Men Made in America Mega-Bundle

by Gayle Wilson, Marie Ferrarella, Jennifer Greene, Annette Broadrick, Judith Arnold, Rita Herron, Anne Stuart, Diana Palmer, Elizabeth Bevarly, Patricia Rosemoor, Emilie Richards

  Chapter 2

  “What makes you think so?” Antoinette completed her stretch and then sat forward on her seat. She might have reservations about Sam Long; she might have doubts that they could ever work together with the ease and confidence necessary for a professional relationship, but whatever her doubts, she was intrigued with the case he was presenting.

  “As far as we can tell, there was no one else in the building that night, certainly no one who’s come forward to assist in the investigation. But the arsonist was there. The fire was set after the cleaning staff left the top floors.”

  “You think he was trying to avoid harming anyone?”

  “That’s our guess. He’d done his homework, although not thoroughly enough.”

  “A sloppy, well-intentioned arsonist with a grudge against Omega Oil.” Antoinette tapped her finger against her lower lip, a gesture that didn’t take the place of a cigarette but helped a little. “Do you think he just happened to run across the little girl?”

  “I think the explosion woke her up and she started to scream. The fire started on the top floor but in the opposite wing. Our man was heading for the exit on Laurie’s side of the building and heard her. He found her and carried her to safety. Then he disappeared.”

  “A sloppy, well-intentioned arsonist with a soft spot for children.” Antoinette tried to imagine the scene as Sam had presented it. “And Laurie doesn’t remember anything that would support your hypothesis?”

  “If she does, she’s not telling anybody.”

  “Why don’t you want one of your own psychologists working with her? I know your staff. They’re good, competent people.”

  “They’re men. Laurie’s been raised without a father.” Sam paused, and his face took on a grim set. “Actually, Laurie was beaten by her father when she was a preschooler. That’s why her mother got a divorce. Laurie’s scared to death of men. Our psychologist thinks that, if she’s hypnotized, she might be able to remember something that would help, but he says that Laurie will never trust him enough to let him put her in a trance.”

  “Why didn’t your psychologist find someone suitable? Why are you here?” Antoinette leaned back in a casual posture that belied the importance of her question.

  “Because I don’t want somebody working with her of whom I don’t approve.”

  Antoinette took in the even grimmer expression on Sam’s face. She felt the second stirring of interest in him. The first had come when his fingers had taken away the pain in her head. Now she was curious about the tough, bitter cop who had a vulnerable spot for one little girl. “You’re really involved with her, aren’t you?”

  “I don’t want to see her hurt. I don’t like the idea of hypnosis in the first place. I don’t think the information that we’ll get will be that helpful, and I don’t think the possible aftereffects are worth taking a chance on.”

  “What aftereffects?”

  Sam stood and walked to the window. “If she’s forgotten the whole thing and suddenly she remembers it, it’ll be like reliving the whole damned trauma. I don’t want her going through hell again. Not even for the sake of the investigation.”

  “Then why did you come?” Antoinette stood and joined him at the window. She leaned against it with her back touching the panes of glass and her arms crossed.

  “I was overruled.”

  And he didn’t like it. Not one little bit. Antoinette guessed that Sam was seldom given an order, and when he was, it took all his willpower to comply.

  “Let me tell you what I think is happening here,” she said, observing the muscle jumping in his jaw. It was the only thing that disturbed the male perfection of his profile. “I think you’re very angry that your opinion wasn’t accepted. To gain some time, you got permission to find the ‘right’ therapist to hypnotize Laurie. Only you’re so averse to the idea that every person you interview is going to fall short.”

  “Should I lie down on the sofa over there while you continue, Doctor?”

  “If you’d be more comfortable,” Antoinette answered calmly. “You’ve already decided against me, or if you haven’t, you will when you leave this room. I’ll be too young, or too flighty, or too pretty, or not pretty enough.”

  “Too pretty,” Sam affirmed.

  “Thank you,” she said without missing a beat. “You’ll find fault with the next two or three people you interview, and in the end you’ll go back to your superior and tell him that there’s no one in the city qualified to work with Laurie. And you’ll do all of that without realizing you’ve done it, or if you do realize it, you’ll push the realization to the back of your mind and ignore it.”

  “Do I pay you now, or will you send me a bill for your services?”

  “It’s too bad, too,” she said, ignoring his sarcasm again, “because in the case you’ve described, hypnosis might be helpful. And it certainly won’t harm the little girl. Not if it’s done with sensitivity and concern for her well-being.”

  “If hypnosis is such a miracle, why didn’t you hypnotize Maggie?”

  Antoinette defended herself without a trace of irritation. “Maggie’s memories were beginning to surface even before I started working with her. Hypnosis is really just a process whereby we help people achieve a state of receptivity to suggestion. In Maggie’s case, it wasn’t necessary to put her in a trance to suggest she’d begin to remember events at the rate with which she could cope with them. She already was.”

  “In other words, you didn’t want her traumatized by remembering before she was ready.”

