by Leanne Banks
“Wow,” Tia said. “Why’d he do that? You’re pretty for an older lady. You got it going on.”
Erika groaned at the reference to age. “Thanks, I think. Why’d he dump me? I guess he didn’t think I was the right woman for him.”
Tia swore again. “You should teach him a lesson. Go get you another man. A better man.”
“Yeah,” Erika said, thinking she’d been trying to do that for a year now.
An hour later Erika walked into the Park Slope brownstone she owned and immediately stepped out of her shoes and into her bunny slippers. She looked down at the pink furry footwear and smiled. They always made her smile.
Making a mental promise to wash the clothes in her gym bag, she left the bag in the hallway and headed for the kitchen as she glanced through her mail. Bills, bills…She paused at the postcard that featured a Caribbean cruise and felt a longing for hot weather, sunshine, an icy margarita and the sound of steel-drum music.
Sighing, she dismissed the mini fantasy and used her remote to turn on the sound of Alicia Keys while she poured herself a glass of red wine. She picked up her phone and listened to her messages.
The first was from one of her best friends, inviting her to visit a trendy new bar. The second was her mother checking on her. Erika bit her lip in response to that. Her mother had called her at a weak moment and Erika had told her too much about the results of her doctor’s visit. The third message was from Doug. Doug the dud, she added. A nice enough guy. He was just so boring.
The call-waiting beeped as she listened to his message and she automatically picked up. “Hello?”
“Erika, I wondered when I would hear your live voice again. How are you, sweetheart?”
Her mother. Erika winced. “I’m sorry, Mom. I’ve been very busy at work and I took on a mentoring project with an inner-city teenager. How are you? How’s bridge?”
“Your father and I came in second last night. We host tomorrow night. What is this about mentoring an inner-city teenager? Darling, you don’t really think that will take the place of having your own child, do you?”
Erika’s chest twisted. “No, but it’s a good use of my energy right now.”
“Honey, if you would just make a little effort and be more open-minded, I know you could find a man in no time. Then you could have both the husband and the baby you want.”
Erika squeezed her forehead. “I’ll make a deal with you, Mom. I’ll go out with two men next week if you stop asking me about this for the next week.”
“I’m just thinking of your well-being. You’ve al ways wanted children.”
“I know.”
“You just kept putting it off,” her mother added.
“Mom,” she said, and Erika couldn’t keep the warning note from seeping into her voice.
Her mother sighed. “Okay. Two dates, two men next week. I’ll say a prayer and make a wish on a star.”
Erika felt her heart soften. Her mother did love her. She just felt the need to interfere sometimes. “I love you. Have fun tomorrow night.”
Clicking off the phone, she set it down and smiled, picturing her parents and the house in Indiana she’d left behind when she moved to attend college in the East.
The town of her childhood had often felt sleepy to her, the pace hadn’t been fast enough. She’d wanted more excitement, more action, more challenge.
She remembered the smell of the cholesterol-laden, but delicious home-cooked meals that had greeted her every time she returned home, and the scent of chocolate chip cookies every time she left again.
She remembered making crafts with her mother on rainy days and the countless times her mother had sat with Erika while she’d done her homework. Her father had taught her to play basketball and encouraged her to relish her height instead of being afraid of it.
She’d always known she had the best parents in the world. She’d also always known that she would need to leave in order to really fly.
And she’d certainly learned to fly. At least professionally. In the back of her mind, she’d had a mental plan. Graduate from college, get on a career track that would take her to the top and along the way she would squeeze in finding a husband and having a baby.
Before she’d even graduated from college, Erika had wanted a child, but she’d told herself not to get caught in the trap of getting married and having a baby before establishing her career. It was all about discipline, she’d said, but many times she felt a strong longing on rainy days to make crafts with a child of her own, to nurture and love a human being and experience the wonder of helping a little someone become the very best person they could be.
