Daddy (18 page)

“You haven't been out with anyone since she left?” Megan was impressed. The woman who'd left him must have been quite something. She'd never been without a man in her life for more than a month, and she was sure she didn't want to be. Her last lover had departed only three weeks before, after a comfortable six months, commuting between her penthouse and his Fifth Avenue town house. She moved with a racy crowd, but something about Oliver had intrigued her, his looks, his charm, and something that had suggested to her that he was very lonely. “Are you serious?”

And then suddenly he remembered the lady wrestling fan, and laughed again. “No, I lied … I had a date a couple of months ago, and it was a disaster. It almost cured me.”

“Good Lord, Oliver,” she laughed and set down the remains of her gin and tonic, “You're practically a virgin.”

“You might say that.” He laughed and for a moment, wondered if he had gotten in over his head this time. He hadn't made love to a woman in seven months, and suddenly he wondered what would happen if he tried. Maybe it wouldn't even work. For seven months, he hadn't wanted anyone but Sarah. And he hadn't slept with anyone else in twenty years before that. He had never cheated on his wife, and this girl seemed somehow as though she was used to getting any man she wanted. Suddenly a little boy in him wanted to run home as fast as he could, and he felt like Sam as he stood up and went to admire the view again, while she went back inside to finish putting together the promised salad.

“I warn you, I can't cook. Caesar salad and carpaccio are the full limit of my skills. After that, it's strictly pizza and Chinese takeout.”

“I can hardly wait. I like them all.” And he liked her, too, although she frightened him a little bit.

They sat down to dinner in the dining room, and talked about her work, and his, and he began to feel more at ease again, and then eventually she asked about his children, and he tried to describe them to her.

“They were all pretty hard hit when their mother left, and I was too. But I think they're coming out of it now.” All except Benjamin and the disaster he had created for himself with Sandra.

“And what about you? How do you feel now?” She seemed a little mellower after some good French white wine, and he had relaxed too. It was easier to talk to her now, as they mused about life over their simple dinner.

“I don't know. I don't think about it much anymore. I just keep busy with my work and the kids. I haven't thought about how I feel in a while. Maybe that's a good sign.”

“Do you still miss her?”

“Sure. But after twenty-two years, I'd be crazy not to. We were married for eighteen years, and dated for four years before that. That's a long time in anyone's life. In my case, it's half a lifetime.”

“You're forty-four?” She smiled, and he nodded. “I figured you for about thirty-nine.”

“I figured you for twenty-five.”

“I'm thirty.” They both laughed.

“And how does that feel? As terrifying as they say? Sarah hated turning thirty, she felt as though her whole life was behind her. But that was nothing compared to thirty-nine … and forty … and forty-one…. I think that's what got to her finally. She was panicked that she would never accomplish anything before she got really old, so she ran. The dumb thing was that she had accomplished a lot, or at least I thought so anyway, but she didn't.”

“I'm not hung up about those things, but I guess that's because I'm not married and bogged down by kids. I've done exactly what I've wanted to do all my life. I guess you could say I was spoiled rotten.” She said it with a look of glee, and he laughed, suspecting she was right, as he glanced around the expensively appointed apartment.

“What's important to you? I mean, what do you really care about?”

Myself, she almost said out loud, and then decided to be a little less honest. “My work, I guess. My freedom. Having my own life to do exactly as I please with. I don't share well, and I don't do well with having to live up to other people's expectations. We all play by pur own rules, and I like mine. I don't see why one
has
to do anything, get married, have kids, conform to certain rules. I do it my way, and I like that.”

“You are spoiled,” he said matter-of-factly, but for the moment, he wasn't sure that he minded.

“My mother always told me not to play by anyone else's rules, and I never have. I always seem to be able to look beyond that. Sometimes it's a strength, and sometimes it's a terrible weakness. And sometimes it's a handicap because I don't understand why people complicate life so much. You have to do what you want to do in life, that's the only thing that matters.”

“And if you hurt people in the process?” She was treading on sensitive ground, but she was also smart enough to know it.

“Sometimes that's the price you pay. You have to live with that, but you have to live with yourself, too, and sometimes that's more important.”

