“Thank you, Madame,” Melina murmured again as she made her way to the door. “You’ve been so very kind.”
Chapter 13
The farmer’s market was bustling that afternoon. Bushels of freshly picked organic apples, tubs of onions and potatoes, rows of New York State grown and bottled wine, baskets of Indian com and pumpkins, and a full array of fall flowers lent the northern edge of Union Square all the color and charm of a Provençal market day. Although the calendar said early November, the noonday sun still dazzled the eye and played warmly across Janie’s shoulders as she glanced again at the quickly scrawled address she had crumpled in her fist. Janie wended her way through the crowd, stopping to buy a sachet of fresh lavender and a pot of chrysanthemums, thinking how far away midtown seemed from this relaxed and happy scene. She breathed in the woodsy smell of the mums and wished that she could spend the rest of her day there. She walked slowly through the park, past the rows of au pair girls with their bundled-up charges chattering away in foreign tongues, but clearly at home in the midst of a strange and difficult city.
If only Janie could be so easily content! If only she could rid herself of this restless, constant, endless longing for Alain! Perhaps Zach was right, she thought once again, in an internal argument she’d been waging with herself for weeks. Perhaps Alain was just a silly dream, a curtain she had drawn against the real world, an excuse not to face herself and her life. But to hell with Zach anyway, Janie argued the other side, who was he to proffer advice to anyone? As far as Janie was concerned, it was Zach’s red-hot temper that had forced Melina out of the agency and tripped off the unfortunate events that had followed. Janie checked the address again, hurried across Park Avenue South, and turned down a sunny, well-tended street lined with brownstones. The converted firehouse stood halfway down the block, the original sandstone repainted a dark brick red, the trimmings lacquered glossy black. The interior had been gutted during the renovation a few years back and totally rebuilt into five stories of slightly offbeat commercial office spaces. The well known architect of the project had insisted on keeping the engine house motif alive—most of the offices were duplexes with spiraling staircases joining the floors. The color red was everywhere—stained into the paneled walls of the lobby, picked up in the elevator carpeting and handrail, and enameled into the woodwork around the large double doors that opened to each space.
“Thank God you made it!” Melina cried seconds after Janie had rung the bell at the fourth floor front office. Melina flung open the door, and at first Janie was so stunned by the light that flooded in the windows, she had to turn away.
“Oh, we need blinds, I know,” Melina said, waving toward the windows and leading Janie by the hand to a big old round maple table that stood in the center of the otherwise nearly empty huge white room. An assortment of old chairs, stripped down to their natural wood, were grouped haphazardly around the table. “And these are just part of the starter kit,” Melina told Janie, gesturing to the table and chairs. Yet even to Janie’s trained eye, there was something pleasing in the combination of unfinished antique furniture and wide-open office space.
“But, really … this is wonderful, Melina,” Janie said, turning slowly around and noticing the wrought iron spiral staircase at the far end of the room. It drew Janie’s eye up to the high ceiling and next floor.
“That will be my floor,” Melina said, catching Janie’s look. “This floor—because it gets all this wonderful light—will be yours.”
“Oh, please, Melina,” Janie said, putting the pot of mums down on the table. “Let’s not start that again. It’s out of the question. Totally. I’d be tarred and feathered as it is, if anyone at the agency knew I was down here. Let’s just drop it, okay? These,” she added, lightly brushing her hand over the flower heads, “are for you. An office-warming gift.”
“Thank you, they’re lovely,” Melina said, pushing them to the center of the table. “Now, I have a big, big favor to ask of you, Janie. If you’ll do this one little thing for me, I’ll promise not to badger you anymore about Bliss & Penrod or Penrod & Bliss, or whatever we end up calling ourselves.”
