Her Silver Fox Page 14

  “That’s the good news?” Shoshana charged, sounding very much like a pet mom.

  “A broken leg’s better than internal bleeding which we didn’t see in his x-rays.”

  “I’ll take the broken leg,” she said sheepishly.

  “Bad News. We’ll have to keep him overnight and prep him for surgery in the morning.”

  “Overnight? Surgery!”

  “The metal pins,” she said slowly as if speaking to an idiot, “can only be applied while your little fella is asleep. Any other way would be inhumane. While he’s in recovery, I’ll fit him with a cast. A couple days with us, you can take him home.”

  The violent thud in her chest overshadowed the vet’s reply. She’d never been separated from Gryff. Not one night since she’d adopted him.

  Sensing her anxiety and sudden disconnect, Tyson stepped in, “Other than giving her okay is there anything else you need?”

  “We’ll need a signature on the informed consent and estimate for treatment.”

  “Done, done and done,” Shoshana said, snapping out of her fog with one of Tyson’s euphemisms.

  “Great.” Diaz scribbled a note into her doctor’s chart. “I’ll have Carla bring in the forms. I’ll call you tomorrow once I’m out of surgery.”

  “Thank you, I’d appreciate that. Can I see him?”

  “We sedated him so he’ll be a little bit out of it but you’re free to come back and say good night.”

  They followed Dr. Diaz through the lab to the back where a row of stainless steel cages lined both sides of a narrow hallway. Shoshana stopped at one of them and turned the latch. Inside—curled into a fetal position—lay Gryff. Hearing them, his head shifted on the green quilted doggy bed.

  Dr. Diaz flipped her wrist. “We don’t close for another forty-five minutes so take your time. I’ll leave the papers with the receptionist.”

  Shoshana scuttled forward. “Hey little man,” she whispered before planting a cherry on his nose. She heard a faint thump, looked up and caught the lazy wag of his docked tail. “You hang in there and mama will take you home in a couple of days. You’re going to have chewies for weeks.”

  His tail thumped again, and her heart cracked a little more. More for herself than him, she ran her hands over him as she told him he was going to be good as new, and willing him to come out the other side of the operation. With a final kiss, she stepped back.

  “Ugh…I’m such a sap. Crying over a darn dog.” Sniffing, she accepted the tissue Tyson held out for her.

  “He’s your baby. I’d find it odd, downright heartless if you didn’t feel anything for him. After all, you pick up his turds.”

  “You’re the turd.”

  “That I can be.” Lips twitching, he held out his elbow. Smiling, she accepted it.

  They took a shortcut through one of the examining rooms and stopped briefly at the receptionist desk where she signed the consent forms.

  Talking about everything, yet nothing at all, they made their way back uptown. Five blocks from the factory, she finally remembered her father. “All this running around and I haven’t given my father a thought. Did you speak with Flo? Did she get a chance to check on him?”

  “She did.”

  Even though she felt like he’d left a piece crucial information out of the equation, Shoshana refused to bite. With Gryff facing surgery, her day was already ruined. She didn’t need to compound it with her father’s current reality which with each passing day had the unwavering ability to break her spirit and affect her ability to cope.

  “Well that’s a relief,” she effused, putting on a phony facade, “My father’s one less thing I have to worry about.”

  “I wouldn’t speak so fast,” Tyson hedged. “Flo found him reading the evening Post in his pajamas. Nearby were a pair of driving loafers, a fedora and a car coat like he might have been on his way out.”

  But forgot, Shoshana inferred yet kept her suspicion close to heart. With Gryff facing surgery, she wasn’t emotionally prepared to take on more. Erring on the side of self-preservation, she deflected the inevitable with misplaced humor, “Ha! I swear my father doesn’t know whether he’s coming or going.”

  “All this denial has to be draining.”

  “Excuse me?” She pretended indignation while she silently thanked her dark complexion for hiding the heat staining her face.

  “I’m going to step out on a limb here but you know the longer you ignore the pink elephant in the room the more damage he’s going to cause. Today is simply a taste.”

