Unforgettable (9 page)

N
ora wanted to throw something. She wasn't accustomed to being beaten at anything. Especially by some plain-Jane Goody Two-shoes like Diana Guy. What on earth could Marcel Taylor see in someone like her? The woman went against the very type Nora knew he dated.

During her brief time at T&B Entertainment, Marcel had been linked at parties and in magazines with top models, singers and actresses. Not to mention the hordes of wannabe female musicians who were willing to do anything to sign with a major record label.

Heck, what woman wouldn't want to land him? Marcel lived life like a king. No doubt the woman who tamed him would also become music royalty.

And that was exactly what Nora had her sights set on. She needed a plan, and quick.

Stopping in the ladies' room, she struggled to devise a
plan that would land the handsome executive in her bed. But the truth was she was running out of tricks to capture Marcel's attention. Whenever she'd managed to snare a private meeting, he always sidestepped her traps.

Of course, Diana didn't have that problem. She was alone with Taylor all the time. Dictation, personal errands, you name it. She was always around. Hadn't she seen her car parked outside Taylor's place just last week?

“I should have known then.” She rolled her eyes. “I swear, I'm going to snatch that tired ponytail off of that girl's head.” She entered a stall just as the rest room door opened.

“You should've seen Mr. Bassett in that getup,” Chelsea, Solomon's secretary, said as she entered the bathroom. “He and Mr. Taylor are going to this masquerade ball. I nearly split my pants when I walked in on Solomon in a Don Juan outfit.”

“Ooh, masquerade ball. Is it in New Orleans?”

Nora recognized the voice of Paula from accounting.

“Nah. His uncle is throwing it out at his place in Atlanta. So basically, it's a singles hookup. And get this, Solomon is going to try and find a
Mrs. Taylor
at the event.”

Nora's ears perked up.

“You're kidding,” Paula said. “Are any of the employees allowed to go to this thing?”

“You mean crash the party?” Chelsea laughed.

“Why not? I wouldn't mind hooking up with Mr. Tall, Dark and Handsome.”

“You know, you might be on to something. I saw a list of the rules and everyone is required to wear a mask and it can't be taken off until the end of the night. I imagine if you're able to win Solomon or Marcel over by the end of the night—you're in like Flynn.”

“Then let's do it. We can circulate the information to all the girls in the office. On the down low, of course. Can you get your hands on a copy of the invitation?”

“Sure,” Chelsea voiced with excitement.

“Then we can have more printed and hand them out to everyone who wants to go. We can even run a pot on who will win Marcel's hand.”

“This sounds fabulous,” Chelsea exclaimed.

Nora smiled as she whispered, “It sure does.”

 

Marcel pounded on his parents' door until it rattled on its hinges. What annoyed him most was that his father was home and was refusing to answer the door.

“Come on, Pop. I know you're in there.”
Bang! Bang! Bang!

Finally, it flew open and his angry father, clad in a very dirty pair of pajamas, glared at him. “You break it, you buy it,” he growled and then moved away from the door.

Marcel frowned and stepped into the house. “If you'd just open the door.” He followed his father from the foyer and down the hall. “How come you haven't returned my calls?”

His father grunted.

Upon entering the living room, Marcel stopped when
he saw the condition of the place. “What the hell happened in here?”

“Your mother left.”

Marcel's gaze roamed over the piles of clothes on the floor. On the coffee table were dishes, potato chip bags and peanut cans.

Donald tightened the belt on his robe. “Surely your mother and I taught you that it was rude to stare.”

Marcel finally lifted his puzzled gaze up to his father. “I also remember you saying something about picking up after yourself, too.” He swept his arm out to indicate the mess. “You want to tell me what's really going on here?”

“What do you care?”

Marcel noticed the red tint around his father's eyes, which meant either he'd been drinking a lot or he hadn't been sleeping. Marcel believed that it was probably a combination of both.

“Did the maid die or something?”

