by Jo Leigh
The Flatiron. The neo-Gothic New York Life Insurance Company, the marble courthouse on East 25th. Hell, the fantastic houses all around Gramercy Park were where he’d head when he needed to be on his own. Somehow, he’d always end up in one of the small green corners that weren’t exactly private, but not precisely parks. Or the basketball courts. There’d been so many when he was a kid, and had he passed a single one on his way up here?
He might have been walking in a daze, but he’d have stopped if there’d been an inviting court. Didn’t matter where he was in the world, he would always be lured by the call of a pickup game even if all he could do was watch.
It was a shame. There were schools and Union Square Park and Madison Square Park, but those weren’t places where he and Danny had hung out. They liked the little places, the neighborhood games.
He guessed that was one more thing that had vanished in the age of the internet. Too many kids spending their time online, playing video games, watching hundreds of channels on TV. Such a damn shame.
If he could get Shannon to put her talent to work on the neighborhood, she could transform the whole district. No one whipped up enthusiasm like she did. More importantly, she would love it. He was certain of that. She’d been born to do great things, and while keeping the family together was a fine goal, it only worked if the family wanted to be held together.
He wished, though, that he could be there for her. To encourage her, to make sure she knew every day that she could do anything she set her mind to.
Leaving behind the armory, he headed toward Park Avenue, trying to imagine some clever turn of phrase to tell her she’d been fighting for nothing. That her efforts had been wasted.
Nope, there was no nice way to say any of that. She would be crushed, and he’d be the one to deliver the blow.
* * *
SHANNON HAD NO BUSINESS whatsoever meeting Rebecca and Bree for lunch at Brasserie 8½ in Midtown West, but she couldn’t stand having so much to say and so few people to say it to.
They’d just finished ordering, and she faced both of her friends from across the booth. “So,” she asked, as casual as she could possibly be, “what’s new?”
Bree put her hand up in front of her mouth, trying to hide her grin, while Rebecca didn’t even bother faking it. She just laughed.
“Please. You’re bursting with whatever it is you’ve got going on.” Rebecca Thorpe, who was still in the honeymoon phase of her relationship with her ex-cop, had no compunction about poking Shannon’s arm with the back end of her knife. “I have one hour for lunch, and I can’t even cheat a little bit. So talk.”
“I’m going to be on WNYC News at Ten on Thursday night.”
Bree and Rebecca both grinned like maniacs. “How come?” Bree asked.
“I’m being interviewed about the Easter egg hunt that my company sponsors in Union Square Park. Well, we’re not the only ones who sponsor the festivities, lots of local businesses do, but Fitzgerald and Sons coordinates the event and we put it all together.”
“Which means you put it all together,” Rebecca said. “But congratulations. This is thrilling. I’m not only going to watch it, I’m going to DVR the whole half hour, then call the station to tell them how impressed I was with the interview. And could I have the name of the beautiful redhead who was in charge?”
“Really?” Shannon asked. Rebecca wasn’t just a Thorpe, she was also a Winslow, which in this town meant huge money and incredible influence. Rebecca herself ran the Winslow Foundation, which raised millions for international aid. Huh. She should arrange a dinner with Nate while he was in town. They’d have a lot to talk about.
“Of course, really.”
“Why didn’t you say something before?” Bree asked. “I didn’t know a thing about an Easter egg hunt. How fun. Charlie can put something about the interview in his blog, and then we can do an ad for the event, if that would help.”
Shannon took a breath. Then another. She’d never asked her friends to go out of their way for her, even when it was tempting. Charlie, Bree’s boyfriend, wasn’t an ordinary blogger. He was Charlie Winslow, Rebecca’s cousin, and his blog was Naked New York, the single most talked-about social-media column in Manhattan.
“That’s going way, way above and beyond. I appreciate it so much, but please ask Charlie first. The proceeds all go to feed the homeless and I can send him the information about the charity and how it’s run. I don’t want either of you to feel obligated.”
“We’re friends,” Rebecca said, leaning over to clasp her hand. “And besides, you deserve everything good for coming up with the trading cards. We both owe you for that.”
Shannon held up her water glass, then put it down because the waiter came with the bottle of wine they’d ordered. After he left, she made a proper toast. “To friends and lovers and trading cards.”
“And to TV interviews,” Rebecca added.
Shannon sipped the very delicious chardonnay and couldn’t help but smile. There were wonderful things happening in her life, not the least of which was Nate. The trick there was not thinking too much about how soon he’d be gone.
She felt her mood falter and switched back to focusing on the interview, which with Bree and Rebecca’s help she could imagine actually having a big audience. She’d have to be smart, though. Not so self-promoting that she looked as if she didn’t care about Easter or the little kids who would be hunting for eggs.
“Oh, God. I’m going to be on TV. With people watching.”
“Yes,” Bree said. “That’s the point.”
“Okay. I know it’s been done a million times, but I’m going to wear green because it does look best on camera with my hair.”
“You look fantastic in green,” Bree said. “I have this great tartan skirt that would go so well with that hunter-green blouse that you wore that time when we went for sushi.”
