Damaged: A gripping short read, the perfect escape for an hour. Barbara Taylor Bradford
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realised she always chose the wrong guys. Maybe it was just that inborn streak of defiance she acknowledged but couldn’t control. Or maybe she just liked bad boys.
‘I’ve decided to become a nun,’ she told Riley and Jimmy at supper the Sunday night after the break-up. That night’s meal was sacrosanct to the Jones family, unless Riley, who worked in Homicide, had a case he couldn’t abandon. Same menu, different crowd. Sunday was the day everyone was welcome at the Jones family home.
On that rare Sunday it had been just the three of them, so Allison could speak her mind. Not that she ever had a problem doing that, no matter who was there.
‘Men are creeps. Present company excluded,’ she had announced as she dug into her shepherd’s pie. ‘Maybe.’
‘There are exceptions,’ her brother had said, so eager to bring forth his idea that he spoke with his mouth full. ‘I know this guy you would really like …’
‘Jimmy Jones, if you mention Mike Dennison one more time, I will poison your food next Sunday …’
‘Hey, Ally!’ The voice of her uncle startled her back from the past and into the present. He and his family lived two blocks from hers. ‘I hear you did good with your store.’
‘Hey, Uncle Marty,’ she said, giving him a hug. ‘Maybe too well,’ she admitted. A gust of wind sent the sand rattling against the wooden fence that lined the beach. ‘I need a new plan.’
‘You’ll figure it out,’ he said. ‘You’re as smart as you are beautiful. Just like your mama. And don’t you ever forget it.’
A lump formed in Allison’s throat as his love for her seemed to wash over her. She certainly knew what it meant to feel love. She’d been showered with it since the day she was born. The entire family – grandparents, uncles, cousins, second cousins, her father and brother – all of them had treated her like a rare piece of porcelain that might shatter at any moment.
Not only was she the only girl of the lot of them, but she had talent. She could sing and dance, and paint and design things. To them, she was a beautiful alien dropped into their boisterous midst by some miraculous quirk of fate.
Only her mother had known that she was made of sturdier stuff. It was Lydia who had taught her to be self-reliant, independent and to dare. And it was from Lydia that she got her quirky sense of style. Lydia may have been a cop, but she was a fashion plate when she wasn’t on the job.
As a child, Allison had spent hours in her mother’s closet trying on exotic scarves and shoes and belts. And the closet had been left exactly as it was when Lydia was shot. A cousin had taken over the family apartment on West Ninth Street but kept the closet for Allison. Whenever she needed inspiration, all she had to do was open the door.
And then, when she decided to open a shop, the name was a no-brainer. Lydia’s Closet was the only one she ever considered.
‘Careful, Uncle Marty,’ she said, dragging a wool hat out of her jacket pocket. ‘My head will get so big, this won’t fit!’ She pulled the hat over her tangle of hair and headed towards the water where the sand was firm. ‘See you for Sunday supper.’
She walked for almost an hour and when she headed back up the path, she had her plan. Two cars were in the driveway when she got back to the house. The one Jimmy and her dad drove to work, and a jeep of indeterminate age and questionable roadworthiness.
Her family was known for picking up strays. Heaven only knew what down-on-his-luck Irishman awaited her inside. He’d be hungry, from the look of his car. She hoped the chicken she planned to roast for dinner would be large enough.
The man having a beer inside with her dad and her brother did not look underfed. Nor down on his luck. He looked … the word that popped into her mind was ‘gorgeous’.
Allison’s visceral reaction to this splendid creature so startled her that she felt a blush flooding her face. That was the trouble with being a ginger. People could tell what you were feeling by the colour of your skin.
Since she couldn’t do what her body was telling her to do, which was to crawl onto his lap so he’d have to hold her with those muscular arms of his, she settled for a strained, ‘Hi, I’m Allison.’
The man at the table didn’t say anything right away, even though Riley and Jimmy were looking at him expectantly. When he finally spoke, his voice sounded as if he was out of breath.
‘Hi,’ he said back to her. ‘I’m Mike Dennison.’
Manhattan
Mike drove back to Manhattan that night with the top down, despite the early-spring chill. He needed to clear his head.
Jimmy Jones had been at him about meeting his sister since he had transferred into Mike’s National Guard unit last fall. ‘She’s beautiful, she’s smart, she’s talented, she’s starting her own business,’ Jimmy had claimed.
In Mike’s experience, when a guy went on and on about his sister, and how she was God’s gift, sure as the devil the sister would not be as advertised. So what the hell just happened back there in Breezy Point?
He had had no intention of meeting Allison Jones tonight. But he liked Jimmy and when he suggested they grab a beer after work, Mike readily agreed. Jimmy texted him directions to what he assumed was an out-of-the-way bar on the beach. That’s how he had ended up sitting at Jimmy’s kitchen table when this half-frozen goddess in a wool cap had walked in and knocked him for a loop.
Allison was much better looking than advertised. But that’s not what had Mike driving into the city on a freezing-cold night with the top down. He knew a lot of beautiful women. It was what had happened to him when she walked into the room that had surprised and baffled him. It was almost as if an electric shock had run through his body.
If her father and brother hadn’t been in the room, and if they weren’t cops with Glock 19s on their belts, he might have walked across the room, picked her up and made love to her right there on the kitchen table.
Thank God for his training as a pilot. You were taught to control emotions, even overwhelming ones like the one he had just experienced. Fly the plane, they had taught him. No matter how you feel, just fly the plane.
So he sat there, chatting with Riley and Jimmy, as if his head wasn’t exploding with possibilities. And he flew the plane.
His feelings clearly were not reciprocated. Allison had spent the evening banging around the kitchen as if she was mad at the whole world. She hurled a chicken into the oven and chopped vegetables as if they had committed a capital crime. From time to time, he caught her looking at him with such intensity that he realised she must have taken an instant dislike to him. Or maybe she just didn’t like unexpected dinner guests.
Whatever it was, he was going to fix it. He had spent two hours in Allison Jones’ presence. She had said maybe ten words to him. But he wanted this woman. And when Mike Dennison wanted something, there was no way he would quit.
A little later, in the warmth of his apartment near Gramercy Park, he sat pondering about Allison. Should he talk to Jimmy about her, ask him if she had mentioned him after he’d left? No way. Mike liked to play things close to his chest. He’d known other women, but none had made this kind of impression. He had a great need to see her again, as soon as possible … He let the thought go, and eventually went to bed. But sleep eluded him.
New York City
Allison was on strike. She hadn’t spoken more than two words to her brother for five days. She