Like a Woman Scorned (2 page)

Recently, Alison began focusing on making her wardrobe better match her hair and skin color, as well as her height and weight. She was fortunate to have wavy hair, and it was meticulously cut at all times. She never used heat products such as electric rollers or curling irons, preferring to allow her hair to breathe naturally. At 5’8” weighing 135 pounds, her figure was perfect and teased by most of her friends, but in a loving way. She didn’t spend time in nail salons or facial spas, but instead took care of herself at home with routines she’d kept for many years that obviously worked well. Her skin was flawless. She wore almost no makeup, and spent little money on products compared to most of her friends.

The outfit Alison chose to wear for the party was a forest green mid-calf length wool skirt and matching jacket, a black turtleneck sweater and black boots. Her only jewelry was a pair of long gold earrings—real gold. She no longer wore a watch and only occasionally wore rings.

In spite of Brenda telling her to not bring anything, Alison retrieved a fancy bottle of Pinot Gris from her wine cellar, something she knew Brenda would enjoy. Not polite to show up at a friend’s house empty-handed, even when it was the friend who was incessantly prodding you to arrive.

Alison took a taxi here today. The ride was a short one, down Columbus Street along the route she ran at least once per week. Within a few minutes, she was in the lower Market area at Brenda’s condo, a new Victorian tucked into a hillside. It was impeccably furnished as only Brenda could do, her style more rigid than Alison’s, but comfortable.

Brenda was a successful marketing executive who appeared to have unlimited funds, and displayed them well. She never talked about money, however. Brenda liked Tudor and Provincial, or Duncan Fife with those crazy feet of claws. She had large pieces of furniture but combined it all nicely. Nothing was as cozy as huge chairs with tufted pillows, Brenda liked to say.

Large book cases consumed one long wall and were filled with works from authors Brenda met during her contract events. Alison loved mysteries, and every author she’d read seemed to have a book in Brenda’s case against the back wall, behind where the bar was now set up. Rick standing there while the bartender poured seemed appropriate. He was the beginning of a new mystery, protruding from all the others.

Rick returned with their drinks.

“One red wine, a nice Meritage from Sonoma.”

Alison accepted it, trying to be graceful, and took a small sip. “Yes, I think I know this one. Thank you. Champagne, huh?”

Rick lifted his glass. “Well, a case we were hoping to settle didn’t work out, and the trial starts Monday. So, it now appears I will have to stay in here in San Francisco for a while, perhaps the entire month of December. Worse things could happen to a guy, right? Might as well have a small celebration.”

Alison lifted her glass as well, trying not to seem too excited over the news.  “Well then, here’s to a month in San Francisco. I’m sure you’ll find it wonderfully refreshing.”

“I already am,” Rick said.

Alison smiled flirtingly.

Rick continued. “The firm I’m working with on this case put me up in a rather swanky executive suite, complete with a full kitchen and gym. I need to work out every day. It helps relieve the stress from the daily battles.”

“Oh? What part of the city?” Alison asked.

“Near Telegraph Hill.”

Alison nearly choked on the sip of wine she was swallowing when he said that.

They continued chatting, with no further uncomfortable silences. He was very polite and respectful, despite his forward-sounding opening remark. The two of them talked for quite a long time, ignoring others, effortlessly moving about the house yet unaware they were doing so. Alison was careful to not drink more than two glasses of wine and resisted Rick’s efforts to continually replenish her glass. She noted that he didn’t drink more than three glasses of champagne himself.

He talked about his Boston practice of twenty years, which focused on medical malpractice. He had established it immediately after graduating from Harvard Law. Rick was divorced five years, with two children now in college, a boy and a girl. He said he was very close to his children and saw them often, in spite of needing to travel in order to do so. His son was 21 and now in his last year at Columbia, planning to then go on to law school. His daughter, 19, was just starting college after travelling in Europe for six months with friends. She was going to Brandeis University and planned for an advanced degree in education.

“What about your ex-wife?” Alison asked. She decided it was best not to be shy.

