Chapter One
Los Angeles, January 1940
Cooper dropped his bags on the sidewalk as the taxi sped from the curb. He looked toward the Garden Apartments for Women, a bungalow-style building with attached units running down both sides of an open courtyard. Taking a moment to gather his thoughts, he leaned against a telephone pole, crossed his feet and reached inside his jacket pocket. Determined to quit smoking—he was down to his last two cigarettes—it had been weeks since he needed a smoke. He needed one now. After using his lucky Zippo chrome lighter, he took a deep draw on his stale smoke. Coop glanced at the lighter displaying a drawing of a woman in a red dress and yellow coat smoking at an airport. A plane flew over her head. Some days he felt like he lived at airports. He’d just come from one.
At 40, with brown hair, blue eyes, a rather hawkish nose, high forehead and square jaw, no movie star reflected in his mirror. Yet, he’d always had a way with the ladies.
What the hell was wrong with him? He’d spent countless hours and incredible effort to arrive at this place and time. What was he waiting for? Could he actually be afraid? He was a veteran of the Great War for holy hell.
He could always hop on a plane and return home. Before last September, this would be Cooper James’ standard operating procedure, shrugging off responsibility with the best of them. His gut told him life might never be the same. Now, he wanted her to come because she wanted to, not because she had to. Cooper decided to keep newfound knowledge to himself while staying as close to his plan as possible. She might have nothing to do with him anyway. Maybe she already solved her problem.
Intending to enjoy his almost last cigarette, Cooper glanced down the street at an array of architectural styles. The urban sprawl of Los Angeles was exciting and unique. Cooper liked its raw freshness and innovation. Opportunity ran rampant, even in these hard times. Angelinos were an independent lot who didn’t seem to care a bit what anyone thought of them.
First smiling at a young mother pushing a baby carriage down the sidewalk, he frowned once she passed by. More from habit than desire, Cooper considered staying put and waiting until the taxi returned.
His thoughts wandered to the brilliantly sunny, hot afternoon when he sat in the conference room at the Beverly Hills Hotel. The powers that be had rerouted his return trip home so he could find a story at the glorified teacher’s conference. There was nothing to find. As he anticipated, a blurb about the magazine’s generous contribution got buried near the back cover of the October issue. He certainly attempted to find something more substantial.
He sat in on several discussions—geography, English, and journalism—before finding himself at the art history table.
Conversation became stale. This group seemed intent to concoct a list of the most important European art. When Cooper urged his tablemates to focus on geographical areas outside of Hitler’s control, no one took him seriously. Having more practical experience than fellow attendees, there were no fancy initials behind his name. He considered excusing himself when he caught the sarcastic exchange at a neighboring table. An older gentleman offered platitudes to a woman seated directly behind Cooper’s chair.
“Now honey, we don’t want you to bother your little noggin. We know you’re a last-minute substitute and we appreciate your efforts to prove how smart you are. But you’re wasting what time we have left. So, if you’ll powder your nose and sit real quiet, we can finish up and be on our way.”
“Honestly Hiram,” another voice chimed in, “you don’t have to be so condescending. She contributed some good ideas you should include in our report. You don’t have to be such an ass.”
“Never mind,” the woman replied. “I’d like to thank Professor Horvath, who’s successfully demonstrated what a condescending ass he truly is. How thoughtful of him to sacrifice any charm and what miniscule brainpower he has to further my original, dire impressions of the caliber of his intellect. Further, I’d like to thank almighty God above because I have no penis to control my brain, which is likely one of various afflictions plaguing the good Professor.”
A gasp went up from the table. Cooper barely kept from laughing. He doubted anyone dared address Professor Horvath in such a manner in a long while, if ever.
The woman bumped Cooper’s chair as she backed from the table.
“Sorry,” she uttered as she stood and headed for the door.
He turned to get a better look at this firecracker and found a surprisingly youthful woman, startling in this crowd of older scholars. She was tall, had short, brown, curly hair and great legs. Her shoes were fashionable but the yellow suit she wore appeared too large. He couldn’t get a read on the figure beneath. Thoroughly enchanted by her wit and thoroughly bored by his present circumstance, Cooper abruptly stood and headed after her.
The woman strode with such conviction, she got a considerable head start. Cooper called for her to slow down. She paid no attention. Finally closing the distance between them, he tapped her shoulder and received a shocking jolt of pleasure. Stunned at this tactile experience, he appeared surprised when she defiantly turned to face him.
