Anything You Can Do

by Sally Berneathy

  He definitely reminded her of somebody. He was attractive in a rural sort of way. Great bod, as Paula would say. Slim hips, dark hair bristling out of his unbuttoned shirt. As he momentarily turned away from her, she saw the name "Bubba" on the back of his belt.

  "Somebody you know?" Mike asked.

  "No. He looks familiar, but I don't know anyone named Bubba."

  Beside her, Mike slammed another empty beer can down. At the far end of the bar, Bubba slid onto a stool. The bartender handed Mike another beer, then moved on to the new customer. Bubba looked up at the bartender, in Bailey's general direction.

  It wasn't possible, but even in the dim light and behind the glasses, she couldn't mistake those eyes.

  Austin was here, which meant Austin was suspicious.

  He'd be even more so when he noticed her, and it wouldn't take him long to find out what she'd already found out.

  But the panic that seized her dropped her just as suddenly, and Bailey relaxed for the first time since entering the bar. He'd never know she was here. All he'd see was a blond floozy. And if she looked as desirable as the men in the bar seemed to think…

  "You know, I believe I do know that guy. Think I'll just mosey over there and see," she drawled.

  Mike grinned through the tangle of his beard. "You be careful now, darlin'. Your boyfriend come in and catch you—we don't need no more fights in here."

  "I think this is a business acquaintance."

  Mike winked suggestively. "You never did say what kind of business you're in, sweetheart."

  She was halfway around the bar before she realized what Mike was suggesting.

  "Hi, cowboy," she said to Austin, trying to keep her voice a husky whisper.

  Austin almost fell off the barstool. What, in the name of all that was sacred, was Bailey doing in this bar, dressed like a hooker?

  Probably the same thing you're doing, he thought, answering his own question.

  "Hi, uh, sugar." Knowing his voice was the only way she could possibly recognize him, he pitched it a few octaves lower and added a drawl.

  "Mind if I join you?" she asked, sliding onto the stool next to him.

  "I'd be plumb delighted, little lady. I'll even buy you another drink." Austin smiled as he signaled the bartender.

  What a stroke of luck! If he worked it right, she'd waste her entire evening prying bogus information out of him, then when she left, he'd get down to business and find out just what she was so interested in.

  She returned his smile as she accepted the drink. "I believe you're about the purtiest little filly I've ever seen in here," he said, playing the role. And it was the truth in spite of the makeup and fright wig.

  She tilted her head sideways and peered at him coyly.

  "I'll bet you've seen a lot of 'fillies' to compare me with." Her voice, always pleasantly low in pitch, was husky, overtly sexy.

  Where had she come up with such a corny act? She'd obviously been watching too many movies. Well, he could play that game, too. He reached over and took her hand, pretending to examine the gaudy ring she wore. Without a word, he turned her hand over and stroked the palm, raising his eyes to hers.

  She met his gaze boldly and held it while stirring her drink with her index finger, then placed the finger in her mouth and slowly sucked off the orange juice and vodka. The surf began to pound in Austin's ears. He peered closely at the woman, suddenly uncertain it really was Bailey. She couldn't possibly be acting in such a seductive manner, even with the movies for guidance.

  As he ran his finger down her wrist, Austin noticed that her pulse was racing. Or maybe it was his own pulse throbbing all the way to the ends of his fingers.

  He turned on his barstool to face her. She moved with him, placing her long, bare legs between his. They certainly looked like Bailey's legs. They affected him the way Bailey's legs affected him.

  "That surely is a nice little skirt," he told her, molding his hands to her hips. Soft leather covering firm flesh. He squirmed on the barstool. The snug jeans were becoming painfully tight.

  "I borrowed it from my roommate," she replied, running her hands over his hands, over the skirt, down her smooth thighs. "Do you think it's too short?"

  "I wouldn't mind if it was a few inches shorter or—" he drew a finger across her bare midriff— "a whole lot lower."

  She retrieved her drink, sipped, then slowly licked her lips.

  The jukebox kicked into a country song, and Austin's eyes narrowed. This was his chance to find out if she'd lied to him that evening at Reilly's when she'd told him she couldn't dance.