Her work was exciting and rewarding, but part of her remained untouched. Part of her longed for something that work couldn’t fulfill.
Sighing, she opened her eyes and pulled a sheet of paper from the wooden file she kept for mail. She glanced at the medical report again and sighed. Endometriosis. That was why she’d had such terrible cramps. That was why her fertility was headed into the toilet. That was why she would consider having a baby without a husband.
Two
A t precisely five thirty-one in the afternoon, Erika heard a knock at her office door. Her stomach dipped, but she ignored the sensation. Today she hadn’t kicked off her shoes below her desk. Nope, today she wore high-heel boots that brashly flaunted her five-foot-nine-inch height and a black suit with a crisp white blouse. Today she was prepared.
She strode to her door and opened it, spotting Gannon lifting his hand for another knock. He was still too damn tall. She would need stilts to meet him eye to eye. Dressed in a black wool suit with a faint blue stripe, he would leave quivering females in his wake wherever he went—the elevator, his office, the street. Erika imagined women all over the office melting into the carpet.
His green gaze flicked over her, then he looked into her eyes for an assessing second. When he’d taken the time, he’d always been able to read her. Better not to let him see too much, she thought.
“Come in,” she said and returned to stand behind her desk. She liked having a large wooden object between her and Gannon. At that moment she wished her desk was a little bigger, perhaps boat-sized. “How are you?”
“Fine, and you?” he asked, moving the folder he held into his other hand.
“Good, thank you.” Pleasantries over. “I’ve thought about your offer. I loved working at Pulse. It was the most challenging and creative job I’ve ever had. I loved the fast pace. I loved working with such sharp minds.” She paused and took a quick breath and reminded her self she was doing this for her sanity. “But I’m very happy and productive where I am right now. I have an excellent rapport with everyone who works for me. It’s a warm atmosphere and it works for me.”
He remained silent.
Poo. He was going to force her to say the words. She would have much preferred doing this via e-mail or fax. “So thank you very much for your wonderful offer. While I’m tempted, I’m going to decline.”
He looked at her for a long moment and gave a slow nod. He moved closer to the desk and picked up her half-full mug. “The job you have at HomeStyle is like hot chocolate with marshmallows. It’s nice. It’s comfortable. A few challenges every now and then. You have to choose whether to feature needlepoint or knitting, find new crafts for Valentine’s Day, a decor for spring.”
Erika felt defensive. “You’re right. Making marsh mallow bunnies isn’t going to rock the world. It’s just going to make it a little nicer, a little more comforting.”
“As I said, this job is hot chocolate. The problem, Erika, is you had the best whiskey in the world at Pulse. You know what it’s like to come to work knowing you’ll get an adrenaline rush. That the story you tell and the way you tell it could rock the world. Underneath the hot chocolate with marshmallows and bunny slippers is a world-rocker. You can fight it all you want, but you and I both know it’s in you.”
The challenge in his eyes made something inside her sizzle and pop. She hated tha
t he knew her so well. She hated that he’d known her so well and left her so completely, but she wouldn’t tell him that was the reason she wouldn’t return to Pulse.
“I want you to reconsider,” he said.
She swallowed a groan. She’d really had to pump herself up for this. “I’ve given your offer a lot of consideration. You have my answer.”
His lips turned up slightly in a grin she’d seen be fore. A grin that signaled Gannon was in for a battle, determined to win. A grin that scared the life out of her. “Your answer isn’t acceptable to me. I want you to re consider. My father does, too.”
Oh great, she thought wryly. Two Elliotts teaming up against her. “I’m very happy here.”
“We’ll make sure you’re happy at Pulse.” He laid the folder he’d held during their discussion on the desk and flipped it open. “How would you like to do this story?”
Erika saw photos of babies and her heart stopped. She bent down to look at the copy. “Making the Perfect Baby: The New World of Genetic Manipulation,” she read and looked at him.
