Plain Jane and the Playboy

by Marie Ferrarella

  But he couldn’t leave without saying something, now that she was awake. That would be the coward’s way and he had never been a coward. He wasn’t about to become one. “About last night, Heidi,” he began, trying to deflect some of the seriousness by calling her the nickname he’d previously given her.

  Jane stiffened. She’d really hoped that she would have been able to cling to her fantasy a little longer. More time to pretend that life could actually arrange itself for her benefit just this once. But she didn’t want to ruin the memory of what she did have by having him stumble through some kind of awkward apology or, equally bad, an excuse. That would only taint everything.

  “Last night was last night,” she said as she poured out two inky cups of coffee. Turning, she placed one on the counter before him and then took hold of the other with both hands. “And today is today,” she added with a smile that clearly absolved him of any and all sins he thought he’d committed.

  The flood of relief he felt was brief, nudged quickly aside by a sense of confusion. She was acting as if last night hadn’t meant anything to her.

  “That’s it?” he asked, bewildered.

  “That’s it,” she confirmed. “Why?” A small, knowing smile curved her mouth. “Isn’t that the way you usually view these encounters?”

  Actually, it was. It was his vague justification for moving on, for giving in to the restless wanderlust that came over him periodically, every time he saw a beautiful face or an inviting body. And there was always a beautiful face or an inviting body within easy reach.

  But admitting it seemed almost sordid. Still, he couldn’t very well deny it, could he?

  “Yes.”

  She studied him for a moment, as if trying to formulate a response. “Then why do you look so surprised?”

  “Well, I thought that you—That we—” He couldn’t find the right words to finish the sentence.

  Jane found them for him. “You didn’t think it would be this easy?” she guessed. “Did you think I was going to wrap myself around your leg and hold on for dear life? Ask you what you wanted to name the children when they started coming along?” She paused to take a sip of her coffee while he stared at her, for once in his life completely speechless. “I might not be all that experienced, Jorge,” she went on, secretly congratulating herself on how calm she sounded. “But I’m not stupid. The prince does not forsake his kingdom for a scullery maid. For Cinderella, maybe, but definitely not for the scullery maid.”

  That really took him by surprise. “Is that how you see yourself?”

  “Symbolically,” Jane elaborated. She was still smiling complacently at him, as if none of this left a scar or cut deep. “I have no regrets, Jorge. If I’d said no, you would have backed off. I know you would. I didn’t want to say no. I knew exactly what I was doing last night—” And then she amended, “Well, most of the time. A few times I was a little out of my head.” The smile on her lips filtered into her eyes as well. “But that’s just because you do what you do so well.”

  His guilt increased a thousandfold because she was being so incredibly understanding. He would have done better if she’d ranted at him, called him names. He felt both off the hook and like a consummate heel for feeling that way.

  “Jane, I don’t—”

  She glanced at the clock on the wall. “Didn’t you say you have a meeting to go to?” she reminded him, not letting him finish again.

  He did. And if it actually wasn’t so important, he might have opted to remain.

  But it was better this way, he told himself. Jane was giving him a way out, letting him take his leave gracefully and go out the door. He was the one who was spoiling it.

  This was just the kind of exit he appreciated.

  Putting his cup down on the counter, Jorge paused to brush a quick kiss against her cheek.

  “You really are one of a kind, you know that?” he told her quietly.

  Her response was glib. “I’ll be sure to have that added to my business card, now that I have to have the PV removed.” She was smiling as she said it.

  That was the way he remembered her as he made his way out the door. Smiling.

  That was the way she wanted him to remember her. And he’d left not a moment too soon.

  Jane wasn’t sure how much longer she could have kept up the charade, how much longer she could have had her lips continue to form that mindless smile that was all but glued in place.

  Not easy smiling like that when your heart was shattering into a thousand pieces right there in your chest, she thought.

  Her shoulders sagged as she abandoned her half-finished coffee. Wrapping the bottom of the sheet around her arm to keep from tripping on it, she went to the living room and began to pick up her discarded clothing one piece at a time.

  And as she did so, last night vividly returned to her, replaying itself in her head. If she closed her eyes, she could even feel Jorge’s hands on her, gently gliding along her flesh. Could smell the scent of his skin as he held her close to him.

  No matter what she’d said to Jorge just now, or pretended that she believed for his sake, she knew she was in love with him. Had fallen in love from the moment he first walked up to her.

  But that was for her to deal with, not him. He could never know, could never even suspect, what it was she felt for him.

  And, truth be told, she’d gotten more out of their brief time together than she’d ever hoped for. Jane nursed no false image of herself. She knew all her good qualities. Being a bombshell was not among them.

  And yet she, the bookish, mousy daughter of a former beauty queen had managed, just for a little while, to be with a man who invaded so many women’s dreams. Be with him in every sense of the word.

  That was more than most women had, she thought. Certainly more than she had ever thought she would have outside of her daydreams.

  Jane stood there for a moment, clutching the clothes she’d worn last night, trying very hard not to give in to the tears that were suddenly forming inside her.

  Last night was nothing to cry about. Last night was something to celebrate.

