One evening when he was the last to leave the medical practice he took it upon himself to tidy up the waiting room. Toys and magazines were scattered everywhere and their current receptionist didn’t do a very good job of straightening up at the end of the day. With just another fifteen minutes, he could have it cleared out so the housekeeping staff could do a thorough cleaning. After stowing away the toys, he began to stack the children’s books and magazines for the parents.
And there she was—her face stared back at him from a little corner photo on the cover of People magazine. He sat heavily in a child-size chair in the waiting room, staring. If it wasn’t her, it sure looked like her. Kid Crawford Divorces Third Wife.
He read the story. Oh, it was her. Kid Crawford, a notorious rock star, had chosen for his third wife a flight attendant he’d met while traveling. They’d been married less than a year. He did some math—she had said she’d been served divorce papers nine months before, which made their actual marriage somewhere less than three months. Ouch. Given the source of his current sulk, he could well imagine how tough that would be on the ego. No wonder she was depressed.
There were more pictures in the body of the story, plus pictures of his first and second wives and the new girlfriend, who he had reportedly lived with for six months prior to his divorce. Perhaps the hardest thing to accept was that this classy young woman, so squeaky clean and sweet, had been married to this awful, bearded, greasy guy in torn jeans, dark glasses, gaudy tattoos and chains.
This would explain her pain and loneliness. He took the magazine with him to Joe Benson’s architectural firm. Joe stood, stretching out a hand. “Hey, Doc. Sorry, I don’t know anything more to tell you about the mysterious wedding guest.”
Cameron flashed the magazine. “Do you know her?” he asked.
The look on Joe’s face said it all. He couldn’t reel in the expression to cover it.
“Abby,” he finally said. “I’m sorry, Doc. I had a feeling it might be her.”
“But you wouldn’t have told me.”
Joe shrugged. “I couldn’t do that, Doc. To tell the truth, I sympathize with you, I really do. But you have to be careful about making women vulnerable to men you don’t know. And even though I’m sure you’re sterling, I don’t know you.”
“I understand,” he said.
“According to my wife, Abby’s had a real bad year. I’d hate to complicate it further.” Joe tapped the magazine. “It’s been just awful.”
Cameron frowned and shook his head. “How’d she end up with a loser like this?”
“Oh, he’s a loser, but this is all theatrics. He doesn’t look like this. I’m sure half his fans wouldn’t even recognize him. His name is Ross and I’ve never met him, but my wife was at their little secret wedding and she says he’s a good-looking, clean-cut, charming kind of guy. Except not for long, I guess.”
Cameron hung his head for a second, taking it in. “Gotcha. You still have my card?” he asked, digging in his back pocket for his wallet.
Joe held up a hand. “I’ve got it,” he said.
“If you could just get word to her that I’d like to hear from her sometime…”
“I could try that.”
“If I don’t hear from you, I’ll consider the matter closed.”
“Sure. I’ll ask my wife to get in touch with her.”
A couple of days went by with no phone call and he knew—there wouldn’t be one. If she had any interest, this was a good time for her to reach out to someone who cared about her, wanted to begin a relationship that wasn’t like this loony rock-star thing. He forced himself to accept the facts—it was a one-night stand. It was over.
Ten
Abby MacCall Crawford, aka Brandy one time only, had had a very simple plan when she returned to L.A. from the wedding in Grants Pass. She was going to sign the divorce papers, be free in two shakes and work on rebuilding her life. After all, her marriage to Ross Crawford had been over almost as soon as it began and while technically she’d been Mrs. Crawford for nine months, he’d lived with another woman for over six and she hadn’t seen him or talked to him in ten. This should be a mere formality. Long overdue.
It wasn’t going to be that easy for Abby.
First of all, she had to hire a lawyer because there were “terms” in Ross’s settlement offer. Her husband had run up some impressive bills on credit cards, most of them during their separation, and she was stuck for her half, even though her income wasn’t a tenth of his. Just negotiating the amount down to a third of what Ross demanded cost her huge attorney fees and still left her with a bill she could never pay. And she was asking herself for the millionth time how she’d gotten herself in this mess.