Michael's Baby

by Cathie Linz

  He felt as if the lamb had just turned into a lion.

  “So who’s next?” she perkily inquired.

  He led her directly to the second floor and the apartment of Mr. and Mrs. Stephanopolis. Okay, so the old women living next door to him were tough, but they were marshmallows compared to the couple upstairs.

  He should have known better. Before he could even knock on the door, Mr. Stephanopolis had it open and was kissing Brett’s cheeks while exclaiming in Greek.

  Having heard stories about Mrs. Stephanopolis’s legendary jealous streak, Michael thought it in Brett’s best interest that he disengage her from the overexuberant Greek’s embrace.

  “Mrs. Martinez called from downstairs and told us all about this angel who has come to save us,” Mr. Stephanopolis replied as Michael tugged Brett out of the other man’s embrace only to end up with her in his arms instead.

  Brett was seized by a dizzying sense of pleasure and an even stronger sense of enchantment. Michael’s chest was warm against her back, and his hands cupped her elbows. His breath stirred the hair at her nape and sent shivers down her spine. She’d never felt this way before, filled with wondrous excitement and breathless desire—all from an accidental embrace.

  “I thought you said the girl was not Michael’s girlfriend,” Mrs. Stephanopolis said as she joined her husband at the door.

  “I’m not,” Brett hurriedly said, stepping away from Michael and the spell he seemed to cast on her. “I’m the new building supervisor.”

  “In my time a girl did not do such work,” Mrs. Stephanopolis replied with dark disapproval.

  “I’m just glad the hot water is working again,” Mr. Stephanopolis exclaimed. “I almost froze my privates off this morning.”

  “This girl does not want to hear about your privates,” his wife declared with frosty fire.

  As the bickering between husband and wife continued in Greek for a few moments, Michael was taken aback at the amused look that Brett shared with him. Her face had this glow that raised his blood pressure, among other things.

  Brett surprised him further by breaking into Greek herself—a feat that provided momentary silence from the couple before both broke into speech once more.

  Mrs. Stephanopolis’s earlier disapproval melted as she put her arm around Brett and ushered her into the apartment, leaving Michael standing on the threshold as if he were an unwelcome in-law.

  Half an hour later, when he and Brett left their apartment, she’d added a bottle of ouzo to her collection of goodies.

  “You’re lucky to have such great tenants,” Brett told him.

  “Yeah, right.”

  “So who else do you want me to meet?”

  “There’s only one more apartment left. The Lincolns live next door. Since you’re getting on so well with everyone, I’ll just leave you to it. Clearly you don’t need me to hold your hand.”

  The concept of him holding her hand had a sudden appeal—for its own sake, not because she was afraid to be alone. Being alone was one of many things Brett was very good at. Meeting strangers was another. “Okay. And then after I introduce myself to the Lincolns I’ll go get my things, so I can start working on that faucet like I promised Frieda and Consuela,” Brett said.

  “Who?”

  “Frieda Weiskopf and Consuela Martinez.”

  “Oh.” Somehow Michael had never thought of the two women as having first names. To him they were simply the dragon-women next door. “Right.”

  “So I’ll see you later then. Thanks again for being so sweet and introducing me to the other tenants.”

  “Sweet is my middle name,” he mockingly drawled.

  No, Brett thought to herself. Sexy was his middle name. Watching him take the steps two at a time, she noticed he appeared to be in a hurry to get away. She also noticed the way his jeans fit like a glove. “Nice buns,” she murmured wickedly, hoping that saying the thought aloud would minimize its importance.

  She almost fell through the floor when he paused on the landing and looked at her over his shoulder. Surely he was too far away to have heard her soft words. God, she hoped so!

  Turning around, she hurriedly knocked on the door to the Lincolns’ apartment.

  A second later a young black woman, her long wavy hair gathered in a rubber band, yanked the door open and then yanked Brett inside. “I need some help in here!” the woman exclaimed. “I can’t get the water faucet in the bathtub to turn off. We’re talking Noah and his ark here if we don’t get this damn thing turned off!”