  But today, this morning, well, that was something actually worthy of tears, she silently admitted. Because she knew that Jorge wouldn’t be back. She had given him his freedom, his exit line, and he had seized them both with relief and gusto.

  At least he wouldn’t think of her as some clingy, pathetic female.

  The thought was supposed to give her solace. But it didn’t.

  She sank down to the floor where she stood, the sheet pooling haphazardly around her as her tears fell freely.

  Sally glanced at the table as she walked into the lounge. It had gotten to be a habit.

  “No more flowers?” she asked Jane, who was the only other one there.

  More than a week had passed since she’d watched Jorge walk out her front door. A week in which it was everything she could do not to break down while she was out in public.

  She wasn’t entirely sure how she had managed that. Jane had thrown herself into her job, working out elaborate reading schedules for each child she tutored. After work, she doubled up on the number of hours she volunteered in order to fill her evenings and weekends. She needed to keep busy every single moment. She didn’t want to be alone with her thoughts until she could keep them from instantly gravitating toward Jorge.

  She was still working on that.

  True to her expectations, Jorge hadn’t called, hadn’t tried to get in touch with her at all.

  Why should he?

  She’d been his challenge. Now that he’d met it, been victorious over it, there was no reason to return to the scene of his triumph. After all, there were so many more fish out there in the sea. Prettier, more accomplished fish.

  But none of them is ever going to love you the way I do, she told him silently.

  As if that mattered to him. He seemed to be doing just fine with those empty-headed beauties who gravitated to him.

  “No, no more flowers,�
� Jane replied, trying to keep her voice level and distant. Praying that Sally would be satisfied and just move on.

  Obviously, God wasn’t answering prayers lately, because all of hers were going by the wayside.

  Rather than leave the room, Sally crossed to her and hooked her long arm through hers. The older woman gently drew her over to the sofa.

  “Something wrong?” she asked, lowering her voice even though they were the only two people in the lounge.

  Jane shook her head, avoiding eye contact. “Nothing’s wrong.”

  Sally tilted her head, trying to get her to look in her direction. “But you two are still dating.”

  “We were never really dating,” Jane told her. She shrugged, doing her best to seem as if none of this bothered her. “Jorge was just…spending time with me.”

  Sally frowned, trying to understand. “Isn’t that what dating is?”

  “Not in the real sense of the word,” Jane answered sadly.

  But she didn’t want to get into it, didn’t want anyone to know about the bet. It made her seem pathetic and Jorge shallow. She didn’t want anyone to think of him that way. She actually understood what he’d been trying to do.

  “I’m not his type,” was all she said.

  Sally looked at her, mystified. “Did he tell you that?”

  “No,” Jane admitted. “But look at the women he’s been seen with.”

  Sally made a dismissive sound. “None of them hold a candle to you.”

  Jane laughed sadly, shaking her head. She appreciated what her friend was trying to do. But that still didn’t change anything. “Sally, you’re sweet, but you’re my friend.”

  Sally sniffed. “I also have 20/20 vision and even better instincts. You are very attractive—when you let yourself be,” the woman underscored. “You’re also a woman of substance. Any man would be thrilled to have you in his life.”

  Sally made it sound as if there were men lining up three deep outside her door. “Don’t seem to be many of those around,” she quipped.

  Sally slipped her arm around Jane’s shoulders, giving her a comforting squeeze. None of the women who worked here had escaped being dumped by someone they thought was in their life for the long haul. And Jane, the youngest, had had more than her share of heartaches.

  “Want to come over tonight, let your hair down? Vent?” Sally suggested.

  That was the last thing she wanted to do. Because she knew she’d cry when faced with too much sympathy and she didn’t want to cry. Didn’t want to talk about it until she could do so calmly.

  “Thanks, but I’ve got to be at the hospital. We’re starting a new book. Peter Pan.”

  Sally looked at her in surprise. “You’re all finished with Heidi?” She’d only started that just before New Year’s Eve.

  Jane looked away. “Extra readings,” she said with a shrug.

  Sally sighed, accepting defeat, at least temporarily. “Well, you know where to find me if you change your mind.”

  Leaving Jane in the room, Sally headed for the door. Jane’s students were coming soon and she needed to do a few things before they arrived. Just about to reach for the door, she stepped back quickly as it was swung opened. Harriet burst in, her face contorted with horror. “Have you heard?” she asked.

  Sally exchanged glances with Jane. “Heard what?” Sally asked.

  “Red is on fire,” Harriet declared like a newscaster reporting a breaking story.

  Sally’s eyes widened with amazement. “The restaurant?”

  “No, the color,” Harriet retorted with obvious impatience. “Yes, the restaurant.”

  Jane said nothing. Grabbing her coat, she was already running to the front door.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Jane didn’t even remember getting into her car, or turning the key in the ignition. But somehow, she got out here, on the road, driving faster than she’d ever driven in her life. Fervently praying for all she was worth.

  Turning sharply, Jane sucked in her breath as she quickly righted her wheel again. She’d missed colliding with an SUV by inches. With her heart hammering wildly, she saw the driver roll down his window and heard him swear at her. All she could do was wave one hand in a helpless gesture, hoping he’d see her in his mirror and understand that it hadn’t been on purpose.

