Pink Slipper

by Gina Robinson

  Ryne nodded solemnly. "On specific orders, I called and reserved a case of the Muscat Canelli last week. That’s one of the main reasons I had to come here today. You can only buy it here."

  I knew that. And I knew he said one of the main reasons, not the only one. I felt happy and warm after drinking wine on an empty stomach.

  "What are you serving this with?" I asked him.

  He shrugged. "My caterer would know. Or my mother. She picked the menu. I was merely instructed to bring a good red, a good white, and the dessert wine."

  We debated wine virtues and faults and went over my notes. Finally, I said, "We must be logical about all this. What’s most important to you, legs or body?"

  Then, was it my imagination or did his gaze slide right up my legs before his lips twisted into a smile and he looked me in the eye?

  "Tough choice. In this case, both."

  Why was I blushing?

  "How about taste? Going strictly on taste, this Chardonnay and this Cabernet would be your best bets. They have the most ‘delicious taste’ stars by them on the list." I looked at the ice wine, but it’s not like I’d get to taste it anyway. "And you already have your dessert wine—" I reached to put it away.

  He grabbed it before I could. "I’ll take a bottle of this one, too."

  Which pleased me immensely and was completely ridiculous. He was going to buy an expensive bottle of wine on my recommendation, when I’d never even tasted it.

  "Clearly, this ice wine is very romantic." He grinned at me.

  We walked to the register. Ryne set his bottles of choice on the counter, asked the clerk for his reserved Muscat Cannelli, and a case each of the Chardonnay and Cabernet, said he’d take the one bottle of ice wine, and took out his credit card to pay, while I wondered, what next? Did I just make an excuse and leave?

  I should get home and check my messages because Howard didn’t seem to be ringing me on the cell. No coverage here.

  As the clerk went to get a hand-truck to haul Ryne’s order, I turned to Ryne. "I should be going—"

  He shook his head. "Nothing doing. Not until you get a bite or two of food in you. No use taking chances when you’re driving. Go over to the dairy case and pick out some cheese and snacks while I load up my purchases." Then he asked the clerk to add my selections to his card.

  * * *

  Ryne returned from his car, carrying a bottle of wine and an old blanket. We found a patch of grass in the shade of a large tree and Ryne spread the blanket.

  Good thing the Cellars wine/gift shop offered a fine selection of gourmet snacks for people like us who didn’t bring their own picnic. I laid out the single-serving wrapped cheeses, the crackers, the olives, the chocolate, and the baguette I’d bought with Ryne’s money while Ryne used the corkscrew on his Swiss Army knife to open the wine.

  "I thought you said I’d had enough."

  He grinned. "I said you needed a bite of food."

  We ate and I had one small glass of Chardonnay in a plastic cup that Ryne had begged off the wineshop clerk.

  I lay on my stomach with my legs in the air, eating a cracker, enjoying the blue-sky day and the heat. "I haven’t thanked you yet for the lovely gift basket. It was beautiful and so nice of you. But you didn’t have to."

  "What if I wanted to?"

  I had no answer for that, except a wildly pattering heart. "Too bad we don’t have some of that coffee right now." I smiled at him. "You know, to sober me up." Truthfully, I only felt giddy with happiness. "How’s the laptop working?"

  "Like a charm."

  "Excellent." I sat up. "New York?"

  "Still New York."

  "That’s good to hear. You know, you ought to be a little more excited about traveling. Most people would love to give it a shot." Like me. Only more for vacation than business.

  "Yeah, a shot’s one thing. Being on the road three-fourths of the time is another."

  "But you’re a single guy—" Hint, hint. Time for him to fill in the blank with an admission or a denial of his eligibility.

  He frowned. "That’s the problem. It’s hard on relationships. Hard to form them. Hard to maintain them."

  Forming was good. I was willing to form. And was this a hint? Understand if I’m gone a lot? Just be patient with me? Be still my heart. Time to show my flexibility. My understanding nature.

