The Carlton Club (40 page)

The door to Charlie’s inner office was open. She didn’t hear Eric’s footsteps on the thick wool carpet, nor did she immediately sense his presence. She was absorbed with the work that lay in front of her on the carved oak desk.

Eric smiled, watching her. When Charlie was working, she was so serious! She always has been, he thought, remembering the strong-willed lifeguard with her long blonde hair hidden inside an over-large safari hat. He looked at her hair now, its golden brilliance knotted severely on top of her head. Her attorney look. It was very much like her lifeguard at the Oak Brook Country Club look. So serious.

“Hi,” he said finally.

“Eric! Hi,” she said, pushing the papers she had been reading away from her. “I will be so glad to leave this all for ten days. It will be a nice change, don’t you think?”

Eric was silent, steeling himself against her disappointment. They were closest when they traveled together. It was the closest they came to recapturing the magic, their magic, of being young and in love.

“We have the Empress suite at the Akasaka Prince in Tokyo. It’s a three-bedroom suite. One for each night, I guess. Then, in Hong Kong, we’re staying at the Peninsula.”

“I’m not going,” Eric said flatly.

“The trip’s off?”

“No. I am not going. The trip’s still on. The meetings we have scheduled are necessary, especially the negotiations in Tokyo.”

“I know that. That’s why you have to be there.”

“You’re my negotiator.”

“We do it together. Besides, Eric, it’s the Orient. They won’t negotiate with an unescorted woman. It’s just not done.”

“True, even though you do it all, a male figurehead is necessary . So I’ve arranged for the best, the very best figurehead for InterLand, not to mention a rather skilled negotiator and attorney. Just in case you need help.”

“Robert?” Charlie asked weakly.

“Yes. I just spoke with him. He’ll fly out tomorrow so you can leave, as scheduled, on Friday. He sounded excited about doing this, Charlie. It’s been a while since he’s been on the front lines negotiating. He’s looking forward to it.”

“Robert,” Charlie repeated almost to herself. She couldn’t travel with Robert, be with him constantly for ten days. What would she say to him? How would she and Robert fill the hours that she and Eric would have filled with quiet conversation, holding hands and making love? What would she and Robert do during the hours between meetings? What would they find to say at breakfast, lunch and dinner every day? She added weakly, “I don’t know Robert.”

“Of course you know him.”

“I won’t feel comfortable traveling with him,” she mused. “We have to change all the hotel accommodations.’’

“Not really. A three-bedroom suite should give you both enough privacy. Charlie, why are you acting nervous about this? You travel with other attorneys all the time. All over the world. And you’ve known Father for twenty years.”

“I don’t know,” she said honestly. It just feels strange, she thought. Charlie looked at Eric then and asked the question that he had been waiting for, worrying about. “Why aren’t you going?”

“Because,” he said slowly, watching her eyes, “I have met someone. I just met her. I don’t want to be away right now.”

Charlie took a quick breath. Over the years, Eric had met many women. He had had relationships with them just as Charlie had had relationships with other men. But Eric had never met anyone who could make him cancel a business trip, even a trivial one, and certainly not one this important.

In all those years, Eric had never met a woman who would make him cancel his plans to travel with Charlie. No matter what else, who else, was happening in their lives, Eric and Charlie would always travel together, rediscovering each other and the bits of magic that still were theirs.

Now, thirty-six hours before they were scheduled to leave on a trip that they had planned for months, Eric was telling her he couldn’t go because he had just met someone.

“Who is she?” Charlie whispered.

“Someone. No one you know,” he said carefully. He saw the hurt in her eyes. And the love. They had talked about this. That one day they might, if they were lucky, fall in love with someone new. They wished it for each other: to find a love untarnished by pain and hurt; a love they could protect and treasure; a love like theirs had been once. Before all the pain.

Charlie doubted it would happen. Certainly not to her. And probably not to Eric. But now it had happened.

“Tell me about her,” Charlie said, her surprise giving way to curiosity. And to excitement for Eric. If I’m hurt by this, it’s my own fault, she told herself sternly.

“There’s nothing to tell,” he answered, relaxing a little as he heard the teasing lilt in her voice. She would be happy for him in time. “I barely know her.”

But I want to be with her, he thought. More than anything else. And I don’t want to talk about her, share her, with anyone else. Not even the people I love. Not yet.

“Did you tell Robert?” Charlie asked.

“Yes, I did. But he doesn’t know any more about her than you do,” Eric teased lightly. He remembered that Robert had been hesitant, at first, about making the trip, but when Eric told him the reason, Robert suddenly seemed eager to go.

“At least this will give Robert and me something to talk about,” Charlie said slowly, her voice reflecting her uncertainty about traveling with Robert.

Eric telephoned Leslie’s apartment hourly during his dinner business meeting. The prefix and the quality of the ring seemed vaguely familiar, but he had never dated anyone who lived near Parnassus Avenue. Throughout the evening, there was no answer at Leslie’s apartment. At eleven, when he returned to his penthouse in Pacific Heights, he tried again.

“Hello?” she answered breathlessly.

“Leslie, it’s Eric. Did I wake you?”

“No. I just got home. I heard the phone ringing as I was fumbling with my keys. I thought it might be one of my interns,” she said. I’m glad it’s not. I’m glad it’s you.

“Are you expecting them to call?”

“Not really. I just left them fifteen minutes ago. But, it’s the first day of the internship. Total chaos,” she said laughing, tired, falling into the overstuffed chair. “What a day!”

“Tell me,” Eric said carefully.
Just don’t tell me about sick little boys.

“OK. Just the highlights. Let’s see. One intern decided to quit because another resident yelled at her. She isn’t used to being yelled at, only praised,” Leslie said, a little sympathetically and a little annoyed.

