Her cell rang. “Ms. Brooke Felson?”
Distracted and annoyed at the interruption, she was brusque. “Who’s calling?”
“I’m Miriam Grand. The Director from the Senior Center?”
“Oh. You’re the one who blew the whistle on me with the cops?”
The woman laughed. “You make it sound like I busted a drug ring. Yes, I did report your illegal restaurant.”
“Can’t take a little competition?” Brooke couldn’t keep the edge out of her voice.
“I’d like to come and speak to you for a minute, if you have time.”
“Why should I? Why should I take any more crap from you?” She went to close her cell.
“Wait! Please! Ms. Felson, you’ll like what I have to say.”
Brooke frowned, but put the phone back to her ear anyway. “Okay. I’ll hear you out.”
“When can I come?”
“Fifteen minutes.” Brooke gave her the address. Then, she hung up and put up a pot of coffee.
Pres dropped by early to walk the dogs.
“That witch from the center who closed us down is coming by. Stay. See what she has to say for herself.”
“I’ll be your back-up, your reinforcements, your posse.”
Brooke laughed. “Let’s not get carried away.”
“I love to get carried away. Especially with you.” He nibbled on her neck.
The buzzer from the lobby sounded.
“Later. Let me get rid of this worm first.”
“It’s a Miss Miriam Grand, Ms. Felson,” Rocky announced over the intercom.
“Send her up.” She responded, easing Pres away and gripping the doorknob. Anger churned in Brooke’s bosom, winding its way around her heart and filling her veins. This is the bitch who reported me to the police. And she has the nerve to come here?
When she heard the knock on the door, Brooke opened it. The pugs jumped up from their sleeping positions on the sofa and raced to see who had arrived.
“Come in.”
“Is it safe?”
Brooke glared at her. “The dogs don’t bite. Coffee?” But I might.
“I’d love a cup.”
Brooke introduced Pres, who left to get the beverages. Then, she sat down on the sofa. “What do you want?”
Miriam took a seat opposite Brooke. “First, I must compliment you on your success. You’ve stolen a significant number of our seniors to your dinner-and-a-movie thing here.”
“How did you find out?”
“I saw you on the Baking with Bess program.”
“Crap! So, if I hadn’t done that, you still wouldn’t know.” Brooke pushed to her feet.
“Probably not. They’re a sly crowd. They know how to keep a secret.”
“And you called the police.”
“What you were doing is against the law.”
“Great. So, you’ve put me out of business and deprived a bunch of people, your people, of an inexpensive, fun night. Aren’t you the big, effing hero?” Brooke shifted her weight, balling her fists on her hips and narrowing her eyes.
“I expected you to be mad. Please listen. I have a proposition for you.”
“Really? After you stabbed me in the back?”
“I had an ulterior motive.”
“So, you’re even nastier than I thought? Perhaps you’d better leave.”
Miriam raised her hand. “Wait! Wait. Hear me out. Please.” Pres entered with a tray carrying three cups of coffee, milk, and sugar. He placed it on the coffee table. Miriam took one.
“Make it quick. I have other things to do.”
“I want to offer you a job.”
“A what?”
“A job. At the center. I want you come work for us, plan menus, select movies, and maybe other activities, for weekends.”
“Could you repeat that?”
“I want you to do what you were doing here, at the center. And get paid for it.”
Brooke was speechless. “You’re kidding, right?”
“Nope. There was a method to my madness. Are you interested?”
“Work for you? At a place that’s so insensitive to the needs of the people there?”
“We’re trying.”
“And you want me to help? Help you succeed after you shut me down.”
“Is there any way I can make it clearer?”
“I guess not.”
“So, will you do it? If you don’t take the job, I’ll have a riot on my hands.”
“As if I care. You deserve it,” Brooke’s angry tone softened a little.
“Please. I’m begging you.”
“You know I can’t refuse, don’t you? Not for you. For them.”
