Been In Love Before: A Novel (8 page)

Chapter Fourteen

After Eian left the office, he made the quick drive on I-95 until he saw the Boca Raton turnoff onto Glades Road. It was a perfect South Florida kind of day, sunny and bright, a chamber-of-commerce kind of day. Hardly any traffic.
Maybe I should just go to the beach and take some time off.
He pulled into his parking lot and parked his big SUV in the spot marked:

RESERVED

CEO

MACGREGOR SPORTS MARKETING

He smiled that boyish Scottish grin. He liked that; it had a nice ring to it.

Rose met him at the elevator, excited as a schoolgirl. “Close your eyes,” she said, then grabbed his hand and led him into the elevator. The elevator still felt sluggish and noisy, but some things never change. However, he also noticed something new: the sweet scent of honeysuckle perfume, and the warmth of her hand. The honeysuckle took him back to his youth, growing up and playing baseball in open fields ringed with neighbors’ backyard fences covered with honeysuckle. Good memories.

“Keep your eyes closed,” she told him. “And no peeking.”

The elevator came to an abrupt stop, and the doors slowly opened. She led him down the familiar hallway, then stopped and grabbed him by the shoulders. “Okay, now you can open your eyes.”

Before him stood new glass-and-chrome double doors, which had replaced the old wooden one with its rusty doorknob. The new front doors were prominently stenciled with
M
ACGREGOR
S
PORTS
M
ARKETING
—W
ORLD
H
EADQUARTERS
. He turned to her in amazement, speechless.

She smiled a coy smile. “I threw in the World Headquarters line just to add some cachet. Like it?”

“I love it!” He was so impressed and excited, he hugged her tight and kissed her for good luck. “Rose, this is so awesome.”

She swallowed hard, then recovered by saying, “You ain’t seen nothing yet. Come on inside and see your new offices.”

His longtime assistant stood to greet him. “Looks great, doesn’t it, boss?”

“You bet. Oh my God, this is awesome.”

Posters of him during his playing years adorned the walls, along with pictures of him shaking hands with many of the players he currently managed. The old dingy coffee room was now a modern meeting room with a large cherry conference table and six black leather executive chairs. Colorful baseball pictures and posters hung from every wall. He nodded his approval.

“Now to your office.” She took him by the hand and led him to the corner office and motioned for him to open the tall, imposing walnut door. Once inside he was speechless. His desk was in the corner. Rose had replaced the dark, dingy commercial-grade flooring with a soft and subtly patterned white wool Berber carpet. In a glass case in the corner was his baseball glove and one of the baseballs he had used to throw his monumental no-hitter against the Yankees. The final strikeout to win the game. Other memorabilia lined the walls, as well as pictures of him with some of baseball’s greatest players. Rose had made it really feel like home. She knew him well.

“Rose, I can’t believe it. Look at this place. You’re great. And under budget, wow!”

“Well . . . almost under budget, but close. Only one thing . . . I used your old storage closet back there for filing cabinets to hold all the records, files, and receipts. I had a lot of surplus baseball equipment left over. New stuff that you had in boxes, like bats, gloves, jerseys, and baseballs—stuff like that. There’s no more room. Maybe you can sell it online or donate some of it?”

“Sure.”

She spun around his new office and smiled. “You like it?”

“Rose, I absolutely love it,” he told her as he sat in his new high-back executive chair. “Tell you what . . . let me take you out to dinner to celebrate.”

“Sure,” she said with a broad grin. “How about tomorrow night?”

“Okay . . . sure. No, wait, I can’t do tomorrow. Ryan’s daughter, Mary Kate, bought dance lessons for me and my brothers, and the first one is scheduled for tomorrow night.”

“Dance lessons?”

“Yeah. She’s getting married in two weeks. So she said she wants to dance with her father and uncles and bought us some dance lessons.”

“Oh,” she exclaimed. “Hey, I got a good idea,” she chirped. “You can’t just take a dance lesson and not practice. Why don’t we do dinner at Germaine’s on Yamato? You remember the place. They have a band and serve dinner and have a huge dance floor. We can practice all your dance moves and celebrate your new office at the same time.”

“Germaine’s? Is that the place the four of us used to go to years ago? The one on Dixie Highway, in Boca?”

“The one and only. What do you say?”

He took in a deep breath and said, “Lots of memories there. With Alice. Tony.”

She looked at him and put her hand on his shoulder, whispering, “Come on, it’ll be fun.”

“Sure, why not? You want me to pick you up, or . . . ?”