Rick shook his head. “She’s out of the picture. Moved to New York when my son started college.”

Alison moved a little closer to him. “Well, that’s convenient.” They both laughed, but Alison regretted saying it as soon as the words left her lips. Maybe two glasses of wine was even too many on a blind date.

“Brenda tells me you are a senior paralegal,” Rick said, mercifully changing the subject.

“Yes, ten years now.”

They talked about her work for a while. Rick seemed impressed about the caseload she managed at a large, well-known corporate firm which employed some of the best attorneys around. She was responsible for the initial assignment of casework, based on each employee’s particular skills. Her firm’s “specialty” was entertainment law, which fascinated Rick because he didn’t know anyone else working in that field. Rarely would a law firm in Boston deal with such cases, he explained, as most were handled in New York or on the west coast.

They got around to making small talk as well; movies, and life in Boston and San Francisco. After a while, Alison noticed the time. It was getting late.

Suddenly, she felt overwhelmed by Rick’s presence. She had to get out of there. This was not the time to pursue him any further. She had no intention of winding up in a sexual encounter with Rick too quickly.

He excused himself and went to the restroom. Alison decided to take the opportunity to leave the party. She knew it wasn’t right, and perhaps even a bit rude. But she had his business card and would contact him in a day or so. Brenda would be furious, but Alison could handle that.

Within a few minutes, she was getting into a taxi at the cab stand around the corner from Brenda’s house.  She escaped, perhaps in the nick of time, and felt relieved and safe from the power of the man she’d just met. His looks, charm, intellect, everything about him had her totally spellbound and she didn’t trust herself.

As soon as she got home, she sent him a text message:

R, had to leave, sorry, happy to meet u, can we talk tomorrow and get together soon for lunch? Alison

The message to Brenda was more explaining:

B. Thx. Had to leave. Need to talk 2 u asap about Rick. Tomorrow? Luv, A.

Alison undressed in the dark and put on warm pajamas. The light from the streetlamps coming through the shutters was enough to see by. A cup of chamomile tea was in order, so she reached for her largest mug. When it was ready, she curled up on the window seat in the living room.

There was a full moon out, a harvest moon, and Alison was a mess. Had any man ever had this kind of effect on her before? No. No one. As she saw it, she had two choices: Refuse to see him again, or abandon herself to what could only be a fast-rushing relationship that would sweep her off to who-knows-where. One choice was safe and comfortable, the other more fun but possibly dangerous. When was the last time she had sex? How long had it been since she’d felt any emotions for a man?  She pictured herself as a moth beckoned by a flame.

Alison normally slept well, but not this night. She tossed and turned, had dreams about a sexual encounter with Rick, and kept thinking about how good it would probably be. She awoke at one point with wet hair and goose bumps.

The next morning, a shower and clean clothes didn’t do much for her attitude. She scolded herself over a cup of coffee. This was so stupid. Why was she being such a whacko? These feelings of fear were unfounded. What was it all about? At that point, Alison’s rational side emerged to take charge. She decided to take inventory of her emotions.

The primary issue, it seemed, was a fear of giving herself to someone and losing control of her life, the life she worked so hard to create. She thought about how she built that life, the friends she made along the way, and all the male relationships she rejected over the years. It was a soulful examination, and Alison was exhausted when she finally decided to get off it and move on.

Her cell phone had been buzzing while she was thinking. Part of the motivation for her self-examination was to avoid having to face the messages she expected to find on it. But now, time was up. She needed to just deal with it, come what may. She picked up the phone. Sure enough, two text messages. The first one was from Rick.

I went back into the room and you were gone. Let’s touch base tomorrow and plan that lunch as soon as possible. I don’t text well, would rather talk. R

He was kinder than Brenda:

Dammit you couldn’t even say goodbye? What kind of an exit was that? Not nice. We need to talk. Call me. Bren

Yes, she would call them both—eventually. For now, she went back to bed, putting in earplugs first to block the sound of kids skateboarding outside next door. Alison felt better now. She was in a deep sleep within minutes. She never even heard the house phone ring.

