Unforgettable (3 page)

“W
hat was all of that about?” Timothy asked, glancing back at Marcel through his rearview mirror.

Diana slumped against the headrest and closed her eyes. “What do you mean?”

“Are you kidding? I thought you were going to rip my head off if I didn't get back in the car. The first time I get to meet your boss and I came off looking like an idiot.”

She sighed, not wanting to answer. “Sorry, but I'm on a tight schedule. That's all.”

“Come on now. I'm your best friend, remember? What's going on?”

“Nothing. Can we just forget it?”

At her friend's deep breath, she expected him to continue to prod and meddle her into a confession, but
instead the soft whirl of the air conditioner became the only sound between them.

The silent treatment.

“I have to look for a new job,” she declared. “I can't continue to work for him.”

Tim cast her a sideways glance. “Now that I've seen him in person, I don't blame you. He's gorgeous.”

She sighed. “Please, not you, too.”

“Hey, I might be in a committed relationship, but I'm not blind to the merchandise around me.”

Diana laughed and finally relaxed. “You better hope Caleb doesn't hear you talking like that.”

“
You
better not tell him.”

“Not as long as you make all bribes payable to Diana Guy.”

Timothy shook his head. “You're a shrewd business-woman.”

“Ah, flattery. Take ten percent off your bill then.” She winked.

The auto shop loomed ahead and the weight of the world settled on her shoulders. “Any guess as to how much this is going to be?”

“I thought you said they were running a special on brakes?” Timothy asked, frowning.

“Yeah, but since when does a repair estimate ever turn out to be accurate?”

“Good point.” He parked the car and looked over at her. “If you need me to spot you a few, just say the word.”

Diana patted his hand. “Thanks, but I should have enough.”

When she went for the door, he stopped her and locked gazes. “You do know it's okay to ask for help every once in a while, don't you?”

Her answer was yes, but her pride said no. “You're a good friend, Tim.” She leaned over and kissed his cheek.

He flashed her a smile. “You're not so bad yourself.”

She turned and got out of the car, but as expected, the repair bill was double what she'd been quoted. The explanation was the usual “we had to replace blah and blah” and “we didn't take into account for such and such.” Disgusted, she wrote the check and hurried out.

Like the dear friend he was, Timothy tailed her home. During the drive her depression returned. To the casual observer, Diana appeared to have nothing to complain about, but if anyone ever scratched the surface, reality painted a different picture.

For the past year, she had been the sole caretaker of her ailing grandmother. The emotional strain alone often sent Diana spiraling out of control while the financial aspect had her straddling the line to bankruptcy.

Cancer ravished their life savings and it seemed there wasn't an end in sight. Through it all, Diana kept her personal problems private and battled everything the best way she could. She didn't want, need or accept handouts or pity.

Which is why it didn't make sense for her to be attracted to someone as self-centered as Marcel Taylor. The man counted on others to solve not only his business problems but his personal ones, as well.

Why should she search for a woman who didn't
want to be found? Diana had no doubts that if she were married to a man as emotionally challenged as Donald Taylor, she would need a vacation, too.

She moaned. Her usual spiel wasn't working. In the past, anger defused her attraction to Taylor—but not lately.

A while later, she arrived at the Gables Apartments and pulled into her reserved space. She checked her watch and figured out that she had less than an hour to get her grandmother to the oncologist.

Timothy parked next to her as she jumped out of her car. “Has anyone ever told you that you drive like a bat out of hell?”

“Just everyone I know,” she yelled over her shoulder while she rushed toward her building. Seconds later, she breezed into her apartment.

Her grandmother, Louisa Mae, and Vicki, the part-time nurse, looked up from the sofa when Diana entered the living room.

Her grandmother smiled and tugged the white scarf around her head. “Hey, sweetie. You're home early.” She patted the vacant cushion on her right. “Come watch the stories with us.”

Diana's hands settled on her hips. “Nana, how come you're not ready?”

“I'm not going,” Louisa said, using the remote to turn up the television.

“What do you mean you're not going?”

Vicki stood and pushed back a lock of red hair as her green gaze met Diana's. “Time to make my grand exit.”

Diana watched her gather her things from the coffee table.

“Good luck,” Vicki whispered as she passed Diana.

Once she heard the front door close behind the nurse, Diana turned her attention to her grandmother. “Please, let's not fight over this today.”

Louisa shrugged. “Who's fighting?”

“All right, then. Do you need me to help you get dressed?”

“No.” She locked gazes with Diana. “I said I wasn't going.”

Diana stared. What else could she do—throw a fit, hold her breath until she passed out?