“Hi. I heard you talking in there and wanted to tell you how much I admire your spunk.” She stared at him, unblinking. “I know you’ve probably had a difficult afternoon,” he stumbled, a half-smile drawing his mouth in a boyish grin. “Could I buy you a drink? There’s a bar around the corner, care to join me?” She hesitantly agreed and he offered his arm. Taking it, she remained silent as they headed down the sidewalk. “Let me introduce myself. My name is Cooper James.” Since she didn’t bother to put on her gloves or hat when she exited the conference room, he noted the red highlights in her hair and the intensity of her blue eyes.
“I know your name. I’ve seen your articles in Geographic World and I once caught a newsreel at the theatre featuring some of your work.”
“So, my reputation precedes me? Don’t believe everything you read,” he stated cockily. What was he doing? He wanted to come off as suave and worldly, not another jerk ruining her day. “And who is it I have the delight of escorting to the local drinking establishment?”
“Professor Abigail Morgan.” She stopped to shake his hand and appeared confused when she took his arm again.
“A pleasure to make your acquaintance. Do you mind if I call you Abbie?”
She nodded but noted, “No one ever called me Abbie before.”
Cooper continued, “Abigail, a formal name for a formal lady. Something tells me there’s a not-so-formal part of you I’d like to get to know.” Why did he keep sounding like such an ass?
His memories of that evening were a jumble of light and noise. They entered the Mexican cantina where he ordered the house special, which turned out to be some extremely potent mixed drink unlike anything he ever tasted anywhere in the world. Although he considered himself a competent imbiber of alcohol, the intoxicating beverage soon had a serious effect on him. Since Abbie was quiet, he talked too much while touching her hand, putting his arm around the back of her chair, anything to get the little jolt of pleasure. Music grew louder, the lights brighter, more drinks were ordered and consumed. He recalled almost nothing she said.
As the evening commenced, someone yelled, “Let’s have a wedding!” and everyone cheered. The gringos were the likely candidates. The bar was full of rollicking, good-natured conviviality. Cooper and Abigail were hoisted onto the bar top while a short, elderly man drinking a giant mug of beer “married” them to applause and wild laughter.
“You may now kiss the bride!” and being a good-natured participant in the festivities, Cooper obliged. What a kiss that had been or at least he remembered it as such. He’d barely been able to pull his lips away. He well-remembered the shocked look on Abbie’s face when he finally ended the sensual kiss.
The wedding goers escorted them to his hotel room. Foggy memories prohibited him from remembering much of the journey. He did recall disgusted looks of hotel guests as the bawdy band of revelers progressed through the lobby but virtually nothing that happened after he and Abbie were left alone. He vividly recalled his splitting headache upon opening his eyes to sunshine flooding the room. She was gone. Rarely had he been one to wake up alone.
He intended to shower, throw up—likely not in that order—pull himself together and find her. At minimum, he owed her an apology, he recalled that much. He misjudged her horribly. But as he swung his legs off the bed, someone knocked at the door. The noise pounded through his head like a hammer. The bellboy delivered a telegram from his dad’s housekeeper, Alma, requesting his immediate return. His dad was hospitalized in serious condition. Cooper had no choice but to head home to New York. His father’s diagnosis turned out to be less serious than originally feared, but Cooper missed the opportunity to track down his acquaintance.
Abbie somehow got under his skin. He’d been seeing the daughter of a professor from college days and even contemplated her ideas about settling down together. She was devoted to him, to his work. Immediately upon his return, Cooper canceled a dinner engagement and broke up. He didn’t even know why. His thoughts frequently returned to the night in the bar. Were his memories of the fascinating professor real or imagined? Was her touch really so unusual? And then there was that kiss—
Weeks later as Cooper checked clothing headed for the cleaners, he found a large, ornately colorful document in his jacket pocket. It appeared to be a wedding certificate from the ceremony, some souvenir of a wild night likely furnished by the bar. On a whim, he sent it to an attorney friend who lived in Sacramento. The document turned out to be authentic. Jared laughed at Cooper’s predicament and jovially volunteered to get the marriage annulled. Cooper declined, much to Jared’s chagrin. He needed to know if his memories of her were real and devised a plan to return to California. If Abbie turned out to be anything other than the woman he imagined, he could walk away. But the news he received at the university made this whole adventure a bit more consequential than he envisioned.
The one and only piece of his father’s advice he ever heeded was his warning to protect himself from forced marriage. Cooper meticulously followed this advice, number one of his personal rules; but not that night, not with her. He imagined he’d ruined Abbie’s entire life and career in a single evening. The uncharacteristic guilt made him uncomfortable. His need to make things right gnawed at his conscience.
After one last drag on his cigarette, he flicked it on the sidewalk then crushed it with the sole of his shoe. Taking a deep, anxious breath, Cooper headed up the stairs.
