by Francis Ray
“Cute kid.” Helen reached toward Manda.
Manda burrowed against Madison at the same time Madison stepped back. The hatred that flashed across Helen’s face had Madison wanting to step back farther. “She’s shy. Good-bye, Helen.” Madison hurried to the front door, her skin prickling with unease.
After a glance at the readout on her pager, Camille ignored the vibration of her beeper. She had nothing to say to Gordon. And if he thought he was getting her into bed tonight or any other night, he was very much mistaken.
Leaving the courthouse, she slipped into her car just as the meter clicked off. The case she was slated to testify in had been canceled. The defendant’s lawyer had said he hadn’t had enough time to prepare his client’s case. Six months was more than enough, but by getting a contingency, the bruises on his wife’s face would be less noticeable. Thank goodness the children were in foster care. The wife, however, kept going back.
Camille’s temper kicked up a notch when she thought of the woman’s battered face in the emergency room last night, of her sticking to her pitiful story that she had tripped in the dark. An imbecile could tell that was a lie. All the time her husband, who outweighed her by seventy-five pounds, watched her with cold eyes that promised retribution if she didn’t lie to keep his sorry butt out of jail.
And people wondered why she didn’t give, why she pushed.
Turning up the air-conditioning to full-blast, she drove down the side street then made a U-turn onto Commerce, heading for her office on Central Expressway. She was too keyed-up and too angry to do a home visit. There was always paperwork at her office.
Downtown traffic snarled. Pedestrians jaywalked. City buses pulled in front of cars with only the briefest signal. Everything was normal. Sighing, she glanced over and saw a sign on the specialty-store glass window that caused her to perk up. LAST CALL.
Clicking on her signal, she ignored the blast of the car horn behind her until she could pull into the far left lane and the store’s parking lot. She considered it a stroke of good fortune when the attendant put up a LOT FULL sign behind her car. Finally, something was going right in her day.
Madison couldn’t shut her mind off. The more she tried, the more Zachary’s face intruded. In the backseat next to her Manda sat quietly in her car seat with one tiny arm circling the neck of her teddy bear as the limo crept through the heavy downtown traffic toward Central Expressway.
Her silence added to Madison’s worries.
Manda was usually a whirlwind of action and loved to try to talk. Today had been different. Intuitively she had picked up on Madison’s growing discontent. It made no difference if Madison smiled or not, Manda seemed to know if her heart was in it.
She had to snap out of it. But how? Looking out the window, she saw the LAST CALL sign and considered the possibilities. It had been a long time since she had indulged in a frantic search through racks or on tables for the deal of a lifetime. With her six-figure salary she had the money to buy what she wanted, but her time was at a premium; that was why she had Cindi. But if she went home now, what would she do?
Think of Zachary and mope.
Leaning over, she hit the intercom. “Stanley, pull over.”
Madison knew exactly where she wanted to shop first. Ladies’ Shoes, located on the first floor. Manolo Blahnik wouldn’t be on sale, but it wouldn’t hurt to look at the latest style of the most coveted shoe of women today.
As expected, the area was a beehive of activity. LAST CALL sales at Neiman Marcus always were. Salespersons rushed to and fro with boxes of shoes, women sat in comfortable leather chairs or waited at the pickup area for shoes already purchased during the presale. Madison hefted Manda in her arms.
She’d left her bag and the carriage in the limo because she’d known how congested the area would be. Her platinum card tucked in the pocket of her double-breasted navy blazer was all she needed. She kissed Manda on the cheek.
“First lesson in shopping. Shoes can make or break an outfit and, despite what some people say, a black, white, or bone shoe does not go with everything.”
Madison picked up a mauve, hand-crafted leather shoe with narrow stripes of leather over the toe and around the ankle. “Now, this is a shoe.” Sexy. That was the only word for the Manolo Blahnik. Seven hundred ninety-five dollars and worth every penny … if a woman wanted to impress the right man or indulge herself. Since Madison wanted to do neither, she replaced the shoe on the elongated rosewood table and headed for the sales rack. She might have money, but she had enough of her mother in her to keep an eye out for a bargain.
