“Come, now, that’s no way for a lady to talk,” he admonished her cheerfully, but in an equally low tone. “I’m surprised. You’re probably the type who likes to talk dirty in bed. We’ll discuss that later.”
He squeezed her knee again, but then put his hand back on the table.
Sharon was furious, and she was still irate when she got home that evening.
Home was a two-story brick Tudor-style house that she shared with two other women in the Forest Park district of the city. The shady streets were lined with huge old trees, and the yards were green and abloom with spring flowers and blossoming bushes.
A red sports car and a blue compact sedan, both fairly new and belonging to her housemates, were parked in the driveway, so Sharon pulled up at the curb and stopped. Obviously both Anna and Tracey had beaten her home, and Anna was coming up the walk toward her, being pulled along by her playful golden retriever, Viking.
Sharon watched as the cool Nordic beauty walked briskly behind the dog. Anna had changed out of her business suit and into snug-fitting blue jeans and an oatmeal-colored ribbed turtleneck sweater. Her long blond hair had been released from its usual daytime chignon, and swung, unbound and shining, to her shoulder blades.
Sharon sighed enviously and waved as she got out of her black sedan and slammed the door shut behind her. Anna Grieg could easily pass for a high-fashion model!
The two women greeted each other, while the dog stood by, wagging his tail and eagerly waiting for Sharon to pet him.
“I see Viking’s taking you for a walk,” Sharon said as she crouched down and nuzzled the impatient pet.
“You got that right,” Anna said with a laugh. “The paperboy apparently missed us this morning, so Viking and I galloped down to the supermarket to pick up a paper.”
She wrapped the dog’s leash around her wrist and took the newspaper from under her arm. “Have you heard that your ex-husband won an acquittal for Sonny Alberts? It made the front page.” She held the paper out to Sharon, who reached for it.
“You mean the athlete who was charged with killing his girlfriend?” she asked as she opened it.
Sure enough, there in the middle of the page was a color picture of the famous, blond, muscular basketball forward and his tall, slender, dark-haired attorney, standing on the steps of the courthouse in Chicago. The headline read Alberts Not Guilty.
“I’m not surprised,” she murmured around the lump in her throat. “Fergus is a brilliant lawyer. He’s been getting a lot of high-profile cases lately.”
Sharon hadn’t seen or talked to Fergus since the divorce, but they had mutual friends in Chicago who considered it their duty to keep her informed on what he was doing. It was one of them who had sent her the clipping from the paper when Fergus and Elaine were married, and another one who had called two years ago with the sad news that Elaine had died suddenly of an aneurysm.
In spite of herself, Sharon’s gaze was drawn back to the picture. Fergus didn’t seem to have changed much. His dark-brown hair was clipped a little shorter, but it was very becoming.
Quickly she refolded the paper and handed it back to Anna. She didn’t want to be reminded of Fergus Lachlan. She’d spent five years trying to forget him!
“Sorry to be late when it’s my night to cook dinner,” she said, switching to another subject. “I’ll change my clothes and get right on it.”
“No need,” Anna said cheerfully. “Tracey volunteered to switch nights with you.” Anna made a face. “She said she didn’t mind at all fixing hamburgers and French fries.”
Both women shuddered, and Sharon straightened up. “It serves me right for being late,” she said with a laugh. “I don’t think that kid will ever understand the concept of nutrition and well-balanced meals.”
Anna was thirty and Sharon twenty-eight, and both were well established in their chosen careers, hotel management for Sharon and real estate for Anna. On the other hand, Tracey Weisner, the newest addition to the house-sharing plan, was a young twenty-three, one year out of college and struggling to get the hang of investment counseling at the bank where she was interning.
Inside the house, Anna stopped to take off Viking’s leash while Sharon hurried through the dining room on her left and on to the kitchen behind it. Little redheaded, freckle-faced Tracey, five-one and ninety-eight pounds, stood at the sink with her back to Sharon, peeling potatoes. She, too, had changed clothes, and was wearing stone-washed jeans and her familiar ragged white sweatshirt with St. Louis University splashed across the front, a comfortable souvenir from her college days.
