“Are you going to be there?” Phyllis asked.
“Probably. Are you?”
“I wouldn’t miss it for the world,” Phyllis said. “What’s Brad Torrance like these days, anyway? Andrea tells me you’ve spent a couple of days taking him around to look at houses.”
“He’s fine,” Daphne reported. Brad couldn’t help hearing, and he glanced up curiously, apparently conscious of the fact that she was talking about him. She smiled, then slowly and deliberately inspected him as he watched her, lifting her eyeglasses up to her forehead and squinting at him. “He hasn’t aged too badly, Phyllis,” she reported, lowering her glasses back into place. “No gray hair, no double-chin, no signs of an incipient pot-belly.”
Me? Brad mouthed, jabbing his thumb into his chest as he stared at Daphne.
She covered her phone with her hand and whispered, “It’s Phyllis Dunn, from school. She’s going to be at the party Saturday, and she wanted to know how you looked.”
Brad nodded; evidently, Phyllis’s name rang a bell. Then he grinned. “No pot-belly, huh,” he whispered back. “Has she got a pot-belly?”
“You’ll find out Saturday night,” Daphne answered before turning her attention back to her caller. Phyllis was chattering about something, and Daphne had missed half of it. “What?”
“I said, the good news is that Steve and Melanie Persky are coming down from Armonk for the party,” Phyllis reported, naming a couple of other friends who dated back to Daphne’s college days. “The bad news is that Andrea invited a bunch of her TV people, so the party’s going to be overrun with show-biz folks.”
Daphne laughed. Unlike Phyllis, she found Andrea’s professional colleagues colorful and entertaining. “How about Jim? Are you bringing him along with you?”
“I can’t see a way out of it,” Phyllis lamented. “Are you coming alone?”
“I was thinking I’d bring Paul Costello,” said Daphne.
“Bo-ring,” Phyllis chanted.
“How can you say that? You’ve never even met him,” Daphne complained.
“I figure, if you’re dating him, he must be safe,” Phyllis rationalized.
When Daphne had started dating Paul, about a year after she’d moved to Verona, he hadn’t been especially safe. An English teacher at one of the local high schools, he was sharp, passably handsome, and possessed of a quirky sense of humor. He and Daphne had given the romance their best shot, but after about six months they were forced to admit that the chemistry wasn’t right. “I can’t help it, Daphne,” Paul had confessed, “but I think of you as a sister. I’m really sorry.”
Daphne had been sorry too, at the time. Now, many months later, she was beginning to sense that it was her lot in life to be thought of as a sister by every interesting man she met, and she was doing her best to accept it. Despite the fact that their relationship never caught fire, Daphne and Paul enjoyed each other’s company, and they frequently saw each other when they were both free. That Daphne was free more often than Paul made her only the slightest bit jealous.
“Sometimes he’s safe and sometimes he isn’t,” Daphne said. “You can judge for yourself Saturday night. I’ve got to go. The guest of honor is drooling all over listings.” She said the last part loudly for Brad’s benefit. He glanced up from her computer screen, grinned and stuck out his tongue, pretending to pant.
“He’s there now?” Phyllis exclaimed. “Give him a kiss for me, Daffy. I’ll see you in a couple of days.”
Daphne said goodbye and hung up the phone. “Phyllis asked me to give you a kiss,” Daphne related.
Brad’s grin widened. “On her behalf, or your own?”
Daphne considered an assortment of answers before opting for honesty. “Hers,” she replied. “But I’ll let you wait until Saturday. Kisses should never be delivered by middlemen.”
“Spoilsport,” Brad teased before turning his focus back to the monitor. “I’m almost at the end of the West Caldwell listings,” he told her.
“Have you found anything you want to look at?” she asked.
He shook his head. “What I’ve found is that you’ve already shown me the best properties. But this is informative. Give me one more minute, okay?”