  With an effort of will, he withdrew his hands from her hips.

  "Why don't we do a little boot-scooting, darlin'?" he asked casually.

  She reached over to trail her fingers down his neck, then began toying with the top snap on his shirt. "I'm afraid that's not one of the accomplishments in my repertoire," she purred, and undid the snap. "But maybe you could teach me."

  The dance floor was about the size of a first-year associate's office, but it didn't matter. Bailey had told the truth about her dancing abilities. She fell all over herself and him, too. Laughing hysterically, they stopped after only a few steps, and with a smoldering look, Austin pulled her tight against him and began to dance in place. She managed to follow that action nicely, swaying her leather-covered hips against his.

  Somewhere in the back of his mind, Austin remembered this was all an act and had some sort of purpose, but he couldn't remember what, nor did he care. All he cared about was Bailey—Bailey's sleek body that fit so nicely against his, her faint, spicy scent, her ragged breathing that told him she wanted him too. He needed to be a part of her again, to be united completely, to race together to the ultimate peak the way they had that night in Gordon's yard.

  He scanned the room desperately. The jukebox was too small and close to the wall for the two of them to hide behind.

  "Bailey, sweetheart," he groaned into her ear, his hands caressing her rounded buttocks, "let's go to my apartment."

  She sighed and snuggled closer, and he heard himself moan.

  Then she shoved him away, her eyes spitting green fire. "You knew!"

  "What? What's the matter?" Austin struggled to clear the fog from his senses and fathom what was happening.

  "You called me 'Bailey,' moron. I never told you my name. You knew all along, you scheming, conniving creep! You come in here in that absurd disguise and—and come on to me, and you knew it was me!" She strode angrily toward the door.

  Austin followed her outside, then grabbed her arm and spun her around to face him. "Of course I knew it was you. Do you think I'd want to make love with some bimbo from a bar? You, on the other hand, seemed awfully willing to carry on with a man you'd never met!"

  Bailey jerked her arm free and glared at him, her eyes deep and dangerous. "Cretin. I hate to destroy your illusions, but I recognized you the second you walked in the bar. And let's be completely clear about one thing. I wasn't carrying on with you. I was just—"

  "What?" he asked, enjoying her sudden discomfort. "You were just what?" He grasped both her arms in case she decided to punch him, and for a brief instant, she seemed to relax. He leaned toward her, his lips parting automatically.

  But she jerked free of his hold and whirled away from him. He watched her run across the parking lot toward her car, stumbling in the heels, but nevertheless presenting a most intriguing spectacle in her leather skirt.

  As she drove away, he leaned against somebody's car, pulled off the hat and glasses, and considered what Bailey had just said. Setting aside the insults, she had known who he was and had flirted with him outrageously, had made it very obvious that she wanted him. Maybe she'd thought herself disguised, but her emotions had been unmasked and open. Twirling the glasses, he smiled into the night.

  "Hey, aren't you that lawyer?"

  Austin looked up to see Candy Miller approaching wearing a spandex miniskirt. Everyone but Bailey, he thought, should be prohibite
d from wearing clothes like that.

  "Yes," he answered Candy. "I'm a lawyer." Then, as he came back to earth and reality, he ground his teeth.

  "See you inside, honey!" she called, opening the noisy door.

  "Damn!" he cursed, throwing his hat to the ground. "Damn, damn, damn!" Bailey had done it again! There was no point in following Candy into the bar if she knew who he was.

  He kicked the hat all the way back to his car.

  *~*~*

  Bailey slammed the front door behind her, threw the wig onto the dining room table, kicked her shoes across the room, turned, and kicked the wall. Samantha scuttled into the room, then tucked her tail and started to scuttle away again until Bailey held out her arms.

  ''I'm going to kill him," she swore, cuddling the little dog against her face. "I will kill that man in front of a dozen witnesses, and no jury in the world will convict me."

  "What are you raving about?"

  Bailey whirled around to see Paula standing in her bedroom doorway, wearing a nightgown and yawning.