  Moving quickly, Brett dumped her goodies by the front door and followed the woman into the bathroom.

  “My husband knows how to work that damn thing but he’s working a double shift at the hospital today—he’s a nurse—and with the hot water finally on again, I couldn’t wait ‘til he got home to take a bath.”

  As Brett managed to coax the stubborn fixture into the Off position, the woman made a high-five sign. “You saved the day, girl! Thanks! Now who the hell are you again?”

  “I’m Brett,” she replied with a grin. “The new building supervisor. I’ve just been hired to fix things around here, like this faucet. Next time it gets stuck, just open the drain to let the water out.”

  “I didn’t think of that. I’m Keisha Lincoln and, even though you don’t look nothing like Denzel Washington, you’re the answer to my prayers. I been telling the new owner this place needed fixing up big-time.”

  “Sorry I don’t look like Denzel.”

  “It’s okay. Tyrone, that’s my husband, will feel better if Denzel stays in Hollywood. Lord, I could use some caffeine after that scare. How ‘bout you? Want some cafE au lait? I’ve got an aunt down in New Orleans who sends the real stuff to me, so I can make it up right. Ah, I see you’ve already hit the other neighbors,” Keisha noted with a glance at the bottle of ouzo and containers of sauerkraut and salsa Brett had set by the front door.

  “Everyone’s been so nice,” Brett said.

  “They haven’t been all that welcoming to us, but then Tyrone and I have only lived here for a year and a half. The other tenants have been here decades. Except for the new owner. He only moved in a few weeks ago and now he’s stuck with this old dump.”

  “I think it’s a beautiful building.”

  “That’s ‘cause you don’t live here.”

  “I do now. I’ll be moving into the basement apartment this afternoon.”

  “You move fast.” Keisha nodded .approvingly. “I can relate to that. I moved fast when I met my Tyrone. And I know what it’s like being a woman workin’ on a man’s turf. I’m a security guard down at the main branch of the C.P.L.”

  “C.P.L.?”

  “Chicago Public Library. Anyway, it’ll be nice having someone else my age in the building. How about that caffeine?”

  “Sounds good. But what about your hot water for your bath?”

  “The way that water was steaming, it’ll take ten minutes before I can get in there. So tell me, what do you think of your new boss? Is he prime or what?”

  The phone was ringing as Michael reentered his apartment. He picked it up on the third ring. “Hello?” All he heard was loud static. “Hello?” he repeated, louder this time.

  “…it’s…your father…calling.”

  “Where are you? Are you okay?”

  “We’re fine. I’m at a pay phone. They aren’t too good in Bali…” More static filled the line. “Your mother made me call…wanted to make sure everyone there was fine.”

  “We’re fine. I spoke to Gaylynn yesterday.” Michael’s younger sister was a teacher in Chicago.

  “Good, good.”

  Sensing that his father was about to say goodbye, Michael said, “Wait, Dad. I need to know something. What’s the deal with this family-curse stuff?”

  Three

  Michael’s only answer was static…punctuated by his father’s voice saying, “What?”

  “I asked if you knew anything about a family curse,” Michael repeated.<
br />
  “Purse?” his father said, clearly unable to hear him very well. “No, your mother hasn’t lost her purse yet, thank heavens. I’m keeping a close eye on her.”

  “Not purse,” Michael practically shouted into the phone line. “Curse! I got a box from Hungary today.”

  “Hungry as a fox, are you? Then you should eat. You know your mother worries about you.”

  “Box!” Michael yelled. “I got a box! A Rom box.”

  But his father was no longer listening to him. “Oh-oh, I have to go. Your mother is eyeing a statue the size of the Sears Tower. I already told her we’ve bought too many souvenirs. I’ll call again in a few days.”

