The Single Life

Like her, Anton was single—no family, no significant other of either sex. He always attended office functions solo, as she did. He had joked about it once, suggesting they join forces as the few remaining singles on board. They had laughed loudly and long, but they both knew that was never going to happen. Which was too bad. Because if she didn’t have a rule about dating colleagues, he would be first on her list.

“Congratulations, Clare!” He waited for her to sit down before lowering himself into a chair. “I heard about the Dubovski settlement.”

She kept her eyes on the table, away from the long, lean legs stretched out in front of her. “Thank you, Anton. I’m pleased with the outcome. It went well for us.”

“That’s an understatement!” He laughed, and his rugged features softened, making him look younger than the forty-something he was. “Astounding is what everybody else is saying.”

She tried to focus on his words, not the vibrant tones of his deep voice. Funny how his voice always sounded so authoritative in court and with clients, when all she could hear in it now were the rich, throaty timbres more fitting for the bedroom.

Clare ignored the tingling sensations spreading from her stomach to her toes. “Congratulations to you, too, Anton,” she said, resisting the pull of his blue eyes. “You were a big part of that success.”

She worked hard to transmute her face into a patronizing grin, the kind of smile that she used to get from the most senior lawyer in the office when she first joined the firm. Not that Mr. Bailey Senior had had many grins for her. They were reserved for the “boys” who went golfing or fishing with him.

Now Clare allowed herself one last, quick glance at Anton’s broad shoulders. Then, bracing herself for the work before them, she reached for the file, her manner all business. “About McGrady vs. McGrady. Have you finished the Preliminary Declaration of Disclosure?”

CHAPTER 3

It took Lauren a day to recover from her disappointing meeting with Diane, thanks to a phone call from Chrissie that prevented her from overindulging in self-pity.

“You can’t stop after one failure, Mom,” Chrissie had told her. “Do you know how many applications I had to fill out before I got this job? Believe me, I lost count.”

“But you’re young, Chrissie. You have all the time in the world. You could afford to wait for your dream position. I can’t. I’ve got bills closing in on me.”

“It’s not all happening tomorrow,” Chrissie said with the same conviction she’d used to get her position as legal advisor for an international organization. “You can still call around.”

“But Diane said—”

“Forget Diane, Mom. So she wasn’t helpful. So it didn’t work out at Western. Do you know how many universities and colleges there are in the Chicago area?”

“I know, sweetheart. But it’s not me they want.”

“Oh, Mom! All of them would kill to have you!”

Not Western apparently. “Sweetheart—”

“Do you want me to come back and do it for you, Mom? I will if I have to. Don’t think I won’t.”

Lauren was touched by her daughter’s concern. Chrissie had done so much for her since the divorce. She had even been ready to give up the job she had been after ever since she’d graduated from law school. But Lauren had put her foot down and insisted she would be fine.

She was going to have to do the same thing now, although it meant agreeing to make those calls. Besides, she didn’t have the energy to argue with her daughter. Even with an ocean and a continent separating them, Chrissie was more formidable than a steamroller. No wonder she’d gotten the position she’d wanted.

“Okay, I’ll do it,” Lauren said, trying to sound enthusiastic.

“Great, Mom.”

But after her sixth rejection, Lauren felt she would have been better off not complying. No one she spoke with was as intimidating as Diane, but the responses were all pretty much the same. There were no positions open for the coming semester. Budget constraints were so severe, some of the staff would have to be cut. Either Lauren was overqualified for teaching introductory writing courses or she wasn’t experienced enough. For some recruiters, she was too prestigious for their school’s humble programs. For others, she lacked the snappy, experimental and contemporary style their students coveted.

Whichever way she looked, she was wrong for the job. So now she wasn’t only a has-been writer and a failed wife, she was also a no-go writing teacher!

Lauren wasn’t ready to risk any more rejection, especially suspecting that the acceptances were going to kids who could barely sign their names when she had had her first articles published. She almost didn’t tell Chrissie. Her daughter was bound to encourage her to keep trying with other schools. But when she asked, Lauren couldn’t lie. She wasn’t about to break one of the fundamental rules of parenting over this.

