A Love Story:
3)
Less than an hour after his son locked himself upstairs with a bottle of Scotch, Adam Chandler had Micaela Kincaide's complete history sitting on his desk.
With the remains of a dinner sitting nearby and his jacket hung on the back of his chair, he delved into her history.
Adopted at two days old by Buck Kincaide, head of Kincaide Incorporated. Now there was a conceited bastard.
Adam, along with many of his equals in the business world, saw him as an annoying waste of flesh. Somehow, he'd popped up overnight, along with his company, which had somehow become far too powerful in far too short a time. And that wife of his…
Lynette Franklin married him just three months before they adopted her and, clearly, was not a loving mother. Finally, when Micaela was four, Kincaide had been smart enough to divorce her. Lynette, however, hadn't been too willing.
That two-year period sat on the corner of the desk, still untouched. It hit Adam too close to home, especially now.
Graduated from college with a degree in Child Psychology, something about brat behavior and trauma recovery.
At age 21, she created the Kincaide Foundation, a charity that helped to influence minority adoptions and foster families. The Foundation was why she had come to Pine Valley in the first place, trying to get an interview with that Montgomery bitch.
Micaela Kincaide also had the most horrid driving record that Adam had ever seen. She'd hit everything from her own garage at age 16 to an old church, destroying the back wall at age 19. How the girl had made it to age 17 was a mystery to him.
Such a mystery that he actually considered dropping the plan right then and there.
The chances of JR surviving with this woman were beyond astronomical. She'd probably get him killed before she could even conceive! Yet…
Despite her unknown bloodlines and unfortunate choice of family, it was that mother of hers that would act as the, shall we say, connection and lead to everything that JR could need or want. She would clearly see Miss Trailer Trash as a form of Lynette, who was, at the age of fifty, still blonde.
The enemy of you enemy is your friend.
Oh, yes, it would work. Adam knew how his son worked.
JR was a man of emotion. Driven, if you will, by what he craved. And what he craved was familial ties. He drank up stories of Adam and Lottie's childhood adventures like a sponge, that eager glint in the back of his eyes. He seemed more intent on getting Colby back than Adam himself was.
And, despite JR's own best tries, his son continued to gravitate to the Martin family. Hold on to those saps, he could hold on to Dixie.
This latching problem of his had been the reason he'd fought so hard to deny the truth about Babe. But when he'd finally seen her real colors… then he'd been more bloodthirsty than Adam.
Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, shame on me.
If he made a connection with Kincaide, he'd latch himself to her. And, from looking at her history, she'd probably do the same.
Adam tapped his finger of her picture, smiling slightly.
They'd be loyal to each other, a perfect united front against people like Babe and Bianca, people like Tad Martin, that son-of-a-bitch who'd called JR son for two decades and then dropped him like a bad business deal. A perfect match, and, if JR's plan to get back CE worked, they'd build it back up to what it could be.
Adam just hoped the wedding was better than that truly hideous thing that Carey had planned.
Ten hours later, Adam Chandler was dressed in his finest suit, checking his tie one last time, waiting for Winifred to announce his guests had finally gotten there.
But this was needed, and he knew it. He needed a partner in this, someone else that JR trusted. The simple fact was, Palmer Cortlandt was that man. And the older people of Pine Valley had to stick together.
His man informed him that Ms. Kincaide was still at her new place; when she moved, his man would follow.
He glanced again at the clock, feeling an edge of irritation. If Adam Chandler calls an emergency meeting among the seniors of Pine Valley, the seniors should answer.
"Mr. Chandler?"
Jerking to the noise, he found Winifred standing there, looking pleased. "Huh?"
"Your guests are here, Mr. Chandler. The Cortlandts and Mr. Martin."
"Good." With a firm nod, he went and poured a Scotch for Palmer. Martin didn't drink, and Opal would probably prefer a, what do you call it? Oh, yes, a Screaming Orgasm. She'd just have to settle for a gin and tonic.
He was just finishing hers when Palmer entered, in full Cortlandt mode. "What's the meaning of this Chandler?"
"Business," Adam announced brightly. Handing the gin to Opal, the Scotch to palmer and taking his own, he took a seat on his couch, feeling sure of himself again. "We have business to discuss."
"The Devil's ice-skating," Opal announced calmly and Adam shot her a positively lethal look.
"You're only here because I need a woman's opinion, woman. So keep quiet until I ask it of you."
Joe took Opal's split-second of hesitation and leaped into the conversation. "Adam, what are you planning?"
Ah, a real Martin. Direct and honest. Smiling slightly, Adam gave him his full focus. "I want that son of yours out of JR's life."
"Why?"
"That's not your business, Martin."
"Tad loves JR. Nothing I can say will stop that."
