“Oh yeah,” Timberly continued, “I know all about your prestigious job out west, raking in big bucks approving research grants while your colleagues back home were actually saving lives. How you occasionally handed out band aids, but let your assistant handle anything more difficult. Then you married the little bitch. I suppose that keeps her quiet.”
“Leave my wife out of this,” Richard said.
“I know why you cut your hours at the clinic down to nothing,” Timberly plowed on. “Let’s face it, Dr. Dick, you can’t hack it. You never could. Hell, you didn’t even make it through residency without a malpractice suit. You’re nothing but a fucking failure.”
“That’s enough,” Richard said, stepping forward.
Timberly’s satisfied smile turned into a sneer. “Dr. Dick,” he said again, savoring the slur. “If you take my committee, I’ll make sure everyone thinks of you in that light.”
“Threats, Wes? Are you that afraid of me?”
Timberly’s eyes blazed. “I’m not afraid of anyone. But people who get in my way are sorry for it afterwards.”
The door to Mona’s office opened and Penny reappeared. She stopped dead, searching their faces as though sensing the tension.
“Uh . . . Mona can squeeze you in now, Dr. T. Go on in,” she said, her voice hushed.
Timberly barged between her and Richard, closing Mona’s door with a bang.
Penny studied Richard’s face. “Are you okay, Doc? You look kinda pale.”
“I’m fine,” Richard lied.
“What did he say to you?”
“Nothing. Nothing.” Richard forced a smile, not willing to let her see how shaken he really was. He backed toward the exit. “See you tomorrow night at the gala, right?”
Penny’s answering smile was wan. “Sure. Big night for you.” She cast a furtive glance at the closed door separating them from Timberly. “But don’t get in his way. He can be nasty. I’ve heard—”
“It’s okay,” Richard said. “I can take care of myself.”
Penny’s gaze remained on the closed door. “I sure hope so, Doc.”
Chapter 14
I awoke on my natal day with the mother of all headaches, and no clue as to where it came from. Though I’d been connecting with Grace, I hadn’t had a skullpounder in weeks. Invoking that empathic crap usually brought them on.
Staying in bed in hopes of escaping the pain had been futile. I tried meditating, using biofeedback techniques Krista and other non-traditional medical personnel had taught me. I was even tempted to take three of the little white pills from my last prescription. At least I didn’t have to be anywhere until evening, so I spent most of the day dozing in my darkened, silent bedroom.
The phone rang about five-thirty. I grabbed it to cut off its scream. “Hello, Jeff.”
I squinted at the clock. “Krista. I meant to call you sooner. I need a favor. Can you drive tonight?”
“No problem. You sound awful.”
“It hasn’t been a good day.”
“Stress induced headache?”
“Something like that.”
“I’ll be there around six-thirty. Sounds like you need one of my famous treatments.”
“Thanks. You talk to Grace? She called me yesterday. Said—”
“Everything’s fine,” Krista assured me. “I’ll explain later. See you in a while.”
I hung up the phone, hauled myself out of bed, and headed for the shower. I propped myself against the wall and stayed under the hot spray until it went tepid.
When the rented tux came out of the closet, Herschel appeared from his hiding place to shed cat hair on the pants and jacket. Even the little plastic bag the studs came in didn’t escape his claws and teeth.
Krista arrived at six-forty. By six forty-five, she had me in a hypnotic trance, which considerably eased the ache in my skull, but left me feeling like an anesthetized zombie. Getting through the evening would be a feat of endurance.
Richard had just pulled the Lincoln out of the garage as we trundled down the stairs to Krista’s car. “See you there,” he said and waved as he started down the drive.
Krista reached for my hand, looking beautiful in a midnight-blue sequined sheath. She was dressed to kill, looking good enough to take to the Oscars—not some dreary hospital banquet.
I almost forgot I didn’t like her.
Krista started her Lexus and pulled out of the drive. I leaned back against the headrest and closed my eyes.
“You said you talked to Grace,” I reminded her.
“Oh, yes, she’s fine.”
