by Trixie More
“Where are you, Dottie?”
“I was walking around the block when I called you, Mom, I just got back to my door and he’s waiting here for me. I have to go.”
Ed waved at her to get her attention. “I think we should have dinner with them,” he said.
“Your client is bringing placards to your apartment?”
Great. Now her Mom thought something fishy was going on. “Maybe your father should meet this client of yours.”
Dorothy rolled her eyes. “Well, you’re in luck, Mom. He heard me talking to you and he’s saying the same thing, so I guess we’ll be joining you.”
“That’s wonderful, honey. I’m sure we’ll have a great time.” Her mom sounded like she was on her I-will-see-about-things kick now. “I’ll text you the restaurant info and the time. I can’t wait to meet this man.”
“OK, Mom, but you have to be on your best behavior.”
“Why is that, Dottie?”
“It just is. I have to go. Now.” Dorothy hung up before her mom could get another word in and found Ed looking at her, apparently pleased as punch.
“What?” Dorothy demanded. “Don’t look so happy. Now we have to figure out how you’re my client and I have this I-can’t-stop-looking-at-him issue. Huh? What do you think about that?”
“You can’t stop looking at me? I think that’s great. Where do you want these, lady?”
“Let me see them.” Dorothy stood back and looked at her hard work displayed on the large, glossy posters and she knew in her bones it was good. Ed shuffled through them, letting her see each one. She risked a glance at his face to see what he thought, but he must have been looking at her, because he caught her. “So,” she asked. “What do you think?”
“I love them,” he said simply. “You did a great job.”
She was floored by the strong feeling of pride and the sheer joy at knowing her work was valued. Blinking, she got busy digging out her keys so Ed wouldn’t catch her getting misty eyed. “Great. Can you carry them up to my apartment?”
Dorothy lined the placards up against the living room wall so she could view them while she worked. Ed settled himself on the couch with a coffee and his phone and was soon lost to his own work. The time until dinner passed easily until the last half hour. Looking up from his phone, a furrow between his eyes, Ed scowled at her.
“Are you OK?” he asked.
Turning from the sink, Dorothy looked at him over the lip of her water bottle. “What?”
“You seem restless. You pop out of your chair every few minutes to look out the window, get your cell phone, get a water.” He looked at her expectantly. “What’s up?”
Irritated, she just shrugged. “I just work this way.”
He snorted a little. “I saw you working when we got here and when you work, you’re in another world. This, what you’re doing, isn’t work, it’s the opposite of work.”
“Are you saying I’m not a good worker?” She couldn’t believe it. What happened to Mr. Perfect? “Maybe you’d like to go home to virtual people.”
“Ouch.” He winced dramatically, but his expression was more curious than hurt. “Is that what you’d like?”
Dorothy’s answer was out of her mouth before she could call it back. “It’s not about me. You’re the one with the problem.” It was as if the conversation had a life of its own. She didn’t want to fight with Ed, she was wildly attracted to him but for some reason, the closer it came to time to leave, the more unsettled she became.
“So, is this about me coming to dinner? It’s almost time to leave. Maybe you aren’t ready to introduce me to your folks yet?”
Was that it? The thought of her mom and dad and Ed at the same table together was definitely not making her more relaxed. She willed herself to not answer rashly. “I’m not sure what’s bugging me really.” Her shoulders dropped and then she turned to plop into the chair at the kitchen table in front of her laptop. But Ed was already on his feet, he took her hand gently and led her to the couch to sit beside him. The gentleness bothered her. Pulling her hand free of his, she sat forward, at the edge of the seat, her back straight and this time, he did look a little hurt. Oddly, that made her feel better.
“I don’t want you to treat me so gently. I don’t want you to take care of me like that.” The words surprised her. “I’m proud of the work I’ve done for you so far and I don’t like it if you think I’m not a hard worker or I need to be coddled.” Huh. Who knew? She hadn’t really realized she felt that way until she had said it.
