by Freda, Paula
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
At noon, David gave her funds to buy them both lunch and bring him back his, which he consumed as he continued writing. She admired his dedication and returned to her chores, but by afternoon's end, her arms and legs felt as if they were ready to crumple. Loosened wisps of dark brown hair soaked in perspiration clung to her temples. Hours ago she had stopped worrying about body odor, and was glad that no make-up whatsoever was part of her disguise.
In all her young life, she had never worked this hard. She had washed laundry, dried it, folded and put it away, admiring David's up-to-date appliances, especially the stainless steel washer-dryer unit hidden behind a folding door compartment in the kitchen. The laundry had been the easy part of her cleaning duties. Dusting, vacuuming and washing the floors, had proved definitely not to her liking. But she persevered, and to her edification, the apartment sparkled.
David remained in his office working on his novel. She opened the kitchen window to clear some of the cleanser odors, and quietly put away the cleaning equipment. The kitchen door was open and she did not realize until she turned that David was standing in the gap watching her.
"How old are you?" he asked.
Adriana hid her surprise, and alarm at the question. Did he suspect her true identity. She remembered Mrs. Spinetta's advice that he despised lies and valued truth. She stood straighter. "I'm in my mid twenties," she said, truthfully.
"I suspected you weren't that old. You would have passed out by now," he said in earnest. "Why the hair bun and the loose clothing? Trying to make yourself look older for the job?"
Adriana chuckled timidly. She replied with a simple "Yes."
David smiled.
He had a beautiful smile, she thought, remembering its tenderness and warmth, when he'd held her as they danced. A genuine smile without the slightest ounce of deception.
"Well," he said. "No need to. If you need to keep your long hair out of your eyes, wear a pony tail. And please, dress with your normal ware. And you didn't have to finish the laundry and the whole apartment in one day. You have two more visits this week. Besides — I'm surprised Mrs. Spinetta didn't tell you — I normally do my own laundry."
Adriana's cheeks flushed. "Oh, I'm sorry. N-No, she didn't mention that. I just assumed it was part of the job."
"It's okay. Don't worry. I merely wanted you to know I don't expect you to do my laundry. Although it is nice to know that in an emergency, there is someone to help — and so nicely."
Adriana returned his smile. "Thank you." She pondered how many of her parents' wealthy friends, were nowhere near as observant and respectful as David.
David noted her nervousness easing. "Hey, listen, I'm pretty much done-in today. How about joining me for an early repast."
"Didn't you say you have a date tonight?' Adriana asked.
"Yes, but that's not until eight. And she enjoys being fashionably late."
Adriana considered a moment. He hadn't recognized her. If she kept her appearance as unlike as that of the Lady in Red, despite not hiding her age, he might continue not to recognize her. And what she wanted most now, was to gain his friendship without the allure of the red dress and the fantasy. She nodded her approval.
"Okay," he said, pleased. "Just do me a favor, get rid of that hair bun."
Adriana laughed.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
While David backed up his saved work to a flash drive, Adriana unpinned her hair bun, combed through it, and for lack of a ribbon, used a rubber band to tie it into a pony tail. She put on her pea coat and waited near the door, observing herself in the gilt-framed mirror above the carved walnut lowboy, both restored antiques. David's choice of furniture in his apartment was a mixture of the old and contemporary. He favored subtle carvings and warm hued woods. They brought back to mind the furnishings in her parents' home, except for the obvious difference in the year of manufacture, and the cost. The furniture in her parents' home consisted of very old, rare, expensive pieces. The mirror reflecting her image at present looked to be about a century old, bought at a neighborhood antique shop.
The reflection in the mirror sporting the pony tail instead of the hair bun, appeared younger and less confident. She had attempted to look older, but David had seen through her disguise. Adriana thought wistfully that perhaps she ought to reveal her true identity.
"Ready?" David called as he closed the office door behind him. From the closet near the lowboy, he pulled his woolen winter jacket off the hangar, shrugged into it and buttoned it half way. "Okay, let's go," he said, opening the door for her.
