by Cara Nelson
“Eh, Europeans in general aren’t that particular about underpants, really.”
“Pass me the panties,” she said and got back into her clothes, pinned her hair back up. “I’m going to have to put on some makeup,” she said, peering at her blotchy, tearstained reflection.
“You’re gorgeous. Don’t change a thing.”
“Give me two minutes,” she said, swiftly reapplying concealer and eyeliner. “Let’s go.”
Chapter 9
Becca was subdued, walking into the gorgeous old mansion, the sound of the sea still in her ears as she walked through the door. She tried to imagine she was Claudette Colbert, with that louche aplomb, ready to master any situation. She didn’t feel one bit like a screen siren. She felt like hiding behind a potted palm. The mother came first. She’d been warned about the mother.
“I’m Harrison’s mother,” the woman said without offering her name or her hand.
“I’m Abe’s girlfriend. Nice to meet you,” Becca replied, offering neither herself.
“Mother, I’d like to present Becca Bennett. She’s an accomplished actress and has condescended to accompany me to my grandfather’s bedside because I need her. Becca, this is my mother. Her real name is Henrietta, but we’re not allowed to mention that in company. She goes by Claire,” he said with a hint of malice.
“Henrietta was a family name,” Claire said coldly. “So, Rebecca, have you been on Broadway?”
“It’s just Becca. I haven’t been called Rebecca since grade school, ma’am. As for Broadway, I’ve only been there when I’ve bought a ticket to a show.”
“We’re here to see Opa. I want Becca to meet him, so if you’ll excuse us.” Abe’s hand in the small of her back guided Becca up the sweeping staircase where the next gargoyle on the roster, his father, was smoking a cigar. “I can’t believe Oma lets you smoke in the house,” Abe chided.
“She’s too broken up over your grandfather to care. So for once in my adult life, I can smoke indoors,” the man grouched. “Who’s this?”
“This is Becca Bennett. Becca, this is my dad, Randalf Abrahemson. Dad, this is my girlfriend, Becca,” Abe said, a little more confidently this time.
Randalf was an older, broader version of his son, with a perpetual scowl on his face, his dark hair going to gray. Becca extended her hand and Randalf kissed it. She drew her hand back uncomfortably and looked at Abe.
“Don’t you dare scare her off. You already have a wife,” Abe warned. “We’re going up to see Opa now.”
A nurse was leaving the sickroom as they entered, finding Oma sitting on the foot of Opa’s bed, reading aloud from a poem book.
“I’ll just let you children have a few moments,” she said softly, a catch in her voice as she closed the volume and withdrew.
“Opa,” Abe said, taking the old man’s hand. “I want you to meet somebody. This is Becca B—”
“Abbracciabene,” she finished brightly. “I’m an actress and a waitress and I’m in love with your boy here.” Becca went round to the other side of the bed and took his right hand in both of hers. “He’s a good doctor, but he can be a handful.”
Opa stirred, opening his eyes. Startled, Becca looked at Abe questioningly.
“The nurse said he’s been in and out for days. I guess he decided to do the courteous thing because we have a guest. See, Opa can ignore me, but never a pretty girl,” Abe said affectionately.
“Harrison? When did you get here? It’s been damned dull. Nothing but nurses and then your Oma coming in to cry over me occasionally—sometimes I pretend to be asleep. I told her to keep Randalf out; he’s too harsh for a sickroom. This one, however, I’ll happily entertain. Bit feisty, like your Oma.” Opa struggled to sit up. With Abe’s help and the addition of a few pillows, he managed it for a few minutes.
“I’m awfully glad to meet you. Abe’s spoken of you with such affection. Is it true you took him ice fishing?”
“Yes indeed, and deep sea fishing too. Always loved anything to do with boats until he was about fifteen. That was the year his father remarried,” Opa mused.
Abe felt stung by the memory. So that probably had triggered his years of rebellion—anger at his father’s abandonment of his mother, his remarriage. Abe felt uncomfortably like the sort of person who ought to be in therapy, or on a sensationalistic talk show.