* * *
Feeling she wasted the beautiful day, Abigail longed to ditch her pile of ironing to go read on the beach located a mere three blocks from her tiny apartment. Her home was her refuge, the first home she ever had, the same apartment she rented when she came as a student almost 20 years earlier. She spent countless hours at her beach studying, reading, grading papers, plotting her future and contemplating challenges. But the practical problem of how to make her money last anchored her to the ironing board. Without a teaching income, her savings were dwindling. Soon she’d lose her apartment and be out on the street. It was certainly not the first time she’d be homeless, but there were other responsibilities now. Best to keep the beach for later, maybe tomorrow. The weather in L.A. could be glorious in January; she didn’t want to miss out entirely.
“Hello.”
That voice, his voice called from behind the screen door. Never expecting to hear that voice again, she froze.
“I wondered if I could see you today. I have a proposition. Wait, I mean, I promise to be a perfect gentleman. I want to invite you out—”
She turned toward the door. He stood, sheepishly grinning at her, seemingly tongue-tied. She imagined it must be a new experience for him. Unable to recall much of what he said, he talked a lot. That Abigail remembered. Crossing the room, she unlatched the screen door and let him in.
Her silence put him off his game. Cooper fumbled for words. He practiced this moment over and over in his mind and now his brain failed him completely.
“What I mean to say is, I’ve been wanting to see you. I’m back in town and hoped you’d be my date. I have a bribe.”
“Go on.”
This was going badly. “I’m giving a presentation tonight and I’d like you to come. I arranged a shopping trip at Bullocks Wilshire where you could select a new dress, have your hair done, whatever it is women do to get ready for things like this, all on me. Like I said, I promise to be a perfect gentleman and I’d enjoy treating you.” He held up his hands. “No strings attached. The taxi I came in will be back. He had another quick fare.”
“Your plans sound lovely, but I have to clear away this work so I wouldn’t be able to go.”
Cooper thought it odd a professor took in ironing, but he knew she lost her job thanks to him. “Don’t worry about it. I’ll handle everything while you go to Bullocks.”
Noting the incredulous look on her face, he added, “Seriously, I can do this. Show me how the ironing is sorted. By the time you come back, it will all be finished. Just one thing, I have a lot to say. I’m pretty sure you have a lot to say to me. But I hoped, for tonight, we could enjoy our date and avoid serious topics.”
“Okay,” she whispered. She explained the ironing and slipped her feet into a pair of sandals. “I need my purse.”
“No, you don’t. Here’s a card. Ask for this lady—Barbara—when you go in the store. She’ll take care of you.” Urging her through the door, he put his hand on her back and noted the jolt of pleasure, exactly as he remembered.
Abigail turned to give Cooper a dubious look but allowed him to direct her to the waiting taxi.
“Now if I can figure out what to do about the ironing,” Cooper muttered as the taxi pulled from the curb. He returned to the apartment, located the phone book in a desk drawer and searched for a nearby laundry.
Cooper was well beyond an impetuous time of life. Somehow, he lost all inhibition, all caution. He broke almost every personal rule with this woman. As he paged through the phone book, he considered the possibility he’d lost his mind.
After the laundryman took the ironing and delivery addresses, Cooper decided to take a quick look around the apartment before finishing the notes for his presentation. He used the modern “slide show” technology in previous lectures and wanted to be sure the projector and films were in order.
The living room appeared cozy and feminine. An overstuffed sofa, chair and footstool were arranged on the far side of the room. A desk sat between the front door and bookcases. He explored the door to the left and found an equally feminine bedroom; a quilt on the bed, one on the footboard, a rocking chair under the window. Next to a high dresser stood a cheval mirror.
Glancing at books on the nightstand, he found a Bible and The Grapes of Wrath, an unlikely reading combination. The Grapes of Wrath had recently been banned and burned. He opened the Bible to an earmarked page in the book of Mark. The first verse on the page read, “What therefore God hath joined together, let not man put asunder.” The passage came a bit too close for comfort. He doubted an old Mexican chugging a beer could be acting on the Lord’s behalf and dropped the book on the nightstand as if it burned his fingers.
Two doors in the bedroom led to a small closet, neatly arranged, and a bathroom, which he needed to use. The compact apartment looked comfortable and tidy. Having finished his ablutions, Cooper returned to the living room to finalize his presentation.
***
Abigail would normally never step foot in Bullocks Wilshire. She couldn’t afford merchandise at the high-end department store. Her budget for clothing was minimal. She usually sewed her own clothes. Today, she certainly was not dressed for shopping. When the taxi stopped in front of the entrance, she hopped out, ignoring stares of other shoppers. She wore a housedress and sandals, no hat, no gloves. But if regular customers thought they would intimidate by their disapproving stares, they were sadly mistaken. Looks of disapproval punctuated her entire life; they did not phase her. She made a practice of meeting new experiences with aplomb.
