Shine Your Love on Me (13 page)

“Ready?” he asked, shrugging his shirt
on.

“Zip?” she asked, turning her back to him.
Pres stepped closer, folding his fingers over her bare shoulders.
He caressed her for a moment with his thumbs before reaching for
the zipper on her dress. A shiver shot up her spine as his
fingertips traveled down her back.

She shook her hips. “Let’s go, can’t be
late.”

“Can I help it if I can’t take my hands off
you?” He pushed her hair aside, pulled up the zip, and kissed the
back of her neck.

Brooke leaned back slightly and closed her
eyes. “If you do that again, we’re never going to get out of
here.”

“Would that be so bad?” he whispered,
brushing his lips to her ear lobe.

“What’ll I tell Nan?”

“We’ll think of something.”

Brooke mustered her strength and leaned
forward, away from Pres. “Come on. I don’t want to disappoint her.
She counts on me.”

Pres sighed and headed for the door. They
shopped at the bagel place, selecting an assortment of bagels, plus
smoked salmon, and rugelach. He picked up the large coffee from
Starbucks
he had promised Marv. When they reached The
Huntington, Pres stopped and kissed Brooke.

“Go on in. I’ve got to drop off Marv’s
coffee. I’ll pick up Buddy and join you.” He stepped back, but she
pulled him to her.

“Wait. A hug?”
Needy girl here.

Pres cupped her cheek. When he smiled, she
saw warmth tinged with lust in his eyes. He drew her in, tightening
his arms around her. Brooke pressed her cheek to his chest. She
delighted in his masculine scent with the slight addition of her
pear soap. She listened to the strong, steady beat of his heart.
Closing her eyes, she made a wish.
To stay like this
forever.

He kissed the top of her head then they
parted. She smiled at him and went inside. She walked in and called
out her grandmother’s name, only to come up short when she spied
Harry kissing Nan.
What the hell?

“Don’t you ring the bell, knock or
something?” Harry said, wiping his mouth with the back of his
hand.

Nan smoothed her skirt while her face turned
several shades of red.

Brooke’s wide eyes took in the scene. She
couldn’t help but giggle.

Harry raised a hand to stop her. “Regardless
of what you think, you’re never too old for…romance.” He blushed at
his own words.

“I’m not objecting, as long as Nan
doesn’t.”

“Did she look like she was objecting?” Harry
asked, a twinkle in his eye.

Nan’s face continued to redden. “Give me
that,” she said, taking the bag from Brooke and disappearing into
the kitchen.

Brooke leashed Freddy and Ginger and left the
apartment. She took them for a quick walk around the block, as she
was hungry. “You guys want breakfast, too, right? Let’s get back
and eat.” The pugs followed along obediently, as if they understood
her words. They both did their business and trotted next to Brooke
as she turned the corner and returned to the building.

“Your grandma is one hot babe, Brooke. She’s
beautiful. Best looker at the senior center,” Harry said while
Brooke was unleashing the dogs. Ruth clanked together the dog
dishes in the kitchen, and the hungry hounds ran in to snarf down
their food. Harry continued to talk about Ruth’s beauty until she
interrupted by returning with a platter of brunch goodies. Harry
took the heavy dish from her and placed it on the table before he
sat down. “Let’s eat. I’m starved.”

“Don’t they feed you at the senior center,
Harry?” Brooke laughed.

“Not like I get here. This is my kind of
food. The senior center only serves donuts and coffee. I gotta
watch myself. If I get a pot belly, Ruth won’t go out with me, will
ya, hon?” His wide smile lit up his dark eyes and wrinkled
face.

Ruth returned his grin with a shy one before
she helped herself to a bagel. Brooke glanced surreptitiously at
Harry’s gut.
He’s pretty slim for an old codger.

There was a knock on the door. Brooke
couldn’t help it, she muttered “Pres” under her breath as she rose
to open it. Freddy and Ginger were barking up a storm as they ran
to greet the interloper. An answering bark told Brooke that Buddy
was with his master.

His big smile warmed her heart as she
admitted man and dog. He leaned over and brushed his lips against
hers. Conversation at the table stopped. Brooke knew she’d be the
next one to blush.

“Seems like I’m not the only guy getting a
little action in this neighborhood.”

“Harry!” Brooke said, sensing the color
rising in her cheeks.