“I have a client to meet with earlier, so why don’t I just meet you there? Say, seven? Okay?”

“Sounds great. I thought maybe we could—”

He was interrupted by a voice over an intercom saying, “Excuse me, boss, but you have a call on line one. Mike Humphreys, calling from Los Angeles.”

“I must speak with him. I’m supposed to go to Los Angeles next week to meet with him. I think I need to talk to . . .”

“Go ahead and take your call. I’ll see you Wednesday.” She kissed him good-bye, once lightly on the cheek.

“See you then,” he said as he picked up the phone and plunged into his office routine.

In the privacy of the elevator, she looked down at her hands; they were shaking.
Hang on, girl; remember this is Eian, dear old Eian. Your best friend. Tony’s best friend. Yeah. My best friend.

Chapter Fifteen

Ryan met with his brothers that night, and as they sat around the deck overlooking his pool and watched the waves crash on the shoreline, he told them what had happened that day in the office. They could see he was still shaken up from the experience.

“I saw you on television. You looked pretty shaken up, bro,” Eian said quietly.

“I was. I just knelt there, shaking, with a gun to my head. It’s true what they say. Your whole life flashes before your eyes. But thinking about it, everything I thought about was family. I saw Mum and Da laughing. I saw us growing up as kids, playing ball, I saw my wedding, and I saw Mary Katherine being born—everything.”

“Damn!” said Eian. “That’s scary.”

“Have they caught him yet?” Robert asked.

“No, but all this really makes you think about the things in your life.” He paused and looked at both of them. “When you think you only have two minutes to live, it makes you decide what’s important.”

Robert finally spoke. “Yeah, we may fuss and fight, but I don’t know what I’d do if I ever lost you or Eian. I just don’t know, but everybody has been telling us to get on with things. The fire at the house got me to thinking about how I live my life. At least for me, I think it may be a wake-up call, that it’s time to get on with living.”

His brothers nodded in agreement.

“I need a drink,” Robert said, rising quickly and heading for the liquor cabinet. “The good stuff.”

Robert returned with three glasses of Scotch whiskey and toasted, “To the Macgregor brothers.”

“Long live Scotland,” they all chimed in.

They sat in silence, each lost in his own world, his own thoughts, and his own resolutions.

Chapter Sixteen

Tuesday afternoon Robert parked his old pickup truck in the parking lot and, after looking in the mirror, brushed his unruly hair away from his face once again. As he sat in the truck waiting, he glanced down at his transformation—his new shoes, trousers, belt, and shirt. He had to admit that Patti did have excellent taste—expensive, but good. After taking a deep breath, he made his way into the lobby of the Callahan Building for his first meeting with the social coordinator. The tall chrome-and-glass building behind a grassy knoll was in stark contrast to his squat one-story shop, which was set back in the corner of a shopping center.

“Robert Macgregor to see Coleen Callahan,” he said to the security guard at the desk.

Looking up, the genial uniformed guard smiled and pointed to a clipboard. “Driver’s license, please. Then just sign in.”

Robert retrieved his license from his old brown leather wallet and handed it to him.

“I’ll call her office and someone will be right down to escort you,” the guard said as he handed Robert an ID badge marked V
ISITOR
. “Just have a seat, please,” he said, motioning him to the leather sofas in the waiting area.

The waiting area had glass-and-chrome tables filled with newspapers and real estate magazines, but his mind still pondered the conversation he had had the night before with his youngest brother.
Ryan could have been killed, murdered right in his own office. My own brother. Life is short, too short. Ryan was shaken, retelling the story. But the real question is—could that crazy guy come back? Will he try to . . .

“Mr. Macgregor?”

“Yes,” he said, looking up at the young man standing before him in a dark suit and tie.

“Good afternoon, sir. Will you please follow me?”

“Sure.”

“Ms. Callahan’s office is on the top floor, the executive floor.” As they exited the elevator, they walked past employees in large meeting rooms seated around long wooden conference tables. Other employees were busy on the phones in cubicles and in larger offices with windows bringing in the bright Florida sunlight. The phones were ringing nonstop, making the whole scene seem almost surreal. The closer he got to her office, the darker and thicker the carpet felt beneath his feet. Soon they were standing before a woman with short dark-brown hair, wearing small round glasses and dressed in well-tailored clothes.
This is not the Coleen I remember. Must be a different Coleen. There must be a million Coleens in the world,
he thought to himself.