Abigail approached the concierge who sported a harsh look of disdain until she gave her name. He quickly called an associate on the house phone and offered Abigail a seat and refreshments, which she declined. She waited only a few moments until the sales associate Barbara appeared to help with her shopping needs.
Once she entered the opulent foyer, Abigail struggled to keep her expression even as she viewed the immense, plush interior. She’d seen pictures in the newspaper when the store opened ten years ago, but the photographs didn’t compare to reality. She felt awed by the travertine flooring, metallic embellishments, the fantastic chandeliers and spacious interior. Woolworth’s this was not.
Soon, Abigail felt pampered as never before. Whatever dollar amount enabled her day at the store must have been notable. Barbara fitted her for a red gown, wrap, gloves, small beaded bag and heels, then helped her select a blue day dress and jacket, shoes, gloves, purse, hat and luxurious lingerie. Barbara explained there would be some event the following day.
Abigail felt like a movie star. The only awkward moment occurred when Barbara mentioned how well the gathers on the side of the red gown disguised her expectant condition. Abigail’s face must have catalogued her shock. She never imagined anyone could guess her predicament so soon. Barbara smiled kindly and explained she observed women’s bodies every day and could certainly tell when one was “on the nest.” After assuring her condition couldn’t be easily discerned, Barbara commented the father must be proud indeed. Abigail candidly admitted the father didn’t know.
“Well,” Barbara responded, “I’m certain he’ll be proud once he finds out, maybe tonight?” Abigail offered no response. She uncharacteristically warmed to the endearing woman and didn’t even mind her touch during fittings. It was the second time today a person’s touch didn’t completely unnerve her.
She was escorted to tea in the fabulous desert-themed tea room on the 5th floor before being sent for a manicure and pedicure. Then she visited the hair salon for styling and makeup. Barbara waved her off in front of the store where a limousine driver placed her boxes in the trunk before opening her door and explained they would stop for Mr. James before proceeding to dinner.
Staring out the window of the limousine, Abigail remembered Cooper as a nice-looking man, trim, fit and considerably taller than she was. Abigail assumed over time she would forget his face, but pictured him in her mind more often than she cared to admit. Recalling his muscular arms and shoulders and the way it felt when he touched her, she couldn’t believe he’d reappeared.
***
Alex stroked the side of his cocktail glass with his index finger as he stared across the banquet table at his protégé and the professor. This trip to California began to make sense.
He’d literally begged Coop James for months to accept the Natural History Museum’s longstanding request to speak on his travels at their refurbished Africa exhibit, to no avail. After Coop’s trip to Los Angeles last fall, the man changed his mind completely and eagerly agreed to anything and everything the museum desired. It was all about a woman.
Alex wouldn’t have been surprised if Coop squired a socialite or even a movie star this evening. He’d always been a lady’s man. His work for Geographic World included personal intrigue. Implied romantic exploits were exaggerated.Thorough knowledge of history and geography were what set him apart from other contributors.
Tonight’s lady did not appear to be his type. Professor Morgan, if she truly was a professor, seemed intelligent and personable, but when Coop took her hand and kissed her palm, her expression reminded Alex of a young girl madly in love with a high school sweetheart. Yet she wasn’t young and didn’t appear naive. Coop, who normally adopted an aloof and superior attitude with women, appeared abnormally eager-to-please. Had Cooper James fallen in love? He assumed Coop, enamored by work and committed to freedom, would never settle down. His occasional flirtation seemed the limit to any relationship. Alex doubted this particular romantic involvement had a chance in hell of surviving.
Alex’s own less-than-fulfilling romantic endeavors flashed through his memory. He couldn’t even count the number of times he’d proposed to Florence, Coop’s mother. They’d gone to school together. She never took his proposals seriously. Had she, Coop would have been his son.
A condolence letter after Florence’s death became the catalyst for a friendship between him and Coop’s father. The former rivals found they had a lot in common. When Coop took an interest in writing, Alex took him under his wing. He’d been a mentor ever since.
Alex experienced other unfortunate relationships in his youth. His natural suspicion of women caused him to settle for a quiet personal life. He provided a home for his widowed sister who attended to all of life’s details: cooking, cleaning, even arranging Alex’s calendar. A grateful Prudence appreciated the home he provided. They’d always been close. He considered his personal life ideal and blessedly drama-free.
When the professor left to powder her nose, Coop nearly leapt across the table to get Alex’s opinion. Alex pretended not to understand Coop’s questions. Exasperated, Coop asked, “Abbie, Abbie, what do you think of her?”
“Oh, the professor, she seems—nice, why?”
“Well,” Coop admitted, “I’m going to ask her to come home with me.”
