Desperate Measures Read online

  “All I want,” he bellowed under the needle-sharp spray of the shower, “is to have a family and belong to someone. Is that too goddamn much to ask?” Hell yes it was, otherwise Annie would have said yes.

  “You just broke my heart, Annie Gabriel. I don’t know if I can ever forgive that.

  “I just don’t know.”

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  He saw her across a crowded room. Just the way it happened in the movies. The only difference was, this was a trendy bar called Swoozies, and he was half snookered. His eyes weren’t exactly crossed, it was more that he’d had two drinks on an empty stomach and he was stressed out, but not so stressed out that he wasn’t aware that he was staring at his destiny.

  Pete blinked. She was so beautiful it almost hurt to stare at her. He moved slightly from the crunch of people around him to get a better look at his destiny. She was dressed like a Gypsy, in a wild colored outfit with loose sleeves and a skirt that probably swirled when she walked. He didn’t know how he knew this, he just knew it. He stooped over to see what was on her feet, and wasn’t surprised at all to see she was wearing bright red suede boots. But it was her dark eyes and dark, wild mane of hair that brought his gaze front and center. They were laughing eyes, and they were staring at him. He stared back. He imagined he could hear her silver earrings tinkling. She must like silver. It was around her neck and on her arms. He had to meet her, now.

  He needed to know if she was some lawyer’s date or if she just stopped for a drink and the buffet, which was free. She might be a student at Marymount, which was directly across the street. But when he narrowed his eyes, he decided she was too old to be a student; old meaning she was in her thirties. A woman who looked like she was comfortable with her identity. Suddenly he felt confused and wasn’t sure why. “I think,” he said to the attorney standing next to him, “I just saw my destiny. I’m thirty-five,” he said, a silly smile on his face.

  “Yeah, yeah, where have I heard that one before?” His companion laughed. “Which one, and hell, I’m thirty-seven.”

  Pete stared at the woman in the buffet line, willing her to turn to look at him again so he could smile at her, maybe hit on her. If she’d noticed him once and smiled, she might do it a second time. What could she do but turn away if she wasn’t interested? He continued to stare at her intently, certain she would feel his eyes boring into her. A moment later she turned and bit into a chicken leg. Their eyes met for one brief second before she sunk her teeth into the chicken leg a second time.

  Swoozies was jamming, thanks to the gathering of attorneys to wish one of their own well on his making partner. He couldn’t even remember what the guy’s name was. Lloyd something-or-other, he thought.

  His destiny was holding her plate aloft the way the waitresses did when they wove their way through crowds. She was laughing at something the girl next to her said, crinkling her eyes. She moved like a gypsy, swinging her skirt and hair; flashing her bracelets. A moment later she was out of his line of vision. God, he had to find her.

  Pete set his drink down on the bar, fought the crowds, snatched a chicken leg from one of his buddies’ plates and continued to shoulder his way across the room. Then he saw her, leaning against the wall. Even from the distance he could see four chicken legs on her plate. It didn’t seem to him that she was here to flirt, to be hit on, or to drink. She was here to eat, and she was enjoying the chicken. Hell, it was good chicken and it was free.

  She didn’t look poor or struggling. She was dressed well, trendy, and she carried a Chanel bag on her shoulder. She must just be hungry. He liked healthy appetites.

  He was close enough to her now to speak. She smelled wonderful, like spring after a rain, or maybe it was a summer meadow with flowers in bloom. Not that he ever tramped through a summer meadow full of flowers.

  He waved his chicken leg and looked around helplessly. “All the plates were gone.”

  “That’s a problem. Be glad all the food wasn’t gone,” she said, laughing. “Put it on my plate.”

  He did as instructed. If she’d said take off for the moon, he would have sailed through the open door. “Pete Sorenson.” He grinned. She’s perfect and I’m falling in love. Now, this minute.

  “Maddie Stern, and this is my friend Janice.” For the first time, he noticed the woman with her. He smiled and nodded, then turned his attention back to Maddie. She said, “You look like an attorney, so you must be one.”