“Hi, Sharon,” she said cheerfully, without turning her head to look behind her. “I figured you wouldn’t mind if I went ahead and fixed dinner, since you were late and I have a date tonight.”
“How did you know it was me?” Sharon asked. There were times when she’d bet the farm that Tracey Weisner was either a “good” witch or a descendant of one. It was positively spooky the way she seemed to read other people’s minds.
Tracey laughed. “No, I don’t read minds, but I have sensitive olfactory nerves. That’s what the doctor calls it, anyway. I smelled your perfume. You always have the fragrance of flowers around you. Like an English garden bouquet. If it had been Anna I’d have smelled spices.”
Sharon shook her head in wonder. “I haven’t added a drop of fragrance since I left the house this morning. I don’t see how there could possibly be any scent left,” she said. “You know, you really should have joined the canine corps of the police force. You’d probably be better than the dogs at sniffing out drugs. Do you need some help in here?”
“Nope. Now that you’re home, I’ll fry the potatoes and hamburger. It won’t take more than twenty minutes.”
Sharon accepted the dismissal gratefully and went upstairs to change her clothes.
Later, when they were finishing their meal, the subject of how their day had gone came up and Sharon’s outrage at being so rudely treated returned. She told them about her experience with her boss. “Sure it’s against the law,” she admitted, “and I was seriously tempted to yell at him so everyone in the room would know what he was doing, instead of whispering, but I was married to a lawyer long enough to grasp that you have to prove an accusation like that. No one could see what was going on. It was all happening under the table. It would have been just my word against his, and he’s the boss.”
She sighed and made an effort to calm down. “Thank God, he’s being transferred to the Starlight Honolulu in a few weeks. If I can stay out of his way until then he’ll be gone and I’ll move up into his job. I’d like nothing better than to expose him for the creep he is, but I really can’t afford to make waves now. You can be sure he’d do something to jinx my promotion if I did.”
“I understand he has a lot of seniority with the company,” Anna said. “Do you suppose the management at your hotel has received complaints against him and is having him transferred rather than firing him?”
Sharon didn’t answer immediately, but took time to think about Anna’s question. It was a possibility, but... “No, I don’t think so,” she said. “The Starlight hotel chain is a big one. It wouldn’t make sense for them to transfer a known troublemaker from one of their facilities to another.
“Also, this guy is going to go too far one of these days and pick on some woman who’s in a position to fight back. The company would be courting a multimillion-dollar law-suit if it could be proven that they knew Floyd was sexually harassing women employees and hadn’t dealt with it.”
Tracey joined the conversation. “But, Sharon, if you don’t report him he’ll just harass the women he works with in Hawaii.”
Tracey had zeroed in on the load of guilt that weighted Sharon’s conscience, and she reacted angrily. “Dammit, Tracey, don’t you think I know that? I have no proof that he’s making sexual advances to some of the women who work under him. If none of them have come forward by now to assert their rights you can bet they’re not going to just to save my job
. With the unemployment rate soaring, none of them can afford to take a chance on being fired.”
She ignored Tracey’s shocked protest that she wasn’t blaming her and continued. “If I file unsubstantiated charges against one of the hotel managers I’ll be branded a troublemaker and lose everything I’ve worked so hard for the past five years. Besides which, my hopes for a career in the hotel business would be blown away.”
“Sharon, I’m sorry,” Tracey cried plaintively. “I didn’t mean...that is, I meant... Oh damn, I don’t know what I meant! I always speak before I think and then say the wrong thing.”
She jumped up, knocking over her chair, and ran out of the room, but not before Sharon saw tears running down her face.
Sharon knew she’d overreacted, and muttered an unladylike expletive as she dropped her face in her hands.