  "True. But you have to look at the positives. Like going to New York. It’s a fabulous city. And it’s the heart of the publishing industry. So there’s opportunity. You might work up an editor contact or two there. Because you never know when you might want to write a new dictionary or something with all these subtle, true definitions of words you keep working on with your corporate clients. Probably there’s a great market for it. Cheaper for small companies than hiring a consultant. A good dictionary could earn some big bucks, I suppose. And, of course, you’d have a lifetime career in updating it." Pause.

  "Plus look at all the new experiences you have to talk about with someone special. When you can get together, that is."

  He nodded. "I never looked at it like that."

  I could tell from his expression that he hadn’t. See how very supportive of his work I was trying to be? Encouragement was part of "greatness."

  "You’re very positive today. Either you’ve been listening to my lectures . . ."

  Guilty as charged. Although I doubt even he realized why I listened to them.

  "Or you’ve had some good news." His lips twisted into a fabulous smile. "You’re dying to tell me something. I can see it on your face. Good news?"

  Ssometimes you did have to love a sensitive, emotion-reading guy! "That obvious?"

  "Uh-huh."

  He asked for it.

  "I got a job." Sorry. I just couldn’t hold the good news down. I let it all burble up and spilled the whole story to Ryne, who smiled along with me. So nice not to feel like a loser anymore.

  "Congratulations! I knew I sensed a good mood. That explains it."

  Well, mostly. But I think he understood that he played a part in my joyful emotions. At least that’s what I discerned from the humorous glint in his eyes.

  He raised his glass in a toast to me. "To success in your new job."

  "Success." We "clinked" plastic. It was actually more of a bump.

  "What’s your new title?"

  "Director of Engineering." I told him all about getting to be chief and doing the planning instead of the doing.

  "You love engineering?"

  "You say that like I’m an odd duck." I grabbed another cracker and a bite of cheese.

  "No."

  "Liar."

  He frowned. "It’s just that I can’t get a firm read on you. You’re unusual."

  I grimaced. Unusual didn’t seem like a big compliment. But then, if he couldn’t read me, maybe that made me mysterious and that could be good. "

  "Because I’m a female engineer who will soon be a director of engineering?" Wow! I loved the sound of that.

  "Because you don’t fit the engineering mold. And not because you’re a woman. I see you as more creative than you give yourself credit for. More intuitive. Less analytical than you like to believe. You have spark. Originality."

  Spark was good. And originality. But I still frowned, thinking about that stupid personality test. Now everyone was misreading me. "There’s a lot to be said for being analytical and logical. Which is why I like engineering—the problem solving.

  "We’re not so different, you and me. I analyze technology. You analyze people. We both like a good puzzle. I think you’re more left-brained than you like to admit."

  "Touché!" He grinned and held out the bottle of wine. "More?"

  "No, thanks. I don’t dare. I still have to drive. Speaking of work, are you playing hooky today?"

  "You had to bring that up." Big grin. "Just until this afternoon." He glanced at his watch. "In fact, I should get going."

  Me and my big mouth.

  "Walk you to your car?"

&nbs
p; And have him see the beast? And that I parked way out there because I couldn’t maneuver that tank into a spot smaller than Tukwila? "No need. I’m parked pretty far out. Way out of your way."

  "No problem. I’ll drive you."

  I sweat it out on the way to the car, trying to think up an excuse for the beast. One he’d believe. An owner-loaner seemed like a good explanation. My car was technically broken so it could be in the shop. Actually, it was in salvage at Rick’s Wrecking.

  All my worry came to naught. When we got to the far parking lot on the edge of the grape arbor where I’d parked the beast, there was a cute little red sports car parked a few spots away from it. A convertible with its top down.

  I quickly assessed the situation. Yeah, I could pull it off. And I’d look fine in that machine. I’d rather appear obsessed with parking out to protect my expensive vehicle than let the truth of the beast and my lack of parking skills be known. I hopped out of Ryne’s car and walked over to the convertible. Ryne, waited until I slid into the convertible. Then he sat there idling in his car as I fumbled for my keys.

