Magdalene (11 page)

* * * * *

Uptown Girl

She had worn orange.

The minute she stepped into the restaurant,
she took Mitch’s breath away. He had felt every minute of the last
three weeks, debating whether to pursue her, how she would mesh at
church, if she would be willing to mesh at church, whether church
really mattered in this equation or not, beyond keeping his
covenants.

He couldn’t figure out what it was about her
that had him feeling as nervous as a kid asking a girl out for the
first time, but he had to see her again.

Three weeks. It had taken him that long to
determine that his fascination with her wasn’t going to go away. He
knew what conclusion she would draw from his leaving such a long
space of time between then and now, given her bald pronouncement.
It’d been a test—and he’d passed it.

Because she was here.

In orange.

“Cassandra.”

She started and turned, a sweet smile on her
face that he wanted to see more of. Her face, piquant, with those
clear brown eyes, was the most beautiful face he had ever seen—

—and that included the face of his wife, the
mother of his children, whom he had loved and married in the temple
for eternity, whom he had cared for so many years before she
died.

He didn’t remember this fire in his gut,
this
need
for Mina that he had for Cassandra. Perhaps it was
the fact that she was, unlike Mina, vibrant and sensual. Perhaps it
was the fact that he wasn’t twenty-one and destitute, stretched to
his limit and depending on his fragile eighteen-year-old wife to
keep them out of the red every month. He was forty-four, healthy,
and had everything to offer a woman, even one who had as much money
and power as he did.

But here Cassandra stood in front of him,
beautiful in a way Mina had never been.

Guilt stabbed him. The guilt of disloyalty.
The guilt of an adulterer, the way it had been described to him in
countless interviews over the years. He was a widower and he had
been faithful to his wife and his covenants, so he didn’t
understand why his spirit was vulnerable to guilt when his mind
wasn’t.

“Mitch,” she returned in that husky purr he
wasn’t sure was deliberate. He thought he was an expert at spotting
women who affected husky purrs, so if she was faking it, she was
better than all the women who had tried before.

She held her hand out for him to shake, but
he turned it and brought it to his lips for a light kiss. Her eyes
widened almost imperceptibly as he held her gaze. He could tell her
breath caught and he wondered if she was as smitten as he was. He
doubted it.

Still, she was here and she had worn
orange.

He tucked her hand into the crook of his
left arm and nodded at the maître d’ for their table.

The conversation began easily enough, though
Mitch wasn’t paying attention to what she said so much as how she
said it. He noticed she did not order wine. That intrigued him,
since, in Bethlehem, she had chosen what Sebastian later informed
him was what anyone with exquisite taste and money to burn would
order. Sebastian wanted to know who had ordered it and why it had
piqued Mitch’s curiosity enough to ask. Mitch had declined to
explain.

Now, Mitch simply watched her, listened to
her voice. It evened out after a while and he wondered if the purr
had been nervousness, but he doubted it. He didn’t make women like
her nervous.

“How was your Christmas?” he asked during a
small lull just as they had been served.

“Decent,” she murmured. “Gordon, my
ex-husband, and his husband, Nigel, took the twins to a performance
of
Wicked
. Helene had a double shift at the hospital.
Clarissa and I indulged in a chick-flick marathon and binged
ourselves sick on Ben & Jerry’s. Yours?”

“My wife died on Christmas Day last year,”
he said, wondering why he’d even brought it up, except, well, it
was two days after Christmas. Why wouldn’t one ask? “My son and I
went to Vail. My daughter hosted Christmas this year and filled up
her house with her in-laws. Fun people. Did a little skiing. So it
was good.”

Relatively speaking.

“I’m sorry,” she murmured.

“My fault,” he said briskly and sat up a
little straighter. “I figured yours had to be better than
mine.”

She chuckled then. “And it wasn’t.”

“Didn’t sound that way, no.”

“So what brings you up to Manhattan?” she
asked finally. He’d expected it immediately, but perhaps she was
hesitant to know.

“You.”

She bit her lip and he didn’t know how she’d
survived as a call girl without getting completely fleeced. If she
was acting, he couldn’t tell and—well, that pretty much meant she
wasn’t.