“I think that's how Sarah felt. But I don't agree with that. Sometimes you owe other people more than you owe yourself, and you just have to tough it out and do what's right for them, even if it costs you.” It was the basic difference between him and his wife, and possibly the difference between him and Megan.

“The only person I owe anything to is me, and that's how I like it for now. That's why I don't have kids, and I'm not compelled to be married, although I'm thirty. I think that's what we're really talking about. In a sense, I do agree with you. If you have kids, you owe a lot to them, and not just to yourself. And if you don't want to live up to them, you shouldn't have them. I don't want all that responsibility, which is why I don't have them. But your wife did. I suppose the basic mistake she made was marrying you and having children in the first place.” She was more astute than she knew, and she had hit Sarah's philosophies bluntly on the head, much to Oliver's amazement.

“That was my fault, I guess. I talked her into all of it. And then … twenty years later, she reverted to what she had been when we met … and bolted….”

“You can't blame yourself for that. It was her responsibility too. You didn't force her to marry you at gunpoint. You were doing what you believed in, for you. You can't be responsible in life for other people's behavior.” She was a totally independent woman, attached to no one and nothing, but at least she was honest about it.

“What does your family think about the way you live?” He was curious about that, too, and for a moment, she looked pensive.

“Oh, I suppose it annoys them. But they've given up on me. My father keeps getting married and having kids. He had two with my mother, four with his second wife, and he's just had his seventh child. My mother just gets married, but forgets to have kids, which is fortunate, because she really doesn't like them. She's sort of an Auntie Mame. My sister and I spent most of our lives in expensive boarding schools, from the time we were seven. They would have sent us sooner if they could, but the schools wouldn't take us.”

“How awful.” Oliver looked horrified. He couldn't even imagine sending his children away. At seven, Sam had still been a baby. “Did it affect you?” But he realized, as soon as he had said it, that it was a stupid question. There were obviously reasons why she was attached to nothing and no one now.

“I suppose it did. I'm not very good at forming what the English call 'lasting attachments.' People come and go. They always have in my life, and I'm used to it … with a few exceptions. “She looked suddenly sad, and began to clear the table.

“Are you and your sister close?”

She stopped and looked at him oddly. “We were. Very close. She was the only person I could ever count on. We were identical twins, if you can imagine that. Double trouble, as it were. Except that she was everything I wasn't. Good, kind, well-behaved, decent, polite, she played everything by the rules, and believed anything anyone told her. She fell in love with a married man at twenty-one. And committed suicide when he wouldn't leave his wife.” Everything had changed for Megan after that, and Oliver could see it in her eyes as she told the story.

“I'm sorry.”

“So am I. I've never had another friend like her. It was like losing half of myself. The better half. She was all the good things, all the sweet things I never was and never would be.”

“You're too hard on yourself.” He spoke to her very softly, and his kindness only made it more painful.

“Not really. I'm honest. If it had been me, I'd have killed the son of a bitch, or shot his wife. I wouldn't have killed myself.” And then, with a look of anguish, “When they did the autopsy, they found out she was four months pregnant. She never told me. I was here in school. She was staying in London with my mother.” She looked at him with hardened eyes. “Would you like coffee?”

“Yes, please.” It was an amazing tale. It was incredible to realize the things that happened in people's lives, the tragedies, the pain, the miracles, the moments that changed a lifetime. He suspected that Megan had been very different before her sister died, but he would never know that.

He followed her out to the kitchen, and she looked up at him with a warm smile. “You're a nice man, Oliver Watson. I don't usually tell people the story of my life, certainly not the first time I meet them.”

“I'm honored that you did.” It explained a lot about her.

They went back out to the terrace to drink the pungent brew she extracted from the espresso machine, and she sat very close to him as they looked at the view. And he sensed that she wanted something from him, but something that he wasn't ready to give her. It was too soon for him, and he was still afraid of what it would be like to reach out to a woman who wasn't Sarah.

“Would you like to have lunch sometime this week?”

“I'd like that very much.” She smiled. He was so sweet and innocent, and yet so strong and so decent and so kind. He was everything she had always feared and never wanted. “Would you like to spend the night with me here?” It was a blunt question and the question took him by surprise as he set his cup down. He looked over at her with a smile that made him look handsome and boyish at the same time.