“One of your skirts would fit on one of my thighs, but thanks for the offer.”
“You always look gorgeous anyway,” Rebecca said, just as the waiter brought out their food.
It took a few minutes to deliver the three salads, but soon they were alone. Again Shannon’s thoughts returned to Nate and what he would say when she told him the news about Charlie’s blog and Rebecca’s support. He’d be thrilled for her.
“You know,” Rebecca said, turning to Bree, “while the news about the interview is wonderful, why do I have the feeling that our friend Shannon buried the lead?”
“Hmm,” Bree said, nodding, ignoring Shannon completely. “I have to agree. The glow? The pink cheeks? The way she’s shifting around like she can’t sit still?”
“I’d lay odds it’s a guy.”
“The toast was a dead giveaway,” Bree said. “Not just a guy. A trading card guy.”
Shannon held up a hand. “Stop. Yes. You’re right. I wasn’t burying the lead. I was saving the best for last.”
Bree shook her head. “I’d say he’s one hell of a guy, but that’s only because you’re blushing so hot you’re about to set the tablecloth on fire.”
Shannon leaned forward. “His name is Nate Brenner, and he’s an architect and urban planner who works in international relief. He’s really good-looking, but more importantly he’s wonderful. You guys would like him so much. I bet he knows all about the Winslow Foundation, Rebecca.”
She smiled. “You mean you haven’t spent your nights talking about me and my foundation?” Her friend grinned, put her fork down and held out her hand. “Come on. Out with it.”
“What?”
Rebecca sighed. “You know very well exactly what. His card. Let’s see it.”
Shannon wasn’t proud of the fact that she’d stolen his card from the group. Not that she’d change one single thing, but she was still not proud. She opened her purse and took the card out. God, he was gorgeous.
She handed it over to Rebecca, and she could feel her blush intensify.
“Holy cow, he’s a hottie,” Bree said, as she practically l
aid over her friend to get a look. “No wonder you kept him to yourself. Look at that smile.”
“What organization does he work for?” Rebecca asked.
“The International Rescue Committee.”
“That’s one of the highest-rated charities in the world. They do phenomenal work. You say he’s an architect?”
“He rebuilds infrastructure in places that have been hit by earthquakes and tsunamis. Mostly in Indonesia and Asia but he thinks that might be changing soon. His home base is in Bali.”
Rebecca handed the card to Bree. “Oh, you have got to go see him in Bali,” Rebecca said. “Seriously. You’d love it there. It’s one of my favorite places on earth.”
“He loves it there, too. But there’s no way I can go,” Shannon said. “Everything at the plant is so tenuous. We’re short-staffed as it is. I can’t leave the country. I shouldn’t even be here.”
“It’s been like that since I met you,” Rebecca said. “There has to be a way you can steal some time for yourself. I’m sure your family would understand.”
“I don’t know much about what you do,” Bree said, not even looking up from his card.
“Run everything but the printing machines, basically. Payroll, taxes. The usual. But most of my time these days is spent on finding new clients.”
“It’s just your family running the whole thing?”
“We have forty-seven employees. For a couple of years now it’s just my father, my brother Brady and me in charge. My mom and my other brothers jumped ship.”
“Well, you should figure out a way to take some time off,” Bree said, meeting her gaze. “Did you know that when you talk about Nate, your whole face lights up? You really do glow.”
“I do?” She put her palms on her heated cheeks. “I’ve known him all my life. Since we were kids. He’s my brother Danny’s best friend. But then Nate went away after college and came back all grown up. Gorgeous. Sweet. Obviously, he’s got a tremendous heart. He could be earning buckets running his father’s architectural firm, but he doesn’t want to live in New York. Or do traditional building.”
“How come it says he’s a one-night stand?”
“He’s leaving as soon as he finishes his business here.”
“But his passion is making a difference,” Bree said, showing the back of the card to Rebecca, who snatched it up.
“And the bottom line is that he’s a sweetheart.” Rebecca held up the card as if it was a flag. “A sweetheart.”
“He is. He’s just not going to be my sweetheart,” Shannon said, “at least not forever.” She straightened, really hating how her voice had dropped off.
“Ah,” the two women across from her said in sync.
“No, it’s not like that. I’ve known all along he’s leaving, so it’s not a big deal.” She sipped her wine, avoiding eye contact.
“You’ve simply got to go to Bali to visit him,” Rebecca said, her voice brooking no arguments. “You owe it to him, and to yourself.” She gave the card back, but she’d made her point.
Shannon stared down at his picture, his smile, and she shivered as she remembered the feel of his body so intimately tangled with her own. There was no way in hell she could take the time off to go to Bali.
But she was beginning to think she might not have a choice.
* * *
NATE WAS ON THE PHONE WITH George, his direct boss, and the man who was in charge of all projects, excluding fundraising and marketing. George told them all where to go, those who were on the payroll, who were few, and those who consulted or volunteered, who were the real backbone of the IRC. He was also an incredibly nice guy, whom Nate had known since NYU. The man had been responsible for helping Nate find out where he belonged.
“Sumatra is still an issue,” Nate said. “They lost so many of their construction people, it’s going to be hard for them to pick up the ball and run with it.”
