“It’s straight.” Kat gasped.
“I’m no fashion expert, but even I know you don’t put a straight lining in a flared skirt,” Erin said, reaching for the material.
“Now you understand why I wouldn’t mind drowning that sleazy Italian in the Trevi fountain.”
“I don’t think the tourists would like that.” Mark entered the room with a couple of plates loaded with sandwiches.
“That was awfully fast.” Kat picked one up and took a bite.
“Barb had a carton of boiled eggs. All I had to do was mix in a little mayo.”
“I’ll get us some drinks. What does everyone want?” Erin grabbed a half a sandwich and started for the doorway.
“Water for me.” Kat grabbed another half, opened the doors to the ornate armoire in the corner of the large room that housed the TV. Remote in hand, she retook her spot on the loveseat.
“Me too, thanks,” Anna added, still pulling files from the box. The crease in her brow grew deeper as each file saw the light of day.
Mark set the plate down in front of her. She was keeping busy, doing. Where Kat flirted to ease the pressure, Anna worked. From the set of her shoulders, he would guess preparing for another fight. “You should eat too.”
“I will.” She held up a clip of fabric pieces. “These were the original swatches the buyers had picked for the separates. I’ll probably need to take a trip to Italy if I want to fix this mess.” Shaking her head slowly she set them down on the open box. “But I can’t now, can I?” Her knuckles blanched, tightly gripping the back of the desk chair. “Good God, what are we going to do?”
“Eat.” Mark nudged her toward one of a pair of wingback recliners.
“I should call Liz. Find out if there’s any word from Italy.”
“One thing at a time.”
Anna sat heavily, gripping the small plate with the same strength she’d used on the chair. “You’re right. There’s so much to do, so many people to call.”
“I know. We’ll make a list after we eat. You’ll need to tell me what kind of funeral Barb would want.” Mark stopped when Kat raised the volume on the TV.
“Look. Tom made the news.” Kat raised the volume some more.
Noted San Francisco architect Thomas Preston was killed yesterday morning in a multi car accident. Best known for his work in the renovated mission district...
“Damn,” Mark grabbed the remote from Kat. “Why the hell would they want to broadcast this?” He flipped to the next channel and waited. The next station had already received the news about Barb.
No plans for services have been announced...
Mark shoved his fingers through his hair and rubbed the back of his neck, cruising the large room.
“What’s the matter?” Anna pushed to her feet.
“I didn’t stop to think the local news might pick this up.”
“I don’t see the problem.” Kat put her sandwich down and joined them by the window that Mark had stopped his pacing to stare out of.
He’d have to find out if the news reached Sacramento. “It’s probably nothing. I’m going to call the office and check on Marcia. Keep eating. I’ll be right back.”
Out the doorway, he was already pressing speed dial to his office. Searching for someplace private, he settled for the bathroom. “It’s me. How’s Marcia doing?”
“She’s fine. She’s had a big lunch and is playing with Pat,” his secretary reassured him.
“Good. I need you to do me a favor. I just saw a spot on the local news about the accident. I need you to discreetly find out if it’s hit Sacramento, and if it hasn’t, do what you can to keep it that way. I want as little information as possible on this to get out. Especially the funeral plans.”
“What are the funeral plans?”
“We haven’t gotten that far yet.”
“I’ll make a few calls. I have a friend at one of the stations. I’m sure she can help.”
“Thanks. I’ll be back in a few hours. Templeton must be having canaries being cancelled two days in a row.”
“Actually, everyone has been wonderful. We’ve explained about Mr. Preston’s accident and every single client has said take all the time you need. Even the Everett building has stopped calling.”
“Make sure you tell only our clients about the situation. Anyone else calling and it’s business as usual. Got that?”
“Got it, but is something wrong?”
“Not if I can help it.” He hung up without another word. No matter what, he was not going to let Tom down.
CHAPTER SEVEN
“You need to come home.” As usual Harrison’s voice could be clearly heard across the room.
Running her fingers along the back of the regency desk chair Babs had been so thrilled to find at an estate sale in Sausalito, Anna squared her shoulders. “I can’t. We’ve barely finished making arrangements for Tom and Babs’ funeral. We haven’t even begun to discuss how to handle Marcia.”
“There’s nothing to handle. She belongs with a blood relation.”
“There aren’t any blood relations. Babs and Tom were both only children. Tom’s parents died before he and Babs met and you know Babs’ parents were killed in that plane crash four years ago. There’s no one. Besides, I promised her.”
“You’ve made me promises too. Don't those matter?” When she didn’t say a word, he continued. “And your job? The VP slot? Peterson can’t be happy with you gallivanting in California.”
“I’m not gallivanting. And work is fine.” Drumming a nearby pen on the blotter, she didn’t dare tell him the truth. Knowing how seriously her job was at risk, never mind her shot at nabbing that promotion, he’d be relentless in arguing for her to come home immediately. And if she’d learned anything from her relationship with Harrison, she’d learned it didn’t pay to argue with a litigator.
“I’ll make excuses until the funeral, but after that. You need to come home. Without the baby.”
