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Authors: Shower Of Stars
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started college.”
The waiter interrupted the conversation by delivering lunch. Charlie jabbed a shrimp with her fork and jumped back in. “You seem to know just as much as the scientists who authenticate your rocks.”
“It doesn’t matter. You need those initials after your name.” He was neatly cutting his steak when he asked, “So what drives you?”
“Me? The usual: money, fame, immortality.” Charlie wasn’t interested in a change of focus.
“Tit for tat, Ms. Berglund. Give me a real answer.”
He put down his flatware and waited.
Charlie found another shrimp that needed spearing while she considered her answer. “I’m tired of writing short pieces that disappear into the recycling bin within a month. I want to write something with some depth, to make a more lasting contribution.” That sounded pretty darn good.
“Cut the B.S. and try again, sugar.”
She almost choked on her shrimp.
“Fine,” she said after a hasty gulp of water and a brief inner debate. “You really want to know? I’m trying to adopt a baby from China as a single parent. I’ve been in the process for over a year, and my new social worker is worried about my occupation. I need to prove I can earn a living without going on potentially risky expeditions. How’s that for a reason?”
“It has the merit of being truthful,” he said, as he picked up his fork again. “However, I’m having a hard time picturing you with a dirty diaper in one hand and a baby bottle in the other. You seem better suited for climbing Mt. Everest or flying fighter jets.”
Suddenly, she was back in the hospital bed after her third miscarriage with her ex-husband Greg’s voice searing through her brain. “Face it, Charlie, you just weren’t meant to be a mother.” Lowering her gaze to the remains of the salad on her plate, she felt the pain of her loss all over again. But she was meant to be a mother! She could change diapers and boil bottles as well as anyone. She just couldn’t give birth herself.
She raised her eyes to challenge Jack straight on.
“I’m not willing to wait any longer for this. I want that baby, and I’ll do whatever is necessary to get her. You can either help or hinder me, but I’m going to write the book.”
I believe her, Jack thought as he walked back to his apartment.
He even admired her refusal to be turned aside from her goal.
But adoptive maternity struck him as a strange goal for a woman who had once been the cover girl for Xtreme Adventure magazine. She could just as easily be the cover girl for Maxim and fulfill a lot of male fantasies, he thought with a wolfish smile. Yet she had looked downright stricken when he had paid her what he considered a compliment. What the hell was that about?
He shrugged away his own question; it didn’t matter.
He didn’t trust her to be content with just the information he fed her, and he couldn’t afford to have a determined journalist poking around in his personal history. No matter how confidential records were, a really good reporter—and after some research, he had concluded she was good—could get into them. So he needed to come up with an alternative solution for her problem, something that would eliminate all thought of the book from her mind. He shoved his keys back in the pocket of his jacket and bypassed the entrance to his building, heading instead for a long, contemplative walk in Central Park.
“You didn’t really expect him to cooperate, did you?” Isabelle asked as she ladled carrot-ginger soup into two china bowls in Charlie’s kitchen.
“I suppose not,” Charlie sighed. “But I didn’t expect him to threaten me with stonewalling my other sources either. You know, all my instincts are telling me he’s afraid I’ll find out something he doesn’t want the world to know.”
“Like shady business dealings?”
“I’m not sure, but I couldn’t find even a hint of that in my research. I think it’s something more personal.”
“Did
The waiter interrupted the conversation by delivering lunch. Charlie jabbed a shrimp with her fork and jumped back in. “You seem to know just as much as the scientists who authenticate your rocks.”
“It doesn’t matter. You need those initials after your name.” He was neatly cutting his steak when he asked, “So what drives you?”
“Me? The usual: money, fame, immortality.” Charlie wasn’t interested in a change of focus.
“Tit for tat, Ms. Berglund. Give me a real answer.”
He put down his flatware and waited.
Charlie found another shrimp that needed spearing while she considered her answer. “I’m tired of writing short pieces that disappear into the recycling bin within a month. I want to write something with some depth, to make a more lasting contribution.” That sounded pretty darn good.
“Cut the B.S. and try again, sugar.”
She almost choked on her shrimp.
“Fine,” she said after a hasty gulp of water and a brief inner debate. “You really want to know? I’m trying to adopt a baby from China as a single parent. I’ve been in the process for over a year, and my new social worker is worried about my occupation. I need to prove I can earn a living without going on potentially risky expeditions. How’s that for a reason?”
“It has the merit of being truthful,” he said, as he picked up his fork again. “However, I’m having a hard time picturing you with a dirty diaper in one hand and a baby bottle in the other. You seem better suited for climbing Mt. Everest or flying fighter jets.”
Suddenly, she was back in the hospital bed after her third miscarriage with her ex-husband Greg’s voice searing through her brain. “Face it, Charlie, you just weren’t meant to be a mother.” Lowering her gaze to the remains of the salad on her plate, she felt the pain of her loss all over again. But she was meant to be a mother! She could change diapers and boil bottles as well as anyone. She just couldn’t give birth herself.
She raised her eyes to challenge Jack straight on.
“I’m not willing to wait any longer for this. I want that baby, and I’ll do whatever is necessary to get her. You can either help or hinder me, but I’m going to write the book.”
I believe her, Jack thought as he walked back to his apartment.
He even admired her refusal to be turned aside from her goal.
But adoptive maternity struck him as a strange goal for a woman who had once been the cover girl for Xtreme Adventure magazine. She could just as easily be the cover girl for Maxim and fulfill a lot of male fantasies, he thought with a wolfish smile. Yet she had looked downright stricken when he had paid her what he considered a compliment. What the hell was that about?
He shrugged away his own question; it didn’t matter.
He didn’t trust her to be content with just the information he fed her, and he couldn’t afford to have a determined journalist poking around in his personal history. No matter how confidential records were, a really good reporter—and after some research, he had concluded she was good—could get into them. So he needed to come up with an alternative solution for her problem, something that would eliminate all thought of the book from her mind. He shoved his keys back in the pocket of his jacket and bypassed the entrance to his building, heading instead for a long, contemplative walk in Central Park.
“You didn’t really expect him to cooperate, did you?” Isabelle asked as she ladled carrot-ginger soup into two china bowls in Charlie’s kitchen.
“I suppose not,” Charlie sighed. “But I didn’t expect him to threaten me with stonewalling my other sources either. You know, all my instincts are telling me he’s afraid I’ll find out something he doesn’t want the world to know.”
“Like shady business dealings?”
“I’m not sure, but I couldn’t find even a hint of that in my research. I think it’s something more personal.”
“Did
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