  "What are you doing home?" Bailey asked, then blushed as the implications of the situation dawned on her. "Oh! I didn't realize—I thought—I'm just going to bed. Don't mind me." She grabbed the wig off the table and began scouting around for the shoes.

  "The reason I'm here is because I got stood up. Now, what are you looking for and why are you acting so weird?" Paula asked, coming over to join the search.

  Bailey straightened. "Stood up? You mean Gordon isn't—?" She waved a hand in the general direction of Paula's bedroom.

  Paula flopped onto the sofa. "No, he isn't. I neither know nor care where Gordon is. And judging from your rantings, I'd guess your evening wasn't much better than mine."

  "I can't believe Gordon stood you up. There must be some mistake." Bailey sank onto the sofa beside her friend, and Samantha curled into a ball between them. The extravagant floral arrangement was conspicuously absent from the coffee table where it had been earlier in the evening. "Where—?"

  "I snipped off all the flowers and put the stems on his doorstep."

  "No, you didn't."

  "No, I didn’t. They're in your room," Paula confessed with a shrug. "They became suddenly offensive. Set off my hay fever."

  "I'm sure there's a logical explanation," Bailey persisted.

  "Right. I probably misunderstood the terms. I missed the part where he said we were going to have this date at separate places. In any event, he didn't show, which shouldn't come as a surprise to those of us familiar with the morals of lawyers. Male lawyers, I mean."

  "Well, it does come as a surprise. That's not like Gordon. All the things we've done together, he's never let me down. You know how he even showed up for that race when he didn't want to." She shook her head. "No, there's more to the story."

  "Right. We'll probably read in the morning paper about how he was kidnapped and held for ransom or spent the night on an alien spaceship." Paula stretched her arm over the back of the sofa and laid her head on it.

  "Did you call his house?"

  "I tried," Paula admitted. "The first time, it rang, then it sounded like somebody lifted the receiver, but nobody said anything, just a lot of static. After that, all I got was a busy signal. The operator said there was trouble on the line. As in the phone being off the hook, for example."

  "Let's go over to his house."

  "I will not!" Paula protested, sitting bolt-upright. "And you won't, either. Leave me a little dignity."

  Bailey threw her hands into the air. "Gordon could be lying over there dead, and you're worried about your dignity!"

  "It seems to me you're being unusually dramatic about this whole thing, possibly to avoid talking about your evening and this man you're going to kill."

  Bailey cringed as the remark struck home. She was concerned about Gordon, but the whole truth was, she found his behavior easier to think about than her own. "Austin came to the bar," she said.

  "Go on," Paula encouraged, settling comfortably into one corner of the sofa, facing Bailey.

  "If you insist on leering like that, I won't tell you a thing. Not that there's anything to tell." Bailey folded her arms over her chest, then quickly unfolded them as she touched her bare midriff and remembered the way Austin had touched her.

  "I can tell by the look on your face that this is going to be good," Paula said. "Want me to make some hot chocolate?"

  "No!" She wasn't about to confess to the way she'd lost control, practically made love with Austin on the dance floor. "All that happened was, Austin came into the bar wearing this ridiculous cowboy outfit. I recognized him at once, of course, and went over to try to divert his attention so he wouldn't find out what I found out." Suddenly it hit her that she hadn't thought about her recently acquired information since Austin's appearance. His ability to distract her from the important aspects of her life was really frustrating.

  She ran a hand through her hair, still sweat-damp from wearing the stupid wig. "I found out that Candy is probably a fraud. She's been involved in another personal injury suit with another man, and she’s hanging around with Alvin Wilson but doesn’t want anybody to know. I got the first guy’s name, and I'll check out the details on Monday, but I have an eerie feeling they're going to be similar to the details of this accident."

  "Oh, boy." Paula grimaced. "Austin's going to love it when you have to throw in the towel because your client's a fraud."

  Bailey nodded dismally. "I think I diverted him tonight, but he'll find out eventually. Maybe he's known all along. Maybe that's why he got involved in the suit. No, that doesn't compute. If he'd known, he wouldn't have offered a settlement."

