Been In Love Before: A Novel Read online

  As a kid Mickey had lackluster grades in school. His teachers told his father he was not very motivated about anything except soccer. He would practice his kicking at least two hours every night after school. His goal was to kick a soccer ball through a swinging tire to score a point. He always imagined it was the winning point. He kept trying.

  One Sunday night his father drove him to a nearby practice field. His dad was good that way—taking him to practice, games, and tryouts for the new kids’ league. Mickey wanted to make the team so bad he was willing to practice day and night. The skies were overcast that day and threatening rain. His dad watched and waited while sitting under a nearby tree.

  That gray day Mickey had spent the last hour trying to perfect his technique, but to no avail. It began to thunder and lightning, and soon began to rain. It was getting late. One more kick, he promised his father, and then they could leave.

  “Just one more, Dad,” Mickey pleaded.

  “All right, just one more, but hurry; I don’t like the looks of that sky.”

  He was determined to hit his target, and he raised his foot and kicked the ball. It sailed right for the center of the swinging tire, but right before it did, he was struck. A crack of lightning at his feet sent him hurtling through the air, and he landed against a tree with a broken leg and two fractured ribs. He never saw the point being scored.

  When he woke two days later in the hospital, he remembered nothing of the event, but life had changed for young Mickey. His father, a single parent, had died from the lightning strike. A wealthy Scottish family Mickey had worked for—cutting grass, shoveling snow, and washing their cars—adopted him. They lived near his home just outside Boston and had grown fond of him.

  He had worked in the family’s real estate business, Boston Real Estate Advisors, since high school. They started him at the bottom, working for minimum wage as a janitor during the summer, and he worked his way up. The family was known to be tough but fair in business dealings, and over the years, the company and the family prospered as a result.

  The accident and the loss of his father changed him: he became more aggressive after the incident and went from a carefree, happy-go-lucky kid to a very intensely dedicated young man. The lightning also changed his appearance, giving him a distinctive white streak in his ink-black hair that extended from his forehead to the back of his head. When he was angry, his dark eyes flashed an intense red, cobra-like warning to those foolish enough to cross this tall, muscular man. Very few people ever did.

  Mickey dialed her number again. No answer. Sunday? Where is she? he thought to himself as he watched a black-and-gold helicopter flash by his office window, heading for the rooftop heliport of the building. The side of the copter was emblazoned with a large initial R painted in bright gold. He was here. The one and only Fabian Rumpe.

  Mickey’s office was the corner suite on the top floor of the Boston Real Estate Advisors office building. The office was carpeted in white plush Berber wool, and original modern artwork adorned the walls. The floor-to-ceiling windows behind Mickey’s broad oak desk provided a splendid view of downtown Boca Raton to the west and the Atlantic Ocean to the east. The view was magnificent, and many times calming, but not that day.

  He heard the engine of the helicopter cease. Mickey was ready for him.

  Minutes later, when the door opened, the flamboyant presence of the famed Fabian Rumpe filled the lavish office. He walked in with his arms spread wide and a smile on his face the size of Manhattan. The pompous developer was a study in false bravado and joked with an uneasy laugh—always at the expense of others. Mickey did not care for him much.

  “Fabian, good to see you again. Have a seat and make yourself comfortable,” Mickey said in the most gracious voice he could muster. “Can I get you anything to drink?”

  “Scotch, or I think you call it mother’s milk.” He laughed hard, almost coughing, as if he was making fun of Mickey’s heritage. Mickey let it slide.

  “If you don’t mind, I’ll join you,” Mickey said, handing him a glass of the finest premium Scotch available anywhere. His extended Scottish family had connections in Inverness, who sent him two cases of their finest private-label Scotch every year for his birthday.

  He surveyed Rumpe sitting before him and almost laughed. He was tall, with a strawberry-blond pompadour hairstyle that was fifteen years out of date. His custom-made suit was oversize to hide his growing heft. The jacket was buttoned in the center to disguise his ever-present girdle, which was squeezing him tight. He looked very uncomfortable.

