It was early Saturday morning and Alicia was already doing laps in the pool. Although never a hardcore exercise person before being diagnosed with MS, Alicia hadn’t sat around on her butt doing nothing, either. She’d practiced yoga, pilates and tai chi. Now she modified them for her condition. Luckily for her she didn’t have to change her other physical activities, walking and swimming. Swimming was Alicia’s favorite form of exercise. There was an indoor pool in town for the colder months, but the idea of wearing a bathing suit in front of that many people had never appealed to her. Besides, Alicia reveled in the time she spent swimming in her own pool far away from prying eyes.
As Harrison sat in a lounge chair nearby as the de facto lifeguard on duty, Nathaniel walked over.
“Good morning, Harry, my man.”
He looked up. “Good morning, Nate. What has you up this early on a Saturday morning?”
“I took Rocky and Bull for a walk. Don’t worry, they were on a leash.” He studied the pool more closely. “I see the lady of the manor is taking a dip this morning.”
“Yes.”
“I didn’t think she was allowed to take her clothes off.” He chuckled.
Harrison didn’t answer.
Nathaniel watched for a few minutes. “Wow. How many laps does she do?”
“Sixteen. She does four laps each of the breast stroke, butterfly, back stroke and freestyle.”
“Impressive.”
Before Nathaniel could get another word out Alicia emerged from the pool in a red crisscross one-piece suit with a little retro sweetheart neckline that showed off her assets nicely in a “less is much more” way. Nathaniel couldn’t take his eyes off her.
Harrison handed her a towel and she covered up quickly.
“Thanks. Good morning, Mr. Becker.”
He was still speechless.
“Mr. Becker? One of your rottweilers got your tongue?”
“No, I just assumed you swam fully clothed.”
Harrison cleared his throat to keep from laughing. Alicia glared at him.
“Very funny,” she said dryly.
Harrison composed himself. “Will Kurt be joining us for breakfast?”
“I’m not sure. He didn’t say what time he was coming up.”
“How is your son? I haven’t seen him in ages.”
“He’s great. Thanks for asking.”
“Maybe I’ll see him around.”
“Maybe.” She paused. “Okay, Harrison, I think we should let Mr. Becker get back to whatever.”
“I wasn’t doing anything.”
“Well, I wouldn’t fret. It’s Saturday. I’m sure one of your playmates will show up once the morning cartoon shows wrap up.”
Covering his mouth, Harrison chuckled.
“Touché.” Nathaniel smiled.
Satisfied that she’d gotten the last word, Alicia turned toward the house. “I’d better get going if I want to be ready when Kurt gets here. Have a nice day, Mr. Becker.”
“You too, Ms. Archer. I’ll see you around, Harry.”
“Later, Nate.”
Harrison was close behind Alicia as she headed inside.
“Is Lauren coming over today?” Harrison asked as he opened the sliding doors.
“I doubt it. If she had her way she’s in the midst of a long love hangover.”
* * *
The morning sun shone on Lauren’s face and she slowly opened her eyes. “Oh, it hurts to blink,” she groaned as she shielded her eyes. The night before was a blur with the exception of her massive headache. If I never hear the words “pomegranate martini” again it will be too soon. God, my head is pounding. As she began to scan her bedroom, she noticed her clothes were strewn about.
She sat up slightly. “What the devil?” She looked under the covers and discovered she was nude. I never sleep in the buff. A feeling of dread came over her. What did I do? Oh, my God! Lauren panicked. “Get it together, girl,” she said aloud. I was drunk. I probably just took my clothes off and crawled into bed, that’s all, she rationalized.
“You’re up.”
Lauren grabbed the covers. “Yeah. I’m up.” She tried to play it off.
Randy had a tray in his hands. “How’s your head feel?”
“It feels like it weighs a ton.” She fidgeted. Oh, my God. I can’t believe I have to play it cool like I’m not totally freaked out he’s here.
“Four pomegranate martinis will do that to you. Try this. It might help.”