I turned my head to look at Krista. “She didn’t sound fine the last time I talked to her.”
“Her little crisis had blown over by the time I got back to her.”
Krista’s patronizing tone bugged me.
“Does she have a lot of petty crises?”
Krista sighed, her voice pained. “On a daily basis.”
Compassion certainly wasn’t Krista’s strong suit. But Grace was no longer my problem. Having been dismissed by her was my ticket to freedom, and I intended to savor it.
We spent the rest of the drive in disinterested silence.
Krista drove up the Park Club’s circular drive, stopping in front of the entrance. The uniformed valet parking attendant opened her door and held out a hand for her keys.
“Nice,” she said, taking in the structure’s stucco and timber, mock-Tudor facade. She didn’t wait for me and charged up the concrete steps.
After a stop at the coat check, we found ourselves standing outside the main ballroom, with its heavy paneled doors thrown open. Richard and Brenda were already there, checking in at the reception table. Again Krista took the lead and we joined them.
“You got here quick,” Richard said. There was an unfamiliar excitement in his voice. Nervous about finding out if he got the job, I supposed.
Brenda looked elegant in a dark-pink sequined jacket over a lighter pink dress. She took my hand, giving me a quick kiss. “Happy Birthday,” she whispered in my ear, then pulled back. “I noticed you never opened the drapes today and figured you weren’t feeling well.” She frowned, giving my fingers a squeeze. “I can see I was right.”
“I’m better now. Have you met Krista?”
Brenda stepped back, her smile tight. She offered her hand. “Dr. Marsh.”
She didn’t like Krista, either. It was probably a woman thing.
Richard handed us pre-printed nametags. “Come on. I want to introduce you to a few people.”
We followed in his wake, joining a knot of men and women loitering on the other side of the marble-tiled lobby. Krista seemed to know the most of the crowd, her eyes alight with pleasure, obviously in her element.
Richard pushed me forward. “I’d like you all to meet my brother, Jeff Resnick.” Was there actually pride in his voice?
It was handshake city and, for Richard’s sake, I couldn’t afford to offend anyone. Before I’d even touched them, I sensed the weight of their accumulated emotional baggage.
“Dr. Fred Morris,” Richard said. “He heads the blood bank.”
“Nice to meet you,” I said.
Our hands clasped; his shoes pinched.
“My wife, Marian.”
My fingers curled around hers. She fretted over their young son, home with a babysitter and covered in chicken pox. Her husband had insisted they use the expensive, tax-deductible tickets.
“Hi,” I managed.
“Dr. Helen Preston.”
I hitched in a breath. Credit card debt kept her up nights.
“And Dr. Leon Galric.”
A jolt went up my arm as we shook. The good doctor suffered in silence with another bout of diverticulitis.
Krista’s eyes glowed with enthusiasm; she jumped into the conversation. I stepped back, barely able to breathe from running the gauntlet. If we could just make it to the table, maybe I wouldn’t have to meet anyone else—experience their highs and, more likely, their lows.
Brenda’s expression darkened. Her head snapped around, all her senses on red alert. Another black-tuxedoed party-goer, face fixed in an arrogant sneer, strutted up.
Krista hugged the newcomer like an old friend. “Wes, great to see you.”
I looked from Brenda to Richard. Their features had hardened into suppressed irritation. “Wes” planted his hands in his trouser pockets.
“Wes,” Richard said, his voice drained of warmth. “You know my wife, Brenda.” The man nodded, barely acknowledging her presence. “And this is my brother, Jeff Resnick. Jeff, Wes Timberly.”
Timberly sized me up, never taking his hands from his pockets. I gave a curt nod. No way did I want to touch someone who exuded such negative vibes.
“Are you here stag, Wes?” Dr. Galric asked.
“My wife couldn’t make it. Migraine,” he explained.
Lucky her, I thought. Meanwhile, my head throbbed. I gritted my teeth, praying for deliverance, when suddenly a familiar, calming presence enveloped me—a balm of serenity that had so often soothed my jagged nerves.
