DAY 37, Tuesday of Week Six 5:01 AM
The Sesqui-Centurion, Madison Avenue, New York City
Erik Bryson left before dawn, making use of the Obergrande Hotel’s Insta-Checkout option, snagging a final muffin and a giant black coffee from the continental breakfast buffet that no one but the waitress setting it up was there to appreciate and, grateful he had filled up Seabiscuit the day before, tore out of Obergrande, leaving it, the High Peaks, the Adirondack Park, and his heart far behind him.
Somewhere on Route 87 South around Saratoga Springs he noticed the signs for the Northway had begun to disappear, signaling his upcoming return to the reality he’d known before entering the magical, rustic realm of the Adirondack Park.
The very thought turned his stomach. But his stomach had been boiling since the day before anyway, so he hardly noticed.
He was too busy struggling to contain his growing rage long enough to remain safe on the road.
He arrived on Madison Avenue just as the New York City morning was in full swing and resorted to the unwelcome practice of parking in a nearby garage where he actually found a space on the bottom level.
He was at the doorway of the Sesqui-Centurion a few moments later, insistently ringing the entry bell.
After an annoyingly long time, he was buzzed inside.
Erik strode angrily past the security booth and heaved his camera bag at the same guard he had encountered the last time he had been here.
“Here,” he said, making his way to the metal scanner as the man rose from the desk. “Keep it.”
“Sir—”
Erik stopped rapidly at the metal detector’s entrance, fumbled in his pocket, and pulled out his cell phone, which he lobbed in the man’s direction.
“You can have that too,” he said as he walked through the archway. He held up his pack when he came out the other side. “There’s nothing in here but my dirty underwear and my wallet; you can have that as well if you insist.”
“Mr. Bryson—” the guard called, following him through the foyer, where the same young woman who had escorted him to Katherine Bruce’s office suite five weeks before was standing, wide-eyed, watching his furious approach.
The blond woman named Zoe was at her desk picking up the phone, similarly wide-eyed, as he approached.
He stormed past her and hurried into an opening elevator, causing its current occupants to vacate rapidly, then rang the button for the penthouse.
As the doors closed, he could hear Zoe’s voice, cracked and nervous.
“Security to the penthouse, please. Stat.”
The bright light from the arched windows of the penthouse suite stung his icy blue eyes again as the elevator doors opened. Erik shielded them with his hand and stepped off the lift.
Across from him stood a rank of six security guards, two of whom had their service revolvers drawn but hanging down at their sides, the rest of whom were eyeing him stonily.
The door to the corner office was open.
Katherine Bruce was sitting behind her severe desk in her elegant chair, her hands folded in front of her.
“That’s all right, gentlemen, let him pass. Come in, Mr. Bryson.”
Erik glanced again at the security guards, then complied.
“Close the door.”
Erik shook his head.
“No need for that,” he said, the anger beginning to rise again. “I’m not staying. I just came to tell you where to shove my hourly and expenses and your story, you evil—”
The fashion maven exhaled and stood up. She came around from behind her desk as he was still speaking and crossed to the door, then pushed it shut sharply.
She stared at him in a mixture of amusement and annoyance.
Then she looked over his shoulder at her desk again.
Erik’s brow furrowed.
He turned and followed her gaze.
At first he saw nothing notable.
Then the tall, straight-backed swivel chair he had been told to sit in during his first time in this office turned around as if by itself.
Sitting in it was a tall, beautiful young woman with a smooth, mostly-bald head adorned with an inch of soft, dirty-blond hair. A wig of the same color rested in her lap.
She was smiling crookedly at him.
“You made better time than I expected,” she said.
“How—how did you—why—what—?”
“We started downstate right after I said goodbye to you,” Briony said, her smile resolving into a solemn expression. “Ed’s a driving machine. Four and a half hours on the Northway is cake to him, even after that awful day yesterday. I thought it would be good to arrive in darkness; I’ve had about enough of being ambushed by paparazzi in the last twenty-four hours. And, of course, I got to sleep in the car.”
