B004183M70 EBOK

by Rosemary Stevens

  During my shower—the hot water came and went with bursts of freezing cold in between—I thought the decision I'd made about dating and trying to control my feelings for Bradley was very mature. How did I know he was really the one for me if I didn't play the field?

  I hadn't dated much. There'd been one guy, Jim, who worked with me at Philip Morris, the cigarette manufacturer in Richmond. But a girl can listen to only so much about an ex-girlfriend and how badly she treated him. Then there was Mike, whose idea of a date was watching TV at his parents' house, where he lived. He never took me out for a meal, although once he broke out a bottle of beer and poured it into two paper cups, putting me off beer for life.

  I'd done the blind-date deal too, where the guy—I couldn't even remember his name—kept talking about pine nuts and how healthy they were for you.

  As I got ready for work, I told myself again—just to drum it into my head—that I shouldn't wait around for Bradley to come to his senses. I needed to broaden my horizons, I decided, while making sure my hair was perfect, applying an extra coat of mascara to my false eyelashes, then dipping my little finger into a pot of pearly pink Mary Quant lip gloss and smoothing it over my lips.

  Back in my room I grabbed the first thing I saw on my clothes rack. That it was a pink-and-white-checked A-line miniskirt meant nothing. I was pulling a pink cashmere sweater over my head when I heard the key in the lock to the apartment. I smoothed my hair and the tight-fitting sweater, then dashed into the living room just as Darlene entered, smiling. "Good morning, Bebe. Hey, aren't you late for work? I love that outfit on you. Sexy."

  "Thanks." Me? Sexy? Why, I hadn't given my appearance a second thought, had I? I glanced at my watch and saw the time had somehow gotten away from me. "Yes, I'd better hurry. But before I go, I want to talk to you, Darlene Roland."

  At that moment Cole walked through the doorway as if he were astride a horse. He carried Darlene's suitcase. "Hello, Bebe. Off to work?"

  I shot Darlene a look. "Yes, I am."

  She grinned. "We'll have plenty of time to catch up, Bebe, since I have a two-week layover in New York."

  "Two weeks! We'll have a blast," I said.

  "You can put that suitcase down, Cole," Darlene said. "Yeah, two weeks. You see, Skyway has had one of their planes on display at the World's Fair since it opened last week. The company wants to convince people how safe flying is, and show what the inside of a plane looks like. So far the exhibit hasn't drawn many people."

  Cole took up the story. "So the Skyway folks decided they'd do better by showing off their prettiest stewardesses to hostess the exhibit. Naturally, they picked my lambkin."

  If Cole called Darlene lambkin one more time, I thought I'd rip his Stetson off his head and smack him in the face with it. Then, being a good Catholic girl, I'd go to confession.

  "I'm proud of you, Darlene," I said. "I'll be going to the fair tomorrow, and I'll be sure to come by and see you. It's great having you home."

  Darlene sighed. "I'm happy too, but you know you can't keep me on the ground for long. I do want to show Cole around New York before I get my next flight assignment."

  Cole looked at his watch.

  Ah, that was my cue to leave before Cole called Darlene lambkin again. I'd have to wait to find out what on earth had happened between Darlene and Stu. "I'd better go. I'll just grab my purse and be out the door."

  "Good-bye, Bebe," Cole said cheerfully.

  I gave them a little wave and closed the door behind me.

  Darlene and I would have to have that talk real soon. Cole Woodruff didn't like me, and I didn't like Cole Woodruff. There was no real reason for it, just woman's intuition, and a nagging conviction that Cole wanted Darlene all to himself.

  Finally arriving at the Bleeker Street stop, I was the first one out of the train and raced up the stairs to the street. Knowing I was late, I dodged people on the crowded sidewalks and was almost panting when I reached the steps that led to a paved area outside the building.

  I ran straight into Bradley. Well, there was no body contact; we stopped short of that by two inches. He looked down at me with an amused expression, a takeout cup of coffee in his right hand and his briefcase in the other. He wore a dark gray suit, white shirt, and a blue-and-gray tie. He looked so gorgeous with the sun shining on his dirty-blond hair, I had to fight to keep my knees from buckling. I would be dating soon, yes, going out with a man other than Bradley. Many men. I'd forget all about my boss.

