The Bachelor

“No,” she admitted, although heaven knew both her parents could do with a little more humor in their lives, “but if you smile, you can get through anything.” She leaned forward and brushed a dutiful kiss against her mother’s cheek. “Smile once in a while, Mother. It keeps the lines at bay.” And then, straightening, Jenny took pity on her mother. “If it makes you feel any better, I’m chairing the annual bachelor auction again for the Parents Adoption Network. Some of your society ladies are bound to be there, drooling over the eligible studs who’ll be parading around.”

Elaine’s eyes narrowed. “Don’t be vulgar, Jennifer. A lady doesn’t drool.”

Jenny held up an index finger, begging to differ. “A lady doesn’t let anyone see her drool,” she corrected with a grin.

In the face of undeniable defeat, Elaine squared her shoulders, a determined soldier to the end. “You are impossible.”

Jenny cocked her head. “Yes, but I love you and you’ve got another one at home to work your magic on.”

“Jordan doesn’t live at home, Jennifer. He hasn’t for years now. You know that.”

Her mother had always been a stickler for precision. “Figure of speech, Mother,” she said as she began to close the door.

Elaine stopped her for one last-minute order. “Eat something.”

Jenny held up her right hand, taking a solemn oath. “The moment they deliver it,” she promised, then closed the door quickly just in case her mother changed her mind and found something else to criticize. She leaned against it, looking out toward the living room and Cole. “That woman spreads joy whenever she goes.” She sighed, straightening, then walked into the living room. “She doesn’t mean anything by it, Cole. She’s really got a good heart. It’s just hard to find under all those layers of designer clothes and jewels.”

She glanced through the window. It faced the parking area and she could see her mother getting into her car, assisted by the chauffeur. Jenny tried to remember if she’d ever seen her mother actually driving a car, but couldn’t.

“It’s true what they say, you know, the rich are different from you and me.” She nodded as if the boy had responded. It was something she did each evening in the hopes that someday she could coax more than a word or two at a time out of him. A precocious little boy, he’d talked all day long—until his mother had died. “Right, I know what you’re thinking. That I’m one of them, but I’m not. You can’t hold the accident of birth against me, you know. I didn’t ask to be part of the elite and I got out as soon as I could.”

Which was true. She never felt as if she fit into her parents’ world, not really. The girls her mother wanted her to socialize with were so shallow, so vapid. She had more of an affinity for the people she was trying to help, but she didn’t quite fit in their world, either. Jenny sighed quietly. There were times that she felt like a fish with feet. She could swim in one world and walk in the other, but fit in neither.

“The privileged think just that—that it’s a privilege for anyone else to look upon them. They don’t realize that floating from cocktail party to cocktail party around the world doesn’t lead you to discover the true meaning of life.”

Cole merely went on playing with his imaginary friend as if she hadn’t said anything at all, but she tried to convince herself that the sound of her voice was comforting to him somehow. She remembered the boy he had been until six months ago, a bright, sunny child who laughed all the time. But he had been very attached to Rachel and her death had hit him very hard.

Almost right after the funeral, when the death had finally sunk in, he withdrew from the world. He hardly spoke at all, but he screamed in his nightmares, calling for Rachel, pitifully sobbing out “Mommy” over and over again.

She would rush into his room and hold him until he’d fallen back asleep again, her own heart breaking. Someday, Jenny promised herself, someday, she was going to reach him. Until then, she would go on being there for Cole.

Jenny glanced at the kitchen table where the file she’d brought home lay spread out, covering every square inch of surface. She was in the middle of a court battle on behalf of Miguel Ortiz. If she won, it would go a long way to easing the man’s life. It would never, barring a miracle, put him back on his feet again, or free him from the endless pain he’d been subjected to ever since a highly respected and highly inebriated surgeon had worked less than magic on his spine, but it would pay for Miguel’s bills and allow the man to regain some measure of self-respect.

They were getting closer to the end now. For the last five weeks, she’d done nothing but eat, sleep and breathe the case, but she needed to steal a little time for herself. And she could think of nothing better than creating a tiny island of time where she could share herself with the one person who truly mattered to her. Cole.

Bending over, she gathered the towhead into her arms and drew him close as she stood up again. Jenny kissed the top of the boy’s head.

“Don’t you worry about what the Wicked Witch of the West said. I’ll always be here to take care of you. You and me against the world, kid, right?” He raised his head to look at her with Rachel’s soft green eyes, his expression never changing. “Of course right,” she murmured softly. “C’mon, we’ll order that pizza and then I’ll read you a story. I think we both need to unwind after that surprise visit.”

In her heart, she knew her mother meant well. For that matter, both of her parents did. But there was no way she was going to give up any part of her life. She loved being a champion for people who had all but lost hope. And she loved Cole. More than anything, she wanted to be a mother to him.

If there was a part of her life that didn’t feel quite right, that felt as if there was something missing, like a supportive prince to turn to in times when her spirits flagged and she desperately needed bolstering, well, whose life was perfect anyway? Hers was close to it as far as she was concerned, and that was enough.

