by Sandra Brown
“No, I work for a mom-and-pop company that’s been in the business for years. It’s a highly specialized field. I want to branch out on my own.”
“Why?” He set his elbow on the pink Formica lunch counter and propped his chin in his hand, giving every impression that he was genuinely interested.
“My creativity is stymied. The couple I work for are tired. Their ideas are tired. Their lack of energy shows up in their work. The innovative designs we’ve produced in the last couple of years were mine. But I’m only getting paid a salary.”
“That would tend to reduce your incentive.”
“It only reduces my incentive to remain with them. I have too many ideas that are begging to be made into realities. When I leave, I’ll get many of their disappointed regular clients, and more clients through word of mouth. I’m confident that it wouldn’t take long at all for me to become well established.”
“But in the meantime you need operating capital.”
“Exactly. For the million and one necessary expenditures associated with starting any business. Mainly, I’d have to make some sample costumes. Hopefully I could sell them later, but in the meantime, they would prove my talent to customers who don’t know my capabilities.”
Ty smiled at her lack of humility, but Sunny was too caught up in her subject to notice.
“The ball costumes are elaborate,” she continued. “The materials alone for one gown cost thousands of dollars. I can’t make them for nothing.”
“Let me see if I understand,” he said. “You submit an idea, or several, to a client. She chooses the design she wants and you make the costume for her.”
She congratulated him on being so astute. “I wish you were a bank officer. I couldn’t seem to pound that concept into Mr. Smithie’s head.”
“Bankers see only the bottom line.”
“I’d only need a handful of orders this first year to show a profit. Not many new businesses can promise to do that. And I know in here,” she said, pressing a closed fist against her heart, “that my costumes would be so stupendous that the year after that I’d have more orders than I could fill.”
He stared down into her earnest face. “You’ve convinced me.” Their stare held for a long moment. “Ready?” he asked at last, nodding down at her empty glass.
“Yes,” she murmured, pulling things back into focus. “Thank you.”
He paid their bill. “Which aisle should we take? Toys and books or feminine hygiene?”
Sunny, actually grateful to him for relieving the tension that had unexpectedly sprung up between them, shot him a sour look and started down the aisle stocked with sand pails and Rambo dolls.
“I have one question for you,” he said. “What does all that have to do with making bad sketches of insects?”
“I should have known better than to believe you were taking me seriously.”
“I was.” He sounded offended.
“Maybe. Still, where business and the female sex are concerned, you’re no different from the bankers. When you look at a woman all you see is a pair of—” She bit off the last word, castigating herself for her carelessness.
“Oh, I noticed your pair, all right. But, lovely as they are, that doesn’t mean I don’t see more than them.”
Sunny didn’t know if it had actually gotten hotter outside or if his reference to her breasts only made it seem that way. As soon as she stepped onto the sidewalk, she turned in the direction of her car. He was a constant source of irritation, but, giving credit where credit was due, he had been a good listener. She thanked him for it, then added, “I needed to vent my frustration.”
“Keep your chin up,” he told her, lightly cuffing her on the chin. “Mr. Smithie might surprise you and say yes.”
“It would be more of a shock than a surprise.”
“If I were the bank I’d lend you the money.”
“Because you believe in what I want to do?”
“Because a woman who could summon up the courage to walk out on a church full of people on her wedding day can do anything she sets her mind to.”
Her footsteps faltered. “I wish you’d forget about that. But then why should you be the only forgetful one?”
Stopping, he brought her to a halt and turned her to face him. “Uh-oh. I think I found a raw nerve.” He studied her bleak expression. “Smithie didn’t use that as the reason for turning you down, did he?” Choosing not to answer him, Sunny continued on her way.
“That sonofabitch,” she heard the sheriff mutter.
When they reached her car, she unlocked it and tried to open the door. Ty, putting his weight behind his straight arm, prevented that. She turned around, finding herself wedged between him and the car door. As evidenced by his smile, he was trying to lighten her mood.
