Just the Man She Needs (20 page)

The following morning, Thursday, Ashton opened a copy of the
Wall Street Journal
and shuddered when he saw that the value of Dream had plunged to its lowest point in months. He phoned his stock broker.

“What caused that action on Dream?”

“News travels fast, Ashton, and three papers carried the story of the Jones woman’s suit against that product.”

“But I only got the papers an hour and a half ago, which means somebody tipped off the papers no later than yesterday afternoon. I smell a rat.”

“In this business, friend, they’re all over the place.”

A week later, Ashton opened results of the test and a feral expression froze on his face. He contacted a fraternity brother, a police captain, for the information he needed, got it, and phoned Damon.

“This is Ashton. I have the report, and Roma Jones is not allergic to that cream. The allergist put it behind her ears, on her neck and at her throat. No reaction whatever after three days. I want to know why she came up with that lie.”

“Getting a court date takes a while. I suggest we indict her,” Damon said, “and offer her a chance to plea bargain.”

Faced with the prospect of a decade in jail, Roma Jones confessed that Barber-Smith paid her to make the claim and promised her that no one would know whether she was telling the truth, that allergies were temporary conditions.

At dinner with Felicia that evening, Ashton pondered his next move. “Industrial sabotage is a crime, and since I have a video of the woman making the statement in the presence of three policemen, I figure I’ll get justice from Barber-Smith, but I need to get the value of that stock up.”

“I think I can do something about that,” Felicia said. “Send me a transcript of that tape. I’ll publish it verbatim.”

He stared at her. “In your column? You’d do that? Suppose your editor, what’s his name, objects?”

“If he does, I’ll remind him of who pays him.”

Ashton couldn’t help laughing. “Would you believe I hadn’t thought of that?” He stroked the back of her hand, found that an unsatisfactory expression of his emotions, reached across the table and caressed her cheek. “You’re precious. If you hadn’t told me to have the woman tested, I might not have thought of it.”

“Maybe not, but Damon would have. Can you fax me that transcript tomorrow?”

“I’ll get it to you tonight.”

“Then, let’s go,” she said. “Maybe I can rewrite my column for tomorrow. I have to fax it in by eleven.”

Felicia wrote the story and ended it with a verbatim account of Roma Jones’s testimony. Ashton asked himself time and again whether Felicia’s work was that of a first-class journalist or of a woman in love fighting for her man. It didn’t make sense that he wanted her to have done her best because of her feelings for him. Yet, how else could he explain his buoyant feelings when he read the article? A call from his broker confirmed that the column may have had a positive effect on the stock. He didn’t telephone Felicia, for to do so would be to risk unloading all that he’d stored in his heart for her.

Two days later, he nearly jumped from his chair when his secretary handed him a copy of Felicia’s interview with Roma Jones, in which the woman told of her meeting with Smith of Barber-Smith, her personal favors to him, and the amount he paid her to lie about the Dream cosmetic.

He phoned Felicia. “You actually interviewed her?” he asked Felicia after greeting her. “I can’t believe she’d speak so freely with a reporter.”

“There’s more. I’m going to run this story a few more days. I see that the stock is up again today. This will teach old man Smith a lesson,” Felicia said. “Roma Jones is a poor woman, a single parent, trying to care for three children. Even a few thousand dollars seemed like riches to her.”

“I can imagine. Get her address, will you? Someday, perhaps I’ll be able to thank you for what you’re doing, but right now I can’t find words that will do justice to what I feel.”

“I don’t want you to thank me, Ashton. It’s enough that I’ve done something that makes you happy.”

He couldn’t answer, and not even telling her that he loved her seemed enough. He needed to love her, to show her what she meant to him. “May I see you tonight?” he heard himself ask her.

“I’d like that, and I’ll try to get my column done this afternoon.”

After he hung up, he told himself that he was on a nonstop, one-way train, and for the first time, the idea failed to disturb him.