She looked at the tray with eggs Benedict with hollandaise, Canadian bacon, whole-wheat toast and orange juice. “You made all of this? I didn’t think I had anything for a PB & J sandwich, let alone all of this.”
“You didn’t have anything in the kitchen. I made a couple of calls for ingredients and voila, I made breakfast.” He put the tray down on her lap.
“Thank you. It beats hair of the dog.”
“Those hangover cures never work. The best thing to do is to eat. Eggs contain an amino acid called cysteine, which steps up liver function and will help your body to break down the alcohol toxins faster.”
“Wow. You’re a regular Iron Chef meets Good Eats meets Bill Nye, the science guy.” She smiled.
He laughed. “Maybe so. I learned all about hangover cures in culinary school.”
“So you were a party guy in college.”
“Let’s just say I was a very popular quarters player in those days.”
She laughed, even though her head still hurt. “You make it sound like a lifetime ago.”
“Now that I’m over forty it seems like it.”
“You’re only as old as you feel.” She grabbed her head. “Oh boy,” she groaned.
“Eat your eggs before they get cold.”
Lauren relaxed enough to eat, but not so much that it loosened the sheet wrapped around her.
He looked at his watch. “I’d better get going. I’ve got to head to the restaurant.”
“Okay. Thanks again for breakfast. It’s great.”
“I’m glad. Just so you know, I cleaned up after myself in the kitchen.”
“That’s really nice of you but if you didn’t notice, my kitchen doesn’t get much use.”
“This from the producer of a cooking/lifestyle show,” he joked.
“Alicia is the one with the apron.”
He smiled.
Maybe nothing happened last night after all, she began to think.
He came closer to her. “Pardon me for a minute.” He put the tray on the floor and then he leaned over and kissed her. A jolt of electricity surged through her body and curled her toes. There was no doubt she and Randy had done more than exchange recipes the night before. “I’ll call you later.”
“Mmm hmm,” she muttered, still in shock.
The sound of the door closing unlocked Lauren’s memory of the night before. She remembered how it felt to run her hands from Randy’s broad shoulders to the small of his back, the feel of his lips as he kissed every inch of her skin. Her heart pounded at the memory of the two of them locked in seamless pure passion. “Oh, my God, not only did I sleep with him, it was amazing!” She stopped to think. “Now what happens?” She finished her gourmet breakfast and headed for the bathroom. She planned to answer that question, but she wouldn’t do it alone.
* * *
Gabby was already out and about on Saturday morning to check out some of New York’s street artists who displayed their talents in and around Central Park. Dressed casually in jeans and a denim shirt with her blonde hair in a ponytail, she strolled leisurely through the outdoor gallery of artists without a thought to time or schedules. It was a far cry from the way she used to spend her weekends.
Once upon a time she had been a busy wife and mother splitting her weekends between her son Ian’s lacrosse matches, daughter Lizzie’s equestrian events and husband Bill Van Essen’s busy social calendar. For all appearances the Van Essen family was the epitome of an upscale Norman Rockwell painting. When Gabby met Bill he was an in
tern at her father’s advertising firm. Bill was a Nordic god with his tall, trim build, blue eyes and blond hair. After he worked up the nerve to ask the boss’s daughter out, they dated for a little less than a year before he popped the question. Her mother Bunny was over the moon, thinking that Gabby had hit the jackpot. Bill had the right pedigree and his family was connected. However, while the Van Essen family represented an old money name, the family’s fortune had gone the way of the horse and buggy two generations prior, so it was Bill who hit pay dirt.
After a lavish wedding with a veritable who’s who of the social register, Bill became an associate at the agency, and Gabby put her art history degree on the shelf to raise a family on Long Island’s north shore. To everyone it appeared they had a lock on the perfect life. But life inside of the bubble was far different. Although Bill eventually earned a partnership in the firm, his role at the firm was that of the schmoozer; he wined, dined and got potential clients to sign on the dotted line, usually with his beautiful wife on his arm. A lot of women would have enjoyed being a part of their husband’s business life, but Gabby always felt that she was trapped in a sixties time warp, where women were expected to look the part of the perfect mate and never open their mouths.
