Dreams of Perfection (Dreams Come True) Page 9

  Josh checked his voicemail as he walked the three blocks back to his office. One from a stuffy-nosed Miranda letting him know she was going home sick; the other, an awkward one from Darcy.

  “Hi, Josh, um, Blake asked me to join him in a friend’s box for the game on Saturday, so you can use the other ticket. I hope you don’t mind. Anyway, if I don’t see you, I’ll leave it at the Will Call window. Okay, see ya. Bye.”

  Just great. He and Darcy hadn’t missed a Yankees home game together in years. Blake had only been in her life a month and she was already ditching him.

  It wasn’t as if he’d have trouble finding someone to go with him. In fact, Chris and Mark might come to fisticuffs over who got to go. But, dammit. He preferred going with Darcy.

  Then he thought of Daniel. This would be the perfect opportunity to begin the bonding process. After all, what kid didn’t love baseball?

  Dodging pedestrian traffic, Josh dialed Kelly’s number and got her voicemail. He left a message asking if Daniel could go, and explained he’d take the subway to Harlem, pick up Daniel, and the two of them would head to Yankee Stadium for some guy time, starting with the pre-game batting practice ritual.

  Josh tucked his phone in his pocket. The thought of some male-bonding time with Daniel eased some of the disappointment of losing Darcy’s company.

  Saturday’s game against the Mets would be a rowdy one. The Subway Series, as the inner-city rivalry was called, would pack the subways it was named for, so Josh wanted to leave early.

  He knocked on Kelly’s door. The door flew open and Kelly stood there, a dishtowel thrown over her shoulder, looking as if she were the one going to her first live baseball game, instead of her son.

  “Hi, Josh! Come in. Daniel’s almost ready.” Her breathless enthusiasm made him smile.

  “Daniel, come on,” she shouted up the stairs. “Josh is here.” Turning to Josh, she asked, “Can I get you some coffee?”

  “No. Thanks.”

  Daniel clomped down the stairs, taking his time. He could have used a little of his mother’s enthusiasm, Josh thought. Dressed in a fatigue jacket two sizes too big, and an off-kilter baseball cap, Daniel’s face read like a sullen teenager-to-be.

  Kelly walked over and straightened his cap. “You ready for the game?”

  “Whatever.” Daniel rolled his eyes.

  Her smile falsely bright, she continued to gush about how much fun he would have.

  “If it’s okay, I’ll have him home after dinner.” Josh opened the front door.

  “Oh, sure. You two just have a good time.”

  Kelly tried to kiss Daniel, but he pulled back with an embarrassed, “Jeez, Mom.”

  As Josh led Daniel toward the subway, he’d have thought he was leading him to a prison cell. He spoke little on the train ride, only to answer direct questions with one-word answers. Fine. Whatever. Nothing.

  Once they reached the stadium, however, Josh could feel Daniel’s excitement build, although Daniel tried to play it cool.

  He bought Daniel a program and while they watched batting practice, Daniel asked a few questions about the players, their positions and their stats, but other than that, the kid just seemed to take it all in.

  When they finally took their seats, they were loaded down with hotdogs, nachos, peanuts, and soda. The Mets were up first, and after half a soda and the first few pitches, Daniel appeared to be having a good time, whether he wanted to or not.

  Sabathia retired the first two batters, then the Mets hit a pop-up and Jones caught it to end the inning.

  “These are awesome seats,” Daniel said. “How’d you get ‘em?”

  “My best friend and I share season tickets.”

  “Sweet. How come he’s missing such a big game?” Daniel asked, his brow furrowed with confusion.

  “She is in one of those luxury boxes, there.” Josh pointed his finger along the third baseline.

  “Your best friend is a girl?”

  “Yep.” Cano came up to bat.

  “That’s weird.”

  Josh chuckled.

  After Cano’s base hit, Daniel said, “I’d rather be in the stands.”

  “You know it, dude!” And he’d bet his Derek Jeter-autographed fielders cap that Darcy would too.

