“These two names, and I will give you a list of three more, you must delete their e-mail as soon as it arrives. They are pollutants, not people.”
“What names?”
Melanie rattled them off, added another for good measure. “I will write them for you so that you do not forget.”
“No need, I’ve got it. Thanks, I was worried about that kind of thing.”
Melanie never needed to write down such things either. Her respect for Perrin’s mind went up another small notch. How much had she made the same mistake about Perrin that others made about her? They saw the flighty artist and missed the sharp businesswoman so easily.
Well, she would take a lesson from Joshua and no longer underestimate Perrin. It would be difficult, Perrin’s chosen self-protective persona was as polished as her own.
Back to the e-mails. The wanna-be designers were all so overeager. Some of the more professional ones had included images from their collections. On one set of images, which didn’t have an attached e-mail, Perrin had made some notes down the side. The designs were interesting, but the eye was young. Perrin designed for women, but this designer sketched for teens. And did it well.
“Perrin, whose are these? If you ever want to do a youth line, you might consider hiring this designer. It would be a very fine place for beginning.”
Until that moment, Perrin had been assiduously focused on cutting and pinning more of the royal blue. As soon as Melanie held up the sketches, Perrin stopped and her entire manner shifted. Her smile was huge, “Those are Tammy’s.”
Melanie looked at them again in awe, “I thought she was thirteen.”
“Fourteen next month.”
“Oh!”
“I stuck them in hoping you’d like them. I can’t judge because I love her too much. I never imagined a step-daughter. Actually she’s my daughter since I adopted her the same day Bill married me, but that freaks me out too much to really think about. She’s young enough that I could have had her if I’d had her while still in high school. But a step-daughter, okay, daughter who is so skilled at design already just makes me all…” Perrin did a shimmy that might have been a lot like a firecracker about to explode.
“They are: well done, creative, age-appropriate,” she ticked off on her fingers, trying not to feel as if she was channeling Joshua’s passion for numbered lists. “You seriously need to consider these designs as the basis for a product line. A separate product line.”
“Her own line?” Perrin tasted the idea and stared at the ceiling as she toyed with the idea.
Melanie realized just how little prepared Perrin was for what was about to happen to her; no matter how smart. That should have been an automatic next-step thought, instead it had to be given to her to think about.
Melanie went back to her sorting. Several of the e-mails were overlaps with the letters. She checked the dates; frustrated by no response to their electronic messages, they had gone to paper-based pleas. But for the most part, there were at least as many new opportunities here as in the folder. If only twenty percent of these came through, Perrin’s business wasn’t going to grow, it was going to skyrocket upward. Whereas her own was…
Melanie clambered off the stool and to her feet. She looked for somewhere else to sit, but realized she didn’t want to sit. She didn’t want to sew. She saw Perrin—still glowing from the compliment to her new daughter—leaning in to explain a particularly tricky pattern piece to Karissa and Clem.
The soft-rap tune on the radio was getting on her nerves; something about a geek in pink. Next one would be about models no one wanted to see any longer.
Out front would be no better. From here she could see customers in the front of the shop. There was so much purpose here, everyone had something to do and she…was useless.
Melanie had never been useless. More importantly, she would never again depend upon another person for her state of mind. She closed the folders, picked up her bag, and wished Perrin À bientôt. No one on the outside looking at her must ever know what was wrong.
Yet Perrin clearly sensed something by her surprised expression, but Melanie made it out the door before it registered fully enough for Perrin to do more than look at her oddly. A clean getaway.
That’s what she had to do. She had to get away. She didn’t belong here. She belonged in… She didn’t even know where the swimsuit shoot was this year. That was insider-only knowledge, and for eight straight years she’d been in the know.
Well, the magazines weren’t going to control her mind either. Her mother had done her best to twist and control Melanie’s mind, as well as Melanie’s body to her own ends. That too was done. So, perfectly in control—calm, collected, and throwing a walk that made men stop and stare—she strode past the shops of Belltown and then headed south.
