Daddy

Her apartment was on the top floor, with a very pretty penthouse garden. It was in a small, exclusive building and Oliver suspected correctly that it was a co-op. This was no ordinary working girl, and he knew that Robert Townsend was not only a major advertising success, but he was also from a very prominent family in Boston. And Megan's breeding was stamped all over her, from her hair to her shoes, to her well- bred voice, to the expensive white silk shirt she'd put on with a pair of jeans to greet him. Her hair was hanging loose, and he loved the way it flowed down her back and over her shoulders. She wasn't just pretty, he realized now, she was beautiful, and very striking. She had put some makeup on, and she escorted him into the airy living room, which was all done in white and chrome, with a black-and-white marble floor, and two zebra rugs tossed casually under an enormous glass table. There was one mirrored wall to reflect the view, and the glass table in the tiny dining room was set for two. And somehow, even though she wore only jeans and a silk shirt, she had an aura of great sophistication.

“This is quite a place!” He marveled at the view, and she led him out onto the terrace as she handed him a gin and tonic.

“It's my only case of excessive indulgence.” Her father had wanted to buy her a town house for her thirtieth birthday, earlier that year, but she had steadfastly refused it. She loved the place she had, and it was big enough, and Oliver certainly understood why she liked it. “I spend an awful lot of time here. I spend most of my weekends here, buried in manuscripts.” She laughed easily and he smiled.

“I can think of worse fates.” And then he decided to play her game. There was a great deal he suddenly wanted to know about Megan Townsend. “What about you? Married? Divorced? The mother of twelve?” although that at least seemed more than unlikely. Everything about her screamed that she was unencumbered and single.

“Never married. No kids. No cats, dogs, or birds.

And no currently married lovers.” They both laughed, and he grinned ruefully.

“I guess that leaves me out.”

“Are you going back to your wife?” she inquired, as they sat on two white Brown Jordan deck chairs outside.

“No, I'm not.” He met her eyes squarely, but he didn't tell her that until recently, he would have liked to. “Our lives have gone in very separate directions. She's a graduate student at Harvard now, and an aspiring writer.”

“That sounds admirable.”

“Not really.” There was still a trace of bitterness in his voice, whenever he talked about Sarah to strangers. “She walked out on me and three children to get there.”

“Sounds like heavy stuff.”

“It was.”

“And still is?” She was quick, and she seemed anxious to get to know him.

“Sometimes. But better lately. You can't hang on to anger forever,” he smiled sadly, “although I tried to for a long time. She kept insisting she was coming back, but I think that charade is finally behind us. And the kids are adjusting … so am I….”He smiled at her, and then suddenly laughed at himself. “Although, I have to admit to you, this is the first 'date' I've had in twenty years. You may find my dating manners a little rusty.”

“You haven't been out with anyone since she left?” Megan was impressed. The woman who'd left him must have been quite something. She'd never been without a man in her life for more than a month, and she was sure she didn't want to be. Her last lover had departed only three weeks before, after a comfortable six months, commuting between her penthouse and his Fifth Avenue town house. She moved with a racy crowd, but something about Oliver had intrigued her, his looks, his charm, and something that had suggested to her that he was very lonely. “Are you serious?”

And then suddenly he remembered the lady wrestling fan, and laughed again. “No, I lied … I had a date a couple of months ago, and it was a disaster. It almost cured me.”

“Good Lord, Oliver,” she laughed and set down the remains of her gin and tonic, “You're practically a virgin.”

“You might say that.” He laughed and for a moment, wondered if he had gotten in over his head this time. He hadn't made love to a woman in seven months, and suddenly he wondered what would happen if he tried. Maybe it wouldn't even work. For seven months, he hadn't wanted anyone but Sarah. And he hadn't slept with anyone else in twenty years before that. He had never cheated on his wife, and this girl seemed somehow as though she was used to getting any man she wanted. Suddenly a little boy in him wanted to run home as fast as he could, and he felt like Sam as he stood up and went to admire the view again, while she went back inside to finish putting together the promised salad.

“I warn you, I can't cook. Caesar salad and carpaccio are the full limit of my skills. After that, it's strictly pizza and Chinese takeout.”

“I can hardly wait. I like them all.” And he liked her, too, although she frightened him a little bit.