  “Are you saying we have a look?” She had a sense of humor. God, you have just answered all my prayers.

  “Pretty much so. You know what Shakespeare said, don’t you?” Not bothering to wait for his reply, she said, “First we kill all the lawyers. That’s what he said.” Her eyes defied him not to laugh.

  “Are those your sentiments?” he said, in mock horror.

  “Well . . .” she drawled.

  “Do you have any idea how difficult law school is? It’s like being a medical intern, you never sleep. Taking the bar is horrendous. Not too many people pass the first time around. It’s almost as bad as the CPA exam. I’m a good attorney,” he said stiffly. Don’t let her be mocking me out. Please, God, this is the woman I was destined to meet and ... marry. I know it. I know it, God.

  Maddie laughed. “I’m sure you are. I was just teasing.”

  “I guess that means you aren’t a lawyer.” Teasing. Wonderful.

  “No. I’m a buyer at Bloomingdale’s, and Janny is a stockbroker with Merrill Lynch.”

  Pete smiled. “Commendable professions.” A career woman. The other one too. Maddie Stern. What a positively beautiful name. Maddie Sorenson would sound even better. He wondered just how drunk he was.

  “What kind of law do you practice?” Maddie asked.

  “I’m an acquisitions attorney. It’s kind of complicated. I work for a consortium that’s headed up by my uncle’s legal firm. What that means is, I buy up property and then sell it for the consortium.”

  “How exciting. And lucrative.” Maddie smiled.

  She’s impressed, and she’s flirting with me, Pete thought happily. “I feel,” he said brazenly, “like you’re my destiny. Do you feel anything?” He was so sure of his feelings at the moment for this beautiful creature, he was never going to let her get away from him. Instant love.

  Maddie frowned, her brows wrinkling. “I feel,” she said stretching out her words, “like I could eat four more chicken legs.” She laughed at the expression on Pete’s face. “I was just kidding.”

  “No you weren’t,” he said huffily. “I don’t like it when people say things and then say they don’t mean them.” Shit, now he’d gone and done it.

  “I hate that too. So does Janny,” Maddie said solemnly.

  “Would you girls like to go out to dinner with me? There’s just so many chicken legs you can eat, and besides, the platter is empty. They stop filling it after six-thirty.” He held his breath, his fingers crossed at his side while awaiting her response.

  “We’d be delighted,” Maddie said, speaking for both of them.

  “You will?” He was stunned. She was interested. He could tell by her laughing eyes. Hot damn.

  Janny grinned. “We eat a lot.”

  Pete laughed. “So do I.”

  “I think someone wants this section of the wall to lean on,” Maddie said, leading the way through the crowd.

  It was stifling outside when Pete hailed a cab. “How about the Russian Tea Room?”

  “Sounds wonderful to me,” Maddie said.

  And it was wonderful, Pete thought later when he noticed that Janny was gone. He did like tactful young women. He couldn’t help but wonder if Maddie had given her some kind of sign that she should leave. Because he was dumb when it came to women, he admitted to himself.

  Maddie smiled and the room brightened. “I’m not really interested in the stock market, and how will I get to know you, really get to know you, if a third party is babbling about stocks and bonds? I don’t think I’ve ever had this much champag
ne at one time. Isn’t it frightfully expensive?”

  Pete waved his hand to show what he thought about the price of champagne. “We can order as much as you like, maybe even a bottle to take with us. I’m having a wonderful time.” Jesus, he sounded like a sixteen-year-old sophomore out on his first date.

  “I’m having a wonderful time too. It was nice of you to invite Janny and me to share dinner with you. Two strangers ...” She leaned over slightly and cupped her chin in her hands. “Tell me all about Peter Sorenson. Everything.”

  He was drunk on his feelings and the champagne he’d consumed, and he talked and talked. About everything and anything. She asked questions, lots and lots of questions, about his business, his uncle, his apartment, his cars. He was, after all, talking about himself. She said she wanted to know everything. She was so interested in him, he felt his body go from warm to hot. All over. He mentioned it, and she laughed.

  Pete finished the last of his champagne. He reached for Maddie’s hands. “Do you know what I’d like to do right now, this very minute?”

