Yes, I Do

by Gwynne Forster

  “Garish,” he finished for her. “If you walked these streets on Halloween, you’d be half-scared for a year. It’s amazing what people can think of.”

  Inside the Palm Court Jazz Café, he ordered drinks and held her hand while Jimmy Bowdin and his band paid respects to traditional New Orleans jazz. He wasn’t crazy. She could only spend nearly ten minutes looking beyond him and anywhere but his face because of an uncomfortable awareness of him. He didn’t doubt that she liked jazz and enjoyed Bowdin’s music, but she couldn’t make him believe she was so enraptured with the music that she forgot his presence. He let her pretend for another minute.

  “Dance with me. With music like this, there’s no point in trying to sit still.”

  Without a word, she stood, took the few steps to the dance area and turned into his arms with the grace of a woman who had done that every day of her life. He would have expected anything but that, since minutes earlier she’d pretended not to be sexually aware of him. He resisted pulling her close and showing her that he could rattle her as easily as she’d just done to him. The piece ended, and Bowdin began an old-fashioned gut-bucket blues tune guaranteed to titillate. He took her back to their table.

  “You’re a very good dancer, Deanna.”

  “Thanks, but you make dancing wonderful. You do it with such ease. I love music, and my whole self responds to it.” Her nervousness made her talkative. Fine with him. She didn’t want to admit that he attracted her, but the evidence was there, and he intended to cultivate it.

  “Thank you for the compliment. It’s after midnight, and I have a lecture at nine so, as much as I’m enjoying this evening with you, I’d better take you back to the hotel. I think best when I’m well-rested.”

  “I’m ready when you are, Justin. The evening has been so…so wonderful that I had no idea of the time.”

  The minute they stepped on the elevator, she seemed uncomfortable, avoided eye contact and stopped talking. When they reached her room, he’d swear that her hand shook when she fished in her purse for the door key. He took it, opened the door and handed her the key.

  “Thanks for a wonderful evening. Will you go with me on the Natchez tomorrow night for a jazz dinner cruise? I’ve never been on a paddle wheeler. They’re probably the oldest type of commercial boat used down here.”

  “Of course. Isn’t the paddle wheeler the type of boat that Robert Fulton invented? I know he didn’t build the first steamboat.”

  “Right. His was the paddle wheeler. The Natchez is said to be the best of its type, but who knows. Will you come with me?”

  “I’d like to,” she said, and he appreciated her lack of coyness. She wanted to go and she said so. He stood there gazing down at her, telling himself to say good-night and leave her. But she was like a magnet, a lovely, tantalizing magnet, and he—

  She reached up, kissed his cheek, pushed open the door and left him standing there. Don’t knock on that door, man. Use your head! He made himself hurry down the hall, get on the elevator and go to his room. Whew!

  Chapter 3

  The ringing of the phone in her room within minutes after she closed the door did not surprise Deanna. She had already pegged Justin McCall as a man of action, one who left nothing to chance, but she refrained from addressing him by name when she answered. “Hello.”

  “This is Justin. It took all the common sense I could muster to resist knocking on your door. I felt like banging on it. Woman, you shook me up. You could at least have warned me.”

  Better not bite this one, she thought. “Hi, Justin. I’m not sure I follow you. What, uh…what do you mean?”

  “If you knew what I know, you’d be thankful for the four floors between us. You kissed me a fraction of an inch from my mouth.”

  “Oh, come now. That was as innocent as a kiss from one kindergartner to another.”

  “Really?” he said, his tone just short of sarcastic. “But it was a woman who kissed me, and it felt like a woman’s kiss. I’m glad to know that you approve of that kind of innocence.”

  “But, Justin, it wasn’t a big deal. You were so nice, so gracious all evening, that I couldn’t resist it.”

  “Then why didn’t you do what you really wanted to do?”

