Once Upon a Project (18 page)

Chapter 29

 

G
race swung her arms as she walked the treadmill, rather than holding on to the side bars, because it burned more calories. Her feet moved in precise steps to keep up with the four-mile-an-hour speed she'd set. She kept this pace for two five-minute increments, walking two-thirds of a mile.

She'd stepped up her workout routine to twenty minutes every day after work unless she had somewhere to go. Actually, tonight she was meeting Pat, but Pat rarely left her office before six, so she had plenty of time.

The workout room at her job was kept well stocked with towels and the thermostat was kept at a cool sixty-eight degrees. Grace watched the news stories of the day unfold on CNN as she worked out. It gave her something to concentrate on, even if it was a slow news day.

She could hardly believe she was fifty years old. Fifty! Where had the time gone? She felt no older than thirty-five.

Turning forty hadn't been this traumatic. At that time she'd recently gotten her second divorce but dated regularly. She couldn't have imagined then that desirable men would become so scarce the older she got.

The moving ramp slowed to a stop, indicating she'd been on for five minutes. That meant she could rest for three, then complete her workout.

It wasn't very crowded in here tonight. She'd come down later than usual, wanting to complete the draft of a list of points she wanted to cover at a meeting tomorrow. By the time she got into her bike shorts it was after five, and a lot of people had already come in, done their thing, and taken off. Many people worked out at lunchtime or skipped working out altogether, now that it was May and they were into the loveliest time of year in Chicago. The two people who'd been on the elliptical and the stationary bikes had both wrapped up their workouts while she did the first half of her treadmill workout.

Another person was on the Bowflex, bench-pressing. Grace did a double take when she noticed a pair of muscular brown arms working it. Surely she would have recognized those arms if she'd seen them before. But he sat in a way where she could make out only two other characteristics: the shiny dome of his shaved head and, most importantly, the left hand that wore no gold band to identify him as being off limits.

Grace concentrated so hard on what little she could see of this delicious male specimen that she expanded her usual three-minute break to four and a half. She decided that she'd rested too long to get back on the treadmill. Besides, it made too much noise. Better to use a stationary bike, which would help her keep an eye on the man who seemed to be effortlessly bench-pressing substantial loads. My, how she liked a man with muscles. He could probably lift her over his head with little effort, like those male ice skaters lifted their partners.

She'd been on the bike for two minutes when she saw him get up from the Bowflex. He wasn't as tall as she preferred, maybe five ten, but she had to stop being so damn picky. Grace stood only five four and a half herself; she just liked tall men.

She forced herself to stare at the TV screen—like she really cared about the latest politician to enter the race for president—when she saw movement out of the corner of her eye. He was coming toward her.

“Hi, how's the workout going?”

Ooh, that voice. Smooth as honey.

She let her legs come to a halt, her feet still resting in the stirrups. She kept her expression impassive as she turned her face and saw his full form for the first time. It was hard to determine the age of men with shaved heads, but he appeared to be over forty. As for his looks, she certainly wouldn't turn him down if he asked her to dance at a club. Could it be that working out here at the corporate gym was about to benefit her at last?

“I feel like I'm really pushing it today. I guess we all have days when our bodies just don't want to cooperate.”

“You work out every day?”

“Just about. I try to get in twenty or thirty minutes after work. Uh, I don't remember seeing you here before.” That was easily possible. Thousands of people worked at this location, the company's headquarters.

“That's because I just joined. I just started work on Monday. My name's Calvin, Calvin Pendleton.”

“Grace Corrigan.” She held out her hand, and he grasped it firmly in a grip that didn't feel at all sweaty, probably because he'd wiped his hand on the towel he now wore draped around his neck. “I hope you'll like it here. What division are you in?”

“Hypertension. It seems to be working out so far. What about you?”

“I'm in public relations.”

“I guess I'll be running into you. I was about to leave. You'll be safe working out by yourself here, won't you?”

“Oh, sure. The attendant is around somewhere. She locks up at seven, and then she mops the floors and puts out fresh towels. Some people get here right after they open at 5:00
AM
. But I was about to call it a day myself.”

“Okay. See you later, huh?” He disappeared into the men's locker room.