Ed’s face reflected his surprise. “I do think you’re a hard worker. I really do and shit, you should be proud of what you’ve done so far.” He leaned back on the couch and crossed his arms. “I’m a business man. I don’t hand out praise for work just to sleep with someone. I’m not that kind of person.”
“OK. And I’m not the kind of person who sleeps with someone to get my work noticed.” She folded her arms.
“I love your work and I want this campaign and if this,” he waved at the space between them, “is going to mess that up then I have a lot of thinking to do.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well shit, Dorothy. What you do and who you are, that’s a package that I’m nuts for. If I have to pick one? I’m thinking I pick you, this, whatever this is.”
Dorothy’s mouth fell open. She hadn’t stopped to consider Ed separate from his company, separate from the work she was doing for him. If she’d just met him on the street, would she still have wanted him? Did she want him as a man, or did she want him as a man with a problem for her to solve? What if she had to choose between him and the campaign? Ed seemed so sure of his answer but Dorothy wasn’t as eager to examine hers.
Remembering the look on his face when he opened the door yesterday morning, the way he looked at her so affectionately and then later, when he was completely wrecked by her heels and Mets jersey, she thought she knew. So she answered him.
“I pick this too,” she said, but that little voice inside thought perhaps she shouldn’t have said anything.
A light breeze was blowing when they headed out to meet Dorothy’s parents for dinner. It was one of those perfect June evenings, low seventies, no humidity, a pastel rose color in the sky as the sun hung on the edge of the horizon. Tonight, Dorothy was wearing a pair of leggings that clung to her very round little butt and a shirt that happily wasn’t long enough to block the spectacular view. He shoved his hands in his pockets and they strolled to the restaurant in companionable silence. He’d been amazed, really, when she had said she would choose him over the project if it came to that. The look on her face had him bracing to hear something else, so he wasn’t sure he believed her. It was depressing really, but then again, who was he to judge? He knew that the video would end this thing between them long before any of the other issues they might face. He should be grateful that she wasn’t as in love with him as she professed but he wasn’t altruistic enough for that.
Dorothy grabbed his hand as they entered the restaurant, a sort of solidarity that Edward hadn’t expected. She pointed out her parents as they crossed the dining room.
The sight of her parents caught Edward off guard. His abdominal wall contracted as his jaw clenched. He must have tightened his grip on Dorothy’s hand because she glanced at him in confusion and wiggled her fingers against his palm. He looked at their joined hands quickly, forcing himself to relax just that one hand. In a sharp instant, he felt hot all over. The last thing he wanted to do was eat. His stomach was rolling at the occasional whiff of garlic or fish as they passed other diners.
His discomfort must have showed, because the expressions on the well-heeled woman and man seated before him changed as their cold eyes roved over his face. Their eyes on him felt like a physical assault and his brain suddenly reengaged. These were her parents, and they gave off that aura of wealthy privilege he despised. How did he miss this possibility? Somehow, he had imagined that Dorothy’s parents were middle class, like his o
wn. She was so down to earth, it never crossed his mind she had been raised by people like them.
The man before him was rising from his chair and Edward stepped forward into the man’s personal space as he’d trained himself to do. Dimly aware that he needed to cover that aggressive stance, he stuck his hand out stiffly as if he’d always intended to shake hands. The older man shook hands assuredly, holding his place and giving as good a grip as Edward gave him. From the corner of his eye, Edward saw Dorothy looking at him with her head slightly tilted, her eyes alert, her expression just the tiniest bit smiling? Why was she smiling? He dropped the other man’s hand, nodded curtly and stepped back quickly. He couldn’t have come up with the name of the man before him on a dare.
“… and this is my mother—Helen—” Dorothy’s voice cut through his fog.
Edward struggled to compose his expression as he stepped forward once again, this time only to get close enough to reach Helen’s slender, limp hand. “Nice to meet you.” His voice came out in a hoarse whisper and he cleared his throat. At his side, he felt Dorothy thread her arm through his and give it a squeeze as she leaned into him. Her face beamed up at him and he might have been a little desperate as he held her gaze with his own.