Gabby struggled not to gain weight so she could be the perfect Barbie to Bill’s Ken. Even though Gabby liked her curvy body, they had an image to uphold as the golden couple. Despite their carefully maintained façade, eventually she and Bill grew apart and lived separate lives that only intersected for the children’s sake. Once Lizzie went off to Dartmouth, Bill announced he wasn’t in love anymore. Yet in spite of this declaration he was still very much in love with the lifestyle being married to a Blanchard afforded him. Unfortunately for Bill, the Blanchard family attorneys made sure he was a lot less comfortable.
On the positive side the divorce allowed Gabby to start her life anew at forty-plus. She sold her place on Long Island, bought an Upper East Side townhouse and put her art degree and the cache of her maiden name to good use as the curator of the Blanchard Gallery. Best of all and much to her mother’s chagrin, she got her voluptuous size sixteen body back, along with the freedom to do what she pleased on her Saturday mornings.
“Gabby?”
Surprised to hear her name, Gabby turned around.
It was Nigel Clark and he wasn’t wearing an Italian suit. He looked quite yummy in jeans and a fitted Polo shirt that drew attention to his toned arms and chest.
“Nigel. How nice to see you again.” They shook hands.
“Fancy meeting you here, Gabby. Are you out looking for undiscovered talent?”
“Sort of,” she said as she brushed her bangs from her eyes. “I like to get out of the gallery to see how new artists are pushing the boundaries.”
He seemed impressed. “That’s nice to hear.”
“Not all of us live in an ivory gallery,” she said jokingly.
He laughed. “Do you mind if I join you?”
“Not at all.”
They started walking together.
“So you’re in my exhibition but I don’t know much about you. Tell me a little about yourself.”
He paused for a moment. “I’m not sure there’s that much to tell.”
“Humor me.” She smiled like a schoolgirl.
“Well, for starters I’m an investment banker at Longford and Lowe.”
“Wow.” Color me surprised.
“Does that make me a bit strange?”
“Actually, it makes you an anomaly. Most of my artists take the starving part quite literally.”
“If it hadn’t have been for my parents, I might be one of them, too.”
“How did they feel about art?”
“They didn’t have any problems with me picking up a brush, but they told me I’d better have a day job to buy my supplies.”
“Smart people, your parents.”
“I know. What about you? What’s your medium?”
“I wish I had the kind of talent it takes to create art.” She paused. “You know the saying those who can, do, those who can’t, teach?”
“Yes.”
“In my case it’s those who can’t do either help those who can.”
“Your eye for talented artists is reflected in the gallery.”
“I chose you, didn’t I?” She grinned.
“While I believe that attests to your good taste,” he joked, “the fact is I’ve been to several exhibitions and I’ve always felt that way about your gallery.”
How in the hell did I miss him? “Thank you, Nigel.”
They were coming upon another row of artists. “It looks like we’ve hit the mother lode. Do you mind if I continue with you?”
“Not at all.”
The two went off at a leisurely pace until they were engulfed by a sea of people, only they didn’t seem to notice. It was as if they were the only two people in the world, which was pretty amazing, considering they were in the middle of Central Park on a beautiful Saturday.
Chapter 4
Harrison finished setting the table for lunch while Alicia finished making one of Kurt’s favorite dishes, seafood jambalaya.
Harrison took a whiff. “Mmm, it smells good in here.”
“Thanks.” She looked at the clock. “Kurt should be here any time now.”
Before he could open his mouth, the doorbell rang. Besides his father’s good looks, Kurt had also inherited his knack for losing keys. Alicia had given him several keys over the years and he’d managed to lose every set. So he rang the bell like any other guest.