“Well, well. You two finally went on a
date?”

“You could say that,” Pres answered, grinning
broadly. Brooke hit him in the arm and made a face.

“Oh? More than a date? I see,” Ruth said.

Harry laughed. “Romance is blooming in this
apartment.”

Ruth patted her granddaughter on the arm as
Brooke and Pres joined her at the table. “I couldn’t be happier.
Pres is a fine young man.”

“Sure beats the hell out of Lloyd,” she
murmured.

“I wouldn’t put it quite like that, but
you’re right. He sure does.” Nan took a bite of her bagel, her eyes
glowing as she hopped her gaze from Brooke to Pres and back
again.

Brunch turned into spending the day with Nan.
Brooke needed her grandmother’s love and support. Harry hung for
the day, too. He and Pres watched sports on television while Nan
took down a recipe box.

“This box belonged to your mother.”

“Oh? Does it have an Alice B. Toklas brownie
recipe in there?” Brooke shifted her weight.

“Now, stop. You must forgive them, Brooke.
This hostility isn’t helping you.” Ruth placed her hand on Brooke’s
arm.

“I know. It’s hard. I need them, and they’re
not here. And there’s no good reason for them not to be here.”

“You don’t know what caused the accident. The
police jumped to conclusions. The autopsy report showed only a
trace of marijuana, not a huge amount. They don’t know if that
caused the accident. It’s almost twenty years now, Brooke, honey.
You’ve got to let it go.”

Ruth refilled the coffeemaker and put the
recipes down. Brooke picked up the pretty decoupage box, weathered
and slightly yellowed by age. She opened it. Inside were
three-by-five, lined cards with recipes neatly hand-printed.

“You mother was a fantastic cook. She had a
knack for it. Much better than I ever was.”

“How come you never showed me these before?”
Brooke asked.

“You were always too busy, working,
rebelling. Maybe now you’ll have some time to try them out. Maybe
you have the same talent?”

“Me, cook?” Brooke laughed. “I doubt it.” But
her curiosity got the best of her. She pulled out one that read
“Poor Man’s Beef Stroganoff.”
Poor man. That’s me.

She sat down at the dining room table and
began to read. The cheers and boos coming from the men in the
living room fell on deaf ears. Brooke got caught up in the recipes,
searching through them, organizing them. There must have been
seventy-five all together. She made piles of main dishes,
appetizers, snacks, and desserts. She ran her thumb over the old
card, feeling her mother’s soothing presence. Mary Lou had a knack
for making every hurt better for Brooke when she was a child.
Perhaps these recipes will do the same now?

Ruth brought out a tray with a pot of fresh
coffee, milk, and sugar, plus a plate of rugelach. “Come boys,
dessert.”

The men pushed to their feet. Pres came up
behind Brooke, closed his fingers over her shoulders, and massaged.
“That feels so good.”

“Whatcha doin’?”

“Going over some family recipes.”

“Thinking about learning how to cook?” He
kept rubbing.

Brooke’s eyes closed. “Maybe.”

“Good idea. You’d be great.”

“How do you know?” She opened her eyes and
turned halfway to look at him.

“Because you’re good at everything you take
seriously.”

She grinned. “Guess that’s right.”

“From advertising to dog walking, from
dancing to making—” He was stopped by a blow to his belly from
Brooke’s elbow. Pres bent over, gasping for breath. “Brownies. I
was going to say making brownies,” he squeezed out.

She laughed and snaked her arms around his
middle. “You’re the best.”

The next morning, there was another one of
those notices taped to her door. She snatched it up when she
brought in the newspaper. She opened it and dialed her cousin
Frank. He wasn’t in yet. Brooke threw on clothes and went out for a
walk, bringing her cell phone and a fistful of her mother’s
recipes. She’d swiped them from the box without Nan knowing. She
sat on a bench and read through them again.

She stopped at The Boathouse for breakfast.
The weather was warm, but comfortable. When she returned to her
apartment, she was surprised to see a few pieces of furniture
placed awkwardly on the sidewalk in front of her building. They
looked like her sofa and coffee table.

A burly man came out of her building carrying
a side table, followed by another hefting a small dresser.

“Hey! What are you doing?” She walked up to
them.

“I’m cleaning out apartment 3B, lady. Get
outta my way.” He tried to move her aside, but Brooke stood her
ground.