His escort stopped and turned to him. “Here you go. Nice to meet you, Mr. Macgregor. This is Margaret, Ms. Callahan’s executive assistant, whom I believe you spoke with on the phone. You’re in good hands.”

“Thank you, Tony,” she said as he departed, then smiled a kind and comfortable smile, the kind that comes from being good at one’s job and from one’s boss’s knowing it. “Good morning, Mr. Macgregor. So nice to meet you. I’m Margie. We talked on the phone yesterday.”

“Ah yes, please call me Robert. My friends call me Mac.”

“Sure, Mr. Macgregor . . . I mean Robert. I expect Ms. Callahan back soon. Why don’t you have a seat in her office and make yourself comfortable. Can I get you some coffee? Soda? Tea? Sparkling water?”

“No, I’m fine, thank you,” he said as he glanced at his watch. He was nervous, and he did not know why.

“She won’t be long. She’s never late. Please have a seat.”

He glanced around her corner office and could not help but notice a large silver tennis trophy in the center of her dark cherry desk. He read the multiple civic citations on the wall, along with plaques honoring her and the company’s charitable programs. A dozen or so birthday cards littered her desk and credenza. He glanced at the inscription on one:

Mom—

Happy birthday—you get better every year.

Diane

His eyes searched for a photo, any photo. Then he found it. A small photo of a woman wearing a hard hat, standing in the center of a group of men at a ground-breaking ceremony. She was carrying a silver shovel and was about to kick off the start of a new building. He leaned in to get a closer look. He squinted.
Could it be? Could that be . . .

“Great day, but a terrible photo,” he heard a female voice say from behind him. “That was the ground-breaking ceremony for this building.”

He turned to face her as she extended her hand. “Hiya, Mac. It’s been a long time,” she said in a whisper. “I wasn’t sure if that was you on the phone when we talked.”

He was speechless, standing there, slowly shaking her hand. “It’s good to see you,” he finally said.

“Yes,” she said, slowly removing her hand from his.

He didn’t know what to say, what to do. He stood there with his mouth partially open, staring. It had been so many years since he had seen her last. She looked the same in his eyes. Beautiful. He was awestruck, as if he were meeting a rock star backstage.

“I’ll leave you two be,” said Margaret, coughing, slowly closing the door behind her as she exited the room. They were so intent on each other, they never noticed her departure.

“Sit down, Mac, before you fall down,” Coleen said, pointing to a nearby sofa. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

“No, just somebody I haven’t seen in . . . in . . .”

“In a very long time, but at our age we don’t have to count the years anymore, now do we?”

“You’re right. You look the same.” He immediately felt at ease. “Oh, and happy birthday,” he said, pointing to the birthday cards on her desk.

She laughed. “You always did know how to sweet-talk the ladies.”

“Not all of them, just some.”

She felt her face flush and, to change the subject, asked, “So tell me, how long have you been a widower?”

“Going on two years. She was a ten-year survivor, and we thought we had it licked . . . but instead it came back with a vengeance. It was everywhere in her body. Damn insidious disease. She only lasted less than six months after she was diagnosed the second time.” His voice was breaking.

Coleen looked down. “It’s been almost five years for me. One day he was fine, and the next day he was gone . . . or at least it seemed that way. Thank God I have my daughter, Diane. She’s been great; I don’t know how I would have survived without her. In addition, I have the business, and I do a lot of volunteer work, like the counseling programs. I like it all; it keeps me busy. Do you have any kids?”

“Just one, my son, Bobby. He’s just like his dad. A boneheaded Scotsman, but I don’t know what I would have done without him and his wife, Patti. She’s been a great help. As a matter of fact, she’s the one who gave me your card and pushed me to call you. I’m glad she did.”

She squirmed in her seat and put her hand to her face. “Well, then,” she said with a start and a slight cough. “Why don’t we begin?” She went to her file cabinet and pulled out a folder. He admired her athletic figure as she walked across the room. Her high heels accentuated the athletic curves in her legs, and her skirt clung softly to her.
Whew, she’s more beautiful than I ever remembered.

“I couldn’t help but notice the tennis trophy on your desk. Looks new.”

She laughed. “It is. It’s from this past weekend. Kind of a tradition. My partner and I have won it every year at our country club. However, this is my last year to play and compete. Let somebody else have a chance to win it,” she laughed. “Three years in a row is enough for me.”

Coleen sat down next to him, and he could smell the heavenly scent of perfumed soap, sweet heather.
Nothing better than the smell of a fresh bar of scented soap, other than maybe the strong aroma of bacon frying in the pan on a Sunday morning,
he thought to himself.

