by Joan Ellis
* * *
Elaine deliberately lingered before a shop window, to insure Terry ample time to arrive at the office well ahead of her. The big thing in her mind right now was the reminder that Rick had said he wanted to get together with her sometime today, to discuss her ideas for the Truly Yours magazine campaign. She must keep a clear head for this—it was too important a step upward in her career to allow herself to muff it. And she'd put in a lot of groundwork. The prospect of landing the account was a challenge she'd almost enjoyed. The whole agency churned with curiosity about who'd land it, Paul or herself. Nobody had to tell her how desperately Paul wanted it, despite his banter. The decision would be Rick's.
Elaine checked the clock on the corner. Terry must be upstairs and at her desk now. Safe to go up. Nobody so far connected her with Terry. She meant to keep it that way. With the faintly tense fixed smile that was part of her office face, Elaine entered the building, strode to the elevator, managing the routine morning chit-chat with the elevator starter and with the cheerful flip youngster who operated the express elevator to Fleet and Comstock's floor. A nice kid, she'd reflected often, until he'd started a running verbal flirtation with Terry. It was idiotic for her to feel antagonism towards every man who was interested in Terry, Elaine argued with herself religiously—but the prickle of jealousy was hard to root out. Because she felt so desperately insecure, she'd tried to rationalize. But to rationalize in the face of strong emotions could be a sadly losing battle.
She hurried out of the elevator, past the pretty, friendly young receptionist, back into the long avenues of cubicles.
"Good-morning, Miss Ransome." Terry grinned impishly as Elaine walked past her in the corridor, en route to her own office in the rear.
"Good-morning." Elaine shot her the friendly impersonal office smile, her eyes sharing Terry's amusement.
As she stood with her hand on the knob to her own office, Paul poked his head out the door of his and waved good-naturedly. Thank heaven, no awkwardness there, Elaine sighed with satisfaction. She'd done right in making that phone call this morning.
The rest of the morning shot by with incredible speed. She had lunch on a tray in her office. This was a dodge she was resorting to with increasing frequency. It avoided Terry's reproachful glances at her not sharing the lunch hour. That uncomfortable exasperation caught up with her again. Why couldn't Terry accept the need for utmost discretion?
"Hi, Gorgeous Career Girl," Rick Stacy's slightly condescending baritone brought her up sharply.
"Hello, Rick." Elaine managed the faint smile, laden with promise, that was part of the routine with Rick. "You were going to go over some points about Truly Yours with me today, if I remember correctly."
"That's right." He came inside and closed the door softly behind him. "But not here—I can't concentrate in the office."
"Cocktails this afternoon?" Elaine suggested rapidly.
"None of that, angel," he grinned. "I want to know what I'm talking about." He squinted thoughtfully. "Say, I have the keys to a friend's place a few blocks from here. We can work there. He's at business, his wife's in Florida. Quiet, comfortable, private. What do you say?"
"You're the boss!" Elaine shot him the tauntingly seductive look that had been fooling males for years.
"Let's go right now," Rick decided, his face impassive.
What did he have in mind, Elaine wondered nervously? Business, or business and pleasure? Rick Stacy sober was a commodity she might not be able to handle.
"I have a conference here at four, so we won't have too long," he said. "Do you mind?"
"Whatever you say." Elaine was reaching for the jacket to one of her impeccable suits.
* * *
Rick's friend's apartment was a lavish layout on Park. He sank onto one of the sumptuous sofas, dumped out the contents of his expensive custom-made briefcase.
"Take a look at these," he ordered, handing her a batch of sketches. "What do you think?"
So he meant to work, Elaine thought, relieved, taking the sketches in her hand, forcing herself to concentrate.
"I don't like them," she said bluntly, knowing they were Paul's. His style was unmistakable. "Not that they aren't lovely and lush and everything that Truly Yours wants to emphasize," she conceded astutely. "They're great, for last year's campaign."
"What did you have in mind?"
Rick leaned back, watching her closely, his eyes mixing pleasure in with business as they dwelt on her long slender legs in the inevitable high-heeled pumps.
