Some Kind of Angel (4 page)

“The things I’m learning all because I got onion soup dumped in my lap.”

“See?  Never an ill wind.  I bet Leslie Rutledge is believer in that, just now.”

“You think I’m crazy, making her my assistant script writer?”

“I think you’re a genius.  And I’m not just saying that because you’re my boss.  I’ve seen you in casting and I think if Raymond Burr had been a candidate for the district attorney, you, too, would have been smart enough to cast him as Perry Mason.”

That night

Knock, Knock, Knock.  Oh, no.  I was on a roll with this script.  It wasn’t a bad script, but it was written by a man who obviously had an oversized ego and thought that anything a man said, a woman would just sigh and say, yes dear.  He’d obviously watched too much fifties television with those perfect mom’s, Donna Reed and Mrs. Cleaver.  I glanced at my watch.  One o’clock in the morning.  Definitely not going to the door.

Knock, Knock, Knock.  Whoever it was could just go away.

When the third set of knocks came, I realized if I didn’t answer the door, Marian would stagger out of her bedroom and grumble, “Who the hell is at the door and can I kill him?”  I threw my pencil down and went to look through the peephole. 

Michael.  Of course.

I opened the door a crack with the chain lock in place.  “Michael, what are you doing here?”

“I came to see how your audition went.”

“How did you know I had one?”

“Marian told me.  I saw your light was on, and I thought I could stop in for a second so you could tell me what happened.”

I was perfectly respectable in my robe and pajamas and he stood there radiating that beauty that seemed to say, “I’m harmless,” so what could I do but let him in? 

As soon as he walked through the door, I knew I’d made a huge mistake.  He had on jeans that looked well-worn and a crew-necked polo shirt in a shade of blue that made his eyes look iridescent and his muscles look yummy.  He was just too darn delectable to be real. 

“So.  How did it go?”

I hadn’t been able to share my good news with anyone.  Marian had been asleep when I came in, and there was no one else, really.  Or there had been no one else until Michael. 

“Would you like a cup of coffee?”

“A cup of coffee sounds good.  I have become quite addicted since I…came to America.” 

“I thought they drank a lot of coffee in Ireland.”

“They did.  I did not.”  He got that look on his face again, that too-innocent-to-be-for-real look.

I led him to the breakfast bar and pulled out a stool, indicating he should sit down.  With the coffee maker turned on to heat the water, I asked him what flavor he would like.

“You have flavors?”

“I have Hawaiian Blend, Santa’s White Christmas, Café Mocha, that’s a really chocolatey one, and…”

“Café Mocha.  I love chocolate.”

“That’s…” I wanted to say odd, but stopped myself just in time, “different.  Most men don’t like chocolate so much.”

“I am not like most men.”

“I had noticed that,” I said, and smiled at him.  Something about this man made you want to smile at him every chance you got.

“Is that good or bad?” he asked.

I tilted my head to one side, giving him a considering look.  “Good, I think.  I came to New York thinking most men would be like my brothers.  Upright, honest, truthful.”

“Did you discover how wrong you were?”

“Yes.”  What had made him say that?  Was he a mind reader?  I didn’t want him reading my mind.  I turned away from him and in my case-closed voice said, “Your coffee’s almost ready.  Would you like cream and sugar?”

“No, I’ll take it black.  I do not like to dilute the caffeine.”

I started the coffee machine to drizzle water into his cup, and turned around to lean against the counter.  “How about you, Michael?  You’re an attractive man.” 
To say the least.
“Why aren’t you married?”

“The opportunity never arose.”

“I find that hard to believe.”

“It is the truth.”

“So.  Are all the girls in Ireland blind?”

“No.  Is there a reason you’re not telling me about your audition?”

“I’m not going to be considered for any part.”  I handed him his coffee.

“Leslie, I’m sorry.”

“No, wait.  It’s all good.  Melville offered me a job as his assistant writer.  I’ve just been going over his script and making suggestions for changes.  I’m on a weekly retainer.  This is a wonderful opportunity for me.  The only down side is, I’ll have to stay two weeks to give my notice at Monikers.”

