Behind the Red Doors

by Vicki Lewis Thompson, Stephanie Bond

  He reached for his coffee, wishing he’d asked for ice water instead.

  “Or the time he snitched one of my training bras out of my drawer and took it to school, selling peeks of it to the boys in the pew in the back of the church during mass.”

  He sucked in his bottom lip to prevent a grin. She probably wouldn’t appreciate his amusement. Finally he ventured, “I take it Georgie’s not an ex-boyfriend?”

  “I wouldn’t even categorize him as a human being.” She sighed heavily. “He’s my low-life, scum-sucking cousin, known throughout the neighborhood we grew up in as Georgie the Goat.”

  A cousin? With naughty pictures? Kinky. “Um, your cousin took pictures of you in lingerie without you knowing it?”

  She sighed. “Oh, I knew it. I posed for them.” As his brow rose, she rushed to explain. “But I was not in lingerie. I was wearing a perfectly respectable one-piece bathing suit. Blue to match the blue screen behind me. He said the suit wouldn’t show up in the actual program. I didn’t think he meant literally.”

  “If Georgie’s such a…scum-sucking lowlife…why’d you pose for him?”

  Instead of answering, she bit her lip and moved her hand up to tug on her long, thick ponytail, which rested on her shoulder, then trailed down her body until it ended near the tabletop. She ran her fingers through the ends of her hair, staring at it, looking deep in thought. “I have the worst hair in the world.”

  The subject change came outta nowhere. “It’s beautiful.”

  She shook her head and frowned. “It’s straight, flat, never holds a curl. Completely boring. But I can’t bring myself to cut it off.” She pushed the hair behind her back, looking him in the eye. “My grandmother had really long hair and she used to love to brush mine. We’d talk for hours, me sitting on the floor in front of her while she brushed and braided and fussed. And she’d tell me how much I was like her. She’d laugh and whisper about how everyone saw the sweet-faced girl on the outside, but deep down there was a wicked Irish temper and a hint of stubbornness in both of us.” She reached for her cup. “She died four years ago, right after I finished college.”

  “I’m sorry,” he murmured, wondering how on earth they’d gone from her in lingerie, to her hair, to her late grandmother. “My grandparents were a big part of our lives growing up. It was hard losing both my grandfathers.”

  “It’s sad, isn’t it? With people waiting until later in life to marry and have children these days, many kids have lost out on that special bond. Some of my students never even knew their grandparents.”

  He hadn’t thought of it before, but he agreed with her. Joe suddenly found himself wondering if maybe his mother was a little justified in pushing her children for marriage and grandchildren. After all, Joe was thirty and still nowhere near settling down. “Yeah, I guess you’re right.”

  They fell into a companionable silence for a full minute, each sipping their drinks. Then she said, “You must wonder why I started talking about my ponytail. You see, Georgie hit me in my most vulnerable spot—my Achilles’ hair, you might say.”

  The light dawned. “He said he was photographing your hair?”

  She nodded. “You got it. He is something of a whiz with computers.” Sipping again, she muttered into her cup, “Probably because cyber people can’t discover what a toad he is.”

  One day, he’d like to meet her cousin Georgie. He’d like to say hello by introducing his fist to the amphibian’s jaw.

  “Anyway, the family’s really happy he’s doing well for himself. When he came to me and told me he’d been hired by a store to develop an interactive computer program to model different looks, I thought he meant a hair salon. I thought it was Shear Delights, with an e-a, not an e-e. I pictured cutting shears, not barely there, take-me-big-guy, sheer clothing!”

  Joe couldn’t stop a chuckle. She didn’t take offense, her full lips breaking into a grin herself at her own foolishness.

  “So, uh, your weaselly cousin appealed to your vanity, let you think you were modeling for a hair salon…”

  “And I was so flattered someone would think this long, boring mess was good enough for a salon, I said yes.”

  Unable to help it anymore, he reached out and pushed a long wisp of shiny brown hair off the side of her face. “If this conversation continues, it goes on without the negative comments. You have beautiful hair.”