Surprisingly, Chrissie didn’t press the issue.

“Never mind about teaching, Mom,” she said, her voice as clear as if she were standing next to her. “Sell your talents at writing.”

What do you think I have been trying to do? Lauren wanted to scream, but she swallowed the retort. Chrissie was trying so hard to be encouraging. The least Lauren could do was play the game.

“And who would want to hire me? Unless you know someone who wants his family history written. Or maybe some love letters,” she added, thinking of one of Chrissie’s favorite films. “No. Forget that. I’m no Cyrano de Bergerac.”

Chrissie laughed. “Not love letters, Mom, but online dating profiles. Now that’s an idea. In fact—”

“A bad idea,” Lauren intervened before her daughter could go any further. “I don’t even know what they are. Seriously, Chrissie—”

“Seriously, Mom. Maybe you’re no Cyrano, but people do hire writers. Businesses need writers. So do nonprofit organizations. We just hired someone to write a ten-page brochure for us. That’s what made me think of you. It’s the sort of thing you could do easily. You did it for Dad for years without getting paid. In fact, come to think of it, after you put together a writing portfolio, you might contact some of his colleagues and see if they’re interested.”

“What a good idea, Chrissie!” Lauren said, pressing hard on her lips so she wouldn’t yell with exasperation.

Because, of course, it was a terrible idea. Perhaps Charles’s colleagues would send some work her way, but it would be as a favor to her ex-husband, the kind of favor she could do without. She wouldn’t put what little dignity she had up for sale.

But, she realized after she and Chrissie had said their goodbyes, she wasn’t ready to give up her house, either. She might not want to contact Charles’s friends, but Chrissie did have a point: there must be someone out there who could use her gift with words. Just because she couldn’t land a teaching job didn’t mean she couldn’t write. Just because she was having problems with her book didn’t mean she couldn’t work on someone else’s.

She was having a run of bad luck, but she could turn things around. Hadn’t she restored the house on her own while taking care of two toddlers? Hadn’t she written a prize-winning book while raising rebellious teenagers? She’d managed fine without Charles then. She could do it again. She would find a way to meet her payments. There must be a writing job out there for her. All she had to do was spread her net a bit wider.

Clare made her way down the sidewalk and cursed the infamous Chicago wind. In her light jacket and thin silk stockings, she wasn’t prepared for the sudden chill of the early spring night. Luckily, the restaurant was only several steps away. She hurried through the swinging doors and crossed the room slowly, examining the crowd carefully.

No sign of Harry. His description didn’t fit any of the men leaning against the bar. Nor was he waiting at any of the booths.

She wasn’t surprised. She was late.

She had been running all day. First to a meeting that she had almost missed because the “boys” had conveniently forgotten to mention it to her. No surprise there, either. Even after all these years, they still didn’t accept her as one of their own. As long as she didn’t golf with them, laugh at their sexist jokes, or share the same illustrious pedigree, they never would.

Fortunately, Bailey Junior, hardly the biggest brain around, had let something slip. Just as well, because if Clare hadn’t been there, the “boys” would have assigned the Van Belden account to one of the incompetent young associates who smooched up to them on the golf course. She had offered to do some of the screening. More work for her, for sure, but how else was she going to get the firm to look at the women candidates?

After the meeting, she’d had to race across town for her weekly session with the law students she mentored. She couldn’t let those women down, not knowing firsthand how high the cards were stacked against them. Which was also why Clare had stayed longer than she should have.

Then, it was back to the office again to file a custody petition. It had to be in as soon as possible. It wasn’t about advancing her career and billing more hours. It was about children, getting them out of a bad situation and sparing them as much grief as possible. Anyone would understand why she had to stay after hours.

But apparently Harry hadn’t. She was twenty minutes late, and it looked like he was long gone. That would teach her to put obligations before pleasure. That would teach her to put her clients first and men after. She should have learned that lesson a long time ago.

Still, nothing was stopping her from having a little pleasure on her own. She would have a drink before she headed home, two if she was up for it. Which was not likely, nor advisable. She had known how unadvisable before most kids could read.

