rubbed his chin. “We could probably do it in the garage of my apartment building downtown.”

  Charly looked doubtful. The mother who had brought them the idea of entering a float in the Neighborhood Pride Parade bit her lip and suggested, “Maybe we could do it in the park.”

  “And if it rains?” Darren asked gently.

  She looked downcast. “There’s an empty warehouse down by the old grocery on Tempest and Sandy Lane,” she suggested. “I don’t think anyone would mind if we used that.”

  Charly remembered that there were several liquor stores and bars in the area, too, and shook her head, resignedly coming to a reluctant decision. “We’ll build it in my garage.”

  “And that would be where?” Darren asked.

  “Hillcrest and Samples, off Forrest Lane. It’s the house I grew up in. Belongs to my parents, who live most of the year in Florida now.”

  No one had to say that Hillcrest was one of the better streets in Dallas proper or that it was a heck of a lot closer and easier to reach than the downtown area. Darren nodded his approval and looked expectantly to the kids and the few parents who had gathered around after practice. Everyone smiled and nodded in agreement.