Michael was silent for a moment.  He took a sip of his coffee and then set the cup down on the island.  “I have an idea.  I don’t have a job.  Let me step in and work your two weeks while I’m looking for something else.”

“I couldn’t let you do that.”

“Of course you can.”

“Do you have any experience as a waiter?”

Michael braced himself for the ping.  “Back in O’Reilly’s pub I was known quite well for my ability to keep the ale orders straight.” 
Ping.

“It would be wonderful if I didn’t have to go back to Monikers again.  Are you sure?”

“I am sure.  And I have interrupted you in your work.  I should go.”

“No, stay, talk to me.  I need a break.  Tell me about your day.  Did you find some furniture for your apartment?”

“Yes.  They’ll deliver it in a couple of days.”

“You’re not…sleeping on the floor, are you?”  I felt horrified at the thought of that beautiful body waking in the morning with cramped muscles everywhere. 

He shot that amazing smile at me.  “I thought I might try the bathtub.”

“You’ll do no such thing.  You’ll sleep right here.  We have a pullout couch.  That is…if you don’t mind sleeping in your clothes.”

“I do not mind that at all.  But Leslie, are you sure that Marian…”

“She’ll be fine as long as you remain fully clothed.”

“Scout’s honor.” He held up two fingers. 

I got him a blanket and a pillow and got him settled on the couch.  Thank goodness it was long enough for his endless legs. 

As he stretched out and pulled the blanket up, he said, “You are not going to tuck me in, are you?”

He had such a wonderful smile.  It was beatific and impish all at the same time.  “Of course I am.”  Acting on impulse, I leaned down and kissed his forehead.

He did not know whether the jolt he got was from the touch of Leslie’s lips on his face or the gigantic ping he got from Gabriel, but the combination nearly brought him up off the cushions.

“Goodnight, Michael,” she said in that beautiful soft voice of hers.

“Goodnight, Leslie.”  He closed his eyes and as was his habit, went to sleep instantly.

I tried to concentrate on the script, but all I could think about was as long as I sat there working at the breakfast bar, the light shone in Michael’s eyes.  It didn’t seem to disturb him, but he was the kind of man who would think about my need to work and pretend to be asleep so I could go on working.  I wasn’t sure how I knew that, but I just did.  I didn’t really need to revise the script tonight as long as Michael was going in for me tomorrow.  That man had to be some kind of angel. 

Maybe Michael was too good to be true because he was working up to taking me into a dark basement and torturing me before he killed me.  Ye gods.  Now I really was thinking like a New Yorker.  Never trust anybody.

I should have had that wariness when I met Adam.  Too late now.  As I went into my bedroom and got ready for bed, I let myself do something I hadn’t done for a while.  I remembered my time with Adam.  I met him last autumn at a cattle call.  He was funny and charming.  He was a native New Yorker who came from a wealthy family.  He took me places I never would have seen otherwise.  We spent a beautiful fall day at The High Line Park, a park built on the elevated section of a disused spur of the New York Central Railroad.  It was filled with wildflowers and trees, a green oasis right in the middle of the city.  He took me to the top of the Empire State Building. I told him this played a vital part in the movies,
Sleepless in Seattle
where Meg Ryan and Tom Hanks finally find each other and
An Affair to Remember,
where Cary Grant and Deborah Kerr finally find each other
.
He took me to the Statue of Liberty and I told him about
Saboteur,
the Alfred Hitchcock movie where Robert Cummings is trying to save the villain by holding on to his coat sleeve, but the stitching gives way and Norman Lloyd falls to his death from the top of the statue.”

“Is there anything I can show you that you won’t associate with a movie?”

“Probably not,” I’d said, laughing.

He’d made love to me for the first time that night.  He’d been gentle and caring and he’d used a condom. After that, I’d gone on the pill.  I was beginning to think Adam was the man I would spend my life with.  Then I got a sore throat.  I had several auditions scheduled and I couldn’t risk losing my voice.  I went to an emergency clinic and the young intern prescribed antibiotics but forgot to give me the caveat about birth control meds.  I hadn’t known antibiotics suppressed estrogen and counteracted birth control pills.  I do now.