While Madison was looking, Manda promptly pulled a shoe from the upright rack. By the time Madison had that one out of her hand and back on the rack, she had grabbed another. This time Madison stepped out of the aisle of shoes. “Mustn’t touch, sweetheart.”
Not wanting to give Manda another chance to get any shoes, but just as reluctant not to place the shoe back where it belonged, Madison tried to figure out what to do.
“I’ll put it back for you.”
Madison turned toward the softly spoken voice, words of thanks forming on her tongue until she saw the social worker. She hesitated, then held out the shoe. “Thank you.”
Taking the shoe, Camille replaced it on the rack and walked around to the other side. Madison could go upstairs to the children’s department as she’d planned, or she could do something else her mother had taught her. “Ms. Jacobs, can I please speak with you?”
Camille stared at the Ferragamo slingback pump in her hand a moment longer, then put the pewter-colored shoe back. “What about?”
The woman wasn’t going to make this easy for Madison and she couldn’t blame her. “My behavior in my office earlier. Perhaps we can find a seat by the espresso bar.”
“All right.”
Madison made her way to the cozy area tucked between the escalator and the cases of rich and exclusive chocolates. Sitting on the three-foot-high stool, she pushed the napkin holder out of Manda’s reach. The baby promptly began slapping her hand against the smooth surface of the small round table. “She likes to pretend she’s a drummer,” Madison said indulgently.
“Children should be allowed to express themselves.”
Madison almost sighed. The words were stiff and formal. “I overreacted in my office and I apologize. It wasn’t your fault, but you took the fall out. I don’t want you to write in your report that I’m difficult.”
“Are you apologizing so you’ll look better in my report?”
“I’m apologizing because I was wrong,” she told her, her voice barely short of snapping. Her eyes closed. “Sorry.”
“You want to talk about it?” Camille asked softly.
Zachary’s name almost tumbled out of her mouth. “No.”
Shrewd eyes measured her. “Would it have anything to do with Mr. Holman?”
Madison straightened with a desperate look on her face. She barely kept from spluttering. “Why do you say that?”
Camille pulled the chain strap of the Prada bag from her shoulder and placed the lavender quilted leather bag on the round table. “Perhaps because when I mentioned his name earlier you got the same shell-shocked look you have in your eyes now.”
“He’s just a friend,” Madison said, and felt her face heat. A kiss from a friend did not make your body burn with heat and desire.
Camille folded her hands and placed them beside her bag. “People who were in a happy marriage are far more likely to enter into a relationship quicker after losing a partner than those who were unhappy.”
“I have no intention of entering into a relationship with Zachary or anyone else,” Madison told her, her irritation growing. “Why do you insist on thinking there is something between Zachary and me?”
“Perhaps because I look at you and see me. Perhaps because I know what it is to have mixed feelings about a man and not know what to do about them,” Camille told her.
“Gordon,” Madison guessed.
C
amille’s sigh was long-suffering. “For the first time in years I’ve met a man I could really care about, but he could also hurt me.”
Madison shifted Manda on her leg. “Gordon’s my friend and boss. Why would you tell me something like that?”
“If I expect you to trust me. I have to be honest with you.” She brushed her hair behind her ear. “Besides, talking helps and I was hoping that we could be friends.”
Madison wanted to talk with someone. But there were secrets she couldn’t share with Manda’s caseworker. “Is that possible given the circumstances?”
“We could try,” Camille suggested, her willingness obvious by the burgeoning smile on her face.
Madison realized the decision was hers. Wasn’t it about time she took the next step in taking control of her life again? And that meant friends. “So, I gather you’re upset with Gordon.”
Camille’s pleasant expression vanished. “I met him after I left your office, and he immediately assumed the worse of me.”