Still, nothing wrong with one drink. Just one drink and then she’d head home. Alone. Again.

Clare found an empty seat at the bar and ordered a martini. While she waited, she checked her cell phone. Harry had called to tell her he wasn’t waiting. Too bad for him. She didn’t care. She certainly didn’t need him. There were others like him out there, and even if there weren’t, it didn’t matter.

She liked being single, most of the time anyway. She could call the shots. Eat in or eat out—as she wanted. Decide where to vacation and what car to buy. She had no regrets and no heartbreaks. Not recently anyway and certainly nothing like Lauren.

Poor woman! She was going to have to rebuild her whole life at an age when most women just wanted to lie back and enjoy. No wonder Lauren was feeling so down lately. A new job could only help, if not for her house, then at least for herself.

Clare snapped her phone shut and slipped it back into her purse. She toyed with her martini as she slowly eyed the men around the bar. She could give them more attention now that she knew she was on her own.

After a day like today, she didn’t have the energy to pick up anyone, but there was nothing wrong with looking. Everything was so much easier when only window-shopping was involved. She didn’t have to worry about sagging breasts, cellulite dimples and wrinkled skin. And there would be no chance of being stood up if she put her work first.

So, let’s see. Who’s going to be the lucky guy tonight? Not the boy with wind-swept blond hair. She didn’t want to be accused of cradle-robbing. Not Mr. Marlboro in the corner there, either. He would spend too much time admiring himself in the mirror. Which maybe wasn’t such a bad idea because he wouldn’t have any time to notice her bulges. Then again, if she was going to do this, she wanted to feel good about herself. So forget Mr. Marlboro.

Clare sipped her martini and continued to scan the candidates. Not Mr. Junior Exec. She’d had enough of his type in the courtroom today. Mr. Sensitive with Glasses and Long Hair wouldn’t do, either. He probably wouldn’t approve of her constant wrangling over financial settlements. Of course, she wouldn’t want to spend too much time discussing them with him. She had other plans in mind. Plans for his long hair and his nice-looking mouth. Too bad he was a sensitive type.

Clare sighed and sipped again. There was no pleasing her tonight. Maybe she should look at the booths. Maybe she—

“Clare?”

She turned in the direction of the familiar voice.

“Oh, hello, Anton.”

Like her, he hadn’t changed out of his business suit. But he had taken off his blazer and was carrying it, hooked on a finger, over his shoulder in a careless manner she found sexy. He had removed his tie, and had loosened the top buttons of his shirt, revealing dark chest hairs. She swallowed—discretely she hoped—and forced her eyes up toward his sea-blue eyes and slightly weathered face.

With his good-guy looks and well-toned body, Anton was a far better proposition than anything else she had seen so far. She was hard-pressed to find anything wrong with him.

Oh, yes. There was something, something very wrong. He was a lawyer and he worked for her.

“What are you doing here?” she asked.

“That was going to be my line.” He smiled at her, and she wished more than ever that she didn’t have a rule about relationships with colleagues. “I thought you were working late tonight. Your door was shut when I left, or I would have asked if you wanted to join me.”

“I would have said ‘no.’ I was supposed to meet someone here, but I think I was stood up.”

She twisted her head over her shoulder as if to give the room another look, but she really just wanted to increase the space between them.

“His loss.” Anton brought his hand down, draping his blazer over his other arm. He tilted his head toward the stool next to her. “Mind if I join you?”

“You’re on your own?”

“Not if I’m here with you,” he teased. “I came with some friends, but they’re leaving.”

He waved to a group of several men and women who were exiting. Clare was relieved to see there was no one from Bailey, Brooks, Kantowicz and Hanley. Office gossips would have a field day with this encounter, not to mention the martini she had practically guzzled.

He looked down at her, waiting for an answer.

“You know,” she said, blinking to avoid the blue of his eyes. “We never celebrated the Dubovski victory. Let me buy you this drink.”

He hesitated, then nodded. “Sure. If you’ll let me get the next round.”

“It’s a deal.”