  “Tell me,” Maddie purred.

  “I’d like to make love to you, slow, agonizing love that would go on all night long. That’s exactly what I’d like to do. I never met anyone like you. You’re so ... vibrant, so alive. I never saw red suede boots before,” he blurted. “You remind me of a Gypsy, the way you dress, and all that . . . that wonderful wild-looking hair. I’d like to bury my face in it. What would you like?” he said, a sappy expression on his face.

  “Do you really want to know?”

  “Ab-soo-lutely.”

  “I’d like to rip your clothes off, rake my nails down your bare chest, yank at your hair and have you take me standing up in front of a mirror. Now. This minute.”

  “Jesus. That sounds . . . wild. Does that mean you don’t like making slow, lazy love for hours and hours? In front of a mirror, huh?”

  “Uh-huh. I guess inside I am kind of wild. Slow, lazy love is nice, but it seems like a waste of time. I like the moment, you know, go with the moment. If you do that, you don’t have time for slow, lazy lovemaking. It doesn’t really matter now anyway. We just met, and I’m not the kind of girl who does things like that on a first date, and this isn’t really a first date anyway.”

  “I know that,” Pete said huffily. “It was all hypothetical.”

  “Not with me it wasn’t. I really feel like doing what I said,” Maddie cooed.

  He wished Barney was in the men’s room so he could ask him what he should do now. Barney always had all the answers. This woman was confusing the hell out of him.

  “I think we should call it a night,” Pete said, flustered.

  “I think you’re right. This was a wonderful evening. I enjoyed it tremendously, especially all the talk. I love to talk. Are we going to see each other again?” she asked boldly.

  “I would like that very much. I think you are my destiny. I told that to some lawyer at Swoozies and he laughed in my face. Am I your destiny?”

  “I wouldn’t be a bit surprised.”

  Arm in arm, they left the restaurant. At Maddie’s apartment he made a date to see her for dinner on Friday evening. He sang all the way home. At the top of his lungs. Lustily. With gusto. Ever so happily.

  It wasn’t until he was almost asleep that he realized he hadn’t kissed Maddie good night. He should have done that. He wanted to do it. Why hadn’t he? Probably because he sensed the wild-haired, wildly dressed Gypsy known as Maddie Stern didn’t kiss on a first date either. Ahhhh.

  Maddie Stern stared at herself in the mirror. “Damn, this doesn’t look right either,” she muttered as she ripped at the clothes on her back. The pile of clothing on the bed gave testament to how important this third date with Pete Sorenson was. Attorney-at-law. You really stepped into it this time, Maddie. Big-time. A great guy, nice-looking, great dresser, super job, rich. Maybe super rich. Maybe even megabucks rich.

  She thought about the men she’d dated this past year. Not that there were that many. One of the buyers in menswear, a window dresser from Saks, and a guy whose testosterone hadn’t developed fully. All nice guys. No sparks. No money. Sloppy dressers. No bank accounts. They all liked to split the dinner checks. No cars, public transportation; buses instead of taxis.

  “God, it’s so much easier to fall in love with a rich guy. Not bad, Maddie Stern. And guess what,” she told her reflection in the mirror, “you ain’t never going back to the Bronx. Never ever.”

  She was back in her closet, rummaging for something special for tonight’s date. She should have bought something new, one of those knock ’em dead outfits the slick magazines talked about. Well, she was always pretty good at mixing and matching when her charge was tapped to the max. “I think I’ll go western tonight,” she muttered as she pulled a rust-colored, gored skirt from the hanger. She had just the right belt, heavy silver, three-inch-wide sectioned circles with inlays of topaz stones. Perfecto. A deep gold, suede vest that was two shades lighter than her boots. Her blouse had wide sleeves and was a subdued Indian print with matching headband. She’d tie the band around her forehead with the ends trailing down the sides. A slight fringe bang, silver hoops in her ears. Voilà! A knock ’em dead outfit.

