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“Whatwas a bad idea, Joyce?! To reveal your little ploy to me?”
Now I’m the one sobbing and all too soon loud hiccups follow. A woman enters the bathroom and looks at us in shock, but ultimately decides not to intervene.
“There’s no ploy, Jane,” I struggle to breathe. “I truly like your brother. We care about each other!”
She curls her fists and bares her teeth at me, as if she's determined to strangle me right where we stand. Eventually, she calms down her murderous urges enough to hiss out, “Logan is still too sensitive, Joyce. Hecan’tbe getting involved with just anyone!”
“So, I’mjust anyone?” I narrow my eyes, “Jane, your brother is a grown man. He knows if he is ready to get involved with someone or not. I’m not taking advantage of him!”
“Yes, you are!” she shouts.
“Why, Jane?” I stand and place my hands at my hips. “Because I’m poor and he’s a billionaire?”
“Yes!” she roars, but in the same instant she puts her hands in front of her face. “I mean, no! Ugh!”
She stands too, but before heading for the door, she looks at me sideways, eyes red with tears, and says, “I need some space from you, Joyce. At least for now.”
“Of course, Jane,” I agree to what she says flatly.
“I need to talk to my brother about this,” she goes on. “He’s not thinking straight.”
I take a deep breath and approach her, ready to make my demands and leave with my head held high.
“I became your friend because you’ve always treated me as an equal. Please stop acting like I’m less than you, even you don’t believe it,” I say, and leave the bathroom alone.
I drop by the table just to grab my purse and leave my share of the bill under a cup.
“What happened, Joyce?” Michelle asks.
“Ask Jane. I have to go,” I say, trying hard to hold back tears.
Outside, I hand my ticket to the valet and beg her, “there’s a tip here for you if you make it quick.” In less than a minute my car is there, and the young lady valet smiles at me once she gets the tip.
But I can’t smile back. I don’t think I will ever be able to smile again. I feel frozen, like I’m in shock.
The need to cry takes over only when I'm crossing the Brooklyn Bridge and I sob the rest of the way home.
Chapter Eighteen
LOGAN
Anna’snewnannyisCarol, a short and stout woman who is in her early fifties. She is well experienced and well trained. She’s getting along with Anna just fine, and that’s all that matters to me.
Carol dressed Anna in a cute tartan dress with a pleated skirt and a matching bow in her hair. She has on little ballet flats and a whole new attitude to go along with it all.
“How do I look?” She invades my room to ask, hands at her waist, posing with a foot in front of her body.
“Gorgeous!” I say, then lean down to kiss her, and she goes into a giggle fit. “Wow, why are women around me always laughing?”
“Because you’re funny, daddy!” Anna hugs my legs.
I raise both eyebrows, surprised by the verdict. Finished with my tie, I go sit on my bed, with my baby at my feet.
“How am I ‘funny,’ baby?” I ask casually, not giving it much thought.
And she shrugs. “I don’t know. Just funny!”
I kiss her again, this time on her forehead.