“Isn’t he a catch, Mom?” Dorothy was saying warmly. From the expression on her parent’s face, he was pretty sure he knew what their answer was.
They all managed to get seated but her father was sort of glowering at Edward. Not actually glaring, but it was pretty darn close. Carl Johansen took a minute to size Ed up.
“I thought you were a client of my daughter’s. I don’t expect clients to hold my daughter’s hand.”
“Daddy! Ed is a client but, well, we’re dating too. It’s just the way things worked out, so be nice.”
Carl had the grace to temper his expression. “If she says so, but I’ll be watching you.” The sentence was said lightly, as if to be funny, but Ed and Carl both knew he was serious.
Edward turned to include Dorothy’s mother. “Dorothy is a wonderful woman, you both must be so proud.”
Helen narrowed her eyes at him. For a meal where two of the diners hadn’t even ordered drinks yet, it was a pretty rocky start. He felt a trickle of sweat slide down his back. Why did they have to be so blatantly old-school wealthy? He’d felt so confident when he’d been standing on the porch watching Dorothy walk up the street, he hadn’t stopped to wonder what he was getting into by inviting himself along.
“Well, it’s a pleasure to meet you,” he said, and gratefully turned to the menu. The conversation smoothed out a bit as they discussed the menus, ordered and got started on bread and wine.
“So,” Carl said, “what business are you in, Edward?”
“My business partner and I own Walker and Birkeland. We make tools to clear carbon dioxide from the atmosphere.”
“Are you serious?” asked Carl.
“Absolutely, Dad,” said Dorothy. “His company has several products. Taken together, they can make a real difference. I haven’t been this excited to work on a campaign in, well, ever. They have a tailpipe adapter that removes carbon from exhaust. Can you believe it?”
“I have to say that Dorothy’s excitement comes through in everything she’s put together for our campaign.” Ed jumped at the conversational rope she’d thrown him. “Her ideas for our website have really changed the way I think about our products. For example, we have a supplement to feed to cattle to reduce the carbon gasses they emit naturally, and we have a line of grass seed that accomplishes a similar result. Our website had a photo of a bag of seed and then on a different page, a jar of supplements. She put both products on the same page and the first thing you see when you get to that page is a gorgeous meadow and a really healthy looking cow.” He glanced around at her parents. Perhaps Helen’s expression had softened a bit, so he pressed on. “It’s so much more compelling. She’s gone through our entire catalog and found products that relate to other products we sell or to more compelling images that really show what we are trying to protect. She’s done so much in the last two days, I’m just, well, she makes me more enthusiastic about our business and frankly, I was pretty excited before.”
Ed glanced over at Dorothy. Her lovely eyes were focused sharply on his face, her mouth held the shadow of a smile and the expression on her face looked like wonder. For the life of him, he didn’t know why. Uncertain of how to respond to her, he gave her a small smile of his own.
Dorothy’s mother cleared her throat and broke the tension. “It certainly sounds like meaningful work. I’m sure that’s what Dorothy finds so attractive about …” she hesitated, “your company.”
Edward didn’t miss the double meaning but couldn’t quite bring himself to feel any sting from it. He risked another glance at Dorothy. She grinned broadly.
“Oh! Dad, I totally forgot!” Dorothy’s voice was full of excitement. Her father’s expression changed in a flash. His eyes sparked with interest, he put down his fork and leaned forward. Ed liked him better for it. “I kept thinking today that Ed’s company is a perfect match for Doug’s interests. Do you have his phone number?”
Carl seemed to be thinking about it but Helen was the one who responded. “Yes, you’re right,” she said. “I have his number.” She dug her cell phone out of her purse and appeared to text the number to Dorothy.
“Great, thanks,” Dorothy said, checking her own phone. “So, Mom, how did you hear about this restaurant anyway?”