“Melina, I’m warning you…” Janie began uncomfortably. She still didn’t know exactly how she felt about Melina walking out of D&D … or what she thought of the way Melina had managed to make City Slickers walk with her. The new account’s defection to Melina’s fledgling enterprise had cast an ugly, tension-filled pall over Dorn & Delaney. Zach barely nodded to Janie when they met in the hall, and Michael, guilty and depressed over his part in the Melina fiasco had become uncharacteristically moody and withdrawn. And each day the gloom seemed to thicken. It was unlike Janie to look forward to leaving the office at night, but these days she was running out at six or six-thirty, along with the rest of the staff. Her one pleasure—and it was an overwhelming one—was the thought of seeing Alain again. She was even praying that with Melina’s unexpected departure, she would be asked to fill in at the next Chanson marketing meeting the following week.
“Oh, lighten up, Janie,” Melina answered, laughing. “I was only kidding.” She sat down and patted the chair next to hers. “Relax, okay? I can’t keep you here against your will, and no one will find out you’ve even so much as passed me on the street. But, please, Madame Art Director,” Melina continued, reaching down to scoop up some page layouts that had been under the table, “I need your opinion on these.” Melina spread the artwork out across the pocked tabletop, and only then did Janie realize that they were the original comps that Janie had prepared for the City Slickers presentation.
“Where…?” Janie started to ask, but Melina hurried to explain, “I asked the City Slickers people to send them over. They realize, of course, that because these were drafted at D&D, they can’t use them now that they’ve opted to come with me. But they really liked the style and the attitude here,” Melina continued, shifting through the layouts. “They’re hoping we can come up with something new … yet similar.”
“What’s this ‘we’ business?” Janie demanded.
“I’m hoping you’ll agree to help me this one time,” Melina replied calmly, looking down at Janie. “Out of friendship and in absolute secrecy. No one will have to know … not even the client. I’ve already told them that I intend to use a variety of free-lance artists until I can put my own staff together. And they seem fine with that, so long, I’m quite sure, as they get what they want.”
“Zach would fire me instantly,” Janie replied abruptly, “if he knew I was even talking to you.”
“And yet you came down to see me,” Melina pointed out gently. She sat down beside Janie, looked at her closely, and said in her most sincere tone, “You look tired, honey. Tired and sad. I’m sorry, because I know I haven’t exactly made your life easy these past few weeks. You’ve got to believe me about one thing: I didn’t mean to hurt anyone on purpose. But I finally had to make a stand for myself. This is what I’ve wanted for so long, Janie, to be in control, to have it be mine. It’s a risk, a terrible risk … but I just had to break away. Don’t you ever feel that way, too? Isn’t there anything you want that much?”
The thought of Alain flashed through Janie’s mind: she saw his smile, his penetrating gaze, the tapered fineness of his hands, the whiteness of his collar against the tanned perfection of his neck. She would risk everything she’d worked for in the last few years, she knew, to be with him for just one night. The realization terrified her.
“You know, you hurt Michael badly,” Janie retorted. “And Zach says this business with City Slickers is unethical. There’s even talk of suing you. I don’t know what I think, to be quite honest. But I know what I feel: I’m miserable. Zach won’t speak to me … Michael isn’t speaking to anybody. Believe me, there aren’t a lot of happy campers up there just now.”
“You know what I think?” Melina replied, crossing her arms and sitting back in her chair.
“I can imagine,” Janie responded dryly, though her tone
was not unkind. “You think I should leave. Join forces with you. You’ve made that pretty clear.”
“I think you have to leave,” Melina added emphatically, “or else you’re going to stay under Michael and Zach’s thumb forever. I know you’re afraid, dammit,” Melina cried, “and there’s nothing wrong with that. I was scared to death. But it’s like finally going off the high dive when you’re a kid: either you drum up your courage and finally take that leap … or you live in fear of that jump the rest of your life.”
“Ah … that’s easy enough for you to say,” Janie told her. “You’ve already jumped.” Janie stared down at her hands and then across at Melina. “Listen, I’ll help you out with this City Slickers campaign, but that’s it. Despite the bad times, I owe Zach and Michael too much to walk out on them now. I feel … responsible.” She didn’t tell Melina what she really felt: that she simply couldn’t give up the infrequent chances she now had of seeing Alain … it would be like giving up on her own impossible dream. It would be like losing all hope.
