This Life: A Novel (3 page)

“I hate this.”

“I know.” Sadness
filled Morales’s eyes. “Divorce is a kind of death. You’ve lost something you
loved, and you’ve got to grieve and that never feels good. The good thing,
though, is that there’s life after divorce. You can resurrect yourself. Make it
your mission to bring Blake back to life.”

#

Seven hundred million
dollars.

At about
three o’clock
in the afternoon, the
Wishman family quoted that amount as their selling price. By
half past four
Charles still hadn’t
been able to haggle them down any more. With her post-divorce assets Blake
couldn’t buy the Wishman Spears building single-handedly, but she felt
optimistic that she could probably put up enough collateral to obtain a bank
loan for the rest. Or she could recruit one or more investors to put up the
remainder.

“Tell them it’s a deal.
Give them my real estate attorney’s name and telephone number, and tell them I
can meet with them anytime they choose to close on this.” Blake’s hand trembled
after she ended the BlackBerry’s connection with Charles.

Seven hundred million
dollars…was one hell of a lot of money, even for Blake. However, for more than
a decade she’d dreamed of everything she could do with a building like the
Wishman Spears. This was an opportunity she simply couldn’t let pass her by.

Only one aspect of
seizing this opportunity troubled Blake: she’d be forced to spend a few days
away from her mother.

Jacinta Bertrand was a
fiercely independent woman. Some mothers of daughters who become wealthy would
gladly take up a life of luxury at their offspring’s expense. Not Jacinta.
Until July 4 of the previous year, she kept her job as a nurse at
South
Miami
Hospital
, leased a modest
apartment, and did all her own cooking and laundry and shopping. Her only
benefit from Blake’s success, which she accepted only after the most
impassioned argument mother and daughter ever had, was that Blake hired a maid
to clean Jacinta’s apartment three times per week.

Everything changed when
a drunk driver collided head-on with Jacinta’s car on her way home from work.
Jacinta barely survived, and more than half a year later she still had months
of physical therapy ahead of her.

“I wonder if the
Wishmans would consider coming to
Miami
to close the deal. That way I wouldn’t have to leave Mom.”
As the
Fisher
Island
ferry pulled away from
its
Miami
harbor dock, Blake tied
on a silk kerchief to keep the wind from slapping her long hair all over her
face.

She’d been thinking
aloud when she spoke. Matt, the bodyguard assigned to protect her tonight,
answered anyway. “Looks to me like your mother has the best medical care money
can buy. I think she’d be all right if you go to
New York
for a few days.”

“I know her nurses are
the best. I hired them myself. But she’s my mother, not theirs.”

Matt slanted a sly grin
at Blake. “They’re getting paid a lot better to take care of your mother than
they’d be to take care of theirs.”

Blake rolled her eyes
at him, but couldn’t help smiling afterward. “Probably true, but I’ll feel
better if Mom says she doesn’t mind.”

When the ferry docked
at
Fisher
Island
, Blake strolled past
two of the Olympic-standard tennis courts, a five-star restaurant, and part of
the nine-hole golf course designed by P.B. Dye. Peacocks wandered the island
freely, and one of them gave voice to a call as Blake and Matt walked by it.

A peacock’s call sounds
like a woman screaming, and this was only Matt’s second time guarding Blake.
Matt nearly jumped out of his skin, and trailed after Blake grumbling inventive
profanity the rest of the way to the condo Blake rented for her mother.

“
Hola
, Señora
Bertrand,” the housekeeper greeted them after Blake rang the doorbell. The
housekeeper, Riza, was second-generation Cuban-American, like Jacinta Bertrand.
“Your mami has just had her dinner, so the nurses must be bathing her now. Have
a seat in the parlor and I’ll call you when they’re done.”

“
Gracias
,” said
Blake. She led Matt into the parlor, and they sat looking out the large window
at the sunset over the
Atlantic
, until Riza called Blake’s name.

“I should only be a few
minutes, Matt.”

“Take your time.” Matt
flashed his smartphone at her. “I’ll just browse news and sports until you’re
ready to go home.”