Maggie stood in the foyer, dressed to the nines in a tight red silk dress, four-inch heels, her hair in a French twist. I fought the urge to run to her, suppressing it by remembering the ugly scene of rejection in my apartment just two weeks before.
Inching closer to Krista, I put my arm around her waist, drew her close, catching the scent of her perfume. Jasmine again? My gut tightened, anxiety snaking through me. Krista kept chatting with Timberly, oblivious to my move.
Maggie and her ex-fiancé Doug had to pass right by us to get to the club’s regular dining room.
Richard followed my stare and turned, delight brightening his features. “Maggie! Great to see you.” Or was he just glad to get rid of Timberly, who sauntered off.
Maggie’s smile was tentative. “Hello, Richard, Brenda.” She looked straight through me to Krista. “Jeff.”
“Hey, Maggs.”
She’d lost weight. Shadows under her eyes weren’t quite hidden by the carefully applied make-up. We were still in sync. Her attraction to me remained strong. Though I caught a wave of jealousy aimed at Krista, Maggie’s arm wound tighter around Doug’s.
She’d made her choice.
“This is Doug Mallon, CEO at Mallon Printing,” Maggie said. “They just opened a new facility in Tonawanda.”
Like any of us cared.
Mallon was maybe five years older than me—taller, too. His dark, three piece, pin-striped suit didn’t hide his athletic build. The diamond tack that punctured his silk tie would probably cost me a week’s pay.
Doug looked down his nose at me. His icy stare could’ve flayed me—like Timberly had tried to do to Richard.
My gaze didn’t waver; he was the first to look away.
After Maggie introduced the rest of us to her date, her attention returned to Krista. “And you are?”
Krista reached over to shake her hand. “Dr. Krista Marsh. I’ve heard so much about you. Nice to meet you.”
Heard about Maggie? From whom?
Maggie’s eyes widened. Cat fight! Brenda must not have told her I’d been seeing someone else. A smile tugged at my lips. It had been weeks since I’d felt in control.
Maggie eyed the ballroom beyond us packed with people in formal wear. “Some party. Quite a way to celebrate your birthday, Jeff.”
“It’s your birthday?” Krista echoed, delighted. “Why didn’t you tell me, you bad boy.” She sidled closer and pressed her lips against mine. Not a bad show.
Maggie bristled. “If you’ll excuse us, we have dinner reservations.”
Mallon patted her arm. “Yes. Come along, dear.”
Dear? How pedestrian. She’d been my lady. The other half of my soul.
Maggie’s smile looked strained. She walked away, tearing my heart apart.
“Jesus,” I breathed, the ache in my skull rising to new heights.
“Are you okay?” Richard asked, almost his old, concerned self.
I cleared my throat, forced a smile. “Could we go in and sit down?”
Richard walked the opened bottle of Beaujolais around the table, pouring it into everyone’s glasses. Jeff put a hand over the top of his, shaking his head. Richard shrugged, skipping Brenda’s glass, too.
“A toast,” Fred Morris said, lifting his stemware. “Here’s hoping you’re named head of the capital campaign.”
Richard returned to his seat as everyone lifted their glasses. Jeff and Brenda toasted with ice water.
Krista sipped her wine. “I wasn’t aware you were up for the job. Isn’t that Wes Timberly’s committee?”
One of the waitresses placed baskets of rolls and butter on the table.
“Yes,” Richard answered, setting his glass back down. Based on the length of their conversation in the lobby, he guessed Wes and Krista were friends. She’d only been on staff a year or so. He could forgive her naiveté where Timberly was concerned. She probably hadn’t yet been screwed by him—literally or figuratively.
“Should you get the job,” Krista said, “does it mean you’d have a say where the money is distributed?”
“The board makes those decisions. I suppose if I felt some area needed funds I could campaign for it.”
Krista raised an eyebrow.
Helen Preston launched into a tirade about how badly the hospital’s contract employees cleaned the admin offices, giving Richard time to study the others at the table. A distracted Marian Morris glanced at her watch for the tenth time. Her husband gave her an annoyed glare. All the non-staffers—Brenda and Jeff included—looked like they’d prefer to be anywhere else.
