A Note From an Old Acquaintance (29 page)

Shaking her head to rid her mind of those kinds of thoughts, she spent the next twenty minutes updating her class notes and checking her evaluations schedule. Then, as the clock reached 4:25 she touched up her lipstick, straightened her skirt, grabbed her handbag, and left her office, nearly forgetting to turn off the lights and lock the door.

Get a grip on yourself, girl...

...Yeah, fat chance.

Feeling a little giddy, Joanna marched past the receptionist and pushed through the glass door. She started down the steps and stopped dead in her tracks.

Brian waited at the bottom of the stairs, leaning on the baluster. It reminded her of that scene in
Gone With The Wind
when the camera got its first larger-than-life look at Clark Gable.

God, he looked so handsome standing there in his bomber jacket and gabardine slacks, the dark wine-red western boots adding a rakish flair. He seemed taller, somehow, and broader in the shoulders, as if he’d been working out; and his face had that chiseled, sinewy look some of the luckier men acquired when they aged. The final nostalgic touch sat on his head, looking as crisp and new as the day she’d bought it for him: the black “WRITER” baseball cap.

Brian smiled and stood up straight. “So, how’s my favorite professor?”

She rushed down the remainder of the steps and flew into his embrace, feeling the taut strength of his arms enfolding her. The familiar woodsy aroma of his cologne filled her nostrils, washing away the past fifteen years, as if they’d never existed.

“Hello, my sweet writer,” she said.

Ruby led a contingent of city inspectors through the thirtieth floor, a dour group of identical-looking men in hardhats and dark suits. Each of them held a clipboard, which they consulted frequently, asking pointed questions and making notations. It was a rite of passage Ruby endured countless times over the years for every building he’d ever constructed. And he’d never gotten used to it, or their humorless demeanor.

Twenty floors to go.

They’d been at it for most of the afternoon, and he had to hand it to the bastards. They were thorough.

“Mr. Ruby?” one of them pointed to an electrical outlet.

“Yes?”

He walked over and bent down to examine what the inspector was showing him. It was damaged. Something heavy had smashed into it. Probably one of the little hand operated hydraulic forklifts that were used all over the building to move materials around.

“No problem, we’ll replace that.”

His cell phone throbbed against his waist and he moved over to one of windows overlooking downtown Boston. It was a breathtaking view.

“Excuse me,” he said, pulling it from its clip. “Yes.”

“Our pigeon’s come home to roost,” Mosley said, his voice sounding as if he were standing next to him.

Ruby’s features clouded. “Tell me.”

“I tracked him from the airport. He’s staying at the Park Plaza. Couldn’t get the room number.”

“What else?”

“He met the lady in the lobby of the school. She seemed rather glad to see him.”

Ruby watched one of the inspectors shake his head and mark down something on his clipboard. Damn them. This was going to take half the night.

“Sir, are you there?” Mosley asked. “Do you want me to stay with them?”

“Yes, but don’t let them see you.”

Ruby hung up, his jumbled thoughts stoking the flames of his anger.

What to do, what to do? The situation with Weller had drastically changed. Instead of the struggling would-be writer he’d known fifteen years before, the man had become internationally famous; and he had to admit Weller’s literary stature astounded him. He’d even read one of his earlier books out of curiosity, finding it strangely compelling, though it galled him whenever he saw Joanna reading one, the man’s smiling face staring out from the back of the dust jacket. That very stature and the attendant monetary rewards also precluded a repeat of his previous strategy.

He was not about to lose Joanna, not for a second time. There had to be a way to make Weller back off. He just needed to find it. And patience where his wife was concerned had become a rarefied commodity.

He rejoined the inspectors, who had gathered at the elevators, ready to ascend to the thirty-first floor. Only nineteen left. Putting on a smile he didn’t feel, he keyed open the freight elevator and waved the inspectors inside.

You won’t take her from me again, Weller.

You won’t!

26

WITH
NEARLY
AND
HOUR
and a half to go before their dinner reservations, Joanna and Brian decided to take a stroll up Newbury Street and check out their old haunts. The Indian restaurant where they’d eaten lunch so many years before was now Italian, and most of the little galleries had changed hands—probably several times over—but the one thing that hadn’t changed was their enthusiasm over seeing what other artists had created and their mutual respect for each other’s opinion.

Joanna had taken his hand when they’d emerged from her building and had not relinquished it. That was more than okay with Brian. It felt so natural that it didn’t even register with him, at first. And when it did, the surge of adrenaline made him feel giddy.

“What else would you like to do?” she asked after they’d exited the last gallery.

Brian thought about it for a moment, staring up at the street sign at the corner. It read: Fairfield. He smiled. “I’d like to see my old apartment.”

Joanna returned his smile. “I’d like that, too.”

While they strolled the quarter mile to Beacon Street, the memories of that night in Ruby’s office rose in his mind, sobering him. Joanna sensed the shift in his mood.

“You okay?” she said.