“Why on Earth would you come here? This woman is responsible for setting that nightmare on you yesterday.”
Briony shrugged.
“Katherine and I have known each other for years,” she said, smiling slightly at the fashion maven who stood in the doorway, her arms crossed. “She’s going to help me with a few of my next projects.”
“I think I will excuse myself at this juncture and leave you two alone to talk for a while,” Katherine Bruce said. She left, closing the door behind her. Her harsh New York City voice, one that had apparently hailed a lot of cabs at one time before her success, blared outside in the rotunda.
“Caitlin, there had better be a thirty gallon drum of coffee in the break room!”
Erik and Briony both chuckled in spite of themselves. Then Erik’s laughter faded and he looked at her seriously.
“Are you all right?”
Briony exhaled, and her smile grew wider.
“Actually, I’m far better than ‘all right,’ ” she said, rocking a little from side to side in the swivel chair. “I’m not hiding anymore—at least not about what I’ve been through.”
“Oh?”
Briony eyed him seriously. “You probably don’t know this, but breast cancer affects a lot of young people. Every year, over seventy thousand men and women between the ages of fifteen and thirty-nine get diagnosed in America.”
“Good lord.”
“Right. And while running away from the spotlight of the runway and the public eye was what I needed to do to survive the initial ordeal, now that I’m well I want to use that spotlight to shine a light on how young people need to screen and care for themselves. It would be pretty cowardly not to, I think.
“Katherine is going to help round up the forces of the modeling world to launch a big campaign to raise awareness of the cancer threat to America’s youth. The modeling world has done some of that before, to their credit, but I don’t think they’ve had a young spokesperson from the industry who is willing to tell her personal story of the disease until now. I guess I’m up for that.”
Erik only smiled, but Briony saw the fondness in his eyes warm into admiration.
And something deeper she couldn’t have named, but she liked it.
“Katherine couldn’t be more excited,” Briony continued. “She’s got her story, exclusive, to follow the ridiculously huge interest that nonsense yesterday sent through the media world. But she’s also sympathetic to the cause. This is good. She almost dropped her teeth when I took off my wig, but once she recovered, she was totally supportive. We talked for about three hours before you got here. And she says she promised you editorial oversight of the story, so I know it will be well-written.”
“You said projects,” Erik said, shifting his pack from his shoulder to the floor. “What else do you have in mind?”
“I told you last night that I recently started the process of building a clinic and research facility in Obergrande,” Briony said, crossing her arms and smiling at him. “I didn’t tell you that I’m also funding a partner lab study at Columbia, which will be responsible for all the press and publicity generated by whatever the joint research accomplishes, so no one will even think to connect it to Obergrande.
“I plan to use my own money, as well as private funding from Andres, and In-2-It, and Dulce Cheiro, and whatever other sources Katherine Bruce can prevail upon to help out—and she has a lot of influence among very wealthy people. That project I want to keep completely separate from the awareness campaign. I’m hoping to maintain my anonymity in Obergrande so that both the town and I can have some privacy. I’ve decided to name the clinic, in a way, after my mom.”
Erik came a few steps closer and crouched down before her so that he was on eye level with her. “In a way?”
“My mom’s favorite book to read to me when I was little was A Bear Called Paddington,” Briony said, her face growing warmer as he came closer. “We used to take it out of the library, because money was tight. Then, when the library drowned in the flood, she bought it for me for Christmas. It’s one of the few things I remember from that time, when I was five or so years old. It’s a good memory of her.
“I’ve carried that book with me everywhere I’ve gone. I brought it with me to Switzerland and read it every night through my whole ordeal, at least when I was up to it. It helped me feel like she was with me. So I want to call it the Paddington Clinic. It’s a name that won’t mean anything to anyone but me. That’s the only thing I want to be connected to; otherwise, the facility is there for whoever needs its services, or who is working to find a cure. It will be about them, as it should be.”