Adriana walked beside him to the elevators. His apartment was on the third floor. The building itself rose fourteen stories, with a penthouse at the top. When they exited the building, the front door attendant, a middle-aged man in his spiffy uniform, greeted David with a nod and a smile. "Shall I call the valet to bring your car?" he asked.
"No," David said. "But I will need it later, around seven thirty."
"I'll make sure it's here and waiting for you."
"Thanks, Joe. Oh, let me introduce—" David glanced at Adriana. Both realized that she had never mentioned her name.
"Ady ... Ady Doorof," Adriana finished the introduction. "I'm filling in for Mrs. Spinetta." Earlier she had used the entrance reserved for staff members and custodial help.
"Pleased to meet you," the attendant greeted, tipping his peaked cap, revealing short pepper gray hair. "Snow is letting up. It should be a clear, crisp evening," he said, smiling at both.
Another plus, Adriana thought. He appears well-liked. He must have some faults, she reasoned, besides leaving the cap off the toothpaste, and the toilet seat up. But after all, it was a bachelor apartment, she excused.
During their light repast at a nearby fast food restaurant, she discovered another fault, when their conversation turned to the Holidays, especially Christmas. He didn't visit his parents often. He offered no reasons, and as she felt it was too early in their acquaintance to ask, she mentioned casually how close she was to her family, and that she looked forward to spending time with them, especially during the Christmas and Easter Holy Days. Her hope that this latter remark might draw him to explain his distance from his parents, only met with the inquiry, "Holy Days?"
"Yes, I was brought up to regard the religious side of the Holidays, what they are really celebrating. Santa Claus is all well and good, and the gift giving, but Christmas is really all about the birth of our Lord Jesus, a very special time with great importance for the Holy Family and for the world."
David regarded her with unabashed, forthright, warm, dark coffee brown eyes, that captured hers with their civility. "I've heard that sermon in Church, and I don't disagree with it. Just never quite got around to implementing it, at least not since high school. My parents are church goers, and brought me up the same way. I haven't completely fallen away. I believe. I pray. And attend Mass on ... Holy Days."
"You don't sound enthusiastic," Adriana remarked.
"Well, I don't get zealous about it; I'm practical. It's simply day to day living. Besides, my writing keeps me too busy to be anything but practical."
"I've never heard the practice of faith," Adriana said, "put quite that way."
Silence followed her remark, and they finished their respective hamburgers and milk shakes. Adriana thanked him for supper, cleared away her side of the table and, reasoning that after all she was the cleaning lady, extended her arm to clear his empties. David shook his head and pressed his hand against hers. "Thank you. I'll take care of it. You cleaned enough for one day." He smiled in earnest and cleared off what remained on the table.
"How far do you have to go," he asked as they left the eatery.
"Not far," Adriana said.
"You're exhausted. Let me give you a lift home," David offered.
"No, honestly, I'm fine walking. I enjoy walking." How could she explain residing in an exclusive, first class studio apartment, on a cleaning woman's salary. "And the bus th
at runs along this avenue, stops right by my apartment," she added, hastily. That wasn't a lie, Adriana solaced her conscience. The bus did run by her uptown apartment and all the way downtown, where David would naturally assume she lived.
"All right. But on days when the weather is bad, I'll be glad to give you a lift home. It's no imposition. I do the same for Mrs. Spinetta."
"You are very kind, David," she said, with admiration. "I do hope your Lady in Red finds you."
David's gaze turned soulful. "Yeah," he sighed, "but lately I'm beginning to wonder if she ever truly existed." He chuckled wearily, then with a parting glance, and a "See you, Thursday, he turned around and headed back toward his apartment.
