Sam caught Hopes eye and winked.
3
SNUGGLED IN HER CAPE, standing on the crescent-shaped entryway to her apartment building, Hope said, Tonight worked out pretty well, didnt it?
Dont sound so surprised. He smiled reminiscently. When Charlenes toes were climbing up my leg and you attacked them with your footthat was your finest hour.
It was a stretch from where I was sitting. She watched his smile widen. It set her heart to pounding. I think I gave Ed a little thrill with my knee, but it was worth it.
That look you gave Charlene. He shifted into a generic-female falsetto that didnt sound a bit like her, but did sound pretty cute coming from him. Find your own leg to climb, you hussy.
She remembered the moment entirely too well. Shed had to work steadily at her computer all the way home to distract herself from the sensation that had climbed up from her toes as they caressed Sams muscular calf beneath the table, a tingly feeling that had made her wriggle against the seat of the dining chair. Yes. Well worth it, she murmured. But she does do great orchids.
His low laugh was like warm syrup in the cold night.
So thanks for a really interesting evening, she said.
He took her hand, held it lightly. I hope well have more of them.
She hesitated. Lets take it a step at a time, okay? Tonight was successful. Now lets try my milieu.
His smile grew warmer. Sure. When?
Next Wednesday night. My boss and his wife are having their big holiday party then.
Will you be wearing a mask? His mouth twitched at the corner.
She really wished hed stop doing that. It had a strange effect on her, made her twitch in turn somewhere deep down inside in a way that was distracting and unnerving. Of course not. What do you mean, a Oh. The masque. The pressure of his hand sent an arrow of heat up her arm. From her shoulder it would spread to her throat, across her breasts. No, she said abruptly. The masque is Thursdays and Sundays.
But
Dont start with me about my schedule. There had to be a way to get her hand back without making a scene. But his hand felt so warm around hers. So good night, Sam. See you Wednesday. She tugged a little, got free, felt relieved, then deserted and a bit chilly.
Ill pick you up here. He paused, looking thoughtful. You did a great job tonight. I dont suppose theres a manual on arm-candy skills He took a look at her face. No, I guess not.
With a wave he slid back into the limo. Before he vanished behind the tinted glass, he flashed her a thoroughly wicked smile.
Hope turned toward the apartment entrance. Her feet were killing her. Funny, she hadnt noticed while Sam was still around.
Night, Rinaldo, she said to the doorman as she hobbled into the lobby and summoned the elevator. Almost home, such as it was.
She hadnt been acting. It had been fun being Sams clinging vine for an evening. He was a hunk with charm and brains and a goal in life. Hed been a sparkling conversationalist during dinner. The bosss wife wasnt the only woman to send an envious glance in Hopes direction.
She felt she was close to agreeing to the arrangement, throughout the holiday season, at least.
But only if she could keep her emotions under control. When their knees accidentally touched, when he cradled her elbow or she took his arm, when their shoulders brushed and a warm, fuzzy feeling began to fluff up inside her, when his utterly charming smile came in her direction, seeming to be for no one but her, shed wondered if she could keep her quick response to him in perspective. What woman wouldnt respond? He was a very good-looking, a very masculine man.
But when hed put his arm around her, caressed her shoulder, whispered words into her ear Even now, she could feel the warmth of his breath, the ache that had spread through her, had made her snuggle into him, wanting more. The sense of urgency shed felt had led her to ditch wondering about perspective and leap directly to worrying. Especially about the sex thing. He hadnt brought it up again. Maybe it had slipped his mind. She wished it would slip hers.
As soon as she opened the door of her apartment, the night view of the New York skyline greeted her through the windows across the room. It always calmed her, made her feel serene and happy. Actually, what it did was justify the savings shed plundered for the down payment, her huge monthly mortgage and the maintenance expenses.
She didnt turn on the light at once. She wanted to relish the quiet of the moment, give herself time to think about the evening, to think about Sam.
She tossed her briefcase over the top of the sofa as she always did, then reached down to pull the shoes off her aching feet and heard the heart-stopping, stomach-clenching, career-ending clang of a five-thousand-dollar-extra-long-life-battery laptop hitting a hardwood floor.