She waved at Jimmy the bartender, wondering at the wisdom of what she was doing. She hadn’t eaten anything since a sandwich at lunchtime and she was beginning to feel light-headed. But she and Anton did have something to celebrate, and Clare had never properly expressed her appreciation. What was a drink between colleagues?

She ordered her second martini. It was exactly what she wanted, strong and pungent, the kind of cocktail her father always drank. His preferences had certainly given her a lifelong taste for the stuff, as well as a deep-rooted revulsion.

Jimmy put their drinks down. She reached for her glass.

“To Mrs. Dubovski. Let’s hope she’s much happier without Mr.”

Without waiting for Anton’s response, Clare drank her martini like she might lemonade on a humid Chicago summer afternoon. Anton had a sip of whatever he was drinking, his eyes never leaving her.

“Are you okay?” He put a hand on her shoulder.

She could feel the heat of his hand through the silk of her blouse. Was it the alcohol that was burning her, or something else?

“Fine.” She shrugged off his hand. “Just fine. Nothing another shot of gin won’t help. If I’d known this bar had become so stingy with the drinks, I wouldn’t have stayed. Come on, drink up, Anton. We have another round to go.”

But Anton took his sweet time, rolling his glass between his hands, tilting it against his lips, rubbing it against his mouth. Clare tried not to look, but it was hard. And her alcohol haze didn’t help.

On the contrary. It was a great boost to lowering her inhibitions, to helping her imagine something else in the place of that glass—like her lips or her face or her breasts.

Those thoughts were enough to send heat like flames up her whole body. She shut her eyes to chase the images away, but they only appeared ten times more vivid.

Anton finally put his empty glass down.

“Good! You’re done!” Clare said. “Now, let’s see if we can get Jimmy to look this way. You’d think he’d know me by now, after all the times I’ve been here and all the tips I’ve left.”

“I think he’s having the same thoughts I am.” Anton stared at the empty glass that she was clutching.

“And what would those be?” She looked up at him. His face was blurry and unclear.

“That you’ve had too much to drink as it is,” he said in the same matter-of-fact tone he used when advising a client.

Without another word, he took her glass away from her and emptied the little that was left into his own. She didn’t have the energy to protest. She just looked at him as he pushed off the bar and straightened to his full six foot three. She had to tilt her head all the way back to see his face. It took her several seconds to make out his concerned expression.

“He’s not worth it, Clare. Whoever he is. If he stood you up like this, he must be a jerk.”

If she weren’t so dizzy, she might have burst out laughing. Sweet of Anton, but much too earnest and wholesome for a lawyer and an ex-cop. Yet she really could get a rush from the way he was looking at her. Maybe she could talk him into adoring her body—minus the sags, the cellulite and the wrinkles—but she’d have to open her mouth and move her tongue. She closed her eyes and concentrated very hard.

“Save it,” she managed. “I know all about jerks.”

“And not enough about good guys. They do exist, you know.”

“Not in my world.”

“Maybe it’s time you tried mine.”

Clare wasn’t sure she had heard right or that she understood what he was saying. She turned her head so quickly, the room spun around her. She reached for the bar to steady herself. Somehow, she found herself leaning against Anton, enveloped in the scent of his aftershave, his warmth and his strength. She didn’t move for a moment. Comforted by his steadying hand, she turned her head to look up at him again. His mouth was close. All she had to do was lift her lips a bit, and they would be kissing.

Kissing? No kissing. No kissing Anton.

She drew her head back instead, her hand grasping the bar tightly. She needed to leave before she did something stupid, but she didn’t know if she could leave. Hell, she didn’t even know if she could stand straight. Her head sagged forward. The world spun around her in a kaleidoscope of faces, forms and objects. Her ears registered sounds without meaning. She felt Anton’s hand on her shoulder.

“Are you sure you’re all right, Clare? Can I do anything?”

She stared at him for an instant, and then suddenly the sound of clinking glasses, conversation and laughter from a nearby booth broke through her haze. With it came an embarrassed awareness of where she was and what was wrong with her.

She pulled away from him. Wouldn’t the office gossips have a field day with this?

“Clare, I—”

She wanted to shake her head, but she was too dizzy. “I think you’d better call me a cab,” she said, her voice as clear and firm as on her best day in court.