"She does exist," Adriana murmured to his retreating back. But all at once, an awful fear shrouded the burgeoning affection for him growing within her. He had placed the Lady in Red on a pedestal, dreamed and fantasized about her so long, that he might never accept that she, Adriana, the cleaning woman, was the Lady in Red. She felt a shiver course up her back. How did she compete with the self of three years ago, who had dared to wear the red dress, given in to its magical spell, and stolen David's heart.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Positive now that she wished to learn more about David, Adriana quit her managerial job and continued her cleaning duties. She insisted on cooking him breakfast, and he often treated her to early suppers. Their friendship grew, if platonic, but to a strength that on a Monday when she called in ill with a cold, David missed her presence appallingly. By Saturday, he had barely written a thousand words the entire week. He called her each day to make sure she had everything she needed to get well. Each time she told him not to worry. It was just a cold, with no fever. Acetaminophen and a nasal spray were taking care of her body aches and nasal congestion. And she always kept a small supply of both in her medicine cabinet.
What confused and had begun to irk him, was her refusal to have him visit her. He cooked chicken soup and asked to bring her some. "No thanks. I already cooked some for myself," was her reply. Courteous, but firm. He would have visited her, nonetheless. But she always found a way to avoid giving him her address. All he guessed these past few weeks, was that she obviously lived downtown, because of her remark about the bus running down his street directly to hers.
He telephoned Mrs. Spinetta. Her reply to his inquiry further confused him. "Ady is a very private person. As long as she performs her duties and does nothing harmful, then allow her that privacy. I do know where she lives, and I can assure you, she is as respectable as they come. If you like, I'll visit her and make sure she has everything she needs to heal completely." Reluctantly, David accepted Mrs. Spinetta's advice.
The following Monday morning, Ady presented herself at his doorstep, ready to resume her position as cleaning lady. One look at her told him she had not been lying. The remnants of redness about her nose and chapped upper lip attested to the use of a week's worth of tissues.
Even with the pallor of a woman recuperating from a bad cold, she was lovely, he mused. She hadn't as yet tied her hair into a ponytail with a satin ribbon, as was her norm for her chores, and it hung in silky darkest brown waves about her face.
"Are you sure you're well enough to work?" he asked, fighting the urge to welcome her with a hug expressing how happy he felt to see her.
"I'm all well, thank you." She scanned the rooms visible from the doorway. "And it looks none-too-soon."
David followed her gaze. He'd left clothes scattered on furniture, and open take-out cartons of oriental food on the coffee table. He remembered the gaping pizza box with the half-eaten pizza that he had left on the kitchen table. "I've had writer's block all week," he excused. He spoke the truth, but it sounded lame. He dare not tell her the rest, without casting a predatory light on himself. How did he explain that he had missed her presence terribly, grown despondent and hardly able to write. Difficult enough justifying his feelings to himself. He had not forgotten his lady in red. But these past few weeks the temptation to ask Ady out on a real date had him questioning his sincerity.
"Can I come in?" Adriana asked. He hadn't moved, and she wondered apprehensively if he intended firing her.
"Oh, I'm sorry. Of course, come in. As you can see, I'm terrible at housekeeping. My mother often remarks that as a child, tidiness was never one of my better traits." He chuckled, trying to make light of the situation. "Tell you what, I will help you today. It's not fair to throw all this work at you because of my laziness."
Relieved that he hadn't decided to fire her, Ady quickly remonstrated. "Absolutely not. You go and write. I can manage. I'll do surface chores today, and the rest on my next two visits. By Saturday evening, your apartment will be spic and span."
"But you're still recuperating. I don't want to cause you a relapse," David insisted.
"Honestly, I'm okay. I promise I won't overdo. You need to get back to your writing. The Lady in Red is still out there waiting to be found," Adriana urged with a quaint smile.
"You know, Ady, when you smile that way, you remind me of her."
Adriana's smile faded and she glanced down. A few silky hair strands fell across her brow and her cheek. "Do I?" she asked. Her chin rose and her gaze locked with his. "But I certainly don't look like her. Your books describe her as beautiful, graceful, elegant, surreal. Someone like her would not be cleaning your apartment."
