Love/Forty Read online

  She had no idea what made her blurt out those words and quickly said, “Don’t be sorry. As you can see, I’ve survived to lead quite a full and interesting life beyond tennis. Things have worked out better than I ever imagined. Although, at the time I felt devastated, and being a teenager, thought my life was over and I had no future. But that only lasted a few years.” She laughed. “Once I began to channel all my energy and concentrated on my studies instead, I enjoyed my college years to the fullest.”

  His regard to her response appeared thoughtful and steady. He released her wrist and frowned slightly, then took a sip of tea. “Chasing down stories of rich and famous sports figures has put you at the top of your game in many ways. And obtaining interviews should be a breeze. One look at you, Mercedes, and I’m positive you don’t have to ask anyone twice.”

  A flush of embarrassment flowed through her at the compliment. “I rarely make the arrangements for the celebrities I interview. Now that I have the right connections, editors and agents offer me assignments. Sometimes I submit a proposal to an editor with a suggestion on whom I want to base my next article, and after we come to an agreement, they make the detailed preparations to coincide with schedules, usually with the agents who beg for feature articles and interviews to give their clients the publicity.”

  “Did you realize freelancing would be this easy?”

  She chuckled and shook her head. “No. I consider myself fortunate now, but for a long time I used to write proposals and submit them and received my share of rude rejections. Even if I received an offer, we’d agree on deadlines and a price, usually a flat rate anywhere from a quarter to two dollars a word. Now the offers are much more lucrative.”

  “If you’ve been writing this long to have such a well-known name in the sports world, I find it unbelievable most people don’t know you’re a woman.”

  Mercedes squeezed more lemon in her tea, misjudged her strength, and squirted Dante in the face. “Oh, I’m sorry,” she said, placing a hand over her mouth.

  He wiped the juice off his cheek and looked at her, suppressing a grin. “I doubt your sincerity.”

  She removed her hand and released a giggle. “I didn’t mean to squirt lemon on your face. Honest.”

  He nodded. “I accept your apology, although your honesty is still in question.”

  “Let’s start over…”

  “You were about to explain your ability to hide your gender,” he said in jest, “although I doubt that’s possible.”

  She straightened her back to put a little distance between them and hoped her pink cheeks and the amused look on her face would disappear.

  “When I first attempted to write a story, I didn’t want to face a lot of rejections, and I used a pen name. That worked out well because when I finally established myself with a big magazine and they offered me a column, I was then able to introduce M. McFadden. The name offered me some anonymity and a fresh start as someone who was a true professional. I learned a lot writing as Mercedes Lockhart, but charging a flat rate now is more reliable and practical.”

  “I agree. Learning about what you do is interesting and informative. Are you working on a story now as well as evaluating Lynda Smith for Max?”

  “Currently, I’m working on a series for VIEW Highlife Magazine on the upcoming Winter Olympics. Of course, there are interviews with local athletes in different countries in various sports magazines, but this series focuses on the lifestyle in each country—the nightlife, fashion, food and wine, etcetera. The editor lives here in Arizona. Maybe,” she ventured, overcoming her usual lack of confidence for fear she might lose the opportunity, “you’d consider allowing me to interview you, perhaps after the U.S. Open?”

  “Max said you didn’t live in Florida. Where do you live? Maybe we can work out something?”

  “In New York City.”

  He exhibited a lopsided grin, showing one dimple. “Perfect. That’s why you suggested an interview at that time, assuming I’m competing in the Open.”

  She raised her shoulder a bit. “Well, aren’t you?”

  “Yes. I hope to, that’s the only major I haven’t won, yet,” he added. “If I win that title, I should be ranked number one in the world. Would you want exclusive rights to be the first to interview me after the tournament?”

  “Absolutely, but if an earlier time would suit you, I can adjust my schedule to meet yours.”

