She fell back on the bed, fighting tears, then laughter when Ralph launched himself onto the bed beside. Holding him at arms length, she grew thoughtful. “There’s one problem we could eliminate in a hurry.” She drew closer, staring at his big brown eyes with evil intent. “Ralphie... have you ever eaten a bird?”
~o0o~
April 15 was six weeks past, but quarter filings should have been occupying Jeff’s time. Instead he shot a rubber band at McVay as she disappeared through the closing door. It struck the doorjamb and bounced harmlessly to the floor, but only because he’d intended it to.
“Are my habits so cast in stone that if I vary them it merits a press release?” he called after her irritably, but she merely shut the door between them.
All he’d done was to tell her he was leaving early, and she’d looked at him as if she were contemplating calling the men in white coats. The same way Fiona had looked at him when he’d given her a hamburger franchise freebie—a red-haired clown doll—to give to her little girl.
What was wrong with everybody? He could have explained that Anne-Elizabeth already had four of them, but that would mean he’d have to explain who Anne-Elizabeth was, and besides, what made this such a newsflash?
Did everyone see him as some kind of stodgy, boring accountant? For pete’s sake, he even wore paisley suspenders. He ran his thumbs under them to reassure himself. It was only that Cecilia’s quirkiness, her haphazardness, made him feel stodgy by comparison. Normal women found him, well, maybe a little conservative, but charming. Attractive. Generous. They’d told him so, and more than one had tried to seal their relationship with a very conservative marital knot.
But no one had ever, ever found him sexy as hell, except Cecil.
How could he be satisfied with a comfortable, sensible relationship with an efficient, attractive woman? He’d been looking for someone who’d be obsessed with him, who’d make him feel like the most desirable, exciting man in the world, even when he knew different. Maybe subconsciously he’d been searching for another Cecil... and, heaven help him, he’d rediscovered the original.
But with the rediscovery, he’d learned something even more frightening: that he could share that obsession, could be driven to distraction by his need for her, his love for her, his determination to make everything right for her. He buried his face in his hands in frustration.
Her life was so damned complete. Sure, he was part of it, but only the most expendable part. It wasn’t that she made him feel unwanted. Somehow she managed to bestow the same obsessive energy on everything—her work, her children, her life—and still have plenty left for him. He’d like to think he was responsible for the fact that her energy seemed purer now, less strained, less compulsive than when they’d first started seeing each other. She definitely needed him, but she needed him in the corners of her life, not in the middle of it. And that’s where he wanted to be, damn it. In the middle.
In the middle of all that chaos?
He shuddered. Everything seemed to have its price, and his sanity was beginning to seem a small price to pay for her joy and radiance. When analyzed, the chaos was manageable. Anne-Elizabeth truly was the image of her mother, and therefore totally lovable, despite her prickly edges. Brad, too, possessed Cecilia’s buoyancy, her enthusiasm, her cocky self-assurance. Despite his loud, boyish clamorings, Brad could be a perfectly enchanting child.
Peter, on the other hand, was quite another subject. Meet him halfway, Cecilia had said. The farther Jeff stretched, the tighter Peter coiled. Jeff had attempted a discussion of computers, hoping to meet Peter on common ground. He should have known that since his own office was totally PC, Peter would have voiced a decided preference for Macs. What could have been a shared interest quickly escalated into a battle, with both parties retiring to their corners to sulk. Yes, he admitted it, he’d sulked. The kid actually knew more about computers than he did.
To make matters worse, the day the kids had been at his apartment that damned Toulouse had traitorously decided to like the kid. After going absolutely berserk at the sight of Cecilia and Anne-Elizabeth, the bird had turned into a fluttering ball of excitement at the sight of Peter. Within five minutes the parrot had been riding on Peter’s shoulder and calling the kid “Harry.” The fact that Peter’s cottony-white hair and glasses were similar in color and style to Uncle Harry’s did little to assuage Jeff’s hurt pride. Heck, when he had first inherited the bird, it had taken him two weeks just to get the bird to eat, and another month before the bird would allow him to stroke its head.
