She stirred. “Are you still here?” she asked irritably.
“What is that supposed to mean?”
“Do I have to spell it out for you?”
“You want me to leave?” He was shocked.
She tugged at the sheet tangled around her legs and pulled it up to cover herself. “We both got what we wanted. Why don’t you be a good boy, now, and go home?”
“No problem, lady.” He hopped out of bed and pulled on his clothes in record time. At the door, he turned to throw her a parting shot. “By the way, I only asked you out on a bet.”
She opened her eyes. “What are you talking about?”
He laughed. “I won't be able to collect unless I tell them what happened. Sleep well.” With that, he calmly walked out of her apartment.
An hour later Anne Turner was still wide awake. Maybe her idea of using Alex Ivanov to make Bill jealous had not been so wise after all.
* * *
Embarrassed! That was all he felt, or so he tried to convince himself. Alex was trying to concentrate on his work, but he could not put Anne Turner out of his mind. There had only been one date for Christ’s sake! So why did he feel like he was being punched in the stomach every time he thought of her?
He glanced at his watch again. Eight forty-five. Andrew would be here any minute. The last thing Alex wanted was to admit Anne Turner had kicked him out of her bed in the middle of the night. Andrew would never let him hear the end of it. It would be easier to pretend nothing at all had happened.
Just as he expected, as soon as Andrew walked in he rushed over for the latest news. “So how did it go?”
Alex shrugged. “We talked about business all evening. As far as dates go, I'd give this one a B for Boring.”
Andrew stood there for a moment, a thousand thoughts going through his mind. “You mean that's it? You're not going to tell me anything else? What about after dinner?”
“After dinner she went back to her place and I went back to mine.”
Andrew nodded. “Oh, I get it. She dumped you, didn't she?”
Alex shrugged. “I guess you could say it was a mutual decision. Now, enough about that. We have work to do.”
* * *
Five weeks had passed since Alex had shown Brandon his house plans. He still waited for a comment. He picked up his courage and walked into Anne Turner's office.
Anne was busy typing and did not look up for a moment. When she did, her expression was carefully blank.
“I'd like to book an appointment with Mr. Brandon,” said Alex, avoiding her eyes.
“I'm sorry, Mr. Brandon is busy.” She turned away and began to type again.
He gritted his teeth. “Anne, I only want an appointment with Brandon. It doesn't have to be today or even tomorrow. Next week will be fine. How about opening his calendar and finding me fifteen minutes with him?”
“I told you he's busy. Now, I'm trying to work here. Do you mind?”
“What the hell is your problem? I am only asking you to find a few minutes in his appointment book. Making Brandon's appointments is part of your job, isn’t it?”
Anne turned away from her typewriter and without Alex noticing, she switched on the intercom to Brandon's office. “Mr. Ivanov,” she said crisply. “Please understand. I think you are a nice man but I am not interested in going out with you. I’m asking you to, please, leave me alone. I would like to get back to my work.”
“You know something, lady? I don't know what your problem is, and I don't frankly care. One thing is clear. You are one hell of a bitch.” He strode out, unaware that he had fallen into Anne’s trap, as had Bill Brandon. As soon as Alex closed the door, Brandon stepped in.
“How long has he been giving you trouble?”
Anne was trembling. “I'm so sorry. I didn't want to tell you. You have so much on your mind.”
Brandon interrupted her. “How long?”
She sighed. “Since he asked me for a date a few weeks ago and I turned him down. He went wild. I thought he might hit me. He started shouting, saying he was going to fix me—that he would tell everyone exactly what kind of girl I was—whatever that's supposed to mean.” Tears threatened to spill down her rosy cheeks.
The big man put his arms around her. “Why didn't you tell me sooner?”
“The last thing you need is more problems, but now I'm frightened. I just don't know what he'll do next.”
“Book him an appointment with me,” said Brandon. “I want to see him A.S.A.P.”
* * *
In the cafeteria where gossip flowed freely, the air buzzed with excitement. The financials for the past fiscal year had just been published and showed the highest profits since the birth of the firm twenty-five years ago. As every year, the company made these numbers public in a newsletter, along with announcements of contracts, developments, and special architectural awards, and circulated these to the staff.
“This time, Brandon will have to give out a few promotions,” said Joey, who after over three years with the firm, was still hoping for some ever-elusive advancement.
“I hear Brandon is preparing a new profit-sharing policy,” one of the new employees ventured.
“That's ridiculous,” said one of the senior architects. “He's planning no such thing. Has anyone ever seen any kind of financial incentives here? The only incentive is the hope of keeping your job.”
