If I Were Your Woman (13 page)

B
arbara yawned and stretched her arms high over her head. She'd been making calls all morning to reschedule appointments. More than half of the hospital rehab staff had called out for the day because of the weather. It was pure determination and the fact that she didn't want to sit home alone thinking about Wil that got her to her job at the hospital. It had taken her more than an hour maneuvering the mass transit system as there was no way she was going to drive.

She'd just made her last phone call when the sole assistant, who'd shown up because she lived in walking distance, stuck her head in the door.

“You have a visitor.”

Barbara's eyes widened. “A visitor? You have got to be kidding. I thought I canceled all the appointments for today.”

“He didn't have an appointment.”

Barbara pushed up from her seat. “Who is it?”

“Mr. Townsend,” she said, obviously impressed. Although famous athletes walking through New York University's rehab center was a commonplace occurrence, it still thrilled some to see them up close, especially for newcomers like today's assistant.

Barbara felt a rush of heat followed by alarm. She swallowed, trying to think of a way out of it. What was the point in running? She needed to put an end to this once and for all. She straightened her shoulders.

“Tell him to come in.”

Moments later Michael walked in the door.

“Hello, Barbara.” He closed the door behind him. “I know—another surprise visit.”

“You seem to be making this a habit.”

“I thought this would be neutral territory.”

“Michael—”

“Wait, just hear me out.” He crossed the room toward her and she backed up. He stopped. “Look, I know I made some mistakes when it came to me and you. I acted jealous and immature. But I can't stop thinking about you. I want the chance to work things out between us. I know it can work and I want you to let me prove it to you.”

This can't be happening. “Michael, I can't go through this with you.” She started gathering her belongings. “You shouldn't have come here.” She took her coat off the hook.

He blocked her exit. “Just look at me. For one minute just look me in the eye and tell me that what we had didn't mean anything to you. Tell me that you don't still think about me, about us.”

The words stuck in her throat. She wanted to spit them out but nothing happened.

“Let me at least drive you home.”

“How do you know I didn't drive my own car?”

He grinned. “Because I know you don't like driving in bad weather, especially snow.”

It was a little thing, something that you wouldn't ordinarily pay attention to. But it was always the little things that Michael remembered about her like the fact that she loved sleeping late on Sunday mornings and reading the paper in bed. Or that she really had an aversion to white wine because it gave her a headache or that as much as she loved flowers she had a brown thumb so he would replace the plants and flowers he bought for her on a regular basis. Yeah, the little things.

“Okay,” she said finally. “Let me clock out.”

They walked out together to his Navigator that was parked in the hospital lot. He helped her into the passenger seat, and for an instant it felt just like old times.
But it isn't,
Barbara reminded herself.

“The plows did a lot of cleaning up, but the side streets are still pretty bad,” Michael said. He glanced at her.

“How did you even know I would be at work today?”

“Because I know how dedicated you are to your job and if there was any way you could get here you would. I was a patient of yours, remember?”

How well she remembered.

“How serious is it between you and Wil?”

Her muscles tightened. “Why?”

“I want to know what I'm up against. Is it serious?”

“It's really none of your concern, Michael.”

“Everything about you and your life concerns me. I'm still very much in love with you.”

She stared straight ahead.

“Do you love him?”

She didn't answer.

“Does he make you feel the way I made you feel?”

“Don't do this.”

“You can't answer me because you don't want to tell me the truth. But the truth is in your eyes. It's in the way your body reacts when I touch you…like this.” He let his finger stroke her cheek.

She grabbed his hand but didn't move it from her cheek. “Michael…don't.”

“I know you like it when I touch you.”

This time she pushed his hand away. “What do you want from me?” Her luminous eyes snapped in time to the sharpness of her voice.

“I want you to admit how you feel about me and come back to me. I know I can make you happy. I made you happy before. You can't deny that.”

Her heart was racing so fast she thought she'd faint. “We've been down this road.”

“Yeah, and we got off it much too soon. Listen, I'm in town for two days. Today and tomorrow. We leave for Philly tomorrow night. I have a game tonight at the Garden. I want to see you before I go.”

“You're seeing me now.”

