“Thank you, Doctor.” I stand, shake his hand. “I have a lot to think about.”
On the way back to the mansion, I mull over what he said. At work, Sterling has his computer, his assistants, his reading machine. And at home, he has me to take care of whatever he needs. Read, talk, make love. I’d solved all his vision problems for him which means for him to regain his sight—
I’ll need to leave him.
Something seizes inside of me, a pain the likes of which I felt only once before. The day my mother died. The day I lost her. And now? Now I’ll lose Sterling as well.
During the next few days, I devise a plan sure to cause an unsurmountable rift between us. It needs to be unfixable because otherwise he’d find a way to keep me by his side. On Friday, when he arrives home from work and before dinner is served I ask to talk to him.
Stepping into his office, the place where I first met him, he pulls me into him, kisses me. “Ummm, I needed that after the day I’ve had.”
For a second, I’m tempted to ask him what happened, but that won’t do. Taking a deep breath, I say the words that can never, ever be taken back. “I’m leaving.”
His brow wrinkles. “Leaving. Where are you going?”
“New York.”
He shakes his head as if he can’t quite comprehend what I’m saying. “Going shopping for the weekend?”
“No. I’m moving there.”
The smile I love so much disappears. “What the hell are you talking about?”
“Stu, my boyfriend—”
“You don’t have a boyfriend.” He spits out through clenched teeth.
He’s right. But I can’t let him know. “Yes. I do. We never broke up. He found a job for me in New York City. Junior Financial Analyst in an investment firm. I start on Monday.”
He doesn’t say anything, just stands there, nailed to the spot. His shoulders slump, the light dims in his beautiful eyes. Oh, God. I’ve hurt him. So much. Tears well in my eyes, but I can’t let on. I need to be strong, stronger than I’ve been my whole life. “I’ll need the rest of the money you owe me. I wrote a check for that amount.”
That old gaze of his resurfaces. The one filled with anger and disdain. The one he wore when I first started working for him. “Damn you. I believed you. I believed in you.”
My heart bleeds for him, for me. But I can’t break down in front of him. “The check’s on the desk. All you have to do is sign it.” I put a pen in his hand, guide him to the signature line on the check. He scribbles his name. It’s messy but readable.
“Thank you, Sterling.” Wanting one last kiss, I step toward him.
But he jerks back away from me. “Take your money and leave. You’ve earned it. I just didn’t know I was paying for the services of a whore.”
With tears streaming down my face, I run out of the office. Moseley, who’s probably heard the argument, stands by the front door. “Ms. Bennett. You’re leaving?”
“Yes. I must. Take care of him, Moseley. He’ll need you now more than ever.”
“I will. For what it’s worth, you were good for him.”
“And now I’ve hurt him. So much.” Angrily, I swipe at my tears.
“Moseley.” Sterling’s scream reaches us all the way from his office.
I drop my head as the tears flow down my cheeks. I can’t bear the pain.
“Go, Miss. I’ll handle it.”
“You always do.” I kiss him on the cheek and march out the mansion’s front door one last time toward the taxi waiting for me.
Chapter 18
______________
Sterling
“YOU’VE CHANGED YOUR MIND about the surgery?” Dr. Testa asks.
“Yes.” It took but a week after Caitlyn left for me to come to my senses. With her gone, I find my life infinitely more difficult. She’d become not only my personal assistant but the way I viewed the world. Except it had all been a lie, hadn’t it? She stayed with me only until a job she trained for came through. And I fell for her subterfuge like the idiot I am.
“Good. We should schedule it as soon as possible.”
“The stockholders’ meeting is this Friday. Other than that, my schedule’s clear. Just let me know the date.”
After a series of tests and the usual pre-surgery procedures, the surgery is scheduled for the following week. At home, I enjoy one last dinner. Alone.
“Surgery’s tomorrow,” I say to Moseley.
“Yes, Sir. The staff and I wish you a successful surgery and a speedy recovery.”