Alex was genuinely taken aback. Somehow this relationship progressed to a level he didn’t anticipate. A weak, “Oh,” was all he managed in reply. When the professor returned, Coop made a beeline to accompany her.
Constantly diverted by his role as speaker, Coop resisted being drawn away, but soon had no choice but to leave the table and prepare his slideshow. Alex took the opportunity to occupy Coop’s empty seat and make small talk with the charming Professor Morgan. As the conversation progressed, Alex’s opinion evolved. She seemed genuine. His questions about her work could not have been answered by a fraud.
Alex offered, “Coop seems crazy about you, Professor.”
“It’s Abigail and I believe you must be mistaken. We’re merely acquaintances.”
Alex had his doubts. Chuckling, he continued, “I’ve known Coop a long time. I’ve never seen him so obviously smitten by any woman. I rather expect to see a lot more of you. If you’ll excuse me, I need to check in with the committee chairman before the presentation begins.”
* * *
Abigail sat in the limo once again, contemplating her incredible and unexpected day. Cooper drew her by his side and she laid her head against his shoulder. She never imagined how wonderful it would feel to relax against a man’s body, well, this man’s body anyway. For once, he was quiet. The delightful and exhilarating sense of touch overwhelmed any tension between them.
Her mind drifted back over the evening. She’d never been to the Huntington Hotel. Impressive in its size and incredibly elegant, her surroundings intimidated her from the moment the limousine door opened. Cooper guided her through the opulent lobby and down a hallway to the magnificently appointed ballroom. She probably met famous people and didn’t even know who they were. Even if she made a complete fool of herself, it wouldn’t have bothered her, but for some reason, she’d been uncharacteristically intent on making a good impression. The incident in the ladies’ room proved to be the only part of the evening that caught her off-guard.
She sat in front of a mirror, applying lipstick. An older, stout lady sat to her right adding makeup to her already heavily painted face. The woman wore a champagne-colored dress which matched her complexion and bleached blonde hair too closely.
“You’re a bit out of your league, aren’t you?” asked the woman.
“Pardon me?” Abigail replied, stalling for time. She took a quick and critical glance at the mirror as she did when she left for work in the morning—when she worked. She always considered clothing to be a costume and dressed appropriately. Even though she enjoyed wearing stylish clothes today, it had as much of an agenda as her work clothes. Abbie believed she looked completely acceptable. She fit in.
“You’re out of your league, dear. A man like him won’t stay interested in someone like you. He’s a worldly man.”
Words of advice were not what Abigail expected. She recovered, “Oh, you misunderstand. Mr. James and I are merely colleagues, friends at best.” Smiling, she closed the clasp on her beaded bag and headed for the door. “Thank you for your concern. Have a lovely evening.”
Abigail would admit the woman was probably right. Why did Cooper hold such attraction for her? She certainly didn’t welcome a life-changing relationship. She made the life of her dreams. Her only desire had been to go to school. Once she got there, she never wanted to leave. After graduation, the university hired her to teach. She leapt at the chance. Being a single, young, female teacher had its initial challenges. Her students were mostly male and older than she was. The morals clause in her contract proved extraordinarily restrictive. There could be no hint of impropriety. That clause ruled her life, always influencing her behavior and appearance.
Her clothes were dowdy and oversized; she never wore makeup. She didn’t allow self-expression in her appearance, except for the occasional pair of fashionable shoes. Her activities were closely scrutinized. She devoted herself to work, being a good teacher, keeping a low profile and advancing her career by outstanding service to her students. Being the only woman in her department, she was given remedial classes populated by the most disinterested students. Affluent parents of these students had clout and became the catalyst for her professorship, which the head of the math department would otherwise never have advanced. Abigail recently applied for her doctorate and submitted her thesis. She planned to try as many times as it took.
In her limited free time, she walked on the beach, kept her modest home and practiced the “womanly arts” at which she felt so deficient. The flowery housedresses she loved to wear at home were the closest thing to self-expression in her wardrobe. Her admittedly strong tendencies toward unconventional behavior were completely stifled for the past 20 years. Perhaps the recent lack of adventure caused her night with Cooper. In light of her upbringing, this was small potatoes. Merely an outburst of personality. She sacrificed everything she accomplished in probably eight hours with him. Par for the course. She had no regrets. He gave her a gift she never imagined.
Abigail felt tired. It had been a busy day. A grin graced her lips as she dozed off against Cooper’s shoulder.
***
Cooper felt an unusual contentment having Abbie by his side. The evening went exactly as planned. Surely Abbie saw him in a good light. Day two of his carefully orchestrated romantic adventure was actually underway since midnight already came and went. He’d drop Abbie at her apartment and invite her to the museum dedication before checking into the hotel. Once the limo pulled in front of the Garden Apartments for Women, Abbie sat up.