Halfway to Peter was a still a long way, but Jeff admitted grudgingly that his own attitudes could stand a little adjusting. Surely there was some common ground they could meet on. Unfortunately the only common ground he could think of was Cecilia. Peter adored his mother. So did Jeff, making the common ground a battleground.
But the thought of Cecilia, even in the context of her son, was still enough to bring a wistful smile to Jeff’s lips. When it came to Cecilia, his sanity was a small price to pay, indeed.
There had been a plan dancing around the edges of his brain, lately. Taunting him. Teasing him. And now, damn it all, maybe it was time to go for broke and execute it.
He flipped through the telephone directory and began making calls. The third was the charm. He hung up the telephone with a satisfied sigh, refusing to be dismayed by the expense of his plan. If he was going to fit into the chaos, it was time to start trying a little harder.
He picked up the phone again and buzzed McVay.
“You’re still here?” she asked.
“I’m leaving now, but be forewarned, I’m leaving early next Monday and Wednesday.”
“Jeff, is something wrong? You certainly haven’t been yourself lately.”
“Is that a bad thing?” he asked, curious.
“No.” She paused. “No, now that you mention it, that’s not bad at all.”
“Well, then,” he said with a laugh, suddenly feeling a little giddy, “I guess nothing’s wrong.”
He tossed a wad of paper at the wastepaper basket and missed, slung his suit jacket over his shoulder and walked through the door whistling “Girls Just Want to Have Fun.”
CHAPTER TEN
CECILIA BUSTLED FROM Anne-Elizabeth’s room, her arms full of dirty clothes and linens.
“Mom,” Brad grumbled, tagging along. “I don’t think you should let her wear that shirt.”
“We’ve been over this a hundred times, Brad. Anne-Elizabeth is not being deliberately disloyal.” She stepped on an all-too-familiar hard object on the bottom step and kicked it aside before taking the next step. “Pick up that car,” she ordered.
Brad scooped it up but wasn’t about to let the subject change. “But Mom, ya didn’t have to let her have a Lakers shirt! I don’t care if it is purple!”
“Sweetheart,” Cecilia explained with a sigh, “when a little girl refuses to wear anything but purple, you’ll take anything purple you can get. Why else would she have four TCU Horned Frog T-shirts? It’s called desperation!”
Peter raised his head from an Agatha Christie mystery as they entered the kitchen. He closed his book. “The judge did it.”
“Are you finished already?” she asked, tousling his hair.
“Nope. But just remember that when I got to page thirty-seven, I’d already figured it out.”
“All right. Figure this out.” Cecilia had been saving this trick for a week. She grabbed a piece of paper and drew a rectangle, then printed the name “GATEMAN” in the center. “It’s a palindrome.”
“What’s a palindrome?” Brad asked, crossing over to look.
“Dummy,” Peter muttered without malice, intent on his mother’s puzzle. “A palindrome is a word or a phrase that reads the same backward and forward.”
“Mommy!” Anne-Elizabeth burst into the kitchen. “Jeff’s here. He bwought a su’pwize!”
Cecilia’s heart did a double beat in her chest as she looked past Ann-Elizabeth. “Where is
he, honey?”
“On the porch.”
“Why didn’t he come in?”
“Oops.” Anne-Elizabeth’s pudgy hand covered her rosy lips and her eyes were even bigger than usual. “I forgot to wet him in.” She immediately whirled and took off, the loose purple strings in her red high-tops flapping with each step.
“I don’t get it,” Brad said.
Moments later Anne-Elizabeth reappeared, and this time Jeff was towering behind her, a hesitant grin on his face. “Hi.”
“Hi.” Cecilia smoothed her blouse over her capri pants and smiled. “I wasn’t expecting you tonight.”
“I have a surprise.” His eyes were positively glowing.
“I don’t get it,” Brad repeated, a little louder.
Peter’s attention remained deliberately concentrated on the paper in front of him.
“A surprise?” Cecilia asked.
“No,” Brad insisted. “A palindrome. I still don’t get it.” Jeff seemed a little frustrated that his “surprise” wasn’t gathering any more attention than it was, but Cecilia just shook her head apologetically. “Hold it. Let me straighten this out. Watch this, Brad.” She took another piece of paper and wrote three words:
dad
mom
radar
“Spell each of them backward," she said.