“About that bug.”
“I told you that it was a dragonfly.”
“I stand corrected.” His eyebrow was still arched inquiringly.
“I had this idea,” she said resignedly, “of a dragonfly. I can see a black sequin casing from the top of the head to the bottom of an oh-so-tight skirt.” Her forehead puckered. “I just can’t figure out how I’d handle the wings. They should be enormous. Sheer, iridescent. They’d need to move to get the right effect and be strong enough to stand out away from the body. They’d have to fold up somehow, or come off completely, after she made her grand entrance.”
Suddenly realizing where she was, Sunny self-consciously glanced up at Ty. He would think she was nuttier than he already did. Or be bored by her meandering thoughts. But his smile was an indication of just how much he was enjoying himself.
“Sounds good to me,” he said.
“Thanks.”
“Could I interest you in lunch?”
“I don’t eat lunch.”
“Sex?”
It was too bold a suggestion not to laugh at. “No, thank you.”
“An afternoon skinny-dip in the lake?”
“Aren’t you on duty?”
“All right then, an evening skinny-dip by moonlight.” He moved closer. “Come to think of it, that sounds even better.”
“Night swimming invariably leads to a summer cold.”
“Sunny,” he growled, “what I have in mind for us would set the lake to boiling.”
His intensity made her doubt that he was merely teasing. Against her will, she couldn’t help but wonder what a moonlight swim might entail. Before her imagination could carry her away, she said briskly, “Apparently you’ve failed to get the message, Mr. Beaumont. I’m not interested in a...sexual encounter with you. I’m only going to be here for a week.”
“And that’s the very deadline that’s cramping my style.”
“For winning your bet with George?”
She got only a slow, lazy smile for an answer. “Consider this your good deed for the week. Help me out.”
“Take a sex maniac to lunch.”
He laughed at her droll humor. “I guarantee that you’ll have fun. I want to win the wager. Don’t make it so hard.”
She searched his face, wondering if his choice of words had a double meaning, but decided it was safer not to pursue it. “I’m making it not only hard, Mr. Beaumont, but impossible.”
He reached out and tracked the row of buttons down the front of her dress. He poked her lightly where they stopped, a good two inches below her navel. “Nothing’s impossible.”
He swung open her car door. Once she was safely inside he closed it. Then, giving her an I’ll-have-you-naked-yet smile, he turned and sauntered off down the sidewalk.
Five
Damn you, Sunny!”
The curse startled her. She raised her eyes and looked at Fran in surprise in the mirror. “What for?”
“For looking like that.” Fran flung her hand toward the image in the mirror. They were in a bedroom of Fran’s house. Sunny, hopefully for the last time, was trying on the bridesmaid’s dress she was going to wear at Fran’s wedding. “No one will be looking at
me if you’re standing beside me.”
“Don’t be silly.”
“I should have my head examined for choosing that peachy-gold color for your dress.” Fran sat down on the edge of the bed. “Remember those hot, fresh peach sundaes we used to make? That’s what you look like.”
“Peaches and cream?” Sunny laughed scoffingly. “Come on, Fran. You can do better than that cliché.”
“Cliché or not, you look gorgeous. The dress is perfect, dammit. Please take it off.”
Sunny unzipped the silk confection and slid it down her hips, stepping out of it carefully.
“On second thought,” Fran groaned, “put it back on. The sight of your model’s body reminds me that I’ve had two kids and several hot peach sundaes too many.”
Sunny rehung the dress on its padded hanger and replaced it in a plastic bag. She shimmied out of the slip that had been designed to go under the sheer bodice of the bridesmaid’s dress and, standing unself-consciously in panties only, reached for the casual slacks and top she had worn in to this fitting at Fran’s house.
“You’re sounding melancholy today. Prenuptial jitters?”
“I suppose.”
When she was dressed, Sunny sat down on the bed beside her friend and took her hand. “What’s wrong, Fran?”