“If I say no, will you understand that it's not a rejection? I don't like rushing into things. You deserve more than that. We both do.”

“I don't want anything more than that.” She was honest with him. It was one of her few virtues.

“I do. And so should you. We spend the night, we have some fun, we wander off, so what? What has it given us? Even if we only spend one night together, it would be nicer for both of us if it meant something.”

“Don't put too much weight on all that.”

“Would it be simpler to say I'm not ready? Or does that make me sound like a loser?”

“Remember what I said, Oliver? You have to play by your own rules. Those are yours. I have mine. I'll settle for lunch, if you're not too shocked at being propositioned.”

He laughed, feeling more comfortable again. Any- thing seemed acceptable to her, she was flexible and undemanding, and so sexy, he wanted to kick himself for not taking her up on her offer then and there before she could change her mind.

“I'll call you tomorrow.” He stood up. It was time to go. Before he did something he would regret later, even if she didn't. “Thank you for a wonderful dinner.”

“Anytime.” She watched him closely as they walked to the door, and then looked into his eyes with something few men saw. Although she had bedded down with many, there were few who knew her. “Oliver … thank you … for everything. …”

“I didn't do anything, except eat and talk, and enjoy being with you. You don't need to thank me.”

“Thank you for being who you are … even if you never call me.” She was used to that, usually after a night of unbound passion. As she had said to him, people came and went in her life. She was used to it. But if he didn't call her, she would somehow miss him.

“I'll call you.” And with that, he bent, and took her in his arms and kissed her. She was the first woman he had kissed since his wife had left, and her mouth was inviting and warm, and her body strong and appealing. He wanted to make love to her more than anything, but he also knew he had to go. He wanted to think about this. She was too powerful a woman to be taken lightly.

“Good night,” she whispered as the elevator came, and he smiled as he looked her straight in the eye as the doors closed. She stood there for a long time, and then she walked slowly back into her apartment and closed the door. She went back to the terrace, and sat down, thinking about him … and the sister she hadn't talked about in years. And without knowing why, or for which of them, she began to cry softly.

Chapter 15

He called her, as promised, first thing the next morning, and invited her to lunch at the Four Seasons that day. He had lain in bed thinking about her for hours the night before, and hating himself for not staying and making love to her. He had had everything in the world handed to him on a silver platter, and he had run away. He felt like a total fool, and he was sure that Megan shared his opinion.

They met at the Four Seasons at noon, and she was wearing a bright red silk dress and high-heeled black patent leather sandals, and he thought she was the sexiest woman he had ever seen. It made him feel like an even bigger fool about the night before, and he told her as much as they settled down at their table. The fountain in the middle of the room was issuing a delicate spray, and there were people
everywhere
from his business and her own. It was hardly a discreet place for them to meet, but neither of them had any reason to keep secrets.

She told him about the new book she was interested in publishing, and he explained to her at length about one of their new clients. And it was three o'clock before they looked around and realized that they were the only people left in the room. Megan laughed and Oliver looked faintly embarrassed.

“How about dinner tomorrow night?” he asked as they left.

“Can you cook?”

“No.” He laughed. “But I can fake it. What would you like? Pizza? Chinese? Pastrami sandwich? Cheeseburger from Hamburger Heaven?”

She laughed at him. “Why don't I pick up some things at my favorite deli and we can make a mess of it together?”

“Sounds great.” He loved the idea, the coziness of it, and most of all the prospect of seeing her again.

“Do you like moussaka?”

“I love it.” But he was a lot more interested in her than the meal, and he kissed her lightly on the cheek as he put her in a cab and walked back to his office.

“New client?” Daphne asked him at four o'clock when she dropped by his office with some storyboards to show him.

“Who?”

“That knockout I saw you with at lunch.” She grinned happily at him across his desk and he blushed and pretended to concentrate on the storyboards for the commercial.

“What are you doing? Spying on me?”

“Do I smell spring in the air? Or is that her perfume?”

