Dreams of Perfection (Dreams Come True) (3 page)

Chapter 4

In deference to the old adage, “If at first you don’t succeed . . .” Darcy put the finishing touches on her hair for yet another blind date. This one came with her accountant’s stamp of approval—a recently divorced client of his.

She didn’t generally date divorcees—too much baggage—and she had enough of her own, thank you very much. But she trusted her accountant and his taste in men. After all, who knew men better than another guy—especially a gay guy? That, and he’d been hounding her to at least meet the man.

A quick taxi ride later, she arrived at a coffee shop near the eligible bachelor’s office in the Financial District where they’d arranged to meet. Grabbing a table in the busy establishment, she ordered tea to await the arrival of one Kempton Bell. Kempton. What kind of name was that? she wondered. According to her accountant, Patrick, Kempton had risen quickly through the ranks of an investment firm and had tremendous potential to one day occupy the position of CEO.

A few sips into her iced chai tea latte, a nice looking, physically fit gentleman approached her table. Darcy sat up in her seat.
Not bad. Not bad at all. Thank you, Patrick.

“Darcy?”

“Yes. And you must be Kempton.” She flashed him her warmest smile. “Please, have a seat.” She indicated the seat across the table from her.

He pulled out the chair but before sitting down, he snatched a napkin from the dispenser and dusted off the seat, then handed it to the waitress who’d approached to take his order. 

Hmmm. A bit of a neat freak. That, or a germaphobe.
Well, at least he wouldn’t bring home any communicable diseases.

“I’ll have a large soy with extra foam, split shot with a half squirt of sugar-free vanilla and a half squirt of sugar-free cinnamon, a half packet of Splenda. Oh, and put that in an extra-large cup and fill the rest with whipped cream with caramel and c
hocolate sauce drizzled on top.”

Alrighty, then.

The waitress looked at him as if he’d just arrived from another planet.

Kempton finally returned his attention to
her
. He tilted his head in appraisal. “Pretty.”

She smiled at his compliment. “Thank you.”

“Yes, you’ll do quite nicely, but you dress provocatively. Your blouse is cut too low.”

Her smile faded as she glanced down at her scoop-neck blouse to confirm the girls hadn’t popped out to say hello.
Nope. Still safely tucked away.
Frowning, she said, “I don’t think—”

“And I understand you’re a best-selling author. I’m sure it’s lucrative.”

“Yes, I’m an author, and yes, it’s lucrative, but—”

“Of course, that won’t be necessary once we’re married. I’m quite capable of providing for you and our children. Besides, you won’t have time for that with all the social and charitable commitments you’ll be undertaking as my wife.”

Can you say controlling?
Before she could hit him with a pithy reply, he steamrolled ahead.

“Now, let me tell you about myself.” He opened his briefcase and pulled out three files, laying them carefully on the table. “I’m looking for a mate, not a date. I don’t have a lot of time to waste dating, and I understand neither do you, if you want to become pregnant before you’re too old.”

He glanced up, clearly mistaking her expression for awed speechlessness rather than horrified incredulity. He patted her hand. “Oh, don’t worry, I am not opposed to children. I have a strong sex drive, so children are inevitable, but I don’t believe in premarital sex, so marriage is mandatory and soon.”

Aghast, Darcy looked around the coffee shop, expecting her family and friends to storm the table, laughing and teasing, certain this must be a joke.

He gestured to each file in turn. “This is my resume.”

Resume? He did realize this wasn’t a job interview, right?

“These”—he pointed at portrait size photos of happy, smiling, neatly dressed children—“are my three children, Kempton the Third, Angela, and my youngest, Thornton.

Children!

“And these”—he picked up a stack of paper— “are letters of recommendation.”

Flabbergasted, and not a little intrigued, Darcy waited for him to continue. After all, she enjoyed a good joke, even if it was on her.

He placed his resume in front of her, which she noted included his salary and net worth.
Seven figures—impressive
. Next came a description of his home on Long Island and his country club privileges.

Darcy suppressed a giggle, still waiting for the punch line. Let everyone think they’d pulled a good one over on her.

