Prince Of The City. Nikki Benjamin
apartment no later than eight-thirty most weekday mornings.
“There’s fresh coffee in the pot and I brought some of those pastries from the Polish bakery in my neighborhood that you like,” the housekeeper offered, still smiling.
“Sounds wonderful, Mrs. Kazinsky.” Eloise smiled gratefully in return, then added, “I take it the boys got off to school okay.”
“They were gone when I got here, and there were cereal bowls and glasses in the sink, all rinsed out, too. They are such good boys, Mrs. Vale.”
“Yes, they are,” Eloise agreed as she headed toward the kitchen, ready for a cup of Mrs. K.’s strong black coffee and one of the buttery rich, cinnamon and nutfilled pastries she had yet to find the willpower to refuse.
She should have known her Carl, John and Henry could, and would, get themselves off to school on their own. They had already convinced her that they were safe at home in the apartment without an adult sitter to supervise them when she attended social engagements in the evening, hadn’t they?
They were growing up, she reminded herself, pouring coffee into a china mug, taking a pastry from the bakery box on the counter, then heading back to her bedroom. And they were also growing more and more independent. She was proud of them, of course. She didn’t want them tied to her apron strings, clinging to her forever. That wouldn’t have been fair to any of them, herself included.
But at the same time, Eloise felt just a little sad and just a little lost. She had devoted so much of her life to her beloved sons. What would she do once they were truly out on their own, especially if she no longer had Manhattan Multiples to occupy her time? She didn’t like the idea of spending her golden years not only all alone, but also without work she enjoyed.
For a fleeting instant, Eloise remembered the kiss she had shared with Bill Harper at her front door the night before, and realized that she didn’t necessarily have to be alone. But contemplating a future with Bill was more wishful thinking than anything else.
The physical and emotional attraction between them had been more than obvious. But she couldn’t, in good conscience, pursue a relationship with him under the circumstances. His views on city funding for nonprofit organizations made it impossible.
As for having to give up her work at Manhattan Multiples—work she thoroughly enjoyed—that she could control, at least to some extent. She hadn’t lost the battle to save city funding for her organization yet. And there was still a very good chance that she wouldn’t if she got her butt in gear, threw on some clothes and made an effort to get to her office sometime before noon, she reminded herself, making a face at her tousle-haired image in the bathroom mirror.
Worst case scenario, she could, and would if necessary, keep Manhattan Multiples going using her apartment as a base of operations. Granted she would have to scale down considerably, but she would continue to offer as many services as possible. And she would focus on the most important aspect of her work, the one she enjoyed the most—directing a supportive, nurturing network of people as devoted as she was to helping women cope with their multiple birth pregnancies.
She had already brought in quite a bit of money from the fund-raisers she’d been holding for Manhattan Multiples. Of course, that amount wouldn’t be nearly enough to cover the costs of maintaining the three floors Manhattan Multiples now occupied in a building on Madison Avenue. It would, however, be enough to pay some salaries, provide counseling services, some classroom instruction and some medical care to those most urgently in need of help.
The scope of her organization would certainly be smaller and the headquarters would have to be relocated, but Manhattan Multiples wouldn’t go out of existence altogether. Not if she had anything to do about it, and she had only just begun to tap her personal resources.
Reinvigorated by a hot shower, a second cup of Mrs. Kazinsky’s coffee and, yes, another pastry, along with the talk she’d had with herself, Eloise swept a brush through her hair and applied her makeup. Then she dressed quickly in tailored gray wool pants, a black cashmere turtleneck sweater and black, low-heeled leather boots. She completed her outfit with a single strand of pearls and matching pearl-cluster earrings, sophisticated but not showy, snapped the catch of her chunky gold and platinum watch band and was ready to go.
Though the weather report she’d caught on the radio stated that the outdoor temperature was hovering just above freezing, she decided to walk the short distance to her office at Manhattan Multiples. Bundled into her calf-length black cashmere wool coat she would be more than warm enough. And the brisk air and bright sunshine would surely blow away any last cobwebs that might fog her brain.
She had a lot to deal with today, and getting a late start as she already was, she couldn’t afford to be anything but at her very best.
The walk did indeed do her good. The sights and sounds of the bustling city and the people moving past her on the sidewalks with seeming strength and purpose, lifted her spirits another notch.
Yes, her beloved New York City had been down for a while following the destructive attacks by a band of mad terrorists. But the city and its people were healing, and signs of renewed faith, hope and love were visible all around her.
Especially within the walls of Manhattan Multiples, Eloise reminded herself with a slight smile as she headed toward the double glass doors that led into the warm and inviting reception area on the first of the organization’s three floors.
“Good morning, Ms. Vale,” Tony Martino greeted her as he stepped forward and opened one of the doors for her.
A personable young man, five-ten, with a sturdy build, black hair and kind brown eyes, he was the daytime security guard she’d hired after she’d started receiving threatening letters from an anonymous but frighteningly disgruntled man who seemed to despise everything Manhattan Multiples represented. Tony’s twin brother, Frank, took over as the nighttime security guard, which was extremely fitting and amused Eloise to no end.
She loved the idea of multiples looking out for the well-being of Manhattan Multiples.
“Good morning, Tony, although I should probably say good afternoon. I’m running way late today.”
“Hey, no problem, Ms. Vale. You’re the boss. Ain’t nobody I know gonna get on your case,” Tony replied with an engaging grin. “And if they do, you tell me about it and I’ll take care of them for you.”
“Thanks, Tony. I will.”
The soothing blue of the sky motif covering the wall behind the elegant antique reception desk never failed to lighten Eloise’s mood, as did the lovely mix of New Age music piped through the sound system. She recognized a favorite cut from a Danny Wright CD that had been getting lots of play lately.
And with good reason, she acknowledged, seeing Josie Tate Dunnigan, her receptionist, newly wed to Michael Dunnigan and proud mother-to-be huddled with her personal assistant, Allison Baker Perez, also newly wed to Jorge Perez, and expecting. Eloise was more and more certain she would have twins or maybe even triplets if her rapidly expanding tummy was any indication.
Love had been in the air at Manhattan Multiples for several months now, much to Eloise’s delight. She had always been a romantic at heart, and having so many of the special women she had come to care about over the past few years finally finding happiness with some very special men had given her great joy. And a great, but very secret, desire to find that same kind of happiness for herself.
Maybe that explained why she had been so attracted to Bill Harper last night. Maybe she had just been overly receptive to any possibility of love, and Bill had simply been available. Of course, that would only be the case if her attraction to Bill was something new rather than something she had first felt seventeen years ago and had continued to feel ever since.
Again Eloise remembered the kiss they’d shared, and again she realized how easily he had swept her off her feet. And would again, she warned herself, given half a chance. Unless she kept in mind the cause she had to support—a cause that was in direct opposition to Mayor Harper’s own stated goals for the city.
“Sorry