It was late morning. Hole-in-the-wall restaurants were blocking as much of the sidewalk as they dared with small steel tables and artfully rusting chairs throwing off her purposeful stride. Little boutiques were displaying wares not half the quality of Perrin’s. These were shops she might have normally browsed, but it would be a pointless waste.
When she reached Pike Place Market it meant she was a third of the way back to the condo. She would pack, find a flight, and go home. Hopefully she would get there before the wave of depression crushed down on her and left her unpresentable to friends and fodder for her worst enemies, the paparazzi. With a single unguarded moment, they could capture and damage a career, even one like hers. And news of the swimsuit issue loss would be out by now. Add that into…
She stopped. She couldn’t breathe. Bending over to rest her hands on her knees, her hair almost brushing the dirty cobbles, didn’t help. All she could see was the cobblestones. No air. She leaned against a handy wall until her head stopped spinning enough for her to think. To recognize where she was so that she could continue on her way. She was in front of…
Angelo’s?
She’d been headed to the condo; straight down First Avenue. How had she ended up in the heart of Pike Place Market? Granted it was only a block aside from her escape route… Oh. Some part of her that was still functioning knew she should say merci to Maria and au revoir to Joshua. He hadn’t been at the condo when she woke, so maybe he was here writing.
Josh looked up from the pit of despair into the warm sunshine of hope. The transition was a shock to both his brain and his libido. If yesterday his writing had been poop, this morning he had crawled into the outhouse, then ducked down the hole for a long swim.
He took a moment to appreciate the wonder that was Melanie. Her casual wear could shame, well, any supermodel that wasn’t her and all mere mortals. Rumpled leather cavalier boots to mid-calf, skinny jeans that showed the advantage of perfect legs even when hidden away, a sunshine yellow blouse whose loose form didn’t reveal, but a sharp leather vest that suggested very strongly. And those eyes. Cornflower blue offset against her light golden hair.
“I’m leaving.”
“Thank heavens.”
She looked at him quizzically.
“I think Mama Maria put a special hex on me. If yesterday was a losing battle, today is completely unmentionable in decent company.” He slapped his laptop in his bag and rose to his feet.
It was only when he was standing eye to eye with her that he saw the stiffly square set of her shoulders, the grim determination in her look. He knew that look. Head down and striding straight into a headwind come flood or fire. It was the only way he’d survived the last three months.
Her words finally registered. She was leaving? Like leaving Seattle? Nope. Not no way. Not no how. He didn’t know why the voice in his head was so vehement on that point, but it was.
“Uh huh. Leaving? Good. Let’s go.” Purposely misunderstanding her. He offered his arm, and when she hesitated, he took her hand and tucked it into his elbow simply because he wanted to. She left it there as he guided her out of the restaurant. He liked the sense of connection.
She seemed almost nervel
ess, even ethereal as he led her down the rough brick of Post Alley. The late morning crowd of tourists swirled about them. The piano guy had his little roll-around upright piano on a street corner and was knocking out a very creditable version of Joplin’s The Entertainer. Josh tossed his spare change in the busker’s bucket; he didn’t want to risk dislodging Melanie’s hand to reach for his wallet.
In silence he led her deeper into the Market. He’d expected her to unravel at least a little bit as they moseyed past the overflowing flower stands, but their lush scents and brilliant sprays of color didn’t touch her.
So, keeping them in pace with the slow-moving crowd—but not stopping to admire the sights—they were soon clear of the flower, produce, and artisanal sausage merchants. They bypassed the pasta stall with over thirty flavors of pasta from chocolate to strawberry to—he had to glance over his shoulder to be sure of the last—licorice. He made a note to try that someday, perhaps paired with honeyed peaches for a dessert—the black pasta and golden fruit making an interesting contrast. Down the stairs by the tea merchant, they passed the parrot store and a bagel shop.
