9. Mother’s Wishes
9
MOTHER’S WISHES
REX
Yep, I was right. Mom wasn’t interested at all in my new ideas for the building. In my office, she waved off the model of the lobby without a care for the time Brooks and Archer had poured into making it.
After unveiling my plan to remodel the lobby of the building to include shops and eateries, the best Manhattan could offer, something I figured would appeal to her ego and elevate her status among her society friends even more, she wouldn’t hear of it.
“This was Patrick’s first building, and I met him while it was being built,” she recalled with a faraway look on her face, which hardly showed a wrinkle since she could afford the best in plastic surgery. “I’ll not have you deface it. Every time I’m here, I remember when we dated, and he…he…”
“He took you to the rooftop the day the building was complete for a candlelight dinner and proposed to you.” I filled in for her. Her tears started, and I held out a tissue from a box on my credenza. “I know, Mom. I’ve heard the story a million times. But it’s just a building that needs updating. Your memories will stay intact.”
She dabbed at her nose, making her huge diamond ring dazzle in the office light. Then she donned a steely gaze. “We may have had you and Richard late in life, but we were a family and shared so many good times. How can you be disrespectful and even think of changing what your father built?”
My jaw set. She was making this too personal when it was just good business. I took off my jacket, laying it over the back of my chair and countered, “ I’m in control of the business now. You know I don’t really need your approval.”
“Oh, but in your heart, you know you do, which is why you’re showing me these plans today,” she seethed, squinting her hooded gray eyes at me with her heavily penciled brows scrunched. I swallowed hard but continued my own threats.
“I’m sure the board will approve it when I put it to the vote later this month.”
She chuckled almost maniacally. “You forget, my dear boy. I put the majority of the board of directors in place and can call in all my favors to block you from moving forward with this. Besides, even the directors have grown tired of the Buchanan brothers and their playboy ways. Many of them are calling for an ultimatum that you settle down and marry. A playboy image doesn’t suit the reputation of our long, illustrious company.”
There we were, at odds. Miriam had been a force all our lives, and, not knocking how wonderful a mother she was, she’d been the one who ruled over Dad and us. And now she’s also throwing the directors into this fight? This time, I wouldn’t back down.
“Dad is the entire reason I want this. You’re right, he built a great company, but this building is old and tired. I want Dad’s legacy to last.”
“Now you’re making me feel old and tired.” She huffed.
“Let’s face it, then. Soon none of us will be around, and I’d love nothing more than to leave this building more beautiful and updated for the next generation of Buchanan’s to be proud of.” Oh shit. I managed to bring up a touchy subject, and the second I did, I could see Miriam’s wheels turning.
“Hah! Next generation? That would require you and Richard getting married and having children. Oh…Actually, that gives me an idea. Tell you what. When you get married, I’ll let you remodel the building.”
“That could take years,” I spouted off.
“Doesn’t have to. If you’d just stop being such a playboy, open yourself up to the possibility of meeting someone special, and let them into your heart, Rex.’
Why did my mind go forty stories down to a woman in a yellow dress with a daisy in her hair? I shook that thought out of my head. But then again…Mom posed a scenario I could live with. Was I willing to do whatever it takes to get what I want? Always.
“So what you’re saying is, once I get married, you’ll let me remodel the building? Deal. I’ll open myself up. Would that make you happy? ”
“Eventually. Now come over here, let’s eat. I’m starving, and you look like you could use a little something yourself.” From her oversized couture purse, she pulled a brown paper bag and sat at my little meeting table by the window. I sauntered over and joined her there, noticing the logo on the bag was from the Sun-Up Deli.
“What’s this?”
She removed her Chanel scarf from around her neck and stowed it in her bag. “Pearl called and said the deli downstairs was having a pastrami special today and you hadn’t eaten yet. Now sit.”
Of course she did. I rolled my eyes and pulled out my chair. “I’d also like to talk to you about Pearl. Can I fire her?”
“Absolutely not. She’s practically family. Patrick hired her and trained her, and after he passed on, she was Richard’s right hand. And from what I can tell, you need her to be both your hands.” She snidely remarked, then unwrapped her sandwich.
She took her first bite and moaned, closing her eyes while chewing. I always found it funny how much my high society mother loved a good deli sandwich just like my father did, but none of her friends knew about it, as she usually dined with them on five star meals at some of New York’s finest restaurants.
“Maybe that’s the issue. I’m not cut out to be CEO.” My comment interrupted her enjoyment.
Her eyes flashed open. “There has only ever been a Buchanan at the helm of this company and that’s the way it’ll stay. Now eat. ”
I reluctantly unwrapped and picked up the sandwich, inspecting what Chelsea did to it that made it so special . The iconic New York City sandwich was typically basic in nature, with pastrami, rye bread, and a schmear of spicy brown mustard. Hers was definitely different.
