Been In Love Before: A Novel (11 page)

Chapter Twenty-One

Germaine’s lot was full that night, and after searching and finally finding a parking spot, Eian and Robert walked inside. As they waited in line to pay their cover charge and be seated, Robert whispered to his brother, “Look at all the single women here. They’re all so beautiful.”

“Yes, I remember that a lot of singles and couples come here,” Eian said, his eyes searching the room for Rose. Then he spotted her at a table near the dance floor and waved. “There she is.”

Robert smiled, and then leaned in to whisper to Eian, “Hey, I don’t want to be an odd man out, if you know what I mean? If you two guys want to . . . be alone or . . . ? I don’t want to butt in, you know?”

Eian’s brow creased with a frown. “Rose? Hey, man, we’re just friends. Old friends. It’ll be fine. Don’t worry about it.”

As the line moved forward, Robert reminded him, “Well, as I recall, years ago you were the one who introduced Rose to Tony. Right?”

“Right. So what’s your point?”

He could tell Robert was getting uncomfortable. “Well, I always thought she was kinda sweet on you, that’s all,” he blurted out.

“Bob, we’re just friends, and besides—”

He was interrupted by Rose as she came up to them. “Hi, Eian! I’m really glad you could make it tonight. Lots of opportunity to practice your new dance steps.”

“Yeah, I see,” Eian responded, looking around the room. “I hope you don’t mind, but I brought my brother with me. He needs the practice more than I do, but I also thought this was a great place for him to meet some people.”

She was silent at first but then said, “Sure. Why not? The more the merrier. Right?”

Turning to his brother, he said, “See, I told you Rose wouldn’t mind. This is going to be some night,” Eian said, looking out over the dance floor.

“Yeah, some night,” she said with a meager smile. “I’ll meet you back at our table. See ya.”

The three of them had dinner, wine, coffee, and dessert, and then the band began to play. She stood and reached for Eian’s hand. “Come on, let’s dance. Practice. That’s what we’re here for, remember?”

Germaine’s was on the top floor of Boca Raton’s “bridge hotel,” overlooking the Intracoastal Waterway on one side and the Atlantic Ocean on the other. From the fifteenth floor, the view stretched for miles beyond the glass walls. In the center of the room was a large parquet dance floor in front of a three-piece Latin band. They played music to dance rumbas, cha-chas, bachatas, salsa, swing, waltzes, hustles, and a host of others. Bob sat and watched until more dancers were on the floor.

Rose and Eian returned to the dinner table after dancing. “Wow, that was fun,” said Eian. “I remembered all the steps we learned. And did them perfectly, brother.” He smiled at Robert.

Rose joined in, taking a sip from her wineglass. “Well, I don’t know about that. You still need a lot of work, trust me. But we have all night.”

The next dance was a rumba, and she said to Eian as they danced, “You’re supposed to hold me closer for this one, remember?”

“Like this?” he whispered, slowly pulling her close.

“Yes, like that.” Try as she might, she could not stop the feelings that were building inside her. They moved closer to each other during the slow dance and next began to move gently about the floor. Eian and Rose were lost in their own thoughts.

When they finally sat down to take a break, she touched his arm and asked, “Can you get me a glass of ice water, please? I’m dying in here. It’s getting very warm.”

“Sure, Rose. Bob, you want anything?

“No, I think I’m going to ask that woman over there to dance.”

“Oh yeah? Which one?” asked Rose.

He nodded in the direction of three women sitting together on the other side of the room. “The one in the pink top. She has been watching me all night. Wish me luck.”

“Be a gentleman,” Rose said under her breath.

“Thanks,” he said with a smile after taking a big gulp from his glass of wine.

Soon everyone was on their feet dancing . . . including Rose.

When she returned to the table, Eian gave her the glass of ice water and asked nonchalantly, “Who was that?”

“Who?”

“The guy you were just dancing with.”

“Barry? He’s a friend. I met him here a couple of weeks ago.” She saw the look on Eian’s face. “I come here all the time with my girlfriends, just to dance and have a good time. But you’re the first man I’ve come here with, like a date . . . since Tony.” She took his hand in hers, held it, and let it linger for a few moments, while they made eye contact. She smiled and was about to say something when Robert returned.

“Nice place. Thanks for letting me crash your party. Sorry.”

Rose smiled. “Bobby, it’s fine, really. I’m glad you’re having a good time.” Her voice and intentions were genuine.

The bandleader then called for all single men and single women to form two circles around the dance floor, and directed the circles to turn in opposite directions. The band began to play. When the trumpeter finished blasting his horn, the circles stopped moving, and the dancers took the hand of whoever was across from them, and then they danced with each other. This was repeated for five different songs. Bob loved it.

It was a wonderful evening of dining, dancing, and being together with old friends and family. Rose and Eian danced every slow dance as if they were the only ones on the dance floor. Traveling in slow, small circles, holding each other tight. Something was happening to both of them. Soon the call came from the bandleader that it was the last dance, another slow one. It had been a wonderful evening.