“Several nurses will be here for the first few days.” I’ll get round-the-clock care for three days and then only one will remain here and others on call. To help me acclimate to total blindness.
“I’ve made arrangements. The room next to yours will be available for their supplies and such. And, of course, the staff will cooperate as much as they can.”
“Thank you, Moseley. That will be all.” He leaves me alone in the dining room. I glance toward the chair where she sat recalling so many of our conversations. The way she spoke, her scent, the noises she made when she ate. She made me believe that she was good and kind when in reality she was like everyone else, a liar. I miss her, even though she wasn’t real. Even though she was a damn liar.
Next morning the staff lines up in the corridor to wish me good luck. At the head of it, of course, is Moseley. I shake his hand. “Thank you, for everything.”
The trip to the hospital is both too fast and too slow. But in reality it’s accomplished in less than an hour. The hospital is one of the best, not only in the East Coast, but the entire United States. And Dr. Testa is a world renowned eye surgeon. I’m truly in the best of care. Although the surgery takes several hours, unconscious as I am, for me it goes by in a flash. Late in the evening, I regain consciousness to find my temple and eyes wrapped in thick bandages. Total darkness surrounds me, but thankfully, I’m not alone.
“Good evening, Sterling,” Dr. Testa says.
Still groggy from the medication and disoriented from the lack of light, I don’t have much to say. “How did it go?”
“There was more extensive damage than we expected.”
My stomach plummets. “Will I gain more sight?” I’m not even asking for full vision, just something, anything to ward off the total darkness. I don’t want to be alone in the dark.
“Only time will tell, but I’m . . . hopeful.”
Hopeful, a lie to feed a blind man.
Forty eight hours later, I’m home, surrounded by a trio of nurses who make sure I eat and urinate. Within a day they have me walking and going to the bathroom. There they leave me alone. Good thing because I sure as hell don’t want to depend on them to pee. They hand me a cane, but I surprise them when I move around my room knowing exactly where everything is without bumping into anything.
A week later, at my first doctor’s appointment, the bandages come off. While they apply some liquid to my eyes, I keep them closed, but light filters through my eyelids which gives me hope.
“Slowly now, open your eyes,” Dr. Testa says.
I do, but a stab of light makes me shut them again.”
“Try again.”
I don’t know how to open my eyes slowly so I raise my hand and cover them to ward against the harsh light. When pain stabs again, I shut them.
“Again, Sterling.”
In fits and starts, I open and close my eyes, until finally, finally I can leave them open. And everything becomes clear to me. Dr. Testa, his nurse holding a bottle in her hand. The tray tables, old-fashioned eye chart.
“Well?” Dr. Testa asks.
“I can see!” A wave of emotion rolls over me and my eyes cloud with tears. “I can see.”
“Splendid!” Dr. Testa says a big smile on his face. “We don’t want to tax your vision, so we’ll cover your eyes with a temporary bandage.”
“I need to see.” I hate that I sound so desperate.
“You are, Sterling. But you have to give your eyes
time to heal. Wear the bandage two hours on, two hours off. If your eyes start to hurt, put the bandage back on and call me.”
“Okay.”
I follow his instructions to the letter. The following week he prescribes special glasses which will help filter the light. I must wear them all the time, but at least I don’t have to wear the blasted bandage anymore. Over the next month, he allows me to read for an hour a day while cautioning me against over exerting my eyes. Although the surgery’s a success, I could easily slide back.
Within three months, he approves my previous activities. But cautions me against hazardous sports. “We had to construct new eye sockets for you, my friend,” he says squeezing my shoulder. “We wouldn’t want all that beautiful work of mine to be destroyed. Eh?”
I laugh. “No, we wouldn’t.” No more stock car racing or rock climbing for me.
That night, I think about how much I’ve gained. Caitlyn is only a distant memory, except at night when I slip into bed. Even though it’s not possible, I can still smell her scent.