He smiled. “I knew that would get your attention. You always loved the combination of science and human interest. Cover story with your name on the front. That’s the kind of story that could win awards. Rock the world.”
Gazing at the photos of the beautiful sweet faces of the babies, she swallowed over the lump in her throat. Did he know how much she wanted a baby? How could he know? They’d never discussed it.
She took a shallow breath and forced herself to smile. “Very tempting, but I’ve given you my answer.”
He paused just a second, as if she’d surprised him. “Okay. You don’t mind looking over the story and giving me your thoughts, do you? Think about it and I’ll drop by on Wednesday.”
The trendy new cocktail bar, the Randy Martini, was packed with twenty- and thirty-something Manhattanites testing the wild, extensive menu of over a hundred martinis. It took two and a half martinis for Erika’s best friends, Jessica and Paula, to get Erika to confess what had her so distracted. “I want to have a baby and my gynecologist told me I need to do it soon or maybe not at all.”
“That stinks,” Jessica said and patted Erika’s hand.
“Maybe you could get a dog or a cat,” Paula suggested.
Erika shook her head. “I want a baby, not a canine or feline.”
Paula lifted her own martini in salute. “You might change your mind when the kid hits puberty or when you start shelling out the green for college.”
Erika shook her head again. “Even though I’ve been career-oriented, I always knew I wanted to have a child.”
“You could wait until you find Mr. Right and try adopting, although I hear that can take forever,” Jessica said. “Any Mr. Rights on the horizon?”
An image of Gannon slipped into her mind. She immediately stamped it out. “No.”
Jessica made a face. “I guess you could go the insemination route.”
Paula looked horrified. “Get pregnant without being able to blame it on a man for the rest of your life?”
“It could be fun,” Jessica said.
“For whom?” Paula asked. “Erika grows to the size of a beached whale, then gives birth to something that looks like a screaming pink alien.”
“You have no maternal instincts,” Jessica said. “It could be fun for you and me. We could throw her a shower and go to those labor classes with her. We could even go in the delivery room with her.”
“Speak for yourself,” Paula said.
“And we could be aunties,” Jessica said with a smile. “I’m liking this idea. I’ll even go with you to a sperm clinic, Erika.”
“I hadn’t considered anonymous insemination,” Erika said. “I have this fear that they would give me the wrong vial and I’d end up with a crazy man’s sperm.”
“They probably toss the crazy sperm,” Jessica said.
“But how do you know what you’re getting?” Erika mused.
“You don’t,” Paula said. “Unless you do a genetic study or at least get a look at all the guy’s siblings and parents…and aunts and uncles and cousins and grand parents.”
Erika thought of the Elliotts. Now that was an awe some gene pool. “It would be great if I could choose.”
“Yeah,” Jessica said as she sipped her drink. “We could start with that blond guy by the bar with the buff bod.”
“And what if he’s dumb as a bag of hair?” Paula asked.
“We can put intelligence on the list, but that guy looks good enough that he could make millions by being a model and then retire in leisure.”
“What list?” Erika asked, feeling a little blurry from the alcohol.
“We’re making a list of sperm-donor requirements. Play along,” Jessica said firmly. She pulled a pen from her purse and shook the dampness out of a cocktail nap kin. “We’re doing this for the sake of your future child.”
“I would want intelligence,” Erika said, allowing herself to be drawn into the ridiculous discussion. “Good looks aren’t enough.”
“I agree,” Paula said. “And no terrible diseases or addictions.”
“Excellent points,” Erika said.
“You’ve already got the height factor covered,” Jessica said.
“No shrimps,” Paula interjected. “He doesn’t need to be the height of a pro basketball player, but definitely over six feet, right?”
“Right,” Erika agreed. “And a sense of humor. Is that genetic?”
“Lack of it can be,” Paula said and waved for the waiter. “Three death-by-chocolate martinis.”
“Chocolate?” Erika echoed. “I’m on my third.”
“No meal is complete without chocolate,” Paula said.
