Mad About The Man

by Stella Cameron

  Jacques pressed her back on the bed and settled his length beside her.

  Gaby saw his eyes close. Holding him felt natural, peaceful. She wanted him and he wanted her… and those were the facts she'd have to use for another purpose, at least once.

  Maddening hatter? He didn't know how maddening yet.

  Jacques Ledan wouldn't be meeting with Napoleon Paradise next Saturday evening.

  13

  "Talk to him, Bart."

  "I have, sweetheart. You can see how far it's gotten me."

  Rita slung her purse on top of Jacques's desk. "Try again. Pl-ea-se."

  "You try," Bart said from the depths of the canvas director chair—complete with his name on the back— that he'd produced the previous week. "I've got too much on my mind with Napoleon coming."

  "If Jacques can't get his head together, Napoleon might as well not come."

  "Shut— Be quiet," Jacques said from his post overlooking Gaby's skylight. "And give me the repect of not talking as if I weren't present."

  "Thank God," Rita said in breathy tones. "He's returned to us. Jacques, we've got to go over everything before Napoleon Paradise descends—or skates in, or however he intends to arrive."

  "And we will go over everything," Jacques told her, barely containing his irritation. "I don't enjoy working with panicky people. You're panicking, Rita. Don't."

  "Hey." Bart shoved himself to his feet and draped an arm around Rita's shoulders. "Rita's been working very hard, Jacques, for a long time. We both have. But this project hasn't been easy on her. She's not a country girl."

  Interest sparked in Jacques. Bart was becoming quite the White Knight considering he and Rita were always fighting.

  "I think you take Rita entirely too much for granted."

  "Thank you," Rita said, bestowing a tremblingly grateful smile on Bart. "But it's you he really underestimates."

  Jacques saw what he'd waited all day to see: Gaby leaving the courtyard on her bicycle.

  "No, sweetheart," Bart said to Rita. "You're very generous, but—"

  "But I underestimate you both. Why don't the two of you stick around here and compare notes. I've got some very important business to attend to. When it's done, I'll be back." Jacques headed for the stairs. "Make yourselves at home. Anything you want you'll find in the kitchen. If you get tired… well, there's bed. Please feel free to take a nap."

  At his last backward glance he saw them continuing to gaze at each other, apparently oblivious either to him or his remarks.

  This time he would judge everything exactly right, do everything perfectly. The moment had come to be up front with Gaby—as honest as he could be. He ought to be able to deal with small difficulties without lying.

  At the side of the building, perched on ridiculously oversized wheels, stood a new, glossy red van, belonging to Ozzie Odle, the truculent son of the family whose farm Jacques had bought. Ozzie had no interest in farming and had seemed grateful to be relieved of the potential burden of trying to carry on for his father one day. With the money that had apparently been his portion of what Jacques had paid for the farm, Ozzie had started what he called a "convenience" business. This seemed to involve sitting around all day drinking beer whilst, with the aid of his silver-striped van, being prepared to accommodate the needs of others. "Here we go, Ozzie," Jacques called.

  The gangly young man levered himself from a perch on an upturned crate, burped and crushed his beer can. "I was thinking, Mr, Ledan," he said, ambling toward Jacques, a puckish frown on his long face. "How would it be if I had GFTG painted on the doors of the van?' '

  Jacques paused. "Why would you do that?"

  Ozzie shrugged inside a shrunken T-shirt that rode up over a pot belly. "Seems t'me there'll be plenty of fetchin' and carryin' you'll be needin' around here. Might as well advertise while I'm about it."

  Jacques hid a grin. "We'll see, Ozzie." The more good will he could engender the better. "That might work. Right now we need to get to that little matter we discussed earlier. I want you to do what we planned. Follow me. Don't get too close until I'm inside the house."

  He jogged to the Jeep and set off. He had to stop once to remind Ozzie to fall back. After that the other vehicle remained at an acceptable distance.

  When he drove up to Gaby's house he checked his watch. Three. Should be enough time before the child arrived.

  Gaby took a long time to open the door.

  He bent to kiss her.