Fran smiled ruefully. “I’m not fooling myself, Sunny. The five years I was married to Ernie took their toll on me, not only emotionally but physically.” Tears filled her eyes. “I’m a saggy, pudgy mess. What if Steve doesn’t like me?”
“Oh, Fran!” Sunny clasped her friend in a fierce hug. “You’re being ridiculous. Steve loves you.”
“I know he does.” Fran, looking sheepish, disengaged them. “We’ve slept together. I wanted to make sure about that the second time. Ernie’s beautiful body was all for show. He was lousy in bed.” She traced the seam of the bedspread with her fingernail. “But when Steve and I were together, it was darkly romantic. I made certain he didn’t see too much. But I’m worried about when we’re living together, when all the lights are on and he sees just how shapeless my breasts are and how lumpy with cellulite—”
“I can’t believe this!” Sunny took Fran’s shoulders between her hands. “You’ve never had a poor self-image. Why now?” Sunny looked at her friend shrewdly. “That’s not really it, is it?”
“You know me too well,” Fran grumbled.
“Spill it.”
“Maybe I’m having second thoughts.”
“About Steve?” Sunny asked quietly.
“No. I’m crazy about Steve. But I’m having second thoughts about getting into another marriage. In a way I envy you. You’ve dated tons of men. I never really dated anybody but Ernie. He was the only man I could see. Then Steve came along soon after my divorce. Maybe I should have moved away for a while. Gone to the city. Exposed myself to a different lifestyle. Lived like a swinging single.”
“It’s not all it’s cracked up to be, Fran. One can get very lonely.”
Fran’s attention immediately shifted from herself to Sunny. “Do you wish you had stayed here and married Don?”
“No, I’ve never regretted my decision not to marry him.”
“Sunny—”
“Don’t ask me, Frannie,” Sunny interrupted quickly, squeezing Fran’s hand as though to choke off her words. “If I ever told anybody my reason for walking out, I’d tell you. You know that.” She glanced down at their clasped hands, not really seeing them. Instead she was seeing again the shocked expressions on her parents’ faces when she had turned away from the altar and faced them with her astonishing announcement.
“It was something I had to do. I know people thought I was being characteristically fickle, but it wasn’t like that at all. It wasn’t a decision I made lightly. I would never have put my parents through something that embarrassing unless I had had a very good reason and felt that it was the wisest choice, if not the easiest. Please believe me.”
“You don’t have to justify yourself to me, Sunny. I’d never bring it up, except that I think you need to talk about it.”
“I can’t, Fran. Maybe sometime. But not right now.”
“Okay. Anyway, it’s lunchtime, and I promised the girls burgers at the Dairy Mart. Want to come along?”
Sunny smacked her lips as she jumped off the bed. “You bet. I haven’t had a Dairy Mart burger in over three years.”
“I wonder if they could make a hot peach sundae.”
“What happened to all those grim references to sagging and cellulite?”
Fran called for her daughters, who were skateboarding outside, to get into the car. “The crisis has passed. Blame my self-pity on biorhythms or hypoglycemia or just being a nervous bride. Steve’s crazy about me. Everything about me. For all the glamour in your life, Sunny, I wouldn’t trade places with you for anything in the world.”
Sunny wondered if Fran had discerned that things weren’t always as rosy as they seemed.
“Yum-my.”
“Um-huh.” Sunny was enraptured by her thick, juicy cheeseburger. It was the old-fashioned, pre-assembly-line kind made with meat cooked over charcoal and buns grilled in butter. The french fries were fat and hot out of the grease.
“I wasn’t talking about the food. I was talking about that.”
Sunny glanced up from her cheeseburger basket and followed Fran’s gaze through the windshield of her car. The sheriff of Latham Parish was walking toward the window where patrons of the drive-in restaurant placed their orders. Sunny could barely force down the bite that, up until then, she had been chewing with sybaritic pleasure.