Brad’s frown cleared. “Oh, I get it! They’re spelled the same backward and forward!”
“Smart kid,” Jeff said.
“Get lost,” Peter muttered, without looking up.
“I wanna be a palindwome,” Anne-Elizabeth squealed. “Spell me backward!”
“Beth-Eliza-Anne,” Jeff responded promptly, squatting beside her, and Annie giggled her delight.
Peter stared resolutely at the puzzle.
Brad bent over his paper, and wrote a word. He grinned. “I got one!”
“What?” Cecilia leaned over his shoulder and choked.
“’Tit’! 'Tit’ is a palindrome!”
“Bradley Davis Evans!” she gasped, holding back her laughter.
“Very good,” Jeff said. “And a very nice one at that.”
“Jeff, don’t encourage him.” The washing machine went into the spin cycle and began walking across the floor. “Hold it.” Cecilia opened the lid. Just as she’d expected, the large wad of lavender sheets was pressed on one side of the machine’s interior. Anne-Elizabeth’s purple shirts didn’t begin to balance the load on the other side. Cecilia grabbed a fistful of sopping sheet and began redistributing the load. When she closed the lid and turned the machine back on, she glanced up to see Jeff watching her every move with amused indulgence.
“Chaos,” he said, then grinned.
“What a jerk.” Peter’s comment was nearly inaudible.
“Takes one to know one,” Jeff retorted, reaching into his pocket.
“Jeff,” Cecilia said warily, “are you feeling okay?”
“Terrific. Now is anyone at all interested in my surprise?”
“Mom, I give up.” Peter shoved the paper away, to Cecilia’s utter amazement. Peter never ever gave up on anything. She glanced at Jeff and saw his frustrated expression as he held an envelope in his hands.
“That’s all right, darling. Now let’s see what kind of surprise Jeff has.”
But Jeff seemed to reconsider, and slid the envelope back in his pocket. “Let me see what you gave up on,”
Peter was reaching to pull the sheet of paper back, when Brad snatched it away and thrust it at Jeff. “You figure it out! I’ll bet you can’t.”
Jeff studied the rectangle and the name, his forehead creased in a frown.
Cecilia hoped she didn’t look as smug as she felt. It wasn’t every day she could outthink Jeff and Peter in one fell swoop.
“Give ’em a hint,” Brad said.
Peter glowered; Jeff continued to frown.
“Myron Rhodentucker had one.” With that Cecilia swept from the room, the sweet taste of victory almost as thrilling as Jeff’s unexpected visit. She dropped onto the sofa in the living room and tucked her bare feet beneath her, and waited.
It didn’t take long. Jeff appeared in the doorway with a triumphant grin. Anne-Elizabeth leaned comfortably against his leg as she nibbled on a celery stick, and Brad strained eagerly to see the paper in Jeff’s hand. Finally Peter followed them, his pale face set in sullen lines.
“You think you’ve got it?” Cecilia asked, idly examining her manicure.
“I know I do.” Jeff produced the puzzle’s solution with a flourish. “It’s a name tag. Gateman’s name tag. Spelled the same backward and forward.”
Peter snatched the paper away from him and studied it for a long moment. He raised his face to his mother’s and his eyes were hurt, accusing. “You...that wasn’t fair,” he said. “You gave him a hint that I wouldn’t understand.”
Cecilia felt herself flush with chagrin. “It was only a game, Peter.”
“But you helped him.” He didn’t need to finish what he was thinking. Cecilia saw it written in the pained confusion on his face: You helped him beat me.
She sprang from the sofa and crossed to put her arms around him. “I’m sorry,” she said. “You’re right. It wasn’t fair.” She felt his hard, thin shoulders refuse to relax against her, and felt a pang of guilt.
“I want my su’pwize,” Anne-Elizabeth demanded, tired of games she didn’t understand.
Jeff seemed to relax a bit. “Coming right up,” he said, and dropped down beside her. He reached into his pocket and pulled out the envelope once again. He extracted several oblong folders. “Take your pick, milady.”
