A Night to Remember

by Adrienne Basso

  Then perhaps the persistent feeling of not exactly fitting in would finally vanish. She would be doing the kind of work that she really loved, that made her feel useful and important, that made her happy. Eleanor sighed softly at the thought.

  It had taken considerable strength to not only realize that she wasn’t destined for life as a financial analyst but to do something to correct the situation. Eleanor might lack courage and initiative in certain areas, but she was determined not to spend the rest of her life filled with self-pity because she had initially made a mistake in her career choice.

  Eleanor and Mark joined a group of coworkers relaxing near the pond. Everyone stepped back and made room for them. Eleanor received warm greetings along with a teasing comment or two about her extremely late arrival.

  “We’re so glad you are finally here,” Mary said sincerely. “Trevor has been asking about you all morning.”

  “Hi, Trevor.” Eleanor hunched down and met Mark and Mary’s three-year-old son at eye level. Thanks to the story times she ran at the local library they were good friends.

  “Hi, Nora.”

  Trevor hid behind his mother’s legs, but peeped out to make sure that Eleanor was watching him. She smiled and wagged her fingers at him and he giggled loudly. Eleanor really enjoyed the little boy’s company even though he tended to be a bit spoiled.

  She had been around enough young children over the past year, however, to realize it wasn’t really Trevor’s fault. His parents, especially his mother, thought everything that Trevor did was truly wonderful. Mary would smile with misty-eyed maternal pride at his every action, even when he was yanking books off the library shelves and throwing them on the floor.

  “Did you win any fun prizes today, Trev?” Eleanor asked, knowing that the organized games and activities at the picnic included gifts for all the children.

  “A boat,” Trevor announced proudly. He ran off toward the picnic table to retrieve his prize and show Eleanor.

  “Don’t get so close to the edge of the pond, dear,” Mary yelled out anxiously. She turned with a smile toward Eleanor and concluded, “It will be a small miracle if he doesn’t end up in that water by the end of the day.”

  “My boat, Nora,” Trevor declared, holding up a sizable plastic boat for Eleanor’s inspection.

  “It’s so cool, Trev!” Eleanor exclaimed to the little boy’s delight. “And it’s green. Your favorite color.”

  “Green boat,” Trevor repeated solemnly, squatting near the edge of the pond. “Watch the green boat ride in the water, Nora.”

  “Oh no, don’t let the boat slip too far away!” Eleanor exclaimed.

  Since she was the closest adult, she lunged toward the bobbing toy, stretching her body far out over the water. With an audible grunt, Eleanor successfully wound her fingers around the plastic. She turned to straighten up and felt a stinging smack on her leg.

  “Don’t touch! That’s my boat, Nora. Mine!” Trevor screamed, swinging his arm back and hitting Eleanor square in the back of the knees a second time.

  It felt like slow motion. Eleanor could feel herself losing her balance, could feel herself falling toward the water. It seemed as though she had all the time in the world to right herself, but in fact it was only seconds. She struggled to move her feet, wildly waving her arms around like a frantic windmill, trying desperately to regain her balance.

  For a split second Eleanor thought she might be spared, but she was too off-kilter. She landed in the water with a giant splash. As the cold wetness hit her, Eleanor could hear Mary’s shriek of distress, could see Mark leaping toward her in a failed rescue attempt.

  Eleanor landed hard on her rump, and for once she was glad of the padding. Thankfully her head didn’t go completely under the water, but the back of her neck and the tips of her shoulder-length hair were submerged.

  For several moments there was utter silence and then everyone began shouting at once.

  “Are you hurt?”

  “Can you move your legs?”

  “Did you get water up your nose?”

  Eleanor let out a short burst of laughter. And then another. Before long she was laughing heartily. Perfect. This was the perfect ending to the day.

  She shook her head and laughed harder, pleased to hear the rest of the gang joining her. Several people moved close to the edge to offer assistance and make sure she wasn’t injured.

  “I can get out on my own,” Eleanor stated with a grin. “Don’t get too close to the edge or you’ll be joining me for a swim.”