“He’s been desperate to see you. He’s braved both his parents already,” Becca said.
“That’s devotion indeed. Neither of them is much to boast of, dear. I hope you’ll forgive us our oddities. We do love the boy and I’m sure we’ll love you, too.”
“She did brave my parents,” Abe put in.
“I’ll just step out and give you two a minute to catch up. I haven’t met your wife yet.” She touched Abe’s shoulder as she passed out of the room.
In the corridor, she saw an older woman seated on a plush bench beneath what looked to be a Renoir. Becca ventured over and sat beside her.
“I’m sorry to intrude. I came with Abe. He’s my—” she hesitated, wanting to be friendly but not sure what to call Abe to his Oma. Boyfriend seemed childish and lover seemed inappropriate for a deathbed introduction.
“I’m happy he has someone. He was always a lonesome boy, growing up,” Oma said.
“I love him very dearly,” Becca said. Oma took her hand.
“Of course you do. He has felt so alone, I know. We all love him, but he cannot accept our love for some reason. It has been the great heartbreak of our lives that Harrison has been lost to us. I cannot imagine what we’ve done to offend him so. He’s been angry, ever since his teen years, and the only thing that would suit him was to move back to America and be a doctor. We supported it, because what could we do? Lose him forever? It has been three years since I have laid eyes on my only grandson, Becca. It comforts me that he has you now, a woman who will travel very far to see an old man who loves his grandson, who will be by his side when—when his Opa is gone. I wish to help him, too, and to have him with us.” The woman’s sadness was palpable. “Will you help me?”
“I can’t promise to help you, but I’ll help Abe,” Becca said loyally. “If what you want will make him happy, I’ll do anything.”
“This is what he needs, someone loyal only to himself. I wish so much that he would come back to us. That he could be reconciled to his father, find pride in his family and take on some sort of role in the company.”
“You love him very much, I know, and it must be hard to be apart from him. I’m sure you want him to be closer to you but his life isn’t here any longer. He has made choices for himself, and for whatever reason, this family isn’t a part of them. I know he cares for you and his Opa very deeply, he speaks of you fondly, but I won’t force him to do anything. I love him too much.”
“It could be, part of the time. If he had an interest in the company, if he came even to a few board meetings...”
“When he is ready, I’ll speak to him about it, but if he is against it, that will be the end of it as far as I’m concerned.”
“Use your influence with him,” Oma pleaded.
“I’m sorry. I can’t imagine what you’re going through right now, with your husband lying in there, so ill. I’m really very sorry. There’s nothing I can do besides speak to Abe about your concerns,” Becca said as kindly as she could.
She was relieved when Abe emerged, and, kissing his Oma’s cheek, led Becca from the house. In the car on the way to the hotel, he was silent, holding Becca close and shutting his eyes.
In the hotel room, he stretched out on the bed, still in his sport coat and tie, stared at the ceiling.
“Did you ever want to be a shipping heiress?”
“Like the Onassis girl?’
“Yeah. Only less of a sad story.”
“Not really, why?”
“Because Opa wants to leave me the whole business. My dad would be furious, being passed over like that, and it’s really not fair to him. He’s the direct heir. I don�
��t want to give up medicine, but it’s his last wish.”
“Abe, only do what will make you happy.”
“I thought being a doctor was what I was meant to do, but on this trip I’ve pieced together where I got the idea. I’m all but certain it started out as plain old rebellion against my dad.”
“Then there are a lot of people who should thank your dad for being an ass, because you’ve helped so many patients, Abe. It isn’t like you became a physician on a whim. It took years of dedication and work. It means a lot to you, no matter why you started out.”
“Thanks. I mean, I know that, but like my Opa said, I loved boats, loved shipping until I got mad at my father. There’s still a part of me that’s interested in it.”
“Your Oma was talking to me,” Becca said carefully.
“Doing the hard sell?” His voice was rueful.