Andrew had been listening for the last few minutes. “You want to know what I think? I think there will be considerable internal reorganization. There are bound to be promotions, and believe me, Brandon can afford it. This contract,” he pointed to one of the articles in the news letter, “is nothing compared to what's still to come.”
“Hey, do you know something we don't?” asked Joey.
“I've been doing a bit of research on my own, and I expect there will be dozens of other projects like this one. Look at statistics. In the last ten years, birth rates have climbed higher than ever, and the demand for houses has risen right along with it. Prices have never been this high, and I believe they’ll keep increasing. We're going into a real-estate boom the likes of which this country has never seen.”
“Amen!” said Ben from across the room. “And next, Andrew will be giving us advice on which stock to buy this week.”
Andrew shrugged. “I know what I'm talking about.” He left the group to their discussion, walked over to Alex, and handed him a cup of coffee. “I have a message for you. You have an appointment with Bill Brandon tomorrow afternoon.”
“Really?”
“Don't look so surprised.”
Alex shrugged. “I’ve been trying to see him for weeks, but he's been playing harder to get than Anne Turner.”
* * *
Alex walked into William Brandon's office, nearly bursting with nervous anticipation. Brandon sat, his hands folded neatly on the desk. “Alex, you showed me some plans a few weeks ago.”
It had already been well over a month, but Alex did not bother pointing that out. “Yes, sir. The plans I worked on in my spare time.”
Brandon leaned back in his chair. “I've looked at those plans. They were very impressive, especially considering the fact that you really have no experience in residential architecture.”
Alex nodded proudly. “Thank you, sir.” His hopes shot up.
“I asked a few of the seniors of this firm to take a look at them and they all agreed. The plans are beautifully executed.” Brandon crossed his arms and frowned. “There's only one problem. Not a single one of them was original.”
For a moment, Alex thought he had misunderstood. “What?”
Brandon continued. “They were all copied from our inactive files. Every one of those plans was designed by somebody else.”
Alex didn't know what to think. It had to be some kind of a sick joke. “This isn't funny, Mr. Brandon.”
Brandon stared back grimly. “You're damn right it's not funny.”
“But that's not possible. I drew them myself. Eve
ry one of them.” Alex was shocked. His heart was pounding. His palms were sweating.
Brandon shook his head. “I'm sorry, but I have no choice but to fire you.”
This could not be happening. “I'm being fired?”
“Consider yourself lucky I'm not bringing fraud charges against you.”
* * *
They stood around Alex in shocked silence as he filled a cardboard box with his belongings. Of all the workers, only Andrew dared to voice his anger. “I don't believe it. I'll go up there right now and tell him what I think of his accusations,” said Andrew.
Alex ignored Andrew's outburst and bent down to look under his drafting table. He grabbed a wrench and began to loosen the bolts on the legs of the table. “If you want my advice, stay out of it. Don’t get involved. You'll only get yourself fired, too.”
“I could care less if he fires me. I know how hard you worked on those plans. I don't understand it. It makes no sense. Did Brandon tell you who supposedly drew them?”
“No, he didn't. Something is going on, but I have no idea what.”
“There has to be some kind of explanation. Don't you worry. I'll find it. You'll get your job back.”
Alex put the wrench down for a moment and looked up at his friend. “Don't bother. I’ve wasted enough time here. I'll find another job.” Half an hour later with the drafting table folded under one arm and a box under the other, he walked out of Brandon & Company.
From the window of her pink office, Anne watched in triumph as Alex loaded his things into the trunk of Andrew's Corvette. As victories went, this was just a small one, but each victory kept Bill Brandon more securely in her grasp.
* * *
William Brandon was in his office, sorting through his mail. I don't believe this. He stared at the letter he had just read. It was a large, official looking form, beautifully printed on thick creamy paper. At the top, it had the well-known logo of Modern Design and Architecture Magazine. At the bottom, over the signature of the editor, was an official looking seal. For the third time since Anne had brought it in to him, Brandon picked it up and read it.
It is with great pleasure that we wish to inform you that your submission has been selected as one of three finalists for this year's, 'Modern Design and Architecture's International Competition.
He put down the letter. I don't believe this. I have to call him back. There was no way he could avoid it. The magazine was a widely circulated publication, and they were sure to publish the names of the finalists for everyone to see. He rocked back and forth on the hind legs of his chair, as he drummed his fingers on the desk.
Lately, his whole life had been getting more and more complicated. He often found himself wishing he could just go back to the easy times he had shared with Mildred. Life had been…predictable. Boring, certainly, but predictable. There was something to be said about a situation being stable and unchanging. It made for a certain level of comfort and sanity. With Anne, I never know what to expect, he thought and suddenly the vision of Anne's luscious body flashed through his mind. All momentary dreams of stability were instantly quashed.
