She got out of the car and waved as he made a three-point turn out of the drive.
Friend.
The word burned on her thoughts like a branding iron.
Friend.
Now she knew what guys felt like when a woman said, “Let’s just be friends.” It cut things off, it set a boundary, it put a line in the sand and said this far, no farther.
Friend.
Just friends.
She walked up to her apartment, made herself a cup of cocoa and allowed herself some feeling blue time before she picked herself up for another try.
“Mildred Van Hess is coming over in twenty minutes with some wedding books. What do I tell her?”
Sam opened his eyes and stared at the phone receiver he’d just picked up. It was morning, bright and hot.
“Sam, are you there?”
He stumbled upright, ran his fingers through his hair as if that might jolt him awake and then asked her to repeat herself.
“Mildred Van Hess just called and said she had some wedding books she wanted me to look at,” Patricia said, her anxiety fairly crackling the wires. “She’s coming in twenty minutes.”
“To your apartment?”
“Yeah. She said she’d bring a dozen doughnuts, too. Do you want me to tell her that there’s no wedding?”
“I guess we have to.”
“She said she’s very pleased that the vice president of personnel is marrying, because it’s important for Barrington to have a steady guy at the helm, one that embodies our corporate ‘families first’ spirit.”
“She said all that?”
“On the car phone.”
“Why didn’t you tell her you were busy?”
“She said her phone was busted, and she couldn’t hear me. Sam, I’m okay with playing along with the wedding thing. I really am. But I don’t know what to do when she gets here.”
“You’re really okay with it?”
“I told you last night I was.”
“Okay, Patricia, where’s your dress?”
“What dress?”
“The one you wore last night”
“It’s in the bag I take to the dry cleaners.”
“Get it out Oh, and Patricia?”
“Yeah.”
“Put some lipstick on. The same shade you wore last night.”
He hung up, took two steps in one direction, reconsidered, went in the other direction and then took a deep breath.
“This is no time to panic,” he said. “This is an opportunity. All calamities are opportunities.”
This opportunity still wasn’t looking like anything but a calamity—he guessed, in a moment of insight that punctuated his foggy-brained awakening, that Mildred was testing them. If they failed, she’d be sitting at Rex’s office tomorrow morning with the news that Sam was not vice president material.
And he’d be at the unemployment office.
He wasted three or four minutes at his dresser, tearing apart his housekeeper’s neatly folded system, searching for pajama bottoms before he realized that it had been so long since he wore pajamas that he didn’t own any. He settled for cashmere cotton boxer briefs and a pair of low-riding faded jeans.
He threw his own dry cleaner bag onto the floor and yanked out his tux, white dress shirt and located his dress shoes in the kitchen. He tossed all these onto the passenger seat of his car and then remembered the cuff links. And he snagged a toothbrush while he was on his way out for the second time.
All in all, it took nine minutes to get out of the house.
Driving on Lonesome Trail Drive, he stopped repeating his new mantra about calamities being opportunities so that he could brush his teeth, spitting the toothpaste out when he got to the stoplight on Alejandro Street. He had a brief moment of panic when he noticed the shadow on his jawline.
“No, it’s the perfect touch,” he told himself.
Tires squealing, he ended up at Patricia’s apartment house in an Olympic-caliber six minutes. He took the stairs three at a time and pounded on her door.
“You’re not wearing a shirt,” Patricia said, giving him a long, startled look. “Mildred’s coming in a few minutes. You can’t be here without a shirt.”
“Have you got that lipstick on?”
“Yeah.”
“Kiss it,” he ordered, holding out his dress white shirt.
“Kiss what?”
“Kiss it!”
He pointed.
“Don’t think, Patricia. We don’t have time for thinking. Just kiss it.”
She tentatively kissed the collar of his shirt. He smudged it a little.
“Good work,” he said. “Now where’re your shoes?”
“In my closet.”
“Get them.”
He dropped one of his shoes, by the door, paced out ten steps and threw down another. She returned with a pair of black pumps which he tossed down the hall.
“Aren’t you going to put on that shirt?” she asked. She followed him to the kitchen. He reached into his jeans pocket and threw down cuff links and change on the counter.
“What’s the matter, you don’t like my body?”
He absently looked up from disentangling his dress clothes. He noticed her five-alarm blush. The way her eyes skittered away and then were drawn back to his proud naked chest. For the first time that morning he relaxed, rearing back to give her a good, long look.
“Why, Patricia Peel, I never would have thought this about you, but you’re attracted to me.”
She pursed her lips. He rested his elbows on the counter and grinned as she held up her evening gown, querying without words what he wanted her to do with it, and then as she let the gown drop to her side.
“It’s okay, Tricia. I think you’re awfully dandy yourself.”
He had her stumped. For the first time since Patricia Peel had come to Barrington. he had her shut up and without any back talk. He could spend hours marveling over this moment. A moment of realization that the straitlaced, dressed-for-success, no-nonsense Patricia Peel had a weak spot for a barechested man.