She’d already set up a few appointments before he arrived at her office a half hour ago. But she always encouraged her clients to peruse the listings, just in case she overlooked a property they might wish to see. Before he’d begun viewing the listings, Brad had asked her to educate him on real estate lingo. She had explained to him that “a cozy little charmer” meant the house wasn’t much bigger than a tool shed, that “very special” meant the floors were uneven and a mismatched wing had been added off the garage, and that “this one won’t last” meant the house had been on the market for over a year.
Daphne wasn’t sure what had happened between yesterday and today, what had changed between them to make her feel more comfortable in Brad’s company. Perhaps it was simply that he seemed more comfortable around her.
Shortly after he’d arrived at the office, Brad told her about the dinner he’d had with his father the night before, during which his father had referred to New Jersey as a wasteland. He told her that he really liked the expanded cape she’d shown him the previous day, the one priced at $560,000, and that he’d like to see it again if they had time that afternoon. He told her he’d stopped by his new office that morning to shake a few hands, and his associates there swore that, while they didn’t want to pressure him, they sure hoped he’d settle in soon because they could really use him at his desk. He’d also mentioned the party Andrea and Eric were hosting in his honor.
Brad was undoubtedly used to being needed and feted, Daphne thought as he scrolled through the last of the West Caldwell listings. He hadn’t sounded boastful when he’d mentioned the party or the warm reception he’d received at the office. Instead, he’d sounded at home, as if he were confiding in an old friend.
Daphne was hardly Brad’s old friend. Yet she greatly preferred his mood today to his gruff demeanor yesterday. While she usually didn’t like to mix business with pleasure, she saw no reason to reject Brad’s friendship.
“Nothing,” he said, swiveling the monitor back around to her.
“All right. We’ll look at what I’ve already set up.”
Daphne knew the first house they visited would be a bust the minute they stepped inside. The selling broker, an overbearing woman named Midge, was waiting for them in the living room, and she immediately wrapped a plump arm around Brad’s shoulders and swept him away, babbling about what a fabulous family home this would make. “There’s a wonderful playroom for the children,” she gushed. “Do you have children, Mr. Torrance? No? Well, don’t give up. My husband and I tried for seven years before we hit the jackpot. What? No wife? Well, a nice young man like you ought to be able to find someone sooner or later. Come, let me show you this absolutely adorable nursery upstairs...”
The second house Daphne took him to was the sort which, in listings, was usually described with the phrase: “has great potential.” The place was falling to pieces. Several windows were cracked, some roof shingles lay on the ground near the front door, the electrical wiring was inadequate and the linoleum in the bathroom had been stripped off to reveal the warped floorboards underneath. “It’s under two hundred thousand,” Daphne pointed out cheerfully as Brad dusted the cobwebs from his hands and strode out of the house, smoothly sidestepping the fallen shingles.
“What a bargain,” he muttered, climbing into the car and staring straight ahead, as if he couldn’t wait for her to transport him away from the dilapidated building. “Can you honestly picture me rewiring a house?”
“You could hire a contractor.”
“Daphne, look at me.” He extended his hands beneath her nose. “Not a single callous. I’m helpless when it comes to repairing things.”
“I’m sure you aren’t.”
“I am. Whenever anything breaks, my instincts tell me to run for cover.”
“Everyone’s instincts tell them that,” Daphne granted, starting the car and pulling away from the curb. “But when that option isn’t available, most people roll up their sleeves and tackle the problem.”
“Do you think I’m like most people?” Brad asked, gazing at her profile as she concentrated on the road.
“I don’t know,” she answered, sensing that he was hinting at something far removed from house repairs, but not sure what it was.
“There have been times, Daff...” His voice drifted off, and his gaze left her to focus on the dashboard. “Times when I was so lazy, I just threw away whatever was broken and...yeah. I ran for cover. I suck when it comes to fixing things.”
Daphne considered his words. He was obviously no longer talking about “handyman’s specials” or even broken objects. He was talking about friendships, relationships, broken feelings and messy affairs. One messy affair in particular, perhaps.
Her recollection of that affair was that she, not Brad, had been the one to run for cover. And if there had been anything to repair, it would have been as much her responsibility as his to fix it.
