Tempting The Mogul

“No I didn’t!” Christiane cried. “Dad’s never said a word, but that explains his frequent trips to Houston. They have some of the best heart surgeons there. Mom must have known something about this, but she never let on.”

“That’s because the old buzzard told her to keep her mouth shut. You know she’ll do whatever he asks,” Salim muttered bitterly.

“Oh, Salim, there you go again. Can’t you make peace with Dad and move on? He could probably use your help and support right now.”

Salim snorted. “In that case he shouldn’t have hired his girlfriend to work at the studio.”

“What!”

“You heard me. I know squat about the television business and now I’m being railroaded into coming on board.” A horrifying thought gripped him, one he was reluctant to put into words.

“You have no proof,” Christiane admonished. “Dad’s pushing sixty. He’s getting up there in years and we’re the only two children he has. Why is it you always want to believe the worst of him?”

“I can’t summon up compassion for a liar and a cheat. Don’t you recall what he put our mother through growing up?”

“You and your assumptions.”

“Not assumptions. There’s been proof.” Salim began to recite events and situations, all captured either on film or in the newspaper.

But there was no swaying Christiane to his way of thinking. She was Daddy’s girl, always was and always would be.

Perhaps it was high time he paid a visit home.

Talking to his mother on the phone was one thing, but seeing her face-to-face was another. He’d planned on taking her out to lunch and giving her the gift he’d brought back from Africa anyway. There was no danger of running into the old man midafternoon, so why not just go on over?

Rather than take his pickup truck, he opted for his Vespa scooter. There was something about riding that sleek machine with the wind blowing in his face and the motor throbbing between his legs that made him feel invincible. He’d always marched to the beat of his own drummer anyway, and he wasn’t about to change.

Zooming in and out of traffic, Salim whipped across the bridge and onto Mercer Island where the family had its home. He navigated several winding roads before heading up a tree-lined driveway. He left the Vespa parked in front of the rambling brick mansion that he’d called home growing up.

Salim used the house key he kept on his key ring, but seldom used.

“Salim. Did somebody die?” Tilly the housekeeper who’d been a second mother to him asked as he sailed through the front door. She wiped her hands on the apron wrapped around her ample waist.

“No, no one died. I’m here to see my mother and you.” He gave her the full force of his smile.

“Consider yourself lucky that I like you,” she said, offering up a plump cheek for his kiss. Matilda, Tilly for short, was one of those rotund, ageless women whose fat prevented her from wrinkling.

She frowned at him. “You need to leave those muddy boots on the doormat. The floors were just done and I’ll be damned if I’m going to have you mess them up. How was Africa or wherever you’re coming from this time?”

“Lots of work, Tilly. I’m exhausted.” Salim slipped off his boots and left them where she’d instructed.

“Your mother’s in the bedroom. She has one of her headaches, probably brought on by you,” Tilly snorted. “Is that gift for her?”

“Yes, it is.”

Salim left her and headed down a long hallway toward his mother’s bedroom. Although she didn’t think he knew it, it had been years since she and Tanner had shared a room. The old man’s room was on the opposite end of the hall close to the staircase so that he could come and go as he pleased.

What a way to live.

Salim knocked lightly. He heard a stirring from inside and then his mother’s voice came at him.

“Tilly, didn’t I say I didn’t want to be disturbed?”

“It’s me, Mother.”

“Salim! You’re back.” There was genuine joy in her tone. “What brings you here? I would’ve thought you’d be home sleeping and jet-lagged.”

The door opened slowly. Lucinda, dressed in an elegant silk robe, embraced him. It reminded him of when he was a little boy and got hurt. It was always his mother’s arms he sought.

They’d always had a special bond. Lucinda understood his need to carve out a life for himself. Her easygoing nature and acceptance of others made her a pushover for her dominant husband. It made Salim want to protect her. And protect her he did.

“I came to see my favorite woman,” Salim answered when he was able to separate himself from her lily scent. The smell of lilies was one of his first memories. To this day just a whiff took him back in time to a place when life was so much simpler.

Lucinda whacked his arm. “I bet that’s what you say to all your girls. If you’ll give me a few minutes to change, I’ll have Tilly fix us something to eat.”

