Marriage of Convenience Page 3

  “I wouldn’t say solved, but I have a few ideas.”

  “Spill it. Wait!” he said before she could start. “I can’t pawn my brother from another mother out on some woman I probably don’t know without some liquid courage.” They sat at the island in the kitchen. He reached above their heads to the wine rack and selected a Shiraz. Gloria gathered two glasses from the other side of the hanging display and placed them in front of him.

  Denzel tugged on the cork and poured a taste into the glass. He swished the liquid and smelled its aroma. Tipping his head back slightly he allowed it to run around his mouth. Satisfied with its body, he poured two glasses.

  “All right, ready. Shoot.”

  Gloria smiled at him over her glass.

  “I have identified some women I think are great. We set these women up on a quick run of getting to know you dates, and he chooses the best one.”

  Denzel studied his wife’s face. She seemed pretty sure of herself.

  “But let’s say he chooses the one he likes best, but she doesn’t want to get married. She wants to take it slowly, blah, blah, blah. Then what? We haven’t solved the problem.”

  “Well, there’s the kicker. When I invite the women to meet Malcolm, I will have to tell them what’s really going on. As far as his having to get married. Now whether he tells them the whole story or not is up to him. But at least we’ve expanded his pool of potential wives exponentially.”

  The door bell rang, and Gloria excused herself after commanding him to think it over.

  She returned with pizza in hand.

  “Well?”

  “I guess, sweetheart.” Denzel reached for the box, opening the lid to expose the steaming pie. “Let’s do it.”

  Chapter Five

  “I don’t know. It sounds … desperate.” Malcolm paced his office, his head cocked to the side holding the phone to his head as his hands flipped through a chart.

  “You are desperate!” Gloria exclaimed on the other end. She’d explained her idea to him, with Denzel offering peanut gallery comments from a second handset, but Malcolm was hesitant. “What’s the problem?”

  “What happens if I don’t like any of them? Then I’ve put all my eggs into this one basket and still have nothing to show for it come Monday morning.”

  “Well, at least you would’ve had some eggs and a basket to put them in! At the rate you’re going, you won’t even have made it to the market. What do you have to lose?” Gloria let out a low exasperated hum.

  “Besides, man, it’s not like she’s going to set you up with just anyone. It’s a risk, but you couldn’t ask for a woman with better judgment or with cuter friends.” Malcolm rolled his eyes and thanked the universe Gloria was involved in this charade so he didn’t end up with a woman simply because she was tall, blonde, and buxom.

  Malcolm had spent the better part of the afternoon ignoring his dilemma and organizing files. He was now faced with an option. No, the option because there were no others. He sank onto the couch and stretched out his legs. Why not?

  “All right. What do I need to do?”

  His question was met with a shriek of excitement.

  “Leave it to me! Join us for a late dinner tonight, and I’ll outline the details.”

  Chapter Six

  Malcolm wasn’t sure if the sinking feeling in his gut was from the cold leftover pizza he’d consumed or from the prospect of having to meet and marry a woman he didn’t yet know in seven days.

  Gloria had presented him with a small stack of manila envelopes as he’d come through the door. The prospects, she’d called them. He was instructed to preview them and provide feedback.

  He’d knocked out two based on age. He didn’t think he wanted to be confused for his wife’s father. He eliminated another because he couldn’t identify any areas of commonality. They say opposites attract, but there were complementary differences and then there were awkward silences. The awkwardness of the situation already concerned him. He’d struck out number four due to what Gloria called physical incompatibility. Denzel had expressed disbelief. Didn’t every man enjoy a D cup? No.

  Down to the last two, he wasn’t sure he should limit himself further.

  “Perfect,” shouted Gloria. “It’s Monday. You’ll have time to see each one at least twice before you propose. That won’t leave much time for a rehearsal, but it will probably have to be small, and lots of people skim right over it anyway, so Saturday will be the big day. Perfect,” she said again.

  Perfect? How about disastrous? Overwhelming? Definitely frightening. But Malcolm smiled and nodded his affirmation of the plan. Perfect.