  “That would have taken a lot more nerve and a lot more courage,” she said, annoyed that he insisted on pushing her into a corner. “Besides, I didn’t know what kind of response I’d get. When you push me hard as you’re doing now, Justin, you usually get more than you’re asking for. Thanks for a delightful evening.”

  “You’re hanging up on me?” he asked in something akin to a growl.

  “Not yet,” she said, holding back a laugh. “I’m waiting for you to do it. See you at five tomorrow afternoon.”

  “Right… And don’t forget your boxing gloves.”

  She was certain that her laughter registered with him before he hung up. She had to watch her step with that man. If she had seemed shy or coy about that simple kiss on his cheek, he would have taken advantage and created a scene more intimate than suited her. I’ll bet he’s fun to be with, once he trusts you.

  She got down to the restaurant early the next morning, got her coffee, fresh fruit cup and waffles with bacon and syrup and found a table in a remote corner. After reading the headlines on the USA TODAY front page, she drained her coffee cup and rushed to Justin’s seminar on contemporary design, consumer comfort and consumer taste. Perhaps she should have told him that she planned to attend his seminar, but she hadn’t remembered and anyway, it shouldn’t matter to him that she was there.

  Justin flashed side by side several series of photographs of modern living room and family room accessories in an expensively furnished home. “I don’t have to tell you,” he said, “that in homes where a family can afford whatever it likes, the more comfortable—and often the more attractive—furniture is not in the living room but in the family room. It is difficult to be comfortable in truly modern chairs with sofas so low that sitting and standing create a problem and in chairs without backs or with short seats. I appeal to designers to create with the average human body in mind. Buyers, please leave the ridiculous stuff in the warehouses.”

  He had expected resistance to his ideas, so the applause both surprised and pleased him. He glimpsed to his left and saw Deanna. Why hadn’t she told him that she planned to attend his lecture? Mystery, thy name is woman! She looked ravishing in a pink-looking tank top, big silver loops in her ears and her thick hair warming her shoulders. He told his hormones to take a nap and shook off the momentary disruption. Not that there was anything momentary about his attraction to Deanna Lawford; she was the kind of woman that he wouldn’t give up on until he had explored her thoroughly, no matter how long that took. He pushed aside the thought and focused on his lecture.

  But she was there, and he couldn’t ignore her. He glanced back at her, and a frown altered the contours of his face. He didn’t like it. How could she have the crassness to take notes on his lecture so as to use his ideas for the benefit of his competitor? Annoyance fired him up, but he controlled his mind and his attitude and completed his lecture to a rousing ovation.

  From his peripheral vision, he saw her approach. “You were wonderful, Justin. Very forceful. And I’m sure the designers will be taking account of what you said. Congratulations.”

  “I’m not sure that I should thank you. I don’t mind telling you that I’d rather not coach my competition in the means of catching up with me and surpassing me.” The sarcasm that tinged his words sounded unwarranted, even to him, and he could see that she was taken aback.

  She thrust the notepad toward him. “Here. It’s all yours. I assure you that I don’t need it. I took the notes purely out of habit. Give me a pad and a pen, and I automatically start writing. I’ve made notes on the contours of many a monkey.” She turned and walked off, leaving him with the notes.

  He had asked for that. Apparently, she had a boiling point as low as his, and she wasn’t in a habit of biting her ton
gue, either. He suspected that she had a keen intellect and that knowing her would be challenging as well as interesting.

  Shortly before noon, on her way back to her room, Deanna stopped at the reception desk, and a clerk took two envelopes from Deanna’s box and handed them to her. She opened first the one which bore McCall Department Store’s return address, and read:

  My name is Justin Robert McCall. I was born in Danvers, to Eleanor and Robert McCall, Jr. I am thirty-four, hold two university degrees, never married and have no children that I know of. I live alone in a two-story brown brick house at 37 Butler Street in Woodmore. I am an only child, father deceased, mother who knows where and raised by my grandfather, Robert McCall, Sr. I’d rather not get references from any women I’ve known, because none of them wanted to let me go. They may not be fair. My granddad will give you a reference, but he thinks I’m perfect, so what good would it do? Yours faithfully and humbly, Justin.