Grace watched him walk away, sorry that the length of his shirt hid his butt in the formfitting bicycle shorts he wore. She tried to pedal some more, but she couldn't get her body into it. She climbed off the bicycle and headed for the locker room, where she changed into her regulation costume after a workout: a chocolate-brown sweat suit and brown leather gym shoes that could pass for Oxfords. She always preferred to shower after she got home; there she could make sure her hair had no danger of getting wet. She hung the outfit she'd worn to work in a black nylon garment bag and stuffed it in her locker. It would keep until tomorrow night, when she would go straight home. Carrying a garment bag into downtown Chicago wasn't practical.

When she left the gym, she saw a beefy figure in gray sweatpants and a black leather jacket several yards in front of her. Apparently, Calvin Pendleton didn't believe in showering on the premises, either. What a lucky break for her.

For a moment she considered catching up to him, then dropped the idea. They'd had a nice little exchange in the gym. No point trying to press the issue. There'd be plenty of time to find out exactly what he did over in Hypertension. In the meantime, she still had Eric.

Grace smiled. Thinking of Eric usually elicited that reaction, at least for about thirty seconds, while she thought about their sex life. Just because she was fifty didn't mean she was washed-up. But while the sex was fantastic, everything else was lacking.

Damn it, why couldn't she have found someone like Andy, that white dude Pat was seeing? Most of Pat's promising relationships fizzled out after a few dates, but this one had been going on for nearly two months now, with no signs of slowing down. Last weekend they went to the dinner buffet at the casino in Joliet, then spent some time at the tables . . . traveling by limo, yet! The weekend before that they went to see
The Color Purple
at the Cadillac Palace Theater. Andy had to go out to L.A. to spend a few days at the law firm out there, and he invited Pat to go with him. And Pat said the sex was great, too. She sure
looked
happy these days.

Grace grew more jealous by the week. She told herself that Andy had some great flaw that Pat conveniently hadn't mentioned, like he had acne-scarred skin, he had a flabby body, or he wasn't nearly as handsome as Pat said. But she'd finally gotten to meet him last week at the pub, and he turned out to be every bit as fine as Pat said, with a shock of black hair with gray sprinkled through it, heavily concentrated at the temples, and sexy deep blue bedroom eyes.

Of course, even if the relationship showed the promise of becoming lengthy, it would come to an abrupt end the moment Mr. and Mrs. Maxwell laid eyes on Andy. They'd object, and Pat would lose her nerve and break it off, just like she'd done with Ricky all those years ago. Then there was the matter of Andy's family. He shared custody of his two daughters with his ex-wife, who lived in one of those ritzy North Shore suburbs. If he knew what was good for him he wouldn't let his ex know he had a black girlfriend, or else he might not ever see his daughters again. Yes, Pat might be pampered for the moment, traveling in limos, flying to the West Coast for the weekend, but it wouldn't last.

Besides, Grace had a feeling that no matter how much Pat liked being with that guy Andy, she was secretly still in love with Ricky Suárez.

Even with Andy's great looks, Grace doubted that the sex he and Pat had was anywhere near as good as the sex she was having with Eric. He was some good in the sack, pounding her pussy with that big stick of his like it was a drum, and not needing a whole lot of time before Round Two. She tingled just thinking about it. She would have been crazy to miss out on this. Pat had been sleeping with white dudes for so long, she'd probably forgotten how good it was with the brothers.

Grace had never slept with a white man. There'd been Ricky, of course, but he'd been brown, not white. But she couldn't deny that there were more available white men than black, so when a nice-looking white guy she knew from the train asked her out a couple of years back, she'd accepted.

He'd taken her to dinner at a steak house downtown, and even before he brought her home she decided to sleep with him. But when she slipped her hands under his shirt while kissing him and felt all that hair on his back, it turned her stomach. She felt like she was kissing the Wolf Man. That curly light brown hair that she admired so much on his head was grossly out of place on his back and shoulders. The man needed a trim . . . preferably with a lawn mower. She pretended to get a crick in her back and sent him on his way, later telling him she didn't think it would work between them.