The photos of his children came next. “My oldest is in college. The other two are in boarding school in Connecticut. They’re polite, well-mannered children, and I’m sure you will love them, although they spend most of the time with their mother when they’re home from school, so they won’t be a burden to us at all.”

Feeling as if she were in a scene from an Austen novel reminiscent of Mr. Collins’ marriage proposal, Darcy shifted uncomfortably in her seat, the possibility that this was not a joke quickly becoming crystal clear.

Last but not least, he collected the stack of recommendation letters, but offered an explanation before handing them to her to read. “Six months ago, my ex-wife and I realized our marriage was in trouble, so we spent a weekend in the Hamptons to either end it or save it. After the first night, we decided to end it.”

Gee, I can’t imagine why.
 

“But, we used what was left of the weekend to write recommendations for one another to facilitate remarriage. This is my ex-wife’s letter of recommendation written in her own hand.”

Stifling the laughter that threatened to bubble to the surface, Darcy took the paper from Kempton, never having read a letter of recommendation from an ex-wife before. The letter began by praising his suitability as a husband and father, and his aptitude as a provider.

Darcy’s eyebrows winged up at the accolades she gave his bedroom performance, using words like “stamina of a stallion” and “endurance of a god.” It was a wonder she gave him up. Biting her lip, she read the two other letters from friends extolling his honesty, loyalty, yada, yada.

Darcy didn’t know whether to burst out laughing or run, so she just sat there quietly, afraid if she did open her mouth, an unladylike snort would escape. 

“I’m sure you see that I’m a perfect candidate, and with a few adjustments, you’d make a proper wife for me.” With a few more references as to his need to find a mate, he packed away the file, set his intertwined hands on the table, and rested his case.

Ticking off his psychological disorders: obsessive-compulsion, narcissism, and possibly a touch of sex addiction, Darcy planned the quickest possible exit. She tried in vain to compose her features.

Very quietly she laid some money on the table for her tea, swallowed a chuckle, and said, “Mr. Bell, it has been very, um, entertaining, but . . . Not. In. This. Lifetime. I have not yet reached the level of desperation it would take for me to become your, er, Stepford wife.”

For a moment she feared he was going to blow a gasket. His handsome face turned an unpleasant shade of purple, his eyes bulging, his mouth gaping in shock. Then he grabbed his briefcase and strode to the door, barreling into the UPS man in his haste to leave. He hadn’t even paid for his coffee.

She didn’t know whether to laugh or cry, so she did both. The pent-up laughter erupted in a series of snorts, giggles, and guffaws, until tears ran down her face. Wiping her face with a napkin, she resolved one thing: no more blind dates.

Chapter 5

Kids squealed, dogs barked, and the smell of grilled hotdogs and hamburgers filled the Sunday afternoon, floating on the soft spring air. Darcy carried an enormous bowl of potato salad to the table that would serve as the buffet for the family cookout.

Her five-year-old niece, Samantha, threw her arms around Darcy’s knees with all the gusto of a Giants defensive tackle, practically knocking her and her potato salad over. Placing the bowl on the table among the other side dishes, she gave her niece a smile.

“Aunt Darthy.” Sam’s lisp had become even more pronounced with the loss of one of her front teeth. “Will keepths chathing me.”

“Well, I bet if you stop running, he’ll stop chasing you.” Darcy knelt down to nuzzle the girl’s neck. Her sunny blond hair smelled of the baby shampoo her mother still used on it, and Darcy experienced the now-familiar tug at her heart that occurred whenever she interacted with her nieces and nephew.

Josh snuck up and lifted a shrieking and giggling Sam in his arms and blew raspberries on her bare belly. “Sthop, Joth.” But her continued giggles belied her pleas. 

Josh set her down and gave her rump a little pat as she ran off to torment her cousin Will some more.

“You’
re late. I was beginning to think you weren’t coming,” Darcy said as she turned to make room on the table for the rest of the food.

