Been In Love Before: A Novel Page 10

  “I don’t know and . . . I don’t care. But I think I’m finished with my dance lessons,” Ryan said matter-of-factly.

  “Yeah?” Eian said in disbelief. “And you’re going to tell Mary Kate that? ‘Oh, I’m done with dance lessons, my dear.’ Really?”

  “I’ll tell her . . . later.”

  As they reached their cars, Robert said, “I must tell you that Alexi is a beautiful woman, and I think she may just have an eye for you. However, if you’re not interested, I’m sure there are plenty of other guys out there who would be, if you know what I mean.”

  “Well, she’ll just have to—” he began, but Robert interrupted him.

  “Ryan, your only daughter is getting married and has asked you to do one thing—learn some dance steps to be able to dance the waltz with her on her wedding day. That’s the least you can do for her.”

  “I’m not sure if . . .”

  Robert’s voice rose as he continued, ignoring his brother’s comments, “Yes, you’ll finish your lessons, that I am sure of. Aye?” As the elder in the clan, he turned his dark gaze toward his younger brother.

  “I don’t care. I think I’ll . . .” Ryan’s voice trailed off. It sounded hollow because deep down inside he really did care. Feelings that he had thought were gone had now risen to the surface in just the short time he had held Alexi in his arms and danced around the floor holding her. He had felt so alive dancing with her. He kept thinking about her and could not get her out of his mind. Her easy laugh, her engaging smile—he had not felt this way since . . . Grace. What the hell am I going to do now? Go home and have a drink with my brothers. Yeah. I’ll figure it out tomorrow.

  Chapter Eighteen

  “Gloria, I don’t know any more information than you do. I’m sorry, but we still have to have a place setting for Mickey’s mom and dad. Mickey said his parents may have to go out of the country on business, but they’re trying to rearrange things since we decided to get married so quickly.”

  Mary Kate’s wedding planner interjected, “Has Mickey spoken with them? Or have you?”

  “Mickey speaks to him all the time. He works for his dad at the company, remember?”

  “What about after your announcement?”

  “They called once to congratulate us after our engagement announcement, but I have not heard from them since then. His mom’s very nice, but his dad is hard to figure out. It’s kind of strange. Just leave a seat for both of them and we’ll figure out something.” On Sunday Mickey had promised he would have an answer for her by Monday. Today was Wednesday. He had promised, but still no answer.

  She glanced at her watch; she had been on the phone for more than forty-five minutes again. She didn’t have this kind of time to spare at work for her wedding details.

  A knock at the door caused her to look up. It was Alison.

  “Come on, Mary Kate, we’re going to be late for the meeting,” said her close friend and bridesmaid, who was helping her pack up her things for the weekly Wednesday meeting with the senior partners.

  She rushed her wedding planner off the phone. “Gloria, I gotta go. Call me tonight if you need me.”

  Her coworker looked at her while grabbing her files. “Come on, MK, hurry. We don’t want to be late.” The two of them nearly ran down the hallway, entering the conference room precisely at nine a.m. “Sorry, Mr. Block, sir.”

  From the look on his face, she could tell he was agitated. Tall, distinguished, impeccably dressed, with perfectly groomed white hair, Irwin “Sonny” Block had a reputation for honesty, trustworthiness, and hard work in South Florida. In fact, he was one of the most esteemed attorneys in the region.

  “Ladies . . . ,” he began while he stood, looking even taller than his actual six foot five. “Grab some coffee and a bagel before we begin.” He was good to his staff, to all of them. He had been the first attorney in Florida to hire female attorneys, and treated all staff equally, both men and women. The female attorneys with the firm affectionately called him Poppa behind closed doors but never to his face. They could tell him or ask him anything.

  Mary Kate sat down quickly and opened her portfolio on the conference table. There were eight male and six female attorneys, and they all worked long and hard hours. They were expected to carry a full workload and still perform public service for the community. For their reward they were well paid and highly recruited. There were more alumni of the Block & Sawyer law firm on the Florida courts than of any other law firm in the state of Florida. It was a good firm to work for—actually, the best.

