What on earth was the matter with her? Chad O’Bryan was a two- week-old memory, yet his shadow seemed to be lurking everywhere today.
Maybe it had been a mistake to cut through Central Park on her way to work this morning. It had seemed like a fine idea on such a marvelous day, but the trees and the grass and the sun sparkling on the boat lake had all conspired to make her think of him— not that there was anything unique about that, she thought unhappily.
She thought about him in the empty silence of her apartment, and in the dark hours of the night and...
Jessica tossed the file on her desk and slid into her chair. But she didn’t think about him here. That was the only good thing about her promotion—her ‘welcome-home present’, her boss had called it.
She disliked her new job, but there was so much to learn and-to do that it kept her mindlessly occupied from morning until night. And that was precisely what she’d needed, from her very first day back at work.
‘I’m taking you to lunch, Jessica,’ Jack Allen had announced, snatching her away from all the office well- wishers. ‘We have things to talk about.’
Was he going to fire her? she’d wondered, grabbing her jacket. Everybody had told her the girl who'd replaced her for the past two weeks hadn’t done her job well, but you could never tell.
‘Is. there a problem, Mr. Allen?’
‘Call me Jack,’ he'd said, hurrying her along Third Avenue. ‘This great little Mexican place opened while you were gone, Jessica. Everybody goes there—wait until you see how authentic it is.’
He wasn’t going to fire her, she thought, breathing a sigh of relief. Not over tostadas and guacamole, anyway.
They'd settled in at a wood-patterned plastic table and given their orders to a waitress wearing a serape that clashed with her Brooklyn accent.
Jack Allen pushed aside the bottle of ketchup that adorned the center of the table and smiled at her. So much for authenticity, she thought, returning his smile. Chad would have got a kick out of this place...
‘So, Jessica, how are you feeling? You look a little, I don’t know, pale or something.’
‘No,’ she said brightly, ‘I’m fine. I guess I lost a little weight, that’s all.’
Her boss smiled and leaned back in the rattan and brass chair. ‘I’ve got a welcome home present for you, babe.’
‘Well, that’s nice,’ she said slowly, hoping it would be a raise in salary and not a left-over bottle of cologne from Allen Associates’ Christmas gifts to junior female employees. ‘Thank you.’
‘My phone’s been ringing all morning. Clients keep calling and asking about you. You’re quite a celebrity.’
Jessica smiled uncomfortably. ‘By next week, nobody will remember my name.’
‘You let me worry about that,’ Allen said, folding his hands on his paunch. ‘You know, people love to deal with celebrities.’ A broad smile lit his face. ‘So I’ve decided to make you an assistant account executive.’
She stared at him in astonishment. ‘A what?’
‘Surprised, right? I know you don’t have any experience with clients, but you’re a bright girl. You can work with Paul or Sheryl or whoever needs you, and once you learn the ropes ...’
‘Mr. Allen, it’s not that I’m ungrateful, but... I don’t know the first thing about that end of advertising.’
‘Nobody does, when they start out. You’ll learn.'
‘Yes, but, you see, I really want to—the thing is, I’ve been studying photography for a couple of years and— well—as a matter of fact, I took some pictures in those mountains that look pretty good ...’
‘Pictures of what? A mountain? What kind of mileage could we get from that? Besides, I already have a photographer.’
‘But...’
‘Listen; if it makes you happy, go show your pictures to him. Tell Hans I said to see if we can use one or two for background.’ He smiled winningly. ‘Meanwhile, we’ll move you into your own office and raise your salary five hundred buck a month. How’s that sound?’
It had sounded like something her bank account couldn’t afford to pass up, so she’d moved into this oversized cupboard and dropped her pictures off at Hans’ studio the same day.
‘Mr. Allen said ...’
‘Right. He told me. I’ll take a look.’
‘I ... I think some of them might be ...’
‘I’ll let you know,’ he’d said firmly, and that had been the last she’d heard from the man.