  Pete arrived promptly at seven. Maddie gave him a minute to drink in her outfit before she stepped into his arms to nuzzle there for a moment. She smiled when she heard him suck in his breath. He kissed her lightly before he loosened her hold on him. “No more of that or we won’t be leaving here for a long time.”

  Maddie chuckled. “Would that be so bad? I love spontaneous happenings. I’m a bit of a serendipity person myself.”

  “I love the anticipation of something. We are going out,” he said firmly. “We have reservations. You look gorgeous.”

  “And you look handsome. Cashmere, eh,” she said, fingering the material in his jacket. Tonight he was wearing his Finsheims, of which he said he had eight pairs; trousers so well-tailored she knew they were custom-made; a white button-down shirt with his initials on the cuff. She knew the cuff links and tie clasp were solid gold. She knew about gold, about material, shoes, and everything it took to put a person together. She worked for Bloomingdale’s, after all. She even knew that his belt was crocodile. There was a fortune on his back. Her own outfit paled in comparison. She’d gone to Jersey one Saturday to a store called Mickey Finn and bought everything she was wearing for seventy-nine dollars. Everything was marked down two or three times. If she’d paid full price, her outfit, including the boots, would have cost her $575.

  “I’m ready, counselor,” she said, slinging a small suede purse over her shoulder.

  The restaurant was uptown, trendy and brightly lighted. “Best food in town, for the moment,” Pete said after he ordered drinks.

  The drinks were wonderful, the dinner excellent, the dessert to die for, the after-dinner drinks marvelous. Now it was time for after-dinner talk. The let’s get to really know each other talk every couple had soon after meeting.

  “I’m surprised you and Janny don’t share an apartment. You could save quite a bit of money that way, or don’t you believe in saving?” Pete asked curiously.

  “At first we talked about it, but we’re both private people. We each need our own space. We’re both very capable, responsible people. We had to be to get to where we are now. Foster homes will do that to you,” she said wryly. “Sometimes being alone makes me feel vulnerable. I do get lonely from time to time, but then I call Janny or another friend and it passes.

  “I put myself through college, got a good job. For a while I worked two jobs and weekends, worked my way up to the position of buyer. To answer your question, yes, I save money. Not a lot, because of the high rent, but I do manage to put something away every week. Personally speaking, I don’t think that’s too shabby.”

  “What about your family? Do you have aunts or uncles, cousins?”

  “Not a one. Are you sure you want to hear this? It’s not very interesting.”

/>   “I want to know everything there is to know about you, Maddie Stern,” Pete said quietly. “I was . . . I was in foster homes too.”

  “I was three when my mother died. My father came in one day and said mother was sick, and before he could get her to the hospital, she died. He did his best to take care of me. For a while he left me with neighbors and friends while he worked. He always made dinner, though. To this day I hate macaroni and cheese. It was the only thing he knew how to make except for cereal and peanut butter and jelly. He always tucked me in at night, always read me stories, and he would use different voices for the characters in the stories. Sometimes he made up stories as he went along. I remember laughing and giggling a lot with my father. Sometimes ... sometimes if I try real hard, I think I can smell his aftershave lotion. I always got a whiff of it when he kissed me good night. He gave the best bear hugs.

  “I think I was six when he met this woman named Belle. She pretended to love me when my father was around. When he wasn’t around I went to bed dirty with only a sandwich for supper. My socks were always dirty, and when I was seven the lady next door showed me how to wash out my panties at night. Belle was . . . slovenly and she reeked of strange smells. I hated to be around her.

  “When I was twelve my father died. It was the same year Marty Kelly kissed me on the cheek. After the funeral, Belle packed my bags and said, ‘Kid, I’m not your mother, and the way I see it, it’s time for you to leave here. The foster care people are coming by to pick you up. You can call me once in a while, but don’t make a habit of it.’ I stayed in some kind of dormitory for a while and then a couple took me in.

  “It was bearable because I met Janny and we had summers together.

  “I was sixteen before I got smart enough to start asking questions. My father had a hundred-thousand-dollar life insurance policy, but Belle got it all. I called her and she said, and this is a direct quote, ‘Tough noogies, kid, it’s all gone.’ ”