  Frustrated, Michael hung up the phone, muttering a few choice Rom curses of his own under his breath. His eyes were drawn to the mysterious box, which was still perched on top of his rack stereo system just as Brett had left it when she’d reached out to help him. While Michael might have closer ties to his Rom background than his younger sister or brother, he still wasn’t one to give in to superstitions.

  It was just a box. Nothing more than that. Retrieving it, Michael studied the intricate engraving on the lid. There were four crescent moons in the left corner, hovering over a scene that included palm trees and a sailing ship. On the right side, a streaking sun was setting over a line of mountains. In the center of the sun was some kind of red stone.

  Holding the box up and aiming a nearby high-intensity light at it in order to see better, he saw that the sides were also engraved, with what looked for all the world like. a wizard? Intrigued, he slowly reopened the lid. The strange feeling he’d experienced earlier, upon first opening it when Brett had been there, was now gone—confirming his notion that his reaction was due to lack of food and sleep rather than an old family curse.

  The box was not empty as he’d supposed. Inside was the most striking engraved silver key he’d ever seen. It was a skeleton-type key, which looked and felt very old. Turning it over in his fingers, Michael felt a strange affinity with the mysterious key.

  He’d always loved a good mystery. That’s why he made such a good corporate investigator. Because he liked solving mysterious situations with logical explanations. His fascination with the box was easy to explain. His sudden fascination with Brett Munro was not.

  The next time Michael saw Brett was late that afternoon and she was wrestling with what looked like a street gang of young punks for possession of a twin mattress.

  “I said to give it to me,” she was demanding in a no-nonsense tone of voice.

  Michael instantly came to her side. “Beat it,” he growled menacingly at the kids hanging onto the mattress, their grunge pants hanging loosely on their frames beneath their winter jackets.

  “It’s okay, Michael,” Brett said soothingly.

  “No, it’s not. Did you hear what I said?” he demanded of the kid closest to him.

  “These are my friends,” Brett inserted. “They’re helping me move. I just wanted them to give me the mattress because it’s too heavy for them to carry alone.”

  “Who’s the dude?” the kid with the backward White Sox baseball cap demanded belligerently.

  “He’s my new boss,” Brett replied.

  “Hey, man, you better treat her right.” The kid had the menacing steely-eyed look of a pro.

  “Now, Juan, you know I can take care of myself. Two of you carry that mattress, I don’t want anyone getting hurt. You go on ahead.”

  “Where did you find these juvenile delinquents?” Michael demanded of Brett as the kids obeyed her request.

  “Have trouble getting along well with children, do you?”

  Brett’s observation had him bristling defensively. “I have a younger sister and brother. I got along fine with them.”

  “I meant now that you’re an adult.”

  Okay, so he was legendary within his family for his lack of “kid skills.” The truth was that he was wary of children. They made him feel incompetent and awkward. However, Michael didn’t appreciate Brett reminding him of that fact. So much for him coming to her rescue.

  “Make sure you close the front door when you’re done,” he growled.

  “Actually we’ve been using the back door because I didn’t want to bother the rest of the tenants,” Brett told him. “It takes us in the building just a few steps from the studio apartment downstairs.”

  “I know that. But how did you know? I didn’t show you the door because it’s been jammed shut.”

  “The hinges just needed oiling. Works like a charm now.”

  “Great.”

  She wondered why Michael didn’t look very pleased with her news. Did he expect her to have asked for permission first? As building supervisor, she couldn’t be asking permission before fixing the hundred-and-one things that needed repairing in this lovely old building. Since there hadn’t been any expense involved, she didn’t think his approval beforehand was required. “Surely you don’t expect me to check with you before I do any work on the building?”

  He shook his head, realizing she’d be checking with him every five minutes in that case. “But I do want to be kept apprised of what you’re doing. I need to authorize any repairs that will cost over thirty dollars. I don’t have an unlimited budget here. My plan is to fix up the building and then sell it.”

  “Sell it? Whatever for?”

  “The money,” he replied dryly.

  “How could you!”