Jessica opened the file and glanced unseeingly at the survey results she needed for the upcoming meeting.
Well, what had she expected Hans to say, after all? Her photos were good, not terrific. It was just that the raw beauty of the mountains had come through in almost every shot, even though she hadn’t used special lenses or filters.
There were a couple of pictures of Chad on the trail and beside the fire that were exceptional. She’d somehow managed to capture his strength and honesty and...
God, she felt restless. If only she could slip away for an hour or so. The Zoo would be beautiful today. Despite what Chad had said, she still liked going there, if only to visit what she thought of as her wolves.
Autumn was the best time, too.
Jessica glanced at the window.
Despite the calendar, it would be winter in Coleman's Creek by now.
The little cabin on Main Street was probably window deep in snow.
If she closed her eyes, she could see the flames dancing in the fireplace and remember how they warmed the room and kept the cold at bay…
Not that she’d needed any warmth other than Chad’s arms and mouth....
‘Stop it,’ she whispered, closing her eyes and putting her hands to her temples.
If she let the memory of him into her office, she was lost.
It was over: why couldn’t she accept that? She’d gone on to a new job and he—for all she knew, he was in Alaska. After all, their return to civilization had made instant celebrities of them both.
Maybe he’d got the grant he’d wanted so badly. Maybe...
What did it matter? Their love affair had ended that last day in Coleman’s Creek.
They’d made the flight to Cheyenne in silence.
You couldn’t talk over the noise of the engine and the whirling rotors, which was just as well because they’d said all there was to say in the cabin.
She remembered staring blindly out the window, for once in her life unafraid and damned near unaware of the fact that she was flying, praying that the euphoria of their rescue would replace the pain within her.
Two deputy sheriffs had been waiting for them. Separate cars whisked them to a hospital where doctors poked and prodded until everybody was satisfied that they were in good health.
Jessica had phoned her parents in Ohio, assuring them that she was fine, which they found slightly bewildering because they had only just returned from vacation and had no idea she'd been the subject of a search.
By the time she saw Chad in the hospital corridor again, word of their rescue had got out and they were surrounded by local television and newspaper reporters.
And there was somebody there from Wind River Charters who insisted Chad had to go with him to the airport and file reports with the company and with the Federal Aeronautics Administration.
‘Jessie ...’ he’d said. ‘Jessie, we’ll talk when I get back.’
She’d smiled and nodded.
‘Sure,’ she’d said, knowing it was a lie, knowing they had nothing left to say.
Salvation lay in getting back to her job, her city, her apartment—the sooner she got back to her world, the sooner she’d get rid of the heaviness that had settled just under her heart.
As soon as the door closed after him, she turned to one of the nurses.
‘When is the next flight to New York?’ she'd asked in an urgent tone. ‘Could you find out for me, please?’
As luck would have it, she’d had to wait four long hours for the next flight
.
At first, she flinched each time she heard footsteps, certain it was Chad, hoping it wouldn’t be and wishing it would, but he didn’t return.
Not that she was surprised. It must have occurred to him, too, that a clean break was best.
And that had been the last she’d heard from him, not that any of the office gossips believed it.
'Planning a reunion with that guy, Jessica?’ the receptionist had teased. ‘After all, you must have got to know each other pretty well, huh?’
The questions grew more specific after two of the local tabloids picked up pictures of her and Chad from the Cheyenne papers.
‘Wow,' one of her female clients had said, 'you never told me the guy was so good-looking!’
I never told you anything, Jessica had thought sadly. I never told you how funny he was or how strong or how much I miss the sound of his voice or the touch of his hand.
The awful truth was, their love affair had ended. But that had nothing to do with the end of love…
‘Hello? Jessica, are you there?’
Somebody was hammering on the closed door to her office.
Quickly, Jessica rubbed her hands across her eyes. ‘Yes,’ she called, ‘come in, please.’