They’d both failed—but neither of them was noticeably broken anymore. Houses couldn’t mend their own roofs, but human beings had a talent for regenerating themselves.
“I wouldn’t worry about it,” Daphne said, keeping her tone as light as possible. “We’ll stay away from fixer-uppers from now on.”
He turned back to her, and she could feel the glittering blue light of his eyes bathing her. She risked a glance at him and absorbed his wistful smile. “That’s probably a wise policy,” he agreed.
Avoiding fixer-uppers meant taking the chance of missing a property that, with just a bit of tender loving care, could be made perfect. On the other hand, the odds of finding such a rare house were slim, and she and Brad had already agreed that they didn’t want to waste time.
So she drove him to the next house on her schedule. The roof was tight, the floors were covered with plush carpets and polished hardwood floors, the walls had been painted recently and every window frame sported a double-layer thermopane. The appliances were new, the lighting fixtures attractive, the yard recently mowed and the shrubs pruned. The house boasted a price tag approaching $600,000—worth it for a dwelling that was clean and safe, with no surprises and no additional work necessary. This was a house that demanded nothing from its owner other than a fat wallet and an appreciation of its pretty practicality.
Daphne wasn’t terribly shocked when Brad told her he loved it.
Chapter Four
“IT’S NOT THAT I hate driving in the city,” Paul said as Daphne’s car emerged from the Lincoln Tunnel into Manhattan. “It’s that I hate parking in the city.”
“No explanation necessary,” Daphne assured him, navigating her car deftly through the traffic-congested midtown streets. “I don’t mind driving.”
“The last time I parked my car on a New York City street,” he went on, evidently disagreeing with her about the necessity of an explanation, “my hubcaps got stolen. And you know as well as I do that in this city, parking in a garage costs an arm and a leg.”
“There aren’t any garages on Andrea’s block, so don’t worry about sacrificing your arms and legs,” Daphne told him. “If someone wants my hubcaps, so be it. I’ve got insurance.”
“Let’s just hope the thieves are looking for hubcaps and not a radio,” Paul said ominously. “If they want your radio, they’ll break a window.”
“And then the alarm will go off,” Daphne said with a chuckle. “Vigilantes will stream into the streets. Spotlights will glare. Police from three precincts will write reports.” The sound of her quiet laughter helped to calm her nerves.
She had mixed feelings about attending this party. She always enjoyed seeing Andrea and Eric and Phyllis—although she could happily do without Phyllis’s Significant Other—and she was especially pleased that the Perskys would be at the party, too. Seeing Brad was what made her edgy.
More specifically, what made her edgy was seeing Brad in the context of a party. The two of them had gotten along well during their forays into the New Jersey housing market. They had both proven that they were mature and civilized, able to function in each other’s company on a professional basis, able even to loosen up and joke with each other on a certain level. But house-hunting was business. At a party, there would be booze and music and hordes of people—all in all, an atmosphere painfully reminiscent of a night in Daphne’s past that she’d prefer to forget.
At least she had Paul with her. Although she hadn’t explicitly mentioned it to him, her primary reason for bringing him along was for protection. His company would keep her from dwelling on the last party she’d been to where Brad was also in attendance. At least she hoped it would.
Apparently persuaded that Daphne honestly didn’t mind driving, Paul relaxed in his seat as best he could, given his lanky build. He had the sort of broom-handle physique that baggy trousers emphasized, and he tended to dress with enough panache to be considered a far-out dude by his students. Despite the evening gloom, his hair seemed to glow. Given its coppery color and its short, curly tufts, Paul’s hair reminded Daphne of a shredded carrot salad.
In his stylishly loose trousers, checked shirt and defiantly geeky bowtie, he appeared more fashionable than Daphne. When she’d picked him up at his apartment half an hour ago, he had assured her that she looked terrific. Being a realist, she didn’t aspire that high; she’d be content to look reasonably good. Attired in a swirling skirt with a colorful floral pattern and a violet scoop-necked sweater, with her hair falling in golden ripples around her lightly made-up face, she had more or less attained that modest goal.