She fingered the corner of first one, then another, unable to make up her mind.
“Come on, let me,” Brad said, reaching.
“Nope,” Jeff said, blocking his hand. “Ladies first.”
So of course Anne-Elizabeth took extra time studying the folders, which she couldn’t read, while Brad bounced from one foot to another behind her. Finally she pulled one out and opened it, bemused.
“Next?” Jeff offered his hand to Brad, and he grabbed one. Before Jeff could even offer Peter a chance, Brad was screaming at the top of his lungs, “Playoff tickets! Mom, he got tickets to the Mavs’ home games next week!”
“What?” Cecilia grabbed a folder. “Good gravy, Jeff! Where on earth did you—why, you must have paid a fortune! Both games? I can’t believe it.”
“It’s all a matter of knowing who to call,” Jeff responded humbly, pressing a folder of tickets into Peter’s hand. “And if there’s a game six, we’ll be there, too.”
Cecilia looked into his velvety brown eyes and saw such pride, such pleasure, it brought a warm glow to her insides. “You shouldn’t have,” she murmured.
“I thought the kids would be pleased,” he said. “Besides, I owe you a Lakers game, don’t I?”
“Wakers?” Anne-Elizabeth asked, her face suddenly brightening.
Brad stopped celebrating long enough to stare at his mother in horror. “You aren’t gonna let her wear—”
“That’s my fav’wite shirt.” Anne-Elizabeth beamed.
“Oh, Mom,” Brad groaned. “I’ll die. I’ll just die.” He aimed a fierce scowl at his sister. “If she wears that shirt, I’ll kill her.”
“You will not kill your sister,” Cecilia responded firmly. “Annie, why don’t you let me buy you a pretty new green shirt?”
Anne-Elizabeth set her full lips into a firm line and shook her head violently.
“Blue?”
Again, belligerent refusal.
“A new purple one, without letters or numbers on it. Plain and pretty?”
This time Anne-Elizabeth gave a reluctant nod. “All wight.”
It was then that Cecilia noticed Peter—or rather, she noticed that he had left without saying a word. His tickets were on the floor. Jeff stooped to pick them up, his frustration evident in the set of his shoulders, the way his eyebrows met in a tense, straight line.
“Don�
��t worry. I’ll talk to him,” Cecilia said. But somehow she knew that Peter would be more difficult to reason with than her daughter. There were some hurts a new purple shirt just couldn’t begin to fix.
Like having your mother help someone else make you look dumb.
She closed her eyes against the strain. How could she make him see that he and Jeff weren’t in a contest and that she wasn’t the prize?
~o0o~
Saturday morning at 7:00 Cecilia closed the front door behind her and leaned against it, yawning. She’d worked late the night before, then gotten the kids off to the airport at dawn for their flight to San Antonio. Even though Robert and Monica had seemed to have everything under control, she hadn’t left Love Field until the commercial jet was aloft and out of sight.
She sank to the floor beside Ralph, using a cushion for a pillow. It had been years since they’d napped together, but his quiet snuffles and soft fur were just the comfort she needed.
She had hours, blessed hours, alone before Jeff was coming, and all she wanted to do was relax.
She must have been asleep for over an hour, when she shifted her weight, wiggling her toes to discourage the fly that had lighted on her foot. Yellow rays of morning sunshine filled the room. She rolled to her back and covered her face with her forearm, stretched, yawned, then curled onto her side.
She was halfway between sleep and awareness, fading deeper into dreams, when the fly landed on her thigh. Before she could rouse herself enough to brush it away it was gone again, then was back again, licking the tender skin behind her knee.
“What,” she rasped, flipping over and straight into Jeff’s arms. Chagrin flooded her as he settled in beside her on the floor. What time was it?
“Go back to sleep,” he said firmly, using two fingers to close her eyes, even as his other hand slithered under her blouse. “You don’t talk back that way.”
“The hell you say.” She moved to bat his hand away from her body, but suddenly pulled it closer to her as his fingers danced lightly over the underside of her breast.
Beguiled Again: A Romantic Comedy Page 15