Miriam smiled. “Kinda figured I had you over a barrel.”
“But you begged.”
“I did. I’m not proud.” Miriam chuckled.
“Just devious.”
“I admit it. But it worked. You’re taking the job?”
“I have to.”
“That’s what I thought. Great. Welcome to the Sadie Cohen Senior Center of the Upper West Side. When can you start?” Miriam extended her hand. Brooke hesitated for a moment before she took it.
“Wait! We haven’t discussed salary.”
“It’s more than you were making before. And you don’t have to pay for the food.”
Brooke laughed. “You’ve got it all covered, don’t you?”
“I’m a planner. It’s wonderful to have someone of your creative talent and cooking ability on our staff, Miss Felson.”
“Thank you, Miss Grand.”
“Call me Miriam.”
“If you call me Brooke.”
“I hope you can forgive my tactics, Brooke.”
“Time heals everything, eventually.”
“When can you start?” Freddy plopped down at Miriam’s feet.
“Next week? After Thanksgiving?”
“Excellent! Come by my office Monday morning. We’ll get the paperwork filled out.”
“Okay. See you then.”
“Bring your dogs. Our members love dogs.” She ran her hand along Freddy’s fur.
Brooke broke into a smile. “They’ll love it.”
* * * *
Brooke spent Thanksgiving Day with Nan then scooted over to Pres’s parents’ apartment for a late-night feast on leftovers. Friday, she spent conferring with the chef at the center. A turkey noodle casserole with cranberry sauce on the side was paired with a spinach and mushroom salad and a lime gelatin mold. For dessert, they planned pumpkin pie and brownies.
Harry was the first to arrive. Brooke had scheduled the original Miracle on 34th Street.
“I saw that movie a thousand times with my late wife. Let’s see something sexy,” Harry said.
“It’s tradition. Can’t break tradition,” Mary said.
“Yes, you can! Dammit, woman, do something different, will ya?”
“I’m with Harry. Do I have to see that crap again?” John piped up.
“Here’s what we have today. You all decide yourselves. I want a consensus. Not just your choice, Harry. Take a vote.”
Several seniors crowded around the list then passed it on.
“Why isn’t Last Tango in Paris on the list?” Harry asked.
“That dirty film!” Carmen chimed in.
“Might not hurt you to see a dirty film. Get your blood pumpin’,” John responded, wiggling his eyebrows.
“What about White Christmas?” Mary asked.
“It isn’t Christmas, yet. Just Thanksgiving,” Dave said.
“Don’t be so literal. I vote for Robin Hood. I love Errol Flynn.” This from Carmen.
“Want to talk sexy? Flynn was screwing everything in skirts,” Harry said.
Brooke chuckled and turned back to her task of supervising the cooking and serving. When she was done, and the seniors had begun to line up, she slipped on her coat and went out for some air. The day was overcast—gray clouds hung frozen in the sky. The wind gusted, creatin
g a chill. She turned up her collar.
Brooke wasn’t sure about taking this job. But Pres had encouraged her to sign on then make it her own. And she was pleased to find Miriam to be a good listener. Most of Brooke’s plans were accepted without a hitch. Miriam respected Brooke’s previous success.
Pres was now staying at Brooke’s place until he had to return to California. She was uncertain how it would be to have a bi-coastal marriage. She chewed a nail. He was due to return to the West Coast in a couple of days.
Cold air swirling around her convinced Brooke to head back into the warmth. She stood behind the counter, watching the seniors load food onto their plates. They chatted, commenting on each item. There was lively discussion and disagreement about whether there were potatoes or pears in the gelatin salad. Who puts potatoes in a gelatin salad?
Peace flowed through Brooke. She was meant to do this. Her thoughts turned to her parents. She knew they would approve. She sensed their presence when she was cooking, as if her mother was looking over her shoulder, helping her. Then, it hit her. Her father’s favorite film.
She called Pres. He found the movie buried in her room and promised to bring it.