“Rose, I had a great time,” Eian said as he walked her to her car. “Let’s do this again, just you and me.”

“I would love to,” she said enthusiastically. “They have music and dancing here every night of the week except Monday.”

“I’ll call you tomorrow and we’ll set something up.”

“Promise?”

“I promise.”

She kissed him on the cheek, and her fingertip traced the contours of his chin. “Talk to you tomorrow.”

The two brothers drove home in silence, both lost in their own thoughts. When Robert pulled into the driveway, he waited in the car by himself. “Eian, why don’t you go on inside. I’ll join you in a couple of minutes. I just want to make a quick phone call.”

Eian smiled, leaning into the car to look at his older brother. “You can call from inside if you want. It’s starting to rain.”

“I’ll be okay. I won’t be long.”

Then Eian smiled and asked, “Coleen?”

He nodded. “Yeah.”

“Okay, see ya inside. Good luck.”

“Thanks.”

He dialed her number, and his face grew into a smile when he heard her voice say, “Hello? Bob?”

“Yeah, it’s me. It’s not too late to call, is it?”

“No, it’s fine. I couldn’t sleep anyway. I usually don’t have a problem falling asleep, but here, lately . . . just don’t know. What’s up?”

“Just thought I’d call and tell you about my evening.”

“Oh. Was tonight dance night?”

He smiled, glad that she had remembered. “Yeah, yesterday were lessons, and tonight I was practicing my dancing at Germaine’s. It was fun.”

“More fun than the speed dating?”

“Oh yes, definitely. I had a great meal and good company.”

“You went with your brother Eian, right?”

“Yeah, him and an old friend of his, Rose Gilardo. She was married to his best friend, Tony, who died a couple of years ago. They go way back.”

“Just the three of you went, then?” she asked, trying not to sound too inquisitive.

“Yep. I danced all night.” He went on to tell her about the dance circles and everyone he had danced with, including the woman dressed in pink.

“Hmmm, sounds interesting. Did she let you take her home?” She sounded different.

“No, it was just dinner and dancing.” Then he added playfully, “Hey, you had your chance. I asked you to join us, but you blew it, my dear. Great food, music, and dancing. Everything you could possibly want.”

She laughed. Their conversation seemed so natural, so familiar. “It sounds like fun.”

“They have it every night—dinner, music, and dancing. You want to join me tomorrow night?”

Her laughing stopped. There was silence on the phone, and a light rain began to fall on the car windshield. Silence.

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have pressed you,” he said apologetically.

“It’s all right.”

“How about just dinner? You and me? Wherever you want. You choose.”

“No, Bob. I don’t think so. I would really like to . . . I just don’t think it’s such a good idea. Okay?” As much as she wanted to see him again, she just could not . . .

“I understand.” There was that awkward silence again as they both looked for something to say. Finally Bob asked her, “But on a different subject, I wanted to mention something to you. One of my customers came into the store today and gave me two box-seat tickets to the Friday show at the Kravis Center for Puccini’s
Madama Butterfly
.” He had taken great pains to learn the correct pronunciation of the opera. He heard her gasp, and he knew he had her. He waited for it all to sink in before continuing, “I hate to throw them away. So I thought of you, thinking maybe you . . . and a friend, could use them? And at no charge, a gift from one friend to another. I just hate to see them go to waste.”

“
Madama Butterfly
? Wow, it’s my favorite.”

“Great, I’ll just drop the tickets by your office or the house, wherever you prefer.” There was silence on the other end of the line for what seemed like centuries.
Don’t say a word, Robert. Don’t . . . don’t.
He could almost hear the wheels spinning inside her head, then she finally asked, “Are you busy Friday night? Would you like to go . . . with me? To see the opera?
Madama Butterfly
.”

He hated the theater but was willing to learn to like it. Hell, if he could learn to eat brussels sprouts, he could learn to love anything. “Well, if you like, I’d be happy to accompany you. Sure, why not? It would be fun.”

“But only on the condition that you let me buy you dinner . . . to thank you for the tickets.”

“No, the tickets were a gift from a customer. No charge. How about I pick you up, say . . . six o’clock?”

“Perfect. See you then. And Bob . . . thanks a lot. That was very sweet of you to think of me.”

He ended the call, grinning, and opened the car door. The rain was coming down harder, but he didn’t care. He danced around in a circle and jumped for joy, clicking his heels in the process. Around and around he danced, singing an old Scottish drinking song. From the open front door, Ryan and Eian stood watching their crazy older brother.

Eian shouted, “Come out of the rain, bro! You’ll get sick.”

When he finally stopped his rain dance and came inside, they both asked, “What’s this all about?”

“I just spent two hundred bucks on theater tickets,” he said as he passed by them on his way to find a towel and dry off. “Best two hundred dollars I’ve ever spent! I’m taking Coleen to the opera! Can you believe it?”