  “I get to New York fairly often, sometimes for a day or two if I’m flying between my parents’ home in Italy to my home in Florida. I’d like very much to have you interview me, and will promise you the first one after the Open or if I become number one, sooner, whatever comes first, on one condition…”

  “Now,” she sighed, “why doesn’t that surprise me? Let me guess, you require a million dollars up front?”

  “No, no.” He laughed. “The only stipulation is for you to promise to have dinner with me when I’m in New York.”

  “On one condition…”

  He tilted his head and gave her a suspicious look. “What’s that?”

  “Make that while you’re in New York, not when. In other words, not every time you’re in town, and our business dinner will be at my place…”

  “Wait!” He interrupted. “That’s two conditions.”

  “Let me elaborate before you object. I don’t want to go to a restaurant and have your fans disrupt our meal, nor would I want to spend the evening dodging paparazzi, and at the same time attempt to conduct a Pulitzer Prize interview.”

  He held up his hands. “All right, I surrender. That would be a relief for both of us, presuming you know how to cook.” His eyes flashed and he ducked his head in mock defense, “Kidding. I look forward to my next trip to New York. Oh, and one more condition.”

  Mercedes shook her head. “You’re pushing your luck, Edwards. All right, let’s hear what else you demand.”

  “A very simple request. A phone number, email address, anything in order for me to get in touch with you ahead of time to let you know when I’d be in New York.”

  Embarrassed to the core, Mercedes reached in her purse, pulled out a business card and said, “We have a deal. There for a second, I thought you were going to request lasagna for dinner,” she added in an attempt to recover.

  As Dante pocketed the card, his eyes twinkled with satisfaction, and she had the feeling she didn’t stand a chance of escaping his charms, nor was she certain that’s what she wanted.

  Chapter Two

  After a long and successful business lunch in a noisy sports bar, Mercedes felt relieved to exit the restaurant. Coming out of the dimly lit pub, the glare from the bright afternoon sun blinded her, and she hurried to put on her sunglasses.

  Max had decided to accept Lynda as a client conditionally, after he stated that he thought she might want to wait a year or two before attempting to go pro. He explained he had her best interest at heart. He wanted to spare her the extra risk of a severe injury, which oftentimes happens. Mercedes being a case in point, as well as shielding her from suffering the agony of defeat on national television.

  The Smith family and Lynda’s coach parted pleasantly after they agreed to discuss the matter at length and made plans to meet later in the week for the quarterfinals, assuming all went well, and Max had a chance to go over Lynda’s statistics before either party committed to a final decision.

  Mercedes noted that the Smiths appeared impressed when her brother told them he’d refuse to accept Lynda as a potential client rather than be responsible for having her destroy a promising future in tennis. He wanted her to be more physically fit and to have a chance to grow taller.

  By the time she and Max arrived at the Marriott Suites in Old Town Scottsdale, after Max paid the chauffeur and they got to their rooms, there barely had been enough time for a quick swim before Mercedes had to shower and get ready for the evening. Still in her robe, she took out the iron and ironing board and pressed the dress she had worn earlier in the day. She checked to make sur
e there were no stains on the material.

  Max, already showered and dressed, sat in the living room watching the news and enjoying a cold beer. He had already gone down to the lobby to arrange for a rental car for the rest of the week. He gave Mercedes a puzzled look. “Aren’t you going to change outfits?”

  “I didn’t bring evening clothes because I thought you and I would be hanging out with the tennis crowd, not entertaining a high profile prospective client at some fancy restaurant. Fortunately, this dress goes anywhere and most people dress casually year round in Arizona.”

  Her brother watched her in awe when she took out a tiny perfume bottle and sprayed the fragrance inches above the dress. “What’s that? Smells great!” He asked.

  “My newest scent in a hair mist, but I decided to spray some to freshen my outfit,” she said, disappearing into her bedroom.

  “Wait ’til Dante gets a whiff of that…”

  “Max McFadden, stop trying to push that man on me.”