  Her cheeks grew pink and she glanced away, obviously embarrassed. “Thank you. You really are a nice guy, aren’t you?”

  Not too nice. A nice guy would probably have found a way to admit he’d been ogling her on a computer screen for weeks.

  But he sensed she wasn’t ready to deal with that just yet.

  Neither was he. Sitting here, getting to know her, getting caught up in her smile and the flashes of saucy wit, he found himself regretting ever looking at her on the computer. He felt dirty, like a teenage kid caught sneaking peeks into the girls’ locker room.

  She deserved a lot better. Not that he was going to tell her yet. He had the feeling something terrific was about to happen. He hoped so, anyway, and wasn’t going to ruin things right off the bat with a stupid admission that would only embarrass her and do nothing to make him feel better.

  “Anyway, I let this photographer friend of his take scads of digital pictures. Just me—smiling, not smiling, pouting, whatever—with my hair down. Georgie said his wonderful new ‘smart’ program would start there and create all kinds of different looks for customers at the boutique.” She snorted and rolled her eyes. “Can you believe it? I even asked him to let me know when the place opened, so I could go and get some ideas for new hairstyles for myself!”

  Georgie really was a louse. He had known all along what she thought. “With cousins like that, who needs—”

  “Enemas,” she interjected sourly.

  The bawdy humor struck him as intensely funny coming from her prim, sweet lips, and he laughed out loud. “So what will you do now? I assume Georgie had you sign over all rights, permission, etcetera, never pointing out the spelling of the word ‘sheer’?”

  She nodded, lowering her head. He suspected she was trying to hide newly forming tears.

  “Honey, we’ll deal with it. I’m sure the owners of the store are reasonable business people. If you meet with them, explain what happened…”

  “I don’t want to see anyone in there yet,” she replied, her tone vehement. “I can’t set foot in there right now. It’s bad enough walking down the street, wondering how many men have seen me like…that.”

  Joe swallowed—hard. Now was definitely not the time to come clean. “Okay, give it a day or two, then try approaching them. If you want, I’ll come with you.”

  “Why would you do that?” She tilted her head, staring at him, as if trying to figure him out like a challenging puzzle. “Why would you go out of your way to help a woman you don’t even know?”

  He met her stare, saw the confusion on her lovely face, and told her the God’s honest truth. “Because I knew you were somebody pretty special from the moment I laid eyes on you.”

  MEG WAS SO CHARMED and captivated by her newfound hero, she nearly forgot about her date. That wasn’t surprising since she didn’t have them very often. The last time she’d been out with a man, aside from this afternoon with Joe—which really didn’t constitute a date since he’d merely been playing Good Samaritan—had been at least six months ago. So it wasn’t any wonder that as they sipped coffee, chatting and laughing the afternoon away, she forgot all about her plans. She’d promised to go out with Ted Fairlane, the single uncle of one of the boys at school. She finally remembered while making a wisecrack to Joe about the humiliation of seeing herself clad in a black leather teddy.

  Teddy. Ted! “Oh, my gosh, I have to get out of here. I have an appointment I forgot all about. Thanks so much again for everything.” She jumped up to leave so fast Joe probably thought the coffee had given her stomach cramps.

  “Wait,” he said, taking her hand. The
contact sent warmth shooting up her arm. He slowly smiled, telling her without words that he felt the spark between them, too. She concentrated on not melting into a puddle on the tile floor.

  What is it about this guy? Why did the slightest touch, the curve of his smile, the way his eyes scrunched up at the corners when he laughed, make her feel warm and comfortable, yet blazing hot, at the same time? She supposed it was that liking/lusting thing all over again. The liking had deepened through their long conversation. The lusting had been huge to begin with.

  “It’s almost dinnertime,” he continued. “We have a good table. Let’s just stay and eat.”

  She wished she could. Oh, how she wished it! For the first time in nearly forever, she’d spent hours with a man and felt completely comfortable, despite her extreme reaction to him. Her fierce physical attraction probably should have scared her. It oozed through her veins, making her achy and aware, making her want things she’d never wanted, and picture things she’d never done.

