“So he said. They weren’t in love.”
“Is he bitter about it?”
“I don’t think so, although I sense that he tries to be both mother and father to his son.”
“Be careful, sis. I’d hate to see you brokenhearted about this guy, but there’s a good possibility that you will be.”
She leaned back, closed her eyes and let the truth flow out of her. “A little over ten years ago, I thought I was in love, and I left myself open to a horrible disappointment. In ten years, I didn’t give a man a serious second look. Then, I saw Ashton Underwood leaning against that registration desk in the Willard Hotel. By the time he walked over to me, introduced himself and said, ‘I’m your escort for the evening,’ I was already a goner. That was then. The difference now is that I know why he poleaxed me and why he sometimes still does. He’s as deep inside of me as anybody will ever get. If he wants to walk, I’ll be miserable for the rest of my life, but I definitely won’t die over it.”
Miles looked toward the ceiling, frowned and an expression of pain drifted over his face. “You’re in love with the man, so instead of telling yourself how stoic you can be if he walks out on you, do what’s necessary to guarantee that he never leaves you no matter what happens.”
“How do I do that?”
“If a man gets what he needs from a woman, and I’m not talking about sex alone, he goes nowhere. Understanding, loyalty, camaraderie and genuine friendship keep a relationship going. If that isn’t working, sex will be the last thing on his mind. Be there when he needs you, and no matter how much you want a raise at that paper, never print anything that’s against his interest.”
“But it’s my duty as a reporter to report the news, and to do it honestly.”
“You may one day have a chance to decide what means most to you, your job or Ashton Underwood. I think I’ll turn in. What are we seeing tomorrow night?”
“‘Sound of the Trumpet.’ It got rave reviews.”
Miles yawned. “Great. This has been a delightful evening. See you in the morning.” He kissed her forehead, headed for the guest room and left her to contemplate what he’d said about Ashton and Ashton’s attitude toward her. It didn’t take a mind reader to know why he had never invited her to his home: he didn’t want his child to bond with her, because he didn’t think their relationship had a chance of being permanent.
Miles looked at the relationship from a man’s point of view; but from hers, she saw no reason why she should hang around waiting for Ashton Underwood to dump her. The thing for me to do is to develop an interest in another man.
The next morning, Saturday, after preparing breakfast for Miles and herself, Felicia got the papers at her front door and then sat down to eat. She gave Miles the paper for which she wrote, opened the Brooklyn Press as she did every morning, and turned to the column by Reese Hall, her principal competitor.
“What’s the matter?” Miles asked, and she realized that her eyes had widened and her lower lip sagged.
“Would you believe this? That man spent four hours here last evening and didn’t remember to tell me that he’d bought Skate newspapers. My paper is a Skate paper, and by damn, he knows it. This does it!”
Miles turned a page, picked up his coffee cup and took a long sip. “The man came to dinner. He wasn’t here to discuss business.”
She dropped the paper on the table and threw up her hands. “Business? The man’s now my boss. He should’ve told me.”
“And ruin his evening? Why would he do that? When did the deal go through?”
“Yesterday, according to this gossiping wench.”
Miles threw back his head and let the laughter pour out of him. “I’ll be damned. You pick up the paper, and the first thing you read is your rival’s column. I’ll never understand women.”
“You’ll understand them before I understand men, especially this one,” Felicia shot back at him.” She took the dishes to the kitchen, returned with the coffeepot and topped off their coffee. “And you can bet, brother dear, that I won’t be holding the bag this time.”
The following Monday morning, Ashton sat at his desk trying to figure out what he regarded as the cool reception he received from Felicia when he’d called to thank her for what he considered an unusually pleasant evening. Maybe she was reserved because her brother might have heard her end of the conversation. He hoped so. But shouldn’t she have called him back and explained?
“No point in creating a problem where there isn’t one,” he said to himself. A call from Ron Peters took his mind off the matter.