“I’m sorry. That’s my fault,” Madison said, trying to help Gordon out. He obviously cared about Camille. “I treated you badly—”
Camille interrupted with her upraised hand. “No matter what, he should have known I would never treat a client unfairly. I was doing just fine before he pushed his way into my life. Why do men always make life so complicated?”
“Why do we let them?” Madison asked with a twist of her lips.
“Touché.”
“Can I get you ladies anything?” asked the smiling young waiter as he came up to their table.
Camille propped her elbows on the table and rested her chin on her folded hands. “What do you have that’s superhigh in calories, and decadent? Preferably with chocolate and strawberries.”
His smile broadened. “Chocolate supreme. A double chocolate brownie topped with freshly made ice cream, slivers of chocolate, and strawberries.”
“I’ll have that.”
“Make that two. Bring the baby a bowl of vanilla yogurt,” Madison said. The women looked at each other and smiled. The next best thing to shopping when it came to getting over your blues was indulging yourself with mounds of calories.
In less than a minute their orders were sitting before them. The two-inch-thick brownie was at least five inches across and piled nearly as high with toppings. Manda reached with both hands for the strawberry on top that was as big as her fist. Madison deftly moved the dessert aside and gave the baby yogurt instead.
“Very well done,” Camille said, taking a bite and moaning in pleasure. “Good stuff. Push her bowl over and I’ll help feed her. That way you’ll get a chance to eat.”
Madison gave Manda another bite. “Thanks, but I’m not sure if she’ll let you feed her.”
“As long as you’re holding her, it shouldn’t be a problem.” Camille held her hand out. “You or Mr. Holman won’t be able to be with her all the time.”
Madison handed the other woman the spoon. Manda looked at Camille, then back at Madison. “It’s all right, sweetheart. I’m not going anyplace.”
Manda inched forward and opened her mouth wide to receive the yogurt. Both women grinned as the baby smacked her lips. Between the two of them they managed to eat and feed Manda. Madison didn’t know if it was the chocolate high that loosened her tongue or brain freeze from the ice cream that made her say, “Zachary bothers me. I mean, he doesn’t bother me … you know what I mean.”
Camille licked her spoon elegantly. “You’re preaching to the choir.”
Madison scrunched up her nose. “It’s so annoying. Why did things have to change? There’s enough going on in my life right now.” She wiped Manda’s sticky hands.
“Life seldom takes a full schedule or being inconvenienced into consideration,” Camille said philosophically. “I’m breaking my date with Gordon tonight, but if I know him, he’ll be banging on my door anyway. That’s one man who can’t take no, and I’m not all that sure how long I’ll be able to keep saying no if he gets too close.”
Madison knew exactly what she meant. Hadn’t she been hiding from Zachary because she was too scared to find out where their attraction might lead? “Zachary can be pushy, too. He’s coming over tonight.” She grimaced, then straightened, a small grin curving her mouth. “You know, I think we should forget about them for one night and do something for ourselves.”
Camille pushed her empty dish aside. “I’m listening.”
Louis almost had the information he needed. Calling and trying to speak to Velma Taylor. certainly hadn’t worked. She’d refused to talk to him. Now the old bat wouldn’t even take his calls. That grated on Louis most of all. Everyone took his calls. He’d even tried using other names and disguising his voice, but the results were the same. She’d hang up on him. He’d have to go in person and catch her off-guard. He had his story ready.
Annoyed, he stood and began to pace. The damn president of the Chicago station was breathing down his neck for a decision. If Madison wasn’t going to sign, they needed to start looking for someone else. Louis had felt like going though the phone and giving the bastard a hard kick to the balls. The prick had promised they’d hold off on a decision. It might be a scare tactic, but he wasn’t taking any chances. He wasn’t losing out on the money.
Just this week a manufacturer of baby furniture had called to inquire about Manda doing commercials for them. With all the baby stuff out there, the kid might be worth almost as much as Madison. Too much money was involved for Madison to mess this up for him.