"I'd like to see a complete departure," Elaine launched forth confidently. "Instead of this air-brush business, the Beautiful Lady theme, go in for smartness, sharp line drawings that'll stand out from every other package on the cosmetic counters. Like this." In seconds she'd whipped out crayons from her purse, was sketching in the ideas she'd labored over for weeks now, in preparation for this conference.
"Interesting," Rick commented finally, refusing to commit himself. But he was thoroughly impressed, Elaine knew. What was the hitch now?"
"It'll sell Truly Yours," Elaine said casually, as though the deal meant nothing to her.
"I'll give it serious thought, angel," he promised, rising leisurely to his feet, taking a brief glance at his watch. "Like to see the rest of the apartment? It was done by some French decorator they flew over especially for the job."
"I'd love to." Elaine felt those little warning signals now, but she couldn't antagonize Rick.
"They must have spent a fortune on it," he took her hand and walked her down the length of the living room, off into the foyer that led to the bedrooms. "Of course, money means nothing to people like these. Here, take a look at the master bedroom."
Rick swung the door open and Elaine walked inside.
"It's fabulous," she gasped. "Like something designed for Madam Pompadour!"
The floor was covered with rich dead-white carpeting, the window wall discreetly concealed behind white velvet drapes. The other three walls were completely mirrored. The bed a king-size masterpiece in white and gold, to match the assorted chests and tables. Far too lush and ornate for Elaine's taste, but impressively expensive.
"They even have music here." Rick went over to fumble with the hi-fi set built into a chest suitable for the bedroom. "Dance?"
"Why not?" She looked down at that thick carpeting and kicked off her pumps. Rick had that four o'clock appointment, she reminded herself nervously. He couldn't be overly rambunctious.
"Mirrors fascinate me." Rick was tossing off his own shoes, then his jacket, before he reached his arms out for her.
"A Narcissus complex?" she mocked.
"Nothing like that," he chuckled, his face close to hers now. "I have no illusions about myself. I have no movie star build, my youth has long since gone, but I know how to enjoy life." His arms drew her closer now. "I'm determined not to miss a trick. Before I die, I want to taste every bottle on the shelf."
"For instance?" Elaine pretended not to understand.
"Sex," he said calmly, stopping now, while the music kept on its sultry background accompaniment. "I don't want to miss a trick."
"Why tell me?" she asked sharply, wondering about Rick now.
"Because you're a woman of strength. You've got the adventurous soul, too. There's deep, exploring passion in you I'll bet no other man's ever fully guessed," he shot out unexpectedly.
"My, you've been reading erotic literature," she tried to laugh him out of this. "Marquis de Sade?"
"Let's have ourselves a little fun. Two thoroughly uninhibited mature people, reaching on the shelf for new bottles. Maybe you've tried most of them," he conceded, "but let's try them together."
"Darling, in broad daylight?" Suddenly the room was suffocating because already Rick Stacy was methodically stripping, inspecting his nakedness in every mirror.
"Come off this stupid virgin kick," he said with the first flicker of impatience. "I know some people show more respectability under the blankets than I might in
a business conference, but you're not that type, Elaine. You see, I know you."
"Know what?" Her throat tightened defensively.
"That you're a passionate, hot bitch who could make any man forget everything." He was reaching to take off her jacket now. "Even his normal business sense."
So that was it, she thought, sickened. If she wanted the Truly Yours account, it could be acquired right here, in front of these mirrors. She stood rigidly at attention while Rick Stacy, a faint smile of anticipation about his mouth, calmly removed every garment that separated him from her. She couldn't bear to see him in the mirror this way—it was too much, she thought violently.
"Hey, open your eyes," he prodded, pulling her hard, lean back against him. "That's half the fun!"
Then he was on the floor, pulling her down with him, his hands and his mouth greedy with excitement, impatient to try everything. To see everything. She clenched her teeth to stop from screaming at him, battling not to grind her feet into that slobbering, perspiring face of his. Oh God, let it be over, she prayed. If he didn't stop soon she'd throw up right on his beautiful white carpeting.
"Come on,” he coaxed huskily, "Relax. Let me show you!"
