The Throwbacks (7 page)

“Okay, Dick Tracy. Let’s roll,” David said. They drove off. Using the childhood nickname in his childhood neighborhood brought him all the way back. He thought of the third man in their trio and wondered.

“Do you ever hear from him?”

Dan looked at him as he pulled up to the corner and stopped. “You mean Oscar?”

“Y
ES. Oscar.”

Dan shook his head and looked away. “Maria’s the perfect age for you.”

David’s mood sobered somewhat, and he let the subject of Oscar go for the moment. Dan was right about Maria. This was exactly what he needed to do. There was nothing wrong with dating a forty-something-year-old woman. That was what he should do. After all, he was nearly a fifty-year-old man.

That was his exact problem. He was getting old. But he, like millions of other men, had to get over it. Unlike millions of other men, he was determined not to get over it by pretending he was young, finding a young wife and becoming a new father when he should be a grandfather. The knot in his stomach would pass.

“Where are we off to?” David asked. It was time for business. At least he had the solace of his fake-homicide sting investigation scheme. His initiation case would determine the fate of the new Scotland Yard Exchange Program—and quite possibly the rest of his career. That ought to keep him distracted.

“We’re going back to headquarters to talk to the men who canvassed the area and look at the file. Rick and Theresa agreed to postpone their wedding for a while. The mayor reminded me that we now have nine days to wrap up our investigation and hand him the attempted murderer case in a neatly closed package.”

The tires screeched, unnecessarily, as they pulled out onto the main road. David raised his brows. It was a short drive and they made it in silence. They pulled into the chief’s spot. David slammed his door shut behind him and he had to ask.

“Why are you avoiding talking about Oscar?”

Dan sighed. “It bothers me.”

“He did time. I suppose it was inevitable.” David fell silent as they walked inside the double glass doors.

“It’s still sad and painful to remember even after all these years. I should have been able to do something,” Dan said as they got onto the lift. The doors slid closed.

“I’m the one who should have been able to do something. I almost quit school and ran away from home over it. I should have. Then maybe my father would have budged. I was angry with my father for a very long time when he refused to do anything,” David admitted for the first time. The elevator was silent.

“What did you expect him to do?”

David paused as he let the sharp pain in his gut slice through and subside, the way it did every time he thought about it, even now all these years later. He spoke quietly.

“I expected…I asked him to take Oscar in…to be part of our family.”

“You were in London then. That was crazy to expect.”

“Oscar saved my life. I was a kid.” David felt the tug of pain again.

“He saved both of us,” Dan said.

They both fell silent. The elevator delivered them to a carpeted corridor. They walked to Dan’s office, and he closed the door behind them. Dan took the seat behind his desk and David took one of the two uncomfortable but serviceable chairs in front. They looked at each other and David nodded. They needed to put Oscar aside for now. But they’d get back to it. Dan picked up his phone and called the detectives into his office.

Unfortunately, the meeting was long and tedious. The men were thorough in their report, but in their attempt to impress him they came off as if they were auditioning for a part on Broadway as Sherlock Holmes. On top of that, they yielded no useful leads, David thought as Dan dropped him back off outside his townhouse several hours later.

“I’ll pick you up at three forty-five sharp for our appointment with the restaurant owner. And I promise not to waste your valuable time,” Dan said as David got out of the chief’s car.

David ran up his front steps and started loosening his tie the minute he walked in the door. His schedule had tightened dramatically. He had his appointment with the decorator in moments. After their appointment with the restaurant owner, he was to go to Dan’s house for dinner to meet his dire fate—Maria, the age-appropriate woman who was no doubt appropriately serious-minded. In short, someone to settle down with and share companionable silences with on a Sunday morning while they read the
Times
in bed and sipped tea.

He hurried to his room and to his well-organized closet. He needed something more casual—Esther’s orders—no shirt and tie. She had sent explicit instructions, having gotten to know David this past year. He was perfectly comfortable in a shirt and tie and jacket. It was a very civilized way to eat dinner, especially when one was getting to know someone new whom one wanted to impress. His starched white shirt was half unbuttoned, his cuff links on the dresser, when the doorbell rang.

The decorator was early and it was an odds-on-favorite that it would turn out to be a very particular gay man who would tsk-tsk him and look down his nose at his disarray. He resignedly headed for the door. He’d just give the man carte blanche to design him a tasteful and warm homey home. He opened the door.

“Hello, David!” Grace glided into the foyer past him, spreading her arms, spinning around and ending in front of the brick hearth. She stood in the sunlight as it streamed through the white-trimmed, box-paned windows.

She was breathtaking. Literally. He stood a moment to watch her, catch his stolen breath and soak in her delighted enthusiasm while he could.

“By all means come in,” he said in spite of the fact that he should get rid of her—tell her that he had a decorator coming over—but he was enjoying watching her at the moment and decided to indulge himself for a few more minutes.

She walked across the sunny would-be living room to the appallingly large windows, her face beaming and her step lively. He fancied that she danced over to the windows.

“Aren’t you going to ask me?”

“I suppose I should. What are you doing here? Not that I mind for a millisecond. But I am expecting…”

“A decorator?”