With a shaking hand, she flipped on the light switch and screamed. An intruder was in her apartment, a creature swathed entirely in black!
A second later she slumped against the door. What a relief! It was herself she was seeing, reflected in the mirror that hung beside the window, a mirror which hadnt been there this morning.
The sofa was gone, though. No, the sofa wasnt gone, it was just in a different place.
Maybelle had made a preemptory strike. But it didnt look as though shed stolen anything. It looked like shed added stuff.
Hope came to sudden attention. How could she have forgotten her laptop for even a second? Kicking off her shoes, she grabbed up the briefcase, whipped out the injured team member and ran with it to the sofa. She put it down on the coffee table, sent up a brief prayer and turned it on.
The computer did all its usual beeps and lights, and there was her marketing presentation, safe and sound. The breath shed been holding whooshed from her lungs. She thanked her lucky stars shed sprung for the optional two-hundred-dollar computer case with the shock-absorbing extra padding built in. With her next breath, she almost suffocated from the scent that rose from her briefcase.
The laptop had survived, the bottle of Shalimar in her makeup kit had not. But what was a quarter-ounce of Shalimar compared to the product of fifty hours of work?
Strong, thats what it was.
With a feeling of having survived an attack from all sides, Hope collapsed against the sofa. Ummm. She wiggled her toes. Then she looked at the room.
She frowned. The sofa was on the diagonal, facing the little foyer. That was dumb. People came to her apartment to see the view, not the front door. The two squashy taupe armchairs flanked the sofa, also facing the front door.
At least the other two chairs, the antique ones the dealer had called fauteuil, the ones hed warned her were not really for sitting in but were a terrific investment, faced the view. Great, Maybelle, just great.
Feeling rebellious, Hope struggled up from the sofa, which seemed to cling to her just as shed clung to Sam. She crossed the room to sit in one of those chairs whether it liked it or not. Yes, the two chairs faced the view. It was also trueshe moved to the other chair just to be surethat each one looked directly into one of two mirrors that flanked the huge picture window. The mirrors not only reflected her, but also the front door. And the kitchen door. And the bedroom door.
What was this door fetish?
For a minute she sat there, bolt upright, which shed assumed was the only way you could sit in a fauteuil, then felt herself start to settle in, lean a little against one of the sculpted wooden arms, rest her head against the faded, faintly dusty, original needlepoint upholstery.
What did the antiques dealer mean, a fauteuil wasnt for sitting in?
Enough of this. She was exhausted. She emptied her briefcase and set everything out in her office, a small alcove off the living room, to air. The Shalimar had to fade by Monday. If it didnt, she would have to announce a new marketing trendthe scented memo.
The message light was blinking on her phone-fax-copier-scanner-answering machinenext years model would probably have a built-in curling iron. She pushed Playback.
Hey, hon! Maybelle!
Maybelle was one person who didnt need to identify herself on the phone. Hope reeled at the screech, then turned down the volume.
I made a good start today, the shrill voice continued. Didnt get no further than the parlor, because I was wanted by the police
Hope stiffened.
department to juggle the Chiefs office around a little.
Hope relaxed. The New York Chief of Police was into feng shui? She hoped the Daily News didnt get wind of it.
Anyhoo, I got them mirrors at the Housing Works Thrift Shop, so youre only out fifty bucks so far. Dont give it a thought. Well settle up later. I sure hope youre not one of those people who throws stuff onto the sofa soons she walks in the door, because I moved it. Throwing stuff on the furniture isnt good for you speeritch-ully anyways. Well talk more about that later.
Well, you try to get some rest. Soons I get the Chief and a coupla other clients squared away Ill be back to work on your bedroom, have you sleeping good pretty soon. Oh, would you puh-leeze tell that doorman of yours to let me in next time without putting me through all that hassle?
Night, hon.
The message had come, her machine-which-never-lied said, at 11:00 p.m. Maybelle sounded like a woman whod had a whole lot of fully leaded coffee.
Hope went to her bedroom, took off her clothes and hung them up. Shed left her daytime black-and-white tweed jacket at the office. Thank goodness. If she hadnt, it would be permanently Shalimarred just like her briefcase.