  Shoshana rubbed her thumb between her brows. “Just leave off will you.”

  Tyson stepped in front of her, blocking her path. “Maybe you can handle him now but he’s only going to snowball until it gets to be too overwhelming.”

  She stepped around him—attempting to evade him and the dreaded topic—but he remained doggedly on the subject, “When do you want to talk? When Gryff’s a stain on the street? Or when your father ends up as a silver alert?”

  His words sunk home and all of Manhattan shrunk to the size of a postage stamp. She licked her suddenly dry lips. She struggled to breathe, her lungs burning like a diver sinking to an unaccustomed depth. The feeling neither new nor unexpected, she willed it to pass over, recede.

  It didn’t.

  It became perpetually worse, building upon itself like an active hurricane over open water. None of her usual safeguards would suffice. She and her anxiety used to be constant adversaries until she learned she could defeat it by controlling the things she could and avoiding things she could not—her father’s condition being one of them.

  “Everything’s under control. This was just a little accident.”

  “A twenty-five hundred dollar accident with the potential to snowball into a whole lot more,” Tyson countered. “I’m sorry for what you’re going through. I can imagine it must be frightening. But denying what’s coming at you like a Mack truck isn’t going to make it go away. It’s only making the repercussions worse for you and your dad.”

  Who died and freakin’ made him Dr. Phil?

  “You can give me the stink eye all you want, Miss Haufman. I’m done with letting you slide on this.”

  “Even if it costs you your job?” It was a terrible thing to say but she didn’t hire him to butt into her personal life.

  “This is beyond any job. This is human compassion. I wouldn’t be able to look myself in the mirror if something happened to your father. And I love looking in mirrors.”

  Shoshana smiled. She’d caught him admiring himself no less than a dozen times a day.

  “Okay,” she consented and then louder and with more confidence, “I’ll sit down and we’ll talk.”

  Instead of being lauded, Tyson gifted her with a dubious expression. “What? This is a pretty big step. We’ve never talked about what’s going on.”

  His eyebrows jumped skyward. “Never? I thought his condition was the reason you took over.”

  “He chalked up his early retirement to being burned out, and I believed him unequivocally. The business is all he knows. He started shadowing my grandfather before he could learn to read, then took over the day-to-day activities after my grandfather had a stroke. He was only twenty-five.”

  “This company sends all their bosses to an early grave? Just kidding.” Expression pensive, Tyson raked his hand over his mouth. “Maybe you should get an expert’s opinion as well.”

  “Baby steps.” Shoshana took his arm. “I’ll talk with my father. Have a heart to heart. Like you just proved with me I need to do the same with him. He needs to realize there’s a problem. Then together, he and I can seek treatment.”

  And she meant every word. Her father’s condition had started to take a toll. Not just emotionally but also mentally and physically. Lately, she’d felt worn down. If she wasn’t tossing and turning or walking the floors at night, she was constantly on edge as an unwilling participant in an ever increasing guessing game called What Reality Was He in At the Moment
. If things continued at this rate, he might outlive her.

  “Since we’re working on your denial issues, let’s talk about Mr. Kelly.”

  “Oh, no we are so not going there.” Once again, she tried to pull away from him.

  “Look at you,” he leaned in closer, “did I hear a tremor in your voice?”

  “You’re hearing things.” Shoshana kept her gaze straight ahead. At the moment it was the only thing she could control. One mention of Patrick Kelly and her insides turned to goo.

  “Aren’t you dying to know why he called?”

  “Pfftt…don’t be silly,” she scoffed. “He called about his suit.”

  “I assumed the same. Even gave him an update. Still, he was adamant about speaking to you.”

  Shoshana’s heart thumped like a tomtom drum in her breast. If only she could have the luxury of enjoying the company of a man like Patrick Kelly. They’d had a fun time, no make that mind-blowing but she couldn’t handle anything more. She had her hands full with the business and her father.

  “You’re looking for something that’s not there.”