  “Who wants to start?” asked Sonny to start the meeting.

  Each attorney presented their casework for input from the other attorneys, and the status of any pro bono work they were involved in for the firm. One by one they briefed their fellow associates, so should anyone need to fill in, they would be familiar with the case.

  Mary Kate made a note at the top of her legal pad. Calley Terrell? She had never heard back from her. Was she okay? Was she still staying at the hotel? Calley was supposed to call her.

  When it was her turn, she briefed the group on the status of her cases and her pro bono work. Regarding Calley she gave a brief explanation, and moved on to her next case.

  As they filed out of the conference room, Sonny asked her to stay behind so they could talk. “Mary Kate, I know you have a wedding to plan and there’s a lot of pressure on you. But please don’t forget there are many people out there who are depending on the work you do here. Like Calley Terrell, for instance. I strongly suggest you check into where she is. Is she all right, and what are the next steps? Did she go back home to him? Just because it’s pro bono work doesn’t mean that we take it any less serious. Do you get my point?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “That’ll be all. Back to work . . . and Ms. Macgregor . . . next time, if you’re not fifteen minutes early for a conference—you’re late. It’s disrespectful to everyone in the meeting. Their time is valuable too.” No lectures. No yelling. No screaming. No admonishments, just the facts. He turned and walked toward his office. Not another word was ever said. Tough but fair. Out of respect to him, she made a mental note never to be late for one of his meetings again.

  Once back at her office, she called the Delray Dunes and spoke to the manager, Robin.

  “Hey, Robin, this is Kate Macgregor. Howya doin’?”

  “Good, Ms. Macgregor. I want to thank you again for getting me this job. It’s been a lifesaver, in more ways than one.”

  “No problem. I’m just calling to check in on one of my new clients I sent over to you, Calley Terrell?”

  “You know, that’s funny, she called about getting a room here until she got situated somewhere, but she never showed up. I was just about ready to call you about her. Anything wrong?”

  “I’m not sure. Tell you what, call me if she checks in or if you hear from her, and ask her to call me.” The concern was now obvious in her voice. She called Calley’s cell-phone number. No answer. Then she called some of the friends Calley had listed on her contact sheet, but nobody else had seen her. A chill went down her back as she recalled the fear in Calley’s voice when she mentioned the name of her husband, Phil. She did not feel good about this.

  She glanced at her watch, then tried to call Mickey, but got his voice mail. When she finally looked up from the piles of paperwork on her desk, she saw it was nearly nine p.m. and the office was deserted. Give it a break, girl. Time to go home.

  Mary Kate grabbed her briefcase and thought about soaking in a warm bath with a glass of chilled chardonnay once she was home. Just the thing after a long day at work, but she still had many phone calls to make tonight.

  She pressed the button for the elevator. Damn—it wasn’t working again, off for the evening. She took the stairs, and the motion detector slowly turned on the blinking fluorescent lights to help guide her way. It was only three flights down. At each landing the light came on to greet her. Where’s Calley? Why hasn’t she called me? Does sh
e have my home number? Why hasn’t she called me to let me know what’s happening? She had calls to make, then a nice hot bath and a glass of chardonnay. Yes. All these thoughts ran through her head as she made her way down the steps. The bottom landing light did not go on as she slowed her descent into the darkness, feeling her way along the wall and the railing.

  A hand grabbed her in the dark, and she felt the cold steel of a knife blade pressed against the right side of her throat as the other hand grabbed her around her waist. She was about to scream, but a man’s gruff voice said, “Shut up and don’t scream, you hear me?” She was petrified.

  “Y-y-you lawyers are all th-th-the same,” he stammered. His breath was foul; it reeked of stale cigarettes and booze. His clothes smelled of gasoline and diesel fuel. “I’m only going to tell you this o-o-once—you stay away from mmmy Calley. Just st-st-stay away, you hear me? Don’t be filling her head with some strange notion that she can l-l-leave me. She’ll never leave me, at least not alive.”

