Bound by Suggestion (24 page)

Yes, it was.

Someone tapped Richard’s shoulder. “May I cut in?”

Penny positively glowed for the newcomer. Young, dark-haired; what Brenda would call a hunk.

“Of course,” Penny said, and took the offered hand—which, Richard noticed, bore no wedding ring. “Catch ya later, Doc,” she said, and let herself be swept out onto the middle of the dance floor.

Since the bar was nearby, Richard stopped for another scotch. Odd, he thought, that Dr. Bahskar’s accusations were unprovable thanks to a computer glitch. If Timberly had the knowledge to crash the system himself—eliminating certain files—he probably could’ve accessed Jeff’s medical records. Or maybe he and Wally Moses been partners in crime. That would explain a lot.

But why would Wally call Richard? Had his and Timberly’s business partnership fallen apart? Had he hoped to make a quick buck by selling what he knew about Timberly? Was he playing both ends against the middle?

Too pat—too convenient. Yet . . . it seemed a plausible explanation.

Richard savored the uncut single malt. He knew he was leaping to too many conclusions. No doubt Wally had a passing acquaintance with all the hospital department heads. It would be natural he’d know Timberly, too. And how could Richard find out if the two were more than just casual business associates? Maybe Penny would know. But the bubbly redhead was too talkative. Would she tell Timberly that Richard was interested in him? Probably not. She didn’t like the man. Still, she didn’t seem to know when to keep her mouth shut, either.

No, if Richard was going to find out more about Timberly, he was going to have to consult other sources. Secretaries still knew more about the hospital goings on than other employees. He’d try Donna at the clinic first. Maybe she could point him to other possible sources.

Still, none of this speculation made sense as to why Timberly was determined to hang onto the chairmanship. The job didn’t pay, and what little prestige it garnered would only be known to the hospital community. So what was the draw?

Money.

That didn’t wash, either. The checks were always made out to the hospital foundation. Timberly couldn’t cash them. And hadn’t Jared Crain said Timberly had a rich wife? Hospital department heads made good money, in addition to their personal practices. No, money couldn’t be a motive.

Richard noticed his glass was empty and signaled the bartender for another round.

Turning, he saw Brenda and Jeff sitting back at the table. A couple of real party poopers.

Richard sipped his scotch. He wasn’t ready to pack it in just yet. Tonight would be his only chance to celebrate his victory over Timberly. No way would Wes let him take the job without some kind of fight.

So be it. But for tonight at least, Richard intended to savor the sweet taste of success.

Brenda traced
her finger in a continuous figure eight on the tablecloth in time with the music. “We should’ve brought a deck of cards.”

“That would be gauche,” I told her.

She glanced up at Richard, who was speaking with yet another colleague. “I never realized how boring these banquets are until I couldn’t drink.” She looked down at her waist. “Little baby, you owe me.”

She wasn’t the only one who longed to drown her sorrows. But I knew my head would ache more if I gave in to the urge to lose myself in a bottle of bourbon.

Richard caught sight of Brenda, waved, bid good-bye to his colleague, and threaded his way across the room toward us.

“Good. Maybe now we can go home,” Brenda said.

Richard’s eyes were shining as he sat beside Brenda. “Great party, huh?”

“Lovely,” Brenda said, throwing me a sour look. “Don’t these things usually wind down by now?”

Richard glanced toward the dance floor, where a dozen or more couples clung together. “Still plenty of life left.”

Terrific.

He sipped his drink, his gaze slipping to me. “Maggie sure looked pretty tonight, didn’t she?”

“Sensational,” I agreed, noticing Krista out the corner of my eye. She stood with yet another crowd of stuffed shirts on the room’s periphery. Didn’t she know any women?

“Damn, it’s been such a hectic day, I forgot to wish you Happy Birthday,” Richard said.

I glanced at my watch: 12:02 am. “Thanks.”

“Something wrong?”

Everything.

Nothing.

“I haven’t felt well all day.” Hadn’t he noticed?

“Didn’t you recently change your medication? That could be a reason.”

“I stopped taking it. The side effects are worse than the headaches.”

“For heaven’s sake, do something about it.”

Why did he sound so irritated? It was my head that ached, not his.

I shrugged. “Too much trouble.” Everything was getting to be too much trouble.

You stupid shit
.

“Doc,” a redhead in a blue dress called, motioning for Richard to follow. “They’re taking photos for the newsletter.”

“My public awaits.” Richard captured Brenda’s hand, pulling her up. They followed the woman across the ballroom.

Sweat tricked down my neck. I pulled at my collar.

A geyser of anxiety welled up in me. Suddenly I couldn’t stand to be there another minute.

I got up, heading for Krista. After nearly five hours, my family duty was done. It was well past time to go home and crash.

I made my way through the crowd and I stood in front of my errant date for more than a minute, and still she didn’t acknowledge me.

“Excuse me, Krista.”

She continued to ignore me, thoroughly engrossed in conversation.

“Krista, I need to speak with you. Now, please.”

She didn’t bother to disguise her annoyance. “If you’ll excuse me,” she told her companions.

We stepped away, turned our backs to the others.

“I’m not feeling well. I’d like to leave. Now, if you don’t mind.”

“Now isn’t a good time.” She glanced over her shoulder. “Griff Chambers is the head of the Psych Department. I need that Bainbridge Grant if I’m going to continue my research. I’ve almost got the nomination sewn up. Can’t you go off in a corner and practice that biofeedback technique I showed you?”

It doesn’t work for me
, I wanted to shout. Instead I stared at her for a long moment.

I will not cause a scene
.

I took a breath. “Sure.”

Her smile was grateful. “Thanks.” She brushed past me, went back to her colleagues.