  “Denial…denial…denial,” he chirped in an exaggerated southern accent. “You forget I have receipts.”

  “Receipts for what?”

  Tyson chuckled. “Sorry. I forgot you’re an AARP member.”

  Gaze unfocused, Shoshana held out her hands feigning blindness. “I’m so old I can’t remember where I put this week’s paychecks.”

  “To have receipts means you have evidence,” he explained to which Shoshana smiled and abandoned her Hellen Keller act. “What’s between you and Patrick Kelly is more than just business.”

  “You don’t—”

  “Who cleans the tearoom after every client?”

  “Okay, we fooled around—once and only once—and that’s the end of it.”

  “I knew it,” Tyson crowed. “The table was a mess. The sam—”

  Shoshana gripped the front of his dress shirt and pulled him close. “Look here, yenta. You better not tell a soul.”

  He held up two fingers, “Scouts honor.”

  Eyes narrowing, Shoshana held onto him. “I thought sleeping bags were the soft tacos of bears.”

  “And camping is just a rehearsal for homelessness,” they briefly shared a chuckle over their mutual disdain of the outdoors and then he continued, “I might not have been a Scout but I’ll keep my lips sealed about you and Mr. Kelly.”

  “And don’t do that.”

  Tyson blinked his baby blues. “Don’t do what?”

  “Mr. Kelly,” she said, perfectly imitating his deep, whispery tone.

  “You’re no fun—”

  “—no I just sign your checks—”

  “—so—”

  “—so—” Shoshana rolled her finger, prompting him to keep going.

  “—so for the sake of my job, I’ll keep it professional.”

  “Especially around Mr. Kelly.”

  He pouted. “And around Mr. Kelly.”

  Shoshana reached up and cupped his cheek, giving him fish lips. “I’ll make a mensch of you yet.”

  Indignant, Tyson threw his shoulders back. “I’m already a stand-up kind of guy.”

  “Mutak…honey you are when you’re not gossiping with Flo, harassing Joe, butting into Magda’s family drama, or matchmaking every single person who walks into the building.”

  “It makes the hours go by so much faster,” he bellyached.

  “Those hours you should be working?”

  “All work and no play, makes me Shoshana Haufman.”

  “Yenta.”

  “Bubeleh.”

  “Grandma!” Shoshana’s shoulders quivered with amusement. “Why only yesterday I became a bat mitzvah.

  “I’m twenty-seven years too late but mazel tov!” Fingers wiggling, he reached over for a hug.

  Chuckling, Shoshana sidestepped him. She glanced up and recognized the factory’s rose-colored brick façade. She ambled over, punched in the entry code for him. When the door clicked, she opened it.

  “This is where I let you off.” It was faster to reach her apartment via the showroom rather than the factory.

  “Put your bubeleh panties on and don’t chicken out,” he shouted.

  Shoshana waved in acknowledgment. Mentally, she did so as well. Not wanting to be in denial and doing something about it seemed a thousand miles apart.

  Not liking what was ahead of her, she took her time climbing the stairs to her apartment. At the top, she mentally noted the need for a baby gate at the bottom and possibly a x-pen for the front door. Either barrier would keep Gryff from escaping.

  What about her father? Feeling an anxious sensation creeping over her again, she chewed on her bottom lip. He hadn’t digressed to wandering off the property. One day might not be too far off considering his disappearing act at Met’s Citi Field last week. Her ankles still throbbed from that depressing little game of hide and go-seek.

  “Abba, I’m home,” she announced. She stood in the hallway and waited. A couple months ago—thinking she was a prowler--he’d come charging out of his bedroom with a baseball bat raised high over his head ready to take hers off. After calming him down, and safely wrestling the bat away from him, they’d laughed off the incident as an odd case of nerves.

  Recalling her father’s expression as he stalked down the hall, her shoulders slumped. His handsome face had been entirely devoid of recognition, forcing her to yell his name a half dozen times. Thankfully, something clicked or her brain would’ve ended up splattered all over the walls. The incident should’ve been the straw to break the camel’s back. Like all the other times, she took the cowardly way out and made an excuse for his behavior.