“Harrison.” Anna was talking to a dead line. She’d like to think the call was dropped, but she knew too well Harrison had hung up on her. Her mind wandered back to the days when they could talk for hours. Back then he’d hung on her every word. She could hardly get him off the phone. Where the hell was that Harrison when she needed him?
“Something wrong?” Mark came up behind her.
“No. He’s a little upset.”
“So are you.” He briefly touched her arm as though he were going to offer the same soothing comfort he would offer Marcia when she was upset, but his hand dropped quickly back to his side.
“He’s at a new stage of his life. He needs me.”
“Looks like a lot of people need you.”
“That’s what scares me.”
“I’ve seen you in action. I don’t believe anything really scares you.”
The comment almost made her laugh. Folding her arms, she brushed away a chill that had nothing to do with the temperature in the room. “From the time I was a little girl I knew where my life was going. I love my mother, but I wanted more. She was always in the kitchen. Even if she wasn’t cooking, she was cleaning. And if she wasn’t cleaning, she was sitting at the table talking to any one of her friends or neighbors who had stopped by.”
Hands behind him, Mark leaned against the window frame.
“We had plastic on all the living room furniture,” she continued, “but I never figured out why since no one ever left the kitchen. No matter how many people were over, they’d only bring more chairs into the kitchen. For holidays- we’d move every one down to the long table in the basement. I don’t think we ever had a single meal in the dining room. Don’t get me wrong. I love my family. I just knew there was more to life outside that kitchen.
“Anyhow, as a little girl I’d always loved dressing up. I’d save my allowance to buy fashion magazines. By the time I was a teenager I discovered the joy of shopping, but it was more than that. I not only followed all the trends, it wasn’t long before I realized I c
ould almost predict what was going to be in next season. By the time I got to college I knew fashion would be my ticket out of the kitchen.”
Mark shot her a slow steady grin. “So, you were a gifted merchandiser even as a child and it was always a given you’d be in fashion?”
“Not just in it. I was going to set it on fire.” She laughed.
“Looks like you’ve done pretty well for yourself.”
Still smiling, she nodded proudly. “Can’t complain. Youngest Division Merchandise Manager in one of New York’s oldest department stores. And...” she lowered her voice, “I might have a real chance at Vice President of Merchandising.”
“Might?”
Her grin widened. “Bob Anderson has been threatening to retire for years. Rumor has it this time he’s serious. When Old Man Peterson pawned Junior off on me I suspected it was a test. If I can save face on this Italy deal I think I’ll be on the short list. A very short list.”
“And you really want this?”
“Are you kidding? Vice President of Merchandising? It’s what I’ve worked my tail off for all these years.”
“Even though you live on antacids?”
“A casualty of the trade.” She waved the comment off.
“And Harrison? Is he also part of the plan to get out of the kitchen?”
“No. I mean, I’ve learned a lot from him that’ll insure I’m never trapped in a kitchen like my mom, but that’s not why we got together. Right now you’re not seeing him at his best. He isn’t just ambitious, and focused. He’s also polished, charming...” She smiled remembering the day they’d met. She’d tripped over her own two feet rushing to get back to work. He’d been so calm, so gallant when she not only spilled an almost full cup of coffee in his lap, but on an entire stack of papers on the table as well. Important papers. “And very understanding.”
“Hmm.”
“No really. It’s this politics thing that has him so—”
“Self-absorbed?” Mark crossed his ankles.
“Stressed.”
“Hmm.”
“He’s a great lawyer.”
“And he’s focused.” His tone ensured she didn’t take it as a compliment.
“What’s wrong with being focused? He’s a man who knows what he wants. Why shouldn’t he want me at his side to help him advance his career? As a matter of fact, I think it’s pretty damn flattering that someone as important as Harrison wants me at his side.”
“Don’t get me wrong, General. You’d be an asset at any man’s side. Considering the circumstances, I think he could be a little more understanding, that’s all.”
Mark had gripped the edge of the windowsill behind him for as long as Anna had been speaking. It annoyed the heck out of him that she seemed so devoted to a man who couldn’t appreciate her. In a little over twenty four hours he’d come to see how special she was and wondered why the hell the self absorbed boyfriend couldn’t see how much she was hurting.
All he’d wanted to do was reach out, pull her into his arms and let her know everything in her world would be better than okay. The only thing was, he wasn’t so sure who would be more terrified if he’d done just that, her or him.
His taste normally leaned toward the typical California beach girl. Long legs, long hair, and short on ambitions. The more casual and relaxed the relationship, the better. This woman was the complete antithesis of everything that usually attracted him, and yet in only two days she’d stirred him up in ways no one ever had. “I suppose having a family of your own wasn’t in those plans to set the world on fire?”
“Not really. It’s not easy to climb the corporate ladder with a baby in one arm. Besides, my odd family set up never inspired me to fantasize about a brood of my own.”
“What do you mean odd?”
“My brother, Tony, is seven years older than me, and Angela is seven years older than him. Mom liked the idea of not having more children until the previous one was in first grade. She felt it allowed her to devote more time to each child.”
“Was she right?”
“I have no idea, but I wouldn’t trade her for anyone. The basement may not be pretty, but you can’t beat the love that fills it. Enough about me. What about you? How many brothers and sisters do you have?”
