Ride Your Heart ‘Til It Breaks, Chapter Eleven
BEGUINE
CHAPTER ELEVEN
November 1994
“Damn!” Alan Warrick stormed into her office at three o’clock on Tuesday.
Karen looked up from the piles of Burnet IPO documents unperturbed.
What’s wrong?”
“Look at this! Just look at this!” He thrust a stack of papers into her hand.
She glanced down and realized they were Harry’s books. “Where did you get these?”
“His accountant had them messengered over in response to the letter I sent last week. Son of bitch, the guy is meeting the damn lease terms. He’s showing a profit. What the hell are we going to do now?”
Still deadly calm, Karen said, “There’s nothing we can do. We’re not responsible for making these facts. Our job is just to report them to Waterfront Development.”
“Like hell it is!” Alan stormed at her. “We’re Warrick, Thompson, not some guy with his solo shingle out front. We’re the ones who get the client what he wants.”
“Within the bounds of the law,” Karen observed.
“Yes, damn it, yes. Ok.” Alan took the documents back and stared at them for a few moments. Then he thrust them at Karen again. “Look, can’t you find anything wrong with these? You’re the accountant. I’m just a trial lawyer.”
If you only knew what I did to them in the first place, she thought. But she maintained her poker face. She pretended to study Harry’s books for a few minutes. Then she said, “Sorry, Alan. Nothing wrong here. He just has a little investment income that takes him through the low months. And that’s held in the name of the club. You won’t get to first base trying to evict him using these.”
“Damn, damn, damn!” Alan began to pace her small office. “We can’t just throw up our hands and tell Waterfront they’re stuck.”
“You could tell them to buy out the rest of his lease.”
“There’s five years left. That’d be expensive, and I doubt he’d sell.”
Karen shrugged. “How badly do they want him to leave?”
“Probably not for the amount it would take to get him out.”
“What exactly do they want to do with that property?”
“A hotel, restaurant and more retail shops.”
“What’s wrong with leaving that spot in the Village as it is and building on the vacant land just down from it?”
Alan stopped pacing and stared at her. “Well, nothing I guess. The view from Harry Rich’s place is better.”
“But not much,” Karen interrupted. “All of that property has a magnificent view of the bay.”
“True.”
“And Seaport Village is a well known tourist mecca. You’d have a lot of trouble persuading the city to let you tear down even part of it.”
“We could do it, though.” Alan the litigator-who-loved-a-good-fight was quick to promise.
Karen shrugged. “I’m not so sure.”
“Besides the legal fees for the firm would be terrific.”
“Yeah, but the black eye you’d get for losing wouldn’t be so great.”
“We wouldn’t lose.”
“You’ve already lost round one. Harry Rich is meeting the terms of his lease.”
“Damn!” Alan looked down at the documents in his hand as if he had forgotten the earlier setback. Then he eyed her skeptically. “People really like this stuff? Really go sit all night and listen to it?”
“As hard as it is to believe, Alan, yes they do.”
“Hmm.”
“Look, telling Waterfront they already have a successful tenant on the property should please them. Especially since the City probably won’t agree to their scheme to raze it.”
“I guess.” He didn’t look convinced. “I still think we could get this Harry guy out. If we took him to court, he’d go belly up pretty fast with the legal fees.”
“Alan, you’ve done too much scorched-earth, take-no-prisoners litigation. Middle ground and compromise do exist in corporate law. If you harass a little guy like Harry Rich, you’ll wind up paying through the nose in punitive damages.”
“If you say so. We’ll see how Waterfront takes the news. It’s your partnership year, not mine.” With that, he grabbed the copies of Harry’s books off her desk and walked out.
Karen took a deep breath, relieved to see his retreating back. She had to warn Harry about the reaction here. She glanced at the IPO documents she’d been proofing before Alan’s appearance. She could be at the club by ten for sure.
* * *
She didn’t make it until ten thirty. Stan was in the middle of “Mack the Knife,” making it sound easy to belt out notes above the staff. She slipped into her usual table, ordered her wine, and noted he had a Table of Six, all gorgeous and all completely fixed on him.
Harry sat down not long after she came in. He looked worried. “The accountant said the books went over to your firm today. Any news?”
