Chasing the Wind (2 page)

Amalise knew she should be happy for Rebecca. And yet, as she turned to her desk, pulled out the chair, and sat down, an empty space opened inside at the possibility of losing Jude to her. She set the pictures she'd gathered up of Phillip face-down on the desk and pushed them aside. She couldn't imagine life without Jude. He'd had girlfriends over the years, of course. Women loved Jude. But she had always come first, she'd thought, at least since the time she was too young to think otherwise.

And recently, she'd again come to take for granted her supreme spot in Jude's heart. She hadn't wondered once about Rebecca during her recuperation and Jude's ministrations. Indeed, she'd been so shaken by Phillip's death, the accident, and the amnesia that sheltered her from knowing what had happened at the end, that she had readily slipped into that old familiar intimacy with Jude, almost as if they'd traveled back in time.

But what about Rebecca?

Amalise reached out, running her hands over the dark, solid desk, steadying herself, reminding the nagging voice inside her head that, since the accident, Jude had spent every moment away from work on the river at
her
side instead of here in the city with Rebecca.

Enough! She was determined to enjoy her first day back at work.

She leaned down and pulled out the bottom drawer and then swept the pictures of Phillip Sharp inside. One night soon she would take them home and store them in some dark place. For now, she turned and put her hands flat before her on the desk, ready to go to work.

She recalled once more the glittering prize: partnership at Mangen & Morris in six more years. The unacknowledged fact that hung between Rebecca and Amalise—their competition for that prize—drifted just below the surface of her conscious thought.

She shook off the ruminations and glanced at the stack of files Raymond had left on the corner of her desk. As she reached for the folder on top, she found a note clipped inside. A surge of energy shot through her as she read it. She was ready to jump back into life, into her work. In Raymond's cryptic scrawl the note read:
Welcome back, Amalise.

The corporate jet skidded down the Lakefront runway and taxied to the gate. "Thanks for the ride," Bingham Murdoch said to the pilot, removing his hat and slapping it down on the man's head where it belonged. "Tom was right. This baby's smooth." Only the best for Tom Hannigan, Morgan Klemp's hottest banker on Wall Street. Bingham stood. "You're going on to Houston?"

The pilot nodded and bent over the instrument board. "Picking up Mr. Hannigan and the rest over there. Then back to New York."

"Well, tell him thanks for me."

The pilot nodded as Bingham turned and ducked through the cockpit door. His new partner, Robert, was waiting in the cabin, briefcase in one hand, looking like the rest of the Morgan Klemp lifers, of whom he'd been one until two weeks ago when Bingham's proposition had jelled. The stewardess arrived with Bingham's coat, holding it out for him. With a nod, Bingham slipped it on.

"Sandra," he said, pecking her cheek before he stuck his arms through the sleeves. "It was a pleasure to meet you, dear. I hear you're heading home this afternoon."

"That's right," she said, adjusting the shoulders of his coat. She gave him a sly smile. "Unfortunately."

She stepped back, and he turned around to face her. "Call me when you're in the neighborhood again." He crinkled his eyes and chucked her under the chin.

Bingham started down the stairs to the tarmac, with Robert following behind. "We'll be here a few weeks," he said over his shoulder. "Five, maybe six. I'll be staying at the Roosevelt."

"I'll remember," she said.

Her look made him smile, given the wear and tear he was feeling.

A black Town Car idled nearby. Bingham stood watching as the driver stored his suitcase and Robert's garment bag in the trunk.

Despite the sunshine, wind blew off Lake Pontchartrain and across the tarmac with a vengeance. The damp, cold wind surprised him. Wasn't this place supposed to be temperate? Bingham looked around. The terminal was a two-storied, featureless cement-block building with bricked-up windows. There were a few Cessnas around, and a single-engine plane was parked by a hangar. He spotted a woman in the tower looking down at him. He waved. She waved back and disappeared.

The driver adjusted his cap, walked toward Bingham, and opened the door. Robert went around to the other side of the car, while Bingham sank down into the deep, soft leather. A soothing melody played on the radio. "Begin the Beguine." His kind of music. The driver closed the door and followed Robert.

"May I take that for you, sir?" the driver said to Robert, nodding toward the briefcase.

"No thanks." Robert placed his briefcase on the middle seat and slid in beside it.

The driver got behind the wheel and looked over his shoulder. "Roosevelt Hotel?"

"Yes."

"I'll need a car while we're here," Bingham said to Robert as they started off.

"The hotel's got that covered."

The driver rolled the window partition down an inch. "Mind if I smoke?"

Robert: "Yes."

Bingham: "No."

With a shrug, the driver rolled the window up again, and they sped away from the airport. Bingham looked out the window, smiling, thinking of the expression on Tom Hannigan's face the first evening they'd met in Grand Cayman and he'd mentioned the Black Diamond project. They'd been sitting at the open bar on the beach, thatched hut and all. Powdery white sand everywhere you looked. Blue sky stretching over the water for miles, the water turning from green to blue to emerald as the sun sank.

They'd sat for hours under that same thatched roof a few days later, working through the prospect of Black Diamond, even after the sun went down and all you could glimpse of the sea in the darkness was the phosphorescent foam atop each wave as it rolled in, the white froth turning to lace on the sand before disappearing. Bingham took a deep breath. He could almost smell the salty air, could almost taste the ice-cold margaritas. It had all been so easy, really.

Gliding above the city now on Interstate 10, Bingham could see for the first time the dense cluster of buildings downtown and, straight ahead, the rise of the bridge over the Mississippi River. Off to the left they passed the new Superdome, a place built for sinners and saints, he'd read. He asked the driver about it.

