The Architect of Revenge: A September 11th Novel (3 page)

“That’s…a tough question.” His lips curled up as he released a muted whistle. “They’re angels…dealt a bad hand. Guess I want to help them.”

“Does it scare you?”

“You mean operating on them?” he asked. “Surgeons never think about that.” He smiled. “We’re trained to make decisions…Rules our persona. I’ll tell you, though…The kids are braver than I am.”

He never confided this way to anyone—but Caroline was drawing it out. He wanted to tell her.

“Most of the time, whatever you throw at them, they get better.”

Caroline’s eyes remained focused on his face.

“It’s tough when they don’t do well…and very humbling.” He confessed more. “I’d go to the ends of the earth for them. Stay up all night…Whatever it takes. They make me understand what caring truly means.” He laughed self-consciously. “Did you really want to hear all this introspection?”

Caroline’s hand had been resting on his the entire time. She nodded gently. “Thanks for telling me.”

“You’re welcome.” Morgan smiled. “That wasn’t easy. How’d you get that out of me?” he said, staring at her beautiful face. “Surgeons are supposed to swagger. Please don’t let anyone know.”

A manicured finger came to rest on her puckered lips. “Confidentiality assured,” Caroline said.

He glanced across the table at the elegant white-haired woman named Anne they had met earlier. She smiled and nodded knowingly as if she could hear their words.

“So let me ask you this…” Morgan said, returning his attention to Caroline. “Architecture…Why?”

“Perhaps the same reason you’re a surgeon,” she replied. Seeing his quizzical look, Caroline added, “Science and art together. Isn’t that like surgery?”

The hairs on his neck tingled.

“Research, planning, and implementation…” she said.

“Neither field,” Morgan finished her thought, “accepts conformity. Only how to improve on what’s already been done.”

“That’s right,” said Caroline, now sliding her hand affectionately down his arm.

The woman across from them smiled again.

Nibbling their way through dessert, they heard the band start up again. Caroline stroked his wrist.

“Wes…maybe…” She hesitated. “Would you…like to dance?”

“You
are
trying to make me self-conscious. My last dance lessons were in college,” he confided, but hearing the quick downbeat he would dance with her even if his feet didn’t comply. She wanted to—and so did he. “Hope I don’t embarrass you.”

“Not to worry,” she countered with a playful smile. “No one will watch.”

“Right.” His eyebrows rose while his lips curled. “All
you
have to do is stand up.” He gave her his hand.

On the dance floor, as he took her into his arms face to face, Morgan saw heads turn. The couple was impossible to miss. Caroline was taller than the other women he had known, and Morgan stood several inches above her. Looking into her eyes, he saw unhidden playfulness. She was enjoying this.

The music began again…and became faster. As their momentum grew, the candles and lights in the room became a blurred halo. He felt alone with her—and weightless.

The music finally slowed.

Locking his hands behind her waist, Morgan brought her close and smelled her warm skin through the perfume.

“One more?” he asked, not caring about anything but being with her.

“You’d better,” she replied, her expression earnest, “or I’ll never forgive you.”

Caroline followed his lead in a harmony that was a perfect moment behind his, their bodies touching as the music told them how to move. When it stopped, Morgan took Caroline’s hand to lead her off the floor. He swore her fingers were still dancing with his.

Janie was seated across the table, talking to the white-haired woman. Both women smiled at them.

“Ooo! My friend Anne said you talked to her! We’re bridge partners!” said Janie. “We both think you dance…beautifully!” Her hands flapped in excitement over the table while her friend gave another knowing nod. “Wes, I knew you would be wonderful on a dance floor! You just never showed me!”

“Janie’s well beyond Earth,” Morgan whispered into Caroline’s ear.

“Leaving Mars at least.” She hid a giggle.

Morgan was overcome by the desire to dance with Caroline again.

“Want to go out there where it’s quieter?” He asked her, tipping his head toward the dance floor.

“I’d love—”

“Ooo, Wes!” Janie continued interrupting Caroline’s obliging smile. “Anne said you met George too!”

The dozing man was listing toward his wife.

“I’m sure he told you he’s a surgeon!”

It was clear the wrinkled physician with closed eyes hadn’t picked up a scalpel in a long time.

“If I do say…you’re both darling when you dance,” Anne said.

Her substantial diamond choker in a platinum setting emphasized what Morgan had learned earlier: their money had paid for the new lobby.

“George and I used to dance every Saturday night at our club.” With enthusiasm in her voice, her fingers flitted together until she shook her head in disgust. “Then both of us got this damn arthritis.” She looked at Janie, then Caroline, and grinned. “So when’s the wedding?”

Holding a silent smile, Morgan searched for an answer that wouldn’t cripple their infant relationship. Caroline was smart, good-looking, seemed to like
him
, and had come alone to a black-tie event. It was too unbelievable. Had he had that much to drink?

“Ooo…that would be fun!” began Janie. “I—”

Raising her palm to pause Janie’s logorrhea, Caroline said to Anne, “You can’t expect me to marry a surgeon.”

Crap!
Morgan thought.

“Good heavens, why not?” Anne countered. “Why don’t you want a doctor?”

“He’d never be home,” Caroline answered.

Morgan felt worse, until her hidden hand squeezed his.

“George came home.” Anne stroked his hair. “Got me pregnant six times.”

Morgan burst out laughing as Caroline grew beet red. Kissing his cheek, she lifted her clutch from the table.