Karen nodded and told him about the events in her office.
“You’re sure your boss won’t file a lawsuit against us?”
“I’m sure, Harry. Alan hates to lose, and he knows he would. Your books are fine.”
“We have to keep up our profit margin, though. The investment income will only cover so many losses each month.”
“That’s true,” Karen agreed. “What about more advertising?”
“You read my mind. Stan’s created quite a following. I was thinking of featuring him in some of the ads. Maybe getting him on some of the local morning TV shows.”
Karen felt the pang of jealousy that struck whenever she thought of Stan as the object of other women’s desires. But she agreed. “Terrific idea.”
She looked up at the stage as she spoke, wondering how it would be to see his face all over town, loving him, and knowing she could get no closer than his image on a billboard.
Harry left to get ready for his portion of the show. Karen kept her eyes firmly on Stan and pretended the Table of Six and every other woman in the world who might want him did not exist.
He began to play “My Funny Valentine,” and she closed her eyes to concentrate on the purity of the sound. As the low, mellow notes enveloped her, her yearning to be close to him was so deep and so strong it vibrated in every nerve.
He poured his soul into the music, weaving all the joy of love and all the pain of loss into the notes of the song about love and imperfection. When it was over, she opened her eyes and watched him take a bow. He was smiling, but even at that distance, she could see disappointment in his eyes. Harry had been right. He gave himself away with every performance, but the audience loved the music, not the man.
When the show ended at midnight, Karen lingered at her table, watching Stan pack up his trumpet. She hoped that he would look her way, but the Table of Six had spilled onto the stage, and he was amply occupied with adoring fans.
Disappointed, Karen walked to the parking lot alone, knowing she should go back to the office and check the Burnett documents. She had been rushing to get to the club during her last review before they went into secretarial. If anything was wrong, better to get it fixed tonight.
But when she opened her car door, she realized she couldn’t concentrate on work just yet. It was late and dark, and her heart hurt, and she needed to walk in the cool night air to ease the pain.
She found her way to the bench where Stan had first told her he wouldn’t fall in love with her. As the moonlight trailed its thin silver fingers through the black water, she sat and wondered how to stop loving him.
“You shouldn’t be out here alone at this time of night.”
She turned to find Stan behind her. She felt a mixture of joy and apprehension.
“I didn’t want to go back to the office.”
“Then go home and get a good night’s sleep.”
Her eyes searched his for some sign of what he was feeling, but his guard was up. The last time they had faced each other in the dark, she had known that he wanted her, even if he hadn’t kissed her. Now she wasn’t sure.
“I – I can’t sleep.”
He sat down beside her. “Look, I don’t want to be ungrateful for what you’ve done for us all here. But I’ve told you the truth, Carrie Moon. I can’t get involved with you. From what Harry says, your job at the club is done. Maybe you should give it a rest.”
His words closed over her heart like a cold hand. “But Harry also says you miss me when I don’t come.”
“Well, maybe I do. But I’m still not going to get involved with you. So coming here night after night is a dead end.”
A light flickered through his masked eyes, and Karen remembered him as he had received the audience’s applause earlier in the evening. A flame of hope sprang up through the ice around her heart. “No, it’s not a dead end,” she whispered. “You do want someone to love you. More than anything, you want someone to love you. You want me to love you.”
She leaned toward him as she spoke. She was so close she could feel his warm breath on her lips. She was daring him to kiss her. Desire vibrated between them like a living presence.
“You’re wrong,” he said softly but didn’t move away.
“No, I’m not. I watched you while the audience applauded ‘My Funny Valentine.'”
“And?”
“And they love the music, but not the man. And the man wants to be loved. No matter what you say, he wants to be loved.”
It was as if a dam inside of him had exploded. He pulled her into his arms and brought his mouth roughly down on hers. She opened to him, immediately, so overcome with desire that nothing else existed in the universe at that moment except his kiss.
But as abruptly as he had begun, he let go of her hand and backed away. She stared at him, trying to control her senses which were screaming for more.
“No, Carrie Moon. No, I won’t do this with you.”
He got up, and turned to go. Tears welled up and ran down her cheeks, but she didn’t care. She reached out and caught his arm. “Please, don’t go.”
But he only shook his head and walked away.