Louisa smiled again. “Oh, stop looking at me like that. It isn't the end of the world.” She punched the power button on the remote and the living room fell silent. After a few seconds, she said, “I'm tired of being sick.”

“Then let's go to your appointment so you can get better.”

She shook her head sadly. “Chemotherapy is killing me, not cancer. Going through that stuff is inhumane. I'd rather you just dragged me outside by my hair and shoot me a few times.”

Diana drew in a sharp breath. “Nana—”

“I'm not going.”

Her grandmother's hard tone left no room for argument and Diana reconsidered holding her breath. Defeated, she clunked over to the armchair next to the sofa and plopped down. “Fine. You don't want to go, then I'm not going to make you.”

“Good.”

“Why should I care if my last surviving relative wants to give up and die on me?”

Louisa shook her head as a light chuckle filled the room. “The guilt thing isn't going to work this time, sweetie. I fell for that last week.”

Diana clamped her mouth closed and felt the sting of tears around her eyes.

Louisa inched closer to the chair and reached for Diana's hand.

“If you don't go, you'll die,” Diana said.

“Suffering through that kind of therapy is no way to live.” Louisa squeezed her hand. “I want to enjoy the time I have left. Not only that, but I want to see you happy again. No more worrying about the future and medical bills we can't afford.”

“Is that what this is about?” Diana leaned forward, convinced she had found the real reason behind Louisa's rash behavior.

“It's part of it, but by no means all of it.” Louisa's gaze softened as she scanned Diana's face. “I worry so much about you.”

“Me?”

“Yes, you. You've been through so much and at such a young age.”

“I'm thirty, Nana.”

“Still a child,” she said gently. “I wish I could shoulder a fraction of the load you carry, then maybe the world wouldn't seem so heavy.”

Against Diana's will, a tear trickled down her face and she quickly wiped it away. “I'm going to be just fine.
We're
going to be fine.”

Louisa continued as if she hadn't heard her. “Do you know, I can't remember the last time I heard you laugh. At your age you should be having the time of your life—dating different men every day of the week.”

“Ha,” Diana exclaimed at the absurdity. “Maybe you should get a CT scan next.”

Louisa frowned. “I'm serious.”

“I know. That's what makes this conversation scary.” Diana eased out of her shoes. “Men are the last thing on my mind,” she lied smoothly as she pushed all thoughts of Marcel out of her head.

“I'm not saying you have to marry and settle down before I kick the bucket. I'm not one of those who believe women can only be happy when they're barefoot and pregnant. But I do want to see you loosen up a bit. Let your hair down—even if it's just for a little while.”

The sincerity in Louisa's eyes touched Diana but she felt awkward, even embarrassed, about discussing her lackluster love life.

“We're supposed to be talking about you.”

“We are. We're discussing my wish to see you happy. I don't care if it's with a man, woman, dog, animal, vegetable or mineral.” She chuckled. “I need to leave this world knowing you have something that brings joy into your life. Is that too much to ask?”

Stumped, Diana tightened her grasp on Louisa's hand. “No,” she said, wiping a few more tears from her eyes. “It's not too much to ask.”

B
randy's big, wet, sloppy kisses were always the highlight of Marcel's day. At ninety pounds, the Doberman pinscher had a ferocious bark and a low growl that frightened and intimidated strangers. Few people knew the dog's theatrics were all an act.

“How's my girl doing?” Marcel asked, scratching behind the dog's ear.

Brandy's jaw sagged as her eyes rolled back with pleasure.

“Daddy missed his little girl,” he cooed as if talking to a real baby. Pushing up from bended knee, Marcel continued into the house. To his relief, the place was empty of maids, chefs and the occasional freeloader.

Panting, Brandy trotted next to her master into the kitchen where she was promptly rewarded with a doggie treat.

“It doesn't take much to make you happy, does it?” he asked at her exuberance.

Brandy barked.

“I didn't think so.” He tossed her another treat, and then went to the refrigerator to find something for himself. “I wish we could trade places for a day,” he said. “I'd love to lounge around on Italian leather all day.”

Brandy looked around as if to say,
Who, me?

Marcel laughed. He would probably never break Brandy's habit of relaxing on his expensive furniture whenever he wasn't around.

Taking out all the items he needed for a good sub sandwich, Marcel broke the news of his parents' possible divorce to his “little girl.” He took her silent attentiveness as concern. Most likely Brandy was simply waiting for him to drop or toss her a piece of whatever he was fixing.

“I mean, have you ever heard of anyone getting a divorce after forty years?”