  “I don’t believe I’d have to push him, and I wondered when you were going to bring up the subject,” he yelled over the television.

  “I would have mentioned him in the car on the way to the hotel,” she said, poking her head out of her room, “and you don’t need to shout, but you were too preoccupied at the time talking about possibly signing two clients in one day for me to interrupt, and I can’t blame you.”

  “One at the top of the success ladder and one at the bottom.” He motioned, raising and lowering his arm.

  “All right, now tell me…”

  “Why I invited him to dinner?”

  “Exactly.” She and her brother had a way of speaking to each other in short, oftentimes, fragmented sentences.

  “Several reasons.”

  “One good one would suffice.”

  “Well.” He sighed, which brought her back into the living room.

  “I’m listening.”

  “We simply didn’t have enough time this morning at breakfast to complete our business discussion, especially regarding contracts, and I promised I’d find time to do that before he left for Europe.”

  “Max.” She sat down being careful not to get her dress wrinkled. “I already have that information.”

  “Well, I thought this would be a good opportunity to have a friendly dinner tonight in order to develop our relationship since we didn’t have enough time together and he was anxious to settle the matter before the French Open.”

  Max stretched out his legs and continued, “He wants me to go to France with him. If we can shake hands on a gentleman’s agreement, then I’ll have my office manager FAX over a contract for our signatures tomorrow because he leaves the following day.” Max sighed. “Look, if I get this out of the way tonight, we can spend the rest of our time together, the two of us.”

  Mercedes picked up a throw pillow off the sofa and tossed the blob at her brother. “I know you better than that, but I’ll accept the explanation for now.”

  “Listen, what’s not to like about Dante? You’d be fortunate to marry a man like him.”

  “Marry!” She gave her brother an incredulous look. “Max, really. You, of all people, know how I feel about dating celebrities.”

  “You’re one!”

  “That’s not the same thing. A few people in the tennis business remember me, mostly because I’m your sister. My magazine articles are well read, but my readership for the most part thinks I’m a man and even those who know differently wouldn’t recognize me if they saw me in public, unlike the recognizable Dante. I don’t hang out on the sidelines at NFL games, nor receive comped seats on the floor of pro-basketball games, nor do I have my face on major magazines. I’m usually invisible.”

  “Okay, don’t marry him. But I’m not giving up on you. And, frankly I don’t think Dante will either. I noticed how he looked at you.”

  “Max, you’re absolutely incorrigible when it comes to fixing me up with guys.”

  “Yep.”

  “Have you decided where you want to eat tonight?”

  “Yes. But I’m keeping that a secret. The manager at the tennis complex gave me the name of his favorite place and made reservations for us at seven o’clock. That was the only opening they had—must be popular.” Max put his arm around her shoulder and gave her a kiss on the cheek. “Let’s go pick up Mister GQ.”

  They walked to the elevators laughing.

  “Remind me tomorrow to buy some SEE’s candy to take back home.”

  “I didn’t think you’d miss seeing the candy shop on the corner, no pun intended. How could I forget how much you love chocolate? Truffles, right?”

  “Yes.”

  They drove through Old Town, catching every traffic light in the rush hour stop-and-go traffic while tourists hunted for a particular street, restaurant, and especially a coveted parking space.

  Once the street widened and the speed limit increased to forty-five, the ride didn’t seem as tedious. They pulled into the hotel entrance and Max parked in a Registration Only space. “I’ll run in and find Dante and we can be on our way,” Max said.

  Mercedes took the extra moment to check her face in the mirror, ran her fingers through the back of her hair, smiled, and closed the visor. Then, looking out the side mirror, she caught a glimpse of her brother and Dante exiting the hotel.

  She felt her heart increase a beat and sighed. Dante, dressed in crisp white slacks, wore a light blue shirt unbuttoned a little more than the one he wore in the morning, and had added a navy blue linen blazer complete with brass buttons. He wore a pair of deck shoes, but still no socks.