When she’d chosen her outfit that evening, she had tried to convince herself that Paul was the person for whom she was fixing herself up. But the closer her car got to Andrea’s Upper West Side address, the more Daphne suspected she’d dressed with Brad in mind. Not that she wished for him to find her alluring—not that she believed such a thing was even possible—but she did want him to know that she was a survivor. She wanted him to recognize that eight years after her debacle, she knew how to dress up and snag an escort and enjoy herself at a party.
Assuming, of course, that she did manage to enjoy herself tonight.
She found a parking space only four blocks from Andrea’s building, which she considered a good omen. Hooking her hand through the bend in Paul’s arm, she strolled with him down the sidewalk to the elegant apartment building overlooking Riverside Park. In the mild spring evening, the park exuded the aromas of reawakening plant life, grass beginning to sprout and shrubs beginning to bud. By the time she and Paul reached the building, Daphne was feeling at ease and self-confident.
They had to identify themselves to the doorman’s satisfaction before being permitted to pass through the lobby to the elevator. As they rode upstairs, Paul asked, “Am I going to know anyone at this gathering besides Andrea and Eric?”
“I don’t think so,” Daphne replied. “Not unless you watch daytime talk shows. Rumor has it Andrea invited a bunch of her TV friends.”
“Really?” Paul’s eyes grew round and bright. “Certified celebrities? Can I ask them for their autographs?”
Daphne knew from his tone of voice that he was kidding. “I don’t see why not,” she played along. “A certified celebrity ought to be able to sign an autograph for a certified maniac. All in the certifiable family.”
They stepped off the elevator and walked down the hallway to Andrea’s apartment. Through the closed door Daphne could hear a babble of voices, indicating that the party was already in full swing. She had to ring the doorbell several times before it was answered—by someone she’d never seen before. “Come on in,” the unfamiliar woman greeted them, waving them into the entry foyer. “Drinks are in the kitchen, snacks are in the living room, and Andrea’s in the bathroom.”
“I’m going to get a drink,” Paul whispered as he ushered Daphne
into the living room. “Can I get you something?
“A glass of ginger ale.,”
“Bless your sober little heart. I love it when you drive,” Paul murmured, giving her arm an affectionate squeeze before he vanished into the dining room en route to the kitchen.
Daphne rotated to find herself face to face with Phyllis, who looked breathtaking in a black silk cocktail dress with a blinding rhinestone brooch pinned to one shoulder. Not bothering to say hello, Phyllis bore down on her with an accusing scowl. “Why didn’t you tell me he was gorgeous?” she demanded to know.
It took Daphne less than a second to figure out whom Phyllis was referring to; there weren’t too many gorgeous men having a party held in their honor at Andrea’s and Eric’s apartment that night. She grinned at Phyllis’s transparent behavior. “You already knew Brad was gorgeous,” she said.
“I knew he was,” Phyllis said. “I didn’t know he still is. Listen, Daffy, how much would it be worth to you to take Jim for a walk around the block so I can spend a little time with Brad?”
Daphne erupted in laughter. “First of all, we would make it all the way around the block and back here in under ten minutes. I have the feeling that what you’ve got in mind might take a bit longer than that.”
“Not necessarily—”
“And second of all,” Daphne continued, cutting off Phyllis’s protest, “I’m not going to entertain your date when I came with my own.”
“Oh, right. Where is this guy, anyway? I’d like to check him out.”
“He’s getting us some drinks,” Daphne told her. “And there’s no need to check him out. We’re just friends.”
“Boring,” Phyllis mumbled. “If you’re just friends, then maybe I wouldn’t be doing anybody any harm if I did meet him, would I?”
Phyllis was welcome to try her luck with Paul, but Daphne had no intention of spending the party keeping Phyllis’s lover distracted while Phyllis prowled around. “Forget it,” Daphne said. “I’m not going to take Jim for a walk, no matter how much you think it might be worth to me. I have much better sources of income, thank you.”
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