Adam took a deep breath, set his Scotch down. Easy boy, don't need another stroke now., not until my plan works. "Tad martin has an intriguing way of showing love, Martin, don't you agree?"
"Jamie loves Babe. They are happy, wherever they are."
A lesser man would have believed Martin's comment. Adam, and Opal and Palmer, were not lesser. Adam knew Joe in some ways that even dear boy Tad didn't. And as far as Joseph martin was concerned, Arabella Carey was the sole reason that his family had been torn apart. Joe Martin hated Babe Carey as lethally as Adam and Palmer.
He just hid it better.
"Lie if you want, Joe, but every person in this room knows each other. You hate that little slut as much as we do. She's the reason you lost both your grandsons, the reason your son has lost the only piece of Dixie he had left, the reason that you and your dear wife are the only Martins who know the meaning of family." Adam smirked quietly at the other man, aware that the Cortlandts were watching, thoroughly enjoying this confrontation.
"My personal feelings for Ms. Carey aside, I will not work to destroy anything that is somehow left between Tad and JR."
So, he didn't want to admit it yet, huh? Fine, he'd go back to blackmail and/or guilt. That always worked well enough.
"The only thing standing between James Martin and thirty years of love with Bubba is my son. My son, who is still clinging to that grandson of yours with the pathetic neediness of a toddler lost in a mall at Christmas. James Martin knowingly stole JR's wife, tried to steal his child, and, for a change of pace, completely destroyed anything that JR had left." He smacked his hand on the table, never breaking Joe's eye contact. "My son learned that his child was dead through a letter, Joe. A goddamn piece of paper that wished him luck!"
"That's not Jamie's—"
"Don't you defend his actions, Joe! You are as disgusted as everybody else in this town!"
"Amen," Opal muttered darkly, while Palmer nodded.
"Yet my son refuses to let me go after them. Do you know why? Because there is too goddamn much Cooney in his veins! They're out breeding more ninnies to destroy America while my son is trying to breathe, because breathing hurts! I have lost a child, Opal has lost a child."
Adam vaguely picked up Opal's furious nods, but continued his tirade. "And I tell you Joe, unless you have lost a child, you cannot possibly imagine what it feels like. There are no words, no chance of understanding that pain. If I had my way, you'd be mourning a son right this minute, mourning a grandson and a wife! Although a better way would be to take you out and leave Tad! Let him walk around town with his heart and soul missing!"
"Don't you threaten my—"
Adam jumped up, beyond livid. That Joe could be… defending… "If you think I will sit back and let my son suffer more at the hands of that excuse for a son of yours, you are sorely mistaken! Before I die, I will go with the knowledge that my son is at peace, happy, for the first time in his life! And if you get in my way, I'll destroy you along with Tad Martin!"
"You leave Tad out of this, Chandler!"
Adam twisted to face Opal, pointing at Joe. "Then tell Martin here to get Tad out of my way! I am going to protect my son from him and I will do it by whatever means possible!"
And then it was over, a sudden stillness settled as Joe and Adam faced each other. And Adam knew that, in every way that mattered, he had won. Even as Joe strode from the mansion, there was the quality in his gaze that Adam knew full well.
Fatherhood.
Joe Martin was on the bandwagon in every way that mattered.
Finally, with a snarl like some caged beast, Adam sat back down, trying to ignore the grin on Palmer's face. The bastard was figuring it out. "Stop looking at me like that, Cortlandt!"
The other man laughed, shook his head and drained his Scotch. "So, what's her name?"
Finding the address for the Chandler mansion proved easy. She considered calling them instead, but decided against it.
So, at half-past noon, she left her apartment in another suit, black, with a pleated skirt, her black hair pulled into its usual tight ponytail.
All she carried was her beaded handbag, the very same that The Enemy had ripped through the day before.
It took another hour to get the rental car, a small black Nexus, and head for the mansion.
Finally, ready for the triumphant crowing of The Enemy, she rapped on the door. She was pathetically thankful for the answer of a maid.
"Um, is Mr. Chandler available to talk?"
"Yes."
Were all maids this monosyllabic? "Can I speak to him?"
"Why?"
Apparently. "Would it be okay if I talked to him?"
Now the maid sighed, opening the door. "Come on in, Ms. Kincaide."
Stepping in, she frowned. "How do you…"
"Mr. Chandler was waiting for a formal apology, Ms. Kincaide. Said you'd be here on your hands and knees." This so stated, the maid took off and Micaela hurried after, her short legs pumping to keep up.
"Did he really say that?"
"Of course Ms. Kincaide." A sharp turn to the left and Micaela half-expected a screech of tires to accompany Speedy's movement. "Unfortunately, he's out right now."
"Er, then where're we going?"
"He instructed that you give the formal apology to his father, Mr. Chandler."
"But you said Mr. Chandler was here, at the door?"