“I told her that her services were no longer needed. I always told your mother that there was no need to pay for something that we can do for ourselves.”

“Then why aren't you doing it?”

“It's on my to-do list.” Donald turned away in a huff. “What do you want, anyway? You finally found time to check on your old man?”

If Marcel knew anything, he knew neither pity nor sympathy was the way to go with his father. In fact, it was probably the quickest way to be dealt a right hook. “Actually, I realized I hadn't felt that thorn in my side in
a while and I wanted to make sure that you hadn't keeled over or anything.”

Donald grunted. “If your mother sent you here, then tell her I'm doing just fine without her.”

“Yeah. I see that.” Marcel drew in a deep breath and removed his jacket. “Why don't we try to make this place a little more presentable?”

“What for? I'm not expecting anyone.”

“Dad, this is unacceptable.”

“This is my house. I'll do what I damn well please.” He plopped down into his favorite chair and grabbed the remote.

“This doesn't look like a house. It looks more like a pigsty.”

Donald didn't respond.

Pushing aside another pile of clothes on the sofa, Marcel sat down and faced his father. “I know you're a little upset that Mom left.”

“Who said I was upset?”

“You don't think it's a little obvious?”

Again, Donald didn't respond.

“Look, denying what's going on here isn't going to fix the problem. Mom doesn't really want a divorce. She just wants room to be her own person. Since your retirement, you've put a lot of demands on her time.”

“Since when is it a crime for a man to want to spend time with his wife?”

Marcel sighed. He might be a self-confessed connoisseur of women, but actually giving advice to his father on how to patch things up with his mother might be taking things a little too far.

“There is such a thing as smothering, Dad. That's why she's begged you to get a hobby. Mom wants to spend time with her friends, continue with her charity work at the hospital
and
spend time with you. You, on the other hand, want her to prepare three square meals, do laundry, clean the house and entertain you. That's unrealistic and it's not going to happen.”

Donald's glare darkened. “I should've known you'd take her side. You've always been such a mama's boy.”

“Ouch. You're hitting below the belt, Dad. But with all due respect, being a mama's boy has taught me how to put clothes in a washing machine and not on the sofa. I'm afraid to ask if you're wearing clean underwear.”

His father grunted and returned his attention to the television.

“Dad, you can afford a maid and someone to take care of the yard. It makes no sense to live like this.”

“Ha. A waste of money. Just like you and that huge place you call a house.”

Oh, this is going to take some work.
Marcel grabbed the remote from the arm of the chair and shut off the television. “Pop, what's really going on with you? Talk to me.”

His father didn't look at him and stared at the blank screen in front of him.

Marcel eased back in his seat and crossed his legs. “Fine. I'll sit here until you start talking. We can be two funky men in a dirty house.”

Donald grunted.

“Mom always said that I could be just as stubborn as you.”

“She should talk,” his father grumbled. “I remember one time when she forced me to sleep on the couch for a month just because I refused to eat her mother's cooking.”

Marcel could sympathize. Grandma Rose tended to go a little crazy with salt. Really crazy.

Donald's shoulders slumped forward. “But I know I can be a pain.”

The sudden confession surprised Marcel, but he was wise enough not to comment on the matter.

“You know,” Donald continued, “I've been looking forward to retirement for as long as I can remember. Pinching pennies, cutting corners—I did everything right. The biggest risk I've ever taken was loaning you and your shadow the start-up money for T&B Entertainment.”

“That investment made you a multimillionaire.”

“Much to my surprise.”

Marcel rolled his eyes.

Donald shook his head. “Now that I'm home, my wife doesn't want anything to do with me. She's off to God knows where, doing God knows what.”

“She's in Paris. And knowing Mom like I do, she's probably wishing you were there with her. You always promised to take her around the world.”

“Another waste of money.”

“So what?” Marcel exclaimed. “You can afford it. It's not like you and Mom are getting any younger. These are the golden years you've been saving for. Why not enjoy them?”