It was Anna’s cool reason that defused the situation. She stood and came around the table to put her arm across Sharon’s hunched shoulders. “No one’s criticizing you or blaming you for anything, Sharon,” she said gently. “You’re absolutely right. There’s nothing you can do without proof and lots of it. When Tracey grows up a little more, she’ll learn that we women have to fight our own skirmishes in our battle for equal rights and not expect a mother figure to do it for us.”
Sharon raised her head and patted Anna’s hand that rested on her shoulder. “I know. It’s just that I’m torn between doing what’s right for me and my responsibilities to the women who look to me for guidance.”
She straightened up in her chair, and Anna moved away and started stacking dirty dishes.
“You can’t help those women unless they come to you and file a complaint,” Anna said. “Now, why don’t you go upstairs and convince Tracey that you don’t hate her while I load the dishwasher.”
* * *
On the following day, Floyd left for a conference at corporate headquarters in Los Angeles, leaving Sharon to shoulder his duties as well as her own. Not that she minded. It was a relief not to have to confront him again, and she used the time to acquaint herself with the finer details of the position she was in line to move up to when he left for Hawaii.
She was excited and happy about the promotion. She hadn’t been officially notified yet that the job was hers, but she expected the confirmation any day now. It would be most unusual if she didn’t get it. She was the best qualified, and her record was spotless.
When Vancleave returned on Monday, the first week in June, he sumoned her to his office. Since hers was just down the hall from his, she arrived at his reception room in only a couple of minutes. His secretary, Beverly Maitland, was young and pretty, just the way he liked his “girls.” She smiled at Sharon and motioned toward the inner door. “Go on in. He’s waiting for you.”
Floyd stood when Sharon entered. She’d always envied him this office. It was so cheerful, with its sliding-glass door that looked out over the outdoor swimming pool and cabana, and she felt a thrill as she realized that in a few short weeks it would be hers.
“Good morning,” he said pleasantly. “I hope you weren’t overworked while I was gone. Have a seat.”
Sharon returned the greeting and sat down. He looked tan and rested. Obviously not all his time in L.A. had been spent in stuffy conference rooms.
He settled himself comfortably in his executive chair and smiled, only Floyd’s smile always seemed to Sharon like more of a leer.
“I’ve got good news for you, love,” he said.
She was immediately on guard.
“If you play your cards right there’s a good chance I can take you with me to the Starlight Honolulu as my assistant.”
He leaned back and beamed, and she wondered if he really thought he was God’s gift to women, or if his self-esteem was so low that he had to make himself believe it. She suspected it was the latter. If so, she should feel sorry for him, but unfortunately she couldn’t bring herself to be that charitable.
Still, she’d play his game for a little while just to be sure she wasn’t misreading him.
She, too, settled back. “Oh?” She raised her eyebrows slightly. “And just what cards do I have to play?”
He made a steeple of his fingers and settled his chin on it. “Why, the king and the queen, of course. We can have a great time cavorting among all that tropical flora and fauna. In some places it’s so thick we wouldn’t even have to wear clothes.”
Just the thought of Floyd Vancleave in the nude was repulsive to her, but she fought to control her temper. “And what about your wife?” she asked, far more coolly than she felt.
He brightened and sat up straight. “You want a ménage à trois?” he said eagerly. “That can be arranged, but not with my wife. She’s far too straight—”
Sharon had had enough! She clutched the arms of her chair and leaned forward. “Mr. Vancleave,” she said tightly, making his name sound like an obscenity. “There’s no way I’d go to Hawaii or any place else with you. I don’t sleep my way to the top.”
She stood and had started for the door, when his voice, cold and filled with rage, froze her.
“Stop right there, you arrogant bitch. Don’t forget, I hold your future right here in my hands.”
She turned around as he cupped his palms together in front of him.
“If you want my job when I’m gone you’re gonna have to be nice to me, get it? Extra nice! You need good references from me to get that promotion. I can fix it so you won’t even be able to get a job as dishwasher in the hotel industry.”