Erik eyes gleamed.
“I love you,” he said quietly. The words sounded like a prayer.
“Oh, good. That will help with my final project—one that Katherine will not be involved with.”
A knock on the door startled both of them.
Erik stood up as the door opened. Katherine Bruce leaned inside.
“Your management has arrived,” she said dryly, glancing behind her. Then she opened the door wider.
A tall, middle-aged man with a thick head of gray hair in a dark suit came quickly into the room, a briefcase in his hand, which he dropped beside the door. Erik recognized him from his internet search as Brian Hanoway of Hanoway Ltd.
“You all right, kid?” he asked as Katherine Bruce closed the door again, a look of concern on his face. He opened his arms.
Briony’s crooked smile exploded across her face. She rose from the chair and hurried into his embrace.
“I’m fine, Uncle Brian,” she said, hugging him tightly.
Erik’s eyebrows went up but he said nothing.
“Uncle Brian, this is Erik Bryson,” she continued, stepping out of the way so that the two men could shake hands. “Erik, this is my manager—and my mother’s brother.”
“Pleasure,” Brian Hanoway said. “I admire your work.”
“Thank you—pleased to meet you as well, sir,” Erik said, releasing Hanoway’s hand, then looking back at Briony with a smile. “So that’s how you managed to keep all your personal details confidential.”
“It helped,” said Hanoway, putting his arm around his niece. “I had been pretty focused on my work until my sister passed away. Then I realized I had barely seen my three nieces, her daughters, in several years, so I started making the time to be with them more, to take them on trips and such, so I was around when Sarah began showing signs of supermodel potential. There were no records of our search for her, because we didn’t need one. I had known her since birth, and knew what she thought was important, so it was easy to make that happen for her.”
“Uncle Brian is not only responsible for me having a somewhat sane life during my modeling career, but he kept the press away during all last year when I was out of commission,” Briony said, smiling broadly. “He has even more resources to help with the quiet funding of the clinic.”
“Which are happily at your disposal,” Brian Hanoway said. “Your fellow clients have already provided all the funds you are going to need for construction, medical equipment, and staffing for the first three years.
“As for your outreach campaign, the studio is set for this afternoon to record the first of your Public Service Announcements. The rest of the media, and the press conference, has been set for two weeks from now, at your request.” He went over to his briefcase and drew forth a folder. “Here’s your itinerary. I kept it short and sweet, also per your request.”
“Thank you.”
Hanoway’s eyes twinkled as he nodded at the folder.
“You’ll also find the list of low-impact modeling and photographic opportunities you asked to see in there, along with my personal recommendations,” he continued. “I know you want to be select about what you do in the future, but you have far more choices than you may have imagined.”
“Glad to hear it,” Briony chuckled.
“All right, then,” Brian Hanoway said. “I’m gonna get out of here and make sure all is up to snuff for the recording of the PSAs this afternoon. I’ve got an entire distraction motorcade set up across town. Ed won’t have any problem getting you to the studio.” He kissed Briony on the cheek, shook Erik’s hand again, and started for the door. He stopped, then looked back.
“You look gorgeous,” he said to Briony. “Like Nefertiti. Only blond.”
“Right,” she said dubiously. “Thank you, Uncle Brian.”
Brian Hanoway winked at her, then exited the office, closing the door soundly behind him.
Briony and Erik looked at each other, then laughed out loud. Erik opened his arms.
“C’mere, Nefertiti,” he said.
“Not yet,” said Briony, looking at him mischievously. “We haven’t discussed my last project.”
“Oh, that’s right, I’m sorry.” Erik looked down at his empty arms, then crossed them and looked back at her. “I’m listening.”
“I’m trying to make housing plans,” Briony said, leaning slightly back against Katherine’s desk. “Are we going to re-up the contract?”
“Contract?”
