“You were too busy throwing up.”

“Apparently.” She smiled at him again. “I'm glad I did something as subtle as take my clothes off.” She laughed suddenly at how naive she'd been. She'd never thought for a moment that it would come to this, but she was glad it had. She couldn't believe that she had made love to him, with her “deformity” and her scar, without even trying to hide it from him. And now he gently slipped off her wig and tossed it aside too. They needed no artifice between them. “I guess this means I don't get reconstructive surgery. I got the younger guy instead. Wasn't that the choice?” she smiled, and then she began to worry. “Do you realize how old I am, you young fool? I'm ten years older than you. I'm practically old enough to be your mother.”

“Bullshit. You act like you're twelve. You'd be a mess without me,” he said honestly, without arrogance or pretension.

“That happens to be true. But I'm still older than you are.”

“I'm not impressed.”

“You should be. When you're ninety, I'll be a hundred.”

“I'll close my eyes when we make love,” he assured her.

“I'll lend you my wig.”

“Good.” He grabbed it then and put it on, and she laughed as he kissed her again, and she felt him rise again. And suddenly there was an urgency to his kisses, an insistence that nothing would satisfy except her body. They made love again, lying by the fire, and afterwards, afraid of exhausting her, he went and got a blanket from his bed and covered her, and they lay together as she slept in his arms. He was a happy man. And he knew he would never let her go now. He had waited too long for her to come to him, and she had drifted into his arms naked and without guile, and now he would do anything he had to, to keep her. At last, she was his now, and no longer Sam's. And Brock had every intention of holding on to her forever.





Chapter 17

Brock went to chemotherapy with her the week after they'd been to Vermont, and he sat quietly with her during the examination, followed by the intravenous treatment. All of her X rays and scans had been coming up clear, and she only had seven more weeks now. Dr. Webber was very pleased with her, and included Brock in their discussions about the treatment. She treated them very much as a couple.

“This is weird.” Alex smiled shyly at him as they took a cab back to the office. She was leaning against him and feeling the first waves of nausea begin, but she was very relaxed with him. There was no embarrassment between them.

“What's weird?” he asked, watching her to make sure she was as all right as she could be.

“We are.” Alex smiled, adjusting her wig, which had gotten crooked. “People treat us like we're married. Did you ever notice that? Yesterday in Sugarbush, the guy in the grocery store thought you were my husband. And Dr. Webber acts like You've been coming in all along. Doesn't anyone realize I'm almost old enough to be your mother?” She was surprised at how easy it all was. They had only been physically involved for three days, and it already seemed completely natural, not only to them, but to those around them.

“I guess they don't notice,” he said, kissing her nose. “That blows that, doesn't it, Ma?”

“You should be out playing with fourteen-year-olds. Healthy fourteen-year-olds.”

“Mind your own business, Counselor.” The only thing they both knew they had to do was keep it a secret at work. Partners and associates were not allowed to “fraternize,” or get married, or involved, or one of them would have to leave the firm. It was a pretty standard rule in law firms, and as the junior person to her, Brock would have lost his job, if anyone knew they were dating.

They chatted as they drove, and eventually, they got stuck in traffic. It took too long for them to get back, and the effects of the chemotherapy overcame her three blocks from their destination. They had to pull over and Brock held her gently as she vomited into the gutter on Park Avenue in front of dozens of people standing on the curb. It was terrible, and she was mortified, but she couldn't stop. Even the cab-driver felt sorry for her. It was obvious she wasn't drunk, but really sick. Brock told him to wait, and leave the meter running. It was half an hour before she could drive on again. Brock wanted to take her home, but she insisted on going back to the office with him.

“Stop being stupid, for heaven's sake. You need to go home and rest.”

“I have work to do.” And then she smiled through her misery. “Don't think you can push me around now because I'm in love with you.”

“That would be too easy.”

He paid the cab, and took her upstairs. He had to support her as she walked, but no one who saw her thought of anything except that he was helping her. All the partners who knew them knew that Brock was her associate, and that she had been sick for months. People still felt very sorry for her.

Liz went to get her a cup of tea, and she spent another hour on the bathroom floor, with Brock alternately holding her and keeping her company. And when she felt a little better, she would talk to him about one of her cases.

“This is sick,” she said finally. “We do more business in this bathroom than we do at my desk.”

“Not for much longer,” he reminded her, and it had been worth it. According to Dr. Webber, the cancer was gone, hopefully forever.

He took her home at five o'clock, and then went back to work and stayed till nine. And before he left the office that night he called her. Sam was away again, and Brock asked if he could drop by for a few minutes to see her.

“Are you up to it?” he asked gently.

“Sure. I'd love to see you.” She was still amazed at what had happened between them over the weekend, but the brutal effects of her chemotherapy didn't allow them the time to enjoy it. But she still remembered the delicious hours they had spent in Vermont. They were like a dream, until he appeared at her apartment half an hour later. He had flowers for her, and he kissed her gently the minute he saw her. She was in a nightgown and dressing gown, and the dressing gown fell open as he kissed her and caressed her. She had put on one of her wigs before he came, and he teased her about it and reminded her that she didn't have to wear it for him.

“I think I like you better without it. It's sexier.”

“You're crazy.”