  "Good morning, Miss Bennett," Bradley practically sang, taking a step backward. "Did you run all the way here?"

  Devil. I decided to match his tone. "I find walking fast energizes me for the day," I chirped, and gave him a killer smile, hoping the sun would shine on my lip gloss.

  "In that case," he said, giving me the once-over, "you must be full of vigor."

  "I am. Being a single girl in the city fills me with energy."

  That made the smile disappear from his face. "Er, good. We've got lots of work to do today. Shall we?" he said, motioning me to go before him up to the brass revolving doors. I hoped he would enjoy the look from behind when I sashayed in front of him.

  But we were stopped in our tracks before we could get to the door.

  "Sarge! Hey! Sarge! Is that you?" shouted a male voice somewhere behind me.

  Bradley looked past me and froze. He dropped the coffee cup he held, splashing hot liquid on the pavement, his trousers, and my shoes and tights. I yelped, but my curiosity regarding Bradley's reaction held me at his side.

  He said, "Miss Bennett, I'm terribly sorry about the coffee. I'll meet you upstairs." He pulled out his handkerchief and briskly wiped the coffee from my shoes and tights. A shiver went from where the handkerchief touched me to the pit of my stomach.

  I'm not going anywhere. Something's rattled you, and I wouldn't miss seeing what—or who—it was. Without answering him, I turned and saw a dark- haired man in a cheap suit striding toward us at a brisk pace.

  "Miss Bennett, go on ahead," Bradley tried again.

  But it was too late. The other man had reached us. He grabbed Bradley's newly freed right hand and began shaking it for all he was worth. "I can't believe it's you, Sarge, after so many years. This here your wife? She's mighty pretty."

  "No," I said, starting to explain—while secretly loving every minute of this—when Bradley spoke at the same time.

  "No, er, she's not."

  A playful look crossed the man's face. "Not your wife? Or not pretty? Couldn't be the latter."

  Heat rose to my cheeks.

  Bradley looked like a little boy on the playground scuffing his foot in the dirt. "She's not my wife; she's my executive secretary. I'm not married. Let me introduce you. Miss Bennett, this is Jerry Mitchell. We knew each other years ago. Jerry, Miss Bennett."

  "Nice to meet you, Mr. Mitchell," I said.

  "Call me Jerry," he said enthusiastically, and then laughed. "Sarge here makes it sound like we were in a croquet tournament in school. Did he ever tell you that we fought halfway up to China together?"

  Bradley rubbed his forehead with the heel of his hand and sighed.

  Alarmed, all I could think of was my beautiful Bradley fighting in . . . why, it must have been Korea, where Debbie Ann's son had died. Suddenly all of Daddy's stories about World War II came flooding back to me, and I realized the danger Bradley must have faced. "No, he never told me, never said a word," I answered faintly.

  "And we'll keep it that way," Bradley said, as if that were an end to it.

  Luckily Jerry showed no sign of shutting up. "Let's move over out of the way of these folks trying to get into the building."

  I walked with Jerry, Bradley following like an eighteenth-century French aristocrat being led to the guillotine.

  Jerry had our attention and a flair for drama. "Miss Bennett, this guy saved my life."

  "Jerry, for God's sake—" Bradley said.

  "Come on, Sarge, you got yourself a nice Bronze Star and a Purple He
art out of it."

  "What!" I cried out, completely forgetting that I wasn't in love with Bradley anymore. "A Purple Heart means—"

  "The past is the past, Jerry. Leave it back where it belongs," Bradley interrupted.

  But no one was going to stop Jerry. He addressed me in the manner of one about to embark on a long and exciting story. "Sarge and I were in the army infantry. We blitzed up into North Korea after MacArthur landed at Inchon. The advance was lightning- fast up a river gorge. We had nearly gotten to the Chinese border when the Communist Chinese began to overrun the United Nations forces."

  "Jerry!" Bradley tried. "I'm sure Miss Bennett is bored by this old story."

  I turned innocent eyes toward him. "Not in the least, Mr. Williams. In fact, I'm totally intrigued." At Bradley's frown, I turned and smiled at Jerry. "Please, do go on."