“Would you like to walk on the beach?”
He was happy to accommodate this unexpected turn of events. After the driver dropped them off, they stashed their shoes under a bench and walked toward the shore.
Unable to control his nervous tendency to talk too much, Cooper first shared stories from his travels. The less Abbie commented, the more Cooper divulged.
“My dad worked in the State Department. We lived all over the world. His Africa assignment is what ultimately led to the presentation tonight.”
Always eager to hear about families, Abigail asked, “You and your father are close?”
“We never were. My parents didn’t have a happy marriage. When Mom died, Dad sent me to boarding school in Switzerland. War raged all around, but that didn’t matter to him. My best friend Gus and I joined up. I might be repeating myself; I don’t remember much of what we talked about in the cantina.” But Cooper knew he talked way too much, possibly about women friends—yet another personal taboo he’d breached. “Feel free to interrupt if I’m being repetitive.”
“What was it like, the war?”
Cooper didn’t believe women needed to know anything about war. He didn’t want to be too specific. “Those were ugly times. I was a stupid kid. I guess I emerged from war a man, somewhat worse for wear.”
With all the stories he could tell, why did they keep landing on topics he hated? There seemed to be no way for him to control his mouth with Abbie. Perhaps the night would end with this conversation and he didn’t want it to.
The moon was almost full. January in California could be incredibly mild, yet there were no beachcombers in sight. Cooper stopped abruptly and asked, “Would it be ungentlemanly of me to kiss you?”
Abigail knew full well she would have let him do more than kiss her when Cooper showed up on her doorstep. The gentlemanly agreement had been his idea, not hers. She whispered, “I think that would be fine.”
Cooper lowered his lips to hers, first gently, then forcefully. He felt out of control and completely intoxicated by her nearness. He pulled away to clear his head. Cooper never wanted a woman the way he wanted her. He could tell her now, certain they would spend the night together. No, best to keep to his plan. He wanted more than tonight. They kissed again. “Maybe I should walk you home.”
“Maybe so.”
After wrapping his arm possessively around Abbie’s waist, they retraced their steps along the shoreline. “I know I talk too much when we’re together. Tell me more about your life. You said your parents passed away when you were young and you lived with your brother. If you mentioned anything else, I can’t remember.”
Abbie never discussed her upbringing. She didn’t even contemplate the past in the privacy of her own mind. “My brother is 12 years older. He loves airplanes. His idea of the good life was flying and he freely pursued his passion once our parents were gone. I went along for the ride.” She switched gears. “At 15 I got a grant to the university and moved into the apartment I have now.”
The conversation easily transitioned to her experiences of working her way through college, waiting tables, tutoring and taking odd jobs. By the time she told him about her students and parents who supported her professorship, they were back at the bench. Coop sat down to put his shoes on, but Abigail walked to the apartment barefoot. The winter night was brisk; the ocean breeze had come up. Cooper draped his jacket over her shoulders.
“I know I promised we’d have time to talk when I arrived, but I hoped to put our discussion off a bit longer.” Abbie didn’t respond so he continued. “Tomorrow morning is the dedication at the museum. I wondered if you’d come.”
“Oh, the blue dress.”
“Yes, the dress. I didn’t mean to offend you. The clothes are a gift. It’s not a comment on your wardrobe. I wasn’t certain what kind of affairs a math professor in California attended—”
Abigail put her hand on his arm. “Well, let’s just say I didn’t have anything appropriate for tonight. I appreciate your generous gifts. Thank you so much.” Once they reached the apartment building, Abigail stopped and turned to face him. “It seems silly for you to call a taxi and pay for a room for a few hours of sleep. You’re more than welcome to sleep on my sofa. We can go to the museum from here.”
“Sure.” Not wanting to sound too eager, he added, “That sounds—practical.”
“Mrs. Potter, the manager, is away for a few days or I’d never be able to let you stay. She’s like a bloodhound, always nosing into everyone’s business. The rules at the Women’s Apartments are strict: no children, no boyfriends, no husbands, no men.” But then, Abigail thought to herself, it would only be a matter of time before she got kicked out anyway; no babies.
They quietly disappeared into apartment four.
* * *
Coop’s tall frame did not fit the sofa. He managed to doze off a few times but achieved little sleep. He’d gotten by on less. One vision haunted his thoughts. Unable to unfasten the tiny red satin-covered buttons down the back of her dress, Abbie had no choice but to ask for help. Viewing her flawless back through the opening in the dress proved to be the most frustrating part of the entire night. Being a gentleman proved far more difficult than he envisioned. Since they were alone in her apartment, he feared asking for a goodnight kiss. If he hadn’t already thoroughly damaged her reputation, he would certainly have done so last night.