She hadn’t seen Ty since Monday. All day yesterday, she thought he might phone or come by on one pretext or another. He could have used her “intruder” as an excuse to check on her. Or he might have reissued the invitation for a moonlight swim. But when he hadn’t made any attempt to contact her, Sunny had vacillated between relief and vague disappointment.
“He’s okay,” she said offhandedly.
Fran swung her head around to gape at her.
“Okay? Is there something wrong with your eyesight?”
They both looked back at Ty. He pushed his straw cowboy hat off his forehead and bent down to speak to the flustered girl in the window. She could barely compose herself long enough to write down his order. His bent posture showed off one of his best features, especially to the women who were sitting in the car behind him. His physique did wonders for an ordinary pair of blue jeans. Seemingly in no hurry, he was exercising his dazzling smile on the simpering waitress while waiting for his order to be cooked.
“I thought you were madly in love with Steve.” Sunny’s tone was peevish, though, if asked, she couldn’t have specified why she was annoyed.
“I am. But I’m not blind,” Fran replied. “Steve’ll benefit from my sexual fantasies. Cosmo says they’re healthy and harmless.”
“And you think Beaumont is fantasy material?” Sunny was curious about him, but didn’t want to come right out and ask leading questions. Perhaps Fran would take the bait and divulge information Sunny wanted.
“Don’t you?”
She shrugged. “He’s probably a lot like Ernie. It’s all exterior packaging.”
“Not the way I hear it.”
“Really?” Sunny asked innocently.
“Hmm. A friend of mine told me—” She suddenly broke off, casting a quick glance over her shoulder. “Hey, girls, if you’re finished, you can get out and play on your skateboards.”
Her daughters, who had gulped their lunch and were restlessly waiting in the backseat for Fran and Sunny to finish, whooped with glee and, taking their skateboards with them, scrambled from the car.
“Be careful,” Fran called.
At the sound of her voice, Ty turned, spotted her, and waved. She waved back. He smacked the girls on their bottoms as they ran past him and warned them to be careful on their skateboards. He then turned back to the window to take up his conversation with the waitress. Because of his
sunglasses, Sunny couldn’t tell if he had noticed her sitting in Fran’s car.
“What did this friend of yours say?” She hoped she sounded casual enough.
“Well,” Fran said, stuffing a catsup-drenched french fry into her mouth, “what it amounted to was that”— she licked salt from her fingers—“he was the best she’d ever had.” She swallowed her bite.
Sunny, who had nothing in her mouth, swallowed equally as hard. Unaware of her friend’s discomfort, Fran drew on her chocolate malt.
“He set hearts all over town aflutter when he arrived. They haven’t stilled yet.”
“Where’d he come from?”
“Florida, I think. Very hush-hush circumstances. There’s never been mention of a Mrs. Beaumont. Widows and divorcées have tried their best to remedy that. They flock to him.” Fran laughed. “I doubt he’s cooked more than three dinners for himself since he moved to town.”
“So he’s been involved with a lot of women?”
“No, that’s the problem. He doesn’t become involved.”
“Oh,” Sunny said unkindly, “one of those.”
“Not exactly.” Thoughtfully Fran stirred her malt. “My friend said that he laid his cards on the table before he ever folded his pants over the footboard of her bed. He told her up front that he wasn’t looking for a lasting relationship and not to expect one.”
“But she didn’t believe him.”
“I guess not. After a few weeks of dinner dates and multiple orgasms, he stopped calling her. She was heartbroken.” Fran paused in her story to shout out the window for one of her daughters to stop wheeling in the path of the other one.
“That’s been the pattern with any woman he sees,” she said when she resumed. “But from what I understand, he plays fair. He tells them at the outset that it’s temporary.”
“And they’re still willing to risk getting hurt? He can’t be all that good.”
Fran shot her a naughty smile. “But it sure would be fun to find out, wouldn’t it?” Sunny frowned; Fran laughed. “You know, Steve and I were worried about you the other night when we saw you dancing together. I didn’t get a chance to warn you about him before you left the party. But then I figured you could handle him. You two are so much alike.”