Lauren considered the letter she had just drafted. It sounded professional, efficient and convincing. Surely one of the names she had gotten off the online job listing that Chrissie had given her would belong to someone who would want to hire her as a writer. But what did she know? It had been such a long time since she had written such a letter, she really had no idea what was right. Business etiquette couldn’t have changed that much, but after her dreadful encounter with Diane and all the other demoralizing rejections she’d received, Lauren didn’t know. She needed another opinion.

Lauren glanced at her watch. Too late to contact Chrissie. It was already ten in the evening in Vienna. Clare was a better bet. She was always hiring people. And didn’t she mentor a group of female law students? Clare must give out this kind of advice all the time. She could do the same for Lauren.

Lauren dialed the number, but the machine picked up. Clare was probably at her office. It wouldn’t be the first time she worked on the weekend. Lauren wouldn’t disturb her there, but she decided to try Alice.

Alice may not be as much in the know as Clare, but she wasn’t totally ignorant either. However Lauren was in for another rude surprise when instead of her friend’s usual warm greeting, Alice practically barked hello into the phone.

“It’s me, Alice. Lauren. Are you, um, all right?”

“Yes, yes, I’m fine,” Alice answered through what sounded like gritted teeth. “What do you want?”

“If it’s a bad time, I can call back.”

“That’s okay. I’m fine.”

There was a long pause, in which Lauren heard muffled sounds, as if Alice were exhaling loudly. When her friend spoke again, she sounded more like her usual self.

“I’m sorry, Lauren. It’s… I… You just caught me at a bad moment.”

“No, I’m sorry. I don’t mean to bother you. I can always—”

“I said it’s okay. What gives?”

Suspecting that this really wasn’t a good time, Lauren tried to put off the conversation, but Alice wouldn’t have it. So, after apologizing for being such a nuisance, she explained what she wanted. Alice suggested they meet at a coffee shop in Oak Park later that afternoon.

“Are you sure Frank won’t mind?” Lauren asked. “I know you like to spend your weekends together. Family time, you call it.”

“Frank? I doubt he’d even notice,” Alice replied in unusually strident tones.

Of course, Frank would notice. He and Alice were inseparable. But, later thinking over this strange conversation, Lauren recalled Alice’s cryptic remarks at lunch the other day. She wondered what was going on. Had she been so self-absorbed she hadn’t seen what was happening to her oldest and dearest friend? She resolved to find out.

So in the coffee shop, after they had gone over her résumé and her cover letter, Lauren asked, “How are things with you? Everything okay?”

“Everything’s fine,” Alice responded, a bit too quickly and curtly for Lauren’s liking.

“Sure? No problems at work?”

Alice shook her head.

“With the children?”

“The kids are fine. Everything’s fine.”

“Frank?”

“He’s fine. Honestly, Lauren, everything is fine.”

“I’m just asking. You sounded funny earlier, and I was surprised you agreed to come today. Not that I don’t appreciate it. But this was always your time for Frank, the kids and you.”

Lauren had always envied the way Alice and Frank had done things together. Despite their different careers, upbringings and philosophies, they had placed the children at the center of their lives, making their family a shared priority. Frank took them to sports practice, and Alice took them to music lessons. They took turns overseeing their homework.

That had definitely not been the case with Charles and Lauren. The kids and the house had been her responsibility. Even on weekends, Charles had been too busy to make time for his wife and children. Or, as Lauren had come to learn, too bored and uninterested to bother with anything they might enjoy. In the end, she had stopped asking and had organized things just for the children and herself.

“Things change,” Alice said. “It happens, as you know.”

“Change? How?” Lauren felt a cold hand squeezing her heart. Frank and Alice had always had such a great relationship. It couldn’t be falling apart now.

“Well, the children are gone, for one,” Alice replied. “So I guess we’re experiencing some growing pains.”

“Growing pains? But you’re all grown-up.”

Alice sighed. “Doesn’t mean we’ve stopped sprouting. We still need our weeding and pruning.”

“At least, you’re growing in the same direction.”