They looked at each other. It was too late, they both thought—he was already crazy in the head.

Robert was happy and not afraid to show it. He was going to the opera . . . with Coleen! He knew he was crazy. He hated spending money, and he hated the opera. Yes, he hated it, but there was something else, something more. He realized he was falling in love with her.

Chapter Twenty-Two

Mickey Thompson had just finished a three-hour meeting with his top executives and was on his way back to his office as he discreetly checked his cell phone—no message from Mary Kate. At his office he heard his executive assistant, Bashir, say, pointing to the phone, “Sir, it’s for you.”

“Who is it?” he asked as he made his way to his desk.

The patient Bashir waited behind him at a respectful distance. He lowered his head but did not say anything. Bashir was from Nepal and had a long history with the family. It was his job to serve and protect Mickey, his young charge. He had saved his life one night from a wandering cobra in their tent outside Kathmandu and now was his lifelong aide and protector.

Mickey waited.

“Line four,” he finally told him.

He knew immediately who it was. His father.

“Hold all my calls, unless it’s my fiancée.”

He drew in a deep breath, ready for the firestorm. “Morning, Angus.”

“Don’t you goddamn ‘Good morning’ me, you ingrate. Why is it that I have to hear about your disastrous meeting with Rumpe from his goddamn interview with the New York tabloids?”

Mickey could tell he was furious, but his father had always told him that Florida was his operation to run as he saw fit, and that was exactly what he intended to do.

“What the hell were you thinking?” his father shouted.

“I was thinking that we don’t need Rumpe’s name to make this project a success.”

“Are you daft, boy?”

“Father, he brings nothing to the table, not even money.”

“Well, my boy, the big banks like him; they make money from him.”

“And they lose money with him when he goes bankrupt. Everybody loses with him. All he was offering was his name, and demanding a twenty percent cut off the top line for that privilege. Nothing else. Father, I met with him out of respect because you asked me to see him. If you want someone else to run the operations down here in Florida, then so be it.” There was silence on the line between the two hardheaded men.

“No, son, I don’t want to replace you . . . yet.” He stopped talking, then said, “Kill you, yes, but replace my golden-haired protégé—no. But after you sign the contract to begin this project, I want you to take some time off. Not a lot of time, mind you, just some time to clear your head. You’ve been working way too hard, and I think it’s starting to addle your brain.”

“Like father, like son. I’ll take some time off after the wedding. Not right away, but . . .” Silence. “Are you coming to the wedding?” he ventured to ask his father one more time.

Once again, silence. “No. I need to be in Australia to negotiate a big deal there.”

“Angus, anybody can do that for you.”

“Then maybe I should have you go there and take care of it for me?”

“That’s not what I meant. I would like you and Mother to come our wedding. It would mean the world to me and to Mary Kate to have you there.”

“She’s a goddamn Macgregor, and I’ll not be—”

Mickey’s blood boiled to hear those words. “That’s my future wife you’re talking about, Angus. I’ll mind you to keep a civil tongue in your mouth when talking about her.”

“Damn them. See, they bring out the worst in me.”

“Like me?”

The conversation degenerated into its usual pattern, as it had ever since Angus had learned about the upcoming wedding.

“Like our children will be, your grandchildren?”

“She’s pregnant?” he screamed. “Is that what the rush is for you to get married?”

“No, sir, she’s not pregnant. But where does this vendetta, this hatred, stop? And when?” Frustrated, he said, “I’m sorry, I must go. Good-bye, Father.” He hung up the phone. He felt bad and angry at the same time. He loved his father, but his wedding had become a sore point between the two of them. And he had heard nothing from his mother.

As if by instinct, Bashir appeared through the door, slowly opening it before quietly closing it behind him.

Mickey looked up and already knew what he was going to say.

“He’s your father; always remember that,” whispered the diminutive man from Nepal, standing by the door, as always, on guard.

Mickey looked up to correct him. “Adopted father.”

Bashir remained calm but determined when he spoke. “Young one, when your father died, Angus chose you when no one else would. Nobody! He chose to be your father, your family, and beyond that—to honor your parents . . . he let you keep your family name. Angus Campbell gave you a great honor. Never forget that.”

Bashir was direct and to the point, as usual. Always the teacher.

“You’re right.” He was ashamed. He picked up the phone and dialed his father.

“Angus? This is Mickey.”

“I know who the hell this is. What do you want now?”

“I forgot to tell you something . . . I love you, Dad. That’s all. Good-bye.” He knew then, in his heart, what he had to do.

He hung up the phone and did not hear his father reply, “I love you too, son.” But Angus still wasn’t coming to the wedding. Never! The bride’s family were Macgregors, and that would never change. The Campbell and Macgregor clans had been at war with one another for more than four hundred years.
Of all the lasses in the world, why . . . why in God’s good name did he choose a Macgregor to marry? Damn him, damn him to hell, and damn that cursed woman.