She must be awake. He heard the sound of the bathroom door closing. Another sound exploded in his brain. Well, he wanted clarity on the baby issue and he had it. Someone retched in the bathroom; that someone was his wife. His wife. He never considered that word before. The possibility existed that Abbie was hung over, but he couldn’t recall seeing her drink. His wife was throwing up in the bathroom and he was responsible. Coop braced for panic, but none came.
When the bedroom door opened, he closed his eyes and feigned sleep. Abbie padded barefoot across the living room and into the kitchen. He heard the rattle of dishes. Soon the smell and sound of bacon sizzling wafted through the apartment. Coop went to use the bathroom, washed his face and combed his hair with his fingers. By the time he entered the kitchen, breakfast was almost ready. Abbie offered a seat. During his investigation of the apartment, he omitted the kitchen. The cheerful room had a red and yellow checkered floor and feminine ruffled curtains. Two mismatched chairs sat at a round table. The room appeared as immaculate as the rest of Abbie’s abode. Breakfast smelled good.
“I hope you like scrambled eggs.” Somewhere in the back of Abigail’s mind she recalled most men liked their eggs scrambled.
“I do, they’re my favorite.” As Coop sat down and put the napkin in his lap, Abbie set a glass of orange juice in front of him.
“I’m sorry, I don’t like coffee and I don’t have any. Are you a coffee drinker? Would you like some tea?”
“I am a coffee drinker, but the juice is fine.” Abbie sipped a cup of tea. Famished, Cooper dug into the hearty meal. Perfectly crisp bacon accompanied sliced banana and buttery eggs. A muffin, slathered in jam, proved to be moist and flavorful. Breakfast might not be a particularly difficult meal to cook, but she did an excellent job. “You don’t have much on your plate.” He noted her small portion of eggs, two strips of bacon and half a muffin and wondered how she could eat at all, having just been sick.
Abbie picked at her breakfast. “I’m not much of a morning person. That might seem strange for a teacher who always has first period classes, but it’s true. The muffins are leftover.”
“They’re perfect. Good jam.”
“I made it myself.”
“I’m impressed. I imagine there’s only a handful of mathematics professors in the world who can add jam maker to their resume.”
Abbie grinned. Cooper never heard her laugh and wondered how it would sound.
Coop prepared for the museum event while Abbie cleaned up the kitchen, then dressed. He phoned to confirm the picnic basket he ordered would be ready on time and stuck his head out the front door to check the weather. Everything fell into place once the limousine pulled in front of the apartment building.
***
Cooper accepted a commemorative plaque commending Geographic World’s support of the exhibit. When the crowd of eager attendees dispersed, Cooper made a quick comment to Alex, grabbed Abigail’s hand and headed for the exit. She felt disappointed she wouldn’t get to see the exhibit. But the sly smile on Cooper’s face intrigued her. He must have planned their afternoon.
Mr. James had use of the limousine for one more day and took full advantage. They picked up a large basket from a local café and proceeded to enjoy a picnic lunch in Hancock Park beside the La Brea Tar Pits. Cooper used his magazine credentials to secure an insider’s view of the tar pits where large bones were recently excavated. Abigail admitted she’d never seen the tourist attractions of Los Angeles so they spent the afternoon visiting Grauman’s Chinese Theater and The Hollywood Bowl. They enjoyed a delicious dinner at The Brown Derby then returned to the beach for a stroll under the stars before quietly returning to Abbie’s apartment. Wondering if he would be invited in again, Cooper took her key and opened the front door.
Abigail grabbed his arm and stated, “I’m not feeling well.”
“Do you need to lie down?”
She looked pale so he guided her to the easy chair. Having witnessed injured men about to pass out during the war, he felt reasonably certain Abbie was in the same predicament so he shoved her head between her knees. At first, she tried to push him away so she could sit up.
“Relax. Your head will clear in a minute. Better now? Let me get you a glass of water.” When he returned, she sat up to take the water. After a few sips, she attempted to stand.
“Sit still. I’ll take the glass. Lay your head against the chair.”
After taking the glass to the kitchen, Cooper sat on the ottoman and lifted Abbie’s feet to rest against his leg. “If you’re able, maybe it’s time we had our talk.” Abbie nodded. “The deal is, I get my say first, then I’ll listen to anything and everything you have to say, okay?” Again, she nodded.
Bending forward, he took her hands in his, took a deep breath and commenced the narrative he’d rehearsed so many times.
“Back in September when I woke up, you were gone. I planned to find you. I felt, at minimum, I owed you an apology. I wished you told me you’d never been with a man before. I could have made it easier on you—”
“Because you’re an expert defiler of virgins?”