  Chapter 17

  Darcy sat in the luxury box, surrounded by some of New York’s ton, trying to enjoy the game and guiltily wishing she was in her own seat in the stands. Watching from the box was definitely not all that.

  First, no one actually watched the game. They were all glad-handing, schmoozing, and otherwise kissing-up. The box’s owner was none other than hotel magnate Seymour Holbrook, who had thrown his hat in the ring for U.S. Senate, and everyone wanted a piece.

  Second, the food. I mean, who served non-PC duck liver pâté at a baseball game? Ew! Where were the hotdogs? The peanuts? The warm beer?

  Third, who dressed up for a baseball game? There were women in the box dressed like they were at a gallery opening.

  When Blake picked her up for the game, she thought she’d overdressed wearing blue crop pants, navy skimmers, and her white Yankees polo, until she saw him in gray slacks, white open-collared shirt, and navy blazer. Of course, he’d looked über sexy. Tan neck and throat, broad shoulders, muscular thighs encased in expensive tropical-weight wool. The man knew how to dress. But, come on, it was a baseball game, for heaven’s sake.

  Her eyes roamed the crowded space before she found him. Catching his eye as he spoke to the CEO of some bank whose name she’d forgotten, she smiled at him. He winked back and her insides melted. Okay. Maybe this wasn’t so bad after all.

  She picked up her crudité and delicately stuffed it into her mouth. As she watched Jeter’s foul sail toward the first-base stands, right at her and Josh’s seats, she nearly choked before she could swallow.

  On the big screen she saw Josh jump up and snatch the ball out of the air and away from all the other outstretched hands, fabulous shortstop that he was. After much high-fiving and backslaps from the crowd, Josh handed the ball to some kid in camo.

  A wave of disappointment washed over her. A foul ball had finally come their way, and she wasn’t there! Aghast, all she could do was stand there and swallow both her carrot stick and her frustration.

  Josh and Daniel stepped into their assigned batting cage. Josh smiled as Daniel carefully wrapped the foul ball in his jacket before placing it on a bench. He’d politely thanked Josh for the foul ball, but other than that hadn’t shown any real excitement over it. Playing it cool again.

  After fitting Daniel with a batter’s helmet, he handed him a bat and told him to take a few practice swings while he adjusted the machine. Josh frowned as he watched Daniel take some hard swings. The kid needed to loosen up a bit.

  “Okay. You’re all set.”

  After a few missed swings, Josh stepped up. “Daniel, relax. You’re swinging too hard.”

  Daniel just ignored him and swung a few more times, whiffing past the ball, his face a mask of frustration.

  “Daniel, here, let me show you.”

  “I can do it. I don’t need your help.”

  Josh backed off. A couple more desperate swings. The kid swung with all the anger and frustration of a twelve-year-old who’d been handed a raw deal. “Come on, Daniel, you’re going to hurt yourself.”

  Daniel glared at Josh, his face red from his exertion. “You don’t want to help me. You just want to tap my mom and you’re using me to do it!”

  Josh swallowed the anger surging through him, and put on his best lawyer face. “First of all, that’s no way to talk about your mother. Second, I am only trying to help you and your mother stay in your home.”

  “Yeah, well, she’s my mom. I can talk about her any way I want.” He’d assumed
a belligerent stance. “And saving our home is a lost cause.”

  “Daniel, let’s get one thing straight. You talk about your mom like that again, and I won’t hesitate to put you in a headlock until you remember your manners.”

  The boy’s eyes spit fire and his jaw jutted out in defiance.

  “Now, your mother is my client. I don’t have . . . relationships with clients.”

  “Yeah, right. I saw you holding her hand.”

  “What you saw was one human being comforting another. Nothing more. I respect your mom. And as the man of the house, I respect you.”

  Confusion skittered across Daniel’s face.

  Josh reached out for the bat and taking it from him, pulled a reluctant Daniel down on the bench. “Do you know what ethics are?”