  Swallowing, trying to calm herself down, her heart was still pounding louder than the song that was playing on the radio. With a frustrated twist of her hand, she shut it off. She didn’t want music at a time like this, she wanted silence.

  Instead, she heard the jarring peal of sirens.

  Fire trucks.

  Fire, she thought hopelessly. There was a fire. And from the smoke she saw rising in the air, even at this distance, she knew in her heart that it had to be coming from Red.

  An icy hand passed over her and she shivered even as she found herself sweating.

  Jorge was there.

  Inside.

  She didn’t know how she knew, but she did. She knew with a certainty that went all the way down to her bones. Fear squeezed the very air out of her lungs.

  Jane drove faster.

  One minute, he was sitting by himself at his table for two, finishing a meal he’d barely tasted. There was nothing to even hint at what was coming. This was Red, the restaurant that was almost like another member of his family. Jorge was more familiar with every nook and cranny of the two-story establishment than he was with the spaces in his own home.

  He’d come here searching for a sense of peace that had been eluding him for the last week. Ever since he’d walked away from Jane.

  The next minute, just after the first whiff of smoke seemed to come out of nowhere, suddenly he saw flames racing toward the dining area from the general direction of the kitchen.

  It was just after two in the afternoon and most of the regulars who came here for lunch were gone. Only a few stragglers remained, the ones who had no boss eyeing the company clock, no lunch hour that had come to an abrupt end.

  A scream pierced the air, followed by the word Fire, and suddenly the room was in motion. The few customers who were left jumped to their feet, knocking over chairs as they stampeded for the front door.

  Jorge’s eyes were riveted toward the kitchen. The noon cook, the busboys, the waitresses—and his father—they were all in there somewhere, lost behind that growing curtain of flames.

  He had to get to them.

  To his father.

  Jorge poured his glass of water onto the napkin he’d just discarded, then fashioned a bandanna out of it, covering his nose and mouth as he hurried toward the belly of the fire.

  “Pop!” he yelled, projecting his voice into the flames. “Pop, are you there?”

  He thought he heard someone calling back.

  Or maybe it was just the groan of the fire. But he couldn’t take that chance. He knew that after the lunch crowds abated, his father liked to retreat to his small office behind the kitchen to go over tallies. The older Mendoza hadn’t come out to see him yet, so that meant that he was still there. Trapped by the fire.

  “Pop!” Jorge yelled again. He crouched low to avail himself of any oxygen in the room.

  That was how he wound up stumbling into Juan, one of the part-time busboys who was groping around blindly and heading in the wrong direction.

  The fire was growing more intense.

  “That way!” Jorge yelled over the roar of the flames. Grabbing Juan’s shoulders, he physically turned the thin busboy around because the latter couldn’t seem to comprehend what he was saying. Wide, frightened eyes looked up at him. “My father,” Jorge shouted at him. “Have you seen my father?”

  The light seemed to dawn on Juan. “In his office,” the boy blurted out. Juan moved his hand about wildly, not realizing that he was pointing toward the salad bar. The latter had become a casualty of a fallen overhead beam.

  “Go!” Jorge ordered. “Go that way!” Again, he pointed toward the front of the restaurant. The double doors were still unt
ouched by flames—but for how much longer?

  He pushed the busboy toward the doors, then turned back into the restaurant. Feeling incredibly light-headed, Jorge wove in and out, looking for a path to the office that wasn’t completely obstructed by flames. Flames were hungrily devouring everything around him.

  The heat was unbearable.

  What if this was it? his mind screamed. What if he was meant to die today? Here, in the place where he had practically grown up.

  In the place where he had first met Jane.

  Jane.

  Oh, God, he was going to die and she was going to think he didn’t love her. That he didn’t want her.

  He could have had a life with her, Jorge thought in despair, and he’d thrown it all away. The very reason he was here today was because he was desperately trying to bolster his spirits. Deep down, he’d known that turning his back on making a commitment to Jane was the wrong thing to do, yet he was still trying to talk himself into it.

  Not anymore.

  He’d gotten turned around, Jorge realized, fighting back a panic. Both in his life and in trying to make his way to the kitchen.

  The napkin covering his nose and mouth was dry.

  He had to get his father out. And he had to live. He had to survive this so that he could tell Jane he was an idiot.

  “Pop!” Jorge yelled again, charging through the kitchen, flames swallowing him.

  This was a bad one, Darr Fortune thought as he jumped off the fire truck before it came to a full stop. Quickly, he removed his gear from the vehicle.

  Red was being destroyed. Hell of a shame. He’d eaten here himself a number of times.

  Hell, he suddenly realized, he’d been here New Year’s Eve with his dad and siblings. Who would have ever thought that he’d be back four weeks later, fighting to save it? If there was anything left to save.

  Behind him, several of the other firefighters were attaching the hose, preparing to douse the two-story building with a flood of water. With any luck, they’d be able to save some of it. With more luck, it would matter that they did. Sometimes, structures struck by fire were so far beyond repair that knocking them down and beginning over was all that was left to do.