“Did she do something that wrong?”

“No. I actually have a low tolerance for the resident who yelled at her—for residents that yell at other residents in general—so I dried her tears and convinced her that this is all part of the magnificent learning experience of being an intern.”

“She bought that?”

“I think so. I’ll find out at eight o’clock tomorrow morning. My
other
intern decided to quit because one of our endocarditis patients threatened him with a scalpel.”

“What?” Eric asked, suddenly concerned.

“The patient is an intravenous drug user, which is why he has endocarditis. My intern needed to draw some blood from him, to monitor for toxicity due to the antibiotics we’re using. The patient did not want a novice intern quote messin’ with my veins end quote. He had a scalpel, complete with a very sharp blade, hidden under his pillow. He underscored how little he wanted the intern touching him by waving the scalpel at him.”

“So, you had the man arrested,” Eric said flatly.

“No,” Leslie said lightly, smiling at Eric’s concern. It made her feel warm. His voice made her feel warm. Warm and eager. “I had a talk with the patient.”

“You saw the patient?”

“He’s my patient, too. I’ve actually taken care of him a few times. Anyway, I told him that he would let the intern try to draw the blood—one try, then I would do it—or he could sign out against medical advice, which would probably kill him. I also told him that I was considering calling the police about the scalpel. That was a bit of a bluff.”

“What happened?”

“He gave me the scalpel, not that he can’t get another, and let the intern try. Miraculously, the intern hit the vein immediately and got the blood. He, too, will hopefully be there at eight o’clock tomorrow morning.”

“I don’t think you should work there,” Eric said firmly. “I don’t like it.”

“It’s safe, really,” she said, loving the sound of his voice and his gentle concern. Safe, she mused, thinking about Mark, thinking about another resident who had been held at knifepoint three months before. She added, a bit uncertainly, “You just have to be careful, sensible.”

“You must be tired,” he said.

“A little,” she said. Exhausted. Physically and emotionally drained. Of course, if he wanted to see her—no, she told herself. he had to sleep. She was on call beginning in nine hours. She added begrudgingly, “A lot. Did you get my message?”

“I’m not going away after all.”

“Really?”

“Really. So how about dinner Friday night?”

“I doubt if I’ll be able to leave by dinner time,” she said tentatively. And I’ll have been up all night Thursday night, she thought, frustrated that she had agreed to cover at San Francisco General.

“Do you want to call me when you get off?”

“It may be late.”

“It doesn’t matter.”

Eric gave her the unlisted phone number at his penthouse and the number to the private direct line in his office. He told her to call him whenever she had the chance. She wouldn’t be interrupting anything.

Leslie didn’t call him until ten o’clock Friday night. She called him from the intensive care unit.

“Eric, it’s Leslie. I’m sorry, this is the first chance I’ve had to call.”

“How are your interns?” he asked, relieved to hear from her. He had been thinking about scalpels hidden under pillows.

“The kids? They’re fine. They’ve learned a lot in the past three days.”

“Still not independent?”

“Aaah. No,” she said wistfully. It was why she had to stay late: to double-check their orders, to discuss every aspect of their patients with them. It was what she was there for.

“On your way home?” he asked.

“In five minutes, I think.”

“Do you have to go in tomorrow?” Saturday. Eric knew the answer.

“Oh, yes. Just to make rounds. But that may take all day,” she said. I want to see you.

“Sunday?”

“I’m on call again Sunday.”

“Are you too tired tonight? I could come over, read you a page or two of
Moby Dick
, watch you fall asleep.”

“That would be lovely.”

What am I doing? Leslie thought as she towel dried her chestnut hair. She looked at herself in the bathroom mirror. She wore a long, modest cotton nightgown under a light blue terry cloth robe. Very modest. Very decent. Except that she was getting ready for bed while a man she barely knew waited in her living room.

She parted and combed her dark hair that, wet, fell below her shoulders. She looked at the dark circles around her blue eyes and sighed. I look tired. I am tired. Too tired to speak, or think, or analyze what I am doing.

“You look like a freshly scrubbed little girl ready for a bedtime story,” Eric said gently when she wandered, awkwardly, into the living room. “A little girl up way past her bedtime.”

“I am tired,” Leslie said, enervated by the hot bath, too tired to think of what else to say.

“Come on, little one,” Eric said, taking her hand, leading her into her bedroom and pulling down the bedcovers. “Crawl in.”

Leslie slid out of her robe and under the covers. She smiled sleepily at Eric.

“May I join you?” he asked.

Leslie nodded, closing her eyes, succumbing

to the cool softness of the bed and the warmth of his voice.

By the time Eric locked the door, turned out the lights, undressed and joined Leslie in her bed, she was almost asleep. She curled against him, her slightly damp, clean hair falling across his chest. He circled his arms around her, pulling her body, modestly covered by her nightgown, against his.

“You’re a warm, snuggly kitten,” he whispered, brushing his lips lightly on her head.

“Mmmmm,” she murmured.

“Mmmmm,” he answered, pulling her even closer.

In a few moments, he felt her breathing pattern change to slow, deep, peaceful breaths. She was asleep, peaceful in his arms.

“Precious little kitten,” he whispered.

Leslie awakened promptly at six-twenty-five, her internal alarm reliably signaling to her five minutes before her alarm clock did. His arms were around her, gentle but secure. Carefully, Leslie pulled away, watching him, amazed at the wonderful, handsome stranger who was in her bed. Whom she wanted in her bed. Who belonged in her bed.

Quietly, without waking him, Leslie made coffee, showered and dressed.

I won’t wake him, she decided. I’ll just leave him a note.

It wasn’t easy to write a note. What should she say? What could she say?