  Daniel frowned. “My dad said ethics are what you follow to be a good person.”

  “That’s a good definition. It’s a notion of what’s right and wrong. As a lawyer, I’m bound by a certain code of ethics. One thing the code says is I can’t have a relationship with a client unless that relationship started before she became a client.”

  Josh waited as Daniel gave it some thought. “So, just as your father taught you to understand the difference between right and wrong, my mother taught me the same thing. She also taught me that actions have consequences, and the consequences of unethical actions were not usually pleasant. She might be small, but my mother packed a wallop.” Josh smiled. “I carry those lessons with me today. I may not always get it right, but I always try my very best to make my mother proud.”

  “Yeah, my mom packs a pretty good wallop, too.” He frowned at some memory. “What about your dad? Did he teach you anything?”

  Yeah, he taught me how not to behave, Josh thought. “I lost my dad when I was your age.”

  Daniel’s eyes grew wide. “You mean your dad died too?”

  “Yeah.” Josh picked up the bat and turned it in his hands.

  “Oh.” Daniel hesitated a moment. “Do you want to talk about it?”

  “Not really.” But he was glad to finally get Daniel talking.

  “Okay. That’s cool.” Daniel nodded in understanding.

  “What I want to do is knock some balls out of the park.” He shot Daniel a smile as he stood. Grabbing the batter’s helmet, he shoved it down on his head, before turning toward the batter’s box.

  “Hey, Josh?” Daniel twirled the foul ball in his hands.

  “Yeah?”

  “Did you mean it when you said I was the man of the house?”

  “Goes without saying.”

  A grin spread across the boy’s face. The first real smile Josh had seen all day, or ever, for that matter.

  “Thanks again for the foul ball.”

  Josh stepped into the batter’s box feeling like he could conquer the world. “You got it, dude.”

  Josh set aside the case he’d been analyzing when he recognized Darcy’s number on his phone.

  “‘Sup, Sunshine?” Josh turned to look out his window at the gloomy skies.

  “My, you’re in a good mood for a rainy day.”

  “I kept a single mom with two kids from being evicted today.”

  “Congrats. Nice snag at the game on Saturday, by the way.”

  “You saw, huh?”

  “Just me and the other fifty thousand fans at the game. Not to mention the replays on ESPN.”

  “No shit? I missed that.” Mark and Chris were probably green with envy. The fact that they were in court today explained why he hadn’t heard.

  “Who was the boy you gave it to?”

  Josh explained, without violating attorney-client privilege, about Daniel.

  “That’s a nice thing you did, Josh. Your thoughtfulness has robbed me of an opportunity to rag you for not giving the ball to your best friend in the whole world.”

  “If my best friend in the whole world hadn’t been rubbing elbows with New York’s aristocracy, she might have that foul ball in her possession right now. How was it?”

  “Oh, it was great!”

  Josh hesitated to ask, “So, does that mean you’ll be sitting in the box more often?”

  “Um, no, I don’t think so.”

  Josh released a mental sigh of relief. “Hey, some of us are going to the South Street Seaport Friday night, grab some seafood. Want to join?”

  “I can’t. I’m going to a gallery event with Blake on Friday. Rain check?”

  “Sure. Some other time then.”

  “All right. Gotta run. Talk to you soon.”

  “Yep.” Josh hung up with phone with a groan. The unthinkable had finally happened. Darcy had another man in her life who’d inexplicably come straight from her own vivid idealistic imagination. How could he ever compete with a guy who took her to gallery openings and Broadway shows, and had friends with box seats at Yankee Stadium?

  Chapter 18

  On Friday evening, Darcy stood in a trendy Chelsea art gallery in front of an enormous black canvas painted with a single white dot in the very center. The plaque below it read: MAN’S QUEST FOR ENLIGHTENMENT.

  Huh. Taking a sip of her wine, she tilted her head. Maybe it’s just me, but I don’t feel enlightened. A warm hand settled on her shoulder.

