NEVER MY LOVE-SECOND VERSE
By Aeiu
"Clayton Pasternack, I got to talk to him, said Mark McCormick with a grin as he walked toward the phone.
He couldn't believe the guy. Sure Clayton stole Cyndy from him back when they were kids but that was a long time ago. Cyndy, herself, told him the story about how Clayton took her to Europe and dumped her in the middle of the trip. Then the creep tried to get back with her. She told him that it was over. Now, somehow, he had tracked her down to Gull's Way and was still hitting on her.
"I'll set him straight," thought McCormick. "He's going to learn you need more than a couple of bucks to hold on to a woman like Cyndy Wenzek."
McCormick was brought up short by a soft touch on his arms, Cyndy's touch. He looked over at the strange, almost sheepish, smile on her face.
"I'd better take it, Mark," she said.
He watched wordlessly as his old girlfriend effortless made her way through the crowd of partygoers while their song, 'Never My Love', played softly in the background. Her smile brightened as she took the phone. There was no hesitation when she started talking to Clayton; they were obviously good friends. She laughed, probably at something witty Clayton told her.
"She's all but glowing," McCormick thought as his grin got bitter and his temper became untethered.
"What the heck is going on?" Milton Hardcastle thought to himself as he watched the scene unfold before him.
"Everything is perfect. You got the old girlfriend who needs help. You got the old boyfriend who comes to her rescue. So the girl is grateful then their song starts playing, and they start making googly eyes at each other. But she's laughing on the phone and McCormick looks like he swallowed a lemon."
"Not that it was any of my business. The kid's love life is his own business. I'm not getting involved in it. Their song was going to be played some time tonight and I just bumped it up a little on the play list. But that's it. Anything that happens after that is none of my business."
Hardcastle repeated that to himself as he observed Cyndy hang up the phone and look around for the exit. He watched as Mark's expression sour as he stalked across the room, grabbed Cyndy by the arm, and pulled her outside.
Hardcastle told himself that he wasn't getting involved. He repeated that as he moved toward the open window to watch the estranged couple. He wasn't getting involved. He just wanted to make sure McCormick didn't do anything stupid because from the look on his face, the kid was planning on doing something stupid. He told himself that he wasn't eavesdropping; it was just where he happened to stop to finish his punch. It wasn't his fault that they were talking so loud.
"Mark! Let go of me!" Cyndy said as she pulled out of his rough grasp. "What is wrong with you?"
"What's wrong with me?" Mark asked as he looked around to ensure they were alone. "What's wrong with you? A couple of hours ago, you were telling me how you and Pasternack broke up a long time ago and now you're taking his calls."
"I don't see how my relationship with Clayton is any of your business," Cyndy said defensively.
"None of my business! I don't hear anything from you for years then a day after I go to your funeral, you call me and say you're not dead, then you come to my house saying you need help, I break all kinds of laws, and nearly get myself killed! And you're telling me it's none of my business!"
Cyndy found she couldn't meet Mark's angry glaze.
"I knew you were kind of sensitive about Clayton and we thought it might be better if I didn't mention it," she said as she looked down at her feet.
"We?"
"Clayton and I. I didn't want to have to give up my life because I saw Senator Crocker run over that pedestrian. I needed help. I talked to Clayton and we decided that I should talk to you."
"Why didn't Clayton help you?"
"Don't be silly!" Cyndy said as she looked back up at Mark. "Clayton doesn't know anything about men like that and you're a…" Her words petered out as a blush appeared on her checks.
"I'm a what?" Mark asked defensively as he crossed his arms across his chest.
"You've got experience with things like that. Certainly more than Clayton has."
"So you were just using me?"
"I was not using you! I needed help and you helped me. I'm very grateful."
"And is Clayton grateful too?"
"Of course he is. I'm sure he'd be more than happy to give you some money for your time."
"Don't!" Mark said sharply. "Don't even try that."
"It's alright. Clayton has a lot of money and we want to thank you for what you did."
"I didn't help you because I wanted some money. I helped you because I cared for you, because I sent you flowers for all of those years, because I was the one you turned to when you needed help."
"I'm sorry if you got the wrong idea. It wasn't my intention to hurt you," She ignored Mark's snort of disbelief. "Clayton's coming to pick me up. Maybe I'd better wait out here."
"Maybe you'd better," Mark agreed. "Tell me, what you and old Clayton would have done if I'd gotten hurt or arrested trying to help you."
Cyndy turned away from him with shrug. "It didn't happen so there's no point talking about it. I'm sorry."
"So am I."
Mark turned toward the gatehouse and walked away from the woman who, at one time, meant everything to him. He walked with a slow place. He hoped she would call him back, apologize, and tell him that she still cared about him. But each step told him that it was just another dream which would never come true. He wondered if she was watching him leave but he couldn't bring himself to look back. He wanted to hold on to some small piece of dignity as he felt his heart break the same way it had so many years ago in a parked car on a lonely road.