"No, you're right. I have to admit she had the air of a refined debutante." It took him a moment to realize that statement made Ady sound less of a Lady. "Oh, I didn't mean you're any less—"
"It's okay, I know what you mean. Don't worry," Adriana reassured him. "Now let me get to work."
David sighed, resigned. He needed to say less before he really hurt her feelings. Maybe now that she was here, in good health, he might get some work done.
"You'll let me buy you an early supper tonight? It's the least I can do to thank you for coming back."
Adriana smiled in earnest. "Thank you, but not tonight. My stomach is still a bit queasy. I don't think I can take fast food tonight." Reading the disappointment on David's face, she added, "I'll take a rain check, if you like."
His face brightened. "Okay. But remember, don't overdo."
"Promise," Ady said.
As if of its own accord, his body moved closer to her, and his arm and hand rose slowly to tenderly brush back the silky strands that had fallen across her brow and her cheek at his earlier remark. It wasn't fair, he thought, turning and heading back to his office. It wasn't fair at all. Maybe his Lady in Red had waited too long to find him.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
The weeks turned to months. David finished the seventh book in the series. Although his own lady in red continued to elude him, the detective in his books fared better. David allowed his character to come across further clues to the mystery woman's identity. To please his fans, he promised them that the police detective would find her by the next and concluding book in the series. Would she offer him the key to her heart? They would have to read the final novel to find out.
At the urging of his publisher, David began researching a new series to write after he completed the eighth book. He planned two main protagonists — a private detective and his partner, a female of an extraterrestrial advanced civilization. The alien inhabited the body of a human woman who had perished in a car accident. Her society often helped civilizations that threatened to destroy themselves before they had the chance to evolve and mature. David's works always carried an underlying moral.
Adriana continued to work for him, and slowly found herself considering his apartment hers more than her own. Especially so, as David developed the habit of reading his finished work to her at the end of each of her visits. He valued her input, not to mention that it gave him the opportunity to be with her longer.
One evening as Adriana opened the door to leave, he called, "Ady, I need you to know something."
Adriana turned inquisitively and waited. He seemed hesitant to speak further.
"Yes, David, I'm listening." I hope he's not planning to leave, or send me away, she thought, steeling herself.
"It's time, I believe," David said, adding, "Way past the time." He straightened his shoulders. "I've made a decision."
Adriana held her breath.
"I've given up on the Lady in Red. In my dreams, her face is no longer clear. I see her as through an opaque veil. She's become a myth, a fantasy, the wish of a lonely man in search of a soul mate." He grew silent, watching her, waiting for her to say something.
Adriana opened her mouth to speak, but closed it. What could she say? Tell him the truth that the Lady in Red had been with him all along; that she was the girl he'd dreamed about all this time? Even if she added that she was head over heels in love with him, what would he think of her now? A liar, although she had never truly lied to him, except to conceal part of the truth. Some would consider that a lie in itself. But sooner or later she must confess all, even if it caused him never to want to see her again. Not today, though, Adriana decided. Not without some preparation.
"I think it's a wise decision," she said. "Whoever that flesh and blood woman you eventually choose, she will be ... the luckiest girl in the world." Adriana turned, went out, closed the door quietly behind her, and fled down the hallway. She reached the elevators, tears threatening to fill her eyes. As chance deemed, the doors to an elevator going down opened to let a passenger off. Adriana quickly entered, in a rush to exit the building should David follow her. On her way out the front doors, she barely returned Joe's greeting and headed north. The tears she had held back, streamed down her cheeks. In no condition to wait for the bus uptown, she kept on walking.
David stood a moment, stunned at her weird reaction to his words, her eyes glistening with unshed tears, and her reply delivered with such discomposure. Had he missed something? Maybe — was it possible? She had never given him a sign beyond that of a platonic friendship. He had asked her several times to go out with him on an actual date, but she always found excuses, albeit polite ones that seemed in earnest. He had to know why she'd reacted so emotionally. Without further adieu, he grabbed a windbreaker from his closet and headed after her.