“Pretty much. She said if you’d take any role in the company, even a nominal one and show up for a couple board meetings a year, it would make everyone so happy and it would fulfill your Opa’s wish without totally disrupting your life.”
“That’s a possibility. It sounds good, but I don’t think now’s the time to make any big decisions. Opa really liked you, by the way. He said—” He squinted his eyes shut with amusement. “He said you were a hot tamale. That you’d keep me on my toes.”
“His wisdom is incredible.” She grinned cheekily and bent down for Abe’s kiss.
“I shouldn’t have stayed away for so long, Becca. My dad is difficult, but it isn’t fair to punish my whole family for his attitude. I want to be a bigger part of their lives. Of my Oma’s, at least. They say Opa has only a few weeks left. I’m going to ask for a leave of absence so I can stay here until…until the time comes. Will you consider staying with me, please? I’d love to take you out on the chalk cliffs and take you out on a boat and let Opa and Oma get to know you.”
“It’s very sweet of you to ask, but I have a job at home, and Hannah’s wedding. I mean, yeah, she’s getting married on a beach without me, but I need to help her get ready.”
“Will you come for weekends, then? I’ll fly you back and forth. I know it’s—wrong to ask you to give up your job, even if it is working for that bastard Chris. I shouldn’t have suggested it,” he said, running hands through his hair.
“Stop saying should. You asked for what you wanted. There’s nothing wrong with that. You didn’t ask what I told your Oma. I said I couldn’t help her. I could only help you because you’re the person I love.”
Abe levered up on his elbows and pulled her down on top of him, kissing her madly, drawing the pins from her hair and starting on her buttons.
“That’s the best thing anyone’s ever said to me, Becca,” he said against her mouth. “I’m wishing so hard right now that I hadn’t just said this wasn’t a good time to make big decisions.”
“Why?” she breathed, wriggling out of her jumpsuit. Abe sat up, pulled away enough to look at her very seriously.
“Because I knew when I stood in my Opa’s sickroom alone that it didn’t feel right being there without you. It doesn’t feel right being anywhere without you, Bec. I’m yours. That’s all I know right now. I’m not sure if I’ll end up back working the ER on rotating shifts or if I’ll cut my hours so I can spend more time in Germany. I don’t know if I’ll ever get right with my dad. I know that when you finally land that Broadway show, I want to be the one clapping in the front row when you sing the wrong words. I’ll be throwing roses, Bec. Because you’ll do it. I’m not sure of myself right now, but I’m sure of you. I’m sure that you’re the only thing I’ll always want.”
Becca wiped tears off her face and launched herself into his arms, laughing and sobbing.
“What I mean is that I want to marry you if you’ll have me, live with you if you won’t. Although I’m pretty sure I can convince you to marry me. I mean, you were going to change your name anyway.”
“To Becca Bennett. I like the alliteration. Like Rosalind Russell. Greta Garbo. It could be good for my career,” she said with affected stubbornness.
“Like Peter Parker? Bruce Banner?”
“Who?”
“Comic book heroes. Spidey? Hulk? My God, I may need to reconsider. You can’t sing Cat Stevens right and now you don’t know any superheroes’ real identities,” he teased, kissing her. “I mean, Becca Bennett is good, but think of how distinctive a hyphenate would be. No one could compete with Becca Abbracciabene-Abrahemson.” Abe grinned.
“That is a memorable name. Very...impactful,” she said, a slow smile spreading across her face. “I think I’ll take it.”
END OF BOOK 3
Next Book To Be Released November 2014
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Men of the Capital Series
The Billionaire’s Hotline
A Matter of Taste (Excerpt Below.)
The Doctor’s Damsel
Excerpt from ‘A Matter of Taste’ Book 2 of Men of the Capital Series
The quote they pulled to italicize for the feature article was The Best There’s Ever Been. Annelise scrolled through the awards, the worshipful testimonials of prominent clients from the world of politics and show business. The glitterati loved this bastard. She already didn’t like him. His picture told the tale. Far too good looking to be trustworthy. He was, she admitted grudgingly, possessed of a fine pair of shoulders despite his fancy-ass effeminate line of work.