  Her comment brought another round of laughter, as she had intended. She made a move to regain her feet but the sudden, overwhelming silence stopped her. It was so quiet one could hear the proverbial pin drop. Eleanor lifted her head curiously.

  The group crowding the edge of the pond stepped aside, parting like a zipper. A newcomer came into view, standing dead center at the end of the two neat rows of people.

  Mr. Joshua Barton.

  Eleanor’s knees felt wobbly ... even though she was sitting down ... in a murky, scummy pond, with all manner of insects and microorganisms crawling over her flesh. Yet she made no move to rise.

  Instead she hastily glanced away. It was sort of like pretending to be invisible. Maybe if she stayed really still and didn’t move a muscle, he wouldn’t notice she was sitting in the water.

  Eleanor risked a quick glance toward Joshua to see if her strategy was working. Sunlight filtered around his head. Men weren’t supposed to be gorgeous. But there were no other words that could adequately describe him. He had an incredible face with classically handsome features, a strong, masculine body that drove women crazy.

  Well, any woman above the age of seventeen and below the age of eighty. Eleanor surveyed him from head to toe. Make that eighty-five.

  He advanced, his eyes widening slightly as if he had just noticed she was sitting in the pond. He quickened his pace and made a move forward to offer his help. Panicking, Eleanor raised her hands to ward him off. “I’m fine, really. I don’t need any help.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Yes. Thank you.”

  Eleanor hastily stood on her feet, sloshed out of the water, and scrambled up on the bank to prove her point. The murky bottom of the pond had stained her socks and sneakers, bits of stringy vegetation clung to her arms and fingers. The smell was rank, and she prayed fervently that she was standing downwind of Joshua.

  “Can I get you anything?”

  Eleanor’s first inclination was to curl into a ball and slide back into the scummy pond. Instead she straightened her spine and told herself that people did not die of embarrassment. Unfortunately.

  “I’m fine,” she repeated with a forced smile. She tried but failed to hold his gaze. Her eyes swept down to his left hand, which rested casually on his hip.

  Eleanor blinked. Then her face broke into a broad smile, and before she could control the impulse and swallow her words, she heard herself declare in obvious delight, “You’re eating a Rice Krispie treat!”

  Joshua Barton always prided himself on dealing well with the unexpected, the difficult, the crisis situation. He was known for having a cool head while others panicked, a quick, solid grasp of impossible circumstances, and the intelligence and courage to make the tough choices.

  Yet as he stared down the table at the endless desserts displayed before him like some ancient tribute to the gods, he felt the beads of sweat start to gather on his forehead.

  It was warm and crowded under the catering tent. Employees and their families jockeyed for position, but Joshua knew the heat wasn’t causing his discomfort.

  Every eye was trained upon him. He was used to the attention, accustomed to the scrutiny. It had existed for all of his life. In fact it was only recently that he no longer felt so defensive about his position, for even though his great-grandfather had been a founder of the firm, everyone acknowledged Joshua had earned his place as managing partner.

  And now, as leader of the financial
firm of Hamilton, Barton and Jones, the employees were waiting anxiously to see which dessert he would select. The irony of the situation was not lost on Joshua.

  How utterly ridiculous to think that having him eat the dessert that they brought would somehow give them an advantage ... an inside track toward advancement ... an easier climb up to the next rung. Promotions were earned in this firm. Wasn’t he the perfect example of that?

  Joshua bit back a sigh. He knew the politically correct decision would be to sample everything, but just the thought of eating all those sweets made his teeth ache.

  “Would you like me to serve you something, Mr. Barton?” a helpful country club staff member volunteered.

  Joshua smiled grimly at the young woman and shook his head. If only it were that easy. Relinquish the responsibility, let someone else make the decision.

  It was times like this that he really missed his mother. She would have known precisely how to handle the situation so no one would feel slighted or snubbed. Even his father, a bullheaded man known for his outspoken attitude, would have been an ally instead of an adversary this afternoon.