Eric might not be much, but he was better than nothing at all. Someday she'd meet someone with the right income, someone who could afford to drop close to a thousand dollars on a weekend getaway and to take her to restaurants along the Magnificent Mile instead of all those damn chains. She'd meet him, eventually, of that she was certain.

A smug smile formed on her lips. Every silver lining had a bit of tarnish. Look at poor Elyse and all she was going through. Pat had told her that Franklin still had cancer in his body, even after that massive surgery he underwent last month. The doctors were trying to arrest it with treatments, which had left Franklin drained, bald, and nauseous. Pat had suggested to Grace that the two of them drive up to Lake Forest to visit with Elyse and offer her some moral support. Grace had agreed but secretly wished she could get out of it. She really didn't like being around people in such somber circumstances. She didn't have Pat's gift for always saying something appropriate. Going to a funeral was easier; at least when it was over it was truly over. What could she possibly say to Elyse in the face of Franklin's lingering illness? There were only so many words of comfort. This time next year, Elyse would probably be among the already overcrowded ranks of single middle-aged women looking for husbands. With a house in Lake Forest that was probably worth three times as much as they'd paid for it, plus the money she would undoubtedly come into upon Franklin's passing, Elyse had better watch out for fortune hunters.

Grace checked her watch. The next company-sponsored shuttle to the North Chicago train station would be leaving in just a few minutes.

The shuttle was already parked outside when she got out front, and she climbed on, sitting on the left so she could still see Calvin. She couldn't deny her curiosity to see what kind of vehicle he drove, and sitting in a high vehicle like this shuttle bus gave her a perfect opportunity.

She followed him with her eyes as he walked out to a maroon sedan and popped the trunk then tossed his workout bag inside. From here she couldn't determine the car's make, but he had to drive closer to exit the lot.

Her face moved closer to the glass as the maroon vehicle started to move. She didn't know a whole lot about car models, but she guessed it was some kind of Honda or Toyota. Not the sleekest model for a man who looked as good as he did but not bad. It looked like a fairly recent make, maybe two or three years old at the most. And at least it wasn't a minivan.

Hmm. Maybe she'd already met her mystery Mr. Right but just didn't know it yet.

Chapter 30

 

G
race rushed into the pub where she was due to meet Pat. Normally when she came into a room men's heads turned to look at her, but today no one gave her a second glance. She knew it was because of the shapeless jogging suit and plain brown lace-up shoes she wore. Usually she would have declined to meet Pat on a day she planned to work out, but the truth was that she hadn't seen much of Pat lately, and she missed her. The last time they'd seen each other was the other week, when they went up to Elyse's in Lake County to try to cheer her up in the midst of Franklin's grueling treatment regimen. They kept pretty busy, between their jobs and their love lives. Grace thought it a happy coincidence that both of them were in relationships at the same time. She didn't think it had ever happened before.

Her feet abruptly stopped moving when she recognized the person Pat was talking to at the bar. Grace used to work out with Stephanie Williams at a fitness center near her condo before she switched to the gym at her job. Stephanie was the one she'd taken with her to Ricky's restaurant. When Ricky came over to say hello Stephanie had been quite taken by him as she witnessed Grace's undisguised flirting and made a prediction that the two of them would end up in bed together before it was all over—a prediction that came true. Good Lord, what if she mentioned it in front of Pat? Grace wouldn't mind Pat knowing about her and Ricky if something had come of it. She already had her defense planned (“Well, Pat,
you
didn't want him, and it ended between you two a hundred years ago. Why shouldn't I go out with him if he asked me to?”) But since it had ended badly, she saw no reason for Pat to know that she'd tried to snag the great love of her life for herself. It hadn't worked out with Ricky. Why should she lose her friendship with Pat, too?

Pat spotted her and waved, and Grace had no choice but to walk over.

Grace saw the spark of recognition in Stephanie's eyes before she squealed, “Grace! Are
you
the friend Pat's meeting? What a small world.”

“Hello, Stephanie. How nice to see you.”

“It's been ages, hasn't it? But I think of you often. Like every time I go to that restaurant you brought me to. Nirvana.”

Pat arched an eyebrow. “Nirvana?”

“Yes, over on North Halstead. Great food. With a Mexican touch. And the owner is some sexy.”