“Mind your own business. It's probably Raid. I found a cockroach under my desk this morning.”

“A likely story. Even the plastic plants can't breathe in this place, let alone a nice healthy cockroach. She's gorgeous. Who is she?”

“Just a girl I met the other day.”

“Very nice. Serious?” She was like a sister to him, and he loved her for it.

“Not yet. And probably never. She's one of those great independent women like my ex-wife, she believes in careers and freedom and not getting too attached to anyone.” But it was the first time he had called Sarah that, and that in itself was a step in the right direction.

“She sounds like big trouble. Just have a good time before she breaks your heart.”

“I'm getting there.”

“Congratulations.”

“Thank you. Now, do you mind if we get back to work, or would you rather play advice to the lovelorn?”

“Don't be so touchy.” But they forewent their dinner date that night, and they both worked late. And when he went home, he called Megan. She was out, but her answering machine was on. He left his name and just said he'd called to say hello, and reconfirmed their date for the following evening.

She arrived promptly at eight, arms laden with goodies, and they unpacked them together in his kitchen.

“This is a nice place,” she said politely, but it was nothing like hers, and it still had the impersonal feeling of someone else's apartment. Only the children had impressed their personalities on their rooms, but Ollie had done nothing much about the rest, and with Aggie away, there weren't even flowers. He had thought about it too late, after he got home, and was opening a bottle of wine for their dinner.

“How was your day?”

“Not bad. How was yours?” She looked relaxed and happy in a white silk skirt slit almost to her thigh, and a turquoise blouse that made her honey-tanned skin look even darker.

He told her what he had done all day, and it was nice having someone to share it with, as they ate the moussaka at the kitchen table.

“It must be lonely for you here, with the children gone.”

He smiled at her, wondering if it was an invitation to go back to her place. “It gets a little quiet without them. But I've been working pretty late most nights.” And he suddenly had the feeling that he wouldn't be doing that for much longer.

They talked about crazy things, polo, and baseball, her parents again, and her dislike of the English. He suspected that it was due to the man who had caused the suicide of her sister. She had strong opinions about everything, and when she helped him clear the dishes, he noticed the slit in her skirt again, and felt an irresistible wave of arousal.

They sat in the living room afterward, drinking wine, and talking, and then suddenly, without knowing how it had happened, he found himself kissing her and they were lying on the couch, and he wanted desperately to make love to her. Her skirt was around her waist, her thighs bare, and as his hand passed over the satin of her flesh, he realized that she had worn nothing but her body beneath the skirt, and he groaned with desire as he felt her. His fingers found what he was looking for, and she moaned softly, as the years fell away from him and he was young again, young and in love and overwhelmed with passion. He pulled off her blouse, and she magically undid the skirt, and she lay naked and splendid beneath his hands, and the sight of her took his breath away she was so lovely.

“My God, Megan … my God …” And then expertly, teasingly, tauntingly, she peeled his clothes from him, and they lay on the couch making love as he had never made love before. She did things to him that he had never dared dream of, and she filled him with a desire so powerful that he took her with force, and came like an earthquake inside her. And then he lay over her, feeling her body tremble, and then begin to writhe slowly. He couldn't believe she wanted more, but she guided his hands back to her, and then pushed his head between her legs, and his tongue caressed the places where she wanted him. She moaned and she cried and she shuddered, and in a moment he entered her again, and they lay making love for hours, again and again. She pulled him to the floor, and then he led her to his bedroom. And at last they lay spent, side by side, and she laughed her deep, throaty laughter, and pulled him to her again as he groaned.

“Good God, woman, you're going to kill me.”

“But what a way to die!” They both laughed, and a little while later, she ran a bath for him, and then they made love in the bathtub. It was an unforgettable night for both of them, and as the sun came up, they were soaking happily in the bathtub. She was nothing like anyone he had ever known, she was overwhelmed with desire, and brought the same out in him. He had never thought himself capable of the feats she had had him perform, but he had loved it.

“Do you realize, we've been making love for ten straight hours? It's seven o'clock in the morning' He was astonished at what they'd done. Astonished, and pleased with himself and with her. It was nothing like his lovemaking with Sarah, and he had thought their love life had been perfect.