  Mickey thought of him as a buffoon, but knew he was not to be taken lightly. He was shrewd and still a considerable force in real estate. It did not pay to make enemies in this business. Mickey knew that, but he had work to do. Be firm, but tread lightly.

  “Not bad stuff,” Rumpe chortled, raising his glass. “I’ll have to send you some of mine. I get it directly from my own discount distillers in Miami. My stuff is the greatest.” He gulped down his glass of fine sipping whiskey.

  Must not have been too bad. He drank the whole thing. Easy now. I don’t like this man, never did. He’s a bully, but this is business.

  The developer coughed, then said, “Mickey, let me get right to the point. I know you’re planning to build a big hotel resort complex on the ocean, near Gulf Stream. I will consider letting you use my name as the headliner on the marquee in exchange for a twenty percent cut of the gross. You know my name will bring customers in by the droves. It will tell them instantly that it’s quality and pack ’em in.” Rumpe smiled that silly smirk of his. His forehead began to bead with tiny drops of sweat that ran down onto his shirt collar.

  Rumpe picked up the empty glass and promptly set it down again after not receiving an offer of a refill.

  “Well, it’s certainly something to consider, Fabian, along with the other proposals we have received.”

  “Others? Like who? I was told we were the only ones you’re considering. Did I waste my time coming down from New York to this malaria hellhole?”

  “All I am saying is we’re considering all of our options, but I will also tell you that no one is demanding a twenty percent cut of the gross and with no skin in the game. That’s a little excessive.”

  “But look what you get for it. I can . . .”

  I’ve had enough of his bragging. Time someone cut him down to size. Enough.

  “Like what, Fabian? How much money are you willing to pump into the construction costs? Our total costs will be well over six hundred million dollars. Can I count you in for twenty percent of that? Your share would only be a little over a hundred and twenty million. Cash. Can I sign you up? How about it?”

  “This is bull. I thought you’d be reasonable about this. You’re still the same stubborn punk, and you’ll never change.” He shifted gears with a veiled threat: “You know I have many friends in the construction business, the banks and . . . in the unions; you might just need those friends one day, my friend. Your last chance, my Irish prince.”

  “I’m Scottish,” Mickey said, standing. “If you are going to make an ethnic slur, Fabian, at least get it right. I think we’ve concluded our business here.”

  “Are you dismissing me, you little jerk? Do you know who you’re talking to?”

  Mickey turned, and his eyes flashed red for the briefest moment; he had heard enough and was not going to take it anymore, at least not from the likes of Rumpe. “Yeah, I’m looking at a guy who’s living off his past building projects and trying to suck the lifeblood of the business that sent him to the top. You have a reputation for not treating your employees well, or your staff, or your suppliers. Most of them are suing you just to get paid. So yes, I can understand why you would want this piece of business. To save your ass.” Mickey took a deep breath before continuing.

  “And I expect the next thing out of your mouth would be a demand for an advance against the earnings that, quite frankly, I don’t think you ever do anything to earn.” He paused and said, hi
s voice calmed, “Fabian, I saw you as a favor to my father, but I run the company’s operations independently here in Florida. I think I can handle this deal well enough without you.”

  The New Yorker looked at the tall Scotsman and said, “Well, I guess there’s nothing else to talk about.” He stood and turned to leave after shaking his hand. “Hey, Mickey, how’s that hot little redhead of yours? Wow, what a body on her. She’s a real hottie! If you ever break it off with her, and she wants the taste of a real man, give her my number. I’d like a shot at that myself.”

  Mickey turned to look away, not wanting Rumpe to see his anger. His eyes flamed red, hotter than white fire, at the lusty mention of his fiancée, especially from some lowlife like Rumpe. His hands closed tight into fists. Easy now. Just get him out of here.

  “Thank you for coming today, Mr. Rumpe. Have a good day.” Mickey turned to walk him to the door. “I think you should leave—now, before you make me angry.”

  “You’ll regret this, friend.”

  “I’m not your friend, Rumpe.”

  Careful, Mickey. This had not turned out the way he expected. What would his father say?