But forget hours—he didn’t have a minute for introspection. The doorbell rang, with just that prim, proper trill that meant Mildred Van Hess was on the other side of the door.
Sam shoved his tuxedo jacket and dress pants into his assistant’s arms.
“Put this on the floor in your bedroom,” he ordered. “With your dress. Is your bed made?”
“Yes, I always...”
“Figures. Unmake it.”
In any other instance, Patricia would have asked questions—but she did what she was told. By the time she came back from the bedroom, the doorbell had rung two more ladylike times, and he was lounging on the couch with a cup of coffee and the sports section of the Arizona Republic. He tousled his hair for good measure.
“Go ahead and answer it.”
“But you don’t have a shirt on.”
“Answer the door.”
She brought her lips together in a particularly prim manner and did as he told her.
“Why, Mildred,” he said, flipping down the paper after the women had exchanged greetings. He stood up, rubbed the stubble on his jaw and stretched. “It’s so good to see you. Patricia said you two were going to plan the wedding this morning.”
Mildred, wearing a pastel suit, stood in the tiny foyer and stared.
“I wasn’t expecting you here,” she said simply.
He looked down at his bare chest as if noticing for the very first time that he didn’t have a shirt on.
“My manners are terrible this morning,” he apologized. He picked his dress shirt off the armrest of the bamboo throne. “Do you want a cup of coffee, Mildred?”
Mildred opened her mouth. Closed it. Opened it again. Looked over at Patricia, who gave a perfectly pitched men - can’t - live - with - them - can’t - live - without - them shrug.
And then Mildred’s impeccable manners kicked in.
“Yes, a cup of coffee would be wonderful,”
she said, and she held up a white bakery box. “I brought some pastries.”
“That’s great,” Sam said, taking the box. “Patricia never keeps good breakfast stuff here.”
“How would you—” Patricia started with outrage and ended with a beatific sigh “—like to get Mildred the cup of coffee? Remember, honey, the cups are in the cupboard over the dishwasher.”
“I know, darling, I know,” he called from the kitchen. “Why don’t you take Mildred on a tour of the apartment?”
“But I can’t take her in the bedroom,” Patricia protested.
He stuck his head back into the foyer and gave the two women what he hoped was a winning smile.
“It’s okay, baby. Mildred will understand that we haven’t made the bed yet this morning.”
Chapter Eleven
Three hours later, with a cheery goodbye and the brisk clip-clop of her sensible heels, Mildred Van Hess left Patricia’s apartment,
“That woman could have planned D day,” Sam marveled, standing in the doorway with his arm casually draped around Patricia’s waist “I guess that’s what makes her such a good assistant for Rex.”
“Amazing,” Patricia agreed.
“I just have one question,” Sam said. “What happens if all those butterflies die?”
“They’re overnight expressed in some special packaging,” Patricia said. “And Mildred explained that they are released just as you and I get into the limousine to take us to our honeymoon, and it’s only twenty-four hours from caterpillar to Arizona sky.”
“That’s what’s supposed to happen. But what if they’re dead in the box?”
“I think they can’t die because they’re hermetically sealed.”
“Whatever that means.”
“I can’t believe she got a list of butterflies native to Arizona so that we’d be helping the ecosystem.”
Patricia eased out of his embrace and closed the door.
“So we’re really getting married,” he said. “Patricia, this has gone too far. I had better confess before Mildred orders those butterflies. Or the cake. Or the dress. Or the caterer.”
“Don’t. We’ve gone this far and there’s no reason not to go further,” she said, picking up Mildred’s coffee cup from the table. “We’re both sophisticated people. We know how to handle the situation. We’ll live together at your place—it’s bigger—and get a quiet divorce after a suitable interval.”
“Quiet divorce? That sounds stone cold.”
“The alternative would be to be together forever.”
Sam looked up at her. They were both silent, thinking that forever was a very long time. From the outside, they both looked dubious. Inside, both were more ambivalent.
“I’m really grateful,” Sam said. “If it ended now, I know you’ve done your best.”
“I know.”
“Anything you want.”
“I don’t.”
“What are you doing?” he asked, coming up behind her just as she bent over to pick up one of his dress shoes. His hands splayed across her hips. She bolted upright and whirled.
“I’m picking up your stuff so you can go,” she said. “I’m sure you have a million better things to do than...”
“Oh, no, I’m doing fine right here,” he said, and when he stepped forward, she backed up reflexively against her own bedroom door. “We’ve done a lot of cuddling and kissing and cooing for Mildred’s benefit this morning.”
It was true. Starting with a kiss when he returned from the kitchen with Mildred’s coffee and the platter of pastries. Another to get the raspberry filling he claimed was on Patricia’s lips. Hand-holding as they looked at the catalogue of wedding dresses that could be shipped from Paris. He nuzzled her neck while Mildred detailed a dinner menu.
Chicken or fish?
He didn’t care, he declared, as he entwined his fingers in Patricia’s.
Patricia had been as flustered as, well, a blushing bride-to-be should be.
But the hours had taken their toll and she now felt her control was slipping.
Obviously his was, too.