Bill Brandon leaned forward and pushed the intercom button. “Miss Turner, could you please come in for some dictation?” It was their signal. He turned off the intercom, comforted with the knowledge that for the next ten minutes he would be in the throes of his favorite sport. He crushed his cigar in the silver ashtray and brushed back his thinning gray hair with a damp palm. By the time Anne walked in, he was already down to his boxer shorts. “Come here, luscious. Time for a break,” he said.
She laughed. “I could use a break just about now,” she said, and in one easy movement, she pulled her dress off her shoulders and let it drop to the floor. She moved closer to him and ran her fingers through the silver hair of his chest, lower, and lower, and lower still, until she found his swollen member and he was moaning with pleasure.
“Oh God, Anne! You don't know what you're doing to me.”
Don't bet on that, sweetheart. I know exactly what I'm doing, she thought as she kneeled before her unappealing lover.
* * *
Alex stormed into William Brandon’s office. His blue eyes flashed with anger. “You wanted to see me?” The question was curt, almost insolent.
Brandon did not even look at him as he went about his usual ceremony of unwrapping, sniffing, moistening, and lighting his eternal cigar. At last he spoke. “Have a seat, Alex.”
Alex sat, his face a mask of controlled fury.
After what seemed like an eternity, Bill Brandon put his cigar in the ashtray and spoke. “I would not have called you unless it was for a very important matter,” he explained grudgingly. “I have some good news for you.” He handed over the sheet of paper. “Here, take a look at this.”
Alex did not bother looking at it, throwing it back on Brandon's desk.
“I think you might want to take a good look at that letter before you dismiss it so easily.”
Alex picked it up again and began to read. Slowly, the words on the page filtered through his anger. He looked up and smiled tightly. “So I'm one of the three finalists,” he said, carefully suppressing any excitement from his voice. “Are you going to tell me I cheated my way into this, too?”
“Don't push me, Alex,” said Brandon, exasperated. “I can very easily give this opportunity to somebody else.” He paused and waited for the words to sink in.
“You can't…”
“Oh, yes I can,” he bluffed. “You very kindly sent in your application in the firm's name. I can choose to send anybody I like to represent my company.” He smiled victoriously. “Now, before you get yourself all worked up, I want you to listen to my offer. The magazine will pay your travel expenses to Paris and cover all your living expenses while you're there. Since you will be a representative of our firm, I am willing to pay your full salary during that time. Who knows, if you do well in Paris, you might even have a job here when you come back.” He stopped and took a few short puffs of his cigar. “So, Ivanov, do you want it, or should I give the opportunity to one of my senior architects?” The look on Alex's face was all the answer Brandon needed. “I think that's a wise decision, Ivanov,” added the man with satisfaction.
* * *
Anne was busy arranging the roses in the crystal vase in her living room. She read the card again.
I love you,
Bill
She laughed with glee. Since Alex Ivanov had left the firm a few weeks before, Bill had been more and more possessive of her time. It was obvious the man was madly in love with her. It was only a matter of time before he admitted it to himself.
Now for my final act, she said to herself. She picked up the Manhattan telephone book and flipped through the pages until she found what she wanted.
* * *
The brass sign on the outside of the building read, 'St. Mary's Medical Building.’ Anne walked in, stepped into the elevator, and pushed the 'up' button. From across the crowded elevator she noticed an old woman watching her. When Anne stared back, the woman gave her a friendly nod and turned away. This is crazy. I'm getting paranoid. Nobody knows why I'm here. For a moment she thought of stopping the elevator at the next floor and simply going back home. No, I will not change my mind now, she told herself. I have to do this if I want Bill for myself. It’s the only way I’ll ever get a wedding ring out of him.
The elevator door slid open and she stepped out.
The waiting area was crowded. Anne stood nervously for a moment, unsure of her next move. The name on the door said, 'Doctor Simon Ledner, Obstetrician and Gynecologist.’ She looked around and noted that most of the women waiting were visibly pregnant. I'm in the right place all right. She took a deep breath and marched into the office.
“Can I help you?” The receptionist wearing a white starched uniform looked up from her desk.
“Yes. I'd like to see Doctor Ledner.”
“Do you have an appointment?” asked the receptionist as she flipped open
an appointment book.
“No,” Anne hesitated. “But this is important.”
“I'm afraid you can't see the doctor unless you have an appointment.”
Before Anne could say anything else, a very pregnant woman waddled in and handed the receptionist a small glass jar filled with a clear yellow liquid. The receptionist carefully put it on the filing cabinet next to her desk. “Thank you, Mrs. Roberts. It won't be long now. Have a seat and the doctor will be with you soon.” She turned back to Anne. “Have you ever seen Doctor Ledner before?”
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