It only took a few minutes before he had led her under the viaduct highway, across Alaskan Way, and out onto the vacant Pier 62. All of the other piers along Seattle’s deep waterfront were filled with tourist or commerce activities: restaurants, giant Ferris wheel, ferry terminal, the Seattle Aquarium. For some reason this pier and the adjoining one created a couple of acres of unoccupied rough wood planking. A few people wandered the open expanse, but it was actually a very private place right at the heart of the Northwest’s largest city.
He led her out to the far corner of the pier. Behind them the city soared and bustled. Ahead of them the dark blue waters of Elliot Bay were dotted with green-trimmed white ferries, container ships headed for the big orange port cranes to the left, a couple of sailboats skimming along under the light breeze. A massive cruise ship was just pulling away from the next pier to the north. The city proper was bordered to the south and north by house-dappled hills, straight ahead the snow-capped peaks of the Olympic Mountains were so bright in the sun that it was hard to look at them.
Melanie remained beside him, unmoving, unspeaking.
Josh bided his time, letting the soothing breeze—pleasantly cool off the water on a calm day—wash over them. When he turned at last to face her, because he couldn’t stand not seeing her a moment longer, she looked a little calmer.
“Okay, Ms. Secretly-I’m-a-mess-no-matter-how-incredibly-I-present-myself-to-the-world. What happened?”
In answer, Melanie simply turned into his arms and lay her head on his shoulder. She clung to him as if he were the Rock of Gibraltar rather than a lost soul himself. Well, if she needed him to be strong, he would be.
His arms naturally slid around her and he came to appreciate so many things at once. Slender yet strong, hair even softer than it looked, just meant to be stroked gently, and he was right the first time—she absolutely smelled of hope, hope and summertime.
Melanie could feel the day brightening, one tiny bit at a time. She knew she was being irrational, knew her past wasn’t really a vicious bounty hunter seeking to repossess her soul; it only felt that way. Except it didn’t feel that way with Joshua.
From the moment she’d taken his arm, it was as if all her willpower was gone. Her panic-level desperation to run, to get somewhere safe, had simply drained away. When she was losing control, he had simply taken it. Then he’d led her here where the people didn’t press about her so.
She had meant to give him a brief hug of thanks, but her body had other ideas and she’d clung to him like a lover, never wanting to move again. His arms were strong, solid. His shoulder perfect to lean her cheek on. Right at the base of his neck was a place she could go to hide for a long, long time. Not even to hide. She could almost…what? Be content here?
His skin was warm against her nose and forehead. His soft dark hair, which needed a trim soon, tickled her temple. Her nose couldn’t place him except to say, “male.” Joshua exuded “strong male” as if it were a new designer fragrance. So, instead of a brief hug or a tentative embrace, she simply allowed herself to appreciate the soft stroke of his hands down her back. To enjoy the moment.
Before she was ready, his chest rumbled with the repeated voicing of his question. How was she supposed to know what happened? She’d simply needed get away before the world collapsed on her head.
Her desire to leave her momentary haven was non-existent, but Joshua kissed her atop her head and then pushed her back a half pace to study her, keeping his hands on her waist. She wanted to imagine that her shields were up, but knowing that he always saw straight through them, she stopped trying.
“Well, whatever it was…” he continued as he studied her.
She could still feel the deep rumble of his voice where she’d left a hand resting on his chest.
“I’m guessing that you’ve given yourself a pretty thorough scare. I find it hard to imagine you being scared of anything, but that’s my guess.”
“Will you cut that out!”
His grin told her that he knew exactly what she meant and the answer was: no, he wouldn’t. “Bugs you, huh?”
“No one sees past my shields.”
“Superman and me, we’re tight. Drinking buddies, you know.”
She didn’t know whether to smile or poke him sharply in the solar plexus, so she did both eliciting a satisfying whoosh though she hadn’t hit him hard enough to do more.
He took his hands from her waist to rub at his chest and looked at her in surprise.
“You better just keep your x-ray vision to yourself. You start looking through my vest and I really will Taser you but good.”
“Yes, ma’am. I can’t speak for my imagination, but I can promise on my x-ray vision. It’s very limited in such cases.”