“Underwood speaking,” he said when Ron asked for him. “You’re punctual. That recommends a man to me. I’m planning to change the way my newspapers are delivered locally. I don’t promise anything, but I’d like to talk with you about it.”
“I thank you, Mr. Underwood, but could you give me a chance to go by Goodwill and see if I can pick up something to wear? I could do that this morning and see you this afternoon.”
He’d wanted to work out his plan that morning and discuss it with Damon in the afternoon, but the man didn’t want to walk into an office looking like a bum. He appreciated that. He gave Ron the address. “Try to get here by three.”
“I’ll be there, sir.”
He’d bought Skate newspapers at what he regarded as a bargain because management had allowed its sales and distribution systems to become outmoded. He intended to make changes right at the start.
Ron Peters arrived on time looking far better than expected considering his resources. After greeting the man, he told him about the distribution problem and that he intended to change it.
“The only way to distribute anything on a daily basis in a city like New York is to have your own trucks,” Ron said. “Distribution is different from the kind of service that UPS, Fedex and those guys offer. You gotta get those papers out in a hurricane, a snow storm, sleet, every kind of weather, and on Sunday and every holiday. To do that, you gotta have men responsible directly to you. Now, I’m not trying to tell you how to run your business, but I built my delivery service on the fact that distributors often disappointed the small businessman. You know what I’m saying?”
He did indeed. “And, Mr. Underwood,” Ron went on. “Those big trucks don’t hack it anymore, ’cause they can’t go everywhere. A good size minivan can go on any highway, over any bridge, or through any tunnel that takes a passenger car. So you save gas on two counts.”
Ashton studied the man for a few minutes. “Do you have a family?”
Ron shook his head, and his personality appeared deflated. “All that went down the drain when I lost everything else. I guess that part was my fault. You can’t be a man if you don’t have the price of an egg. We didn’t have children, so I told my wife to go back to her folks, and I guess she was glad to do it. She filed for divorce right away, and I didn’t contest it. I cashed my one Series E Bond, lived at the Y and hunted for work till my money ran out. You know the rest.”
“Then you can work in Philadelphia?”
He sat forward, his eyes lit up, and his entire body seemed primed for flight. “Mr. Underwood, I can work anywhere you got a job. I’m tired of living like an animal. I can do better if I just get a chance.”
“I believe you. Can you plan route patterns for newspaper drop-offs in New York City?”
“Yes, sir, from the Bronx to Staten Island, I know this city like the back of my hand. I’ve driven a taxi here, delivered for stores, you name it. I know this town. You just give me the addresses. Yes, sir, this is right up my alley. Yes, sir.”
Ashton called his secretary. “Find an office for Mr. Peters, please, and give him the list of the merchants that carry our papers.” He looked at Peters. “You’ll get eight-fifty a week to start, but you’ll soon be working directly on the distribution, and your salary will increase. Does that suit you? I suspect you’ll need a salary advance, too. I’ll see to it.”
Ron stared at Ashton. “Eight-fifty what?”
“Lord, yes to everything. I’m ready to work, provided I don’t pass out from shock.”
Ashton called Felicia. “Greetings, sweetheart,” he said, hoping to inveigle her into a loving mood. “Honey, you kind of left me hanging when I called you this morning. How’s Miles?”
“He’s dressing. We’re going downtown, and we won’t be back until after the show. He wants to visit the Pierpont Morgan Library and Museum.”
“I’ve been telling myself for years that I’m going there. Perhaps we can go together sometime.”
“Miles is ready to go, and he’s ready to bust out of his clothes if he has to wait. Talk with you later.”
“Hey, wait a minute. Don’t I get a kiss?” he said and, for once, it was a serious question.
She made the sound of a kiss. “’Bye.”
“Something is not right. She came damned close to giving me a cold shoulder,” he said out loud. “Just as I’m ready to commit fully to her, she let’s me know how foolish I am.” He sat there twirling a pencil and trying to figure out what had cooled off the hot woman who’d almost sent him into convulsions the night before in her slinky jumpsuit, spike-heeled sandals and teasing, unbound breasts, tidbits thrown at him in the presence of her big brother. “Look, and you can’t touch” was the message.