“No, no.” He took another deep breath and continued. “I figured I’d find you at the university, but I ended up getting on a plane and going home. You see, I received word my father had been hospitalized, gravely ill. I had no choice but to use my ticket to New York. His illness proved to be minor. So I devised a way to return to California as soon as I could.
“Alex pestered me to accept the museum’s invitation. I declined several times, but then it became the perfect opportunity for this trip. Unfortunately, the opening got delayed due to construction issues. What started out as a November opening turned into a December and finally a January event. But nothing deterred my desire to find you. I don’t think a day went by when I didn’t recall our evening together. I’d remember something we saw, or something you said, or something I said that I probably shouldn’t have. I found a piece of paper in a coat I was sending to the cleaners.” Coop pulled a paper from his jacket pocket and unfolded it. He snuck a peek at her expression—obvious confusion. He handed her the garish document.
Abigail’s eyes widened as she read. “This can’t be real.”
“I thought so too. I sent it to a friend of mine in Sacramento and he checked it out. It’s an authentic marriage certificate, signed by a real judge and properly filed.”
“You can’t be serious. Listen, I would never hold you to this. If you’ve come to get this annulled, I will certainly sign any—”
“Wait now, it’s still my turn. I didn’t get my say.” Abbie’s eyes snapped as she brought her lips firmly together. “The thing is, my buddy thought this extremely funny. He gave me a bad time then offered to have the marriage annulled. I said no, without hesitation. Truth is, I wanted to see you; I wanted to know if my memories were real or simply a fantasy resulting from too much liquor. It took a lot of effort planning these two days, knowing you might yell at me and throw me off your porch. My plans actually went awry from the moment I got into town. The only thing I knew for sure was that you taught at the university. It was there I went and soon found myself seated in the dean’s office.”
Abigail tried to gauge Cooper’s expression. How much did he know?
“The dean of women appeared, well, antagonistic at best. She said you’d been dismissed. When I pressed her, she snidely informed me you’d violated their ethics clause. I attempted to appear knowledgeable to get more information. Perhaps someone saw us at the bar or worse yet, at the hotel. I didn’t anticipate her eagerness to gossip. She explained you fainted in the classroom before Thanksgiving. The reason became apparent and you were sent packing.”
Abigail’s qualms turned into full-blown horror.
“I informed the dean you couldn’t possibly be in violation of any ethics agreement since you were a properly married woman, which is technically correct. I explained we’d been separated since our marriage due to my work abroad. You would have loved the look on her face when I demanded a letter of reinstatement and hinted a lawsuit for illegal termination would be forthcoming. Pleading ignorance, she back-tracked, embarrassed at the university’s mistake.
“I decided to keep to my original plan and managed to charm your address from one of your former tutoring students I found in the math department. It proved extremely difficult to convince her my intentions were honorable. After all, I couldn’t admit to the dean that as your husband, I didn’t know where you lived.
“The baby changes everything. I want you to come home with me because you want to, not because you have to. God knows, I’m not husband material. You should have serious doubts about this. And if you decide against giving us a try, I promise to support you until you go back to work and I’ll always support our child. If you come to New York and things don’t work out, I’ll arrange your return to California. The letter I got from the dean is open-ended. You can have your job back when you’re ready.
“When I planned my trip here, I tried to think of some way to convince you my offer of marriage is serious, assuming I got past your front porch. I thought if I gave you my mother’s wedding ring, it would demonstrate my commitment.” Cooper scooted off the ottoman and got on one knee. He took the ruby ring out of his pocket. “Will you be my wife?” He stared into her eyes attempting to display all the hope he felt in his heart.
Abigail was dumbfounded. When Cooper showed up on her doorstep, she assumed she’d be nothing more than his entertainment for a night. Their time together might make a proper story she could tell her baby, something better than the fact they got drunk in a bar. She did not anticipate or expect any commitment from him. She felt it a waste to track him down and tell him about the baby since she had no proof. Although she never needed anyone to take care of her, he offered her a home.
Cooper took her silence for disbelief. “It’s real, a Burmese ruby set in a diamond coronet. Is it too gaudy?”
“No, it’s beautiful, but I have some idea what I’m getting into here. You don’t understand at all what you’re getting into. I don’t know anything about families or marriage. I don’t know how to keep a house. I have never even touched a baby.”
Cooper didn’t understand. He glanced around her apartment, unable to relate what he saw to what she said.
“But if you truly want to try this, then yes, I will be your wife.”
Afraid she was about to turn him down, a jubilant Cooper slipped his ring on her finger and kissed her soundly. “You understand this means the end of gentlemanly behavior, don’t you?”
“I hoped so.”