“That was a long time ago,” Grace said weakly, hoping the still-hefty Stephanie would fall off her bar stool or something. For a crazy moment she considered knocking her off it herself, making it look like an accident, of course. Anything to shut her up.

She quickly decided she couldn't pull that off, so she tried another tack. She had to get Pat away from Stephanie. Already Pat had a quizzical look on her face, like she wondered why Grace had never mentioned dining at Ricky's place. “I'm famished, Pat. I always am after a workout. Why don't we get a table so we can order?”

Pat turned to Stephanie. “Stephanie, would you like to join us for dinner?”

Grace held her breath.
Say you can't make it,
she thought over and over in a silent plea.

“Thanks, but I'm kind of tired. I probably should have left with Doreen. But it was fun talking with you. I'm sure we'll see each other again.”

Grace bit her lower lip.
God, I hope not.

 

 

Grace knew Pat would bring up the matter at the first opportunity.

She'd barely picked up her menu when Pat said, “You never told me you'd been to Ricky's restaurant.”

“Oh, yes. One night Stephanie and I decided to go out to eat after we worked out. She said she felt like something spicy, so I suggested Ricky's place. You've always been so sensitive about him; I thought it would be best not to mention it to you.”

“So he was there.”

“Yes. He stopped by our table and said hello. He even sent us complimentary drinks and sent word through the waiter that we could choose whatever desserts we wanted on him.”

“Did he say anything about me?”

“Pat, this happened years ago,” she said, not disguising her annoyance. “I was still married to Danny.” Grace deliberately lied about the timeline. She'd actually gone to Ricky's restaurant
after
her second divorce. She'd read an article in the
Tribune
about him, an article that Pat obviously hadn't seen, and one she didn't tell her about. Because it stated that the proprietor of one of Chicago's hottest eateries had just gotten divorced.

“I'm sure you remember. It's okay if he didn't mention me. I'm just curious, that's all.”

Curious, my ass. If Ricky called you tomorrow, you'd drop Andy faster than a gambler drops fifty dollars at a blackjack table.
“Actually, he did.”

“And what did you say?”

Grace thought quickly for a suitable reply. She couldn't tell Pat what she'd
really
said about her to Ricky that day. “I said you were doing well. And that seemed to satisfy him.”

“He didn't ask if I was married or seeing anyone or anything?”

She wished Pat would stop pressing. “No, Pat, he didn't. But wasn't he married at that time himself?” She knew that that hadn't been the case, but her lie about the timeline was about to benefit her.

Pat thought a moment. “If it was before you and Danny broke up, I guess he was. But I'm not sure exactly when that happened. Maybe he and his wife were separated.”

“I don't recall if he was wearing a wedding band or not.”

“I ran into his mother after you and Danny broke up, and she told me Ricky was divorced. Maybe this was a year or two later.” Pat wavered a moment, then continued talking. “I never told you this, Grace, but after Miriam told me about his divorce, I got one of my coworkers to go with me to have dinner at his restaurant. I thought we might reconnect.” She grunted. “I used to daydream that he would take one look at me and fall madly in love with me all over again, and that I'd tell my parents we were getting married no matter how much that upset them. I was going to spring the happy news on you at the last minute. That's why I didn't invite you to come along with me.”

Grace didn't feel too comfortable talking about Ricky to Pat, but curiosity got the better of her. “So what happened?”

“Nothing.” Pat made a face. “Ricky was real nice that night, but he didn't seem interested.” Her eyes took on a faraway look. “I always wondered why. I mean, he never asked if I was even
seeing
anyone.”

“Maybe it's because he figured that nothing had changed, that you would still listen to your parents, and he didn't want to risk getting his heart broken again.” Grace felt more at ease with the direction the conversation was taking, now that it looked like she'd gotten Pat away from Stephanie before Stephanie let the cat out of the bag. Pat would never forgive her if she knew the truth. Grace would have been sorry to see her lifelong friendship with Pat end if she and Ricky had hooked up permanently, but if she had Ricky as a husband Pat would have learned to live with it. On the other hand, if Pat found out about that brief affair now, Grace would be out of a good friend for nothing, nothing at all.

“Yeah, I thought of that, too. But it wasn't like I could come out and say I wouldn't let that happen again.”