He couldn’t give up on that relationship easily, he knew, for he had invested too much of himself in her. He phoned Damon and got his brother’s approval on the arrangements he’d made and planned to make with Ron Peters. Then he called his grandfather, talked for a while and turned his attention back to his work.
“Here’re the morning papers, Mr. Underwood,” the messenger said. He opened the Brooklyn Press and thumbed through it. His gaze caught Reese’s column, a writer that he read only because she liked to take potshots at Felicia. But this time, he saw an announcement of his purchase of Skate newspapers. How had that leaked out so soon?
He snapped his fingers. So that was it. Felicia had also read the column, and she was angry because he hadn’t told her of the purchase. He slapped his forehead with his right hand. My Lord! I’m her boss. No wonder she’s irritated. He hadn’t thought about the purchase in connection with her; certainly he’d given no thought to the fact that he owned the company for which she worked. What a mess! He considered calling her back and thought better of it. She should have voiced her concern; besides, she had already left home.
Ashton’s failure to contact Felicia at that time proved to be a serious stumbling block in their relationship, for she had made up her mind to try and forget him by whatever means were available to her. A challenging means presented itself when she entered the Morgan mansion and Jeffrey Nash greeted Miles as only an old friend would.
After they threw high-fives and hugged each, Nash’s gaze fell on Felicia. “Man, this lovely must be your sister,” he said, “and thank God for that.”
He didn’t blot out the rest of the world as Ashton did, but the man was a number ten if she ever saw one. She extended her hand to accept his greeting, and wherever Jeffrey Nash had started now seemed unimportant in his scheme of things. He’d been on his way out of the building, but he now turned back and walked with them.
“You can’t imagine how pleased I am to meet you,” he said. “Miles and I have been tight since we roomed together in undergraduate school. I knew he had a sister, but he was careful not to tell me how beautiful she is. What do you do?”
“I write a column for the New York Evening Journal.”
He released a subdued whistle. “You’re that Felicia Parker? This is a pleasure.” He took her hand and held it as if they had been lovers for years.
He amused her, but at the same time, she appreciated the attention. “Jeffrey. You move faster than a stud missile. May I please have my hand back?” But at that moment, she targeted Jeffrey Nash as the man who would ease Ashton Underwood out of her thoughts. She appealed to Jeffrey, and his every move broadcast his intention to go after her. She didn’t consider how Miles would react to her plan.
As a first step, she didn’t answer Ashton’s telephone calls, believing that if she didn’t hear his voice or see him, she wouldn’t think of him. Instead, she allowed Jeffrey Nash to be her constant companion, taking her to dinner, meeting her at work, accompanying her on her reporting assignments, and taking her for long drives in Westchester and to whatever place she fancied. In spite of it, Ashton remained in her thoughts, although she smiled gaily as if her life had never been fuller or richer.
“I’m surprised at you,” Miles told her one evening in late May when they talked by phone. “You know you’re in love with Ashton Underwood, yet you’re letting Jeffrey fall for you. Why are you doing this?”
“I’m not seeing Ashton, because I won’t wait around until a man decides to dump me. Jeffrey cares a lot about me, and he’s fun to be with.”
“What? Underwood is in love with you…or was. If he’s got any sense, by now he’s taught himself to get over you. I never would have believed you’d throw away that relationship.”
“And I never would have believed he’d decide that I wasn’t good enough for him.”
“He didn’t say that. I should have kept my mouth shut. I was trying to help you cement that affair, but you decided it was easier to run away than to mold your relationship with him into something permanent. Did you at least break it off graciously?”
“I, uh…stopped answering or returning his calls and…and we just drifted apart.”
“He deserved better.”