He looked down at her, the dark thoughts dissolving. She looked wonderful. When she’d first appeared at the top of the stairs, he’d been a little disoriented, expecting to see her hair piled on top of her head, as he remembered it. It was still as red and curly as ever, but had been cut into a modern variation of a Twenties-style bob that flattered the soft contours of her face.

“I’m fine, now,” he said. “Just a little fried from my flight.”

She shook her head. “I can’t stand flying. It really makes me nervous.”

“You? Nervous? Never.”

She punched his shoulder and they both laughed. A moment later, they came to the corner of Fairfield and Beacon. Brian’s old building stood diagonally across from them, and it looked exactly the same, as he expected it would.

“Want to go and see if anyone’s home?” she asked.

Brian stared at the building, feeling the years drop away. “No...that’s okay. Don’t want to bother anyone.” He checked his watch and saw that it was 5:45. “We should get going, anyway.”

She nodded and they headed east on Beacon, toward Charles Street.

The H
UNGRY
I, a favorite neighborhood haunt since the late Seventies, occupied one of the old brick row houses at the foot of Beacon Hill, the main dining room residing on the basement level. Brian took Joanna’s hand and helped her down the steps, barely avoiding the heavy granite lintel over his head.

Inside, soft candlelight cast a warm glow, and he saw that only a few of the tables were occupied, being still early for the fashionable set. The place looked different, yet the same. It must have been the chocolate-colored walls and the old prints hanging from them that strayed from his memory, but the basic layout remained unchanged.

They were met by the host and led to a table near the front of the building. It struck Brian, when he helped Joanna with her coat, that it was the very table he’d imagined them occupying. The host handed them menus, recited the specials, and then left them alone.

“This is lovely,” Joanna said.

“Promise you won’t think I’m a sentimental old fool?”

She gave him a scolding look. “I’d never think that. Why would you even say it?”

Brian shrugged. “I don’t know. It’s just that this was one of the places I was planning to take you...back then.”

Her expression turned wistful. “I’m glad we’re here now.”

“I just hope the food’s still good. Is there anything you can eat?”

Joanna opened the menu and studied it; Brian did the same.

He didn’t expect to see the Wiener Schnitzel he used to love still on the menu, and it wasn’t. However, there was a chicken dish that didn’t sound half bad.

“Actually, there is,” she said. “Stewed pumpkins.”

Brian tried to hide his reaction, and Joanna laughed. “Come on, where’s your open mind?”

“I think I left it in L.A,” he replied, grinning.

“Now you’re being silly.”

“And it’s one of the things you love about me.”

“Yes, it is...,” she said, staring at him.

“Can I get you two something to drink?”

Brian looked up to see the waiter. “I think we’re ready to order, if that’s okay.”

“No problem,” the waiter said, brandishing his pencil and pad.

Brian let Joanna order her pumpkin dish and then sent a silent prayer to the food gods and ordered the rolled, stuffed chicken. The waiter walked away a moment later, leaving an awkward silence. Joanna stared at the burning candle, her expression unreadable.

“You know, you look terrific,” he said, giving voice to his innermost thoughts. “The vegetarian diet and your meditations are obviously doing wonders for you, because your skin is flawless.”

“Thank you,” she said, blushing. “Staying out of the sun helps, too, especially for us redheads.”

“I’m sorry, I’m embarrassing you.”

“No, you’re not. I was just thinking.”

“What about?”

“My son.”

“Everything okay?”

Joanna nodded. “He’s staying late at school. I actually have to pick him up around eight.”

“No problem. I’ll make sure we get you out of here on time.”

“No, please don’t think I don’t want to be here, I do, but....”

“But what?”

“I think I told you he’s doing the sets for his school play, and that means he’s always climbing up in that rigging. Every time I think about what could happ—” She stopped herself, her eyes welling up.

Brian covered her hand with his. “Hey, if he’s anything like his mom, and I’ll bet he is, he’ll be fine.”

Joanna smiled, dabbing at her eyes. “Thank you. You still know the perfect thing to say.”

“Do you have a picture of him?”

Joanna reached into her purse, extracted her wallet and pulled out a laminated photo then handed it to Brian.

“It’s his school photo from last year.”

Brian held it closer to the candle and smiled. The boy was Joanna’s spitting image, the big eyes, curly hair and radiant smile, but the features had a masculine look that made them his own.

“Handsome boy,” he said, handing it back. “And he certainly takes after his pretty mother.”

“Thank you,” she said, replacing everything back into her purse. “My husband adores him, but I think deep down he’s always been bothered that Zack shows no physical resemblance to him.”

Brian hid his reaction at the mention of Joanna’s husband, not wanting her to see that he resented the man’s intrusion, however fleeting. Joanna saw the look, misinterpreting it. “Oh, God, I’m sorry, Brian. I didn’t think— Your son....” She bit her lip and Brian felt a rush of emotions. She looked so vulnerable.

“It’s okay.”

“Do you have a picture of him?”

He nodded and pulled it out of his wallet and handed it to her. She stared at it and he could see her hand trembling.