“I didn’t think martinis constituted a meal,” Erika said.
“Sure they do,” she said, pointing to her glass. “Celery’s a vegetable, isn’t it? Cream cheese inside the olive counts as protein, and appletini provides the fruit.”
“Back to the list,” Jessica prompted. “Do you have a strong preference for hair or eye color?”
“No back hair,” Paula said.
“I’ll second that,” Erika said, amazed at how much this ridiculous conversation was reducing her stress level. “I prefer dark hair.”
“Eye color?”
“Green, if possible.” Why not go for the whole shebang, she thought.
“Okay,” Jessica said and nodded at the waiter as he delivered their chocolate martinis. “We have our assignment now. Each of us is to keep our eyes open for a father for Erika’s baby. A tall, intelligent man with dark hair and green eyes. Healthy, no addictions. He must have a sense of humor.”
“And what are we supposed to do once we find this specimen?” Paula asked.
“That’s easy,” Jessica said with a scoff. “Ask him to donate some sperm to Erika.”
Erika choked on her sip of chocolate martini. “He’ll think you’re crazy.”
Jessica shook her head. “That’s why he needs a sense of humor.”
The following morning Erika awakened late, feeling as if a truck had run over her. Thank goodness she didn’t have any appointments this morning. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d had a hangover. Oh, wait, yes she could. It was last year when Gannon had broken up with her. The bad thing about having a mad, passionate affair with her boss was that she hadn’t been able to tell a soul, not even Paula or Jessica.
Keeping the secret had intensified everything about her relationship with Gannon. The highs, the lows, the ending. She kept telling herself that if she’d been able to talk with her friends about him, he wouldn’t have affected her so much. Unfortunately part of her remained unconvinced.
Her phone rang, the sound of it reverberating pain fully in her brain. She snatched it from the cradle. “Hello.”
“Erika, this is Cammie. Are you okay?”
“I’m fine,” she reassured her. “Since I didn’t have any appointments scheduled this morning, I decided to come in a
little later.”
“That’s fine,” Cammie said. “Except Gannon Elliott has called twice asking for you.”
Darn. “Just tell him I’ll get back to him this after noon.”
“I think he wanted you to sit in on a luncheon meeting.”
“For what?” Erika asked, immediately feeling suspicious.
“He didn’t tell me.”
Erika sighed. “I’ll call him in a few minutes.” Frowning, she turned on her coffeemaker while she jumped in the shower. Skipping the blow-dry, she smoothed on some hair-wax stuff her stylist had given her and pulled her hair into a low ponytail. She applied some makeup, pulled on a don’t-mess-with-me black trouser suit and a pair of boots, grabbed her coffee and coat and walked out her door, glowering as she hailed a cab.
As she scooted into the taxi, she called his office number by rote. One more thing to irritate her. She needed to forget him. “Erika Layven, returning Gannon Elliott’s call,” she said to his assistant.
“I’ll put you right through.”
“Hello, Erika. I wondered where you were,” Gannon said in a deep voice that slid through her like warm whiskey.
“I understand you wanted me to attend a luncheon appointment. My afternoon is crammed. What did you have in mind?”
“We’re having a luncheon meeting at Pulse. The subject for the article I gave you is on the agenda. Love to have you there. I think your input would be invaluable.”
Erika thought again of the article outline he’d left for her. The subject fascinated her. She’d peeked at it at least a half dozen times after he’d left her office. Temptation slid through her like an evil serpent. “I don’t know. Like I said, I’m very busy this afternoon.”
“You could scoot out after the discussion about the article,” he suggested.
He made it too easy. “Okay. As long as you under stand that I’m staying at HomeStyle.”
“Great. I’ll see you at noon,” he told her.
Erika walked into the Pulse meeting room a few minutes early. Furnished with a large wooden table set with seven lunch boxes from a local deli-bakery, the room emitted a let’s-get-busy feeling.