  But his mother had died five years ago and his father, forced into reluctant retirement by Joshua, was down in North Carolina with his new wife. Joshua was on his own.

  This was ridiculous. Moving swiftly down the length of the table, he reached out to grab the first item he saw when he noticed a large tin at the back edge of the table. Nearly, but not quite hidden.

  Rice Krispie treats? Joshua thought he recognized them, but they only faintly resembled the sweet cereal concoctions he and his mother had made together after school as they discussed the trials of his life as a third grader.

  With a nostalgic smile he reached for one of the large squares. It stuck to his fingers. Joshua suppressed a laugh, hoping not to offend the poor soul who had made these treats. He squared his shoulders, preparing to turn and face his audience. Both his facial expression and body language were deliberately set to dare anyone to challenge his dessert choice.

  However, he was spared the showdown. Suddenly there were loud shouts and yelling coming from outside the tent, followed by the resounding sound of a splash, and then more shouts.

  “My goodness, what’s happening?” a concerned female voice asked.

  Joshua didn’t wait to be told. He quickly exited the tent with a sizable contingency trailing behind him. It wasn’t difficult to locate the source of all the commotion. There was a large crowd gathered at the edge of the pond. Thankfully he heard more laughter than cries of distress.

  One by one his employees noticed his appearance. Like a ripple on the water, the laughter running through the crowd ceased. Joshua felt a strange sense of isolation, as though his arrival had sucked all the fun out of the moment.

  “Is everything all right?” he asked no one in particular.

  Nobody answered but, like the Red Sea, the crowd silently parted and Joshua finally got a look at the source of all the commotion.

  And what a sight it was!

  A woman was sitting in three feet of very dirty pond water. The wet ends of her brown hair clung to her shoulders and there was a smudge of dirt on her left forearm.

  She was not a woman who would be labeled beautiful wet or dry. In fact, wet she resembled something that the cat dragged in, as his grandfather liked to say.

  Yet Joshua’s entire body reacted. There was color in her cheeks and her smile was radiant. Her hands were submerged somewhere behind her, presumably to keep her upper body from falling backward into the water. This awkward position thrust her generous breasts forward.

  The sight of those lush, wet curves caused many thoughts to form in Joshua’s head. All of them sexual and totally inappropriate.

  Joshua tried, but couldn’t seem to take his eyes off her chest. The wet fabric clung to her full, round breasts, leaving nothing to his suddenly very active imagination. He wondered how her round body would feel pressed up against his hard flesh. How the contrast of her soft feminine curves would feel against his solid male strength.

  She was in no way familiar, so Joshua assumed she was the wife of one of his employees. Probably the guy with the glasses, whom Joshua did recognize. He was holding tightly onto a little kid clutching a green plastic boat. Joshua suspected the child was the reason the woman had somehow ended up in the water.

  Most women Joshua knew would be in a serious snit over this predicament. Yelling, blaming others, searching for sympathy and help. But this woman did none of those things. Initially she appeared to be laughing heartily, but her smile had vanished upon his arrival.

  Well, whoever she was, he was grateful for her assistance. Her unexpected dip in the pond had saved him from the dessert table. Judging from her reaction to the treat he had selected, he decided she must have made the sticky cereal bars. It somehow seemed fitting.

  “Can I get you some dry clothes?” Joshua offered, feeling an urgent need to do something for this soggy woman even though she had refused all his other offers of assistance.

  “No thanks.” She attempted a smile. “I think I’ll head home.”

  The man with the glasses moved closer, putting a supporting arm around her shoulder. She looked down at the ground and twirled the toe of her soggy sneaker in the grass. The little boy clutching the boat came up and patted her knee reassuringly. She reached out and ruffled his hair affectionately.

  Belatedly, Joshua realized he was staring, almost rudely. It suddenly made him feel ridiculously guilty for having such carnal thoughts about this woman. Another man’s wife. A little boy’s mother.

  Joshua cleared his throat. Not wanting to embarrass this poor woman any further, he turned and walked away, wondering why he felt such a sharp pang of envy.

