Morning Rose, Evening Savage

by Amii Lorin

  Where to go? What to do? she asked herself. She just couldn’t face that apartment alone tonight. She was becoming positively claustrophobic in those small rooms. Sallie? Tara shook her head. Explanations would have to be made. Who in the world would believe something like this? Tara was having trouble believing it herself. Besides, Tara felt she had no right to endanger the working relationship between David and Alek.

  Tara drove aimlessly for some time. Up one street, down another. Glancing around uninterestedly as she sat at a corner waiting for the light to change, Tara’s eyes passed then came back to rest on a small tavern on the opposite corner. She had been in that tavern several times with friends. The food served was plain but good, the prices fair.

  The light changed to green, and with sudden decision Tara hunted up a parking space, parked, and locked the car.

  The tavern was family owned and run. The wife did the cooking and serving, the husband tended the bar, and then-son worked in both places, wherever he was most needed.

  Though she rarely had a drink, Tara had suddenly decided she needed one. Hell! At this minute she felt she needed a dozen. Leaving the car, she skirted around the front entrance that led into the bar and entered the side door that opened into the dining room.

  The room was half full of what Tara judged were neighborhood regulars. Moving toward the front of the building, Tara stopped at a small table, just inside the large open archway, that gave full view of the barroom. Young Jake Klinger, Jr., was working the end of the bar near the entrance to the dining room, and as Tara sat down he glanced up, grinned, and waved.

  “Hi, Tara, howzit?”

  Somehow she managed to return the grin convincingly.

  “Fine, Jake, how are things with you?”

  “Fair to middlin’,” he replied laconically, then turned to serve his customer with the glass of beer he’d just tapped. That done, he sauntered around the end of the bar and to her table.

  “What can I get you, gorgeous?”

  Tara smiled, her eyes on the menu written in chalk on a blackboard hanging on the wall. After the lunch she’d eaten and the afternoon she’d put in, she didn’t feel at all hungry. But she knew that if she drank and didn’t eat, she’d be out for the count, or sick, in no time.

  “I think I’ll have a Caesar salad and a glass of Pinot Grigio, please.”

  “You got it, baby.”

  Tara smiled again as Jake walked through the swing door into the kitchen to give his mother the order. He was well named, truly a junior, for he looked remarkably like his father. Both Jakes were not very tall, but broad, built strong as bulls; they both had open, pleasant faces and gentle, compassionate brown eyes.

  He paused on his way back, long enough to slide her plate in front of her, then went on into the bar to pour her drink. When Jake set the glass on the table, he said quietly, “This one’s on me, sweet lips.” Then he winked broadly, pursed his lips in a silent kiss, and went back behind the bar.

  Tara laughed softly as she started on her salad. Eating without really tasting it, she pondered the different reactions male and female had to each other.

  Jake’s teasing familiarity amused her, whereas Terry’s use of endearments on Monday had made her feel cheap. As to the way she reacted to the same brand of teasing from Alek, well ... she did not even care to think about that. Was it, as Alek had suggested, simple body chemistry?

  By the time she pushed her empty plate to the center of the table, Tara was working on her second drink and telling herself to go home. Hearing a vaguely familiar voice say, “It’s all right, I know the lady,” Tara glanced into the barroom as a young man detached himself from the bar, a drink in each hand, and headed toward her.

  As Tara watched him approach, her mind nibbled at recognition. Her memory clicked, and she put half a name to his face. Barry something-or-other, an architectural engineer she’d met last summer at a clambake she’d attended with friends. At the time, he’d appeared easygoing and well-mannered and Tara had agreed to go out with him the following week. It was a mistake for, although the evening had been a pleasant one, he had no sooner parked his car in front of her apartment when he was all over her like a bad rash. She had had literally to fight her way out of his car. And there was the reason she could not remember his last name. After she’d safely reached her apartment, she had dubbed him Barry Octopus. And now Mr. Octopus had come to stop at her table.

  “Hiya, Tara, all alone?”

  His grin was engaging (very probably practiced), revealing stunning white teeth (very probably capped). In tight, faded blue jeans and snuggly fitting polo shirt, he was very attractive and knew it

  “Yes, Barry, I’m alone.”