“As it happens,” she said, suddenly paying a
lot more attention to her meal. “I am, uh, free Friday.”

His heart thumped in his chest.

What are you doing New Year’s Eve?

“I find that...odd.”

She looked up at him, her expression
shuttered. “Then why did you ask me out if you thought I had
something else to do?” she asked brusquely.

“I couldn’t not.”

She swallowed. “Oh.”

“Cassandra,” he began slowly, not even sure
what he wanted to say. “I would like—”

The phone in his suit coat chirped the
ringtone that let him know he had a problem at church. Cassandra
stiffened and the moment shattered. “I’m sorry,” he said,
immediately frustrated, but hiding it as well as he usually did. “I
have to take this call.”

“Go ahead,” she said flatly with a
dismissive wave.

He arose and stalked through the restaurant
and out the front door. “What,” he said tightly, without looking at
the caller ID.

“Uh...” Then Mitch looked. His first
counselor. “Did I interrupt something?”

“As a matter of fact, Steve, yes. What’s
wrong?”

“Sister Bevan is trying to get hold of
you.”

Mitch ground his teeth. “I’m in
Manhattan.”

There was a long pause. “She’s demanding to
talk to you, wants your cell number.”

“What’s the problem this time?”

“She says Dan hit her.”

Mitch had every reason to doubt that, but
wouldn’t take the chance. “Steve,
please
do me a favor and
take care of it. There’s a list of shelters in my desk drawer—”

“Been there, done that, Mitch. Louise is
over at her house trying to talk her into going to the hospital and
filing a police report, which she’s refusing to do.”

Of course.

“Where’s Dan?”

“Gone...who knows where.”

Probably the library, where he’d always gone
when he wanted to escape his life. He’d done it since they were
kids, and right then, Mitch wanted to throttle him for it.

“Have you seen her? Do you know what kind of
condition she’s in?”

“No.”

Another call was coming in. “Hey, Steve,
lemme call you back.” He switched over, already knowing who it was,
wanting to strangle whoever gave her his number.

“Bishop!”

“Sister Bevan,” he said politely, holding
onto his patience with every last ounce of will he possessed. “What
can I do for you?”

“I’m done. I cannot take this anymore. Dan’s
just...out of control. Help me!”

“Listen to me and do what I tell you to do,
okay? Sister Kelly is with you, right?”

“Yes, but she isn’t
you
.
She
can’t make Dan go away.”

He ignored that. “Let Louise take care of
you, get you to a shelter at least.”

Sally launched into a list of reasons why
he
had to be the one to help her and why she couldn’t go to
the emergency room or call the police.

“Sister Bevan, I
am
going to help
you, but you have to let me talk to Sister Kelly, okay?”

“Yes, Mitch,” she said, then sniffled.
“Thank you.”

“Louise,” he said without preamble when she
answered. “Are you free to talk?”

“No.”

“All right.” This was an old exercise.
Louise’s job as Relief Society president gave her unlimited access
to Mitch’s ear, and they’d collaborated on the disposition of too
many such situations. “Any bruises or blood?”

“None.”

“Do you believe her?”

“No.”

“Call the police and have her make a report.
If she’s not lying, we can get this dealt with properly. If she is,
maybe it’ll scare her enough to quit...”

“Greg’s here.”

Mitch’s throat clogged. Louise’s terseness
told him everything he needed to know about how helpful Greg would
be, sweetly feeding Sally’s obsession with Mitch.

“Can you get him to leave?”

“No.”

No one but Mitch and Brother Kelly knew how
much she despised Greg Sitkaris. Her hatred had grown slowly over
the last five years as she’d gone about tending the women in the
ward, seeing the way Greg charmed them. Then, once they were
thoroughly captivated by him, he would slowly, subtly chip away at
their confidence and self-esteem with backhanded compliments
dispensed in tones flavored with disdain—

—for his own amusement.

Even Mitch had thought Louise’s descriptions
of his behavior unbelievable and she, like Mina, had given up
trying to explain it to him.

But now Mitch understood.

“All right. Insert yourself between them.
Don’t let him talk to her or get close to her.”