  After reading the note several times, she thought of sending him a set of questions to supply the information that he had deliberately omitted. But she told herself that it was in fun and turned her attention to the second envelope, which bore the hotel’s return address. During Justin’s talk, she wrote comments on his ideas and suggestions. When she opened the letter, she saw her notes and Justin’s comments on what she had written there. She sat in the lobby, wrote her comments on each of his comments, put the papers back into the envelope, addressed it to Justin and gave it to the desk clerk.

  She worked in her room that afternoon and around four o’clock answered the phone and heard Justin’s voice. “Hello, Deanna. This is Justin. Will you please accept my apologies for my manners this morning? I’m not pleased with myself about that. I do not doubt your integrity or your skill, and if you will forgive me, I promise to prove to you that I am worth your trust and respect.”

  She thought for a minute. “Your temper isn’t much more controllable than mine, though I at least didn’t lash back at you.”

  “You didn’t?” His voice held the tone of one awed. “I thought you were pretty sharp. Are you going to forgive me?”

  “Yeah. But don’t test me too often.”

  “You are still having dinner with me this evening?”

  “Sounds like a nice idea, but it won’t prove that I’ve forgiven you. After all, I have to eat, and I don’t like dining alone in restaurants.”

  “Then consider it a part of my penitence.”

  She couldn’t help laughing. “Remind me again, what time we are meeting and where?”

  “I can stop by to pick you up, but you’ll say no to that, so why not meet at the registration desk as we did yesterday. We can take the Natchez for a dinner cruise.”

  “I only brought one evening dress.”

  “And I only brought one formal suit. It won’t kill you to wear the same dress this evening. Will it?”

  “I guess not, but if I were at home, I definitely wouldn’t do it.”

  “But you will go with me?”

  “Okay. See you at five.” Why didn’t she tell him no? What would she do if she met one of Burton’s buyers while out on the town with Justin? She lifted her shoulder in a shrug and went to the closet to check her dress. Que será, será. She pressed the dress as best she could, showered, set her hair with the help of the hair dryer and crawled into bed to rest and watch television. She awakened at four-thirty, jumped up, brushed her teeth and raced around the room hardly aware of what she did.

  The telephone rang. “Ms. Lawford, some flowers here for you. Shall I send them up?”

  “Yes, please.” She took a dollar bill from her pocketbook and minutes later tipped the deliveryman, put the bouquet of roses on the dresser and began a frenzied effort to dress and get down to the registration desk by five o’clock. As she started out the door, she remembered to look at the card that accompanied the flowers.

  “Dear Deanna,” she read, “Thank you for honoring me with your company this evening. And thank you especially for overlooking my remark this morning. Yours, Justin.”

  Deanna had seen traits in Justin that she admired and among them, his kindness and considerateness were more important to her than his lapse that morning. She hurried to the elevator, got on and, to her delight, he stood facing it when she got off. He reached for her hand, and when she took his, his face bloomed into a smile.

  “If you hadn’t forgiven me,” he said, “you wouldn’t have bothered to look so beautiful.”

  She laughed because she felt good, and it occurred to her that being with Justin made her happy. Watch it, girl, her common sense reminded her. This guy sits on top of the McCall millions. “How can I forget it?” she mumbled.

  “How can you forget what?”

  She evaded his question, took his hand and walked with him across the lobby to the door, where he asked for a taxi. “I’m just hoping I don’t meet one of Mr. Burton’s buyers while I’m out with you.”

  “If you do and there’s an opportunity, be sure and introduce us, because all of them know me. If you attempt to make an introduction, no one can accuse you of trying to hide anything.”

  “Thanks,” she said, making up her mind to enjoy the evening no matter who she met or where she met them.