He and Brenda were now on speaking terms, but things were still cool between them. By Monday she’d be over it. Jeff looked downright ill, but he’d made the effort to be there, and that counted for something.
Richard tried to feign interest as Helen rattled on but found his attention straying. Timberly sat at the far side of the next table—too close for comfort. Surely when the announcement came Timberly wouldn’t cause a fuss. No, that would come later. First, insidious innuendo. Would he use Brenda, Jeff, or Richard’s mother as ammunition? Or would he go straight for the jugular?
Brenda played with a roll on her plate, while Jeff’s blank stare stayed focused on the pristine tablecloth. They, and their reputations, were safe, for tonight at least. But it wouldn’t hurt for Richard to voice his concerns about Timberly to Mona . . . although not just yet. Hell, old Wes could’ve been bluffing when he spoke of revenge. Yet both Jared Crain’s and Penny’s warnings came back to him.
Watch your back.
Richard caught sight of Timberly, staring daggers at him. He raised his glass in salute.
Timberly turned away.
Jeff must’ve watched the interplay. His gaze intent on Timberly’s back, he gasped, a shadow darkening his eyes, then looked over at Richard. He leaned back in his chair, motioning Richard closer, then bent down, clasping the back of Brenda’s chair for support.
“That guy—” Jeff indicated Timberly, “hates your guts. Did you steal his Tinker Toys?”
Richard eyed Timberly. “Not yet.”
Jeff glanced around the room. “Whatever’s going down, everybody’s on your side—not his. They want to see the bastard fry.”
Richard didn’t comment. It was too complicated.
“Just out of curiosity, did you ever tell Krista about Maggie?”
Richard frowned. “No. Why?”
Jeff waved it off and sat back in his chair, pale and sweating. That little bit of insight on Timberly had cost him. What else was he being bombarded with?
Richard tapped Brenda’s shoulder, leaning close to speak quietly. “Can you look after Jeff tonight?”
She gave him a quizzical look. “Will you trust me not to run off with him?”
Richard frowned. “He brought a date.”
“Well, then you’re safe.”
He stared at her. The corners of her mouth struggled
to contain a smile.
Brenda glanced over at Krista, who was engaged in animated conversation with Fred Morris, then turned back. “But I agree with you. The lady shrink seems interested in anything but her date.” She shrugged. “And between the attention I’m getting from the two of you, I can see I’m going to have a rip-roaring evening, too.”
Richard leaned closer, dropped his voice to a whisper. “Toronto. Next weekend. A play. Shopping at The Bay.”
“Dinner at Angelo’s?” Brenda suggested.
“All the garlic you can stand.”
Her smile’s wattage increased. “You’ve got a deal.”
“One might think you were easily bribed.”
Brenda pinched his cheek, like his grandmother had done decades before. “Only by you, my sweet, only by you.”
The food wasn’t bad for banquet fare—steamship round and all the accoutrements. But I had no appetite, pushing my plate away after only a few bites.
Weird thoughts flitted through my mind—there one moment, gone the next. It made concentrating on the conversations crisscrossing the table impossible, the voices merging into an incessant buzz. Someone would speak to me; I’d look at them in confusion. Brenda covered for me, but Richard’s friends and colleagues were sure to think I was a moron. Krista, who’d embarked on a one-woman campaign of blatant self-promotion, either didn’t notice or ignored my distress.
The catering staff cleared the table before the speeches began. The master of ceremonies, a balding portly man nearly bursting the seams of this tux, introduced Mona Humphrey. Her snowy hair blazed under the white hot spot, her voice droned on and on until the words became a din. I applauded when appropriate, taking my cues from others at the table.
The Foundation’s director called several people to join her at the podium—new committee chairs, I guessed, and each gave an impromptu speech. Finally, she called Richard’s name. The applause was thunderous. I rolled my eyes to the left and saw Timberly’s jaw tighten; he clapped, albeit slowly.
Bound by Suggestion Page 16