  Chapter Seven

  The four-story glass-and-chrome Callahan Building sat in the heart of Boca Raton’s premier business district, under the shady umbrella of two huge ancient mahogany trees. On Sunday only the security guard stationed in the white-marble-tiled lobby was working, and he greeted Diane Callahan warmly as she came inside.

  “Mornin’, ma’am,” he said with a familiar smile.

  “Morning, Seymour. I saw her Mercedes in her parking spot, so I must assume she’s upstairs?”

  “Yes, ma’am, been here for hours.” He leaned forward to whisper to her, “She’s been doing that a lot here lately, ma’am.”

  “I know. Thanks, Seymour. How’s Mary and the kids?

  “She’s just fine, ma’am, thank you. Can you believe it, the eldest is graduating from high school?”

  “Little Henry? Graduating from high school. Oh, sweet mother of God. Where does the time go?”

  “Somethin’ else, isn’t it? You turn around and you wonder where the years went. You know what I mean, Miss Diane?”

  “Sure do. You take care now.” She pressed the elevator button and stepped inside to make the short journey to the fourth floor. When she alighted, she looked around. It always felt strange coming in on a Sunday—so quiet. There were no ringing phones, no hustle and bustle of employees, no clients visiting, and lots of empty desks and darkened conference rooms. She walked to her mother’s corner office, which was right next to hers, and saw the light on there.

  “Mother?” she shouted as she neared her office and then saw her sitting at her desk, poring over statistical reports. “I should have known I’d find you here.”

  Coleen Callahan looked up from the spreadsheets on her desk and peered over her glasses at her daughter before returning to her work. “I won’t be long,” she muttered while she waited for the onslaught of questions that was sure to come.

  “So this is where you’ve been hiding when I call you and you don’t answer your phone.”

  “I’ve got a big presentation and meeting tomorrow. I want to be on my game.”

  “Mom, we need to talk,” Diane said as she laid her purse on the sofa and settled into one of the black leather chairs facing her desk. “You brought me into Dad’s business four years ago with the promise that you would slow down and ease out of the day-to-day stuff, before turning it over to me. You’re working more hours now than ever before. Right?”

  Her mother slumped back in her chair. “Yes,” she sighed.

  “And another thing, we talked about you selling the house; it’s way too big just for you. I don’t see any of that happening. Maybe I should just go back to work at Philby’s.”

  “Diane, honey, I know . . .”

  “Don’t ‘Diane, honey’ me. I know all your tricks . . . and your secrets.”

  Her mother looked away, and her glance caught the family photo of her and her deceased husband, along with a freckled little girl playing in the sand at the beach. The three of them. It was a happy photo. He was healthy. She winced as she tried to hold back the tears. “I just miss him so much,” she whispered. “I know I should be ready to move on, but . . . I just can’t. We had something special, something most other couples never achieve. I miss him so much.”

  “I know it’s been five years since we lost Dad, but look what you’ve accomplished in that time. You built this tiny commercial real estate company into the second largest in the state. Now you have conglomerates that wouldn’t even talk to you years ago, knocking on our door wanting to buy the company.”

  Coleen looked at her daughter, her business partner, and said firmly, “It’s not for sale.”

  She had a reputation for being a tough but fair negotiator, one who was loved by her employees. On her desk sat two engraved walnut plaques. One read,

  LEAVE YOUR EXCUSES AT THE DOOR.

  WE’LL FIND A SOLUTION TOGETHER.

  The second one proudly proclaimed,

  COLEEN CALLAHAN

  CEO: THE CALLAHAN CORPORATION

  “I think Dad would be proud of the new Callahan Corporation and the way you’ve grown it. However, I think he would also say . . . it’s time for things to change, to move on. Maybe even find someone else to help fill your life and your time.”

  Her head snapped toward her only daughter. “Never! There will never be anyone to take your father’s place. Now just go on . . . I’ll be done here shortly. Leave me be.”

  “I didn’t mean that he would take Daddy’s place; it’s just that everyone needs somebody to talk to, to be with, to warm up to, and share a life with, that’s all I meant, Mom.”