  She stepped back, left the door open and walked away through the house. ,

  With raised brows, Jacques followed. "Hello, Gaby. I've missed you. How are you? Have you had a nice day? Did work go well?"

  She went into a small sitting room. Through French windows he could see a vegetable garden.

  Jacques tried again. "Now you're supposed to be nice to me."

  "Am I?"

  "Okay, I give up. What did I do wrong?" He wished he didn't feel so damned guilty. At least he could be certain she didn't know he'd lied through his teeth to her, so why feel bad?

  Gaby sighed. "You didn't do anything. I'm a very unpredictable person, is all. You just don't know me well enough to recognize one of my mood swings."

  "I know you very well." Approaching, he held out his arms.

  She dodged away and sat in an overstuffed chintz chair. "No you don't. If you did, you wouldn't like me."

  Postcoital remorse? "Probably not. I'll take my chances." From his pocket he pulled a red velvet bag. "Here. You undoubtedly won't like it. Take it, anyway."

  Gaby watched him drop it into her lap, and he took pleasure in the spark of anticipation she wasn't quick enough to hide.

  "Open it."

  "What is it?"

  "Gaby."

  Scowling afresh, she loosened the drawstring that closed the top and removed the bag's contents.

  "It's nothing," Jacques said. He strolled to a bookcase and ran a forefinger along titles. A hodgepodge of everything including ten-year-old tax preparation tables. "Give it to Mae to dress up in."

  "Jacques." She whispered his name with satisfactory awe and he smiled.

  "How would you describe your taste in literature?"

  "Where on earth did you get this? Bananas and cherries and strawberries…"

  "And bunches of grapes. I called a friend in LA last night. He rounded the necklace up and had it brought in by chopper early this morning." He eased out a leatherbound copy of Homer's Iliad and turned to Gaby. "This is pretty heavy stuff for someone with… eclectic taste? You've kept it in great condition."

  Squinting at the book, Gaby pushed her lips out in a pout, then her expression cleared. "I've never opened it, that's why it's in great condition. Jacques, stop behaving as if a beautiful gold necklace studded with what appear to be emeralds, sapphires and rubies—and designed to echo my fruit theme for the year—were nothing."

  "They are emeralds, sapphires and rubies. The sapphires and rubies are incidental. The emeralds are a stone you should wear all the time. They are exactly the color of your eyes."

  She made an unintelligible noise.

  "Don't mumble. May I put it on you? It'll look great with the green silk dress."

  "I can't take it."

  He'd anticipated this. "No, I didn't think so. Ah, well. How do you think emeralds look on blonds?"

  "Blonds?"

  "It was modified to my specification. In a few hours. It isn't on approval so I can't send it back."

  "Oh."

  He averted his eyes, but not before he saw her frown. "Don't worry, Gaby. Rita tells me Camilla Roberts is still in town. I suppose—"

  "Put it on me—just so we can see what it looks like."

  "Of course."

  Gaby turned her back to him and he arranged the necklace, a heavy collar formed of links shaped like fruits and discreetly studded with gems, about her throat.

  He rested his hands on her shoulders.

  She remained where she was, head bent forward.

  "I don't t
hink this would look at all good on a blond," Jacques said. Just touching her made his body tighten. "It needs black silk, like your hair, to show it off."

  "Does it?"

  "Uh-huh." There was no question of not kissing that soft, white skin on the side of her neck, and he did so now. "And my sheets would complete the picture."

  "Jacques," she said, very low, but there was little reproach in her voice. "You shouldn't have done this."

  "Yes I should." He spun her around. "You told me about the fruit theme yesterday—in the ma-drone—and I wished I had some beautiful symbol of your enthusiasm to lay on your skin right then."

  Her eyes were luminous. "I haven't said I'll keep it."

  "But you will."

  "I'll think about it. In the meantime, thank you, Jacques. Thank you so much for making me feel special. It's been a long time since… Well, thank you."

  Shaking her gently, he lifted her chin with a knuckle. "If it's been a long time since a man gave you beautiful things it's because you haven't let anyone get close to you. I'm glad you haven't. But if you wanted a line of males begging you to receive their favors you'd only have to crook a little finger, my love." Perhaps he only imagined that she looked troubled but he experienced an unwelcome twinge of apprehension.