  When she thought of those old steamboats, she associated them with the slavery era, and she had expected them to be as ancient as they seemed on the exterior. Her surprises included the rich carpeting, elegant lighting, seating and other elegant interior fittings that she and Justin discovered as they strolled through the boat. After a sumptuous dinner, he took her upstairs to dance, and she admitted to herself that the prospect of dancing with him again had motivated her to accept his invitation to join him for the evening.

  In his arms, she hardly even heard the music as he glided them to the beat of lovers’ songs from the sixties and seventies. At last, the jazz band replaced the intermission band on stage and to her chagrin, Justin wanted to merely sit and listen. But she remembered his sensual, rhythmic rocking and loose way of dancing. “Can we dance to this one?” she asks him when the band commenced to play “I’ll Never Be The Same.” He caught her mood, and his body began to answer the invitations of her movements until she realized that the two of them were speaking in the frankest terms without saying a word.

  When he took her to her room hours later, she made a joke of her behavior the previous evening. She didn’t want him to expect more than he would get, and certainly not all that their dancing suggested.

  “Your cheek is safe from me this evening. Honest!” she said.

  He stared down at her. “Whoever told you that I wanted to be safe?” He half smiled, apparently to sweeten the now-acrid air.

  “My plane’s at ten-ten tomorrow morning, and I have to leave the hotel by seven-thirty,” she said, “so I’ll see you in Woodmore.” She extended her hand, and he took it, shook her hand, waited until he heard the lock turn on her door and walked off thinking that if there were three and a half billion females in the world, he’d bet that there were also three and a half billion different kinds of females in the world.

  Justin telephoned the airport and checked the flight schedules. Then he packed, scheduled a six o’clock wake-up call, ordered breakfast for six-thirty and went to bed. He had plans for Deanna Lawford, and until she told him for the second time that she had no interest in him, he meant to occupy as much of her time as she would allow. At twenty minutes past seven the next morning, having determined that Deanna had not checked out, he waited for her at the porter’s desk.

  “I didn’t get a thing to eat,” she said when she saw him, “not even a swallow of coffee.”

  “Have you checked out?”

  “I did the express checkout in my room.”

  “But you need a bill, don’t you? Get the bill while I get you a container of coffee and a croissant.” She hasn’t even asked me why I’m down here. He got the coffee and croissant, handed it to her and took her elbow. “I have a limousine waiting for us.” The porter s
tored their bags in the trunk of the car, and they headed for the Louis Armstrong International Airport.

  “What time does your flight leave, Justin?”

  “Ten after ten.” She took a long sip of coffee and closed her eyes as she savored it. What a sensual woman. He told himself to think of something other than the way her lips glistened, and the pressure of her nipples against her sweater.

  “Thanks for the food, Justin. This is wonderful.” She licked her top lip, and he looked away.

  “I’m glad I thought of it.”

  At the check-in counter, he asked to see her ticket and changed his seat so that they sat together. Fortunately, she also had a first-class ticket, and he didn’t have to change it. He handed it back to her. “The flight’s on time, so let’s head for the security check.”

  “Are you and I on the same flight, Justin?”

  He grinned down at her. “Looks like it. I didn’t think you were going to ask. I changed my seat so that we’re sitting together. I hope you don’t mind.”

  “I don’t, but I’m not much company on planes. Whenever possible, I sleep.”

  “I make a very nice pillow. So why not?” he asked, more prophetically than he could have realized. In the cabin, while he stored their carry-on luggage overhead, she took the window seat. After takeoff, the stewardess gave them a choice of orange juice or champagne. They accepted the juice. But almost at once, it sloshed on the armrest.

  “We’re in for some turbulence,” the captain said. “We’ll be flying above the storm, but we’ll get the effect of it for a good bit of the trip. Stay in your seats, and keep your seat belts fastened.”

  The plane took a sudden dip, and he saw that her hands shook. “Are you all right?” he asked her.