“Southwest Airline Flight 102 for Amarillo is now ready to board.”
Louis picked up his briefcase and watched passengers rush to the three boarding sections. His displeasure inched up a knot. The damn airline didn’t even have first class or seating assignments. He wasn’t used to waiting and hadn’t flown coach in fifteen years. And just as bad was the ban on smoking in the entire airport. For all his inconveniences someone was going to pay a high price.
He’d considered hiring someone, but he’d known too many occasions when confidentiality was tossed aside for the right price. He had to get the information himself. Passengers jostled him trying to board the aircraft. His aggravation turned to anger. With all he had to endure, the old lady better not give him any guff. He wanted proof that Wes was the kid’s father, then he was going to nail Madison to the wall.
Louis walked out of Amarillo International Airport at 7:50 P.M. and hailed a cab. He had exactly one hour to get what he needed and get back for his 8:50 flight back to Dallas. The last one of the night. There was no way he was staying in this hick town overnight.
Puffing on his cigar, he got into the backseat of the cab and gave the address of the nursing home. His fake beard itched, but he didn’t dare scratch it. He wanted to do nothing that would attract attention. He was just another Westerner going to visit a relative. He’d dressed the part in denim, boots, and straw hat. He’d thought of everything.
Zachary thought he was prepared for anything when he arrived at Madison’s house that night, but quickly found he was wrong when she met him at the door with a cordial greeting, acting as if she didn’t have a care in the world. Passing Manda to him, she politely informed him she was going to a movie with a girlfriend. A few minutes later, she went out the door with a wave.
Despite it being intrusive and nosy, he went to the window just in time to see her get inside a late-model Lexus. He recognized the driver as Camille Jacobs. Seems they had patched up their problems. Too bad he and Madison couldn’t do the same.
Cordon’s fingers and knuckles were sore from ringing the unanswered doorbell and rapping on Camille’s door. She either wasn’t going to answer or she wasn’t in. Either way, it peeved him. It was almost eight. They had a seven-thirty date to go to the ballpark for a Rangers baseball game. Even if she’d left a message on his answering machine at home and called his office to cancel, wasn’t there an unwritten rule that you weren’t supposed to cancel without giving the other person at least eight h
ours notice?
Hands deep in his pocket, grumbling every step of the way, Gordon went to his car. If he was dateless, someone was giving him an explanation. Madison might be calm enough by now to tell him what happened at the station with Camille. At least he’d have something to go on if she ever talked to him again.
He arrived at Madison’s house twenty-one minutes later. “What do you mean, they went to a movie?”
“Just that.” Zachary leaned back on the leather seat in the den. “They’re doing fine without us.”
Gordon said one explicit word under his breath, then glanced guiltily around the room.
“She’s asleep,” Zachary said, picking up a deck of cards from the coffee table. “You want to play a game until they get back?”
Unknotting his tie, Gordon pulled off his jacket and took a seat. “Deal.”
Louis paid the cab with rumpled five and tens, and waited on his chance. The nursing home was a single-story nondescript beige building. Adjusting his hat, he went inside. Thanks to his inquiry about placing his grandmother there with her “good friend” Velma Taylor, he knew the layout and where the Taylor woman’s room was located.
In less than a minute, he stood in front of Velma Taylor’s door. Checking the hall, he entered. The only light in the room came from the eighteen-inch color TV in the far corner of the room. A small woman lay in bed with her eyes closed, her eyeglasses askew on her face. Louis wasn’t a man to lose an opportunity. Silently he crept to the nightstand and inched open the drawer. He pounced on the worn Bible, then slung it back. Manda’s birth was recorded there, but the space for the father’s name was blank.
Finding nothing about Manda or her mother besides pictures and some worthless old Mother’s Day and birthday cards they’d sent, he went to the double dresser which proved just as futile. Frustrated, he shoved the drawer back more forcefully than he had intended.