  She’d watched the way he held his cup, noted the strength of his hands, and wondered what those roughened fingertips would feel like against the more sensitive parts of her body. As she’d watched his tongue slip out to lick away a spot of coffee on his lips, she’d been able to think of nothing but kissing him.

  Serious attraction combined with serious liking. How rare was that? And it was even rarer to find a man who was incredible to look at, smart and funny. He had a great laugh, a quick wit, and the same kind of insight into growing up in an ethnic Chicago family as Meg. From the sound of it, Irish grandmothers and Italian grandmothers had a lot in common. Hers would probably have liked him very much.

  Not to mention that she’d never once had to wonder if her father had set this up, if he’d turn out to be the nephew of her mother’s best friend, or if he’d been one of the neighborhood boys who’d paid for a peek at her training bra during one of Father Pat’s interminable sermons back in the sixth grade.

  Joe Santori was just about perfect.

  “Stay, Meg. Please?”

  It was darned tempting. And if she had Ted’s work number with her, she would have gone for it. She didn’t have the number, though. So what it came down to was upbringing. Nice girls did not stand up nice men. It simply wasn’t…nice. She shook her head. “I can’t.” Lowering her lashes, she glanced away. “Another time?”

  “No question about it.”

  She nearly wrenched her shoulder rushing to get a pen out of her purse to write down her number for him.

  She just prayed he’d call.

  CHAPTER THREE

  AS SHE GREETED Ted at the door of her apartment an hour later, Meg couldn’t help making comparisons. Ted was good-looking enough, but here in her doorway she found herself not liking his dirty-blond hair and hazel eyes as much as she had last week when he’d asked her out. Suddenly her preference was mahogany-brown hair and dark-chocolate eyes.

  “Hello, Ted,” she said, grabbing her purse and coat off the chair beside the door.

  He appeared startled that she made no effort to invite him in, but gentlemanly held out his arm. “Hi, Meg.” He cast a glance at her long skirt and heavy sweater. “You look…warm.”

  “Cold evening,” she replied, forcing a note of cheer into her voice. She really wasn’t looking for ward to this date, not one bit. She’d rather have gone on sipping coffee and eventually having dinner with Joe. She wondered where he’d gone tonight, if he had a date, too. If there was a steady woman in his life. Get real. A guy who looks like that probably has ten steady women in his life.

  Her neighbor, Mrs. Monahan, stepped out of her apartment door just as they passed it. She stared at Ted, then gave Meg a knowing smile. “Have a nice evening.”

  “Tell my mother I said hello,” Meg muttered under her breath. Meg knew the woman would be back inside on the phone to her mother ten seconds after they exited the building. Meg has a date. Pass it on.

  Her mother would probably have been happier living in the days of multi party lines. Ten families on one phone line would allow for quicker dissemination of information about her poor unmarried daughter’s love life.

  When they got into Ted’s low-slung, two-seater sports car, Meg found herself tugging at the turtleneck of her sweater. They were close together, very close. The front seats nearly touched, as did their legs—which made it rather difficult to shift hers out of the way when Ted casually dropped his hand onto her thigh. “This’ll be fun,” he said, giving her a squeeze through the heavy cotton of her skirt.

  She shifted like a contortionist. Leaning the top of her body closer to him, by necessity, she tried to swivel her hips and shift her knees closer to the passenger side door, out of groping range. Bad move. He seemed to take it as a sign that she wanted to get closer. She’d jumped right into the hot seat and had no one but herself to blame when he dropped his arm across her shoulders. “Cozy.”

  Icky.

  She knew that thought wasn’t nice. And it probably wasn’t fair. But she couldn’t help comparing the man she was with tonight with the one she’d been with this afternoon.

  “We’ll go to a great place on Taylor, okay?”

  “Perfect.” Taylor Avenue was loaded with good restaurants. More important, it was close. She’d be out of this car and able to maintain some needed distance within minutes.

  It was just her lousy luck that he parked outside Santori’s. “Uh, here?”

  “Sure. You said the other day you loved pizza, and this place has the greatest pizza in Chicago.”

