Martin held up both hands. “Stop right there. I don’t have kids. Never did, never will. Wyatt’s fine, a nice boy, but I’m not even sure I like kids in general.”
“Do you have any idea about what to buy?”
He shrugged. “What does he want?”
“He cornered me this morning when I was leaving and out of the blue he told me he wants to go to the mountains for a week for his Christmas present. I told him I couldn’t go, not with the work I’ve got backing up on me because of Consolidated’s collapse. So I want to buy him something special to make up for not taking him on the trip. But he wouldn’t even give me a clue about what he’d want.”
“What about video games?”
“He says he’s tired of them.”
“Cars or trucks?”
“Doesn’t want them.” He laced his fingers and rested his hands on his stomach as he settled back in his chair. “He’s mad that I can’t drop everything for a week and go skiing, so he’s not being much help.”
“You know, the only thing I’ve heard about lately is that action toy, a Plant something or other. It’s all over the television—a big campaign from the toy company—and they brought it out just this week. It’s got superhuman powers and it probably costs a fortune, but if quantity of advertising is any clue, it’s going to be big this season.”
Steven made a mental note of the toy, then looked at the file on the desk. “Okay, thanks for the suggestion. Now back to this agency. Sell me on it in five minutes or I’m out of here, heading for the nearest open toy store.”
Martin released a breath and leaned forward, pressing his fingertips on the papers on the desk. The tie flipped forward again. “All right, I think—”
Steven cut him off as he stared at the winking Santa Claus. “If you really want me to concentrate, take off that tie.”
Martin shrugged, muttering something about having no Christmas spirit and a few “bah, humbugs” as he loosened the tie, tugged it free of his shirt collar, then dropped it on the desk. “Now can I talk?” he asked.
“Go for it.”
Martin looked behind him, grabbed the nearest chair and pushed it to the desk. As he settled on the leather, he rested his elbows on the arms and tented his fingers. “Here it is.” He made eye contact with Steven over his fingertips. “The Harrington Agency is a sleeper, a good acquisition that not too many have heard of. They make money, are ripe for expansion and the owner’s more than anxious to sell. I recommend it.”
Steven eyed the man. “How strongly?”
“Very.”
Steven shook his head. “It’s on the up-and-up?”
“Absolutely. They gave me some names to talk to and everyone said the bottom line is they give service and are very classy. Maybe you’ve heard their ad on the radio?”
“Not that I remember.”
Martin glanced at his wristwatch. “They advertise on a local talk show from nine to midnight. If you get a chance, turn it on. KZZZ. The Dr. Love show.”
Steven chuckled at that. “Dr. Love?”
“She’s a psychologist who deals with relationship problems.”
“I know who she is.” He’d turned on the car radio often enough to the talk station and heard her voice coming over the airwaves. He shifted a bit when he also remembered the fact that the lady had one sexy voice, low and husky, that could run riot over a man’s nerves.
“You listen to—?”
“In passing,” he said quickly.
“Then you might have heard Harrington’s commercials. They’ve got the first spot on the show.”
“I can’t say I ever noticed.”
“Well, give it a listen before you go for your appointment.”
Steven lifted one eyebrow. “My what?”
“I made an appointment for you to go there tomorrow night at six o’clock. Just take a look at it with an open mind.”
Steven almost refused, but Martin’s track record kept him from doing that. “Any chance of getting an earlier meeting?” He hated to be tied up for another evening and miss dinner with Wyatt again. He still felt guilty about the look of resigned disappointment when he’d had to tell Wyatt they couldn’t go skiing.
“No, the owner’s only in town for part of the day, and that’s the best I could do. She’s having some sort of holiday gathering for friends and employees as a going-away celebration, and she’s agreed to squeeze in a meeting with you. Steven, trust me, it’s a sweetheart deal.”
He did trust Martin, and that was the main reason he found himself agreeing. “All right. I’ll go, but I’m not promising anything.”
“You won’t be sorry,” Martin said. “In fact, I think you’ll be pleasantly surprised.”
“Okay, I’ll read the files, and I’ll give Harrington’s a once-over tomorrow evening.”
Martin stood. “I’m out of here. I’ve got a party to go to.” He looked at Steven. “How about you coming along? Drinks, some dancing, very nice women all guaranteed to be in the holiday spirit?”
Steven shook his head. “No, thanks.”
“You know, you need to get a life. Meet someone interesting, get involved and have fun. You have to get out there and meet people sometime.”
The grief over Jeannie’s death had diminished with time and settled into a regret for the life they hadn’t had together with Wyatt. But the sharp edges were gone, and life kept going on. Steven had met women, and been interested up to a point, but right then he couldn’t quite focus on anyone in particular. “Tonight’s not the time. I have to get home. You go and have a good time.”
“I intend to, good enough for the two of us.” Martin started for the door. “Call me after you have your meeting?”
“Sure.”
“Merry Christmas,” he called over his shoulder as he went out the door and closed it behind him.
As Steven reached for the Harrington file, he saw the Santa tie lying on top of the clutter on his desk, still blinking at him. “Hey, Martin,” he called out as he reached for the tie and got up to cross to the door. But when he opened it, all he saw was an empty room.