  Two

  “Mrs. Jackson just called. She and Mr. Barton are on their way down here right now. She said they want to talk to you, Eleanor. Pronto. Eleanor? Eleanor? Are you in here?”

  The bulky copy-machine door wobbled, then swung wide open. A disheveled mass of curly brown hair appeared first, followed by a plain, unsmiling face.

  “That is not amusing, Jeanne.” Eleanor shifted her aching knees and glared across the hot, stuffy room at her coworker. “I’ve been wrestling with this blasted machine for the past forty-five minutes and I’m in no mood for jokes.”

  “I’m not kidding, Eleanor,” Jeanne insisted anxiously. “I was working on the quarterly reports you gave me this morning when your phone rang. Since I knew you were trying to fix the copier, I answered it. It was Mrs. Jackson.”

  “Uh-huh,” Eleanor mumbled in a disbelieving tone. She crammed her head inside the copier and continued yanking on the accordion-mashed section of paper jammed into the inner workings of the machine.

  Distracted, she listened with half an ear to Jeanne’s rambling account of the phone call, certain that Jeanne had managed to bungle the message. As usual.

  There was no earthly reason for Mrs. Jackson, executive assistant to the firm’s managing partner, to contact her. Eleanor was a lowly financial analyst, one of thirty individuals who held that position in the company. In matters of business, she had never dealt directly with Mr. Joshua Barton, aforementioned managing partner, either. It had to be a mistake.

  A mistake that nicely reflected the overall tone of this frustrating day, Eleanor decided. Her morning had started with an uncharacteristically late arrival at the office thanks to a stalled commuter train. Two members of her staff had called in sick, the already pressing deadline for her latest report had been moved forward a full week, she had missed lunch, and a small snag on her pantyhose was now a gargantuan run down the center of her leg.

  Best of all, if she couldn’t get the darn copy machine to function properly, she was going to be stuck at the office until late into the evening. Again.

  Of course it wasn’t as if she had any special plans or any special someone who would care that she spent the better part of the night at work, but toiling away at the prestigious financial offic
es of Hamilton, Barton and Jones rated a minus five on a scale of one to ten in Eleanor’s humble opinion.

  “Mrs. Jackson, you’ve found us,” Jeanne squeaked. “Oh, my. Hel ... lo ... hello, Mr. Barton.”

  Eleanor ceased pulling on the jammed paper in midtug and instantly became alert. Joshua Barton? Here? Now? Was it possible?

  Eleanor sunk a bit lower behind the large copier, thankful she was completely hidden from view. Her eyes darted frantically about the room, searching for a nonexistent back exit. There was no escape! She took several deep breaths, then slowly, cautiously lifted her head and risked a quick glance over the top of the machine.

  Eleanor caught a fleeting glimpse of the stylishly attired, gray-haired Mrs. Jackson, then gasped aloud. Oh-migosh! He was really here!

  Eleanor ducked down instantly. The subtle vibration that seemed to reach deep inside her anytime she was within five feet of him began, warming her insides, causing her pulse to quicken and her skin to tingle.

  She hadn’t even caught a glance at the back of his head since the company picnic four weeks ago. How she longed now to feast her eyes on those incredible features that would have been labeled pretty if they weren’t so masculine. Thick, luxurious dark hair. Bold, straight nose. High cheekbones. Even a slight cleft in his chin.

  In the six years she had worked for his company, Eleanor had spoken to him precisely fifteen times. Sixteen, if you counted the incident at the company picnic, but Eleanor stubbornly refused to think about that encounter.

  Unable to resist, Eleanor lifted her chin and risked another peek. Joshua looked fabulous. With his hip braced against the edge of a small filing cabinet and one hand resting comfortably in the pocket of his navy pin-striped suit, he was the embodiment of a successful, sophisticated, wealthy businessman.

  But that alone could not account for Eleanor’s reaction. There was a quiet intensity about Joshua that drew her toward his deeply set dark eyes, an edge to his polished civility that touched her heart and called to her soul.