“That’s
my
apartment! You can’t do
that. Cart all this stuff back upstairs.”

The big man waved a piece of paper in her
face. “See this? Says I can. And I am. Now, outta my way, or I’m
gonna call the cops.” He shoved her shoulder hard.

She went sailing into a car and bounced off,
skidding along the sidewalk. The pavement ripped at her bare legs.
She cried out as her skin was torn open.

A woman came racing out of the building next
door. “I saw that! That’s assault.”

“Call the cops, lady. Get the fuck out of my
way.” He menaced her with a fist, and the small woman cowered.

Two of Brooke’s neighbors came out to see
what was going on. But the big man kept carrying out her things and
dumping them on the sidewalk. Pedestrians, annoyed at having to
walk around the growing heap of personal belongings, mumbled about
people not paying their rent.

Her neighbors brought out a first aid kit.
Brooke was crying and shaking too badly to apply the bandages.
Finally, her landlord showed up. He looked exasperated, not
friendly.

“Look, Miss Felson, I told you again and
again. You could have come to court. You didn’t. I have every right
to take that apartment for my sister. You didn’t listen.”

“Mr. Gonzalez, what am I going to do?”

“You’ve had months to get it together, Miss
Felson. This is the law. I’m sorry, but you should have thought of
that before.” He walked away.

The woman from next door gave Brooke a
tissue. She pushed down the panic rising in her chest and grabbed
her cell phone.

“Miranda, you’ve got to help me. They’re
carrying my furniture out and dumping it on the sidewalk!”

“Brooke? Is that you?”

“It’s me. I don’t know what I’m going to
do.”

“Slow down.”

“I’m being evicted! The effing landlord is
taking my stuff and putting it outside. I need help!”

“Oh my God! I’m calling the Club. We’ll be
right there.”

“I don’t have any place to go.”

“You do. You don’t want to, but you do.”

“I can’t. She’s—”

“Suck it up, Brooke. You can’t live on the
sidewalk.”

There was a pause on the line. Then, “Thanks,
Miranda.”

“You’re welcome. See you soon.”

She dialed the phone again. “Nan? I’m in
trouble.”

“You’re pregnant?”

“What? No, not that kind of trouble. I’ve
been evicted. Evicted! My stuff is all over the sidewalk, I’m
bleeding, and I—” Brooke covered her mouth with her hand and
started crying again. “I have nowhere to go, Nana,” she
whispered.

“Of course, you do. The spare bedroom is
empty. How can you get your things here?”

“My Dinner Club friends are coming with a
van.”

“Excellent. I’ll call Pres.”

“No! Don’t do that. I don’t want him to
know…”

“You’re going to live here, but he’s not
going to know?”

Brooke sighed. “You’re right. You’re always
right, Nan.”

“I’m calling him. I’m sure he’d want to be
there to help.”

The woman next door brought out some cheese
and crackers and a glass of wine for Brooke, who thanked her
profusely. It was one o’clock, and she hadn’t eaten in hours.
Before long, the van drove up. Whit and Hack got out first. Then
Bess, Miranda, and Rory.

“This is the stuff?” Hack said, eying the
pile. Brooke nodded.

“Piece of cake,” Whit rolled up his
sleeves.

Miranda opened the back door. Each member of
the club picked up something and carried it to the van. Brooke was
limping, as the long cut on her leg ached. The skin was bruising,
and she wondered if she didn’t have a bruise on her hip where she
had hit the car.

By six, all Brooke’s belongings had been
loaded into the spare room at Ruth’s. Whit ran off to do his
newscast. Nan treated everyone to pizza and beer. Pres showed up
one step ahead of the pizza. Ruth took him aside and explained what
had happened. He took Brooke into the kitchen, where they could be
alone.

“Oh my God! I had no idea. I didn’t get Nan’s
message until after lunch with my agent and two producers.
Business, you know. Long. Vodka. I’m so sorry, Brooke.”

She waved her hand. “That’s okay. My friends
were here. Everything’s done now. You don’t have to stay. I’m sure
you have something else you need to do.”
My real friends were
here.

“Hey, don’t be like that. I apologized. Come
on, forgive a guy, will ya?”

Brooke was too exhausted to stop her tears.
Pres tipped her chin up then drew her into his embrace.

“The most horrible day of my life…” she
moaned.