Juggling the child and the phone, she placed her call to the local pizza parlor. On a first-name basis with most of the people who worked there, she asked Angelo for an extra large pizza with extra cheese and three kinds of meat. He promised to deliver it within the half hour.

“There,” she told Cole, hanging up, “that should hold us.”

Going to the small bookcase in the corner, she selected a book she knew was a favorite of Cole’s and sat down in the oversized recliner. She took a moment to nestle Cole on her lap and then started reading.

Slowly, the tension began to drain out of her.

“C’mon, it’ll be fun,” Jordan Hall urged his best friend, Eric Logan.

He had to raise his voice in order to be heard over the rhythmic whack of the handball as it bounced against the far wall in the exclusive gym where they both had a membership. He and Eric were evenly matched and he had to concentrate in order not to lose the game. Not an easy feat when he was preoccupied with subtly laying the foundations of a plan.

He’d come up with the plan after getting off the phone with his mother. Elaine Hall had been bewailing the fact that, when Jennifer finally ventured out into the arena to which she had been born, it had to be for a deplorable bachelor auction.

“Of course it’s for charity and that’s all well and good,” his mother had said to him, “but when is that sister of yours ever going to think about finding a suitable match for herself and finally settle down the way she’s supposed to?”

It was the same refrain that his mother harassed him with. The same one, he knew, that Eric’s mother, Leslie, occasionally played for him. Ordinarily, it would have gone in one ear and out the other, like a good many of the other one-way conversations his mother had had with him, except that this one had struck a chord. It had melded with one other piece of information in his brain that he was fairly certain no one else was privy to. He knew for a fact that Jenny had once had a major crush on Eric.

For all he knew, she still might.

In any event, the thought of the upcoming bachelor auction had led him to formulate an idea. Jenny was always about work and had completely forgotten how to play. In his less than humble opinion, his sister was in serious need of play. And he wanted to deliver it to her.

This was phase one.

“Fun,” Eric snorted as he returned the serve, sending the ball slamming against the wall and then directly at Jordan. “Being paraded like a piece of meat in front of a room full of bored, aging society matrons with checkbooks is your idea of fun?”

“No, being paraded in front of the daughters of bored, aging society matrons with checkbooks of their own is fun,” Jordan corrected, leaping up to reach the ball and send it shooting back toward the wall. “I’ve taken part in one of these auctions before. Trust me, it’s for a very good cause and it fulfills your charity quota for at least six months.”

A charity quota was the last thing Eric felt he needed to fill. “I gave at the office,” he quipped, returning the serve. Despite the glove, his palm stung as he made contact.

They both knew his comeback was true. Everyone in Eric’s family was dedicated, in varying degrees, to the concept of charity. Although Eric himself was seen as the carefree one in the family, a charming, desirable, eligible bachelor who was part of the vast Logan Corporation, a company that had long been near the top of the computer empire thanks to certain innovations and technology they’d developed, he was as serious about doing his part for charity as the rest, just not as visible about it. But Jordan knew that his friend had an affinity for the underdog and secretly did what he could to help things along.

That gave his best friend something in common with Jenny, Jordan thought. And he was counting on that to pave the way for an evening his little sister both deserved and wouldn’t soon forget.

First, however, he needed to get Eric there.

“Give a little more,” Jordan coaxed, his voice straining. He’d almost lost that last serve and struggled to recover it.

Sweat was pouring into Eric’s sweatband. The terry cloth fabric felt as if it was glued to his forehead. He went long, captured the ball and sent it hurtling back to the wall.

“Why the sudden interest in my participation in this beefcake extravaganza?”

“My sister’s chairing it.” Jordan sneaked a side glance at Eric, but the latter’s expression gave no indication that he even remembered Jenny. That could have just been his involvement in the game, since Eric always played to win. “And I thought I’d be a good big brother and recruit a few men for her. Besides,” he said with a grin, “misery loves company.”

With one mighty whack, Eric sent the ball flying over Jordan’s shoulder. Triumph surged through his veins. The point was his.

Sports was the only field in which he allowed his natural sense of competition to emerge. God knew it wasn’t at work. There his older brother Peter was the fair-haired boy, the company CEO to his department VP now that their father had retired. He’d become thoroughly convinced that Peter never slept. His older brother was there in the morning when Eric arrived at the office and remained there long after he went home.

Eric supposed that part of the deal was that Peter felt that he had to try twice as hard because he was adopted. The bottom line was that Peter achieved a tremendous amount and consequently left him looking as if he were standing still. If he was the insecure kind, this would have sent him running to the nearest therapist’s couch, but he had a healthy sense of self that allowed him to view Peter’s efforts as being good for the family, not reflecting badly on him.

If anything, it made him worry about his older brother. He felt as if Peter was allowing life to pass him by.

“Okay, I’ll sign on. On one condition.” He served the ball, then immediately braced himself for its return. “You talk Peter into it, too. He’s the one who needs to get out, to unwind.”

There was no hesitation on Jordan’s part. “Sure, Peter’d be a great addition to the stable.” Jordan grinned, thinking of the serious man as he sent the ball flying. “Why don’t you broach it with him first, though?”