“There are six of us all together. Three girls and three boys. Mom won’t be happy until we’re all married with a passel of kids.”
“How do you feel about that?”
“I love the idea in theory.”
“But in the real world?”
“Divorce is nasty business. Both my sisters expected their home to be a mirror image of the way we grew up. It took my sister Rachel three kids before she finally accepted that her life was closer to a nightmare than a dream. Except for Tom and Barb, none of my friends are still married to spouse number one.”
“I know what you mean.” She shifted her gaze out the window.
He watched her staring blankly through the glass. It never really made sense to him, if you love someone enough to live with them, why not marry them? And if you don’t love them enough to marry them, why live with them? But he wasn’t going to ask that question now.
Even though Anna was still looking off into the distance and couldn’t see him, he shrugged a shoulder. “I guess you could say I envied what Barb and Tom had. But I decided a long time ago society is no longer conducive to happily ever after. It’s easier to just keep things light.”
“So what you really want is the old-fashioned fairytale?”
“Maybe.” He looked around the room. Besides his mom’s house in Sacramento, this was the only other place he felt at home. His apartment was a place to sleep. Barb had turned this oversized nineteen fifties attempt at modern California architecture into a cozy, warm place any man would want to hang his hat. It was everything he wanted. Everything he’d grown up with. But he’d finally given up on finding a woman like Barb and settled for temporary companionship.
“Doesn’t seem fair does it?” She turned around to face him again.
“No one ever said life would be fair.”
“What are we going to do?”
“You mean about Marcia?”
Anna nodded.
“I don’t know about you, but I’m going to do everything I can to make sure she grows up the way Tom and Barb wanted her to.”
“What do you think Babs was so afraid of?”
Mark clenched his teeth. He didn’t know what to say. For all these years Barb had honored her husband’s wishes, not saying a word to her best friends. Would she want him to tell them now, or would she simply expect him to handle it? With both Barb and Tom gone would it even matter if he told? Or would it be just one more thing for Anna to worry about, another reason to pop more of those antacids like candy.
If he could manage to keep things low key a little longer everything could stay the way Tom wanted it. But he hadn’t expected the media to care about one man and his wife dying in a car accident. People were killed in accidents every day and they didn’t merit a spot on the news. Maybe a blurb in the paper. The paper! Shit. “I have to make a quick call. I’ll be right back.”
“Where’s the fire?” Erin asked, walking into the room with Kat.
“I don’t know.” Anna shook her head, wondering the same thing. “I asked him what did he think Babs was so afraid of. He seemed to be searching for an answer when his face turned white as river rock and then he ran out to make a phone call.”
“Well, that’s odd.” Kat plopped in the chair.
“Maybe he remembered something important. He is running a business alone now.” Erin stood next to Anna.
“Maybe.” She kept her eye on the door Mark had rushed through. He kept repeating hmm. She hated it when all a man would say was hmm.
“You still with us?” Erin waved her hand in front of Anna’s face.
“Sorry, just thinking.” And why did she care what Mark thought? “I need a drink.”
“It’s only two o’cloc
k in the afternoon.” Kat’s eyes rounded like full moons.
Anna stormed out of the room yelling over her shoulder, “I want champagne. Green champagne.”
A little early to be tying one on, don’t you think?” Mark stepped into the kitchen and picked up the unopened bottle of champagne.
“I can’t find the food coloring.” Anna closed a cabinet door.
“Food coloring?”
“Green champagne. It’s sort of a... tradition.” She opened another cabinet, blinking back tears. “We always celebrate with green champagne.
“And exactly what is there to celebrate?” Mark didn’t understand. From where he stood, he could see a narrow trail of tears streaming from the corner of her eye. What could this woman possibly have to celebrate?
Anna gripped the counter, bowed her head, took a deep breath, then looked up at Mark. “I have a beautiful, healthy, safe niece to raise.”
Mark nodded. “Agreed. To Marcia.” Stepping around her, he reached into the cabinet and pulled out a small green bottle. “I know there’s a really good reason for this.”
“There is. The luck of the Irish.” Taking the bottle from his hand, she strolled out of the room.
“Ladies,” Anna called from the entry way. “One drink.”
“I’ve already got the glasses out.” Erin pointed to the bar.
“Did you find the food coloring?” Kat asked.
“Mark did.”
“I knew I liked you.” Kat winked at him as he followed Anna into the room, bottle of green food coloring in hand. “The offer to get hitched still holds.”
Mark chuckled. “And if I said yes?”
“Call the preacher!” Erin laughed.
“Ladies, leave the poor man alone.” Anna held up a flute of champagne. “Would you do the honors?”
“How many drops?” he asked.
“One will do.”
Once each person in the room held a glass of green champagne, he raised his glass. “To Marcia.”
“To Babs,” Erin added.
Raising her glass beside the others, Kat chimed in, “To Tom.”
The same as back in Napa Valley on St. Patty’s day freshman year of college, four glasses clinked in the air, the sound echoing in the large room. “One for all,” Anna practically shouted.
The Champagne Sisterhood Page 7