  They’d been sitting around the kitchen island, sipping wine as they’d discussed the matter. Malcolm stood and stretched his long, lean legs. The drive from the City to Connecticut hadn’t been busy. He’d left after rush hour. Nevertheless, he felt cramped and tired. He walked to the sink and leaned against it, looking out the window letting in the setting evening sun. He didn’t see the lush green grass or the oaks shading the patio. He looked passed the gazebo and the sparkling pool water to the hedge on the backside of the property. He felt cornered. He wanted, no, needed, the inheritance. He had a dream to fulfill. It weighed on him as an obligation. No one put pressure on him—he did that well enough on his own. But the issue was of the utmost importance. More important perhaps than much of his day-to-day work at the hospital. He needed to follow through.

  But if he didn’t take this seriously, would he be creating a home life reminiscent of the one he experienced growing up? Would he be placing a woman in the same situation his own mother had been unable to escape? Wouldn’t that defeat the purpose of his mission?

  Shaking his head, he made a decision. He turned to Gloria. “I appreciate what you’ve done for me. You know that. I knew when we first spoke that you’d be the one to help me see through this. But I can’t do it this way.”

  “But you haven’t—” Gloria slumped in her chair, and her face fell.

  Malcolm held up his hand to stop her words. “I think it’s important that whomever I marry have an opportunity to express herself and make decisions as well.”

  Gloria sat a little straighter. “OK. That doesn’t sound like a complete rejection of the plan. Where are you going with this?”

  “I will plan one of the two dates, and she can plan the other. That way we both get an opportunity to share an interest and exercise some ownership over the process. I think it’s only fair.”

  Gloria clasped her hands over her mouth to hide her smile, but nothing could mute the screech that accompanied it. She leaped from her chair and threw her arms around Malcolm.

  “I know this is all very sudden, and there is no way we could possibly understand the pressure you’re under, but we’re behind you every step of the way.” She stood on her tippy toes and kissed his cheek. “Where’s my phone?”

  Malcolm met Denzel’s eyes as Gloria skipped from the room. He hoped that in a few days from now he felt her excitement instead of the dread that lingered in his chest.

  “You’ve made her very happy. And as a recent recipient of her good mood, I have to say that you’d made me very happy as well.” Denzel gave Malcolm an exaggerated wink as he reached to refill their glasses.

  “I hope I end up as happy as she is come Sunday.” Malcolm walked back to the island and slumped into the high-backed chair Gloria had vacated.

  “It’s definitely a unique situation, but think about how often it happens these days. With internet dating, does anyone really spend the time and the effort they used to?”

  “You two did.”

  “That was years ago, man. Times have changed. Society has evolved. Expectations are different. Even if you don’t fall madly in love, you may just find a good match, a companion. People put too much emphasis on love anyway. You need a friend. You need a pal. Someone who isn’t going to care about your morning breath and your gray hair. Someone you can talk with, someone who will talk with you.”

&nbs
p; Malcolm, glass half raised, stared at his best friend. “Do you need a tissue? You sound like a Hallmark card.”

  “Man, take my word for it, endless passion is unrealistic and overrated.”

  “Oh, really? You weren’t saying that three hours ago!” Gloria stood in the doorway, hands on her hips, her face showing the hurt her husband’s words had obviously created.

  “Baby, please!” Denzel held out his hand to her. “You know I’m not talking about us! We’re different. We’re special! Nobody can have what we have.”

  “Uh, huh.” Gloria’s tone indicated doubt, but she stepped into the kitchen and into his arms just the same. “You better not be talking about us.” She bent down to accept her husband’s kiss.

  “Sorry to break up the love fest, but if we could return to the business at hand, so I don’t have to join you two in this affair, I’d appreciate it.”

  Her lips still touching Denzel’s, Gloria held out a square of paper. Malcolm regarded it, but didn’t take it. His love life fit on a sticky note. Convenient, but sad.