“Ha. Golden years. What's so golden about them? Each day is like the day before. Your wife can't stand
to be around you and your kid thinks you're nothing more than a thorn in his side.” He sighed. “When I was working, at least I had something to contribute—a sense of purpose.”

“Pop, you just need to learn how to relax. Have fun. Don't you know how to have fun?” As soon as he asked the question, Marcel realized that he knew the answer: no.

“You know, Pop. Maybe some of this is my fault, too. I should come around more and spend some time with you. Who knows, maybe I can teach you how to relax.”

Donald laughed and held up his hand. “No offense, son. But I don't think your mother would like me hanging with you and all those women you juggle.”

Marcel frowned. “There aren't that many.”

His father arched an inquisitive brow.

“There might have been a couple.”

Donald's other brow lifted.

“All right, all right. Whatever. It doesn't matter, because all of that is in the past. I'm looking for one woman. To have and to hold forever and ever. Just like you and Mom.” He held his father's gaze. “Yeah, I know you and Mom have had your ups and downs, but I'm confident that this is just a blip in the road. You're not going to find another woman to put up with you and your idiosyncrasies. And you know it. What this situation calls for is compromises. And I'm afraid that if you don't hurry up and recognize that, you're going to lose her forever.”

Donald's gaze fell to his lap before he slowly nodded in agreement. “You're right, son.”

I am?
Marcel breathed a sigh of relief.

“It's just that I feel so…worthless since I left the practice. It's like I don't have an identity anymore.”

“It's just a transition, Pop. Trust me. A year from now, after spending time on a golf course…”

His father's sharp gaze lifted to him.

“Or fishing, or sailing—whatever you want to do, you'll realize how silly this is.”

“But what if I never get used to it?”

“Then go back to work. We'll get you an office at T&B if we have to. You need to work this out with Mom.”

Donald nodded, his eyes brimming with unshed tears. “You'd think that after forty years of marriage, I'd be better equipped to handle something like this.”

“Not necessarily. You've never had to deal with something like this.”

“And you have?” His father laughed. “I never thought that I'd be taking advice from you.”

“You don't have to say that like it's a bad thing.” Marcel shifted in his seat to allow the sharp barb to roll off his shoulders.

“Yeah, you're right.”

Two for two. I'm on a roll here.

After another long silence stretched between them, Donald glanced over at his son. “Were you serious about finding just one woman?”

Marcel's lips curled upward. “Afraid so.”

Donald nodded again, but this time he smiled, as well. “This I've got to see.” He pushed himself to his feet. “I think I better hit the shower. After that, I guess I better find a travel agent. Paris, you say?”

 

Louisa spent her day rifling through old photo albums and diaries of a life gone by. There was a certain satisfaction in having so few regrets. She picked up a photograph of her first husband and smiled when she remembered how she had met him on her first night as a dancer. He was a horn player in the band and won her heart with his Nat King Cole-like persona.

Pain suddenly shot through Louisa's lower abdomen. She dropped the picture and doubled over. It was an eternity before the pain finally subsided and reduced her to a heaving mess on the floor. She stiffened at the sudden knock on the door.

“Ms. Louisa, are you okay in there?”

“Y-yes. I'm fine, Vicki.”

A long silence stretched between her and the closed door before the nurse asked, “Would you like some lunch? I made soup and sandwiches.”

“Maybe later. I was just about to take a nap.” The frequent pain had stolen her appetite hours ago, not to mention she doubted she had the strength to pretend to be her normal chipper self.

“Ms. Louisa, are you sure that you're all right?”

“Just hunky-dory.” Louisa grabbed hold of the bed's foot post and pulled herself up. “Give me an hour or so and then I'll join you.” She drew a deep breath once she was on her feet, but suddenly she wasn't so sure that she was going to be able to walk.

Another pain stabbed her and she lost hold of the bed and tumbled to the floor with a loud thud.