  “What are you so upset about? If it’s your job, you don’t have to worry. It’ll probably take almost a year to get the place fixed up enough to sell it.”

  “Do your tenants know about your plans?” Brett demanded.

  “Why should they care?”

  “Because some of them have lived here for a very long time.”

  “Look, I’ve only owned the building for a short while. My first priority has to be a financial one. I can’t afford to pour limitless amounts of money into this white elephant. Besides, I don’t talk much to the tenants. It’s not like they’ve exactly formed an attachment to me. In fact, sometimes they give me the impression they’d like to hang me by my toes.”

  “If I had the money, I’d buy this place from you in a second,” she declared.

  “You just saw it for the first time today.”

  “I know what I like,” she said quietly.

  He noticed that her cheeks were flushed, from excitement as much as from the cold air. Although the late afternoon sun had come out, it was a weak shadow of itself. Winter was definitely here to stay. So was Brett. Moving in and apparently here to stay.

  She hadn’t brought much furniture with her. The battered pickup truck he assumed to be hers held a rocking chair that had seen better days, a table, some lawn furniture and a few boxes.

  “How is it that you were able to move in so quickly?” Michael asked. “Didn’t you have to give notice at your old place?”

  She shook her head. “I was staying with friends and had my things in storage.”

  Her reply made him realize that, although he had gotten her Social Security number, he never had checked her references, or even asked her for any. That wasn’t like him. She could have a criminal record for all he knew. Granted, he was usually a good judge of character, but she’d knocked his instincts off kilter. As soon as he got back inside, he planned on turning on his laptop computer and accessing his office computer to do a simple background check on her—not that he anticipated anything about this woman to be simple.

  Following them around the back of the building, he watched her clucking over her gaggle of stringy adolescent boys. They clearly adored her. She’d brought pop and junk food for them to munch on as they emptied the back of the pickup.

  Mrs. Martinez’s industrial-strength salsa was a big hit. He noticed she didn’t even attempt to introduce the kids to Mrs. Wieskopf’s sauerkraut. Wise move.

  “They’re not delinquents, you know,” she quietly noted from his side, startling him with her nearness. When she was this clos
e, he got the strongest urge to tug her into his arms and kiss her. Michael blinked in surprise and wondered what he was fighting here. For that matter, why the hell was he fighting it, period?

  So what if Brett was different from other women he’d been attracted to? Nothing wrong with that. She was a sexy woman, just the right height for him; he remembered that from the way she’d slid her shoulder under his arm. The top of her head was just beneath his chin. When he’d briefly held her in his arms earlier, she’d conformed to his body as if designed for that purpose and no other.

  It suddenly occurred to him that this handywoman situation could turn out to be a blessing in disguise, after all.

  “Why are you looking at me that way?” Brett asked suspiciously.

  “What way is that?” he countered.

  “The old I’m-a-man, you’re-a-woman look.”

  “I am a man. You are a woman.” His shrug was surprisingly continental. “Is it so strange I would look at you as such?”

  “You bet. I’m not that kind of a woman.”

  “What kind might that be?”

  “The kind who makes men go all gooey-eyed.”

  Stung, he drew himself up to his full height, his look now a glare.

  “Aha,” she said approvingly. “That’s more the look I’m used to getting from you.”

  “You know nothing about me,” he reminded her. “We only met for the first time this afternoon.”

  “You don’t have to remind me.” She still hadn’t figured out what had happened a few hours ago when she’d stepped out of his kitchen to tell him she’d fixed his stove. She’d felt so strange…as if she’d been bound to him by invisible chains. The look in his hazel eyes had pierced her soul and she was still trying to repair the damage. Because men simply didn’t look at her that way. Unless they wanted something—usually to borrow money. Otherwise she was just one of the boys. Always had been. With one exception…

  Feeling the pain ready to creep up on her like the cold fingers of mist that came off the lake, she resolutely changed mental gears. Leaving Michael’s side, she focused her attention on getting the last of her belongings into her new home.