  "Where was I?" Jerry thought out loud. "Oh, yeah, so the American supply lines were stretched real thin because the advance had been so fast. Miss Bennett, some of the GIs were without food or ammunition when we began a forced retreat."

  "How awful," I said, imagining a skin-and-bones Bradley, possibly without a gun.

  "Oh, it was. Picture this: The Chinese soldiers flanked us; then they surrounded us; killing some of my buddies right before my eyes, taking others prisoner. We were humiliated by our retreat, and we were scared. The Chinese had taken the high ground along the river gorge. Land mines could be found anywhere from the middle of the road to the rocky hillsides."

  "Land mines?" I gasped, horrified.

  "You better believe it. Sarge here was barely in his twenties, but they had given him a field promotion to sergeant. He was leading the platoon through the gauntlet. I was standing next to him when I took a step forward and heard the worst sound of my life: the distinct sound of a pressure mine being activated."

  "Oh, good Lord!" I exclaimed.

  "You bet I said a prayer. I knew if I took my foot off the top of the mine, it would explode, killing me. That's when Sarge saved me. He told me not to move, and he got the other men away. He even appointed someone to take over in case he got killed trying to rescue me."

  Jerry looked at Bradley, admiration shining in his eyes.

  I put my hand on Jerry's sleeve. "Go on; I must hear the rest."

  "Okay," he said, wiping his eyes real fast. "Sarge's plan was for the men to build a circle of boulders and large rocks around me, which they did. When they were done, the men stood back and Sarge told me to jump over the rocks. I tell you, Miss Bennett, I was sweating despite the freezing temperature. I was a coward. I couldn't move."

  Bradley said, "You weren't a coward. You were an eighteen-year-old with his foot on a land mine. Anybody in his right mind would be terrified."

  Jerry paid no attention. "All the men had backed off, but Sarge stayed close. I-I was crying by then, thinking I was gonna die. Then, all of a sudden, Sarge pointed at a spot in the distance and yelled, 'What's that?' When I looked, Sarge grabbed me and hurled me over the circle of rocks."

  I felt tears burn the backs of my eyes. What a brave, selfless thing to do. I took a deep breath so I wouldn't cry.

  Jerry said, "The mine exploded, but we landed safely except for Sarge's left eye. A piece of shrapnel had hit the left side of his face, but it was his eye that was injured. We got to a MASH unit, and they evacuated him to Tokyo."

  I stood speechless, trying to keep my chin from trembling and the tears from falling. The scar under his left eye. The one I always wanted to trace with my finger and kiss. The one I had always assumed was from a childhood accident in a baseball game or some other boyhood mishap.

  "What happened then, Mr. Williams?" I asked.

  "Yeah, Sarge, you look all healed now. I can just see the scar now that I look for it," Jerry said, peering up at him.

  Bradley spoke in a low voice, one I could barely hear over the street traffic. "They thought I was going to lose the sight in my left eye, but that was hogwash. I had a hard time seeing the pinup girls, but after a month, the eye cleared."

  I felt sure he was making light of what must have been a frightening time.

  "I'm relieved to have run into you, Sarge," Jerry said. "They sent me home, an honorable discharge. Heck, they thought I'd gone off the deep end. Did take me a long time to stop having nightmares about what went on over there, especially my stepping on that mine. I guess it's the kind of thing that never leaves you. When I think of those boys over in Vietnam ... well, let's just say I ache inside for them."

  "Yes," Bradley said. "I know what you mean."

  We all stood silent for a moment.

  Then Bradley said, "It was good seeing you, Jerry. Are you doing all right now as far as a job goes?"

  "Sure! I'm a bank manager in Jersey, just came into the city for a big meeting at headquarters later today. You're doing well yourself, I can see."

  "I'm running a modeling agency for my great-uncle."

  "Oh, yeah, I remember you mentioning him. He's the rich guy who doesn't have a son to leave all his companies to, right?"

  "Yes. I've got two cousins vying with me to be the one Uncle Herman appoints to take over after his death."

  Jerry hit him playfully in the arm. "I have every confidence you'll be the one." Then he turned to me. "Miss Bennett, it was sure nice to meet you."

  "You too, Jerry."

  With a last grin at Bradley, Jerry walked on down the sidewalk.

  "Mr. Williams," I said, looking up into his blue eyes, "I'm proud to work for a man who fought for his country and saved another man's life at risk to his own."