Blake nodded and left
the bodyguard to entertain himself. She climbed the stairs to the second floor
and paused at her mother’s open bedroom door. Though it was February, the air
conditioning whispered from the ceiling vent. Jacinta liked to sleep in a cold
room, burrowed under a thick pile of blankets. A lamp on the bedside table
glowed its dimmest setting, which meant the room was dark except for a circle
of thin shadows that revealed Jacinta’s head resting on her pillow.

“Come on in,
mija
,”
Jacinta called to Blake. “I promise not to die of a surprise visit from my
daughter.”

Sitting in one of the
bedside chairs, wrapped in a heavy quilt, the night nurse gave Blake an
encouraging smile. “It’s true, the old dear is tougher than you think she is.”

Blake settled into the
other bedside chair and took her mother’s hand with practiced gentleness. “How
was your day, Mami?”

“Like any other day of
physical therapy, I suppose.” Jacinta shrugged her right shoulder, which was
further along in healing than the left. “Brutal. They make me beg for death and
then don’t give it to me. But then, good physical therapists do that.”

They shared a little
laugh, and Blake decided her mother was beginning to sound like her old self
again. Looking like her old self was still somewhere in the future.

“What about you, girl?
How did the divorce hearing go?” Jacinta opened her eyes wider than before and
fixed a don’t-hold-back stare on Blake.

“There’s good news and
bad news.”

“Let’s hear it, good
news first.”

“I got a restraining
order against Lang. Only for one year.”

“
Mierda!
” Jacinta
rolled her eyes. “You should be given a restraining order for life.”

“A year is better than
nothing, Mami.” Blake patted her mother’s hand. “Ready for the bad news?”

“Is anyone ever ready
for bad news?”

“My
mami
the
philosopher,” Blake observed to the night nurse, and they exchanged smiles.
Jacinta’s spirits were undeniably improving as time went by.

“Well, tell me.”

“Lang got to keep
Bertrand as his last name.”

Jacinta Bertrand
exhausted her supply of Spanish curses and had to supplement with a few choice
words of English, ending with “Scum-sucking son of an unwashed whore.” She
rested for a minute, while Blake fought to keep herself from laughing, then
Jacinta added, “I only pray your father doesn’t know.”

“I hope he doesn’t
know, too.” Blake’s gaze wandered to the framed photograph of Theo Bertrand
next to the bedside lamp. He sat at a candlelit piano, a faraway dreamy
expression mellowing his deep-set eyes and angular features. That photograph
had been taken during his first public performance of “Nothing But You,” a
soulful jazz love song he’d composed for Jacinta when they’d still been
teenagers. She sighed, then said, “Mami, something else happened today.”

Her mother gave Blake’s
face a searching look. “Something you’ve wanted, but the timing could be
better?”

The night nurse winked
across Jacinta’s bed at Blake. Jacinta was notorious for making guesses that
seemed almost psychic in their inexplicable accuracy.

“Don’t look so
surprised. You’re my only child. I’ve been reading your thoughts in your face
all your life.” Jacinta closed her eyes. “Out with it,
mija
. I’m worn
out and can’t stay awake much longer.”

“I’ve been invited to
buy a building in
New
York City
that I’ve wanted for years and years. I’ll ask the owners to come here to sign
all the paperwork. But if they aren’t willing to do that, will you mind if I go
to
New York
for a few days?”

Cracking one eye open,
Jacinta leveled an astonished gaze at Blake. “Sweetie, all day long I’m taking
physical therapy. By the end of the day I’m ready to fall asleep the second I
get into bed. I’m not able to talk to you for more than a few minutes a day,
anyway. You go on to
New York
and enjoy being free of that donkey’s ass you called a
husband. I’ll be fine.”

“Are you sure, Mami?”

“In fact…” Jacinta
opened both eyes wide again. “Why stay only a few days? You used to love
New York
, didn’t you? Just not
the modeling scene?”

“Yes, Mami, but—”

“But nothing! You’re
lucky enough to afford to travel, and stay weeks or even months anywhere you please.
Go enjoy
New
York
for
a while. Maybe by the time you come back to
Miami
, I’ll be ready to go out dancing with my
girlfriends.” Jacinta Bertrand smiled, and a serenity softened her face as she
closed her eyes again. “One thing is sure, when I’m recovered I’m going to
celebrate the fact I’m still alive. I lived to see my daughter get away from a
vicious, brutal bastard who never loved anything but controlling her and
spending her money. I thank God for sparing me, Blake, and for sparing you,
too. Now kiss me good night and go pack your bags for
New York
.”