“No. Come to my hotel tomorrow afternoon. I'll order room service for lunch. I just want to talk.”

“Michael, I can't do that.”

“You can if you want to. I'm staying at the Plaza. I'll be there all day tomorrow.” He pulled up in front of her building on Morningside Drive.

The instant the car slowed, Barbara reached for the door handle.

Michael jumped out of the car and quickly came around to her side. He pulled her door open, lifted her up and over the snowbank at the curb. He held her against him for a moment too long before setting her on her feet.

Barbara could barely breathe. Her gaze slowly rose until it met and collided with his. Her thoughts short-circuited. Nothing made sense.

“If you don't come, then I'll know it's finally over and I swear to you I'll never bother you again.”

“Goodbye, Michael.” She turned but he grabbed her arm and shoved something in her hand.

“I promised Chauncey tickets the next time I was in town.”

She looked at them as if they might burst into flames.

“I keep my promises.”

She clasped the tickets in her hand and started toward the front door across the slippery pavement with as much style as she could summon.

“The Plaza,” he called out. “Room 1608.”

She dared not turn around. If she did she knew there was no turning back.

E
lizabeth was in her sparkling new kitchen preparing dinner for her and Ron. The spa was closed for the day because of the weather and Elizabeth was thrilled. Both she and Ron had been working so hard recently that even when they did spend time together, which was often, they were too tired to really enjoy each other. Although she was happy to spend a long overdue day with Barbara and she loved her friend dearly, it couldn't compare to spending time with her man.

She grinned to herself.
Her man.
Humph, when was the last time she was able to say that and hadn't meant her husband? She pulled open the door to the range and basted the chicken. It was almost done and the potatoes that hugged the sides of the roasting pan would be absolutely perfect.

In less than a year her flawless life had done a complete three-hundred-and-sixty-degree turn. Her marriage to her high school sweetheart had crumbled like a Ritz cracker. She'd had to sell the house that she'd lived in for nearly twenty years and made into a home, to figure out how she was going to support herself and live a life as a single woman.

After she'd gotten over the hurt, then came the show and then the realization that she didn't have the luxury of time to feel sorry for herself. She wasn't the first woman whose husband cheated on her and broke up a home, and she wouldn't be the last.

Her friends and opening the spa had been her lifeline, and finding Ron standing on the boardwalk ready to pull her ashore was her salvation.

“Sure smells good up in here,” Ron said, coming up behind her and nibbling her ear.

She giggled and swatted him away. “I thought you were unpacking the books.”

“All done. Thought I'd let you decide where you wanted stuff.”

“The chicken has about fifteen minutes. Let me take a quick peek.” She scurried behind him into the living room.

Ron had been working on the built-in bookshelf for weeks. It stood from floor to ceiling with twelve rows of shelving. It gleamed in an identical match to her parquet flooring, making it appear as if it were an outgrowth of the floor itself. He'd even attached a ladder so that she could reach the uppermost shelf.

“It's finally dry. I just anchored in the last shelf. What do you think?”

She covered her mouth in awe. “It's…beautiful.” She spun around and hugged him around his neck so tight he gasped for air.

“If I'm going to get that kind of thanks, I think I need to build more stuff around here.”

“Anytime.” Then she looked around at the stacks of books that practically covered the entire living room floor. “Wow, looks like I have my work cut out for me.”

“You definitely have a lot of books.” He bent down and picked up a copy of
Huckleberry Finn.
“How old is this?”

“My grandmother gave it to me when I was about eight.”

“Hmm, pretty old,” he teased.

She punched him in the arm. “Not funny.”

He reached for another book. “Octavia Butler.”

“Love her imagination. There will never be another writer like her. She was a pioneer in the sci-fi world, especially for black writers.”

He actually started looking at the titles and topics. She had books on what appeared to be everthing: romance, mystery, poetry, short story collections, first editions. Books in Spanish and French. There were books on art, cooking, interior design, finance.

“Have you actually read all these?” he asked in amazement.

“Most of them.”

“Impressive. I have a collection of
Sports Illustrated
.” He chuckled.