She kept telling herself about the Truly Yours account, how desperately she needed that. The prestige involved, what it would do for her career-wise, but this sickening nausea kept tearing at her until she knew she'd have to tell him to stop.
"Okay, baby," suddenly he was through. "We can't spend all day like this. I have that conference at four."
While he calmly dressed there in the bedroom, Elaine fled with her things into the bathroom, and was miserably, thoroughly sick.
CHAPTER 4
Elaine sauntered into the offices of Fleet and Comstock at Rick Stacy's side, thoroughly aware of the curious glances cast in their direction. Naturally, the whole agency was aware of Stacy's cosmetic account—it was the largest single billing they had. They were all making side bets about Elaine's snagging the assignment. She saw Paul Hennessy inspecting her from the doorway of his office as she casually took leave of Rick and went into her own office.
"Well?" Paul appeared a moment after Elaine had collapsed into the chair behind her desk.
"Well what?" She gave him the bantering smile that was part of their normal exchange. If Paul ever wanted to cut her throat, he never gave an inkling of it. But this time she caught the undercurrent of his unrest.
"You make it with Rick Stacy?" His eyes flickered knowingly.
"If you're talking about the Truly Yours account, we discussed it." She scrutinized Paul carefully now. For the first time she sensed antagonism. Paul wanted that account as desperately as she.
"And?" he prodded, slouching into a chair and crossing his feet on one edge of her desk.
"He'll make up his mind over the weekend." But Rick's hand about her breasts as they walked out of his friend's apartment had told her the answer—the account was as good as hers.
"I figured you'd come out ahead," he conceded, drumming with one hand on the arm of his chair. "After all, how can I compete with your equipment?" This time his smile made no effort to hide his envy.
"Get your mind out of the gutter, Paul," she said coldly.
"What's the use, when Rick's is in the bed?" He rose, bowed arrogantly and turned to go. "Happy landing, career girl."
The sickening wrestling match with Rick, the encounter with Paul, fomented restlessness in her. From this point on she'd have to watch herself with Paul—he'd do anything to cut her throat now. With a sigh of impatience she reached for her purse, heading for the washroom. She didn't want to look at her office, the office that probably every little receptionist and steno in the place envied. Sometimes she wondered if the price wasn't too expensive.
Elaine was making a pretense of combing her hair, after her usual polite exchange with the two girls who'd been in the washroom when she came in. Now she was alone. For a few seconds. The door opened noisily and Terry raced inside, her face bright with inquiry.
"How'd you make out?" Terry made a swift survey that told her they were alone.
"What do you mean?" Elaine was startled—did Terry guess about the thing with Rick?
"With Stacy," Terry frowned impatiently. "The whole place is rocking. They know you went out with him for cocktails or something." Then the wistful blue eyes acquired a gleam of doubt. "Or was it cocktails?"
"Cocktails," Elaine confirmed, smiling with forced confidence. "I think I'm getting the account. He's going to make up his mind over the weekend."
"Darling, that's marvelous!" Terry flung her arms about her excitedly. "You'll get a tremendous bonus or promotion or something, won't you?"
"Probably," Elaine glanced nervously towards the door as Terry planted soft wet kisses along her throat.
"We'll have to celebrate tonight. Oh, I almost forgot," Terry said with such casualness Elaine suspected it was planned, "Stephie phoned me late last night. His friend Fred is in town and throwing a party tonight. We're invited."
Elaine frowned. "Terry, you know how I feel about gay parties."
"Oh, it won't be anything like that. Fred's a solid businessman type—you'd never guess, unless you knew him awfully well. He has this terrific juvenile furniture firm with a plant in Westchester. Stephie says their advertising billing runs over a million a year. He'd like to make Fred throw it into your lap."
"With Stephie around, how does this Fred expect to keep them a secret?" Elaine asked frankly. "Why, he's as obvious as—"
"Only when he's had a few drinks," Terry interrupted. "Around Fred, unless it's when they're alone, Stephie is strictly on the wagon. He tells people he's allergic to liquor." Terry giggled. "That's a fascinating way of putting it, isn't it?"