“Yes, I know, but if I talked to him or saw him…I—”
“You wouldn’t have been able to go through with your stupid scheme, because you love Ashton Underwood, and he could change your mind at will. You’re going to regret this. Look, I know Jeffrey has always been a ladies’ man, and he probably deserves a couple of real hard knocks, considering how many he’s dished out, but you don’t have to be the woman to administer them.”
After she hung up, a sense of loneliness pervaded her. She’d lost points with Miles, and…she checked the caller ID and answered the phone. “Hi, Jeffrey.”
“Hi, sweetheart. It’s nice out. How about going down to the Vivian Beaumont Theater at Lincoln Center? I’ll get us some tickets. They’re doing Jean Paul Sartre’s ‘No Exit.’ I saw it once in Denmark years ago. It’s fabulous.”
“I’d love to, Jeffrey.” At least she wouldn’t be alone. “Are you wearing a jacket and tie?”
“Absolutely.”
She liked the play well enough, but the subject matter almost made her morose. Three people locked together for eternity—a lesbian, a nymphomaniac and a young but impotent man in a room that had no windows or doors. The lesbian wanted the nymphomaniac, and the nymphomaniac wanted the impotent man, who could do nothing for her. The play left Felicia badly in need of a pair of strong male arms.
“You’re not talking much,” Jeffrey said as they approached the building in which she lived.
“I guess that play made me sad.”
“Unrequited love is a painful thing,” he said. As usual he accompanied her to her apartment, and as she opened the door, he gazed down at her. “I want to come in with you.” She pushed the door open and closed it behind him.
“I can offer you coffee or a glass of white wine,” she said.
He shook his head, opened his arms and pulled her into his embrace. She put her hands on his shoulders to control the kiss, but he took charge of it, and within a few minutes fired her up as his hands roamed over her body, caressing and adoring her hips and breasts.
“Why not?” she said to herself. “If Ashton wanted me, he’d find a way to make things right.” Jeffrey Nash picked her up and carried her to her bed. He wasted no time undressing her, and putting her between the satin sheets, but when he began to undress himself, she sat up, repelled at the thought of what she was about to do.
“Jeffrey, I can’t. I’d give anything if I hadn’t let
it get this far, but I wanted to…I mean, I needed the affection. But I can’t do this, Jeffrey. Please forgive me. I’m so ashamed.”
He sat on the bed and looked at her. “For some reason, I’m not completely surprised. You’ve never opened yourself up to me. Something’s always been lacking. Who is he, Felicia?”
“I won’t cry. No matter how much this hurts, I am not going to cry,” she told herself.
“Who is he?” Jeffrey repeated when she hesitated.
“John Ashton Underwood.”
Jeffrey’s eyebrows shot up. “And you’re in love with him. You don’t have to confirm it. I know you are.” She nodded. He stood and began buttoning his shirt. “I’ll let myself out.” Halfway to her bedroom door, he turned. “I’m glad you didn’t go through with it. My feelings run deep, and I’d have known if you faked it. I wish you luck.”
She heard the front door close and fell over on her belly, mortified. How had she let herself think that she could let any man other that Ashton into her body? Yes, she needed love and affection, but not from Jeffrey, and she shouldn’t have misled him.
“I’m not going to beat myself to death about it,” she said out loud. “I learned a lesson that I won’t forget.” She showered, wrapped herself in a terry-cloth robe, went to the living room and watched late-night television until sleepiness sent her to bed. The next morning before leaving home, she telephoned the florist with whom she maintained an account and asked that she send Jeffrey a dozen white roses with a note that said “Thank you for understanding. Felicia.” It isn’t atonement for what I did, but he will know that I know I was wrong.
Little did Felicia know that her awkward behavior with Jeffrey would work in her favor. Ashton had known Jeffrey well since their days as undergraduates at Howard University, and receiving a phone call from Jeffrey did not surprise him. However, when Jeffrey asked to see him urgently and at his home, he hesitated.
“I gather this is important. Anything wrong, Jeff?”
Just the Man She Needs Page 15