“You’re the one that called it that—remember? The loose agreement, with limited options and expectations?”
Erik laughed. “Oh—yes. Of course. The contract.”
“I’d like to go for an extension.”
He smiled broadly and came closer to her. “Oh, would you, now?”
“Yes.”
“For how long? I have to be getting back to work soon.”
Briony shrugged. “Indefinitely.”
“Hmm,” Erik said, taking her hand. “And what do you plan to do during this extension? Sounds like you’ll be pretty busy, with your awareness campaign, building your clinic, and taking on whatever opportunities for modeling or taking photographs that appeal to you on your uncle’s list. What else will you have time for?”
“Everything and anything that life offers me that’s wonderful, meaningful, or exciting,” Briony said. “There wasn’t a lot of point to battling so hard against cancer only to let it take my life anyway.”
“What do we need to do to make sure you remain victorious in your battle?” Erik asked, caressing her hand.
“Well, just keeping healthy and positive, to begin with. I am determined to be focused on my projects, and otherwise as utterly carefree as possible. Working my way up through the Adirondack Forty-Sixers, I hope, keep climbing those High Peaks, eating well, getting enough sleep. Regular medical follow-up, obviously. Keep checking my breasts. But that’s a small price to pay to stay healthy, and alive.”
“I’m more than happy to help you with that, you know.” Erik’s tone was sincere, but his eyes twinkled. “All of that.”
She blushed furiously as she laughed. “I had anticipated you might be.”
He adopted an injured air. “What? I’m very committed to keeping you healthy and alive.”
“Of course you are. Well, at least you will be happy to know that I won’t be pulling away from your advances anymore, trying to keep you from knocking my wig off by accident.”
“Is that what all that resistance was about?”
“Pretty much.”
He sighed comically. “What a relief. I thought I was losing my mojo.”
Briony coughed but said nothing.
Erik’s eyes opened wide, as if he suddenly remembered something.
He turned and picked up his pack, unzipped the top and fumbled around inside it, then turned and, to her surprise, got down on one knee before her.
“I have something I want to ask you,” he said, looking nervous. “And something, depending on your answer to my question, I want to give you that I got for you sometime back—something special that I hope you will keep forever.”
Briony went white. “Wha—what?”
“I—I would like to be upgraded from Temporary Boyfriend to something more meaningful in your life,” he said, swallowing hard. “And I would be honored more than I could ever express if you would consider being My Girl forever.”
His eyes gleamed.
He reached into his backpack again.
And pulled out a disturbingly large, stuffed pink vending-machine pumpkin with a maniacal expression on its face, its tongue lolling to one side, above long, dangling legs with hairy pink fringe and ugly yellow fabric shoes.
Aghast and laughing, Briony leapt back, bumping her backside into the top of Katherine’s desk.
“I’m sorry,” Erik said seriously. “I haven’t had time to shop for a ring. I was hoping we could do that in Lake Placid. I had to settle for an ugly animal.”
He shook the hideous stuffed creature, and it cackled out loud, a revolting electronic sound that made Briony burst into laughter.
“Dear heavens, how much did that cost you in quarters?”
“You don’t want to know. I clearly am losing my claw-vending-machine mojo. But it was so worth it because it was for you.”
“How sweet. I don’t even know how to begin to say thank you.”
“Oh, no thanks are necessary. Please just say yes.”
“Uh—are you serious?”
“Completely.” He shook the horrifying toy again, and it cackled loudly a second time. Briony snatched it from his hand and put it on Katherine Bruce’s desk behind her.
“You’re not really talking about marriage, are you?”
“Yes.” Erik’s joking grin faded to a loving, warm smile. “Absolutely yes, I am.”
“You?”
“Yes, me. I know you think I’m a Don Juan, but you really don’t understand what my romantic history has and has not been. I’ve had a series of friendly relationships with women, none of whom I’ve ever professed love to—except you. I love you. I really do.”
Briony sighed dramatically.