Hardcastle watched the tense shoulder of his friend as McCormick stiffly walked away. He could tell by the slow gait that the kid was waiting, or rather hoping, for something.
McCormick had mourned Cyndy when he thought she had died. He had feared he was going crazy when he heard her voice on the telephone. He had left in the middle in the night, trespassed on private property, and desecrated a tomb to prove she wasn't dead. He had nearly been burned alive trying to help her.
Now, her attention was elsewhere. She walked to the front of the house and watched the driveway. She never gave a second glance to the one who had risked so much for her.
"It's none of my business," thought Hardcastle to himself as he left his post by the window and started to the front door. "I'm not getting involved. I'm just going over to say goodbye to someone who helped me break a big case and ask her what she thinks she's doing stomping on somebody's heart like that."
It was harder to negotiate through the crowd than he thought it would be. It seemed that everyone suddenly wanted to thank him for the party or talk. He decided to forgo politeness and just growled to the friends that tried to stop him from seeing Cyndy off.
As he got out of the front door, he saw a 1983 red Lincoln pull up close to the house.
The car came to a halt and a tall man with thinning brown hair got out of the car. Hardcastle didn't think he looked like much in his three piece suit and horn rimmed glasses. But he was the man that Cyndy was waiting for. She called out his name and ran into his arms.
"Cyndy, sweetie. Are you alright?" the man asked as he pulled her close.
"Oh, Clayton," Cyndy said as she fell into his arms. "Thank goodness, you're here."
"Honey, what were you thinking?" he said as he gently patted her head as it lay on his shoulder. "I heard on the news what happened. You could have been killed. I thought we agreed that you were going to have Mark do everything."
"He needed help. I couldn't let him do it alone."
"He's the one who knows how to deal with guys like that. I'd have died if anything happened to you."
As Clayton leaned closer to kiss Cyndy's willing lips, his ears detected movement near him. He opened his eyes and saw the disapproving glare of Hardcastle. His kiss froze as he gently pushed Cyndy away from him, one arm still draped over her shoulder, albeit in a less intimate embrace.
"Leaving so soon, Miss Wenzek?" Hardcastle asked. "The party's just getting started."
"Miss Wenzek," Clayton said as he stepped up to speak for her, "has had a very harrowing evening. I'm taking her home."
"And you are?" Hardcastle asked.
"I'm Clayton Pasternack," he said holding his hand out to be shaken. "I'm Miss Wenzek's employer."
Cyndy reached up and touched Clayton's shoulder, more warmly than she had touched Mark's nearly an hour earlier.
"Clayton," she said, "this is Mark's friend, Judge Hardcastle. Mark's already told him that we know each other."
Hardcastle ignored the hand but looked at the band of gold which encircled Clayton's third finger. His eyes darted over to Cyndy and watched as she hid her ringless finger behind her back.
"Mine's and Clayton's relationship is a bit complicated," she said self-consciously.
"Most things aren't as complicated as we think they are," Hardcastle said.
"As a judge, I'm sure you understand the need for discretion," Clayton said as he brought his hand into his suit and pulled out an envelope. "I wanted to thank Mark for the help that he's been to Cyndy and me but seeing that he isn't here perhaps you can give him this."
Hardcastle stared at the envelope with distaste.
"Clayton, Mark said he didn't want any money," Cyndy said.
"Nonsense," said Clayton, "his nose might be out of joint right now but a guy like him always needs money. I'd rather give this to him now than have him coming around later trying to get something."
"Clayton," Cyndy said with a note of pleading in her voice. "I think he meant it."
"Honey, you don't understand people like McCormick if he thinks we owe him something; he'll come around, making demands, and that could be embarrassing. It's best that we take care of this problem now."
"McCormick's a problem?" Hardcastle asked with a note of hardness to his voice.
"He could be," Clayton said. "After all that he's done for us, I would hate to have to talk to my friends at the department if he were to try to make trouble for Cyndy or myself."
"I think you'd better leave," Hardcastle said.
"I trust this matter is at a close," Clayton said as he shrugged and put the envelope back in his jacket. "We won't here from McCormick again."
"Now." Hardcastle said as his voice got quieter but more intense.
"Very well," said Clayton grudgingly. "Come on, Cyndy."
Cyndy watched as Clayton climbed into his car. She turned back to face the judge and Hardcastle could see the regret in her eyes.
"Judge, tell Mark…"
"Cyndy!" Clayton said sharply.
Hardcastle never found out what she meant to say. At her master's voice, she turned and scurried into the car. With a squeal of the tires, Clayton and Cyndy were gone. Gone from Gulls Way and, hopefully, gone from McCormick's life forever.
"Good riddance," Hardcastle thought as he went to look for his friend.
Hardcastle bypassed the gate house and headed straight for the beach shore. It was where McCormick liked to go when he wanted to think. He was sure McCormick's mind was full of anger and humiliation. Once again he had put himself on the line for someone he cared about, only to be used and left behind.