  I waved him away.

  He rolled down his window. "Everything okay?"

  Thinking fast, I grabbed my purse, pulled out my cell and held it up for him to see. "Sure. Just remembered a call I have to make. I’ll be fine. See you later!"

  Finally, he drove off.

  The minute Ryne disappeared around the bend, I opened the car door to slide out. Unfortunately, at the same moment, the door-ding worrying owner appeared from nowhere from behind a small hedge at the edge of the lot. In retrospect, I should have guessed someone that obsessive wouldn’t leave his car long or stray too far away.

  I was almost out when he started yelling at me. "Hey, you! Get out away from my car!"

  Then he charged me with a bottle of Merlot cocked in his hand.

  I ran for the beast, jumped in, ready to speed away, glad it was probably bulletproof. As I was pulling out, the guy smacked the beast with the Merlot as if he were christening the thing.

  Later, when I pulled into Dad’s driveway and checked for damage, nothing. Just the residual fragrance from a very nice Merlot on the front quarter panel. Which was great because I didn’t feel like making another insurance claim.

  Excellent. No damage done to anything or anyone.

  I walked into the house and immediately checked my messages. Nothing. Dead silence from Howard. Maybe he was out of town?

  Tomorrow. He’d call tomorrow for sure. In the meantime, I enjoyed the perfect moment. Great escape. Great job. A hot guy interested in me. My life was like a very fine movie. With total greatness upon me, nothing could go wrong now.

  Chapter 18

  Job-free days: 61

  August Unemployment Log

  Jobless days left: Saved by zero.

  Goals:

  1. Find a mostly perfect man and marry him. After the winery tour, I’m waiting for Ryne to call and ask me out on a real date and then invite me back to his place to enjoy that ice wine. Why else would he have bought only one bottle? He certainly can’t serve one bottle to all those people he’s having over. There’s only one logical, deduction—he bought it for someone special. Some patient, understanding girl with good legs.

  2. Secure the perfect job. Today, today, today! Howard will call today. He has to!

  3. Spend an hour each day exercising. Does pacing count?

  4. Eat at least two ounces of chocolate per day. From now on I will only eat dark chocolate when drinking a very good Chardonnay.

  * * *

  My cell phone rang twice. One hang-up after a single ring. And Dad asking me to read him some info from the papers he’d left on his desk at home.

  I hated jumping every time my phone rang, waiting and pacing and being disappointed.

  Where the hell was Howard!

  Why wasn’t Ryne calling me?

  Tired of hanging around the house, I took the beast to the post office, picked up my mail, and riffled through it.

  What’s this? A check from Willie! And my severance check! Finally, finally, finally!

  I’d had a stressful morning. But my luck was still holding. I took my stash of postal wonder out to the beast, hopped in and sliced the severance envelope open with my key.

  Those lying, cheating, slimy scumbags! Half! They’d taken half my severance pay out in taxes!

  I jumped on my cell phone, called WI, asking for Sandy the HR bitch.

  "Why the hell is my severance check halved?" I went for the jugular.

  "Ask the IRS."

  "What?"

  "Look, Leesa, we just took the taxes out according to the number of deductions listed on your W-4."

  "Yeah, but you took taxes out like I make three months wages every two weeks which puts me in the freaking highest tax bracket!"

  "Not my problem. You should have turned in a new W-4 before we processed the lump sum."

  "Nobody told me that! I want my money back."

  "We all do. Talk to your congressman."

  "Sandy, what if I just turn this check back into you along with a new W-4 and you reprocess it?"

  "Can’t. The money’s already been sent to the government. You can get it back next April Fifteenth." Click.

  I thumped my head against the steering wheel. I needed all my money, taxed at my regular rate like I’d figured.

  I picked up the envelope from Willie. Here was my money. Here was salvation. Willie might be mad at me, but he wasn’t vindictive.