She paused. “Uh...”

“I get it now.”

“
Finally!
” Little whispers of fabric
let Mitch know she was moving. “You need to do something,” she
hissed.

Louise certainly wasn’t shy about stating
her opinion. He knew exactly what she wanted him to do.

“I’m...working on that,” he admitted
gruffly.

“Right now?” she asked, shocked.

“Yes, right now! And I’m having a good time
and I want to get back to it.”

“Oh,” she breathed. “That’s great! Okay,
I’ll call my husband and we’ll get it done. Consider your evening
free.”

Mitch had just turned his phone off when a
flash of orange at the door of Babbo caught his eye.

“Cassandra!” he called, panicked, and
trotted toward her.

She stopped. Gave him a cool glance.
“Yes?”

“I’m sorry. That was a church call. I had to
take it.”

“Had to?” she asked smoothly.

Mitch opened his mouth to protest, but no,
he hadn’t had to. That was why he had two counselors and a female
counterpart with her own counselors, and an entire hierarchy of
people who could have dealt with it without involving him. “I’m
sorry. It’s...complicated. I’ve— My ward—parish—they’ve gotten used
to my availability—” He needed to shut up.

“You’re a brilliant man, Mr. Hollander,” she
murmured. “You know how to make yourself unavailable, and I don’t
take second place to anyone. By the way,” she said as she turned
and walked away from him, “I
am
busy Friday.”

His nostrils flared. “Cassandra—”

“I didn’t pay the tab, so you’d best see to
it.”

“Cassandra—”

“Good night, Mr. Hollander.”

Mitch wanted to howl, but didn’t. As usual.
“Happy early birthday, then.”

She stopped cold and stood motionless for
long seconds. Her head bowed. He watched, his heart pounding in his
ears, wondering if...

“You had me investigated,” she said quietly
over her silver-mink-clad shoulder, her breath white in the cold
air.

“Of course I did,” he said, exasperated.
“I’d be an idiot not to.”

“So you know everything.”

“Not everything I wanted to know, no.”

“My ex-husband? My ex-father-in-law? My
divorce?”

“Yes, yes, and yes.”

“Police reports? Criminal trial transcripts?
Financial records?”

“Those too.”

“My client list?”

“You didn’t sell it. Did you destroy
it?”

“I’m not that stupid.”

“That’s a relief.”

“The people on it don’t share your
opinion.”

“I wouldn’t think so. Couldn’t get your
medical records, either.”

She waved a hand. “Well, I don’t have any
cooties, if that’s what you’re wondering. I’m a professional.”

“Trust in Allah, but tie your camel.”

“Fine. I’ll get tested again and send you
the results.”

“Much appreciated.”

“So knowing what you do know, why did you
ask me out?”

“You’re a brilliant woman, Ms. St. James,”
he said, hope seeping back into his soul. “You know what that
means.”

“It could mean anything. Like...pity.”

“I don’t drive two hundred miles round trip
to have intimate dinners at chic restaurants with people I
pity.”

“Slumming, then.”

“No.
You’re
slumming. I’m the one
from the wrong side of the tracks.” He saw the corner of her mouth
twitch. “And what did your people find out about me?”

She released a resigned sigh. “That you have
a PhD in metallurgical engineering from Missouri S&T. That your
wife had a rare and devastating form of multiple sclerosis. That
your daughters were missionaries for your church in Moscow and Hong
Kong, respectively, although I can’t remember which went where.
That you have one child—a boy—still at home. That I’m the first
woman you’ve been interested in since your wife died last year
and
that she was the only woman you’ve ever had sex with.
That you have lived a very boring life and that you seem perfectly
happy to wallow in your boringness.”

He laughed, feeling lighter than he had in
weeks. Months. “And yet, you accepted my invitation. Why?”

She turned almost fully then and looked at
him, a smile creeping up on her. “I honestly don’t know.”

“Cassandra. Could we please go back in and
finish our meals? I’m still hungry.”

“Turn your phone off.”

“I did.”

“Did you get your crisis taken care of?”

“Would it make any difference?”

“No. I come first. Always.”