Salim handed her the gift he’d brought all the way back from Zimbabwe. In exchange he received another tight hug.

“Oh, Salim, you shouldn’t have, but I’m glad you did. This jewelry box is beautiful. Give me five minutes to get dressed and then meet me in the sunroom.”

True to her word, Lucinda arrived in the sunroom at the appointed time. Salim was already comfortably seated in a wingback chair, sipping bottled water and watching a muted television with one eye. When he stood, she wrapped him in another tight embrace.

“What’s really brought you here?” she asked, olding Salim away from her and examining him with a critical eye.

“I came to talk to you,” he answered.

“About?”

“What’s going on with your husband’s health?”

“Did your father say something to you?” his mother hedged.

“The old man summoned me to the studio, Mom. He says he has health issues. It’s the first time I’ve heard of heart problems. If I’m being manipulated I’d like to know. I canceled a ticket to Haiti and put my life on hold. Tell me what’s going on.”

“He didn’t want you or Christiane to worry,” Lucinda said in a soft voice.

“Really? All his life it’s always been about him.”

Lucinda took the chair across from Salim and crossed a shapely leg. Salim sat back down and waited for his mother to begin.

“Your father is not the ogre you make him out to be. If he’s reaching out to you, it’s because he needs you to step up and take over. The diagnosis from his doctor is not good.”

Salim cracked his knuckles so hard Lucinda flinched.

He didn’t know what to say. “Why didn’t you call me and warn me this was coming, Ma? I’m not management material. I don’t even own a suit.”

She held up a hand, silencing him. “A suit does not make the man. You’ll have plenty of help running TSW. Your dad pays his executive team well for their expertise. What we need is a strong presence at the studio while I nurse him back to health.”

The comment propelled Salim out of his seat. He snorted and began circling the room. “The whole corporate thing makes me want to gag, Ma. I’m not much for the politics or phony people.”

“Then let’s not talk about the situation,” Lucinda said, accepting the cup of tea Tilly handed her. “Tell me about Africa. The jewelry box you brought me is quite lovely and very well crafted. I’ll use it to keep my everyday rings.”

For the next hour while they visited, Lucinda caught him up on what was happening in her life and he shared his. She shared how worried she was about Tanner’s upcoming surgery.

Despite Salim’s feelings about his father, he threaded his fingers through his mother’s and squeezed her hand hard. Lucinda sniffled loudly and took a sip from her cup. Speaking more to herself than to him, she said, “There’s nothing more relaxing than a well-brewed cup of tea.”

By subtly shifting the conversation, they ended the visit on an upbeat note.

In an overt act of rebelliousness, Salim arrived at TSW studios on Thursday in jeans and a long-sleeved shirt that had seen better days. His father was nowhere to be found when he arrived. Diane made the usual excuses.

“Your dad’s in a meeting,” she said, pointing him to a seat and picking up yet another phone. Salim soon got tired of hanging out in the waiting area. He was about to take a walk when along came Kennedy Fitzgerald. Today she was dressed in another of those sharp conservative suits.

Today’s getup was a pin-striped suit, the skirt skimming the knees of her beautifully shaped legs. Pearls circled her neck and she sported matching earrings. No one dressed like this in Seattle, not even the lawyers. But Kennedy Fitzgerald made her conservative suit look becoming, even sexy.

The three-inch heels of her pumps beat out a rat-atat as she approached Diane’s desk.

“I’m a few minutes early,” she said in a very refined voice.

“Unfortunately, Mr. Washington is running a few minutes late. Why don’t you introduce yourself to Salim, his son? He’s seated over there.” Di pointed a finger to the corner where he was seated. “You two are in the same meeting and this may be a good opportunity to get acquainted.”

He could kill Diane. She’d put him in a spot. Now he couldn’t very well walk away without being rude. He forced himself to smile, wave and pat the spot next to him. “Please join me. There’s plenty of space.”

Kennedy looked at him as if she smelled something slightly unpleasant. She started toward him gingerly.

The words popped out of his mouth before he could stop them.

“You look lovely,” he said.

He was surprised when Kennedy Fitzgerald actually had the grace to blush.

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