“So you feel it, too?” she wondered. That he should feel as tingling and achingly ready as she was—it was a marvel. But did it mean, as it did for her, love?
Or was he feeling something more raw and animal-like?
Suddenly she realized she didn’t know what to do when male-female relations went beyond a kiss, went beyond a cuddle. That she would be naked before him, powerless before his touch, chained by years of propriety only to have him unleash a mysterious force within her, was too close, too real, too frightening.
She meant to shake her head no, and yet, found herself opening her mouth to receive him.
He stood inches from her, his naked chest just one undone button away. His breath hot and sweet at her forehead. If she tilted her chin...
“Yeah, I do. This one isn’t for practice, Patricia.”
He kissed her, exploring and teasing all her senses. His hands came to rest on her hips, grinding her against his hard, stiff manhood. She sighed, rising up to meet him, and then he pulled away gently.
“I want you,” he said huskily.
Her body responded yes.
“I want...” she said. “I want...”
At last she found the strength to shake her head.
No.
“Sam, I don’t think it’s a good idea.”
“Why not? You yourself have said we’re sophisticated people. We’re both consenting adults. We’are friends. We can handle it.”
How little he knew. She couldn’t handle it, and he wouldn’t be able to handle it when he discovered just how inexperienced she was.
“That’s just it,” she improvised. “We’re friends.”
“You think this—” he kissed the back of her neck “—will destroy our friendship?”
“I don’t know. I don’t want to risk it.”
“And getting married won’t destroy us?”
He brought his head back and stared down at her. She blinked and then looked away.
“Patricia, you’re a real mystery. You seem as sure of yourself as any woman could be. But still, every once in a while, I look into your eyes and I see an innocence there that is so at odds with the businesswoman I work with.”
“I’m not...innocent,” Patricia lied boldly.
“I’d never take advantage of you if you were.”
“How do you define an innocent?”
“A virgin. Or a woman who might as well be for lack of experience.”
Oh, that was her.
“Is that what you like in a woman—experience?”
“It’s just I don’t want to be responsible for hurting a woman.”
Patricia bit her lips.
“You wouldn’t hurt me,” she said. “I just don’t think we should sleep together. It won’t...it won’t help at the office. Things are complicated enough.”
He let go of her as swiftly as if she had announced that she was a pot of boiling water. The ache left by the absence of his touch brought tears to her eyes.
“I’m sorry, Patricia,” he said. “I hate men who use their position at work to make a woman...”
“That’s not it. It’s just I think I need some space,” she said, looking away so that he wouldn’t see the torment in her eyes. “This is getting a little intense.”
“I’ll get my things,” he said.
He quickly gathered up his clothes and cuff links. When he was done, she had recovered enough to hold the door for him.
“See you at the office,” she said.
“Sure thing,” he said, his voice easy while his body was near to exploding. “And again, thank you. If there’s anything...”
“There isn’t,” she said firmly, and closed the door.
Cold shower.
And fast.
Patricia peeled her T-shirt up over her head.
Cold shower.
Now! Before she ran right out that door and begged him to
make love to her.
And what would be so wrong about that? she wondered.
She had no idea what to do with a man.
That’s what would be so wrong.
Maybe she was a freak.
She got halfway down the hall before she remembered the T-shirt lying on the floor. I’m not Sam, she thought, and went back to pick it up. I still have my standards.
Cold shower.
The urgency was not to be denied by a mere desire to keep her apartment neat and tidy. She dropped the T-shirt and struggled with her jeans all the way down the hall. With one leg in her jeans and one leg out, she set the cold water full blast and remembered that Sam had thrown the only bath towel on the floor by the bed. As she went to get it, she caught sight of herself in the mirror.
I’m not so bad, she thought, putting her hands to her bare waist. A little more curvy at the hips than Kate Moss, but still okay. One foot reflexively shoved her jeans to the floor. She turned to check out the side view and tugged at the waist of her panties. Then she reached her hands up to cup her breasts. They felt full and aching—her nipples were hard and tight against the smooth cup of her bra. She always thought it would have been nice to have a little more up top....
She dropped her hands as if an alarm had gone off.
Which it had.
She shuddered guiltily until she realized it was just the phone.
“Hello, Patricia, it’s Mildred again—sorry for the static but the car phone isn’t working right. I forgot to tell you that Rex is having a little tea party at his home this afternoon and he thought it would be nice for you and Sam to see the place where you’ll be married. Can you come?”
Patricia glanced out the window at Sam as he got into his car.
“Of course, we’d love to,” she said quickly. “What time?”
“Four o’clock,” Mildred said. “That just gives you two hours, but I was sure that if you two are practically living together that Sam would still be...”
“Okay, goodbye!”
Patricia cranked open the window and shouted at Sam, but he had already closed the driver’s-side door. If she didn’t catch up with him, and they missed that tea...!
She ran down the stairs and out to the parking lot, catching up with his car just as he reached the curb. She hopped on one foot and then another, the blacktop scalding her soles. She waved frantically. He looked surprised to see her, even puzzled.
The Marriage Merger Page 9