“After seven months, don't you think you deserve it?” She smiled at him and he laughed.

“I hadn't looked at it that way. Maybe we should try again.” But he was only joking. And she wasn't. She sat astride him in the bathtub as he laughed and rode him again, and much to his amazement, within moments he was aching for her again, and they rolled and splashed and cavorted like two dolphins in the bathtub, and then he pressed her against the side of the tub and ground himself into her as she moaned, out of control, begging him not to stop, and finally screaming as they both exploded from the depths of the warm, soapy water. “Oh Megan … what you do to me! …” His voice was deep and hoarse as he kissed her neck and she opened her eyes to look at him and stroke the blond hair that was disheveled from their passion. “I've never known anyone like you.”

“It's never been like this for me before.” She had never said that to anyone, and she really meant it. “You're remarkable, Oliver.”

“You're pretty terrific yourself.” He could hardly make himself get dressed to go to work, and once he was fully dressed again and they were ready to leave, she grabbed him, and began stroking him where he should have been exhausted, but wasn't. “I can't believe this … Megan … we're never going to get out of here….”And he was beginning to think they shouldn't.

“Maybe we should both call in sick,” she whispered as she pulled him to the hall floor, and began to bite his neck and nibble his face, and taunt him as she stroked him. He took her with force again, more force than he knew he had and more strength than he could believe was left after almost twelve hours of making love to Megan Townsend.

And in the end, they did exactly as she suggested. They both called in sick, and spent the day in bed, and on the floor, and on the couch, and in the bathtub. They even made love leaning against the wall in the kitchen, when they finally went in to reheat some moussaka. It was a kind of madness that had overtaken both of them, and that night they lay in bed and he held her close as she fed him chocolate chip cookies.

“Do you think we should call a doctor?” he asked happily. “Maybe it's a disease … or we've been drugged …”

“Maybe it's the chocolate chip cookies.”

“Mmm … good … give me more …”It was difficult to even imagine being apart again, or ever being able to keep their clothes on. And then, he suddenly wondered something he should have thought of the day before, and asked her if she was worried about getting pregnant.

“Nope.” She looked perfectly relaxed. “I had my tubes tied nine years ago.”

“At twenty-one?” He looked shocked, and then he remembered. That had been when her sister had died, four months pregnant.

“I knew I never wanted kids anyway, and I wasn't going to let some asshole do to me what had happened to Priscilla.”

“And you've never regretted it? What if you want children one day?”

“I won't. And if I do, I can adopt them. But I doubt if I'd ever do that. I just don't want that kind of headache. Why? Do you want more kids?”

“I used to. But Sarah never wanted more children. She had her tubes tied, too, when we had Sam. I always regretted it, but she never did.”

“Would you want more kids now?” She didn't look worried, just intrigued. She couldn't imagine wanting any more children, or any at all, for her own sake.

“I'm not sure. It's a little late now. But I suppose I wouldn't mind if it happened.”

“Well, don't count on me.” She grinned and lay back against her pillows.

And then, feeling easy and open with her, he confided in her about Benjamin. “My eighteen-year-old son is expecting a baby in September. It's a hell of a mess. He's working as a busboy and supporting the girl. They both dropped out of high school, when he could have gone to Harvard.”

“Maybe he will one day.” But she looked suddenly sorry for Ollie. It was obvious how upset he was about the boy. “Will they keep the baby?”

“They want to. I've done everything I could to discourage them. At least, thank God, they're not getting married.” He was grateful for Sandra's persistence on that score.

“Maybe they'll come to their senses when they're faced with the reality of it. Babies are only cute in diaper ads. The rest of the time they're little monsters.”

“And how many babies have you known, Miss Townsend?”

“As few as possible, thank you very much.” She rolled over and got a firm grip on his favorite member, and then pulled back the blanket and moved down to play her tongue gently around it. “Personally, I prefer daddies to babies …”

“How lucky for me.” He smiled and closed his eyes, and then pulled her to him to reciprocate in kind. But that night, they finally fell asleep, exhausted, just after midnight. It had been a marathon day, and one he would never forget. The miracle of Megan Townsend.