Chapter 19
______________
Caitlyn
SIX MONTHS IN THE BIG APPLE and I still miss D.C. Don’t get me wrong. I love New York City but I also yearn for the sight of the Washington monument, the Capitol, the White House. This year for the first time, I didn’t get to see the Cherry Blossoms bloom. Even when my mom was ill, we’d travel down to the Tidal Basin to enjoy them from the car.
But most of all I miss him. Sterling. How did he get to be such a huge part of my life in a couple of months? I still crave him with every bit of my heart and soul. But I burned that bridge when I walked out on him. Not that there was a choice. His dependence on me prompted him to reject the surgery which would give him his eyesight back. So the only thing I could do was leave.
The money I earned as personal assistant to Sterling lasted only long enough to pay a deposit and two months’ rent on an apartment share situation on the East End and buy new furniture for my bedroom. Once I settled in, I pounded the pavement until I found a position at an investment company through a friend of a college friend. The pay’s not spectacular, but it pays the rent and a portion of my mom’s medical bills. It’s going to take longer to pay them off than I expected, but I don’t regret incurring that debt.
A rat a tat tat tat on the edge of my cubicle interrupts my train of thought. Claudia, another junior financial analyst who shares the space next to mine, rapping on the partition we share. “You ready for the big party tonight?” We’ve become friends of sorts, a strange thing given the high level of competition at this investment firm.
“As ready as I’ll ever be.” At least, thanks to Sterling, I won’t have to worry about what to wear. The evening gowns I bought with his ‘wardrobe stipend’ have been hanging in my closet since I moved to New York. Either of the two fancy dresses I own is more than appropriate for a charity ball.
“Everyone who’s anybody will be there. Great opportunity to snag a prospect or two.” Our firm regularly buys tables at charity events, mainly to strike up conversations with the well to do. After all, it’s the wealthy that tend to attend these events.
“You do realize this is a charity event?” The Carmela Navone Foundation, a charity that devotes its efforts toward finding cures for eye diseases and research, is presenting an award to the Ophthalmologist of the Year, Dr. Marcello Testa. He’s the reason I asked for one of the extra tickets our firm was giving away. I don’t normally attend these charity functions, but I couldn’t pass up the chance to talk to Dr. Testa. I hope I can bring up the subject of Sterling MacKay and find out how he’s doing. From the newspaper accounts, I know the surgery was successful and Sterling regained a great deal of his eyesight, but Dr. Testa would assure me the change is permanent and not temporary, something I worry about.
“It’s also a great opportunity to network,” she says.
“If you say so.” I don’t have the killer instinct that Claudia has. She’s next in line for a senior financial analyst position and she’ll get it too. I, on the other hand, can’t generate enough excitement about the stocks I analyze. Somehow it seems obscene to study pharmaceutical stocks to determine their price/earnings ratio. I’d rather analyze how their products benefit mankind. Maybe I’m just not cut out for this.
“See you then.” She marches back to her side of the cubicle leaving me once again alone with my thoughts. This job isn’t working out. At my six-month evaluation, I expect to be let go.
At five o’clock, I shut down my computer and head out. The dinner starts promptly at eight. That will leave me three hours to shower and dress. In truth I’ll only need one of those hours, but I still have to travel by cab to the Waldorf Astoria where the affair’s to be held. I arrive in plenty of time, hand over my wrap to the check-out girl and locate the table assigned to our investment firm.
Looking for Claudia, I spot her at the far end of the room near one of the cocktail stations, talking to an older couple. Her animation and excitement’s clear. With her focus on the man, she seems to miss the woman’s signals, who’s hopping from foot to foot, probably uncomfortable in her heels. Done with her spiel, Claudia retrieves a business card and hands it to the man with a dazzling smile. The female half of the couple snatches it from his hand and drops it into her clutch purse which she then closes with a decided snap. Before Claudia can say anything else, the woman hauls the man to a nearby table where she drops into a chair with a sigh of relief. Something tells me Claudia failed to convince that particular couple to invest with us.
When she sees me, she makes a beeline in my direction. “Where have you been? It’s almost dinner time.”