  “Do you like this one?” Blake asked, gesturing with his wine glass. “I’m looking for a piece for my study.”

  “Um, well, I think we should keep looking.” There had to be something here that made sense to her. She glanced around, past the eccentric artists, with their multi-colored hair, and the chichi art-collector types, at the display of pricey paintings, most featuring unrecognizable objects, hoping to spot something that resembled art in her mind.

  And definitely not the one semi-recognizable behemoth that looked suspiciously like a magnified male anatomical part, which should definitely not be on display at a children’s charity fundraiser. The plaque under that one read: CAREFUL. OBJECTS IN THIS PAINTING MAY APPEAR LARGER THAN THEY ARE.

  Whew. So glad they cleared that up. Where was a nice Renoir when you needed one?

  While admittedly Philistine, she didn’t allow her opinion of the art, and she used that term loosely, to taint her endorsement of the charitable purpose of the showing. A percentage of the proceeds raised from that night’s sale of the art would benefit the Art for Art’s Sake program, which supported children’s art courses at the city’s many after-school programs.

  Thus, if in the end, Blake chose to purchase The Dot, at least a portion of the cool six-digit selling price would go to a worthwhile cause.

  “Mongrel is an up-and-coming artist.” Blake drew Darcy’s attention back to The Dot. “Critics are calling his work emotional and intense.”

  “Mongrel? Seriously? His mother must have really hated him.”

  Blake laughed. “It’s a moniker.”

  “I knew that,” she said with a sheepish grin. But really, who willingly chooses a synonym for mutt as a nickname?

  “Mark my words, one day his work will sell for millions.”

  Darcy just chose to smile in response. If you say so. Her gaze traveled back to The Dot. If that was emotional and intense, she’d hate to see dispassionate and listless.

  Blake dropped the equivalent of her mortgage on two paintings, including Mongrel’s Dot, and another painting of a gray square amid a background of violent purple, called BLANK SLATE.

  After arranging for the delivery of his purchases to his apartment, they took a romantic stroll along the High Line. Built on an old freight line above Manhattan’s Westside streets, the High Line offered a low-flying bird’s-eye view of the Hudson and New York’s skyline.

  On a soft spring evening, they ambled, hand in hand, through the Chelsea Grasslands with its many and varied flowers in bloom, towa
rd the Meatpacking District, a one-time destination of the historic elevated trains that once traveled the thirty-foot high tracks.

  With no destination in mind and no particular time to get there, they stopped frequently for a closer look at the flowers, to point out this landmark or that tableau on the street below, or for no other reason than to kiss. The practice was definitely paying off. The goal of the Perfect Kiss seemed imminently attainable.

  Blake gently cradled Darcy’s face in his brilliant surgeon’s hands, and gazed into her eyes. “Did I tell you how beautiful you look tonight?”

  “Yes,” Darcy breathed. Mesmerized by the indigo blue of his eyes, she struggled to cobble together a subject and verb to form a sentence. “But you can tell me again if you like. I’m not one of those picky women who mind if you repeat yourself.”

  The corner of his mouth twitched. “All right.” His hands slid to either side of her neck, their warmth sending tingles down her spine. “You are so beautiful. You were the only true work of art in that gallery tonight.”

  Darcy blinked. Wow. Good one. That line was definitely going in the next book.

  Putting the finishing touches on the chocolate chip mascarpone cupcakes topped with rich chocolate ganache frosting she’d made for Cindy’s bridal shower, Darcy realized for the first time in her adult life, she wasn’t looking for the flaws in her current, dare she say it?, boyfriend. As if she’d find any. The fact that she’d even gotten beyond a first date said a lot about her feelings for Blake. But then again, he was made to order.

  After dinner at a swanky restaurant in the Meatpacking District, Blake had taken her to his elegantly furnished penthouse, ostensibly to show her where he planned to hang his recent purchases. The old ‘would you like to come up and see my etchings’ ploy.