"I don't really feel in a party mood," Elaine hedged.
"We don't have to go until late. Fred's parties never get rolling before eleven or later. He's mad about people in theatre and television. Says it relaxes him to be around creative people after he's spent eight or nine hours checking plant production and sales and all that jazz."
"Sweetie, I just can't think straight," Elaine said finally, too tired to battle this out now. "Well talk about it later."
"I’ll be at the soda fountain as usual," Terry murmured, a glow of triumph on her face. "I'm so proud of you, Elaine—winning that Stacy character's account."
She wouldn't be proud if she knew about the rumpus on that white carpet before the mirrors, Elaine admitted inwardly. Terry harbored a deep capacity for jealousy that was beginning to show through that wide-eyed, wistful exterior. A disturbing trait to someone like Elaine, who guarded her secrecy with such desperation. She walked into her office just as the phone began to buzz.
"Yes?"
"Still sore at me?" It was Eric, turning on the infectious charm.
"Eric, I haven't been sore," Elaine protested with a little laugh. How like him to be on the defensive!
"Nice of you to say so, anyhow," Eric chuckled. "You should have heard Kathy laying down the law to me about riding you. She made me out a real villain."
"It wasn't that bad." It touched her that Kathy had been so concerned. She hadn't been wrong about Eric's wife. She was something special.
"Looks like my wife's pretty fond of the sister-in-law," he said with frank good-humor. "I told her you weren't somebody she could merely like. With Elaine, you either hate her guts or you're her friend for life!"
"I'm glad I made the grade with Kathy. She's absolutely the best." Elaine meant it. Subconsciously, she was amazed at Eric's evaluation of her—she hadn't realized he ever thought of her beyond the usual sister-brother feelings. And it was true. People did either like her without reservation or they actively loathed her.
"She's very anxious to be friends with you," he went on thoroughly pleased.
"I'm looking forward to that," Elaine assured him with a rush of sincerity. Remembering Kathy's clean, cut honesty, her warmth, Elaine's face softened. It was good to be with someone like that.
"Oh, golly, I'm almost forgetting my mission. I have strict orders to persuade you to come over to the apartment for dinner tonight. Come on over and bail me out of the doghouse, Elaine. I promise to be absolutely the perfect host—not one word of nagging."
"I'd love to come," Elaine accepted impulsively. And then she remembered Terry. "Oh, Eric, I'm sorry —I can't," she added swiftly.
"Why not? Don't tell me you're keeping your nose to the grindstone that much."
"I completely forgot I have a dinner date for this evening. I made it weeks ago," she fabricated, "so I can't possibly back down at the last minute like this."
"Bring him along," he ordered blithely. "You'll save the guy's money for him tonight. Eat and be entertained by the Eric Ransomes."
"It isn't a 'him'," Elaine said reluctantly. "I'm having dinner with a girl."
"Waste of time," Elaine could visualize his grin. "But come to dinner anyway—bring her along. Kathy never fails to prepare enough for six, anyhow. I think she's got some weird idea I'm undernourished from my days as a bachelor."
"Sure Kathy won't mind?" she hedged.
"Kathy loves people. And I love beautiful women. I won't mind being surrounded by three of you at dinner."
"If you're sure it's okay." Elaine was still hesitant.
Somehow, something jarred her about the prospect of taking Terry to Eric's apartment for dinner. Yet she sensed that Kathy might be hurt if she didn't accept. And she was anxious to see her brother's wife again. To reassure herself that last night hadn't been a mirage.
"I'm positive," Eric said emphatically.
"She's a gal here in the office. She's alone in the city—came here from New England a few months ago, I believe. I make a habit of meeting her for dinner now and then." Why was she making these stupid excuses, Elaine reprimanded herself. Eric hadn't asked who the girl was!
"I don't care if she comes from Pocatello or Timbuctoo," Eric joshed good-humoredly. "If she's a friend of yours, we'll take her without references."
"She's a little on the shy side," Elaine lied, suddenly hit by panic. Instinct told her this was a blunder, to take Terry into Eric's home. "She might not be in the mood for strangers."