Blake stood and leaned
down, brushing her lips against her mother’s cheek. “Good night,
Mami
. I
love you so much.”

“Will you do me one
favor before you go?” From the sound of her voice, Jacinta was already
half-asleep.

“Anything. You just
name it, Mami.”

“Put your father’s
record in the CD player for me, then. Good night, sweetie.”

Blake went to the
entertainment center lining the wall across from Jacinta’s bed. She could have
found the CD of the only record her father’s jazz band ever made by touch alone—the
plastic case had concave spots worn into it where thumb and forefinger had held
it so many times over the years. For a moment she studied her father’s face
again, in the band portrait that comprised the cover art. Theo Bertrand wore a
guitar-shaped keyboard strapped over his shoulder, his band mates surrounding
him. Raven Glory, the band’s name had been.

“In Old French,
Bertrand
means ‘glorious raven,’” Theo had told four-year-old Blake, when she’d asked
why he gave his band such a weird name.

She plugged the CD into
the player and descended the stairs as the first sensuous notes of “Nothing But
You” began to play.

Chapter Three

February 23

Miami
,
Florida
to
New York
,
New York

No matter how many
times Blake got on an airplane, she always loved the whole experience. Her
favorite part was takeoff: the acceleration pushing her back in her seat, the
nose of the plane tipping up as the aircraft flirted with peeling away from the
ground, the roller-coaster thrill in her gut as the Earth appeared to fall away
from her. She always requested a window seat for the best possible view and,
until the plane reached an altitude at which scenery details were no longer
visible, she sat with her nose pressed against the glass.

“The glorious raven
flies again,” she murmured.

“Say again?” Matt, one
of the three bodyguards assigned to accompany Blake to
New York
, lifted one earpiece of
the headset he’d plugged into his smartphone.

“I just love flying.”
Blake glanced at him and bent her head, realizing she was as excited as a small
child and feeling a bit embarrassed about it.

“Buy a private plane
and earn a pilot’s license,” suggested Suki, another bodyguard newly assigned
to Blake, from the seat behind her.

With a shock, Blake
realized she’d never considered that idea before, and for a moment she wondered
why. Then the obvious answer occurred to her:
Oh, right, Lang never would
have let me have that much freedom of movement while we were married. But
—she
grinned at the thought—
that’s not an obstacle anymore!

“You know, I think I’ll
do that.” Blake turned half around in her seat and gave Suki a thumbs-up. “Thanks
for the suggestion!”

“Eh, you would have
thought of it yourself, sooner or later.” Suki shrugged. Half a second later
she appeared to be deep in meditation.

Blake shivered, a
little unnerved by the suddenness of Suki’s altered mental state. She turned
her gaze to Antonio, her other bodyguard for her stay in
New York
. The manager of Blitz
Security told her he’d chosen to send Matt, Suki, and Antonio to New York with
Blake because the three frequently worked together and had such a good rapport
that they seemed to communicate without speaking. Antonio glanced from Blake to
Suki and back again. He mouthed the words, “She does that.”

Antonio then waved one
hand in front of Suki’s closed eyes. “Don’t make me break your hand off your
wrist,” Suki said sweetly, blank-faced and eyes still closed.

“She could really do
that,” Matt told Blake. “Suki is a third-degree black belt in combat jujitsu.”
He paused, then added, “That’s what American and British special ops soldiers
use.”

“If Lang gets close
enough to touch you, I’ll touch him instead,” said Suki, still without facial
expression. “He won’t enjoy it.”

Blake hesitated.
What
the hell should I say to that?
“Uh…thank you.”

“All in a day’s work.”
Suki raised her hands, palms up, then let them fall to her lap. No other part
of her body moved in the slightest.