  "A lot of companies settle to avoid the expense of going to court," Paula pointed out.

  "Not Austin. He'd fight to the bitter end. He'd never compromise." Bailey smiled then quickly turned it into a frown. That hadn't come out right.

  Not surprisingly, her irritating friend hadn't missed it. "You sound proud when you say that." Paula tilted her head to one side and smirked. There was no other word for her expression. "Tell me how you diverted him tonight."

  "Would you look at the time? I'd better get to bed."

  She scooped Samantha into her arms.

  Paula's laughter followed her even after she closed her bedroom door. Let her laugh, Bailey decided. She'd laugh even louder—not to mention smirk—if she knew the whole story.

  Bailey felt incredibly foolish about the way she'd acted. The events of the evening would certainly not go down as a point on her side of the tally sheet. She'd made a perfect idiot of herself. And the really awful thing was, she'd loved every minute of it, had been able to turn loose of her inhibitions and become thoroughly immersed in the erotic overtures she was giving as well as receiving. Worse yet, a part of her regretted her sudden departure, wished Austin hadn't called her by name, that he'd gone on holding her all night, that they could have gone to his apartment and made love again.

  *~*~*

  Even though it was Saturday, when Gordon hadn't shown up at the office by noon the next day, Bailey started to get worried. When she arrived home and opened the door, however, she was not so distracted that she failed to notice the huge lavender teddy bear occupying an armchair, apparently watching television. Samantha's shaggy head peeped over one of the stuffed legs. Her tail appeared in the air, waving furiously, but she seemed disinclined to leave her comfortable nest.

  "Do come in, if you can find room," Paula invited, switching off the television and turning her head to peer over the back of the sofa. "This—" she swept an arm around the room— "has been going on since ten-thirty when the candy arrived."

  A large, golden box of Godiva chocolates sat on the coffee table along with a porcelain music box featuring a little boy holding his hat in his hands, eyes pitifully downcast, a jigsaw puzzle with a castle in the clouds beneath a rainbow, and a basket of sloppily dyed Easter eggs, each with one wax letter, together spelling out, "I'm sory."

  "What a l
ousy speller," Bailey observed.

  "I ate the other ‘r’ for breakfast," Paula explained. "Help yourself if you're hungry."

  "You have the soul of a Mongol." Bailey sank to the floor in front of the teddy bear and scratched Samantha's ears. "So the prince is charming again and all's right with the world."

  Paula leaned over, removed the lid from the chocolates, and selected a piece from the half-empty top layer. "Help yourself," she invited. "If eating them won't offend your soul."

  "Well, it's not quite like eating the Easter eggs."

  Bailey took a couple of the rich candies.

  Paula licked her lips and her fingers. "The jerk has good taste, but no, he isn't charming, and all isn't right with the world. I assume your friend has been sending these things—" she spread her arms— "but I haven't heard a word of explanation or apology."

  "Don't forget the eggs," Bailey pointed out. "That was an apology before you ate part of it."

  "Not counting the stupid, motley eggs."

  The doorbell rang.

  "Can you think of anything he's forgotten?" Paula asked.

  Bailey shrugged. "Want me to get it?"

  "Nah. The delivery boy and I are becoming good friends. I think he's just about ready to ask me to his prom. "

  Bailey didn't see anyone when Paula opened the door, but she heard Paula say, "This isn't funny," then burst into contradictory laughter.

  Standing to get a better view, Bailey could see Gordon's golden head as he knelt just outside the door. "I fell asleep," he said, rising and offering Paula a paper crown from a fast-food chain balanced on one of his sofa pillows. "I was just going to catch a quick catnap. When I woke up, it was nine o'clock. I started to call you to apologize for being late and noticed the phone lying on my pillow. I guess it rang and I took it off the hook without waking up then just snored into the receiver. Anyway, then I realized the sun was shining in my bedroom window, and even with daylight saving time, the sun doesn't shine at nine in the evening. I knew I was in trouble."

  Paula motioned him inside and closed the door. "Bailey's neighbors don't need to know she associates with madmen," she explained, crossing her arms and looking defiantly up at him.