Society Taste magazine had named Desmond Blair’s catering service the number one in the state for three years running, a record unmatched by any other chef in the publication’s twenty-eight year history. “I’m the best there’s ever been,” Blair stated when asked if he was surprised by the repeat honor.
There was a difference between audacity, Annelise thought, and sheer fuckwitted egotism. This was not going to be a pleasant meeting. She checked her reflection in the rearview mirror, picking a particle of spinach out of her teeth and nearly sideswiping a Lexus in the process. She made her way to the chic downtown block Desmond Blair’s business had almost singlehandedly revitalized. A tea room, a flower shop, a stationers’, and a jewelry store had gone into the street in the last couple of years, filling in disused storefronts with gracious, colorful displays and the waft of prosperity.
Real estate in the newly renovated brownstone was sky high…Annelise was painfully aware of the fact, considering her own itinerant lifestyle. Even at her most aspirational, she couldn’t fathom earning enough money to have an apartment there, much less a detached brick-fronted brownstone with geraniums spilling over the wrought iron balcony on the second floor. It was a good thing she wasn’t bitter, Annelise reminded herself. Otherwise she would resent the living hell out of these rich people. Even their sidewalks were nicer—brick and even without weeds sprouting up through the cracks. Annelise was starting to feel like a cracked sidewalk herself.
The front of the shop was just beautiful. She grudgingly admired the weathered terracotta hue of the rough hewn brick, the old-world feel to the carved wooden door with an unadorned brass plate reading, Aux Delices. By appointment only.
“Well, la-di-fucking-dah,” She murmured as she pressed the buzzer.
“Good afternoon. Welcome to Aux Delices. Do you have an appointment?” chirped an even, cultured voice.
“No. I’m Annelise Hollingford from Jasper Cates’s office. I spoke with Kathleen on the phone. I was told that Mr. Blair has had a cancellation, making him available for the weekend of my employer’s engagement party,” she said in her haughtiest offi
cial voice.
“So, you have no appointment.” The chirpy voice affected a faux tinge of disappointment, and Annelise knew she was about to be sent away like the goddamned little match girl. “Unfortunately, no one is available to speak to you at this time. Do call and schedule so we will have an opportunity to discuss your event, as it may relate to our booking availabilities. Have a lovely day.” The lady on the intercom clicked it off abruptly.
“Lovely day, my foot.” Annelise muttered harshly.
Annelise took a long breath, which Shannon always told her to do when she was about to rip someone a new one. Shannon mistakenly thought it would calm her down. Instead it reinvigorated her small, angry frame with plenty of oxygen for the fight. Fully oxygenated and ready to rumble, she pressed the buzzer nine times in rapid succession. She felt the grind of the buzzer straight to her teeth and was satisfied by the vindictive rush it gave her.
“Miss, I’ll have to ask you to step away from the buzzer please,” the cultured chirp of the receptionist had grown testy now. “As you have no appointment, there is nothing we can do for you today. Please call ahead next time. Have a lovely day.”
“Listen, I would have a lovely day if you would let me in. I’m betting that you’re the Kathleen I spoke with on the phone. My employer is the CEO of Cates Corporation, which he founded. He is hosting an engagement party for seventeen hundred guests in the gardens of the exclusive Greenwich Estate, which we have already secured. No matter how elite you think your food business is, your boss can’t afford to blow off the most dazzling and sure-to-be most talked-about social event of the year.”
The door swung open, but instead of looking smugly upon the obstructive blonde receptionist, Annelise found herself face-to-face, or rather face-to-broad-muscled-chest, with Desmond Blair himself.
“Did you just call Aux Delices a ‘food business’?” He smirked.
Desmond Blair’s smirk had the most bizarre melting effect on Annelise, who retained enough presence of mind to feel only the barest hint of aggravation that her entire body seemed to liquefy under the heat of his dark-eyed gaze.