  Shoulders thrown back she walked into the family room.

  Her father sat in his favorite chair. The television watched him as his head lolled against the pillowed headrest. Jiving with earlier reports, he wore his blue-stripped pajamas. His favorite hat and car coat rested on the dining room chair behind him. His stockinged feet were now stuffed in his favorite leather slippers.

  Heart aching for him, she shuffled over and sat down on the couch. Knowing he liked an unmolested newspaper, she lifted the evening edition from his lap and placed it on the coffee table.

  A notoriously light sleeper, his eyes opened and said in a sleepy tone, “Hey, baby girl, how was your day?”

  “Not good, Abba.” Already feeling tears pool in her eyes, she averted her gaze to the ceiling. “I…we—”

  Her father leaned over and squeezed her knee. “I know running this business is taxing. But I have faith in you. You’re stronger and smarter than you give yourself credit for. I ever tell you how proud I am of you?” he squeezed her knee again.

  Smiling, she wiped at her eyes. “Not of late.”

  “I am and don’t you forget it.” Thinking the conversation over, he picked up the remote. “Anything you want to watch?”

  Her gaze traced his handsome profile. He’d grayed substantially but his dark skin remained untouched by the passing of time. He still looked like the young father who taught her how to thread a needle and helped her memorize the bedtime maariv.

  Knowing her opportunity had passed or more like tucked away for another day, she stood. “I’ll pass abba. I need a hot shower then I’m going to bed.”

  “Lai-la tov…good night…don’t forget your Shema.”

  Shoshana smiled at his reminder to recite herevening prayer. Spoken as one’s last words, the traditional meditation was one of the first scriptures taught by Jewish parents to their children. Devout, her father made sure she could recite her nightly prayers before she learned both the English and Hebrew alphabets.

  As she made her way to her room, Shoshana prayed he wouldn’t forget either.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  “Talk about take no prisoners.” Vanessa gushed once the elevator doors closed. Eyes wide she turned to him. “I’ve never seen you in action, sir…I mean Patrick…but I’d heard ru
mors. And I’ll attest to anyone. You. Are. Savage.”

  Chuckling, Patrick slipped his finger through his tie knot and loosened it. “Savage? That was not my A game. More like going through the motions. And they smelled blood in the water.”

  R.W. had taken advantage of his being off his game by bullshitting his request for capital for a face-to-face with Manscape’s leadership. The old man never met with a partner before the check had been cut. He reserved the dirty work in the trenches for his underlings while all the glory and photo ops were reserved for him.

  Incredulous, she blinked up at him. “You don’t think you’ll get the funding? You answered every single question and counter argument with solid numbers and research. ”

  “Where’s the capital?”

  “Mr. Winthrop said he wanted to meet with the company’s Ceo and—”

  “—code for this deal is dead in the water. I’ve been here almost seventeen years, and I can’t remember the last time R.W. met with a management team. That’s what he has me for. I weed out the intangibles and risks then present him with a sure bet.”

  “Isn’t The Great Manscape a sure bet?”

  Patrick smiled. “You and I think so and deep down R.W. probably thinks so as well. His reserves eventually recovered from the dot.com bubble, not his trust.”

  “The company has a solid business model,” she argued. “They’re eschewing the get big fast philosophy that doomed most of the dot.com market. Buying in now, while they are small and making a profit, is far from speculative.”

  “You’re preaching to the choir or more like the minister.”

  “I-I’m sorry. I guess I’m just frustrated. You worked really hard going after that account and it would’ve been a great investment.”

  “I appreciate your enthusiasm. It’ll serve you well in this environment. But every venture is a risk. That’s why we call them investments.”

  “Good point,” she mumbled. “I guess I need to keep things in perspective. After all, you’re not taking a gamble with your money.” He could feel her eyes travel over him. “You seem to be taking this pretty well.”