Melina was smart enough not to push. She would simply have to bide her time and wait things out. She would have to be smart … and very careful. Because she was beginning to realize that she really needed Janie in order to survive. It was easy enough to snag a small division of Ramona or rope in an account like City Slickers … it was quite a different thing to keep them happily corralled.
Janie and Melina stayed in touch mostly by phone. Just as Louella used to do, Melina would call her at home in the evenings, and they would recount the trials and tribulations of their different days. Janie was flattered by Melina’s attention and obvious concern.
“The Ramona meeting was just awful this afternoon,” Janie told her a few weeks after Janie’s visit to the studio. “Madame was on the warpath as usual, and poor Michael just wasn’t up to subduing her. I’ll tell you … we really miss you at times like that.”
“Pity,” Melina replied. “But I’m not surprised. I think you should know, Janie, that Madame’s office called me a few days ago. They want me to put together a presentation for the home fragrances line.”
“Oh, my Lord…” Janie sighed. “Are you going to do it?”
“Well, I don’t see that I have any choice,” Melina told her. “I’m just starting out. And beggars can’t be choosers. It’s not my fault, after all, if D&D isn’t making her happy right now. Yes, I think I’ve got to give it a try. Don’t worry … I’m not going to ask you again. I’ve already started working up some concepts with Philip Bosco, an art director I knew from Y&R.”
“Good,” Janie answered, though she felt oddly disappointed. “That’s fine. In any case, you’ll be happy to know that I understand the Chanson presentation went beautifully. Apparently Alain loved our brochure idea … you remember the one?”
“Of course,” Melina replied, suddenly focusing in. “Alain is over here now?”
“Yes,” Janie replied somewhat dreamily. Though she hadn’t been asked to sit in on the meeting, she had managed to pass him in the hall that morning, and he had greeted her by name. She still carried the memory of his smile with her everywhere she went.
“Well, for your sake I’m glad he was pleased,” Melina said dismissively, failing to pick up on the odd, distracted note in Janie’s voice. At that moment her mind was too busy racing ahead to her next move.
Chapter 14
“Good morning. Plaza Hotel. May I help you?”
“Alain Chanson’s suite, please.”
“Allô?” His voice was lower than Melina remembered, or perhaps it was always a bit rough in the morning. Had she woken him up? Was he alone in bed? Suddenly her courage failed, and she almost hung up the phone. “Allô?” he asked again in a kinder, slightly puzzled tone. “Who is it, please?”
“Good morning, Monsieur Chanson,” Melina replied, keeping her voice light and lilting. “This is Melina Bliss. You probably don’t remember me, but I used to work…”
“But of course, Melina,” Alain said, recalling with pleasure the woman’s compact body and fluid movement. She had the dark, wavy hair of an Italian Renaissance Madonna … and the sweetly suggestive smile of an Ingres nude. He’d enjoyed her presence at the Dorn & Delaney meetings she had attended, and had even contemplated the idea of pursuing the enjoyment further. But he sensed Zach wouldn’t approve of such a liaison, and the desire was not quite strong enough to risk ruffling Zach’s feathers. Pity the man could be so temperamental. But, yes, he remembered Melina Bliss.
“I am so sorry to be bothering you,” Melina continued, her voice a gentle purr. “I’m sure it is most inconvenient.”
“Not at all,” Alain replied, turning over in the ornate king-sized bed, soft pale blue cotton sheets clinging to his naked body. He looked down at his morning erection and smiled. He wondered if she wanted the same thing he did. “Where are you calling from, my dear?”
“Actually … I’m just across the street,” Melina answered. “I’m so sorry to impose on you. But I need … I would so much like your advice on a … professional difficulty I’m facing.”
“I’d be delighted,” Alain said, stretching and lying back against the small mountain of pillows. “You’re welcome to come up if you like. I will order some breakfast from room service, yes?”