  She fingered the gold collar. "I'm really not sure I should accept this."

  Illumination dawned. "Are you afraid people around here will think you're selling out on them?"

  Her heightened color gave him his answer. "Not really."

  Jacques made a decision. "Will you come to L.A. with me the weekend after next?' '

  "L.A.?"

  "Yes. You know—that city you don't really like too much anymore."

  "I know what you mean by L.A.' '

  "Will you come?" The surprise on her face was no act. He'd have to talk fast if he hoped to persuade her. "We'd fly, of course. Mae could come along and visit her father while you're with me."

  She looked increasingly doubtful. "I don't think that's such a great idea."

  "Why not?"

  "Well… I wouldn't want Michael to think—" She bit her lip.

  "You've been divorced for seven years, for crying out loud. Does he live like a monk?"

  "I doubt it."

  "That's that angle covered, then." The thought that Gaby hadn't been involved with a man since her husband brought enormous pleasure. "Has Mae been in a chopper before?"

  "A helicopter?' ' Gaby shook her head. "Neither have I."

  "You'll both love it. And she'll be able to tell all the kids in school about it."

  "I really don't know," Gaby said. "I'll have to think about it."

  At the sound of the front door opening and slamming shut again, Jacques had to stifle a groan. Within seconds Mae McGregor tore into the room, dropping miscellaneous articles on the way. "Hi, Mom. I got a hundred on my spelling quiz. Mrs. Delany says I should enter the spelling bee in the spring. Mary-Alice Healy is a pain. She's mad because she didn't get a hundred, and—" Mae stopped. "You're here again," she said to Jacques.

  "I certainly am. I came to see you and your mother. How was your visit to your dad's?"

  "Great. He and his friend took me to this really neat place where only grown-ups go. They sit on stools drinking weird-colored stuff and looking around. Dad laughs about it. He says they're all looking to see who's looking at them."

  "Sounds like a lot of fun." To Jacques it sounded anything but fun. "Is his friend nice?"

  Mae considered. "She's okay for a bimbo."

  "What?" Gaby said.

  "Dad says Toby's okay for a bimbo but he wouldn't want to make a habit of her. She makes great ice cubes, though."

  Jacques didn't dare look at Gaby.

  "She's got these shaped trays she keeps in Daddy's freezer for when she comes over. Mouths and hearts and elephants, teddy bears. Toby likes them in her pop and she lets me have some."

  "It was nice of you to come over, Jacques," Gaby said. Her eyes had turned a dark, glittery green. "We'll talk again soon."

  If he wasn't careful, he wasn't going to make all the points he'd intended to make today. "We sure will. Wait here a minute. There's something I want to do before I leave."

  Gaby followed him into the hall, her hands clasped in front of her.

  Breaking the silence, Jacques said, "Stay right where you are." At the door, he hesitated. "You will think about L.A.? About coming with me?"

  A mutinous frown brought her fine brows together. "If I go, Mae won't be with me. She won't be visiting Michael again until I'm sure the situation's suitable."

  "You're so right. It'll be the perfect opportunity to check that out. Wait there, okay?"

  "Okay."

  Jacques opened the door, poked his head out and gestured extravagantly.

  "Are you all right?" Gaby asked from behind.

  "Great!" He faced her again. "Never better."

  "Good." Gaby rocked from her heels to her toes and back. "Was there something else you wanted to say?"

  "The necklace looks wonderful on you."

  "I probably shouldn't keep it."

  "Don't… Please don't start that again. You've already accepted it and that gives me great pleasure."

  "It's not right for me to take gifts from you."

  He glanced out the door again. "I forced it on you. Leave it at that."

  "Jacques, you're behaving very strangely."

  "I know. I mean, no I'm not." He bent to smile at Mae, who had come to stand beside her mother. "Mae, close your eyes."

  When she'd done so, he threw open the door and waved Ozzie Odle into the entrance hall.

  "Oh, Jacques," Gaby moaned. "Get that out of here!"