Returning to the cafeteria, Brooke clapped her hands. “Announcement! I’ve selected the movie for tonight. In honor of my late father, we’ll see Parenthood. It was his favorite film. And there’s something for everyone, including some discussion about sex,” she said, looking directly at Harry, who blushed. His friends laughed.
“Great choice!” someone proclaimed.
“Good idea,” a woman chimed in.
“It’s about time someone made a decision!” John said.
Brooke leaned against a column, watching the seniors eat and talk. The smiles on their faces told her the recipe for her mom’s turkey noodle casserole was a hit. She put the center out of her mind for a moment to focus on planning her wedding. She’d called the Dinner Club to get help with ideas and menu planning. Will I have to invite all the seniors? Maybe only about a dozen. A June wedding is so traditional. But it’s wonderful in New York in June. Flowers? What color for the bridesmaids dresses?
Mrs. Preston Carpenter. A chill shot through her when she thought of her married name. Then, warmth entered her heart, as she knew her parents would’ve liked Pres. He’s the kind of guy they would have picked for me. A tug on her hand drew her out of her reverie.
“Where are the pugs?” Mary asked.
“I’ll bring them next time. But they can’t come into the dining room or kitchen. Can you help me keep them in line?”
“Of course. They listen to me. Dogs like me. Maybe more than some people do,” she said, smiling.
“Thank you. I’ll let you know when we’ll be here, and you can meet us at the front door.”
“I’ll be there. You can count on it.”
Brooke was about to continue the conversation when a round of applause, a standing ovation, grabbed her attention. She turned to see what all the fuss was.
Coming through the automatic doors was a wheelchair. There sat Nan, pushed by Pres. Brooke choked up. Her eyes watered. Once inside, Pres took a walker from the back of the chair and assembled it.
Ruth grasped each side of the aluminum device and pulled herself up out of the chair. She made her way slowly, but steadily toward the food line. Her friends gathered around her, hugging her and talking. She made eye contact with Brooke.
“I’m proud of you, Nan. What do you want?”
“I’ll take everything. I’m starved, especially for your cooking.”
Brooke filled a plate and placed it on a tray. “Is that Mary Lou’s casserole, Brooke?” the older woman asked.
“Sure is. And her gelatin mold, too. Salad has your favorite balsamic dressing.”
“Apple pie?”
“No, mom’s pumpkin. And her brownies, too.”
“Fantastic!” Ruth’s face lit up.
Pres carried the tray while Nan looked for a seat among her friends. Several women called out to her to join them, but she spied Harry, patting an empty seat next to him. She put the walker aside and sat down. He took her hand, then kissed her. The catcalls from the men in the crowd got a laugh. Pres delivered her food. Brooke joined him.
“Three cheers for Brooke and Ruth,” came a cry from the crowd. The warmth of appreciation was second only to the metallic sound of knives and forks working together. Brooke grinned as Pres took her hand.
“Well done,” he whispered.
Training her gaze on Brooke, Ruth patted the empty chair on her left. Her granddaughter slid in next to her. The older woman offered her a brownie.
“You’ve made so many positive changes here at the center. It’s amazing what a little TLC can do.” Ruth patted her on the shoulder.
“Thanks, Nan. It’s a labor of love.”
“I’m so proud, Brooke. Look at you, shining your love on the world. Fantastic.”
Epilogue
Brooke and Pres decided to put their wedding off until the fall, after the series’ pilots had aired. There would be a hiatus of a month or two regarding additional script writing, while they awaited the thumbs up or down from the network. Meanwhile, he was spending two weeks in California and two in New York every month, slaving away on revisions and having input on casting.
Although Brooke missed Pres, she was working hard at the center. Miriam Grand had been pleased with the results from Brooke’s work. Word had traveled that the food and entertainment at the center had improved and were now the best to be had on the West Side.