“It’s just going on eight. Doesn’t dinner start now?”
“Yes, but cocktails have been going on since seven. I’ve already talked to several prospects. Like that hunk of dynamite.” She waves at a spectacled thirty-something mild-mannered looking man dressed in an ill-fitting business suit who nods back.
“Who’s that?”
“That, my dear Caitlyn, is Bernard Swanson, the latest addition to the billionaires’ club. He founded the latest social media craze, “HookUps.”
“What on earth is that?”
“A social networking site. You type in your requirements and it will hook you up with someone within a twenty-five mile radius who meets your qualifications.”
“So it’s a dating site?”
“No. This is just for hookups.”
“You mean for people who only want sex?”
“You got it, cupcake.”
“Uggh. And people sign up for this?”
“By the millions.”
The bell dings and somebody announces that the guests should take their seats because dinner will soon be served. I grab my glass of Chardonnay, but somehow lose Claudia in the crowd until we meet again at our table.
The broiled chicken with the sage bechamel rub is to die for and so is the asparagus and the parmesan truffle fries. After the decadent New York cheesecake with orchard fruit sorbet dessert is served and enjoyed, the awards ceremony begins. The charity executive director announces the speaker who will introduce Dr. Testa. When she does, my heart skips a beat.
Sterling MacKay, walking without so much as a stutter step to the podium, dressed in a gorgeous tuxedo, his beautiful dark hair tamed for once and those gorgeous gray eyes which saw little more than shadows crinkling at the corners as he reaches out to clasp the director’s hand.
I choke back a sob. He can truly see.
His introduction covers Dr. Testa’s qualifications and his innovative treatments and surgeries. But it’s only when he relates his experience at the hands of the esteemed physician that he touches the hearts of those present. He explains how he came to lose most of his vision and how dark his world became. But then Dr. Testa worked a miracle. By performing a risky operation, he gave him back his sight. After his speech, there isn’t a dry eye in the house. Even Claudia is touched. When Dr. Testa comes to the podium, t
he two men hug. And for a second, you can see how close they’ve become. They’re much more than doctor and patient; they have truly become friends.
After dinner, the band hired for the evening strikes up and the dancing begins. Some of my dinner mates join other guests on the floor, but Claudia goes trolling for business once again. I keep my eye on Dr. Testa, who’s being swarmed by good wishers. When the crowd dissipates, I head for him. I’ve seen the proof of Sterling MacKay’s sight, but I want to know it’s permanent and that there’s no chance he will lose his sight again. Once Dr. Testa reassures me, I’ll head home knowing that I did what I had to do even if it cost me the love of my life.
Chapter 20
______________
Sterling
AFTER DINNER, the editor of the charity’s newsletter pulls me aside to interview me. Obviously, the organization knows my story, but they’d like to do a lengthy piece on me. So I follow her to a private alcove she’s commandeered where the interview will take place. For the next fifteen minutes I reveal the most painful events surrounding my accident, my months of darkness. And my decision to undergo the surgery. How I’d worn bandages after the surgery during which I didn’t have even the shadows to guide me. For one week, I’d existed in stygian hell, totally dependent on those around me for everything, from eating to getting dressed.
But it had been worth it in the end. When Dr. Testa removed the bandages, I’d finally been able to see, even if it was only the inside of his office, his nurse, him. But it had been more than enough. It had taken weeks of wearing special glasses while my eyes accustomed themselves to the light, and more weeks of wearing lighter tints until finally I needed no glasses at all. My eyesight’s not perfect. I’ll never regain 20/20 vision, but 20/40 is darn close. I’m grateful for every second of every day that I have my sight back. My only regret is I wish I could see—
Cait.
I don’t share that last tidbit with the reporter, of course. After I’m done with my tale, she thanks me and leaves, probably eager to transcribe her notes and write her article. Journalists are always under one deadline or another. Her eagerness, her enthusiasm reminds me of the one woman in my life who managed to get under my skin.
Up Close and Personal Page 10