Several hours later, she got up again. This time, there were two messages on her answering machine. The first was from Rick.

“Alison, I still smell your perfume on my shirt, need to know who makes it so I can buy you more. Or maybe I’ll just take my shirt to the perfume counter at Saks Fifth Avenue. Yes, that’s what I’ll do. Will you have dinner with me tonight? Let me know what time works for you and I can come by in a taxi or we can meet. I’m on my cell or you can call the hotel, room 787. Tonight might be my only chance, until the end of the week anyway, because of the trial schedule. Talk to you soon. Bye, beautiful.”

Well that was nice. The other message was from Brenda, no surprise there.

“Okay, I got your text message and understand, but geez, you left me trying to explain to him why you left. Isn’t he a dream boat? I don’t think I’ve met a guy that classy in a long time. And he’s really taken with you, kiddo, so play it right. He’s definitely interested. Call me when you can. Oh, and thanks for the wine. It’s delish. Bye.”

Alison moved through her usual Sunday rituals as if sleepwalking—facial, shower, brushing her teeth, dressing in sweats. She wasn’t planning on running today, just needed to kick back and make a decision—yay or nay to Rick tonight. It was the end of the long Thanksgiving weekend, and Alison realized quickly that she really wanted the day to herself, and didn’t need the stress of having to get ready for a hot date. But, she also acknowledged she did want to have dinner with him, and soon.

So that she would not waiver from her decision, she sent him a text message rather than phoning. It was just too easy to weaken her resolve during a phone conversation.

R, thanks for your message. Nice to wake up to. Sorry, I have plans this evening, cannot have dinner, but any evening later this week would work well. Let me know your schedule. A
.

Now she could let go for the entire day and not let him into her space any more than he already was—and he was there like an 800 pound gorilla. His smell, his smile, and the way he moved so comfortably in his own skin. It was rare to come across a man who was that polished and at ease. She could just imagine him in a court room.

CHAPTER TWO

Alison spent most of the day watching football, something she enjoyed, especially when she was in a vegetative state. There was no longer any doubt about going forward in whatever developed with Rick, so she put it out of her mind for the time being. That gave her the freedom to relax and enjoy the day. Personal time was important. Alison remembered how she used to ruin her weekends by bringing work home. Not anymore, and definitely not on a holiday weekend. Being a boss with a support team of ten people came with certain benefits. These days, only on the eve of a trial would she sometimes find herself in a position of needing to work overtime.

Alison’s high salary afforded her the ability to use a maid service and have her laundry and dry cleaning sent out. She considered it money well spent. That way she could focus on doing nothing if she felt like it—and she often did—or reading, listening to music, perhaps even working on the book she’d started many years ago. It was about her ancestors and required much in the way of research, discovering where they lived, what they did with their lives, and how they acknowledged or ignored their association to other family members. Maybe someday she would finish it.

Then there was cooking. Was there anything better in life than trying out new recipes? Alison had a reputation among her friends and coworkers as a gourmet cook—beyond gourmet, actually, at a higher level, right up there with the best chefs in the world. Everyone always jumped at invitations to her place. There was a time when she considered going into the business, but she knew she couldn’t handle the hours. Not that the legal field was far from that at times, especially in the beginning when Alison “paid her dues to the profession.”

Her kitchen was outfitted with high-priced cooking gear, stuff you’d find in Gordon Ramsay’s or Wolfgang Puck’s home. It was all neatly arranged, of course, much of it hanging from trendy magnetic utensil holders. Every item had been carefully hand-selected from catalogs or local cooking supply boutiques. Her assortment of knives alone was something to marvel over; the best money could buy. Over the years she had invested a considerable amount of money in what she needed to complete each new creation, things like butter paddles, a strawberry huller, vegetable cutters, and assorted miscellaneous tools of the trade. She also had fine china, informal plates and accessories, dainty table linens, crystal of various types and shades, bar glasses, and marble cutting boards. Sometimes she stood in her kitchen and took it all in while lamenting over her wardrobe that could have been.