With the meat packed on hearty onion bread, and layered with swiss cheese, the thick fatty slices combined with spicy brown mustard had my mouth watering. I dug my teeth into it, immediately transported to food heaven with the flavors combining deliciously in my mouth. I closed my eyes and moaned as well.
“Oh, this is so good.” Mom spoke after another mouthful. “I met Doug’s niece, Chelsea, at the deli. She told me about his heart condition. What a delightful girl she is?”
Damn, if Chelsea could impress Mom and make a sandwich this good…what else could she do? Every bite, I thought of her, savoring the flavors and taking my time, thinking only of what a night in bed with her might be like as Mom droned on and on about one thing or another.
It was only when she brought up the weekend’s regatta in the Hamptons that I re-entered the conversation. “Marlena Tomason will be there. You remember her brother from school? Well, I’d like you two to meet at the party. We had lunch the other day, and she’s working in PR now. She’s quite lovely. We got along famously. She dresses well, carries herself well, and we even wore the same Louboutins that day,” Miriam laughed.
Jeez, the last thing I needed was to date or marry a woman exactly like my mother. No. If I’m going to marry to get what I want, then I’ll marry who I want. “Listen, I only planned to drive out for the regatta and come right back. I hadn’t intended to make a weekend of it,” I said.
She finished her sandwich and sighed. “Why must this meeting with you today be so exhausting? You know we always host the annual regatta party at our Hampton’s house.”
I started to protest, but stopped as I took the last bite of my sandwich. A weekend away might help—so I could try to stop thinking about Chelsea. It’s like I’d become obsessed ever since she showed up. She’s the one thing standing in the way of my plans, but she’s also the only woman I want. And that was a hard pill to swallow for a bachelor like me.
Meeting Marlena could also be an easy target for marriage. After all, it doesn’t mean forever. Say I do, remodel the building, get a divorce, resume my playboy lifestyle. “Fine. I’ll be at the party,” I grumbled.
Mom gathered her scarf and purse, readying for her exit, but gave me a prolonged look. “As you say, I’m getting older. My heart hurts knowing you and Richard will be all alone when I die, so?—”
“Stop. You’re healthy, you have the best medical care your money can buy, and you’ll live to be one hundred and twenty,” I attempted reassurances, even reaching to give her a hug, despite the thick guilt trip she laid on. She stopped me with her hands up.
“Please, for me. Take this seriously. I’ve lost all hope for Richard, but you…” She cupped my cheek and gazed upon me with affectionate eyes. “You would make a wonderful husband and father someday— soon. ”
“So I get married, and you let me remodel?”
She only smiled and gave my cheek a pat, then reached for her bag. “The party starts at seven. Be a good boy and be on time, and dress to impress like you always do.”
Just like that, without giving me an answer, Miriam Buchanan-Astor left the building she loved so much, while I stewed in my office for another hour before deciding to go for a walk. I passed Pearl’s desk on the way out and smirked. “Thanks for the pastrami. And change all my weekend plans. I’m going to the Hamptons.”
“You’re welcome, and I already did,” she gloated. I snorted. Mom probably already clued her in about the weekend plans.
“Of course you did,” I sighed, riding the elevator down forty floors, trying to clear my head. When I exited through the front doors, the late afternoon sunshine hit me, and for whatever reason, like the deli was suddenly the strongest magnet in the city, I was drawn to it. A peek inside the windows showed Chelsea moving about, then she spotted me.
She rushed out to greet me with a smile that could light up any dark cave on sheer energy alone. “Hi. We’re closed, but I can get you something if you like. I made a fresh peach pie and there’s two slices left.”
No wonder the fruity scent of peaches teased my nose and my stomach the second she stepped out the door. My mouth watered, almost leaking with drool. “No, thanks. My mother brought me your pastrami sandwich.”
“Oh?” She brightened, if it was possible for her to shine more. “How’d you like my take on it?”
Given the way she waited with her breath held and her expectant green eyes, I should tell her how incredible it was—best damn sandwich I’d had in a while. Better than sex, although my imagination ran wild thinking a night with her would top it. But I held back my enthusiasm and grumbled. “The onion bread was an interesting choice.”
Her shoulders fell a little, but she maintained her smile. “Wow. Tough critic. I entered it into New York City’s best deli sandwich competition sponsored by the tourism agency. Let’s hope it gets a better response there.”
“Yeah, good luck.” I shoved my hands into my pockets and stalked off.
I had half a mind to call my business associate who was on the board of the tourism agency to say they should think twice about awarding the honor to Sun-Up Deli.
Jeez, I couldn’t be that much of a bastard, could I? I’d already tried calling the fire inspector on her, and messed with her deliveries through my buddy at Delaney’s, but this? No, I couldn’t do that to her; she doesn’t deserve it. And I sort of have a soft spot for pretty redheads.
Two blocks away and I was still kicking my ass and rewarding myself for being the city’s biggest jerk. If they had a contest for Jerk of New York, I’d win, hands down.