He looked down at Santa Claus winking up at him. “Bah, humbug,” he muttered as he went back to his desk.
He dropped down in his chair, tossed the tie to one side and reached for the Harrington file.
By the time Steven left fifteen minutes later and got into his black Jaguar coupe in the parking garage, he was beginning to think Martin might have hit on something with Harrington’s. Everything sounded good, even if the owner, Rachel Harrington, hadn’t been around for a while.
He put his briefcase in the small space behind the front seats, then tossed Martin’s still-blinking tie on the console and started the car. As he drove up and out onto the Christmas-laden streets of San Francisco, he glanced at the clock on the dash. One minute past nine.
He reached over and turned on the radio, scanned the stations and found KZZZ near the end of the dial. An ad for a fast-food restaurant offering cartoon characters done up like Santa was just finishing. It was replaced by a voice that Steven recognized immediately, a voice that was a direct contrast to the jarring sounds moments earlier.
Soft and intimate, the sound came over the airwaves to filter into the car and invisibly surround him. “Welcome to the Ask Dr. Love Show, coming to you on KZZZ FM from the City by the Bay, San Francisco. Merry Christmas, everyone. Tonight we’re here for you from the nine-o’clock hour until midnight to talk about the most important thing in anyone’s life—our relationships with others—with our lovers, our spouses, our families and our friends.”
As she spoke, Steven felt an instant response to the tones, a surprising easing of the hectic day. Yet even as it soothed his nerves, he felt it seeping into him on another level to build a subtle tension that had nothing to do with work. He’d heard the voice many times before, yet in that moment, he was shocked by feelings making his body respond to the silky tone. Determinedly, he focused on the words, not the voice.
“Tonight we’r
e going to have a show about the holidays. Let’s talk about how they affect you. How do you feel during the celebrations and how do you relate to your loved ones at this time of year?”
Steven laughed softly at that, thinking about what he’d say if he called in. He wanted to kill partridges and lords and melt down golden rings, and he’d played the Grinch by turning down his son’s request for a skiing trip.
“Our phone lines are open, and while I’m waiting for your call, let’s take a break for a word from one of our sponsors, the Harrington Agency.”
Low classical music swelled, then started to fade away as a man’s deep voice said, “What if you’re a happily single, professional businesswoman having important negotiations with a major client, and that client has the old-fashioned notion that any woman they deal with should be married? What if you have a social engagement that you don’t want to miss, but the invitation reads For Couples Only?
“Or what if you are tired of people asking why you’re single, and you want to stop having to explain that it’s your life?
“If business, social or personal circumstances dictate the need for the appearance of a husband in your life, we at the Harrington Agency offer an uncomplicated, uncompromising solution for you.
“Dial 1-800-HUSBAND and find out how we can uncomplicate your life and do it with complete confidentiality and discretion. That’s 1-800-HUSBAND. Call anytime.”
The music faded away, then the voice was back, drawing a response from Steven that came on a basic, physical level.
“I’m Dr. Love and let’s talk about just what the city thinks about the holidays and what people need at this time of the year. It’s been said that Christmas can be the loneliest time of the year for some people, and all we have is our family and loved ones. So let’s talk about it.”
Dr. Love. He shook his head. She certainly had the voice to go with the name. Then he had a thought that came with a jolt. Some harridan could be behind the voice. He couldn’t remember ever seeing a picture of Dr. Love. The voice of a seductive angel with a face that could stop a clock? A voice that was wreaking havoc with him.
Steven exhaled harshly. He didn’t know if Martin’s talk about women had started it, but for the first time in a long time, he wished he weren’t going home to bed alone. A voice was conjuring up erotic images, but there wasn’t even a face his body could so easily respond to.
“Our first caller is from the city and his name’s John. Hello, John, this is Dr. Love. You’re on the air and—”
Steven flipped off the radio. He’d heard enough, in more ways than one. He’d heard the agency’s ad, and he’d heard a voice that came through the night to produce a frustration in him that was quickly growing into a deep ache. A need to hold someone close to him in the night, to push back loneliness, to mingle heat and satisfy need. The need flowed around him and started a fire in him that had no outlet.
He hit the Down button for the window, and cold, damp evening air filtered into the car. But as he drove down the steep, hilly street toward the Bay, the cold air did little to ease the tightness in him.
“Thanks a lot, Dr. Love,” he muttered and inhaled the cold air as he drove alone through the night.
* * *
MADISON SAT in the glass-walled studio with her headset on and the computer by the microphone flashing with eight callers filling the lines.
The top caller on the screen was John from San Francisco, and Harry had made the notation: Age? A kid? Think he called last night and hung up. Workaholic dad.
She picked up her pen and sat forward to reach for her notepad. “Our first caller is from the city and his name’s John. Hello, John, this is Dr. Love. You’re on the air and you have the floor.”
When there was no response, she said, “You’re on the air, John. It’s your chance to talk about anything you have on your mind.”
She heard the caller clear his throat, then say in a tight voice, “You’re a real doctor, aren’t you?”