“Why yes, how did you guess?”

“You rhymed! That was so clever of you.”

“Indeed.” He hadn’t the heart to tell her he’d done it purposely to tease her, but provoking her delight turned out to be infinitely better.

“I’m your decorator.” She smiled and then curtsied as if presenting herself to the queen.

“Pardon?” What did she mean? She couldn’t mean that…

“I work for Beacon Hill Decorators. I’m a principal, in fact. That’s why I gave you the card.” Her eyes twinkled and she walked toward him to stand directly in front of him so that they were breathing the same air.

The only problem was that David was having trouble breathing any air—yet again. He was faced with the prospect of either working with this fluffy temptation of a woman or rejecting her out-of-hand as both a woman and a decorator. Normally this was where he’d come up with some brilliant plan on how to let her down gently, but his mind refused to cooperate. He couldn’t seem to concentrate with her so close.

He was…floundering. And to think he was once one of the most gallant big shots of the free world. Now he couldn’t think what to say. He’d once been renowned for his cool sophistication and urbanely impeccable manners and poise. At this moment, however, he was utterly flummoxed. Grace, the exact opposite of the fussy gay male decorator he’d expected, was instead the most feminine and sexy woman he’d met in a long time, perhaps ever. She was not simply a charmingly clueless knockout, but she also possessed a disarming genuineness and was naturally and unselfconsciously sensual. In short, she was the most dangerous human being in the world for him. She had to be a good twenty or so years his junior—and not the sort of woman he would enjoy a nice comfortable, tidy, uneventful semi-retirement with, calmly relaxing and gliding through his golden years.

No. She would give him a heart attack—after torturing him with her energy and his enthusiasm to try to keep up with her. She wouldn’t understand a thing about him, and he would know nothing of the youthful generation she came from.

They had nothing in common.

Except mutual excitement.

And decorating his town home, if he were to let her.

That would spell doom for his self-reform. But he stood there smiling and could not for the life of him bring himself to tell her no. Not now. She posed before him, waiting for him to respond.

“What?” he said. Brilliant repartee. He hadn’t been prepared for this.

She laughed her enthusiastic laugh. “I don’t blame you for being shocked. I wanted to surprise you. Fate has thrown us together yet again! I’m a big believer in fate.”

He was a believer in chemistry and felt it in spades. He watched her and felt the pull. If he were twenty years younger he could imagine her approaching him. She would stand toe-to-toe with him and tilt her chin up so that her beautiful, beaming, fresh and dewy young face was inches from his.

“And I believe we have lots of chemistry,” she would say. She would no longer be smiling, but she would vibrate with excitement and energy, and it would be catchy. He would clamp his hands on her arms and be captivated by her eyes.

He would say, “Shall we test your theory?” He would not ignore a hint. He would take his time lowering his mouth to hers, watching her eyelids lower by minuscule increments as their lips touched. Her mouth would feel as soft and luscious as it looked. She would drift against him, and that would have been his undoing if he were a less-disciplined man.

Instead he tugged back on the undertow of desire and reined himself in. His lifetime of self-discipline kicked in. All the years he spent cultivating his expertise at anticipating the chess moves of life, dozens of turns in advance and how they all would play out, came to him. He ended the imagined kiss and mentally stepped back.

“Your space is wonderful. I can make this into a beautiful home for you.” She sighed and looked around lovingly, as if she were seeing an infant child she imagined would grow into a great beauty.

How could he possibly work with her, resist temptation and stay sane? Then he reminded himself of who he was and his famous iron will. He was tough. He’d overcome worse distractions. He sighed. “Okay.”

She gave him that look that said, “You are my hero.”

He didn’t feel deserving at the moment.

“I love the place already. Can you imagine how heavenly and inviting it will be once it’s designed for you to live in?”

“I’m imagining right now,” David told her, but he was wise not to tell her exactly what he was imagining, because it had nothing to do with designing or decorating his townhouse. “Shall we talk terms?”

“No.”

“No?” He looked at her, expecting an explanation, and she smiled back. “Why not?” He tried to maintain his professional demeanor.

“Don’t worry, I’ll put together a proposal package tomorrow back at the office and bring it over.” Her dimple showed. “So how’s your murder investigation going? It was all over the papers this morning.” She stood there, still looking at him with that adoring look that would unnerve a lesser man.

“Yes. I only had a chance to skim the headlines this morning.”

“Poor Nick. It’s a shame too.”

“Oh, did you know him?” That would be unlikely, but he figured he’d ask since she spoke as if she did. It would also complicate matters, since she didn’t know he wasn’t dead.

“Yes. He was very generous and had great taste in artwork. His wedding gift to Rick and Theresa was fabulous.”

“You can’t be serious.” How could this be?

“Oh yes—over the top really.”

“No, I meant how do you know him?”

“I only met him once, but I remember that vase…”

David sighed. He resigned himself that he’d have to wait to get the story from her, or possibly never find out. For the moment he’d indulge her about the vase. “Why was it so memorable?”

“It’s a huge art glass vase he bought from a pricey New York City gallery by a well-known artist—Aquinas. I can’t imagine what he paid. Those New York cops must do pretty well for themselves.”