“Matthew used to buy me books all the time. And every time we traveled I bought a book from that city or country.” She squatted down and checked the spines of a few books and began putting them in groups according to subject or genre. “When I was in college I wasn't sure what I wanted to be. I had so many interests. So I bought books on whatever struck my fancy at the time. By the time I graduated my parents had to use the spare bedroom for my books.” She laughed lightly at the memory.

“What about you? You never talk a lot about school and ‘back home' other than your revolutionary days.”

“Not much to tell. Came up poor. Stayed that way for most of my growing up years. Didn't finish college, had to work. Never been out of the country or any farther than California.” He blew out a breath. “Not much of a privileged life.”

She took a quick glance at him over her shoulder. “Privileged? Do you think I was privileged?”

He crossed the room. “Maybe not, just different.” He looked out the window. “Seems like you had a pretty good life. All the pieces always fit.”

“Looks are deceiving.” She waited. “Ron…what are you not saying?” She slowly stood up.

“Do you ever wonder why he cheated?” he asked, totally detouring the conversation.

She flinched. “I used to, all the time. Couldn't come up with a solid answer, though.”

“He was a fool.”

“Water under the bridge.”

“He and I are nothing alike.”

She reached out and clasped his upper arm. “Look at me.”

He turned his head toward her. “No, you aren't. And I don't want you to be.”

“I'll never be able to give you the kind of life you've been used to, the kind of life you had with him and the girls.”

“I don't want that kind of life anymore. I lived it and I'm done. Ron, what's wrong? What brought all this on?”

“Forget it.” The corner of his mouth quirked upward. “Just a bout of male ego.” He put his arm around her and hugged her close to his body, then kissed the top of her head. He sniffed the air. “I smell dinner. I'll have much more strength to help with these books after a good meal.”

“Right this way.”

While they were eating dinner, Elizabeth asked, “Why didn't you ever marry?”

“I almost did. Things didn't work out.”

“What happened?”

“She wanted more than what I could give her.” He looked into her eyes, then glanced away.

“And you think I'm going to do the same thing?” she asked gently.

He didn't respond.

“Ron. If there is one thing I know—that's who I am. I was never one who wanted things, a lot of money, cars, and all the frills. Sure, that's the kind of life I lived, but I found out the hard way it was all a facade. And my happiness, my fulfillment as a woman is more important than anything money and name recognition can buy.”

“I'm a real simple man, Ellie. A hardworking simple man. I took a look at all those books, heard you talk about all the places you've been.” He slowly shook his head. “And all of a sudden I was that guy again who just didn't quite cut it.”

She got up from her seat and came around to his side and sat on his lap. “Listen, buddy, you make me happy. You make my heart and spirit sing. I get all giddy and excited when I know I'm going to see you or when you walk in the door. You
see
me.” She cupped his chin. “Do you know how much that means to me? I'd forgotten how much I needed to be
seen
until I saw my reflection in your eyes.”

He reached up and ran his fingers through her hair, pulling her toward him. His voice was thick with emotion. “I see you.”

“I know.” She touched her lips to his, and her heart leaped in her chest. Those words were pure music to her ears. She eased back with a gleam in her eyes and a seductive smile moving across her mouth. “Why don't you come with me? And let me know if you like what I have to show you.” She took his hand and pulled him to his feet.

“Hmm, nothing like dessert after a good meal….”

They walked arm in arm to her bedroom. When they reached the door, Ron stopped. Elizabeth turned to him. “What's wrong?”

“There's been something I wanted to talk to you about, even though I swore I wouldn't say anything. But I think if I told you, you'd know the best way to handle it.”

“What is it?”

“It's about Ali….”

 

Ann Marie was in her home office looking over some real estate listings for Ali when Sterling came in the room. He stood in the doorway.

She swiveled the chair around. “Hey, handsome.”

He stepped inside. “I only did this for you.” He handed her a piece of paper folded in half. “Like I said, sometimes when you go looking for trouble you find more than you bargained for. I hope it's worth it.” He walked out.

Ann Marie took the paper, unfolded it, and looked at Sterling's neat handwriting. Her heart sank. For a moment she really thought about putting it in the shredder and telling Stephanie that Sterling couldn't find out anything. But she would know. Maybe Tony was right. When you looked for trouble you were bound to find it.