She smiled at that and pegged the caller’s age at somewhere between eight and twelve. “Some people don’t consider a psychologist a real doctor, but, yes, I am. Now how can I help you?”
“I...I wanted to ask you about something for this...this friend of mine.”
“All right, John, what do you want to ask for your friend?”
“Well, it’s like this, Doctor, this friend of mine, his dad, he’s like really busy working hard, and he never seems to have time for anything but work stuff.”
“That’s rough for both of them, I bet.”
“Yeah, and his dad, he won’t even go away.”
She didn’t understand. “Go away?”
“My friend, he wanted to go away for Christmas. It’s like the only thing he asked for Christmas, but his dad says that he’s got to work because of something that he can’t put off and it’s real important.”
She could feel the frustration and hurt in the boy’s voice. “How about your friend’s mother?”
“She died when he was real little.”
Father the only family? she wrote on the pad. “I’m sorry to hear that. Does he have any brothers or sisters?”
“No.”
“Well, maybe his father doesn’t have enough money for the trip.”
“Oh, no, he’s got money,” he said quickly. “But he won’t leave ‘cause now it’s a real busy time for him. So we...they...they can’t go skiing or nothing.”
She grimaced and wondered why people like John’s father had children when they didn’t have any time for them. Or how they could block them out of their lives. “Does your friend think his father doesn’t love him?”
“Oh, no,” he said quickly. “He loves him, okay, but he’s so busy all the time.”
“And your friend really wants to spend time with his dad?”
“You bet. That’s why he asked to go skiing, but that didn’t work out, so he wants to know what to do now. His dad’s working like mad all the time. Sometimes he’s gone real late and he goes to work early in the morning or he goes away for trips for two or three days.”
She could feel the boy’s need so strongly that it almost made her wince. Is he left alone all this time? she jotted down. “And who looks after your friend while his dad’s gone?”
“A man.”
“A friend?”
“No, Bishop gets paid, like a housekeeper.”
She wrote down question marks. “Okay, John, your friend’s out of school for vacation, isn’t he?”
“Yeah, until next year.”
“Then here’s what your friend can do.” The father needed the responsibility pushed on him, and if he loved his child, she was sure he’d pick up the ball. “Have him talk to his father about his business to see just what he really is doing. Then have him do it with him.”
“What?”
“You know, if he’s going to be at work late or if he’s got to go on a business trip, tell your friend to ask to go with him.”
He was quiet for a moment, then asked softly, “You think so?”
“Yes, John, I think so. I just bet his dad wants to be with him, too. But maybe he can’t figure out how to do it and work, too, since he’s a single parent. This way he can be with his son and business is getting done, and maybe your friend can see how hard his dad’s working. How does that sound to you?”
“I...I guess it’s okay.”
“I think it’s worth a try. Don’t you?”
The line was silent for a long moment, and she cut into the dead air. “John?”
“I...I think he could try it.”
Madison tried to think of something to say to take the tinge of uncertainty out of his voice. “John, all your friend can do is to let his father know that he wants to be with him. Sometimes we think the people we love know what we want, but they don’t. They aren’t mind readers. Your friend needs to let his father know exactly what he wants. Okay?”
“Yes, ma’am,” he said with a bit more conviction.
“And
don’t forget to call me back and let me know how things go?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Merry Christmas, John,” she said. “I hope you get exactly what you want for Christmas.”
“Me, too,” he said quickly, then hung up.
Madison stared at the monitor and forced herself to read it. Sylvia from Oakland. Trouble with boyfriend’s mother.
“All right,” she said, trying to shake off a sense of unfinished business with the last caller. “The next caller is Sylvia from Oakland.” She hit the button for line two and said, “Hello, Sylvia, you’re on the air with Dr. Love.”
But as Sylvia began to talk in a breathless voice about her problem, Madison glanced down at her notepad. She’d written the word John, then right by it, No mom, closed dad. Needs help. She wished she had some way to find out what was going to happen between John and his father.
She seldom regretted not having a private practice, but this was one of those times when she had no way to follow up on a case. She had to concentrate to figure out what Sylvia was saying to her.
* * *
The Third Day of Christmas
WHEN STEVEN DROVE onto Harrington Court the next evening, the fog was already drifting in from the bay to halo the light of old-fashioned street lanterns near the cobbled street. He knew the agency was in Rachel Harrington’s family home, but he was surprised to see the neighborhood was in a very elegant older section of the city. The houses had been built at the turn of the century for wealthy families, but had since been refurbished to accommodate upscale businesses.
He saw a discreet sign on a worn brick wall that fronted a multistory house across the street and could make out Ten Harrington Court, The Harrington Agency illuminated by two low-beam lights. Cars lined the street and he went farther down, then turned around and came back before he spotted a space near the entrance. He parked under an ancient, leafless sycamore tree that had been strung with twinkling lights and got out into the foggy night.
As he strode up the sidewalk to the agency’s entry—double wrought-iron gates decorated with pine wreaths and set in the brick wall—he could hear muffled music off in the distance. Through the gates, he glimpsed the fog-backed silhouette of a multistory mansion with deep eaves and gold lights spilling from multipaned windows on the top floor.
The Christmas Husband Page 3