  His hand shifted from her waist and moved up to grab her and hold her tighter. “Nice,” he said cruelly as his hand searched her body. “Real nice. Come here, girlie-girl.” He removed the knife from her neck and began to turn her around to face him while his other hand kept exploring. She turned to face him in the dark, not seeing his face but only his outline in the shadows.

  Mary Kate remained calm and then struck back with a vengeance, shoving his nose upward with the heel of her hand, then kneeing him in the groin. Surprised, he screamed in a high-pitched pained voice, cursing her.

  She pushed open the exit door and ran. She ran as she had never run before and thanked her father for those self-defense courses she had taken. She kept running, and when she reached her car, her hand was shaking so violently she could not put the key in the ignition. Calm down, girl. You’re all right. Finally it worked, and she stepped on the gas pedal and raced home, calling 911 from the car as her hand shook with a nervous tremor. Calm down, girl, she told herself. She had to report what had happened to her and then she had to find Calley. He was gone—but what about Calley?

  When she returned to her apartment, the police met her there and took her report. Mickey called, and when she told him what had happened, she could hear the anger in his voice. He said he was on his way. She was comforted by the thought of him and felt safer. Then the phone rang again. It was Sonny.

  “Are you okay?” he asked her in a concerned way. “The night watchman found your briefcase in the stairwell and called me.” It was past ten o’clock. “Is everything all right?” he asked with genuine worry in his voice.

  After she told him what had happened, he said, “Maybe you should go to the hospital or call your family physician?”

  “No, I’ll be okay.”

  “Do you want Doris to come over? It’s no problem, really. We would both feel better if she did. Please?” Doris had worked as a nurse for many years before becoming his personal assistant.

  “No, my fiancé is on his way. And I called 911 and just met with the police. But thanks, Sonny. Thanks for caring.”

  “Call me if you need anything, anything at all.”

  She lay there on her bed, the room silent. Gone were the thoughts of a warm bath and a cool glass of chardonnay. Instead, she retreated into a darkened corner and stripped off her clothes to rid herself of the lingering gasoline smell. She sat shivering, naked, with a blanket wrapped around her, and waited for Mickey. But the longer she sat in the dark, the angrier she became. Angry with herself—how could she have let her guard down? Angry he had gotten away with it, degrading her, violating her privacy. Fury rose inside her. That would never happen again—never.

  She stood and dropped the blanket to the floor. She grabbed the clothes she had worn that day and frantically began to shred them with a pair of scissors. Piece by piece she sliced and cut, feeling liberated with every slash. Soon a pile of rags lay at her feet. Then she began to plan. Tomorrow is the first day of a new life. Calley had come to her for help; she trusted her. Tomorrow she would find Calley.

  Chapter Nineteen

  He sat at his desk, intently watching the phone as he waited for his next patient to arrive.

  “Dr. Macgregor?” June asked.

  Startled, Ryan looked up at her.

  “That phone won’t dial itself, you know?” She had known him long enough to tell he was preoccupied.

  He was quiet at first. “I know.”

  “And it won’t ring just because you want it to.” She looked at him and turned to walk away. She was glad he was alive; he was a good person and a good boss. Anything could have happened—that crazy patient could have killed him and . . . killed her. She shuddered just thinking about it.

  He continued to look at the phone on his desk. I’m going to call her. Right now. Yes, that’s what I’m going to do. He went to grab the receiver just as the phone rang.

  June reached across his desk to answer it. “Good morning. Dr. Macgregor’s office.” She nodded her head as she listened. Then a small smile crept across her face. “Hold on just a minute, please; let me check to see if he’s available.” She put the call on hold. “Ms. Alexi Cassini on the phone for you. Do you want to take the call?” she asked with a wry grin on her face.