Grace saw another opportunity to get off the topic of Ricky altogether and quickly pounced on it. “Are you sure about that?”

“What do you mean, am I sure?” Pat looked miffed.

“If Andy were to call you tonight and tell you he wanted to meet your parents, what would you do?”

“That's a pointless question, Grace. You know as well as I do that men don't make those kinds of requests.”

“All right, then. Say you two get really serious. Hell, say you wanted to get married. How would you handle your parents?”

“That's another pointless question. I'm never going to get married.”

“You don't know that. Lots of women get married for the first time when they're past forty-five. Stop trying to avoid my question. If your parents objected to your being involved with a white guy, what would you do?”

Pat hesitated. “Well . . . I'd like to think that they've softened with time. Ricky and I wanted to get engaged just a few months after Melvin was shot.”

“And if they haven't softened?”

“I'd tell them it's my life, and I'm sorry if my decision pains them, but I'm going ahead with my plans.”

Grace looked at her friend across the table and tried not to giggle. Despite the defiant raise of her chin, Pat had sounded about as confident as George W. Bush had when asking members of the NAACP for their votes. She might have
wanted
to sound sure of herself, but her doubts came through as loud as a foghorn. “Admit it,” she challenged. “Your parents have no idea that you've been dating mostly white men over the years. And deep down, you're worried about how they might react if they knew.”

Pat looked away.

“Oh, my God,” Grace moaned. “Pat, you're almost fifty years old. You were too old thirty years ago to let your folks' wishes stop you from riding off into the sunset with Ricky. And you're way too old now to let them influence you.”

Pat sighed. “It's hard, Grace.”

“Maybe this is mean of me, but would you rather have been happily married to Ricky now and have had those kids you always wanted, or can you honestly say you're glad you stayed single, going out less and less because the number of eligible men in the pool is dwindling as you get older?”

“All right, Grace. You made your point.”

“I'm sorry if I hurt your feelings. That wasn't my intention. I just want you to understand that your life is yours to live as you please. It doesn't belong to your parents, just because they gave it to you. They can offer suggestions, of course, but they have no business dictating to you. Look at Elyse. Her parents felt Franklin was too old for her. But that didn't stop her from marrying him, did it? It looks like he did pretty well by her, too.”

“That was different,” Pat protested. “Mr. and Mrs. Hughes didn't lose any of their other kids, and Elyse didn't have to carry the burden of being their last chance of having a child become successful.”

Grace tried to choose her words carefully. None of her own five siblings had exactly set the world on fire, but at least they were productive, law-abiding citizens . . . and they were all still alive. “Very few people can even imagine the losses your family suffered,” she said. “But don't think for one minute that you haven't made a success out of yourself. That still doesn't give your parents the right to control your private life, Pat. I thought it wasn't right for them to try to manipulate you because they were grieving. They wouldn't have died if you and Ricky got married, for heaven's sake. And I wonder if they've ever considered that if they hadn't gotten in the way thirty years ago, they might have had grandchildren.”

Pat rolled her eyes. “At least they've stopped asking me when I'm going to meet a nice man and settle down. Once I hit forty-five I think they realized that when I'm gone it'll be the last of our little family.”

How sad,
Grace thought. Hell, even
she
had two grandchildren. Moses and Cleotha Maxwell had had three children, two of whom were male, but there was no one left to carry on the name. All that promise, wasted like spilled milk.

Pat looked down toward the table. “I guess Ricky sensed all along that I'd have trouble with this again. No wonder he didn't make a move.”

Grace was positive that Ricky's reluctance came from the aborted affair he'd had with her rather than any fears that Pat would still honor her parents' wishes, but of course she couldn't say that. She decided it would be best to drop both subjects—Ricky Suárez plus Mr. and Mrs. Maxwell's certain disapproval of Pat's affair with Andy Keindl. If Pat still planned to allow her parents to run her life, she'd better plan on growing old all by herself.
Completely
by herself, since her parents would probably be gone in another ten years. Of course, Grace's parents had already passed on, but at least she had a daughter and grandchildren. Pat would be completely alone in the world.

“You know I'm here if you want an ear,” Grace said. “Now, let's order so I can eat already.”