“You’re going to have to deal with it,” George said. “Find someone who can communicate well and we’ll make sure you can interface. You’ve got four more months, Nate, and then we’ll need you in Africa.”
“No, fine. That’s fine. I know we’ve exceeded our mandate. It’s hard to let go.”
“I know. The refugee situation has to be dealt with, and all we keep doing is shuffling people from tent city to tent city. These people need something they can call their own. They need to work for themselves and see their labor turn into something real.”
“Of course. I’ll be wherever you need me.” Nate put down his coffee and looked back at the kitchen table, where Shannon was on her laptop doing something that kept her clicking her mouse. She looked so pretty in the morning light, in that pink bathrobe he was going to miss.
“Let me know when you’re heading back, yes?”
“I will. Take care, and have Alex send me all the data on where I’ll be headed. I need to start planning.” Nate disconnected, then went to sit next to Shannon. “What are you so busy working on?”
She turned the laptop so he could see the screen. It was a picture of him surrounded by villagers. He was standing in the middle of a town square, an open air market to his right, a row of sturdy buildings around the perimeter of a small park, with infant trees planted in the general shape of a Rafflesia arnoldii flower, the largest flower in the world. That day they had opened the market with great ceremony. It had been scorchingly hot, as wet as the ocean itself, and a day he’d never forget.
“You look so happy,” she said. “And so tan.”
“Yeah, we didn’t have a lot of sunscreen at our disposal. And I was happy. That was a big day.”
“But you’re not staying there?”
He shrugged. “I go wherever they need me. Which right now is Africa.”
“How do you do that? It must be so hard to pick up your life and move it at someone else’s whim.”
“I don’t have a home like you do,” he said. “I never did, but I’ve pared way down. I can carry everything I need in a couple of duffel bags. And everywhere I go, I’m welcome and I’m needed.”
“I can see how much you love it.”
He almost said, “Just like you love your home,” but the thought hurt, the thought of how she didn’t know what she was about to be hit with.
Instead he leaned over and kissed her. Long, slow strokes of his tongue, tasting her beneath her coffee, wanting to walk her back upstairs to her bed.
She pulled away first, checking behind him as if they were criminals. It made him want her even more. When her gaze came back to his, she softened, her concern gone knowing they were alone. “I want to hear more about what you do,” she said. “I can’t now because I have to get ready for work, but I would like to listen. My only frame of reference is 9/11, and how the word fear stopped being adequate. How our illusion of safety had been stolen. But there was also the high of coming together. All of New York had been a family, even if it was temporary. You go to those places all the time, and it must be so, so hard, and yet unbelievably satisfying to be part of the solution.”
Nate’s chest tightened. “It is,” he said. “There are horrors and miracles around every corner. Each one breaks my heart. In between is where it gets tricky. I’ve talked to other relief workers and we all have that sense of disconnect from the ordinary world. We’re like soldiers in that respect. It’s a limited reality, and it’s truly indescribable.”
Shannon closed her eyes for a long moment. Took a deep breath. When she opened them again, she smiled. “I’ve got to go. Busy day ahead. If you’re free around three o’clock I’ve got to go to the park to take some photos. Maybe you’d like to come with?”
“Yeah, sure. Sounds great. I should hear about the offer on the co-op today.”
“Oh, exciting. I’m betting it’s a yes all the way around.” She shut down the laptop and put it under her arm, carrying her coffee in her free hand. He didn’t want her to leave, not yet. But she disappeared in a whirl, leaving him to the realization that for all his experie
nce in the face of earthshaking events, he still had absolutely no idea how to help Shannon while still telling her the truth.
13
SHANNON HAD TRIED ON SO many clothes the night before her room now resembled a messy change room at Filene’s Basement. It was tempting to call Bree to come help, but in the end she went with her original plan: green blouse that fit her well, slim black skirt, black heels. Tomorrow evening’s interview was scarily close, the reality made more terrifying when she’d gotten an email from WNYC about where to go at what time.
The idea that it was live television scared the crap out of her, so she tried not to think about it. But different nightmare scenarios kept popping up: burping in the middle of a sentence, spilling coffee, throwing up, nervously giggling like an idiot. The spectrum of humiliations was huge and varied, but she’d been on stage plenty of times and the butterflies always disappeared the moment she was in the spotlight. Television should be no different.
She got dressed, wishing she had time to put her things in order, but she really did have a packed agenda. She would be sending a massive group email to everyone in her database, asking them to watch the show. She wasn’t discriminating about the names, either. Whether they be work related, folks from the church, the St. Marks lunch-exchange crew, family, friends of friends. It was such a large list that she had to break it down into units, or she’d be considered a spammer. Which she supposed she was. But it was for a good cause, so she could live with that.
She also had a meeting with a potential new client this afternoon. Nothing huge, not a lifesaver, but the income would help, and the work was simple. Brochures. Lots and lots of brochures.
Oh, she had to check out Naked New York as soon as she got to the office. That would be exciting. She’d send a thank-you card to Charlie and Bree, handwritten, on a card.