The driver nodded. "That there dome was finished about two years ago. Thirteen acres and twenty-seven stories of bad luck you lookin' at there."

"Bad luck? Why?"

"Because it's built atop the Girod Street Cemetery, that's why." Beside him, Bingham heard Robert snort. "There's graves under that there stadium," the driver went on. He glanced at Bingham in the rearview mirror. "My buddies and I used to play around in them tombstones when we was kids." He beat a rhythm on the steering wheel, shaking his head. "There're some restless souls under that Dome." The driver exited the interstate, stopped at a light, then turned right toward downtown. "We was just kids, but still, you gotta' have respect." He shook his head. "Can't go buildin' ball fields over graves."

Bingham grinned. He felt that connection again with the magic of this city.

The suites were ready when they checked in at the Roosevelt. As Bingham and Robert followed the white-gloved assistant manager down the hallway to the elevators, the left side of Bingham's brain sorted through the curves and swirls of the elaborate décor: The long, narrow lobby. Vaulted ceilings trimmed with red and green Italian tile work. The enormous glittering chandeliers lined up from one end of the block-long hallway to the other. The gilded chairs and tables grouped outside the fountain court, the Sazerac Bar, and the Blue Room.

But the right side of Bingham's brain remained focused on the task ahead. So far, so good. Robert would make some calls, assemble the team, set a meeting with the lawyers. Bingham smiled to himself as they crowded into the small elevator with the bellman. With one last glance at the glittering lobby as the doors slid closed, he decided that he'd chosen well.

Amalise looked up and smiled as
Rebecca Downer swept into her office. Rebecca came toward her, swooping her thick red hair up from her neck, looping and twisting it and then, with another twist, anchoring it with a pencil. Closing the file she'd been reading, Amalise rose. Rebecca stretched out her arms, grinning, and they met halfway around the desk in a hug.

"It's been so long. When Jude said you'd be here today, I didn't believe him."

"Three months."

"I wish I could have gotten out to Marianus to see you, Amalise. But you know how things are around here." Rebecca held her at arm's length, inspecting her.

"Sure. I got your flowers and cards. All of them."

Rebecca slipped her fingers through Amalise's hair, held it out to the side, and let it drop. Then she took one step back, looked her up and down, and shook her head. "We have work to do, friend. You need a good haircut. Looks like you've been lying in bed for three months."

"Well, I practically have." Amalise lifted a hand and smoothed the short, straight hair, still smiling as she sat back down. Rebecca took the chair just in front of her desk, the only other chair in the room. Associates' offices were small. She saw Rebecca's eyes flick to the picture of Jude beside the telephone.

Without turning, Amalise said, "I've always liked that picture."

"Jude cannot take a bad photo."

Amalise dropped her eyes. She picked up the file she'd been reading and held it up for Rebecca to see. "I just got this from Raymond. A new one: Project Black Diamond. Looks like an interesting deal. Are you on it?" She tilted her head and arched her brows as she spoke. "I hope we're working together again. "

But a fleeting look of disappointment crossed Rebecca's face as she reached for the file, and Amalise slid it over to her. Rebecca picked it up, glanced at the label, and began flipping through the pages. When she looked up, her expression was inscrutable.

Amalise sat back, a little unsettled. She flipped a pencil from hand to hand wondering what Rebecca was thinking. "It's Doug Bastion's transaction. First Merchant Bank—"

"I know." Rebecca closed the folder and handed it back. "The whole firm's talking about this one. It's a financing. A resort hotel, I've heard." She pushed back her chair and rose. "But that's just through the grapevine. Everyone's being very secretive."

Amalise blinked, looking up. "Then you're not on it?" They'd always worked together on transactions.

Rebecca hiked one shoulder. "It seems not. Looks like you got the baby."

Amalise grimaced. One of those tiny plastic baby dolls that bakers insisted on hiding in Mardi Gras King Cakes as a prize had gotten stuck in her throat once. Mama had pulled it out, but she'd had a sore throat for days.

Amalise shook her head. "I'm disappointed. I was hoping . . ."

Rebecca folded her arms. "We're not the baby lawyers anymore, Amalise. Our time's more valuable now. Three new associates started in September while you were gone." She leaned forward, bracing her hands on the desk, lowering her voice. "And one of them's a woman."

Amalise's eyes widened. "That's great!"

Rebecca sat back again, raised her hands and yanked the pencil from her hair, letting the curls fall loose around her shoulders. A worm of envy crawled through Amalise at that moment, thinking again of Jude.

"Her name's Sydney Martin. " Rebecca tipped back her head and shook out her hair. "You'll like her. Let's take her to lunch one day soon."

"Yes, let's do that."

But when their eyes met, she saw something in Rebecca's that told her other things had changed while she was gone, too. Friends or not, they'd suddenly become competitors for the best work in the firm. Eventually, perhaps, for a partnership.

And, it suddenly occurred to her—maybe even for Jude.

Rebecca smiled, rose, and flicked her hand in the air as she turned toward the door. "This is good for you, this transaction. You'll show everyone you've bounced back, just like we knew you would."

"Thanks."

As she reached the door, Rebecca turned. Leaning back into the office with one hand on the door and one foot poised for flight, she looked at Amalise. "That deal's moving fast, though, I'll warn you. They're planning to close Thanksgiving week. Are you up to that? Jude's worried you've come back too soon."

Amalise straightened, stretched her arms down the arms of the chair and smiled. "Sure I am," she said firmly.

Rebecca nodded. "Well let me know if you need help. I'm working on a transaction that's stalled right now. Things are slow."

Amalise smiled and nodded. "I'll call you if an opportunity comes up."