  Placing one of the drinks in front of her, he said quietly, “May I join you for a few minutes?”

  Tara didn’t want the drink. She didn’t want his company either, but shrugging lightly, she murmured, “For a few minutes only. I’m leaving soon.”

  “Why? The night’s young.”

  And you ‘re so beautiful, Tara added, finishing his line wryly, somehow managing to keep a straight face.

  “I’ve got a date later, that’s why,” she lied.

  “Ah, yes, I’ve heard about your latest ... date. Really moving up in the world, aren’t you?”

  Tara’s voice was as cold as the glass her fingers clenched.

  “If you’re going to be offensive, Barry, you can go back to the bar, and take your drink with you.”

  He eyed her steadily a moment then he laughed easily.

  “Truth hurt? Never mind. Hell, I wasn’t trying to be offensive or then again maybe I was. After the cold shoulder I’d received, the pure-as-the-driven-snow act you’d put on, well, I’ll admit when I first heard about it, I was shocked. He has a rather overwhelming reputation with woman. But then he has a rather overwhelming bankroll also.”

  “Good-bye, Barry.”

  Tara was hanging on to her temper as tightly as she was hanging on to her glass.

  Reaching across the table, his hand caught hers.

  “Aw, come on, Tara,” he coaxed. “With all the ladies he’s got on the string, surely he wouldn’t object to you and I having a little fun together.”

  Eyes flashing with contempt, Tara snatched her hand away.

  “Maybe he wouldn’t, but I would,” she said through clenched teeth. “Now go away and leave me alone.”

  Grasping for her hand again, he began urgently, “Don’t get mad—”

  “You having trouble, Miss Schmitt?”

  With an audible sigh of relief, Tara looked up to see Jake senior leaning across the end of the bar, looking broad as a tank and just as menacing, eyeing Barry dispassionately.

  “He was just leaving and so am I, Jake. Could I have my check please?”

  “Sure thing,” he nodded, then added, “Why don’t you come back to the bar, Barry? I’ll buy you a drink.”

  Barry hesitated then gave in gracefully.

  “Okay, Jake, you’re on. Sorry if I was out of line, Tara.”

  Ignoring Barry, Tara paid her check and left, feeling even worse than when she entered. The sight of Alek’s car parked directly in front of her apartment plunged her spirits even lower.

  Filled with rage, frustration, and humiliation, she paced the apartment for hours. First Terry, now Barry. How many others believed he was paying her rent, keeping her? Tears of weariness and defeat blinding her, she finally fell into bed. Teeth clenched, she whispered aloud, “Damn you, Aleksei Rykovsky.”

  Friday was a drag. Tara had never been so glad to see quitting time before in her life. As she left the office, she massaged her temple distractedly; she had a headache. Her eyes felt puffy and irritated from the hours she’d spent crying the night before. Lord, it seemed she’d had a headache and done nothing but cry for the last month. Was there no end to it?

  Feeling too uninterested and dispirited to prepare a meal, she ate dinner at a small diner close to her apartment then went home. Home? The lonely hou
rs spent in solitude in those few small rooms were beginning to make what was once a haven into a cage. She felt trapped. Trapped by the unbridled passion of a man too used to getting what he wanted.

  The tears were flowing again before she reached the door of her apartment, and the pain in her head had intensified into sharp, stabbing blows. Tara dropped her jacket and handbag on the nearest chair and went to the bathroom, groping blindly inside the medicine cabinet for the aspirin bottle. She swallowed the two white pills then stood regarding her reflection in the cabinet-door mirror. Watery, haunted eyes stared back at her, black-smudged mascara adding a clownish touch. What a pale, pitiful sight she was, she thought abstractedly. At nine thirty, head still pounding, she swallowed two more aspirin and went to bed, positive she wouldn’t sleep.

  She was wrong. She slept deeply and well and woke Saturday morning with at least some of her usual vigor restored. As she consumed a light breakfast of juice, toast, and coffee, her eyes roamed around the small kitchen. What you need, friend, she told herself bracingly, is some physical activity. Today you clean the kitchen.