“Oh, my....”

“People said he looked just like me. They would always stop us in the street, remarking on it. And the little guy loved to dress just like me, too. It got so I’d get him dressed first in the morning, then match my wardrobe to his. The little guy got such a kick out of that. That’s what I called him, ‘Little Guy.’ And he called me...Big G—”

Brian stopped talking as the pain and loss overwhelmed him. Joanna gripped his hands in hers, her own eyes tearing.

“Forgive me, Brian, I didn’t mean to stir all this up.”

Brian squeezed her hands in return. “Nothing to forgive. I’m dealing with it. A little more each day.”

“I don’t mean to pry, but what happened? All I know is what I heard on the news...about the accident.”

Brian nodded.

“Joey had a disease called Neimann-Pick Type C. It’s a very rare genetic disorder where the body doesn’t metabolize cholesterol, so it builds up in the brain. Most kids die from it by their early teens.

“Penny was the carrier, something we only found out after he was born, and she blamed herself for it. She began drinking and taking sedatives, anything to blot out the pain she was feeling. I had no idea where she was getting the pills. And I tried my best to help her.

“They were on their way back from Joey’s doctor and she ran a light. She was all doped up and shouldn’t have been driving at all. She’d even neglected to belt Joey into his car seat properly, something she never would have done under normal circumstances. He was thrown from the car and died instantly. Penny...well....”

Joanna stared at him, the horror his life had become reflected in those beautiful eyes. And he hated himself for it.

The food came a moment later, granting them a reprieve. They spent a few moments eating in silence.

“How’s yours?” she asked.

“Not too bad. And you?”

“Delicious. Want a taste?”

“Sure, why not. I think I brought some of that open mind with me, after all.”

Joanna grinned then skewered a piece of the pumpkin onto her fork and held it out. Brian leaned forward and took the proffered morsel with his mouth, his eyes locked with hers.

He chewed it, his expression turning thoughtful. Joanna watched him, her mouth curling into a sly grin.

“Well?”

“I’m not sure what I was expecting, but it’s not bad. Sort of like zucchini, at least the way the chef’s prepared it. Want to switch?”

Joanna shot him a look of mock horror. “Not on your life.”

Brian chuckled, happy that the grim mood from a few moments before was dispelled. When he smiled again, Joanna frowned. “What?”

“I was just thinking about the night we met.”

Joanna’s expression softened. “I think about that night a lot, too. What made you smile just now?”

“That I almost didn’t work up the nerve to ask you to dance. It took me nearly half an hour, you know.”

“I didn’t know that,” she said, her eyes twinkling in the candlelight.

“You looked so wonderful out there, so free and uninhibited that I wanted to be a part of that, too.”

Joanna nodded, suddenly pensive. “Erik doesn’t care much for dancing these days.”

And there he was again, barging into their time together. “Well, I can’t think of anyone else I’d rather go dancing with. Want to go? I’m ready, if you are. And I promise I’ll only break a couple of your toes.”

Joanna laughed. “You’re teasing me, now.”

“Only a little.”

“And I’m tempted, but....”

“I know....”

Joanna took a sip of her water, regarding him with a look he couldn’t interpret. “Are you looking forward to the signings or are they just business to you?”

“You always did ask pointed questions,” he said, breathing an inward sigh of relief that the conversation was veering onto safer ground. “And I wouldn’t have it any other way.” He took another bite of his chicken and washed it down with a sip of water, considering her question. “I really enjoy meeting my readers. I never get tired of hearing how much they love the stories I’ve told them. If I didn’t have that I’d feel I was writing in a vacuum. That doesn’t sound egotistical, does it?”

Joanna shook her head. “Not at all. And you can count me as one of your loyal fans, too. I thought
A Nest of Vipers
was terrific. And I’ll bet you’re already deep into the next one.”

Brian looked up and out the oblong street-level windows, watching pairs of legs walking by. He debated for about ten seconds whether to tell her the truth, then realized he had no choice. He owed her at least that much honesty, even if he couldn’t bring himself to tell her the real truth about what had happened between them.

Brian looked back at her and shook his head, letting out the breath he’d been holding. “I haven’t been able to write a word since finishing
Vipers
, Joanna, and even completing that book was a Herculean task. I don’t know what I’m going to do....”

She leaned forward and rested her hand on his arm, giving it a squeeze. “I was so proud of you when your first book came out. And the ones that came after got better and better. You deserve everything you’ve achieved.”

“Sometimes I wonder about that. So much seems as if it depended upon luck.”

“I know.... I was lucky to meet you,” she said.

Again, he looked into her eyes, finding himself losing momentary track of time. She spoke again, breaking the magic spell.

“I’ve had dry periods with my art that really scared me, but I managed to get through them. Of course, I’ve never had anything happen to me, like what’s happened to you, so I’m sure my advice and words of encouragement must sound hollow to you.”

Brian squeezed her hand in return. “Nothing you say will ever sound hollow to me.”