"I meant the senior Mr. Chandler, Ms. Kincaide."
"Oh, of course." Rolling her eyes, Micaela nearly smacked right into Speedy when she suddenly stopped and popped her head into the door.
"Ms. Kincaide is here, Mr. Chandler."
And just like that, Micaela found herself shoved into the office, jumping at the loud slam of the door at her back.
Facing Adam Chandler.
Growing up, she'd heard about many a businessman; but her father reserved a special place in Hell for the man in front of her. So how could she be disappointed?
He was tall, slim, deep gauges in his face testifying to a long life, but the crow's feet and smile lines were probably a fault in business deals. God knows how people had snickered about her during meetings when she offered a smile. In a fine suit, at least eight hundred dollars, he had stood and come around the desk at her introduction.
Now he nodded at the leather couch, studying her intently. "Ms. Kincaide, would you like a drink? Maybe lunch?"
Warning bells went off. "Uh, no, I'll be having lunch with a friend, you know, later."
Geez, Dad'll be proud of her business speak!
"Not even a drink, dear?"
"Dear"? Did he know who she was?
Still… "Do you have any Scotch?"
One eyebrow raised and she resisted the urge to smack him. How many times had she gotten a look like that? Just because she had tits and unfortunately was vertically challenged, they all thought she drank nothing but Long Island Ice Tea!
However, he did pour her a glass, handed it over and then took a seat on the couch opposite hers.
"Didn't expect a little thing like you to go for Scotch."
Her annoyance ticked down a level. Interest?
"My height issue is irritating, but I was raised by a Texan. I'm taught to hold my liqueur, Mr. Chandler. Although I do enjoy a gin every so often."
"I'll just have to remember that, won't I?"
Micaela smiled slightly, although still worried a bit. "Mr. Chandler, I came to apologize to… well, Mr. Chandler."
"Just like that?"
The young woman gave him a look. "If it was some other guy, I'd take him to court. Your son, though…"
"What about my son?" he asked curiously, head cocked as he retook his seat behind his desk.
Damn! Nursing the Scotch – very good Scotch by the way – Micaela sighed. "I think that, if the papers are correct, your son has been through enough, Mr. Chandler."
"So this is a pity party then?"
"No! Well, I mean…" She reached up, tugged on her silver hoop earring. "I really don't want to be the straw that broke the camel's back, see. What if I'm the thing that pushes him over the edge?"
"So you give in?"
Months after this conversation, Micaela would remember the edge in Adam Chandler's gaze and it would click. She would get and understand his grand master plan. But today was not that day and Micaela Kincaide had grown up with the greatest cowboy to ever live.
"Mr. Chandler, a Kincaide does not… give in. And believe me when I say that I am a Kincaide." She leaped up, draining her glass before banging it onto his desk. "Please give Mr. Chandler my condolences on his son, but I must leave. I'll set something up with him to pay for the car."
And then, with great effort to melodrama, Micaela Kincaide stomped out of the Chandler mansion.
And for a good half-hour, Adam Chandler could only giggle quietly to himself.
Until Stuart figured out how JR just happened to be visiting Skye when Ms. Kincaide had come by.
"You have to stop this Adam. JR's gonna be so upset."
"I'm his father. Now butt out."
The drawback to being a twin, especially an identical twin, is that it is not easy for one to convince the other that if he is not obeyed, there will be bloodshed and Hell to pay. Especially if they've been together for over sixty years.
Which, both fortunately and unfortunately, was the case with Stuart and Adam Chandler.
"Adam, JR needs to be left alone. Offer a shoulder, offer love but please don't offer a naked Texan who just happens to have wrecked JR's car!"
"Butt out!" Adam snapped, as he searched the files he had on the Kincaide Foundation.
"Adam- "
"Ha!" He scanned the page, his grin growing with every line. Oh God, it was such a beautiful thing to watch a scheme fall into place! Quickly highlighting the three lines, he folded it and slipped it into his pocket. "I have to go now. Good luck on the hydrangeas, Stuart. Hey!"
The last came when his brother grabbed him by the arm and yanked him right back into the room.
"You have to stop this… whatever-it-is! JR is going through so much pain and all you're going to do is add to it!" Stuart grabbed Adam's lapels, shook him savagely. "He needs to grieve, he needs to cry, and he needs to deal with all of this."
"That's the point, damn it!" Shoving his brother away, the businessman adjusted his jacket, grimacing at the hand-shaped wrinkles. "He's grieved his entire life. And I never even gave a damn! Now, I intend to do what I have to do to give him all that he deserves! Even if that means going through you!"
"Adam-"
"Good day!"
"Adam-"
"I said 'good-day', Stuart!"
And Stuart chandler was left with a deep sense of foreboding as Adam slunk form the room with all the grace that a snake with two legs can convey.