The door swung open and Hans peered into the room. ‘My God, it’s barely big enough for a midget,’ he said glumly. ‘Is there space for both of us?’
‘Only if we don’t both inhale at the same time,’ she said. ‘How are you, Hans? This is an unexpected pleasure.’ She waved her hand at the low-slung chrome and leather chair facing her desk. ‘It’s more comfortable than it looks,’ she said with a quick smile.
The photographer eased his gangly frame into the chair and shifted nervously. ‘I never liked these damned things,’ he said. ‘I’m always afraid they’re going to attack and swallow me whole.’ He looked around the room. ‘My supply cupboard is bigger than this, Jessica. Are you sure you got a promotion? Maybe the agency’s doing a test on claustrophobia.’
Jessica laughed. ‘How have you been, Hans? Is my replacement working out?’
‘Who knows? She’s always leaving shoots a few minutes early so she can run across town and try to sell her sketches to somebody or other. Seems she’s a frustrated dress designer. She’s not like you were, Jessica. You kept your mind on business.’
‘That’s the first compliment you ever gave me,’ Jessica answered with a quick grin.
‘Don’t let it go to your head,’ Hans said, but he smiled. He cleared his throat, and then he cleared it again. 'About those pictures you left with me…'
Jessica sighed. She'd told herself she wouldn't be disappointed if Hans didn't like them but she could feel a tug of sadness just the same.
'No good, huh?'
He leaned forward and dropped a piece of paper on her desk.
"You're right. They aren't good.'
She winced. ‘Well, thanks for being hon—'
'They're great,' he said, grinning at her.
She stared at him. 'Really?'
'Really.'
‘Well, thanks,’ she said slowly, a soft blush of pleasure coloring her cheeks. ‘I didn’t really have much of a camera. The Corona AutoFocus is a nice little thing, but...’
The photographer nodded. ‘Exactly. No filters, no exotic lenses—that’s what I told my buddy over at Corona.'
'Corona? The camera company, you mean?’
‘I’ve got an old friend in their advertising department. He liked your pictures, Jessica. Call him—he’ll tell you so himself.’ He pointed a finger at the piece of paper on her desk. ‘That’s his name and number.’
‘Thanks,’ she said slowly, looking down at the scrawled name and number, ‘but I don’t understand...’
Hans smiled. ‘Corona’s been working up a big campaign built around the fact that this camera will deliver quality prints in places other cameras won’t. Didn’t you tell me you carried that little number with you through a plane crash and up a mountain and God only knows what else? Do you have any idea what kind of publicity that is?’
‘You mean...’ She swallowed hard. It was too much to hope for. ‘You mean they might want to buy some of my pictures?’
‘Jessica, you’re not listening. They want to make you and your photos the springboard for their whole campaign. They want to send you and that camera everywhere. Who knows where it all ends? Maybe with you and your Corona on the moon.’ He grinned and unwound his legs. ‘Listen,’ he said, getting to his feet, ‘call this guy, OK?’
She stared at him blankly. ‘I don’t believe it.’
‘The public already knows your name, Jessica. The plane crash was one thing, but surviving it and coming back to life two weeks later is another. Not everybody does that, and not everybody shows up clutching rolls of film taken on a brand new little camera. And, without question, not everybody has the talent to take shots that make people gasp.’ Hans walked to the door and tapped it lightly. ‘Hear that?’ he said with a wink. ‘It’s opportunity knocking, kid. You’d better grab it before it gets away.’
‘I... I don’t know how to thank you,’ Jessica stammered, rising to her feet.
A grudging smile lit the photographer’s dour features. ‘Look, kid, somebody gave me a helping hand years ago when I got started. I’m just returning the favor. You can do the same for somebody else someday.’
‘They really want to buy my pictures?’ she repeated. ‘Corona?’
‘You got it, kid. . By the way, do you have a release from that guy?’
‘Release?'
‘You’ll need a signed release from that pilot. You’ve got some terrific shots of him they’re sure to want.'
