Last Chance at Love

“I’ll do that.” And he could bet she’d enjoy it.

Later that afternoon, Allison sat at a corner table in the hotel’s breakfast room with a cup of hot chocolate and Jake’s book and concentrated on his words. After finishing the first three chapters—remarkable for the masterful use of words and knowledge of the subject matter—she went back to her room and made her weekly call to her mother, a woman whose world was a small town named Victoria, Vermont, where Allison was born, and who prided herself on being arbiter of social life among its eleven hundred African-American inhabitants.

“You mean to tell me you plan to travel all over the United States with this writer?” Edna Wakefield asked her daughter, and in her mind’s eye, Allison could see her mother’s pursed lips and knitted brow.

“Mother, this writer has written a book that commands the attention of both the literati and our government’s leaders,” she said, hating that she sounded as stuffy as her mother. She could imagine the gleam that entered her mother’s eyes when she heard that.

“Why, that’s remarkable, dear. Has he won the Nobel Prize?”

Here we go, she thought, hating her disloyalty. She’d always been fiercely loyal to her family, had grown up proud of her parents and respectful of their views, but their outlook on most things had seemed to narrow with the years.

“Really, Mother.”

Edna Wakefield cleared her throat. “Well, as long as he’s not a Democrat. What does he do now?”

Allison laughed. “He’s a published author, Mother, and I haven’t asked him about his political views, but he sounds pretty liberal to me.”

“We’d like to see you sometime soon, so come home when you can, dear.” It was always the same; they had nothing in common. She loved her parents, but by the time she’d reached school age, they had missed the opportunities for genuine closeness. She and her brother, Sydney, had clung to each other as children, and the bonds remained. She called her office at The Journal, retrieved her messages, and returned to Jake’s book, but the ringing phone interrupted her joy in it.

“You’re there?”

She controlled what she realized was excitement and anticipation and infused her voice with nonchalance. “Of course I’m here. You said you’d call me, didn’t you?”

If he detected coolness in her manner, he ignored it. “Allison. You may prefer watching the interview this evening on TV to accompanying me to my town hall lecture. If I were you, I’d catch the telecast, since your boss will probably see it. You saw us tape it, but it will appear very different on television.” It was good advice, and she might not have thought of that angle.

“Thanks, but I’ve been looking forward to being at your lecture, and I hate to miss the immediacy, that live quality of your talks. Where are you now?”

“Downstairs at the desk. Care to join me for coffee or something of that order? Nothing stronger, since I have to prepare for tonight.”

“I’ll be right down.”

She took in his lazy, disjointed stance as he leaned against the wall in front of the elevator door, waiting for her and smiling. What a man!

“Hi.”

“Hi. How’d it go?”

He ordered coffee, and she settled for tea with milk. “Great. Did I detect a little testiness in your voice when I called a minute ago? What was that about?”

Warm blood heated her face. “I appreciate your suggestion that I watch that interview on TV, but how do I know you didn’t make it because you don’t want me to go to your lecture tonight?” Shivers raced through her and her nerve endings rippled, but she brazenly returned his stare.

“You heard the same lecture that night at the Library of Congress. If you think you’ll miss something by not seeing me deliver it again, then please be my guest. The more information you get, the better your chances of turning in a thorough and accurate story.”

She lowered her gaze, remorseful for having thought unkindly of him without reason. “I suppose you mean that; after all, it’s to your advantage that I deliver a factual report.”

His expression hardened. “Have it your way. I have to make some notes.” He stood, and she wished she’d been more charitable. “I’ll see you tomorrow,” he said and walked away.

* * *

Allison watched Jake’s taped interview, and she knew he’d been right. His suggestion brought unexpected bounty, for the camera caught what she hadn’t seen: his momentary hesitations, occasional looks of disdain and flashes of annoyance at the interviewer that had been imperceptible to the naked eye. He was not a casual man. At the end of the program, she put away her notes, remembered that she’d promised to telephone her brother, and dialed his number.

“I just watched that guy,” Sydney informed her when she told him why she was in New York. “I read his book, too. He’s a powerhouse.”

“What else is new?” She hadn’t intended to sound forlorn, but Sydney could almost read her mind, so there was no point in covering up.

“Is there something between the two of you?”

“We’ve just met, Sydney.”

“Yeah, but it only takes a moment. What do you think our mother has done to me? She’s signed me up for one of her fund-raisers, and I have to stand on a platform in front of a bunch of women to be sold to the highest bidder for one evening.”

She made no pretense at controlling the mirth. “Strut your stuff, Sydney. It’s just a local fun thing; only people who live in Victoria participate. Otherwise, it would be unsavory.”

“Sure, but I don’t live here. As far as she’s concerned, neither of us has left home. Her first and last question no matter how often we talk is when am I coming home?”

“I know. Are you going to participate in that rookery?”

“I don’t have a choice, but I think I’ll pay someone to bid high for me.”

“You’re crazy.”

“I’m smart, and you bet I won’t be the only man to do that. You might try being clever and pay attention to that guy you’re following around. That’s a good man.”

“I’m not blind, Sydney.”

“I’m glad to know that; I’d begun to wonder. You need a man who’s more clever than you are and who knows it. I have a feeling this one fills that bill.”

“What? How can you... Sydney, this is my call, and I’m terminating it.”

His laughter rang out. “You’ll never change. Get too close to your truth, and you close the door. When you come this way, bring him to see me. Bye.”

She hung up. Pensive. Not much chance of that.

* * *

“What kind of audience did you have?” she asked Jake when he called an hour later. She’d told herself that she waited up to interview him about his lecture, but when she heard his voice she had to admit that her true reason had nothing to do with work.

“Wonderful. Jacked up my ego. Can you come down to the bar?”

She dressed hurriedly in a green silk jumpsuit and met him a few minutes later. As thanks for her trouble, his slow gaze made a seductive trip from her head to her feet before resting on her face. To her disgust, she looked downward, flustered and embarrassed.

“Beautiful.” As though the word was for his ears alone, he barely murmured it. He gave her an account of his lecture, a list of the round-table members who discussed his talk and his work, and his views on the audience’s reaction. Stunned at his thoughtfulness and kindness, she relaxed, unaware that her tough reporter’s cloak had slipped a fraction.

In the bar, they talked and sipped ginger ale, and Jake didn’t question his enjoyment of those companionable moments. He couldn’t say why he told her about the woman he’d seen walking across Park Avenue backward, stopping traffic for at least once in her life. On the other hand, he didn’t mention the stranger who he was certain had tailed him; she didn’t need to know that.

Chapter 3

Jake walked the length of his hotel room, retraced his steps, and walked the same route again. He could not permit himself to fall for Allison Wakefield, beguiling though she was. Well, not all the time, he reminded himself, as when she wouldn’t acknowledge common decency on his part. He had a recurring thought that Allison hadn’t known much tenderness, at least not from a man, and that she didn’t expect it. She bet on her intelligence, her competence as a journalist as a source of status, and didn’t count on her womanliness. Fine when she was working; that was as it should be. But, hell! She wasn’t prepared to let him enjoy being a man with her, not even when she softened up. He pushed strands of hair out of his face, thinking back to those moments when she’d walked with him from the restaurant on Forty-ninth Street to Rockefeller Center, sparkling with joy and gaiety.