Turning slowly, I walked away.

The lights were too bright, the band was too loud, and the laughter around me was far too shrill. I pictured my nice, comfortable, silent bedroom and headed for the foyer.

Ten feet from the door, Brenda intercepted me.

“Where are you going?”

“It’s hot. I need some air.”

“I’ll take you home,” she offered.

I shook my head—instantly sorry. “I just need some air.”

She wrapped her arm around mine, transmitting her own restlessness. “Damn. I was looking for an excuse to leave.”

I glanced over my shoulder at Richard, who was deep in conversation with the Foundation’s Director. He glanced up, signaled Brenda to join them. He couldn’t bear to see her with me.

“You’d better go back in. I’m okay. Honest.”

She nodded, patted my hand, and headed away from me.

The wide expanse of foyer was empty. I crossed it.

The door swung open and a wave of cigarette smoke assaulted me. Half a dozen people sucked on cancer sticks. At least one of them tossed his glowing butt into the shrubbery as I passed. I held my breath and took the few steps down to the drive.

A cool breeze caressed my face; fat raindrops fell from the sky. Refreshing—liberating. I stared out over the peaceful, darkened lawn. Before I realized what was happening, I’d crossed it, engulfed by the night, heading for the streetlights on Sheridan Drive.

I made it to the road in under a minute and headed west. Even the roar of the traffic wasn’t as cutting as the noise back at the country club. The tux was soon soaked, but it felt pleasant. The rising wind left me chilled, but an inner heat kept me moving. Only my hands, thrust in my jacket pockets, stayed dry.

My gaze remained fixed on the shiny rented shoes and the uneven ground, bereft of sidewalk—and away from the headlights that tried to punch through my brain. Water sloshed around my toes. The rain wasn’t doing the rented tux any good, either. Well, what could they charge me for it? A hundred? Two? Who cared if they wanted a grand.

But the evening hadn’t been a total loss. I’d seen my beautiful Maggie. Okay, so she’d been on someone else’s arm, not mine. And my so-called date had been too busy looking after her career to even think of me.

Nobody wants you. Stupid ugly jerk.

The hell with Krista. Let her find some other sap to study.

Why would anyone want you?

Walking. One foot in front of the other.

Stupid, stupid, stupid.

I turned onto Harlem Road, passed houses, businesses, and found myself avoiding the cracks in the sidewalk. Step on a crack, break your mother’s back.

I’d never done anything to hurt my mother . . . except maybe look like my father.

I was a fine son. I had a card to prove it. But she’d still loved Richard best.

Everyone loved Richard best.

I was halfway home when Richard’s Lincoln pulled up along-side me. The power window on the front passenger side slid down.

“What on Earth are you doing?” Brenda hollered, taking in the mud-spattered tux plastered against me like a second skin. My hair hung in my eyes; rain rolled down my cheeks.

“Go back to the party.”

“Get in.”

“I’m fine.”

I wasn’t.

“Get in the car, hon. I’m taking you home.”

“No can do. I’d ruin Richard’s upholstery.”

“Jeffy, you’re soaked—you’ll catch pneumonia. Please, get in the car!”

I took in the darkened, empty sidewalk ahead of me. Pools of light illuminated the concrete every twenty or so feet, the rest bathed in shadows. Like stepping off the end of the earth.

“Jeffy, please!”

“Only if I can sit on your coat. I won’t ruin Richard’s upholstery.”

Frustrated, she swore, but yanked the belt at her waist, struggled out of the coat, and then settled it on the passenger seat. “Now will you get in?”

I got in.

She put the car in gear and we took off. The heater blasted; the windshield wipers thumped, streetlights strobed overhead, and I felt like ten variations of stupid. I wiped the droplets from my chin, unable to look at her.

“Jeffy what’s wrong?” Brenda tried again, her voice gentle, worried.

“Nothing. I just . . . had to get out of there. Krista wasn’t ready to leave. I couldn’t ask you and Rich—this is
his
night.” I lowered—flattened—my voice. “His night.”

We didn’t speak for the rest of the ride back to the house. In minutes she pulled up the drive and put the car in park outside the entrance to my loft apartment.

“I’ll come up with you.”

“No. Rich is probably pissed as hell. You’d better get back.”

She glanced at the clock on the dash, then back to me. “You go straight to bed. No more drinking tonight. Promise me.”

“I promise.” I meant it, too.

She gave me a quick hug. I caught the sweet scent of her perfume. Closing my eyes, I held her tight, her body heat warming my frozen soul. I sensed her turmoil. Anger—though not at me—laced with worry.

Why couldn’t she be Maggie?

Brenda pulled back and darted forward to kiss my cheek. Richard was so damned lucky.

I got out of the car and headed up the steps, knowing she wouldn’t leave until she saw the light go on upstairs. I was already peeling off the tux when I heard the car head down the driveway.

I tossed the wet clothes in the shower stall, grabbed and donned my robe, then opened the medicine cabinet and saw all my old prescriptions. The plastic amber bottles seemed to glow in the faint light.

Asshole
.

Herschel appeared and wound around my feet, crying.

“You’re a bottomless pit.” I shuffled into the kitchen and dumped dry food into his bowl.

My mother’s card stood on the counter.

This birthday was no worse than most of the others. Years ago, Mom had bought a couple of cupcakes and sang a chorus of Happy Birthday. A couple of times she’d even stayed sober.

The year Shelley left I celebrated alone at a diner on 84th Street. Meatloaf and instant mashed potatoes.

Last year, two months passed before Richard realized he’d missed it.

I wandered back into the bathroom, switched on the light, then hung the tux on hangers, and tried to smooth out some of the wrinkles.