Josh waved a greeting to Anne and Brandon, Darcy’s siblings. “Had some work to finish up at the office.” He tucked his hands into the pockets of his khaki pants, mainly to keep them from grasping Darcy’s face and kissing her. She looked so fresh and lovely in a sundress the color of the lilacs in her mother’s garden. And smelled like them too. A breeze teased the silky strands around her face.

“Josh, ‘bout time you got here, son.” Darcy’s father clapped his free hand on Josh’s shoulder. In his other hand the spatula he’d been using to flip burgers. His ‘Kiss the Cook’ apron bore the brunt of the day’s work, from splatters of his top-secret hamburger concoction to grimy handprints from his grandchildren.

Josh couldn’t help thinking that Jeff Butler was still a handsome man, with a thick head of salt-and-pepper hair, a face tanned from his recent rounds of golf, and eyes so blue you’d swear they’d captured a summer sky.

“Got a minute? Step into my office,” Jeff said, gesturing to the smoking grill.

“Sure.”

“Jeff. No work today,” Darcy’s mom, Vanessa, admonished as she stepped out with an armload of desserts. “Josh, don’t you let him talk about work. It’s his birthday, and he’s going to celebrate it even if it kills him.”

Josh flashed Vanessa a smile. “No worries.”

“Van,” Jeff assured her, “we’re not talking law, we’re talking something much more important—baseball. I want Josh’s expert opinion on the new Red Sox shortstop.”

Josh laughed as Vanessa rolled her eyes.

“If it isn’t football, it’s baseball with you two.” Vanessa tolerated the sports fanatics in her family, including her youngest child, but that didn’t mean she had to join in their obsession.

Josh knew that as a Jane Austen scholar, Vanessa preferred obsessing over Austen’s letters rather than the Yankees’ batting averages. And thanks to her mother’s chosen obsession,
er
, profession, Darcy and her siblings bore some combination of the names of her mother’s favorite Austen characters: Darcy Elizabeth, Anne Elinor, and Frederick Brandon. And because of his long-time relationship with the family, he knew more about Jane Austen than he’d ever wanted to know.

Van, as Jeff called her, dressed more like a Bohemian painter than a literary scholar. Her long, flowing skirts, silver gypsy hair and colorful tops would have been right at home in one of New York’s many artist colonies. So different from Jeff’s preppy look, but appealing in a natural sort of way. Even now, he could see what Jeff saw in her forty years ago.

As he and Jeff talked ERAs and RBIs over grilling meat, Josh watched the exuberant chaos that was Darcy’s family. Being an only child, he’d missed that growing up. The roughhousing, the good-natured teasing, even the occasional disputes and sibling rivalry; he’d yearned for it all.

He had it now, though, or a close approximation of it anyway, and as far as he was concerned, better late than never. Jeff had become the father Josh had always wanted. From the moment he met them, Darcy’s parents and older siblings welcomed him into their fold as one of their own. Her parents scolded him, her siblings razzed him. And he loved every minute of it.

Not that he regretted his relationship with his mother. No. He loved and respected her too much. But he saw Darcy’s family as an extension of that relationship, not a substitution for it.

Josh chuckled and drew Jeff’s attention to his older granddaughter’s skill at riding the family dog like a show horse.

Jeff let loose with one of his infectious laughs. “That’s my little Tomboy-Princess, just like her Aunt Darcy.”

Yep.
One day, he wanted a big family just like the Butlers.

“I wonder what’s keeping Gloria,” Vanessa said
as she glanced at her watch. “It’s not like her to be late.”

“I’m sure she’ll be here any minute.” Gloria Madison was not only Darcy’s godmother, but her literary agent as well. Gloria and her mother had been best friends all through grade school, high school, and college. Other than her father, no one knew her mother better.

“And where’s Laura? I thought you invited her today.”

“She’s probably still pissed at me for hanging up on her the other night.”

“Darcy, why would you hang up on her? Did I teach you nothing?”

“Don’t ask.” Darcy grimaced.

“Aunt Darthy,” little Sam called. “Come play printheth with me.”