  Chapter Seven

  “May I speak with Tatum, please?” Malcolm paced the balcony of his penthouse as he waited through the brief silence. Though he’d returned from Connecticut last night, he had decided to wait until the late morning to call. He knew he was stalling, but he couldn’t force himself to pick up the phone.

  “This is she. May I ask who’s calling?”

  “Tatum. This is Malcolm Fowlkes. I’m a friend of Gloria’s.” The introduction sounded weak. He’d been on pins and needs all day practicing what he’d say to his wife-to-be, but everything had sounded silly. “Hi, I’m Malcolm. We don’t really know each other, but you come highly recommended. Will you marry me?” No. “Hi. You’re hot. Let’s get hitched.” He’d actually read that one somewhere. “I understand you come from good stock. We were made for each other.” Perhaps if he were buying a thoroughbred. In the end, he’d opted for straightforward.

  “Hello! I can’t believe you’re actually calling! I thought Gloria was kidding. Can I tell you how excited I am about this? Are you busy tonight?”

  Relieved, Malcolm stopped pacing and smiled. Perhaps this wouldn’t be as awkward as he’d feared. “Uh, well, I was calling to see if you’re available later today. I know this is a unique situation I’m in, and the timing isn’t ideal, but I thought if you were free we could spend the day together and maybe have dinner?”

  “Are you kidding? I’d love to! I have several appointments this morning, but my afternoon is wide open. Where should we meet?”

  Appointments were good. He wanted his wife to have interests, even employment, if she wanted. He thought it would be healthy for her to have a life separate from what they shared together.

  “How about lunch at Serendipity? Noon?”

  “Cute. But a little far uptown, don’t you think? No, fine, it’s fine. What should I wear?”

  Caught off guard, Malcolm hesitated. He hadn’t considered his wardrobe, much less hers. Did it matter? He couldn’t think why, but if it meant getting off on the right foot he could come up with something.

  “A skirt and shirt in case we do something afterward and don’t have time to change?” His brow furrowed, and his face twisted into a look of thoughtfulness as he tried to imagine what a woman might say.

  “A top. Women wear tops or blouses, not shirts, dear. But your overall plan sounds good. Don’t be late. It’s a pet peeve of mine.” Without a goodbye, the line went dead.

  Odd. Determined to stick with first impressions, Malcolm entered the French doors off his bedroom, hesitated only briefly in front of his closet as the conversation replayed in his mind. Puzzled, but not completely turned off, he entered the bathroom off the master suite and turned on the shower.

  He studied his reflection in the mirror as the steam fogged the outer edges. He didn’t consider himself a vain man, but he knew he was attractive. He didn’t work out but enjoyed swimming and running when he had the time, though time wasn’t something he had in excess. He didn’t have a clue what Tatum looked like, but her voice led him to believe she was playful and lighthearted. His mind created a body to go with the voice, and he soon found he needed a cold shower. Turning the knobs, he stepped into the shower and allowed the water to return him to reality. He needed to have his wits about him if he was going to make the right decision.

  Chapter Eight

  “You smell good. Do you have a date or something?” Betty’s question was obviously meant to be teasing, but the morning consultations hadn’t done anything to ease Malcolm’s nervousness over the approaching afternoon luncheon; and he couldn’t return her easy smile.

  “Sorry, Doc, didn’t meant to pry. But we’ve been together going on six years, and you’ve never worn cologne.”

  Hadn’t he? His brow creased as he tried to remember the last time he’d made an effort to attract a woman. Her comment would explain why the cologne bottle had been full.

  “It’s no problem, Betty. Is it warm in here? I think I need some air.” Malcolm had intended to enter some reports on the morning’s patients, but the idea of being closed up in his office wasn’t appealing. He walked back around Betty’s desk and headed for the elevator.

  “Will you be back before lunch?” She was forced to ask her question to his back. His head down, determination in his stride, and a rushing sound in his ears, Malcolm didn’t respond or look back.

  On the street, he breathed deeply. Blocking the automatic doors into the hospital vestibule, he was jolted to reality when a couple, a very pregnant women being manhandled by her husband, swept passed him, huffing and puffing.