She opened the file on her lap and crossed her legs as she thumbed through the materials. “There are two groups for your age category. Both are very active and run by professionals. They have such things as the traditional bereavement circles, but we also feel it’s helpful to get participants meeting and socializing with people who share the same issues, loss of a loved one. They even employ speed-dating sessions to encourage folks to meet other attendees, as well as dancing sessions.”

She put a sheet of paper on a clipboard and began by asking him some questions. “What do you miss the most about your spouse? I’m sorry, what was her name?”

“Tess,” he whispered. “I miss her laugh. Her sense of humor. Her kindness to others, even to perfect strangers. Her touch. Her practical jokes. Her being able to complete the
Times
crossword puzzles in less than an hour. Damn, it takes me three hours to get halfway through it.”

“What do you like to do when you’re not working?” She stopped writing and asked, “What do you do for a living, by the way?”

“I own the Frugal Scotsman; it’s a secondhand store on West Atlantic Avenue in Delray. I love to spend time at the store, even though now I pretty much only work there part-time. My son Bobby runs it now, but I like to help out, to fix stuff. I’m pretty handy with tools and can fix just about anything. I also like to fish, hunt, target shoot, and skeet shoot. I do woodworking, and dabble in electrical and carpentry work. I love to watch sports, especially baseball, football, soccer, tennis, golf—anything where there is competition.”

“What about music? What music do you like?”

“Country-western, rock and roll, and some rap.”

“What about the theater?”

“No, not really,” he joked.

“Opera?”

“Ugh.”

“Ballet?”

“Nope. Never been.” He suddenly got the feeling that he had just failed some unknown test and that Coleen was the prize.

“I guess you don’t like dancing either?”

“Well, yes, I do.”

Her face brightened.

“Remember, I mentioned that I have some brush-up dance lessons to take for my niece’s wedding.”

“Right, I remember you said that yesterday.”

“But I also belong to the Scottish Highlanders. It’s a traditional Scottish clan meeting group where everyone wears their tartan colors, their kilts, the bagpipes, you know—the works. Just the other night was formal night. I wore my formal brogues, my dress sporran held with a silver chain, my sash, white shirt, tie, kilt with my kilt hose, and my tartan waistcoat topped off with my Highland bonnet. Everything. Me and my brothers attended. Ah, it was grand,” he said, his voice betraying the influence of his father’s heavy Scottish brogue.

She had to laugh. “Now that I would like to see.”

“Well, you just missed our annual formal shindig. Food, music, dancing. You would have seen these knobby knees in a tartan kilt dancing the Scottish swing dance.”

“I would have paid money to see that performance.” She laughed. He always could make her laugh.

“I’ve so missed your laugh.”
Go on Bob, do it,
he thought to himself. He took in a deep breath and blurted out, “Come to dinner with me.”

“Are you asking me out on a date, Robert Macgregor?” she replied coyly.

His face screwed up in a comical expression. “Aye, I guess I am. Come to dinner with me?” He leaned in close to her.

She backed away, stopped laughing, and placed her hand on his chest. “No, Robert, that would not be wise. I’m sorry if I led you on.”

He sat back with a questioning look on his face. “What’s wrong with a nice dinner with an old friend, some wine, and some companionship?”

“I haven’t dated in years, not since Hal passed away,” she said with a serious look on her face. “But if you’re looking for a date, then I suggest you call this number and ask for Jeremy Clearwater.” She held out Jeremy’s business card. “He runs one of the social groups and also the bereavement group where you can sit and talk out your issues with other widowers. He also runs some other programs that I was telling you about, and they are always looking for eligible bachelors.” She smiled. “They’re having a round-robin speed-dating program tomorrow. I think you would enjoy it. Tell you what, call me afterward if you decide to go, and let me know how it went.” She wrote her home phone number on the back of the business card, then took a quick glance at her watch. “I’m afraid I must be going. I have a staff meeting to attend.” She stood and held out her hand. “It was so good to see you again, Robert. Good luck.”

As he rode down in the elevator he wondered,
Was it something I said or did? Or didn’t say? Or didn’t do?
This was all so new to him and so unexpected.
I guess I’ll never know, but if she thinks she has seen the last of me, then she has never seen a Scottish Highland hound on the trail of a mate. Patience.
He looked at the business card she had given him and thought to himself,
Why not? What do I have to lose?

When he reached his truck, he called Jeremy.