“About you,” he whispered, as he tucked her back into bed and kissed her again. Then he went to the kitchen, and put the flowers in a vase for her. She was looking a lot better than she had that afternoon, and he sat on the edge of the bed and talked to her for a long time, running a lazy finger down her body to all the places that intrigued him. “I'm a lucky man,” he said, watching her. He had wanted her for so long, wanted to be there for her, and to help her. He had wanted to save her from Sam, and now she had come to him, all on her own. It was Kismet.

“You're a silly boy,” she smiled at him, but it was obvious to her that he was not a boy but a man. She had to remind herself that he was actually younger than she was. He made her feel so safe, and protected, and well cared for.

“Where's Sam this time?” he asked casually, as he sat next to her on the bed at her invitation.

“London again. We hardly see him. He says he's just staying till I finish chemo. And then he's moving out. I guess he's looking for apartments. A real estate agent called him last week about a penthouse co-op on Fifth. I guess he's planning to set up housekeeping with his sweetheart.” She tried not to sound affected by it, but she was. It still hurt to think of his betrayal.

“Are you going to file?”

“Not yet. There's no rush. It doesn't make much difference. We go our separate·ways now.” But it mattered to Brock. And he knew it was too soon to push her. But he wanted her to himself, he wanted a life with her. He wanted Sam out of the picture.

Brock stayed with her until eleven o'clock. And then he put her to bed, turned off the lights, and let himself out of her apartment.

The following night he cooked dinner for her and Annabelle. Afterwards he and Alex worked, and this time when he put her to bed, he had to fight to control himself. She looked so beautiful and he was aching to make love to her again, but she still wasn't feeling well, and neither of them wanted to risk waking her daughter. Annabelle had had fun playing with him, and she had no idea of what was happening. She accepted him as a friend, and there was no resistance.

By the weekend, Alex felt better again, and Carmen came in on Saturday morning, so Alex could spend the day with Brock at his apartment. They never got out of bed all day, and she had never known that making love could be like that with anyone. He was amazing. They were completely at ease in each other's arms and with each other's bodies. There was nothing to hide, or fear, or hold back. They made love for hours with total abandon.

And on Sunday, he came to spend the day with her and Annabelle. Alex told her they had to work, but they never did. They went to the zoo, and had lunch, and then they took Annabelle to the playground and watched her with the other kids, as the two of them sat like all the other Sunday parents.

“You should be with someone your age,” Alex said, but less convincingly than before, when she thought of the previous day they had spent together. It would be hard to give him up now. Everything about him, his mind, his heart, his gentleness with her, his body, were addictive. “You should have kids.”

“Can you have more?” he asked casually. It wasn't something he worried about. He liked Annabelle, and he wouldn't have been bothered by adoption.

“I don't think so. I'd been trying to get pregnant again ever since Annabelle, with no success, though no one ever figured out why I didn't. And Dr. Webber says about half the women my age become sterile after chemo. I don't know where I fall in all that, but in any case I'm not supposed to get pregnant for five years, even if I could and by then I would be too old. You deserve better, Brock.”

“I've been saying that to myself a lot,” he said, teasing her, and she shoved him.

“I mean it.”

“It doesn't bother me. I'm not sure I'd be upset if I never had kids of my own. I think adoption's a great thing. Or would you object to that?” he asked, curious. There were still things he wanted to know about her.

“I've never thought about it. But that might be nice. Don't you think though that one day you'd resent not having a child of your own blood? It's a wonderful thing,” she said, looking at Annabelle, and then at him. “I never knew that till I had her, and realized what I'd been missing. I wish now I'd started sooner.”

“You didn't have time. Not with a career like yours. I still don't know how you do it.”

“It's a juggling act. You have to keep your priorities straight all the time, and sometimes you louse it all up. But it seems to work most of the time. She's a great kid, and I try and do as much with her as I can. Sam is pretty good with her too, when he's here.” But so far, nothing Brock had heard about Sam had impressed him.

They had dinner out with Brock that night, at a deli on Eighty-fourth Street. He told Annabelle funny stories, and did silly imitations. They were all good friends by the end of the day. And the next day he took Alex back to Dr. Webber. He wouldn't let her go alone anymore, she was his now. And then it all began again, the vomiting, the fatigue, and then finally the two or three good weeks until the next time. But the time seemed to fly now.

They stole what time they could, at her apartment late at night, when Sam wasn't there, which was most of the time, or at his place whenever Carmen stayed. They got hungrier for each other by the day. And once they even got carried away in her office bathroom. He had gone back out with his shirt buttoned wrong and his tie askew and Alex had laughed so hard she could hardly control herself. They were like two kids, but they were having fun, and they deserved it. Alex had paid a high price for all this. And Brock had waited a long time for her. Neither of them had ever been happier, and even Annabelle really liked him, as did Carmen. She was still furious with Sam for all he hadn't done for Alex in the past six months, and it was nice to see her happy now. Even Liz had figured it out and was pleased, although, for their sakes, she still pretended not to notice.

They worked together all the time now, even more than before, and consulted each other on everything they worked on. Alex shared all her cases with him, and no one found it unusual, since she had been so sick since the fall, and relied on him so much to help her carry her workload. Everyone seemed very impressed by their system, and their results. It was the perfect relationship, and they were together constantly. There was hardly an hour of the day when they weren't, and neither of them seemed to chafe at the other's constant companionship. On the contrary, they loved it.