That night, he went into her arms and into her body trembling with excitement and anticipation, overflowing with love.

The following Monday, Underwood Enterprises filed suit against Barber-Smith, charging industrial sabotage. The media picked up the story from Felicia’s series of reports. And the value of Dream began an upward spiral to the financial advantage of Ashton, his brothers and his grandfather. In a call to his grandfather, Ashton told him, “Damon has done a great job with this case, but without Felicia, I doubt we’d be smiling now.”

“Does she know you feel this way?” Jake asked him.

“I don’t know. I tried to show her what she means to me.”

“But you haven’t done your best. She’ll get the message when you bring her to see me, and I don’t want you to wait till she’s looking down at me lying in a box. I won’t live forever.”

“Yes, sir. I’ll take care of it.”

“See that you do.” It wasn’t the time, but he didn’t tell his grandfather that. He had an important job to do and, as usual, he would not allow anything to interfere.

“I’ll be in Mississippi for the next two weeks,” he told Eartha several days later, “and you know that’s not for publication, unless Teddy, Granddad or one of my brothers needs me.” Each year, he took his turn helping to build a home for some underprivileged family. This year, the house would go to another of Katrina’s victims. He kissed Teddy.

“Be good, son, and obey Miss Eartha. I’ll be back in two weeks.” He telephoned Felicia, but didn’t get an answer at home or in her office. Disgusted and saddened, he headed for the airport and called once more when the boarding process started but, getting no answer, he satisfied himself with the notion that he’d call her from Mississippi.

Felicia couldn’t know that Ashton tried but failed to reach her before leaving New York. At the time, she was speaking at a school in Chicago, and had turned off her cell phone. She didn’t understand his silence and, after a week during which she experienced a feeling of alienation from him, she replaced her hurt pride with anger and telephoned him at home.

“He’s out of town, Miss Felicia, and I can’t reach him. His lawyer, you know…his brother, is trying to get hold of him. Something must be wrong. I’m going out of my mind. He never did this before. Teddy is worrying me to death.”

“You’re right, this doesn’t seem like Ashton at all. If you’d like, I could go over and try to distract Teddy.”

“Lord, Miss Felicia, I sure wish you would. The poor little thing is fretting so badly. This child loves his daddy. When are you coming over?”

“In about an hour.” She stopped at a store, bought a building game and a stuffed tiger, and wondered what she’d do with a four-year-old boy who only wanted to see his father. Eartha opened the door, holding Teddy in her arms.

“You must be tired,” she said to Eartha. “Teddy, I’m Felicia, how would you like to build a teepee? Some Americans once lived in teepees.” She had his attention immediately. “Some Native Americans still live in them.”

“Do you know any stories of Native Americans?” he asked her.

“I do,” she said, and held out her arms to him.

“Daddy says I’m getting heavy,” he told her and indicated a preference for standing on his feet. He led her to what she presumed was the family room, and said, “Tell me some stories, please.”

She told him the story of Hiawatha, of Minnehaha and, when his appetite for the stories proved insatiable, she made up a few. He would laugh, slap his hands, and ask her if he could go play with the Native American children. She couldn’t help but join in his infectious happiness and, after promising to visit him again, she had to force herself to leave.

At home that night, she devoted her column to an exposition of the treasure to be found in the company of a four-year-old boy. When she finished it, it occurred to her that she couldn’t remember enjoying her work so much.

The next morning, she answered her phone and instead of Ashton’s voice she greeted Eartha.

“Miss Parker, Teddy wants me to ask you to come back to see him, and he wants to talk to you, but I told him you were busy in your office.”

“Thank you,” she said, although she wanted to speak with the child. However, she thought it unwise to cross that line. If Ashton ever wanted her to develop a relationship with Teddy, he knew how to manage it. “Tell him I’ll visit him again as soon as possible.” She wondered what Ashton would think of her column. He knew Teddy and would guess that she’d written about him.