The rest of the evening passed, if not comfortably, at least without incident. They said their good nights and Edward took Dorothy home in a cab. Gone was the prickly woman from the kitchen. This Dorothy was practically purring, snuggling up to him in the cab, resting her head on his shoulder, occasionally, just smiling at him and he began to relax again.
“Well, we made it through dinner,” he said, kissing the top of her head.
She snuggled closer and sighed. “Yes, we did. I’m sure I’ll have a million questions to answer tomorrow though.” She shifted and looked fully at him. “Speaking of that, will we be getting together to go over the presentation?”
“What do you mean?” he asked.
“Well, you’re coming to the office on Monday, right? For the presentation?”
“I assumed you would give it and then let me know how it went.”
She straightened. “But I’ll need you there. After all, the campaign is going to feature you speaking about your company.”
“What? What do you mean?”
“For the TV and Internet spots. I wanted to video you speaking about the company and what it means to you and make that the centerpiece.”
Edward’s body felt as if ice were melting on his skin. “Dorothy, I’ve told you already, I’m not going to be the spokesperson.”
“But, you’re so photogenic, and, and, you have the kind of passion for your business that will make selling your products and aspirations easy. It’s a dream for you and people will buy dreams.”
“There are not going to be any videos of me. Anywhere. And that is final.” Dorothy moved away from him on the seat and the loss of her made him pause. He lowered his voice. “Please, don’t move away. This isn’t about you, about the company, this is more basic. It’s something I can’t change, Dorothy. I can’t be part of …” he struggled for the words. How could he explain his reluctance without telling her about the video?
“But I’m doing this for you.” She was pleading with him now and it was tugging at his heart. He wanted to say yes to everything she asked of him.
He turned toward her, trying to get that closeness back, took her hands in his and turned his palms up, looking intently at her long fingers lying in his hands. “I know. I know how much you want to make this work, to have a great campaign and … just everything. But we have to make this work without me being on video. Use Gunnar. He thinks his sorry face is handsome. He loves the company and he’s an ego-maniac. He’ll be great.”
“But he can’t come to the
meeting on Monday. He can’t speak in person to the group.”
“I can do that. That I can do.” He latched onto the thought. Maybe this would be enough. “Maybe that will help, although I can’t imagine Adam will think better of the project if I’m there.”
“So, you’ll come? On Monday?”
“Yes, I’ll do that, but, Dorothy, I can’t do a video.”
Chapter 13
The plastic Jesus above Dorothy careened off the wall at exactly 8:15 a.m. on Sunday morning.
No rest for the wicked, Dorothy thought. Getting awakened early didn’t really bother her. After all, Saturday was a big catering night and she really shouldn’t have expected anything less. She hung over the side of the bed feeling around until her fingers closed on the end of the cross. She pulled it up to her and looked into the thin, bearded face.
“Thank you,” she whispered, then she kissed the top of the plastic head, got out of bed and replaced it on the wall. She grabbed her old robe, wrapped up and headed for the bathroom, first come, first served and all that.
The hot water pounded on her skin and the orange scented lather from her bath gel perked her up. By the time she was drying her hair, ideas for the campaign were filling up her brain. The best would be if Edward would actually make the videos. Gunnar was nice looking but he was so, well, Nordic. If Ed did the campaign, she could also play up the patriotic American bit. After all, we’d kinda lost the battle for solar to the Chinese but with Ed’s products, America might kick butt in the war against carbon. The ol’ Red, White and Blue could use all the good press it could get and frankly, the American manufacturing base could use it too. So why wouldn’t he do it?
She toweled off and padded back to her room, pulled on sweat pants and a tank top over mismatched underthings. She grinned to herself. If he came over today, they would laugh about that. She couldn’t keep up the fantasy forever after all. Smiling, she got herself a coffee and then curled up on the couch with her laptop to make the changes that her subconscious had come up with overnight.