  He frowned. "Don't put me on any pedestals, kid. Because the way I live doesn't merit any medals."

  He strode ahead, but pushed the revolving door for me and stepped aside. Over my shoulder, I said, "I'll put a fresh coffeepot on right away."

  "Good," he said, as we entered the crowded elevator and faced front.

  My heart beat fast simply because I stood close to him and breathed in his lime aftershave. Darn you, Bradley.

  Just when I thought I could toughen my feelings against him, I found my heart reaching out to him more than ever.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  After I'd made coffee and poured some into Bradley's St. Louis Cardinals mug, I returned to my desk. I still didn't have the files in the credenza behind me arranged to my satisfaction. I bent over as modestly as I could in my miniskirt, a tricky maneuver. By lunchtime I felt quite pleased with the organization of the files, and slid the last one into place.

  "Miss Bennett?" Bradley said from the other side of my desk.

  I stood—how long had he been watching me?—so fast that I knocked over the new lamp with the circular paper shade. It fell to the floor, and the hot lightbulb hit the paper, which burst into flame.

  "There's a bit of fire there," Bradley said with amusement.

  I grabbed my own full coffee mug and threw the contents on the flame. An icky burning smell came from the once-fashionable lamp, and there was a brown stain on the hardwood floor. Bradley tamped out the last burning ember with the tip of his shiny black shoe.

  I looked at him, certain I was blushing, and said, "I'll clean this mess, and you can deduct the price of the lamp from my paycheck."

  "I've never seen you act so uncoordinated, Miss Bennett. You're not ill, are you?"

  "If you hadn't sneaked up behind me and scared me half to death, maybe I wouldn't have jumped like that. You usually use the phone to buzz me when you want something."

  A smile played about his full lips. "Do I really? You see, Miss Bennett, I saw you bending over by the files and didn't want you to have to get up to answer the phone. I was thinking of your comfort."

  So, in other words, he had enjoyed the view long enough to come out to my desk and get a closer look. I smiled to myself. In a smooth tone, I said, "What can I do for you, Mr. Williams?"

  "I need you to call the florist and have a dozen roses sent to Suzie Wexford," he said. "You have her address, don't you?"

>   Bradley Williams had real talent when it came to playing Ping-Pong with my emotions. I turned my gaze from him to a lined pad on my desk. "Yes, I do. What color roses do you want sent?" I bit my tongue. If I hadn't asked, I could have sent Suzie all black roses, assuming the florist had such a thing.

  "Red, long stemmed."

  I made notes on the pad. "Will there be a card to go with the flowers?" Something like, I never want to see you again.

  "I positively don't know what I'd do without you, Miss Bennett. You're so efficient."

  I glanced up at him, eyebrows raised into my bangs. "Is that what you want written on the card?"

  He threw back his head and laughed. "Efficient and with a sense of humor. Ah, let's see. Just have the florist write, 'I'll pick you up at seven for an early dinner.' And have them sign my name."

  "Very well, Mr. Williams," I said, as my heart pounded in my chest. Another date with Suzie!

  "Thanks, kid. I'm going out to lunch now."

  "Bon appetit!" I said, and watched him stride toward the elevator.

  He turned around, caught me looking at him, adjusted his cuffs, and said, "Oh, and kid, don't worry about paying for the lamp. The company will cover it."

  "I'm very sorry—"

  The elevator dinged. He pointed at me. "Be sorry for nothing."

  Then he was gone, leaving me with my emotions all stirred up like they'd been through an electric mixer.

  First I phoned in the order to the florist. Then I cleaned away all traces of the burned lamp. When I felt Bradley would be safely away from the building, I took the elevator downstairs and went outside. The weather was glorious, springlike on this first day of May, with the promise of new adventures in the air. I dashed down the sidewalk to the corner hot-dog vendor.

  "Hi, Marv! How's your wife today?" Eating a hot dog and drinking a Coke for lunch were my guilty pleasures. I'd found Marv on Monday, and I'd been down to his stand every day since. He had a wife who was expecting their first baby any day.

  "Not too good, Bebe," he said, fixing my order, remembering I liked my hot dog with mustard and relish—no onions. The smell of the hot dogs made my stomach growl.