“Well, I can’t help it if he freaks out,” she said out loud. “He’s the one responsible for this awkward situation.”

To her chagrin, when she opened the pages of the
Brooklyn Press
two days later, keeping tabs on her competition, Reese Hall’s column mocked her. She read, “Does Felicia Parker have a kid hidden away somewhere? That’s not a casual relationship described in her column yesterday. Something tells me the gal isn’t what she’s cracked up to be.” She folded the paper, wondering if the foolish woman knew she had guided readers to Felicia’s column.

Felicia wished she hadn’t misplaced Cade’s number. She was becoming alarmed by Ashton’s continued silence, for if he didn’t want to contact her—and she doubted that—he certainly would stay in touch with his son. “If I don’t hear from him by tomorrow, I’m going to hire a detective to locate Cade. She telephoned the escort service, but the telephone had been disconnected. She whispered a prayer for Ashton’s safety.

After a day of grueling work, Ashton hitched a ride to Jackson, the state capital, telephoned his home, spoke with Teddy and Eartha, and read the newspapers. He opened the paper to Felicia’s syndicated column, read it and found a seat in front of the public library where he could sit and think. That column was about Teddy, and no one could make him believe otherwise. Yet, neither Eartha nor Teddy mentioned a visit from Felicia. He bought a cone of frozen yogurt, enjoyed it and phoned Felicia.

“Ashton, where on earth are you? I’ve been on my way out of my mind with worry. Nobody could reach you.”

“I tried to call you before I left New York, but you didn’t answer your cell phone or your home phone, and I knew you weren’t in the office. I got down here and discovered that my cell phone wouldn’t work, so for three days I was out of contact with you and with Eartha and Teddy. That was an intriguing column you wrote on the joys of being with a small boy. I assume you and Teddy got on well.”

“We did. Eartha told me that he was becoming uncontrollable because he missed you, and she couldn’t contact you, so I spent a couple of hours with him, and told him stories of Native Americans. He loved it.”

“Thank you. I…uh…I don’t like being away from him for any length of time, but what I’m doing is important. It’s, uh, something I do annually, but this year, it’s doubly important.”

“When you want me to know about it, I suppose you’ll tell me,” she said, and he was sure he heard a note of resentment in her voice. He didn’t do that hard work for credit or for recognition, but because he needed to pass some of his blessings on to his fellow man. Giving money would have been easy and painless, but he needed to give himself, sore muscles, blisters, splinters and all.

“I’m not doing anything unlawful, Felicia.” Oh, what was he doing? She was the person closest to him after his son. “Sweetheart, when I get back, I’ll tell you all about it. I’ve done this annually for the past five years, and I wouldn’t miss it. I help build houses in Habitat for Humanity projects. I’m in Mississippi, and I’ll be back after I’ve put in my two weeks.”

“If you’re calling now, why couldn’t you call earlier? Did you have your cell phone repaired? Aren’t there any other phones around?”

He didn’t like being grilled in that tone, and said as much. “Felicia, surely you don’t think I deliberately made it impossible for my son to reach me, not to speak of you. There isn’t a telephone within several miles of where we’re building, and my cell phone doesn’t work there, as I already told you. What’s the matter with you? I thought trust was more than belief that your lover doesn’t fool around with other women. It’s believing in him, period.”

“Belief does not preclude the desire for explanations. It’s enough that I believe you when you explain it.”

Now, he’d stirred up her temper. “All right, sweetheart. I see I rang your bell. I suppose you have a right to question my silence, but you should—”

She interrupted him. “I trust you, and you know it. But I’m just recovering from my anxiety and fear for your well-being, and when you got testy with me, my temper shot up.”

“Let’s put it behind us. I love you, and I appreciate your soothing Teddy, not to mention Eartha. Whenever she gets upset and I’m not at home, Teddy loses his sense of security and shows it by being uncontrollable.”

“You trust her, and you don’t worry about her competence. But she feels the weight of that trust and of that responsibility,” Felicia said.