I can’t even see her
breathing
, Blake realized. She shivered again, and busied herself with her
BlackBerry on one knee and her iPad on the other.
The flight stewards can’t
take drink orders soon enough for me…

She forgot the spooky
introduction to Suki, however, as she discovered a new email from Charles.
latest. Please advise what you want to do.>

joking,> Blake emailed her reply. those properties are?>

As she waited for
Charles to answer, her BlackBerry alerted her that she had a new text message.
From Suki’s smartphone, and also sent to Matt and Antonio. ahead has been eyeing my client ever since we boarded the plane.>

else?> asked Antonio.

Suki replied.

watch him,> Matt tapped out on his smartphone, while Blake sneaked a peek
behind her and didn’t see Suki holding a phone at all.

That woman makes my
skin crawl. I’m glad she’s on my side.
Blake turned her attention back to
her email.

New message from
Charles: <330k, 180k, and 117k.>

Blake gazed out the
window at the clouds beneath the plane, considering the situation. Her latest
bids were 120 percent of the FMVs for the properties. She expected her plans for
the three Little Haiti properties to double their value immediately, with their
worth increasing as she gradually revitalized the entire community.
I can
outbid the anonymous person by a small amount and still turn a profit soon
after renovations are completed
, she decided.

percent of the anonymous bidder’s offers,> Blake emailed Charles. As she
looked up from her iPad, she observed the old man two rows ahead studying her.
He waved, but she didn’t wave back.

She plugged the
BlackBerry into the nearest of the Delta’s first-class power outlets,
recharging it while she browsed news using the iPad. Business news websites
were rife with gossip that Blake Bertrand was about to buy the Wishman Spears
building. Her photograph, as she’d looked the day of her final divorce hearing,
was splashed all over the Internet.

“Good morning.” A
smiling stewardess stopped the drinks cart next to Blake and Matt. “Can I get
you a complimentary beverage?”

“I’d love a Grand
Marnier Sidecar,” Blake answered, returning the smile.

“Nice try.” The
stewardess laughed. “We’ve flown together before, Ms. Bertrand. Don’t you
remember? And we’re still not equipped to mix cocktails; but I did tell Delta
you asked about it.”

Blake faked a heavy
sigh. “Well, I had to ask, you know. So…just beer, wine, and spirits still?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“A nice Cab would go
down well, I think.” Blake nudged Matt, who tugged his headset off and arched
his eyebrows. “Want something to drink, Matt?”

Matt shook his head. “I’m
not supposed to when I’m on duty.”

“You’re not on duty
until the night shift.” Blake winked at him.

“Go ahead,” Suki
intoned. “She’s the boss. Antonio and I can keep watch on Big Eyes up there.”

“I’d love a Sam Adams.”

“Coming right up.” The
stewardess rummaged inside the cart for a few seconds, then handed Matt a
chilled Sam Adams before pouring a glass of red wine for Blake. “If you need
refills, just let a member of the steward team know.” She smiled and
half-saluted, then pushed the cart along to the next row of customers.

Another stewardess
handed Blake a second glass of wine, this one from the menu of drinks that cost
extra. It was a Merlot with a heady aroma that made Blake’s mouth water. “This
comes to you with compliments from the gentleman over there.” She gestured to
the old man who’d been watching Blake ever since they’d been seated.

This time Blake’s sigh
was genuine. “Please tell him I said thank you.”

“Want me to have a talk
with him?” asked Suki.

“Not yet.” Blake sipped
the Merlot. It was superb, so much so that she wondered what brand it was. “I’ll
go speak to him. You can intervene if he tries anything, right?”

“Of course.”

Blake stood, slid past
Matt, and stepped up to the old fellow who’d bought her a glass of expensive
red wine. She raised the glass and murmured, “This was very kind of you.”

He paused to appreciate
how she looked in her form-fitting Chanel suit before he said anything. Then he
put out a hand and said, “Glad to do it, Ms. Bertrand, and glad to finally meet
you. I’m Stan Walker. Maybe you’ve heard of me?”

She hadn’t, and he
obviously didn’t know much about her either.
Except that I’m rich and
considered beautiful.
“I don’t mean to be rude, Mr. Walker, but I never
shake hands.” Noticing that people in other seats were listening to the
conversation, Blake added, “I always caught every bug going around, until my
mother advised me to quit shaking hands. She’s a nurse. I haven’t been sick
much since I started following her advice.”