  Within minutes she’d thrown herself into the job at hand, saving the most hated chore, the kitchen stove, till last.

  Tara had the rangetop in a half dozen assorted pieces, scrubbing the drip pan under the burners, when the door chimes pealed.

  “Oh, hell,” she muttered, tugging the rubber gloves off her hands and dropping them in the sink. Walking to the door, she wondered if she should slide the chain into place, then shrugged and opened the door.

  “May I come in, Tara? Or are you still mad at me?” Betsy eyed her uncertainly on the other side of the threshold.

  “I’m not mad at you, Bets,” Tara denied. “A little disappointed, maybe, but not mad. Come in.”

  Betsy stepped inside, slipped out of her long coat, and tossed it over a chair, all the while glancing around unobtrusively.

  Tara watched her cynically, sighing softly with the knowledge her sister was looking for occupancy of a man.

  “I’m cleaning the kitchen and was about ready to take a break,” Tara said quietly. “Would you like a cup of coffee?”

  “Yes, thanks,” Betsy answered. “It’s cold out there this morning. A hot drink will taste good.”

  Tara didn’t miss the strained edge to her sister’s voice, but she made no comment as she poured the coffee then placed the mugs, sugar bowl, and a small jug of milk on the table.

  They sipped their coffee in an uncomfortable silence for a few minutes, then Betsy blurted, “Tara, I think you should call Mama.”

  “Why? She hasn’t bothered to call me.” Tara was surprised at the bitterness of her own voice.

  “I know,” her sister said placatingly. “But I still think you should. I’m worried about her, Tara. You’re the only one she ever opened up to at all. She won’t talk to me. I’ve tried.”

  “Is she sick?” Tara asked in alarm.

  “Not sick exactly,” Betsy replied. “But she’s not eating or sleeping well and she’s been crying a lot.”

  Welcome to the club, Mama, Tara thought wearily, convinced her mother’s trouble stemmed directly from the controversy surrounding her oldest child. “All right, Bets,” she promised. “I’ll call her later today and see if I can find out anything. Will you stay for lunch?”

  “No. Thanks anyway. I’ve been skipping lunch.” Then she added at Tata’s raised eyebrows, “I’ve gained a few pounds and with the holidays coming up, I thought I’d better be careful or come January first, I’m liable to find I can’t get into my clothes.”

  Tara smiled and relaxed at the more normal tone Betsy’s voice had acquired. Not much later Betsy left, saying she had some shopping to do, and Tara went back to the stove.

  After a hurried sandwich-and-coffee lunch, Tara went to the phone, drew a deep breath, and quickly dialed her mother’s number. Her heart sank on hearing her father’s gruff hello.

  “Hello, Dad. Is Mother there?”

  There was a noticeable pause before her father replied. “Yes, she’s here. But she doesn’t want to talk to you, Tara, and neither do I.” And with that he slammed down the receiver.

  Tara stood still, a look of hurt disbelief on her face, before slowly replacing her own receiver with trembling fingers. Feeling her eyes beginning to mist over, she shook her head in swift anger. No, she would not cry anymore; she was going to fight. I don’t know how I’ll fight him, she thought fiercely, but I’ll find a way. I have to. I can’t take much more of this.

  To keep depression at bay she sprang into frenzied activity, giving the rest of the apartment its weekly cleaning, running to the basement laundry-room with a basket of wash, shampooing her hair, and manicuring her nails.

  Sunday she walked for hours, coming back to the apartment cold and tired and nowhere near a way to get at Alek. A little after ten she sat moodily trying to concentrate, without much success, on a movie on TV. Though Tara was unsure exactly what the movie was about other than a philandering husband, one scene, near the end, caught then held her attention. The wronged wife was speaking to a friend in a harshly bitter tone. “He’s offered me a large settlement if I’ll give him a divorce.” She laughed hollowly before continuing. “He should live so long, the bastard. Oh! I’ll get that money. That and a lot more. He’ll pay through the nose. I’ll make his life a living hell. By the time I’m through with him, he’ll wish he’d never looked at a woman.”