Happy for the reprieve, Darcy strolled out to the yard. She slipped off her sandals, enjoying the feel of the cool green grass of spring beneath her feet. The lawn, alive now with the antics of her siblings’ two chocolate labs, her parents’ border collie, and her two nieces and one nephew, sloped away to the banks of the Hudson River. Darcy laughed as Delilah, the Border collie, tried in vain to herd animals and humans alike into some semblance of a flock. 

Darcy couldn’t lay claim to a tragic childhood. In fact, she couldn’t have asked for better. Her Westchester County childhood home held many fond memories for her. Trying to keep up with her older brother and sister, playing catch with her dad, watching the boats glide up and down the river, and just like Sam, playing princess on this very lawn, confident that her knight-in-shining-armor would come charging across the backyard at any moment to whisk her away to his castle.

Instead, the man she’d thought was her knight had ridden off into the sunset on someone else,
er
,
with
someone else, trampling her heart to smithereens in the process.

Doug had always called her a princess, but when she’d caught him with his,
um
, junk in the cookie jar, he’d turned that endearment into a criticism. Still, all these years later, she wondered what she’d done to drive him into another woman’s arms. She snorted. It wasn’t the woman’s arms that attracted him.

Darcy bent over and plucked a dandelion, its fluffy remnants a perfect feathery ball. The experience had left her more determined to hold out until she’d truly found the perfect man. Just like the ones she wrote. She closed her eyes, took a deep breath, wished for her perfect hero, and blew with all her pent-up frustration, leaving one little parachute still clinging to the stem. “Phooey!”

Darcy discarded the stem and waved to her brother, Brandon, and his long-time partner, David. The two laughed as they ran after Will, their seven-year-old adopted son, as he in turn ran after a squealing Sam.

Clearly Will was sweet on Sam, and like all little boys before him, displayed that affection by pulling silken pigtails and giving chase with frogs and all manner of other slimy creatures.

“Sheesh.” Even little Sam managed to find a boyfriend.

Darcy looked back at the house. The white colonial-style dwelling stood like a guardian over the ancient oaks and elms now brightly cloaked in spring green. Its proportions were modest in comparison to its more grandiose neighbors, most of which were rebuilds constructed during the McMansion craze.

The red-brick chimneys flanking the structure had been rebuilt about five years before, under the supervision of her architect sister, and the black-and-white striped awning over the porch was recently added, but otherwise the house endured the same as it had all her life.

As one of the founding partners of Butler, Lukeman, and Michaels, her father had done very well for himself. Especially considering where he’d come from. The only son of a factory worker, her father had been the first member of his family to go to college. Like Josh.

When he graduated from law school, he made a vow to take care of his parents, and he kept that promise until they both died, a year apart.

Jeff Butler knew the value of a dollar, and taught his children the same thing. Despite their professional successes, the Butler children continued to live a modest, but comfortable lifestyle. Investing their earnings wisely, saving for their retirement, and guarding against the unthinkable. Darcy glanced down at her new Tory Burch dress. Okay, so she caved to the occasional splurge.    

“Hey, daydreamer!” Darcy’s sister called to her. “I’d tell you to get your head out of the clouds, but there aren’t any.”

Darcy watched as Anne approached, Olivia on her hip, then looked up at the cloudless sky and smiled.

“I can always dream up a fluffy cloud or two.”

She held out her hands for a willing Olivia and scooped her up, planting a kiss on that baby-soft cheek. The three-year-old put her hands on either side of her aunt’s face, turning Darcy’s heart to mush. 

Darcy glanced back at Anne, noticing a new tightness around her mouth and dark circles underscoring her hazel eyes. “Where’s Matt?”

“Oh, he’s on a business trip.” 

Darcy heard the little white lie in Anne’s voice, but before she could ask, Josh joined them, a pair of baseball gloves in his hands.

“Found these in the garage. Want to play?”

Darcy smoothed the folds of her sundress with her free hand. “I’m not exactly dressed for a game of catch.”

“Oh, come on. Nothing hardcore. Let’s just toss the ball around.” He poked Olivia in the belly, making her giggle.

His boyish grin never failed to win over women, including Darcy. “Okay. Sure.”