“I love you, too, but I’m sorry,” she said. “I can’t agree to a marriage, whirlwind or otherwise, with you.”
The warm smile faded away.
“Really?”
“Really,” she said.
For a long moment, Erik couldn’t speak.
“Uh—can you tell me why?” he asked when he could form words again.
“Oh, absolutely,” she said, smiling slightly. “Honored as I am that you are willing to share your family name with me, I’m unwilling in the extreme to spend the rest of my life as Briony Bryson. That’s just not acceptable. I’m sorry.”
Erik exhaled gratefully when he saw the love gleaming in her eyes. He stepped forward and rested his hand on her luminous cheek, caressing it gently.
“Well, then, how does Sarah Windsor Bryson sound to you?” he asked tenderly.
She leaned closer and leaned her exquisite nose against his.
“Pretty much perfect,” she whispered.
The kiss that followed made him wish, once again, that he had invested in jeans with a roomier crotch.
“Isb that um yessz?” he said, his lips still on hers.
“Yessz,” she replied, kissing him even more sweetly.
When their lips parted, she sat back and looked at him seriously.
“I have two questions, and they are both logistical,” she said.
“All right—hit me with them. I’m ready.”
“How are we going to make this work? A war correspondent, an investigative reporter with assignments all over the world, married to a semi-retired model who wants to live mostly incognito? How do we do that?”
Erik smiled and kissed her again.
“War correspondent is a young man’s game,” he said. “I’m approaching thirty—I think it’s time for me to get to work on the books I’ve always wanted to write, now that I have the credibility to write them. Maybe I can win a Pulitzer for a book, rather than just news stories. I can still take specific assignments, the way you plan to be selective about your own work. But most of the time we can live, in our home base, anonymously and in peace, tucked away in a hidden house in the Adirondacks. The Park is a perfect place to get lost, where no one could ever find us. Maybe we can even recruit some bears as security guards to help Ed out.”
“Oh, good,” Briony laughed. “Dave will be so happy to hear this, since that means we’ll be around to lend a hand taking care of Mr. Fancypants.”
Erik put his arms around her.
“Speaking of Mr. Fan—er, Steve, I just wanted to say something to you about what you told me that morning in the garden center regarding him,” he said, looking deeply into her stunning gray eyes. “You said that plant was like a supermodel, but you are not a Hawaiian Silversword, Sarah.
“You may have been a model, but you’re not fragile or high maintenance. You’re an alpine; beautiful, rare, dedicated to the community in which you were born and where you live, high above the tree-line, strong and happiest living there, in the fresh, clean wind of the Adirondacks. I want to travel the world with you, but, far more importantly, I want to put down roots with you, in the place that you love. I have no doubt it’s where you belong, and that means I must belong there, too.”
“Definitely,” she said as she brushed his eyebrow with her lips. “You are an obvious candidate for the Forty-Sixers. That’s something we can do together—as long as it’s not in winter.”
“Awww,” he joked. “Oh, well. All right.”
“We can ski Whiteface if we’re home in the winter if you want. Speaking of Whiteface, I haven’t cancelled those reservations for the Mirror Lake Inn this weekend if you still want to check out Lake Placid.”
“Fantastic!” Erik said excitedly. “And, since you showed me yours, I can show you mine.”
Briony’s brows drew together and she stared at him.
“Excuse me?”
“Brooklyn,” he said hurriedly. “You can come and see my—our—apartment in Cobble Hill; it can be our New York City base of operations when we’re here for work.”
“That’s wonderful.”
“It’s a great building, and the neighbors are terrific. If you’re willing, we could stay there tonight and until tomorrow when we—oh, wait.” He shook his head. “Uh, no. We should go back to Obergrande tonight until we head up to Lake Placid.”
“Why?”
“Uhm—I have to send in a Haz-Mat team before I bring you into my place in Brooklyn. I think my unwashed gym laundry may have taken over the apartment by now.”
~ End ~