Funny.  Since the advent of Michael in my life, I’d hardly thought of Adam. 

With the two jobs, I barely stayed afloat financially.  Melville’s salary was a godsend.  My bank account would show a definite improvement.

I climbed into bed feeling quite at ease for the first time since I realized I was carrying a child.  All because of a spilled bowl of onion soup and a man named Michael.

That easiness of mind lasted until nine o’clock the next morning.  I was still in bed when my cell phone buzzed.

“How’s my favorite Broadway actress?”

The last person’s voice on this earth I wanted to hear, my big brother Jake.  My surrogate father and protector.  If he knew about Adam, he’d get on the next plane to New York and plant several punches on my erstwhile lover’s jaw.  I fought the morning nausea by lying back in bed and cradling the phone to my ear.  “I thought that spot was reserved for Lynne.”

“She’s not on Broadway anymore.  You are.”

“Yes, well, about that…”

“I’m not wishing you any bad luck but I’m hoping you’ll keep Thanksgiving weekend open.”

“That’s a month and a half away.  I don’t know what I’ll be doing.” 
Except getting bigger with this baby.

“I’m going to send you a plane ticket.  Your mother wants you home for Thanksgiving.  Dorian will be here, too.”

“Dorian’s coming home?  Oh, it will be wonderful to see him.”

“You can come, then?”

“I…I don’t know, Jake.”  I’d be three and a half months along by Thanksgiving.  There was no way I could go home if I were showing.  If Jake found out I was pregnant and the father of my baby told me he wasn’t going to marry me, Jake would come to New York with his rope, hog tie Adam and march him to the altar.  What a lot of fun that would be.  Jake brought Lynne home to install in his bedroom before they were married, but my brother would have a completely different set of rules for his adored little sister.

If I were showing, I’d be a no show. Oh, help. I was making mental puns while my brother rattled off all the reasons I should come to Florida for Thanksgiving: Elizabeth, my mother, was pining for me and wanted the family all together, and he wanted me to make that happen.

“I’ll try, Jake, I really will.”  Jake was not happy but he let me go with that weak promise.  I tossed my cell phone on my bed and thought how nice it would be to be with my family again.  I hadn’t seen any of them since I flew to New York three years ago.  Jake and Lynne had David who was a three year old boy when I left.  He’d be six and in school now and be the guardian keeper of his twin sisters, four year old Veronica and Victoria.  They must be two little beauties.  Jake loved those kids to death.  Lynne struggled to keep him from spoiling them completely. 

Dorian was as tall as Jake, but he did not tan.  He had a pale complexion like his father.  Dorian looked nothing like a cowboy physically, yet he was the brains behind the breeding operation.  His ideas were the lodestone around which the cattle ranch turned.  Then there was Gabe, who might have been Jake’s twin except that he was three years younger.  Laura, the baby, wanted a career in musical theater but Lynne needed her to help with the children while Lynne managed the local community theater. 

I still had over a month before I had to worry about my decision to go home for Thanksgiving.

When Michael appeared in the kitchen of Moniker’s and told Saul that he was standing in for Leslie, Saul was not happy.  “She was bad enough.  But you?  You look like you don’t know a bagel from a croissant.”

“I may surprise you, sir.”

“Beggars can’t be choosers, I guess.  Our aprons are unisex.  You can wear Leslie’s.”

“Thank you, sir.”  Michael dipped his head in his most gentlemanly bow.

“Umph.”

“Well, aren’t you the most luscious thing I’ve seen on the wrong side of a platter.”

“Jerome.  You have been well, I hope.”  Michael’s eyes were kind.

“I’ll bet Leslie warned you about me, didn’t she?”

Michael shook his head.  “She mentioned that you might help me if I got in to trouble.”

“I’d like to do more than help you but I’ll take a wild guess and say I’m not your type.”