Never before had Sharon felt such fury. The pressure of it was so hot she could almost feel smoke coming out her ears.
How dared that overbearing bastard threaten her. She’d been wrong not to file a formal complaint about his harassment earlier, but she was going to rectify it.
She glared at him, hoping the disgust she felt showed in her expression. “I have just one thing to say about that,” she rasped. “If I don’t get the promotion I’m entitled to I’ll file a complaint of sexual harassment against you with everybody from the general manager of this hotel to the federal bureau that handles such things. Believe it. That’s not a threat, it’s a promise.”
Floyd’s face twisted in a sneer. “Who in hell do you think you’re kidding? Don’t pull that outraged-virgin bit on me. A hot little hussy like you can never get enough. Besides, nobody would believe you. It’s your word against mine, and we in management protect our own.”
Without even trying to answer, Sharon turned and stormed out of the office, slamming the door behind her.
For the next week the atmosphere between Sharon and Vancleave figuratively dripped frost. They communicated only through written memos or a third party, usually his secretary.
Then, on Wednesday, Sharon received a letter from the general manager, expressing regret that she hadn’t been chosen to succeed Floyd Vancleave as front-desk manager and notifying her that the position had been filled by a more qualified person from the chain’s Starlight Denver.
Sharon was stunned. Her knees gave way and she sank into the chair behind her desk. She’d been passed over! They were bringing in an outsider to fill the position. Something the Starlight Corporation almost never did!
There could only be one reason. Floyd Vancleave had carried out his threat to block her promotion!
Although her whole body was trembling with shock, her mind was clear and her self-preservation instinct powerful. He wasn’t going to get away with this!
She jumped up out of her chair, picked up her purse and hurried down the hall to Floyd’s office. When she opened the door she was aware that there were several people waiting in the reception room, but she strode straight through and had her hand on the knob of the inner door when Beverly called to her.
“Sharon, wait, you can’t go in there!”
Sharon paid no attention, but pushed open the door and walked in. Floyd was sitting behind his desk, facing her, and it crossed her mind that she must look pretty wild, because his eyes widene
d with alarm as he stood.
“You rotten bastard!” she shouted before he could open his mouth. “I’m going to make you sorry you ever tried to coerce me into playing musical beds with you!”
She pushed the door shut and paced toward the desk, her smoldering gaze locked with Floyd’s alarmed one.
“What in hell...! he rasped. “You can’t walk in here like this and call me names—”
She’d caught him off guard, and could see that he was rattled. “I just did, didn’t I?” she said as she stopped squarely in front of his desk. “And I’m far from finished with you. I’m going to do exactly what I told you I’d do if you carried out your threat to derail my promotion unless I submitted to your disgusting sexual advances. When I get through filing suits and complaints everyone in the hotel industry is going to know what a pathetic lowlife you are.”
He backed away slightly, as if her fury were a physical presence. “Now, hold on a minute,” he said shrilly. “I didn’t—”
“Oh yes you did,” she shouted. “I just received this.” She tossed the letter she still held crumpled in her fist on the desk. “There’s only one reason I’d be passed over for that promotion, and that’s because you told the general manager lies about me.”
Floyd looked around nervously. “Sharon, for God’s sake lower your voice. Everyone in the building will hear you.”
“Good!” Sharon shouted even louder. “That’s exactly what I want. I’m sorry I didn’t leave the door open. You’ve humiliated the women who work under you long enough, with your groping hands and your dirty innuendos—”
“Christ, woman, will you shut up and get out of here!” This time it was Floyd who was shouting. He was also gesturing frantically. “We’ll talk about this later, somewhere else, when you’ve calmed down....”
“Oh no, we won’t,” she told him. “I’m through talking to you. From now on you can speak to me through my attorney.”
Sharon saw the blood drain from his florid face as she stalked past the desk, out the sliding-glass door and across the pool area.
Truly Married Page 3