“Thank you,” Melina said. “Ten minutes?”
“Very good. I will see you then.”
He opened the door, dressed in a dark blue silk robe that was tied loosely at the waist. His feet were bare, and Melina got the immediate impression that everything under the robe was too. She smiled and held out the perfect, long-stemmed pink rose she had purchased on her way to the hotel that morning. “To go with breakfast?” she said, handing it to him. His hand closed over hers, the rose crushed between them, and he pulled her into the room.
“Oh, Alain,” she cried, looking down at his hand as he released her from his grasp. “You’re bleeding. I’m so sorry, it must have been one of the thorns. I really…”
“Melina,” Alain interrupted her. “Stop apologizing. I always like a little pain mixed in with my pleasure. Come. They’re about to send up some coffee and croissants. We can wait for them in here,” he said, leading her into a high-ceilinged, sun-drenched sitting room that looked out on Central Park South, “and you can tell me what this thing is that is on your mind.”
Alain did not like ambitious women. He detested the tough, tailored females who were stalking the corridors of power in America and Europe. They were, he felt, a dangerous, androgynous hybrid species that within the next generation—through natural attrition—would simply die out. They were not childbearers, these women with their briefcases and short, hard manicured nails. And, more than anything else, Alain was always searching for the mother of his future children whenever he looked a woman over for the first time.
Melina, naked except for a pale peach satin slip, looked damned good to him that morning as she lay against his side in the rumpled bed. She was no schoolgirl, he thought, smiling to himself. In fact, she knew more tricks than many of the professionals he had picked up over the years. But she was unabashedly feminine: soft-spoken, silky skinned, slightly silly in the way she kept pretending to be shocked by her own, urgent responses to his touch. He breathed in the woodsy smell of her hair and ran his fingers along the sloping line of her neck. He eased the strap of her slip off her shoulder and kissed her pale, lightly freckled skin.
“Alain…” It was half whisper, half moan.
“Yes?” he replied, brushing his lips along the delicate curve of her collarbone. He kissed her throat, pleased to feel her arching again beneath him. He sat up on his elbow, looking down at her face: her eye makeup was slightly smudged from their earlier exertions, her lips pale and a bit too thin without their usual sheen of gloss. She was not beautiful, he realized with a sharp familiar pang of disappointment. She would not, in any long-term respect, do. Her lids flickered open and—in a brief, chilling instant—Melina saw his measur
ing look.
“A woman always takes a chance,” Melina said with a sigh, closing her eyes again, “when she makes love in broad daylight.”
“Oh, please, my dear,” Alain replied gallantly, “you look charming. A diamond in the rough, so to speak. You are magnificent.”
“And you lie very handsomely,” Melina said, running her hands through her tangled hair. “Do me a favor, please? Pull that damn shade before you say another word.”
Alain got up and drew the curtains, and then sat down on the edge of the bed. “I think, my dear,” he said, his fingers drifting along the flat well-tended terrain of Melina’s stomach, “that we should dispense with words altogether for the time being.”
“Fine by me,” Melina told him, smiling and pulling him toward her. “I prefer action to talk any day.”
She was a vixen, Alain told himself as he rolled over onto his back and felt Melina’s expert caress on the inside of his thighs. She was dark, sly, swift. No, she was not a schoolgirl. She was neither fresh nor sweet. She would never do in the long run, but, oh, for now … for now…
“Yes,” he murmured, feeling himself building to a climax. “Yes, yes…” He climbed and soared. A split second before he knew he would lose all control, he pulled himself free of her.
“Lie on your back,” he ordered matter-of-factly.
“Please, Alain, I’m rather sore now and…”
“Now, please,” he said, his hand massaging his own throbbing erection.
“But I don’t like…” she began to explain, and then she felt his fierce grip on her thighs, his legs pinning hers.
“And I don’t like,” he said through clenched teeth as he flopped her onto her back and straddled her urgently, “women who…” His breath turned ragged as he tore into her.
Changes of Heart Page 11