Woof!

“My point exactly.” Marcel piled more condiments onto his sandwich. “This puts everything we talked about the other night in a whole new light, don't you think? Finding a woman and settling down is supposed to be permanent. Now that I think about it, almost everyone I know is on either their second or third marriage.

“A lot of them have two or three different sets of children. Not to mention the children they have with people they never married. It's crazy.” He glanced at Brandy.

She lay down and placed her head in between her front paws.

“This doesn't mean I'm reneging on finding you a mom. I'm just saying that maybe it's going to take a little more time and thought. If I'm going to do this, then I want to do it right and only one time.”

Brandy moaned and continued to look pitiful.

“I promise. I'm not trying to back out of this.” He sliced his sub in half and struggled to fit it on his plate. “Hell, I don't know what I'm saying.” He turned and walked out of the kitchen. It took him a few seconds to realize that Brandy hadn't followed him.

“Stop being a drama queen and come on,” he said over his shoulder, heading into the entertainment room. When she still refused to come, he rolled his eyes and settled into his favorite spot on the leather sofa and activated the plasma television by voice command.

In the back of his mind, he knew it was crazy to be annoyed by his dog's behavior, but he couldn't help it. He also couldn't help feeling defensive about the whole settling down issue.

One woman, for the rest of his life.

A shiver raced down his spine. Why did the idea sound so ludicrous to him now when this morning it had filled him with such longing?

“Maybe Solomon is right. I need to see a therapist.”

Brandy finally trotted into the room as if sensing that her job as confidante was in jeopardy.

Marcel shook his head and crammed a corner of his sandwich into his mouth. He reviewed the situation with his parents again in his mind and became fairly confident
that this was just a bleep in their relationship and that the whole thing could probably be resolved if his father just apologized for whatever he'd done. Even if he didn't know what he'd done, an apology went a long way with women.

He frowned at that thought. Diana was mad at him. Had he forgotten to do something? Maybe it was her birthday. Nah, her birthday was December 15. Funny how he seemed to remember that.

Di
. He smiled, liking the nickname. Actually, he'd always liked the name Diana. It was beautiful and elegant. Not to take anything from his secretary, but it seemed that she went out of her way to be invisible.

Once, he'd taken the time to study her. Which wasn't unusual. He'd assessed most, no, all of the women working for him at one time or another. He'd found Diana to have the most beautiful skin he'd ever seen. And that was without the aid of makeup. Clean, clear, beautiful skin. Was that a commercial?

However, her most adorable feature was her nose. It was the tiniest bit off-centered. He doubted that the average person even noticed. Who knows, maybe she didn't know. He frequently wondered how she would look with her hair down. In the two years he'd known her, it was always pulled into a simple ponytail.

Sighing, he pulled himself out of his daydream and realized he needed to get ready to head down to the club. It was time to be Mr. Nightlife again.

He handed Brandy the last portion of his meal and pushed himself up from the sofa. “Time to get back
to work. Who knows, maybe I'll meet the lady of our dreams tonight.”

Woof!

 

An excited Tim clutched Diana's hand. “Why don't you and I go clubbing tonight?”

Diana groaned as she loaded the dishwasher. “Not my scene. I put up with enough loud music and lurid acts at work.”

“I know. I'm jealous, too.” He helped her out by scrubbing and wiping down the counters. “But how are you ever going to meet Mr. Right locked up in this apartment all the time?”

“Don't you start on me, too. I've already had this conversation once today.”

“Yeah, well. If my two cents count for anything, I agree with your grandma.”

“Color me surprised.” She closed the dishwasher and turned it on. “The thing is, I'm not so sure that a relationship is what I want right now.”

“Of course you do.” Tim frowned. “No one wants to grow old alone. Anyone who tells you different is lying to themselves.”

Diana remained adamant. “I don't need a man to complete me.”

“More lies.”

“Tim!”

“What?” He plopped the sponge down and faced her. ‘I'm just being truthful. Or are you really one of those women who buy into that ‘I am woman; hear me roar' crap?”

“It's not crap,” she snapped with more force than was warranted. “A woman's value is much more than being submissive to a man's every whim.”

He held up his hand like a brick wall. “Two is always better than one; two orgasms, two incomes or his and hers matching Mercedes. Okay?”

Diana laughed.

“Besides, you're not fooling anyone, Miss Thang. I know you have the hots for Casanova Brown. Isn't that what you said your boss's friends call him?”

“Not hardly.” Diana's laugh was stiff and unnatural. “He's the most self-centered, spoiled individual I've ever met. Hell, I think it's pathetic how most of the women at the office fawn over him.”