  Giving him a weak smile, she let him help her out of the car and lead her inside. As it had been the last time she was here, the restaurant was brightly lit and loud. Not dark, romantic and cozy as were many of the Italian places on this block, Santori’s had found its niche by making its patrons feel as if they’d walked right into the kitchen of a big Italian family. Everybody knew everybody. People socialized across the aisles and in the waiting area. A glass window separated the dining room from a dark-haired man flipping pizza crusts into the air, to the delight of clapping children.

  The owner, Rosa Santori, greeted many people by name. “Ah, you come back finally, eh?” she said when she saw Meg. Then she glanced at the man at her side and wrinkled her nose. Given everything Meg had learned from Joe about his mother earlier, she held her breath waiting for the woman’s comment. “You I have seen here before, too.” Her eyes narrowed. “You must really like’a the pizza.”

  Ted gave her a forced-looking smile as they walked to their table. “I guess they pay close attention to their customers.”

  As they dodged tray-laden waiters and hearty diners, Meg couldn’t help glancing all around the room. She studied the faces of the people seated in the booths and aisle tables, looking for one in particular. No Joe. Thank goodness.

  The first sign that there was going to be trouble occurred right after Meg sat in the cozy booth. Instead of sitting across from her, Ted slid in next to her, until his leg scrunched up against hers. She moved away. Considering the wood-paneled wall to her right, however, she couldn’t go far. In the end, it didn’t matter, anyway, since he followed her.

  Please tell me I’m not on a date with a weasel.

  “Don’t you think it would be easier to talk if we sit across from each other?” She stuck out her elbow to discourage him from coming any closer.

  “I was thinking of you. I didn’t want you to be cold,” he replied. “The door keeps opening and it’s so windy out.”

  Sure. He was thinking of her, trying to be polite. She believed that about as much as she believed she’d ever be able to wear a strapless dress without a bra.

  Then he proceeded to order—for them both. Telling herself he was merely being a gentleman, Meg decided not to mention that she’d really wanted to try out Santori’s lasagna. Or that she hated mushrooms. She could always pick them off.

  “Thank you,” she said to their waitress when the woman placed a glass of warm, rich Chianti in front of her.

/>   “To really getting to know one another,” Ted said, lifting his glass. Then he leaned closer. “Sexy little secrets and all.”

  Secrets? Sexy ones? A feeling of dread rose in her chest, then fell to her stomach. She somehow had the feeling Ted had recently done some shopping on Michigan Avenue. “Secrets?”

  He nodded, then put his hand back on her leg. “Uh-uh. Some of us have some very naughty secrets, don’t we? Like the kind of things we enjoy wearing under our clothes?”

  For the first time in her life, Meg O’Rourke prayed her date was a transvestite who liked to wear women’s underwear.

  But somehow she doubted it.

  MEG’S FACE was the first thing Joe saw when he entered his family’s restaurant Monday night. He’d come over after returning to The Red Doors to pick up the negligee, not wanting to leave the store hanging. He froze in the doorway, letting in a gust of wind, earning a glare from his mother. The bouncer pulled the door shut and returned to his post as Joe stood there staring.

  She had a date. Meg was here with another guy, looking cozy and friendly with a blond dork in one of the booths. She sipped her wine. She smiled. Her golden-brown hair shimmered in the soft light of the candle on the table in front of her. She looked so damn beautiful his heart rolled a little in his chest.

  He almost turned and walked out the door, not wanting her to see him for some reason. Then he paused, looking at her again. After only one afternoon in her company, Joe felt able to gauge her mood. Her smile was forced, her body tense, and her face was pale. Her elbow was extended out to her side as if she planned to get up and do a Russian wedding dance. Or else slam it into her date’s gut if he leaned too close one more time.

  She’s in trouble.

  Instinct moved his feet. His mother’s hand on his arm stopped them. “Joey, you wait right here,” she scolded, lowering her voice to a husky whisper. “This man, he was in here three times last week with different women. He deserves what’s coming. The girl, she can take care of herself.”