  It was 11:00 a.m. The restaurant was roughly fifteen blocks away. He could walk to the restaurant and with time to spare. He could remind himself on the walk of what was at stake. He could practice explaining his list of non-negotiables. Cursing his father once again, he turned south and began walking.

  Malcolm chose a table by the window. He enjoyed people watching and thought something to distract his brain might be in order should things go downhill. The restaurant had been a local favorite for more than 50 years, and Malcolm had been there a number of times with Denzel, Gloria, and their kids. Known for its foot-long hot dogs and frozen hot chocolate, the restaurant’s fare was tasty if a little overpriced. Marilyn Monroe and Jackie O had called the place a favorite. Malcolm hoped he enjoyed the company as much as he did the food.

  A commotion at the door drew the patrons’ attention. With his back to the door, Malcolm watched their mouths gape as the drama unfolded. Almost subconsciously, a few women placed their hands on that of their neighbor as if to say, “Are you seeing this?” The voices became louder, one determined and the other plaintive, nearly reaching hysterics.

  “It’s just a bag. I can’t leave it in the street. Are you crazy?”

  “Miss, we have a policy against strollers, carriages, and bicycles. This information is posted on the placard outside and on our website. We simply don’t have the space.”

  “It’s a bag!”

  “I’m sorry, it’s on wheels. You’ll have to leave it outside.”

  “Don’t make me call the cops! You can’t do this. What if it gets stolen? You know how people around here are.”

  “Lady, call the cops. It’s a reasonable request. You don’t think we haven’t been round and round about this with others? You’ll lose.” The maitre d’ stood his ground, arms folded across his chest. He was blocking the entrance into the seating area, but the woman and her bag were still in full view of those already occupying the dining room. The entire restaurant had come to a stand-still. Waitresses stood with trays balanced precariously above their heads. Diners held forks in mid-air, clearly mesmerized by the sight. The woman’s hair, once tightly pulled back, had become frayed around the edges. Frizzy blonde wisps flounced around wildly as the woman gesticulated her outrage. The manager rushed to the scene and exchanged quiet conversation with the maitre d’.

  “I’m sorry, but
he’s right. It’s too large. It would never fit down the aisle. You can see that. You must live nearby. Come back once you’ve returned it. We’d be happy to seat you then.”

  Dressed in a pencil skirt, high collared button down, and stilettos, the woman towered over the manager. “I don’t live nearby, hence the large bag carrying all the things I’ll need for this evening and tonight. I have a date.” She tossed her head, emphasizing the importance of her message. “You’re making a scene. I hope he’s not here to see this. He’s really important, and you’ll regret you made me upset. And this wait has been unforgivable.” She raised her hands to soothe her unruly hair. “Don’t you know who I am? Who my friends are? You can’t treat me this way!” The woman ran her hands down her skirt and plucked at the thin cotton of her sweat-soaked shirt apparently trying to cool her heated skin. “Uuggh! And now I’m a mess!”

  “Lady, I get the feeling you were born that way.” The maitre d’ excused himself, and the manager tried to interpret his parting words in a positive light.

  “You mentioned you had a date. Is the young man already seated? Perhaps we can get you settled while we remove the bag?”

  Red with outrage, the woman scanned the room. “I see him. And the bag stays.”

  “Malcolm, darling, please come see me. These people are being ridiculous.” She held out her hand, bracelets jangling along her arm, motioning him to her. Her lips held a pout, and she cast her eyes downward in an expression of sadness. “I wouldn’t have been late, except for these men and their ridiculous rule.”

  Malcolm had exercised enough self control not to turn to around until he’d heard stomping. He’d turned just in time to see the maitre d’ march to the kitchen. In doing so, he’d made himself known to the woman.

  Against all his silent prayers, Malcolm had come to the conclusion that this woman was his date. He didn’t know her. And he didn’t recognize her as a previous patient. But she knew him. This was his…. He couldn’t finish the thought.