She put on a soft flannel granny gown, washed her face, brushed her teeth. She turned down the bed, then stared at it. It stood against the wall just inside the door, facing the view. Nighttime Manhattan twinkled at her from a picture window like the pair in the living room. Already, the week after an early Thanksgiving and not even December yet, the Empire State Building was red and green for Christmas.
About to slip between the sheets, she paused. As tired as she was, it would be lovely to wake up to coffee set on a timer and already made. Yes. Shed sit on the sofa in the living room and have coffee while she read the newspaper.
And stared at the front door.
She tried it out on the way to the kitchen. Weird.
She passed the sofa again on the way to her bedroom, walked over to it, plumped it with her hand.
Maybe shed pick up one of the magazines that had come today and just rest here a minute before she actually went to bed. She felt so wired, it might get her in the mood for sleep. Shed get that soft mohair throw to put over her feet. And a real pillow from the bed.
It seemed no more than a second later when she woke up to the slap of the New York Times against her door and the smell of freshly brewed coffee. Her body buzzed a little with sleepy warmth and something else, something deeper, something achier. She realized shed been dreaming of Sam.
WHEN SHE ran into Benton in the hallway on Monday, he got as far as, Morning, Ho before deep coughs racked his body and he hurried away with his face buried in his white handkerchief.
At noon on Tuesday, when she went into the executive café in search of an iced tea, she discovered a sign posted on one side of the dining area: Perfume-Free Zone.
At two that afternoon, a group of her colleagues made shadows outside her door without really showing their faces. Has to be Hopes office, one said much too loudly. She recognized the oily-smooth tones of St. Paul the Perfect.
She does have a certain aura about her, said a feminine voice, which then dissolved into a giggle as the shadows vanished.
Ha, ha. Now that shed become the office joke shed have to break down and buy a new two-hundred-dollar padded case. The current one had soaked up Shalimar like a femme fatale dying of thirst in the desert.
It was only good-natured kidding, of course. But Paul Perkins, his real name, wanted this vice presidency as much as she did, and Palmer vice presidents were not office jokes. If she told them what happenedshed brought the perfume to the office because she was spending the evening being arm candy, then broken the bottle because shed tossed her briefcase onto a sofa a Texas-born-and-bred feng shui decorator had movedshe could think of that vice-presidency as nothing more than
Ah. Yes. A pipe dream.
But perfume problems faded from her mind in the middle of the afternoon when her computer, which had performed several random tricks during the day, gurgled twice and froze. So much for the two hundred dollars worth of padding. Resigned to the inevitable, she picked up the phone.
Tech Support. The voice was laconic, sending the message, Just try to get tech support out of me.
Id like to report a homicide, she said briskly.
Desk or laptop.
Laptop.
Bring it down.
Wait!
Silence. Yes?
I cant just hand it over to you. I need it. I cant do without it. She was having a panic attack just thinking about it.
Then you shouldnt have beaten up on it. Sigh. Bring it down, well put your stuff on a zip disk and give you a loaner to use.
Oh. Oh, well, okay. Wait! she yelled again.
What! Testy this time.
Arent you supposed to do the traveling around the building with the computers and the zip drives and the
How soon do you want it?
Immediately.
You better come on down.
She wouldnt take this kind of cavalier treatment from anyone else in the company. But the tech support groupan ungovernable collection of green-haired, jeans-clad cretins, some of whom had yet to be persuaded that deodorant is our friendwere different. They were geniuses. The entire company relied on them totally and treated them rather like rebellious cant-teach-them-a-thing-but-wed-never-give-them-away pets.
Grumbling, Hope slid back into her shoes, straightened her black skirt and cream blouse and picked up the laptop. Forget the case. She couldnt take the kind of grief the tech group would give her about the Shalimar. Peeking into the Marketing Department reception area, she found the shared administrative assistants looking not merely busy, but somewhat harried. Okay, shed take it down herself.
THIS IS THE LOANER? she said, gazing in disbelief at the battered object Slidell Hchiridski had just shoved across a counter toward her. The case he shoved along next, which must have cost in the neighborhood of fifteen dollars, appeared to be covered in cat hair. But with an instrument like this one, she supposed it didnt matter.