  "Open your eyes, Mae. I brought you a present." The child promptly obeyed. For an instant she was speechless. Then, crooning and clapping her hands, she dropped to her knees. "Oh, he's beautiful. Wait till I show him to Mary-Alice."

  Gaby stabbed a finger in Jacques's direction and moved her lips silently. Finally, with obvious effort, she said, "A pig?"

  Hacienda Heaven wasn't Gaby's favorite watering hole, but today was Tuesday. On Tuesdays she and Char came to Barney's for burners because Char loved them.

  "I think he's a doll," Char said, sucking the last of a margarita noisily through her straw. "He obviously wants to make you happy."

  "By dumping a pig on me?" Gaby said morosely.

  "A piglet," Char corrected. "And he even supplied a little house for it."

  "A sty, not a house. Pigs live in sties."

  "Snap him up while you've got the chance is what I say. If you don't, someone else will. The man's obviously ripe for romance."

  And so was Gaby. "He is special," she admitted reluctantly.

  "Way to go!" Char batted Gaby's arm. The weekly margarita invariably loosened her inhibitions even more than usual. "Seven years as a frustrated female are enough."

  "Who says I've been frustrated?"

  Char ignored the question. "Go to L.A. with him. What have you got to lose?"

  She'd already lost her heart. "Nothing."

  "And don't make such a big deal out of the Toby thing. Michael wouldn't do anything to hurt Mae and you know it. He adores that child."

  "He didn't want her."

  "He does now. Quit changing the subject. Go to L.A. with Jacques. You're already in love with him."

  Gaby took away Char's straw. "You don't know that. Don't say it again."

  "Because it's true?" Char held up a hand. "All right. I won't say it again."

  It was true. Perhaps she should come clean with Jacques about having seen the fax and ask him to reconsider seeing Napoleon Paradise. She didn't know for certain he'd been dishonest with her on Sunday. Not completely. He probably did have to speak to his parents next Saturday and he simply hadn't thought to mention Napoleon as well.

  "Will you go?" Char wheeled.

  "Maybe."

  "It's the right thing to do."

  "You're probably right."

 
Barney, polishing the bar to stay within hearing distance, put down his cloth and grinned. "Well, as I live and breathe, if it isn't Sophie Byler."

  "Sophie?" Gaby and Char said in unison, turning to see their friend, her back very straight, marching toward them.

  "Good day to you, Barney." After placing her purse precisely on the bar, she hitched herself onto a stool like a woman who had never sat on such a contraption before—which she probably never had. Sophie disapproved—often loudly—of bars, of Barney and of the Hacienda Heaven. "Leprechaun auditions," she said clearly.

  Gaby looked at Char.

  "Leprechaun auditions," Sophie repeated.

  "It's all right, Sophie," Gaby said kindly. "Something's upset you. Tell us about it."

  Sophie clenched and unclenched her hands in her lap. "It'll be like the bumper cars at a fair, only reversed."

  Char left her stool and went to put an arm around Sophie's shoulders. "Would you like some water?"

  "No! He's holding auditions for leprechauns for] his horrible park. Don't you understand?" Sophie began to shake.

  "Sophie—" Bewildered, Gaby shook her head.

  "There's going to be a bar for testing how tall the applicants are," Sophie continued, her eyes glassy. "Only instead of having to be taller than the bar—like it is when you want to ride on the bumper cars— you'll have to be shorter if you want to be hired as one of Ledan's leprechauns."

  "I see," Gaby said slowly. He'd said he was willing to discuss his plans before rushing ahead. "When exactly are these auditions?"

  "Barney." Sophie opened her purse. "I'll take a pail of margaritas, please."

  "That's a bucket," Barney corrected.

  "You don't drink," Char told Sophie.

  "When?" Gaby persisted. Her stomach cramped. If she'd already eaten a burner there'd be reason to suspect food poisoning.

  "Weekend after next," Sophie announced. "Saturday and Sunday at the old fire station."

  "Oh, dear," Char said. "That's the weekend Gaby's going—"

  Gaby brought a small fist down on the bar. "I'm not going to .LA. Sneaky rat All he wants is to stop me from being around to interfere with his plans. Barney!"