  He coughed as he sat up in his chair, moving his head from side to side to help himself relax and to loosen his neck muscles as he prepared to take the call. “Yes, I’ll speak with her. Of course.” He picked up the phone but waited to press the button to speak to her.

  June stood and watched before she finally turned away, saying, “Men. Umphh.”

  “Hi,” he said quietly into the phone as the door closed behind her.

  “Hi back.” An awkward moment of silence ensued.

  Then he said, “Hey, listen, about last night, I was a little off yesterday. Must have been something I ate or . . .”

  “It’s okay. I understand, but you still have dance lessons left on your package, and I was thinking, that is, if you want to, we could do it later tonight or tomorrow, depending on your schedule.”

  “Tonight works fine for me. If that’s okay.”

  “Sure,” she said with a bouncy cheer. “See you about . . . eight?” Her laugh was like Gracie’s lighthearted way.

  “Perfect. See you then.” He hung up the phone, but something was troubling him. His memories of Gracie were slipping away and being replaced by thoughts of dancing, dining, smiling . . . and Alexi. Where is all of this going?

  Later Ryan drove to the dance studio and found her waiting for him when he arrived. Other instructors were scattered about the room, practicing with their students.

  “Hey. Sorry about last night. Like I said, it must have been something I ate or . . .”

  “It’s okay,” she said sweetly. “Don’t give it another thought. We all have days like that . . . it’s fine, really. Follow me.”

  She started her music in the private lesson room and walked back to him. “You just missed your brothers. They came in for their lesson.”

  “Yes, I couldn’t make it with them; I had a late-afternoon patient I had to see.”

  She smiled her sweet smile. “You did very well with your lesson, especially the waltz. Let’s just practice a little more. Okay?”

  “Sure.” The music began as he took her in his arms. He looked at her. Tonight was different; she was different. Her hair lay gracefully on her shoulders and was not pinned tightly above her head, as it had been during their last lesson. Gone was the gym leotard, replaced by a chic beaded top and tailored skirt, the kind Gracie always wore.

  Taking Alexi in his arms, he detected the slightest hint of perfume as they began their dance. It was Grace’s favorite. He closed his eyes, listened to the music, and could not help himself. He dreamed he was dancing with his Gracie. She felt perfect in his arms—so soft, warm, and tender. The rise and fall of the dance came naturally, his shoulders perfectly squared as he spun, rotated, and danced to the music. He opened his eyes, then led Alexi back a
cross the room in a butterfly movement, alternating sides until finally the song was over.

  When they were finished, she stepped back and looked at him, impressed. “That was wonderful.” She just stood there looking at him. He had surprised even himself.

  “You were dancing with your wife just now, weren’t you?”

  He hesitated for a moment before saying, “I’m sorry. Yes, I guess I was. It felt so natural.”

  “I could tell, but that’s good. I dance with my husband all the time,” she said quietly, touching her chest. “You know, you remind me of . . .” She paused for a moment before changing the subject. “Let’s try it one more time, then we can add some other moves.”

  It was all coming back to him as he remembered the dance steps from years gone by. It was more like dancing than a lesson.

  They sat for a break and soon discovered they had been practicing for over an hour and that the studio was empty except for the receptionist reading a magazine at her desk.

  Alexi dabbed her face with a towel, leaned back in the chair, and looked at him. “I can understand how uncomfortable it can be to dance with someone new. Or be with someone new. I only danced with my husband until he passed away.”

  “Gracie and I took lessons for years, and we danced once or twice a week. I loved to dance with her. To hold her in my arms . . . was magical.” He realized he was rambling. “How long has it been since your husband passed away?”

  “Four years. We were in Argentina at a dance competition. Juan stopped at a stoplight in Buenos Aires, and when he went to kiss me, a truck came up behind us. He hit us at full speed. The next thing I knew, I woke up in the hospital. I found out later the truck had lost its brakes and slammed into us. I was hospitalized for weeks. My husband died a few days after the accident. I still miss him terribly, but I realize he would want me to get on with my life. It still took me over a year before I could even practice dance with anyone else.”