‘I can’t,’ she said quickly. ‘I don’t even know where he is, and ...’
‘Trace him through the airline he worked for. No problem, right?’
Jessica swallowed drily. ‘Right,’ she said evenly. ‘No problem.’
CHAPTER TWELVE
Jessica turned up the collar of her corduroy jacket and tucked her hands deep into her pockets.
A cool wind, blowing unchecked through the skeletal trees, swept the hair back from her face.
The last scarlet and gold leaves of autumn had turned the winding path into a carpet of color that crunched under her booted feet.
She looked up as a harsh cry reverberated through the late afternoon silence. There were always peacocks wandering free on the grounds of the Bronx Zoo; she’d photographed them often enough, but she never got used to their calls.
It seemed a joke of nature that such beautiful creatures should have such raucous voices.
The Zoo was all but deserted. It was the sort of raw, late October day that made New Yorkers remember the heat and humidity of the summer past with kindness, the sort of day Jessica loved because she knew she and her camera would have the Zoo to themselves.
But there was no camera dangling from her neck today and no bulging equipment bag on her shoulder. She wasn’t here to take pictures; she was here to meet Chad O’Bryan.
She pushed back her sleeve and glanced at her watch. Chad had said he’d be at the wolf enclosure at half past three and it was almost that now.
He probably wouldn’t wait if she were late, she thought, and her footsteps quickened.
It had taken some fast talking to get him to agree to meet her at all. But she’d been determined, especially after the trouble she’d had tracking him down. Wind River Charters had given her a phone number in Denver. She’d dialed it with trembling fingers only to hear a flat, computer-generated voice tell her the number had been disconnected.
NYU had been her next try; she’d started with the Biology Department and then talked her way from one office to the next without finding anyone who knew Chad’s current address or phone number.
‘Look,’ she’d said to the people at Corona Camera, ‘there are lots of pictures without Mr. O’Bryan in them. Can’t you just use those?’
‘The shots of him have a certain quality, Miss Howard. Sur
ely you can see that.’
Yes, she could, indeed.
Chad looked as if he belonged in those mountains and in that cabin. They were good pictures and she was proud of them, although there were others that were even better, others she would never show anyone or sell at any price. She’d looked at them again last night and then tucked them away, wishing she had either the courage to throw them out or hang them on the wall.
‘Anyway, I doubt if he’s going to sign a release,’ she’d said finally. ‘You don’t know how stubborn he can be.’
‘You let us worry about that,’ the Corona Camera executives replied pleasantly. ‘We think Dr. O’Bryan will be pleased to hear that we’re interested in making a considerable contribution to his work.’
Doctor O’Bryan.
She’d teased him about his title often enough but, in the expensively decorated offices of the Corona Camera Company, the title had a different ring. But it helped put things in perspective. It wasn’t Chad she was seeking, it was a man who had a doctorate in biology, a man with whom she had business to conduct.
She'd finally located him in the most unexpected way, seated in her dentist’s waiting room, reading a current issue of International Geography magazine.
There, buried in a column about recent award winners, was the name Charles O’Bryan, BS, MS, PhD, and the news that he’d just been awarded a grant to continue his studies of Alaskan wolf pack structure.
Apparently, becoming an instant celebrity hadn’t hurt his career, either.
She’d phoned International Geography that same afternoon and wheedled a Manhattan phone number out of them, half expecting it to lead to another dead end. But she'd dialed it dutifully, waited while it rang and rang and then, at the last second, she heard Chad’s voice for the first time in almost a month.
He sounded snappish and irritable, as if the ring of the telephone had taken him from something important.
‘O'Bryan here,' he'd barked. 'Who is it?’
Jessica had swallowed drily. ‘Hello, Chad. It’s Jessica. How have you been?’
‘Busy,’ he’d said after a lengthy silence. ‘And you?’
Sandra's Classics - The Bad Boys of Romance - Boxed Set Page 15