He didn't have far to walk. He saw the forlorn silhouette standing near the edge of the water angrily chucking rocks into the ocean. He didn't try to mask his approach. He knew McCormick wanted to be alone but he, also, knew the kid was busting at the seams with a need to talk to someone.
He walked until he was a step or two behind his friend and waited as McCormick pointedly ignored him.
"So what did those poor fish ever do to you?" Hardcastle finally asked.
"What?" McCormick asked incredulously as he turned to look at his friend.
"I asked what did those poor fishes ever do to you that you seem intent on beaning one of them with a rock."
"That's the way life goes. You're sitting around, minding your own business, and one day it comes around and whacks you; leaving you with a sore head trying to figure out what happened."
"Yeah, sometimes life's not fair."
"Life has never been fair to me."
Hardcastle didn't have anything to say to that. It was true the kid had made a lot of wrong choices in his life but fate had dealt him some pretty bad cards. It, also, seemed to take a perverse pleasure in giving him something good only to pull it away at the last minute. It was a testament to McCormick's decent nature that he hadn't made whole lot worse choices.
"So what are you doing here?" asked McCormick. "How come you're not at your big Halloween party?"
"Ehh," Hardcastle shrugged. "No one even noticed I left when I went to the funeral home. I figure they don't need me there to have a good time."
"Cyndy gone?" McCormick asked.
"Yeah, Pasternak picked her up and they left. She didn't look too happy though," Hardcastle answered. And it was true, Cyndy's joy at seeing her boyfriend seemed to dim, the more that he talked. Maybe she was starting to see she had chosen the wrong man, all those years ago.
"What is it about me, judge?" Mark blurted. "Do I have stupid written across my forehead? She was using me. How come I couldn't see that?"
"You're not stupid, kid. Someone you cared about was in trouble and you tried to help her. That's not stupid."
"I'd have helped her if she just asked me to. She didn't have to lie to me."
"She didn't know what to say. She hadn't seen you in a long time."
"She wanted a crook," Mark said as he viciously threw a rock into the water. "All those years, I was sending her flowers from prison, she was probably thanking her lucky stars she didn't end up tied up to a criminal but when she got herself in trouble that's what she wanted."
"You're not a criminal. You're a guy who made a couple of mistakes and is getting his life turned around."
"Next time some old girlfriend comes around here because she got in trouble and wants my help, I'm going…"
"Drop everything, help her out, do something stupid and drag me into it," Hardcastle finished his sentence.
Mark looked outrage for a minute, and then his face fell.
"Probably," he agreed. "Because I'm stupid."
"I told you," Hardcastle said as he put his arm around Mark's shoulder. "You're not stupid. You're a good guy. Cyndy wasn't looking for that. But one day she's going to be and she'll feel pretty bad that she let you get away."
"You think so?"
"Yeah, so enough of this sentimentality craps," Hardcastle said as he slapped Mark on the back. "We got a Halloween party upstairs and we still haven't bobbed for apples yet."
"Bobbing for apples, Hardcastle? Sounds like the party's getting a little wild. What's next? Confession or dare? Pin the gavel on the judge?"
"No wise guy but I got a friend that wants to meet you."
"Me? Who is it?"
"My friend, Maggie. She kind of overheard what happened between you and Cyndy. She's got a friend whose niece who just moved here from New York and she needs someone to show her around."
"A fix-up. Come on, do I really look that desperate?"
"Maggie says she's got a great personality."
"Seriously judge, I'm waxing my car that day."
"She got named Miss Congeniality in the Miss New York Beauty Pageant."
McCormick didn't miss a beat as his mouth made a hundred and eighty degree turn and he grinned in expectation.
"Well, I suppose I should do what I can to help bridge the gap between New York and California, kind of like an ambassador of good will."
"Now you're cooking," Hardcastle said as his own face broke into a smile.
At times, the kid could be too sensitive. He wore his heart on his sleeve, was ready to take it to the mat for anyone in need and, lord knows, he never asked if there was water in the pool until after he jumped off the diving board. But McCormick never let the bad times define him, never let himself sink into a pool of self-pity or carry a grudge against those that wronged him.
Hardcastle knew he had seen it all those years ago when McCormick first came before him for stealing his own car. The kid didn't know it but he was a good guy with potential. That's why he had chosen McCormick out of all the others and moved him into the gate house that first night, that's why he refused to take the kid's first refusals seriously, and why he threw out the 'I do not Want to be Friends' part of the agreement almost immediately.
Hardcastle chuckled as McCormick asked increasingly embarrassing questions about Maggie's friend's niece and gruffly rebuffed him when the kid started making a few speculative guesses about his and Maggie's relationship.
It had been the right choice. The kid was worth a thousand Clayton Pasternacks and one day he wasn't going to be the only person who knew it.
"So did you ever whisper the correct way to read the 'Miranda Rights' in Maggie's ear during a late night judicial session?" Mark asked.
"What part of shut-up are you having difficulty with, kid?" Hardcastle growled.
Mark laughed, and it was a beautiful sound.
THE END