  “I know, dear heart, but every time I think about dating or going out with someone, I just . . .”

  “I know. It hurts.” Diane stood and hugged her. “I love you. Come on, time to leave.”

  “You go on, dear. Just a little bit more. I’ll be fine. This is a perfect time for me to get some work done. I’ll see you at dinner.”

  “Mom, you’re playing in the club’s mixed-doubles tennis championship later on today. Or did you forget about that?”

  “Oh . . . no, I didn’t forget. Of course not. I’m sure Perry will be calling me soon to remind me. Just what I need, another trophy. This is the last year I’m playing in that damn thing, I swear.”

  “Yeah, that’s what you said last year and the year before. The truth is, you enjoy the competitive contest, and you love to win. That’s what drives you. Well, now maybe it’s time for you to slow down, like you promised.”

  “I’ll think about it. I’ve had my turn at winning in tennis. Maybe you should go out for it next year . . . with Perry. Although he would never, ever say anything, I think he’s kind of sweet on you.”

  “Mother, my divorce just became final, so the last thing I need now is another husband, and besides, he’s an employee, remember?”

  “No, Diane, he’s a partner,” she said sternly. “Senior vice president of insurance sales and operations here at Callahan, not just an employee. Don’t forget that.”

  “I won’t forget, Mother. How can I? You’re constantly reminding me.”

  Coleen started to respond, but instead turned back to the computer and stared at the screen filled with rows and columns of numbers, then gazed out the huge glass windows beyond her desk. “Maybe you’re right; I could use a change of scenery. But you’re one to talk; you live the business twenty-four-seven.”

  Words were on her daughter’s lips, a sharp response, but instead she thought better of it and said, “Well? Are we leaving?”

  “Let me just finish this last . . .” She was interrupted by the sound of a ringing phone and reached to answer it. “Coleen Callahan. Can I help you?” Her face lit up with a smile. “Hi, Perry. No, no, of course not. I didn’t forget. I just stopped by the office to pick up some performance reports for our meeting tomorrow. A
s a matter of fact, I was just getting ready to leave and change clothes.” She covered the mouthpiece and whispered, “He is so nice and pleasant all the time. So polite. How does he succeed in sales?”

  “In spite of himself,” her daughter whispered in return while making a face. Diane picked up her purse and her mother’s briefcase, dangling it in front of her, motioning that it was time to leave.

  Perry Winston had been the young owner of a smaller but very successful agency that Coleen had bought two years earlier. Part of the sales agreement was that after the merger, he would be not only in charge of operations but also part owner of the combined larger company—as a partner.

  Coleen nodded. “Okay, then, I’ll see you for lunch.” Then she paused to listen to what he was saying before she responded, “I don’t know if Diane will be there for lunch, but I am sure she’ll come to cheer us on to victory. See you soon. Bye.”

  Coleen turned off her computer and said, “Come on, let’s go. It’s too nice a day to be stuck inside.”

  Her daughter smiled.

  “Join me for lunch?” Her mother asked with her trademark grin.

  “Mother. You’re incorrigible.”

  Chapter Eight

  “Miss Macgregor, I really want to thank you for coming in on a Sunday to meet with me.”

  Mary Kate smiled and nodded for the woman to proceed. Even though she was new to the firm, she had been involved with pro bono abuse and divorce cases before and knew how these cases turned out—badly.

  The woman swallowed. “Well, I’m not sure where to begin. And I’m a little nervous; I’ve never been to a lawyer before.”

  “I promise, I don’t bite.” She smiled, trying to make the nervous woman a little more comfortable. “Start wherever you want, or try starting at the beginning. And please call me Mary Kate.”

  The woman smiled and set her coffee cup on the glass cocktail table. “Of course. My name is Calley Terrell. I’ve known Phil, my husband, my whole life. We dated through high school and college, and when all of my other friends got married, we just followed along with them. Things were going great until they closed the office location where he worked and he lost his job. He tried, but couldn’t find a new job, even though he looked everywhere.” Mary Kate offered her a tissue.