  I used the key, sliced the envelope. Claim denied!

  * * *

  I stormed through the doors of the Samson Insurance Agency, my "claim denied" letter in hand.

  "He’s busy."

  I was in no mood for his admin Loretta’s standard mantra.

  "He’ll see me."

  "You’re not on his favorite persons list anymore." Loretta sounded too smug.

  "He hasn’t been on mine for a long time. So we’re even." I kept walking.

  She tried to rush me from her desk. But I was faster. I slid into Willie’s office and slammed the door behind me, almost in Loretta’s face.

  Willie looked up from a stack of papers and paled as I shook the letter in his face. "Care to explain this?" I gave him my mean-eyed glare. The one that scared even Julie.

  I could tell Willie was scared, too. But he also displayed a surprising amount of man-scorned venom. And they say women are bad!

  "Door locked. House empty. Kitchen emptied of valuables. Receipts delivered by hand instead of through the mail to avoid federal charges and mail fraud. Looked like a whole lot of fraud going on. Claim denied." Willie paused. "How’s that for a logical case?"

  I pursed my lips and clenched my hands by my sides to keep from punching that little redheaded menace. All the while my brain thought up a quick schematic for a very fine zapper circuit that I could hook up to his door to electrocute him. "Take back this denial letter and issue me my check."

  "Nope."

  "What if I agree to sleep with you?"

  Quick change of attitude. Nearly hopeful look. "Would you?"

  "Got you." I shook my letter again. "Reprocess my claim, Willie, or you’ll be hearing from my lawyer. The charges—sexual harassment of a client. How does that sound?" I was faking it. I had no lawyer. But I could probably get one.

  "You’d better leave." Willie stood.

  "Fine. But as soon as I get home, I’m reporting this whole incident to the Washington State Insurance Commission. We’ll see what they say."

  I stormed out.

  * * *

  I needed pepping up, and I needed to feed Fluffy. So I went to the bungalow to check on the progress before I went home and started Googling local lawyers. Getting a lawyer was probably going to be expensive, and time consuming. And I was short on both commodities right now.

  As I pulled up to the house, I noticed Gus packing up his tools.

  "Gus, what’s going on here?"

  He looked a little guilty. "Oh, Lee
sa, darling." Then he pinked. "Look, I heard about your insurance problems. I got another paying job. I’m sorry, Leesa, but I got to eat, too."

  "But, but I just got my severance check. I can’t pay you the full amount, but—"

  He stashed his toolbox in the back of his truck and shook his head. "I’m sorry. Call me if things change and you come up with all the money. I’ll be happy to come back then." Then he roared off.

  * * *

  I slumped home and called Alice. No answer. I tried Candy and Hank. Roger answered Candy’s phone.

  "Sorry, Roger, I thought I dialed Candy." I sniffed and tried not to cry.

  "You did. I’m just over here playing nursemaid. Something wrong? You sound upset."

  I spilled about the day’s events. Yes, including the fire and the house and the claim denied and Gus quitting. None of which Roger had previously known. He paused, obviously stunned and at a loss of words. I knew how he felt. I felt that way, too. What did you say to a person in such catastrophic straits as I was in?

  "That’s tough, Leesa. But, buck up. You’ve still got a great job on the line. Things will straighten out." He paused. "And, hey, that information about the severance check is good stuff. Your experience might help other people. Can I put it in the book?"

  "Yeah, sure." Help enough people, right?

  "I’ll get Candy for you." He hurried off the line, probably anxious to escape a crying spell. Most guys didn’t handle tears well. I think Roger was one of them.

  When Candy came on the line, I started bawling.

  "It’s all right, Lees." She cooed lots of soothing sentiments. "Hey, you need some perking up. Roger is going to barbecue some burgers and I just got a new nail painting kit. Why don’t you come over for a manicure? This kit is awesome. It has nail-painting pens. I can draw little flowers on your nails."