Ruth’s home had been put on the market. A buyer was found. Brooke and Nan were waiting for board approval. Brooke had moved into Pres’s place. Jonathan Carpenter wanted to buy them an apartment for their wedding. He insisted the East Side was best, but Pres disagreed. The issue was still being negotiated. Brooke was confident her lover would hold out for the West Side, to keep a safe distance from his father while remaining close to Nan.
Nan was now walking with only a cane for occasional support. With Pres and Brooke’s help, she had moved into a one-bedroom in the Hudson Apartments. Her recovery had been remarkable. She held small dessert parties for her friends from the senior center. Schlepping out to The Petite Sweet for cream puffs and Milles Feuilles—Napoleons—gave her some exercise. She and Brooke often walked with the dogs in good weather.
Jonathan Carpenter insisted the wedding be held in the garden of his private club, The Viceroy. He even offered to foot the bill. After seeing the elegant space, Brooke had agreed. An early October date had been set. Brooke’s Dinner Club friends would be her bridesmaids.
It was a pleasant summer day when Brooke and the Dinner Club members gathered to munch on Bess’s Cobb salad and plan a wedding shower for Brooke. Brooke brought a cool Moscato, which she poured. Rory set the table on the terrace. Discussion of how X-rated the gifts could get ended in peals of dirty laughter among the women. While they waited for Miranda, Rory approached Brooke with an idea.
“We’ve got a couple of pugs coming into the rescue in the next week. I was wondering…I know you already have three, but is there some way we could find a home for a rescue either at the senior center, or at your grandmother’s residence?”
“The residence will let them have one small dog, but not two. So, Pres and I are keeping Freddy and Ginger. Nan misses her pugs. She could take care of one and maybe bring him or her to the center when she comes.”
“That’d be perfect. Here, let me show you.” Rory whipped out her phone and pulled up a picture. “This is Muffin. She’s seven, but doesn’t have any health issues. She might be perfect.”
Brooke took a look at the photo of the diminutive dog, but her cell rang before she could answer Rory. It was Miranda. “Hey, girl. Where are you? We’re waiting for you.”
“I can’t believe what he did!” Miranda was crying.
“What’s the matter?” Brooke asked.
“That bastard. He’s the worst. And my sister? Cressida. What a traitor.” S
he sobbed.
“Miranda! Miranda! Stop crying, I can’t understand you. Come over here. I can’t help you over the phone. Should I come and get you?”
“I can get there on my own,” Miranda said, her voice shaking.
“What happened?”
“I never thought she’d do something like that… Now, he’s got what he wants…well, almost. I hate him. And I hate her more. I’m on my way.” She hung up.
The women had stopped to stare at Brooke.
“I don’t know what’s wrong, but Miranda was really upset and mad as hell.”
“I can guess,” said Bess. “That rat bastard. He’ll stop at nothing.”
“He’s a Roberts. They always get what they want,” Rory said.
“You should know,” Brooke pointed out.
“Hack is different. He and Penn are only cousins.”
“They say determination is hereditary,” Bess remarked, as she tossed the salad.
“So is ruthlessness,” Brooke said, sipping her wine.
*The End*
There are pug rescues run by volunteers all across the United States. Anything you can do to help, from making calls, to fostering, from transporting to helping with fund-raising would be appreciated. Donations, even small ones, are most welcome. The money pays for veterinary care for abused or neglected pugs.
The mission of these rescues is to find loving forever homes for pugs who have lost theirs. If you want to help, scroll down for a listing of pug rescue websites by state. There’s sure to be one near you. Note: website addresses may change or rescues may fold and new ones be born, this list is up-to-date as of the date of publication of this book.
About the Author
Jean C. Joachim is a best-selling romance fiction author, with books hitting the Amazon Top 100 list since 2012. She writes mostly contemporary romance, which includes sports romance and romantic suspense.
Dangerous Love Lost & Found won First Place in the Oklahoma Romance Writers of America 2015 International Digital Awards contest in the suspense category.
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