  Tara sat nibbling her lip, a germ of an idea beginning to wriggle to life. Her breath caught painfully in her throat. Could she do it? Did she want to?

  She set off to work Monday morning, her step firm and determined. No definite plan presented itself. She’d have to play it by ear, wing it, as it were. The morning passed slowly and although Tara became exceedingly more nervous, her resolve strengthened and set. All it needed now was the opportunity.

  That arrived shortly after lunch when David came into the office, followed by a deceptively lazy-looking Alek. Before either man could speak, Tara said haltingly, “I—I’d like to speak to you, David. It’s important”

  David’s voice mirrored the surprise on his face.

  “All right, Tara.” Then, turning to Alek, he murmured, “If you’ll excuse us a few minutes.”

  Alek began, “Of course—” when Tara interrupted, “No! Please David, as this involves Alek, too, I’d like him present.”

  Alek’s eyes turned sharp, watchful, while David’s expression changed from surprise to confusion.

  “Whatever you say. Come into my office, both of you.”

  David waved his hand at the leather chair in front of his desk as he seated himself in his swivel chair opposite. Alek indicated he was quite comfortable where he was, perched indolently on the side of the large desk, which suited Tara, as she had an excellent view of both men’s faces.

  She let the silence hang a few seconds before stating quietly, “David, I want to give notice. I’m leaving.”

  “Give notice!” David exclaimed. “Leaving? But why?”

  Tara’s eyes sliced to Alek, then quickly away. In that brief glance she could swear he was holding his breath. She gulped in air, then said boldly, “I’m getting married and, even though we haven’t discussed it, I don’t think he wants me to work afterward.” She swung her gaze directly to Alek’s hooded blue one and added, “Do you—darling?” then held her breath.

  He was a cool one, she had go give him that. For, other than a slight tightening along the jaw, he betrayed no reaction. One dark eyebrow arching slowly, he drawled, “While I would enjoy you giving your undivided attention to me, if you want to continue working, that is entirely up to you—my love.” As he finished, the corner of his mouth twitched with amusement.

  Tara gritted her teeth. The fiend. I call his bluff and he has the gall to be amused. She was beginning to wonder just who had called whose bluff.

  David looked and sounded stunned. “Getting married? When?”

  Tara hesitated only a moment. “Th
e second Saturday in December.”

  “The second Saturday,” he echoed, his eyes flying to his desk calendar. “But that’s less than a month away. Why didn’t you tell me sooner?” He turned to Alek, his voice sharp. “Or you? My God, man, we see each other nearly every day, and I’ve made no secret of how Sallie and I feel about Tara. Couldn’t you have said something?”

  Alek’s smile was totally disarming. “I’ve been waiting, impatiently I might add, for the lady to set a date. This is as much of a surprise to me as it is to you.” Glittering blue eyes were turned on Tara. “I didn’t realize you had such a flair for the dramatic, my sweet.”

  “I think you’ll find, my liege”—Tara’s smile was pure saccharine—”I’m full of little surprises.”

  “I’ll just bet.” He laughed softly.

  Throughout this exchange David’s head swiveled from one to the other, a frown of consternation on his face. Catching the expression, Alek’s laugh deepened. “Don’t worry, David, you’re not going to lose her, either as a friend or, apparently, as an assistant. That is, of course, if you’re agreeable to her taking two weeks for a honeymoon, and the rest of the day.”

  Neither of the men seemed to notice Tara’s gasp, as David was too busy shaking Alek’s hand while acquiescing to his demands, and Alek was too busy grinning fatuously while accepting his congratulations.

  Before Tara had time to gather her wits, Alek was grasping her arm and propelling her from both David’s and her own office, pausing only long enough to snatch up her handbag and jacket. Flinging the latter around her shoulders, he led her out of the building and into his car.

  “My car!” she squeaked.

  “We’ll get it later,” came the brusque reply.

  He drove without speaking for some time, leaving the city behind as he turned onto a country road nearly devoid of traffic. At the first roadside rest area, he pulled off the road and stopped. After turning off the ignition, he sat staring out the windshield, his silence somewhat ominous. When, after countless minutes, he finally spoke, she jumped, startled.