“Time to powder, for poise,” she said then whispered in his ear, “Stay alone.”

Morgan watched intently as Caroline walked out of the ballroom. Janie came over and gave him a hug. Startled, his eyes pulled away from Caroline’s invisible wake.

“Glad you’re having fun! Cay’s so sweet, isn’t she? She likes you!” The next hug squeezed more. “Enough of me! There’s more champagne out there…so I’ll be moving on again! Time to look for a man! These parties are grand for that! Glad you’re getting along so well! I’ll call you tomorrow. Promise it won’t be early…in case you have to sleep late.”

She didn’t need to add that. Missing his cheek, she kissed his ear. Her pungent perfume still cloyed in the air as it had two hours before.

“Tootles, dearie!” she said, waving.

“Janie loves a party. Especially when it’s hers,” said Anne. She righted her husband with a push to his shoulder. “Time for this one to go home. But I want to see your fiancée one more time! She has such sweet eyes…and what a grand figure! She’ll spoil the dickens out of you! I know the look, because I’ve got nineteen great-grandchildren! You’ll have a large family too…and…be able to afford good colleges!”

He had to escape.

Praying for her quick return, Morgan looked again at the direction Caroline had gone. He saw her walking and talking with a woman whose dress barely covered her thighs—and clearly had a longstanding relationship with a plastic surgeon.

The two women parted. Caroline came to him delivering a matter-of-fact smile.

“Her future husband’s a major donor,” said Morgan, rising to hold her chair. “She’s going to be the fourth wife.”

“I know.” With a sly nod Caroline said, “I met number three at a foundation event a while back. Not as audacious—or bodacious, I might say. This one ought to stay indoors.”

“Sorry?”

“A girlfriend’s mom in prep school said it time and again—never leave the house looking like that.”

“Is there anyone here you don’t know something about,” Morgan inquired, adding with caution, “like me?”

Caroline glanced around the room. “I don’t think so.” Smiling, she said, “You especially.”

“Well then, thanks for coming back,” said Morgan. A rush from her fresh perfume shot through his body as he discreetly pointed toward Anne. “And, even after you were bested by her.”

“She was funny. Ah, the voice of experience,” Caroline replied. “I admit, she got me…I’m rarely come up short for words.”

“I’m learning that,” said Morgan.

Leaning closer, her perfume intensified. “Wes…while I stepped out, I checked the auction. Sorry. You didn’t get the Bears tickets.”

He had forgotten. “That’s okay.” His shrug said more.

“Perhaps I can help you get over your disappointment, Dr. Morgan.” Caroline’s whisper caressed his ear. “I live in Lake Point Tower…A quick cab ride.” His regret faded. “If you promise you won’t fall asleep like George…you can join me for a drink.”

Profiled by the glow of the skyline, the white sofa appeared buoyant on the plush oriental carpet that caressed the floor. Caroline spun a rheostat. Light from hidden ceiling fixtures quivered watercolor paintings to life.

He drew off her coat and removed his. While hanging both in the hall closet she asked, “Some Scotch?”

“Tell me where.”

“On the antique chest.” Caroline pointed toward the windows. “There are some snifters as well. Go ahead and pour.” She gave him a quick peck on the lips. “Give me a minute.”Walking down the hallway, her exposed back shimmered above the plunging fabric of her gown until she faded from sight.

Morgan looked around the serene living room. On a small table was a vase filled with fresh orchids. When he bent down to take in their aroma, his eyes looked at the picture beside them. Dressed in riding attire, a younger Caroline sat mounted on a horse while a distinguished man and elegant woman, both with blue eyes, stood alongside holding the reins.

“That’s some gene pool,” he uttered, his contemplation interrupted by a neighboring photograph. Caroline was grinning under a helmet, hooked by a rope to the side of a rock with nothing but sky above and green far below.

He felt queasy and shook his head. Any altitude above two stories terrified him.

Morgan moved to the chest. Averting his eyes to ignore the thirty-three-story abyss outside the windows, he unsealed a bottle of fifteen-year-old Macallan Scotch and dribbled the amber liquid in one snifter then the other. He measured the amount with two fingers to avoid overpouring, not realizing Caroline saw the performance from across the room.

“Wes,” she laughed, “an adult dose is okay.”

Startled, he pulled the bottle away.

“Crap,” he said, “spilled some.”

His handkerchief blotted the puddle and went back in a tuxedo pocket.

“No worries, there’s plenty,” Caroline said. “I’ll be in the kitchen for just a sec. Have a seat…get comfy.”

He placed the glasses on the coffee table in front of the sofa and stood…waiting. Cabinet doors opened and closed, then came the quiet rustling of paper.

When Caroline reappeared, she had taken her hair down and tucked it behind her ears. The necklace and heels were gone. In one hand was a crystal plate decorated with truffles, in the other, a lighter. With a click, three candlewicks ignited in a tabletop steel candelabrum. Settling on the sofa, Caroline grabbed a snifter. The slit in her gown fell open above the knee.

“Wes…please…sit down,” she implored him. “It won’t break. Remember, I got it from Janie.”

Her hand stroked the cushion, making the request irresistible. He sank into it. “Take your shoes off, if you’d like,” she purred.

He did.

Caroline raised her glass, and Morgan did the same.

Clink.

“To outhouses,” she said.

His glass remained high.

“Seriously?” he asked.

“Seems to me…a topic of mutual architectural fascination.”