“I rest my case.” She smiled as she removed her apron. “Just a minute!” She rushed to the door. There stood Kurt Jr., a carbon copy of his father with his light skin, soft curly hair and bright green eyes. At six feet, five inches, he towered over Alicia.
“Hey there, gorgeous.” She lit up.
“Hey, Mom.” He hugged her.
“I’m so glad you’re here.” Alicia had her eyes closed and imagined him as a baby for a moment.
“Is that jambalaya I smell?”
Alicia grinned. As tall as he is, he’s still my baby. “Yes, it is.”
“You didn’t have to make anything special for me, Mom.” He put his arm around her and they began walking to the kitchen.
“I didn’t. I just happened to have the ingredients in the house.”
“If you believe that I have a bridge in Brooklyn to sell you,” Harrison piped in.
“Hey, Mr. H.” They hugged. “I guess Mom had you running to the store.”
“Yes, but I was happy to do it. You know your mom loves to spoil you.”
“Ahem. I am still in the room.”
“We know, Mom.” He kissed her cheek. “I’m glad I didn’t eat breakfast.” He rubbed his stomach.
“Now you know you shouldn’t skip breakfast. It’s the most important meal of the day.”
“I know, Mom. But I was in a hurry this morning.”
“I’ll let it go this time.”
Lunch was already on the table when they walked into the dining room. Alicia was tickled to have Kurt home and even more tickled that he had a second and third helping of jambalaya.
Finally full, Kurt pushed his plate away. “I think I’ve had enough.”
“Are you sure, sweetie? I made a ton.”
“She’s not kidding,” Harrison said as he sipped his soda.
“I’ll take some home with me. I know Sally loves Creole-style food.”
Alicia’s good feeling deflated slightly but she tried to cover with a grin. “Oh, sure. How is Sally?”
“She’s good, Mom.”
“Still working in Garden City?”
“Yes, Mom.” Kurt knew that tone all too well. “She’s still not going back to school.”
“Did I say anything?” She tried to sound innocent.
“You don’t have to, Mom. I’m your child, remember.”
“I know.”
“She’s happy working in her firm, and I support
her decision, just like she supports my decision to go to grad school.”
Harrison got up to clear the table to escape the line of fire.
“Okay, Kurt, you made your point.”
“Thank you. So how are you feeling, Mom?”
“I’m good. I did laps in the pool this morning.”
“Great. What happened on your last visit to the neurologist?”
Alicia was surprised he knew of her visit. “Harrison!”
“Don’t blame him, Mom. I’m your son. I want to know, and I should know what’s going on with you.”
“Everything is fine. He started me on Avonex. It’s only one injection a week as opposed to the others, which were every other day and every day. This fits into my life a little better.”
He winced. “You have to give yourself a shot? Are you okay with that?”
“Yes. The nurse showed me how to do it.”
“Are there any side effects?”
“They say I might have flu-like symptoms for a couple of days, but so far I’ve been fine.”
“What about stress and working too much?”
“Good grief, Kurt, are you asking questions or interrogating me?”
“I want to know. Did he tell you to take it easy?”
Kurt knew his mother was a workaholic.
“I’m on hiatus for the next eight weeks. I promise I’ll relax.”
“And let Taylor Dawes do her job as managing editor of your magazine, right?”
“Of course.” She crossed her fingers under the table.
“Did you hear that, Mr. H?”
“Yes, I did.”
“I have a witness and I’m going to hold you to that.”
“Fine,” she grumbled.
“I want you to relax and have some fun, Mom. Maybe even go out on a date.”
“A date?”
“Yes, Mom. In case you don’t remember, a date is where a man asks you out and you go and have a good time together.”
“Don’t be a smart ass. I know what a date is.”
“When’s the last time you went on a date?”
“What kind of question is that to ask your mother?”
“It’s a fair question. I’m not a kid anymore, Mom, and you need to date.”
“No, dear child of mine. I need to eat, drink water and breathe. I don’t think dating qualifies as a need.”
Waiting for Mr. Darcy Page 4