“What is it with men and their imagination? Women spend very little time mentally undressing men.”
“And I had such high hopes.”
Melanie, having said that and having returned her hand to the center of his chest in apology for striking him, now found that she could imagine Joshua unclothed. As a matter of fact, it was disconcertingly easy to do so.
“Distract me,” the request sort of blurted out of her.
Joshua looked her right in eyes for a long moment, appeared to be on verge of suggesting a sure-fire distraction that would earn him a truly sharp punch in the solar plexus; a Taser was not the only element of her self-defense training. But rather than speaking his thought, his eyes slid aside and studied the world around them. Something across the water had him narrowing his eyes for a moment.
“How’s your blood sugar?”
Not, “are you hungry?” It was a more personal question of whether her current chaos of emotions was due to low blood sugar. In the body condition she maintained, blood sugar was at times a delicate balance. She tested her own feelings. Nope, that had been genuine panic.
“I’m fine for the moment,” she told him.
“Excellent, c’mon,” he brightened like a little boy. “Got a treat for you if you have the afternoon free and don’t mind spending it with me.” Once again Joshua offered his arm. This time she was glad to take it, enjoyed the connection through the light cloth of his button-down shirt, just open enough at the throat to hint at the strength she’d felt there.
He led her south along the waterfront until they reached the big ferry terminal. She was always amazed at how many of the big white and forest-green ferries there were, shuttling back and forth from the Seattle waterfront. Of course with the island-cluttered Puget Sound nearly chopping the state in half from north to south, it made sense.
“I reviewed this great little place over on Bainbridge Island a couple of years back. Perfect for lunch.”
When the boat arrived, he guided her not to the bow of the boat pointing out to the Sound, but to the stern of the passenger deck several stories above where the cars loaded. Most people pass
ed into the main cabin through the big doors heavy enough to keep even the nastiest storms at bay. She and Joshua stood in the late morning sunlight at the rearmost point and watched the loading process. A small fleet of bicycles and motorcycles zoomed aboard, then a long stream of cars, shuttled off to the correct spots for the crossing by orange-clad ferry workers.
A glance up revealed the city, close and looming above them. The massive double-tiered roadway of the Alaskan Way Viaduct, so crowded with cars and trucks, as if they were trying to use it as much as possible before it was replaced by the new tunnel being bored beneath the waterfront. Skyscrapers capped it off, made far taller than they actually were by the steep hill climbing up through the city.
“They all look so intent, don’t they?” Joshua’s words drew her attention back to the loading. “Even the ones too out of their element to follow the ferry loader’s instructions; all in such a hurry to arrive.”
Without Joshua’s words, it would have been no more than a stream of cars, but it was more. She began to see and appreciate the scene, but her interest paled soon enough. There was a sameness to all of that focused intent and she found it exhausting to witness.
“Let’s go explore.” The ferry was huge, holding a couple hundred cars in the lower two decks and at least two thousand passengers in the two upper decks.
“They’re almost done,” he assured her. “There’s something I want you to see.”
So she waited, rubbing shoulders with Joshua and waiting for the world to finish and get on with it. After the last car, there was a lot of very coordinated activity: stringing up ropes and safety nets, hand signals with some shore-side worker, raising of ramps. A glance at Joshua, but no, that isn’t what he was waiting for. He remained still, quiet, a calm center.
She did her best to emulate him.
The ferry engine’s roared to life with a deep rumble that shook the steel decking.
“Here,” Joshua was leaning on the fresh-painted dark-green railing staring intently down.
Melanie followed his gaze. The ferry slowly dragged itself from beneath the overhanging ramp, and then she spotted a narrow gap of water. With a bellowing blast of its horn, loud enough to hurt her ears and big enough to claim the ferry’s right of passage out into the waters, the boat began gathering speed. The propellers kicked up a massive swirl of aerated water, temporarily disrupting the Sound’s dark blue.
The Complete Where Dreams Page 92