“Personally, if I worked there I would never get anything done. What is the name of that cologne he wears? I must buy some for Caleb.”

“Ralph Lauren Purple Label,” she said. Looking at Tim's lopsided grin, she added, “I've had to purchase it for him before.”

“Uh-huh.” Tim crossed his arms and leaned back against the counter. “Let me ask you something,” he said, giving her a long measuring stare. “Would you admit you have a crush on him?”

Diana hesitated and, as a result, gave Tim his answer.

“I didn't think so.”

“Whatever,” she mumbled under her breath. Shaking her head, she turned and headed out of the kitchen.

Dressed in pink pajamas, Louisa settled into her favorite spot on the sofa. She was the picture of a perfect, cute little old grandmother with a quilted
blanket across her legs and a white silk scarf around her thinning hair.

Louisa glanced up from the television as Tim and Diana entered. “Are you two going out?”

Tim shook his head as he plopped down next to Louisa. “I've asked, but as usual she won't go.”

“I'm not stopping you from going,” Diana said. “Of course, Caleb might have something to say when he gets back into town.”

“Is he paying you to keep an eye on me or something? That's the second time you threatened me today.”

“No”

“Good.”

“I offered to do it for free.”

Tim rolled his eyes. “Figures.”

“I think you should go.” Louisa clapped her hands. “Go to one of those discos and have a good time.”

“Discos?” Diana laughed, settling into an armchair.

“Disco has been dead for a while, Nana.”

“There's Bell Bottoms in midtown. It's a seventies club. That would be a great place to play dressup.” Tim grew excited. “I'm sure I have a pair of platform shoes somewhere in my closet.”

“Why would anyone have platforms in their closet?”

He shrugged. “For emergencies.”

“Then what do they call those dance halls nowadays?” Louisa asked.

“Clubs,” Diana and Tim answered.

“So go to one of those.”

“I can't, Nana. I have a lot of work to catch up on before dragging myself into the office tomorrow.” She sighed, not really wanting to work either.

“There should be a law against working on Saturday,” Tim complained. “Corporate America really stiffs you by making you a salaried employee versus paying you hourly.”

“What are you complaining about? You're a housewife or househusband. Besides, it's not like I didn't know what I was getting into when I took the job. The music industry keeps moving seven days a week.”

“Stop changing the subject,” Louisa huffed. “Diana, I really think you should go out to one of these club thingies. You know, I met your grandfather at a dance hall.”

“You met him at a strip club,” Diana corrected.

“Actually, it was more burlesque. We left a little more to the imagination.” A dreamy gleam sparkled in her eyes. “Ah, I knew quite a few moves back in my day.”

Tim clutched Louisa's hand. “You are my idol.”

Louisa blushed and shooed him away.

Diana rolled her eyes. “Both of you worry me.”

“Don't waste your time worrying about me.” Louisa's attention returned to her granddaughter. “I've had my fun. It's your turn.”

“Well, maybe another time.” Diana stood. “I have other things to do.”

There was no mistaking her grandmother's disappointed stare, but at Louisa's next words, Diana stopped in her tracks.

“Tim, I think I'd like to go with you to one of those clubs tonight.”

“Do what?” Diana blinked.

“You would?” Tim clapped his hands in delight. “That would be great.”

“No, it won't.” Diana's hard stare shifted to him. “Don't encourage her.”

“I think it'll be fun.” Louisa pushed herself up from the sofa. “I wonder what I should wear.”

“Nana, you're not going to a club.”

Louisa's chin tilted up in defiance. “I don't see why not. I'm over twenty-one.”

Diana's hands settled on her hips. “I'm not worried about you being carded. I'm worried about your health.”

“I'm fine.” Louisa waved off her concern and looked back at Tim. “Let's go see what's in my closet.”

He jumped to his feet. “Goody.”

“Wait,” Diana interjected, not liking the way her grandmother brushed her off. “I can't allow you to go.”

Now Louisa's hands settled on her hips. “I don't remember asking for your permission. I'll do what I want to do. And I want to go to the disco…I mean, the club with Tim. If you're so concerned about my health, then you can come and watch over me.”

Diana's eyes narrowed. “Why, you scheming little old lady.”

Louisa grinned. “You don't have to go. No one's twisting your arm.” She looked over at Tim. “Let's go look for something in my closet.”

Smirking, Tim offered Louisa his arm and together they left a steaming Diana in the center of the living room.

“You really are my idol,” Tim whispered.

“Yeah.” Louisa chuckled. “Sometimes I amaze myself.”