  When he got into the car, he touched her shoulder. “Good evening, Mercedes.”

  “Good evening, Dante. Did you have a good afternoon?”

  “Yes,” he answered, while Max got into the car. “I was telling your brother I spent some time at the pool, found a little island oasis with a bar in the middle, sipped some sparkling water and lime and relaxed.”

  “No autographing?”

  “Only the bartender. Can’t tell you how good having time to relax felt. If any people recognized me, they were polite enough to leave me alone. How was your afternoon?”

  “Long, but we got to spend a little time at the pool, too.”

  “I can’t wait to see where Max is taking us to dine.”

  “He’s not saying, but I’m positive we’ll have a great dinner. He knows how much I love to go to a beautiful restaurant, savor every bite of a gourmet meal and sit back and chat after dinner, especially when he’s picking up the tab.”

  She didn’t mention that she was leery about having dinner with him in public. Every time she had to meet a celebrity client at a restaurant, fans interrupted their meal and she disliked sitting there like a lump on a log while they gushed over the athlete. She feared tonight could turn into a nightmare.

  “Sounds like you’d like the Riviera. Ever been?”

  “I did some traveling when I competed, played at Monaco once, and also interviewed a couple of women players on tour a year or two ago. Only, I didn’t find enough free time to sample all the local seafood dishes, or go shopping.”

  “You hate shopping,” Max countered.

  “I know, but shopping in Europe is not the same as shopping in most places. New York is fine, but way too crowded for me.”

  “Ah,” Dante said, “a woman who doesn’t like shopping or crowds.”

  “How about you?” Mercedes asked, turning toward the back to see him. “Most men don’t usually enjoy shopping.”

  “I don’t mind. Only I shop sparingly, spending all the money during two or three visits a year. And, if I’m in a rush for time, and need something for a special occasion, I call my mother and she ships me whatever I need from the house.”

  “How wonderful that you have a mother to rely on, too,” Mercedes replied in a soft wistful tone, moved beyond words—a man confident enough about his masculinity to mention his mother?

  “Here we are,” Max said as he pulle
d the car up to a restaurant’s valet parking stand.

  “Lovely, Max,” she said. “This looks like a classy place.”

  “We’ll see if the recommendation was accurate,” he answered, exiting the car.

  Before the valet came around to open Mercedes’ door, Dante had beaten him to the task. He took her hand and helped her out, making sure she didn’t trip on the curb. She anchored her attention on his face and didn’t miss the flushed look that came over him the moment their hands touched. She turned her head wondering if he felt the same flow of electricity that ran through her body.

  “Still in those sexy shoes,” he remarked, smiling while she was certain he attempted to recover, “and your fragrance smells wonderful. What are you wearing?”

  Little did he know what his touch had done to her. She answered softly, “A fragrance called Flowerbomb.”

  “By Viktor and Rolf.”

  “You’ve heard of Flowerbomb?”

  He gave a low chuckle. “Well, my mother has. In fact, I’ve accompanied her to a couple of events where designers have introduced a fragrance, and Viktor & Rolf was one of them. My parents own a perfumery in France and have several shops throughout Europe where women and men go in and sit down and an experienced perfumer, someone who is familiar with floral essences used for scenting, presents samples of perfumes that might suit someone’s personality or perhaps one better suited for their chemistry or skin.”

  “I was in one of those shops in Bermuda, once. The place was temperature controlled and very cool.”

  “Exactly,” he said, holding the door open to the restaurant. “She wants me to take over, if I’m interested, after I retire from tennis. On the off-season I travel with her, especially if my father is committed elsewhere and I’m learning the business.”

  “Do you think you’d enjoy the work?”

  He nodded. “The business part is easy. Learning about the chemistry of the fragrances is the challenge. The aroma emitted from this fragrance you’re wearing is as though they created the scent especially for you,” he murmured near her ear as they waited for Max to give the hostess his name.