“I’ll have to remember
that. At my age, the old immune system isn’t as feisty as it used to be.”
Walker
chuckled. “Anyway, I’m
a business journalist. It’s been a while since you’ve agreed to an interview
with anyone.”

So that’s what this
is about.
“That’s true. I stay so busy, it’s tough to find time for that
anymore.”
Busy letting Lang have the spotlight, because if he thought I was
stealing attention away from him he’d beat me senseless. Maybe I should
schedule an interview soon, just to show him I’m my own woman again?

“Understandable, that’s
the way it goes with the best business leaders. I’d love to interview you
whenever you’ve got an hour or two to spare, though.”
Walker
handed Blake his
business card. “Maybe write about your plans now that you’re footloose and
fancy free, eh?” Again his eyes roamed Blake’s body.

“Who’s your friend, Boss?”

Blake nearly jumped out
of her flats. She’d been turned facing her bodyguards all the time, but she
didn’t see Suki move. Now the woman stood by Blake’s side, making no effort to
hide the fact that she was memorizing every detail of
Walker
’s appearance.

“Stan Walker, business
writer.” He held out a hand to shake. Looked Suki over, put his nose a little
higher in the air, turned his attention to Blake again.

Suki ignored
Walker
’s hand until he let it
drop. Then she inquired, with a voice that almost dripped syrup, “Did you know
you literally drool when you talk to a pretty woman?”

Walker
’s pale face went cherry
red. “That’s a lie.”

His necktie is damp,
though
, Blake realized, and fought the urge to grin. “I’m sorry, Mr. Walker;
Suki here is one of my bodyguards. She’s just concerned about your intentions.”

“A
woman
bodyguard?” If contempt could kill,
Walker
’s stare would have turned Suki to ashes where she stood.

Suki, for her part,
looked as serene as any Buddha statue. “I get by.”

“Hmmmpf.”
Walker
lifted the generic
tablet that he’d left lying on his ample stomach, and showed Blake a business e-zine’s
interview with Lang Bertrand. “You should make some time for an interview, in
my professional opinion. Your ex is out there stealing all the thunder, while
you haven’t let out a single rumble.”

“I had to fire my
publicist just before my divorce was finalized. Since I plan to be in
New York
for a while, I thought
I’d wait and hire someone local, and then I’ll do some thundering of my own.
Thank you, though, for your professional opinion.” Blake nodded to Suki, and
they stepped toward their own seats.

“Now you’re
really
in luck!”
Walker
stood and laid a hand
on Blake’s arm.

She’d barely registered
his touch before Suki, eyes fixed on
Walker
’s, gripped his hand and lifted it off Blake’s arm.
Walker
’s eyes seemed to double
in size.

“Don’t touch my boss.”
Suki dropped
Walker
’s hand.

“I’m sorry. I just
forgot myself for a second.”
Walker
looked like a rabbit cornered by a fox.

Suki raised her hands,
palms up. “Just don’t let it happen again. Next time it will cost you.”

Walker
turned a big-eyed gaze
to Blake. “I apologize, Ms. Bertrand. I really do. I just wanted to tell you I
happen to have the best publicist east of
Cali
. I’d be glad to write her name and phone number on the back
of my business card for you.”

Dazed by the exchange
between Walker and Suki, Blake had to clear her throat before she could speak
again. She handed the card back to
Walker
and managed, with a bit of a squeak, “Sure.”

Walker
pulled his fountain pen
out of his shirt pocket and hastily scribbled on the back of his business card,
and thrust the card back into Blake’s still-outstretched hand. “Be seeing you,”
he blurted as he sat down again.

Blake settled back into
her seat and tucked the card into her purse without ever looking at it.
My
return to New York is certainly off to an entertaining start
, she
reflected.

#

“And then, sweet as
pie, Suki asked the dude if he knows he literally drools when he talks to a
pretty woman.” Matt laughed into his smartphone. He lay sprawled on the sofa in
the living room of Blake’s new
East Thirty-sixth Street
penthouse apartment, chatting with his
girlfriend back home in
Miami
. “I don’t know, babe. Raised by wolves is my theory.”