He was no java junkie but already he had downed four cups of straight
black, all the while keeping his eyes riveted on the hospital
cafe's storefront window. A man seated at his left droned on nonstop
about his father dying of pancreatic cancer. The woman across from the
man patted his hand. Another visitor shook her head. "Don't make me go
back up there," she said to the man standing impatiently beside her.
Darren wished Franco would finally pass by on his way to the hospital
parking lot. What was taking him so long! Come on, Franco. Pass the
hell by; I need to talk to her. Room 4322. Maternity. No way could he
go for another coffee so he nursed this cool last one the way he seemed
to be nursing everything lately: biding time, filling in the meanwhiles
without any guarantee of a payoff. Julie wouldn't budge.
He kept his chin down against his chest. In front of him was The Record
whose news he pretended to be reading because no way did he want Franco
out there to suddenly take a gander through the café window. See his
manager sitting there looking like somebody on the run. And if he
walked into the café, pulled up the empty chair beside Darren, what the
hell then? What a freaking coincidence! You got somebody here you're
visiting too? Or would the up-till-now unsuspecting Franco, his boss
Franco with that green aura of jealousy sizzling an outline around his
6' 5" frame, finally put his good head to use outside the context of
the company and figure out the dirty truth about Darren and Julie.
That would be the end of him! End of both of them! No, all three--four
of them now with the birth of Julie's baby. He had to find a solution.
But Julie wouldn't decide. She could talk the mean talk about living
without love but the walk--that was something else. "What could you
give me?" she asked him, days before her ride to Hackensack University
Medical Center. "Can I live with you in the manner to which I've been
accustomed? What will we do in rainy Seattle?" They laughed at that but
was it really funny? He wanted to take her and the baby away with him
to Seattle. It was time to take a stand. He had to get up there and
talk. Make her understand.
Darren pressed the circumference of the coffee cup against his mouth,
and against the bridge of his nose. She needs me. But that inner voice
of his lacked real conviction. What did Julie need? She had a husband
richer than Darren could ever hope to be if he lived fifty lifetimes
and saved every dime. Franco was Mr. Lucky who could do no wrong. By
the time he was thirty, the clever entrepreneur had amassed millions.
Whatever Franco wanted, Franco bought. And then finally he met the most
attractive woman anywhere and he bought her too.
"Maybe at first I loved him," she confided the day the two of them
crossed the line. In the Horizon Motel bed, naked Julie told naked
Darren, "I felt I was lucky to have him. What woman would've turned him
down! But then he changed. And it didn't take him long."
Darren listened, half distracted by the glistening of perspiration coating her beautiful body. "Changed how?"
"Different things. Too busy. A new deal someplace out of town. Out of
the country. Out of his mind buying out this one and that one. What
about me? What the hell was there for me?"
Darren half expected her to cry; instead, she ran a warm hand down the
hardness of his chest. She smiled. "But I have you now," she said. "How
about making me forget my troubles one more time?"
It took the sudden appearance of Franco walking on the sidewalk now to
empty his head of Julie. Darren turned his head towards the counter.
"Another one?" asked the man at the register. Then, without waiting for
Darren to reply, pushed a cup forward, turned on the coffee spigot,
then moved his head to the side as the hot steam rose. "Coming right
up," he said. "Nothing in it, right?" Darren nodded and kept his eyes
on the man behind the counter, afraid to turn around too soon. When he
finally did, he glanced up at the window to find it empty of Franco. He
was gone. Soon he'd be driving his new Seville down the dark streets of
Hackensack, New Jersey.
"Darren, I'm gonna make you the highest paid marketing man in Franco
Foods. I like you. You're not afraid to take risks." Then Franco put
his arm around Darren's shoulder the way Darren's father used to do
when he felt proud of his son. Fresh out of Rutgers University, Darren
was making more than folks ten, twenty years ahead of his game. He
delighted in his good fortune. Like his boss, the president of Franco
Foods, Darren had the world in the palm of his hand. The sky was the
limit. No telling where he could fly from here. Until Franco's
Christmas party a year and a half ago. Was it that long? Until he
locked eyes with the beauty at the punch bowl. A beauty in her sexy
gold lame dress that reached down and grazed the tops of her gold
high-heeled stilettos. Almost simultaneously they smiled at each other.
As Mr. Gian Paul Franco's favorite protégé, Darren found it easy to
head towards the dark-haired woman. He would now need that same high
confidence to walk away.
Darren paid the check and walked out of the Hackensack Hospital Café.
When he reached the open lobby elevator, he decided against stepping
inside. What's the use of telling her goodbye? he decided. When he
passed through the hospital exit doors, he knew somehow he'd make it.
Darren walked confidently into his future.
Darren half expected her to cry; instead, she ran a warm hand down the
hardness of his chest. She smiled. "But I have you now," she said. "How
about making me forget my troubles one more time?"
It took the sudden appearance of Franco walking on the sidewalk now to
empty his head of Julie. Darren turned his head towards the counter.
"Another one?" asked the man at the register. Then, without waiting for
Darren to reply, pushed a cup forward, turned on the coffee
spigot, then moved his head to the side as the hot steam rose. "Coming
right up," he said. "Nothing in it, right?" Darren nodded and kept his
eyes on the man behind the counter, afraid to turn around too soon.
When he finally did, he glanced up at the window to find it empty of
Franco. He was gone. Soon he'd be driving his new Seville down the dark
streets of Hackensack, New Jersey.
"Darren, I'm gonna make you the highest paid marketing man in Franco
Foods. I like you. You're not afraid to take risks." Then Franco put
his arm around Darren's shoulder the way Darren's father used to do
when he felt proud of his son. Fresh out of Rutgers University, Darren
was making more than folks ten,