  “Under hypnosis I might have been able to get Maggie’s whole story and, as it turned out, that might have been good for the police. But at that time I believed there was no hurry and that we should let it unfold naturally. In the case you’re describing, there is a reason.”

  “So you made a mistake.”

  “No. I made a judgment I’d make again under the same circumstances. And may I remind you that Maggie did remember everything when she needed to, and she coped just fine.”

  Sam turned his back to the window and copied Antoinette’s posture. “How would you help Laurie cope?”

  She smiled. “I thought you’d never ask.”

  “I’m asking.”

  “First of all, we’re not sure Laurie will allow herself to be hypnotized. But let’s say she does. Once she’s in a hypnotic state, I’d probably suggest to her that she’s watching the entire event on a television screen. Then I’d ask her to describe what she saw, what was said. Afterward I’d suggest to her that when she wakes up, she’ll only remember the parts of the session that made her feel good. And I’d tell her that as she feels better about remembering, she will recall bits and pieces of what happened until the whole event is clear.”

  Sam’s response was a snort. “And you think that would work?”

  “It would work.”

  “Because some book tells you so?”

  Antoinette didn’t let the flash of anger she felt show. “I know it would work, Sergeant Long, because I understand the human mind. I realize that the general public associates the practice of hypnosis with a nightclub act where a man in a long black cape insists some poor fool squawk like a chicken, but I’ve seen its benefits in therapy. I use hypnosis whenever it’s called for, and I use it well.”

  “Have you ever used it with children?”

  “Occasionally.”

  “Have you ever used it to get at buried memories?”

  “Yes, although I won’t pretend that’s what my practice routinely consists of. Hypnotherapy’s just one of the techniques I use.” She took a deep breath. “And just so you and I understand each other, let me tell you this. I appreciate your concern for Laurie, but I don’t appreciate your attitude toward me. I won’t even pretend to guess if it’s women or just psychologists that you dislike, but if you communicate any of those feelings to Laurie, I couldn’t possibly work with her.”

  Sam turned so that he was facing Antoinette. She turned, too. They were o
nly a scant foot apart. “Do you always say exactly what you think?”

  “I find it saves time.”

  “Then I’ll do the same. I’m not happy about this. I’d have preferred a gray-haired matron with a lap wide enough for a seven-year-old to sit on and a little more sense of her own fallibility. But you’ll do, Dr. Deveraux.”

  She drew in a breath of pure outrage, and then she caught the sparkle in his eyes. The sparkle surprised her so much that she expelled the breath and gave him a brilliant smile. “I like you, too, Sergeant Long.”

  “Sam.”

  “Antoinette.”

  “You’ll take the case?”

  Antoinette nodded. “Yes.”

  “Good.” Sam checked his watch. “I’ve kept you long enough. I’m sure you have better places to be.”

  She wished it were true. She suspected that this conversation with Sam was going to be by far the most interesting part of her evening. Now that they had called a truce, she had to admit that Sam Long and the case he’d described were the most interesting things that had come her way in a long time. “Actually,” she said, “I’m just going home and pretend I really don’t want to smoke anymore.”

  “Go for a good run if it gets too bad.”

  “If I ran a block, I’d drop dead. That’s one of the reasons I quit smoking.” Antoinette followed Sam to the door.

  “You must have been good and hooked.”

  “Two packs a day. I started when I was sixteen.”

  He paused at the threshold. In spite of himself. “That doesn’t fit with Sacred Heart and carnival debuts.”

  “Precisely why I did it.”

  It made a peculiar kind of sense. He mulled it over as he changed the subject back to his reason for coming. “I’ll call you about setting up an appointment with Laurie.”

  “I’ll want to meet her and get to know her a little before we try the hypnosis. Does she like her foster home?”

  “She misses her mother, but she’s happy enough where she is.”

  “Then why don’t I meet her there the first time.”

  “Fine. I’ll call you tomorrow to schedule an appointment.”

  Antoinette reached out and touched Sam’s arm. “Thank you for helping me with the headache. Will you teach me that someday?”

  Sam could feel each separate finger on his skin. He could have guessed that touching people was easy for Antoinette Deveraux. He wondered if she understood the full effect that such a gesture had on a man. He wondered if she understood the full effect that she had on a man. He gave a perfunctory nod, surprised at the strength of his own reaction. Then he turned and disappeared down the hallway.

  Antoinette watched him go. Idly she wondered if Sam Long had any idea the effect his strong, silent routine had on a woman.

  Driving through New Orleans rush-hour traffic was a job best done with a cup of coffee and chicory on the dashboard, jazz on the radio and a cigarette perched between index and middle fingers. Antoinette sat at a stoplight on Carrollton Avenue the next morning, fulfilling the first two but not the third prerequisite for a tolerable trip.

  Her headache was back, although it no longer threatened to turn her brain into dog food. She had awakened that morning from the first real night’s sleep she’d had since giving up smoking, and she was beginning to believe that she was going to survive her withdrawal symptoms. She still wanted a cigarette worse than she wanted food or a roof over her head, but she no longer wanted one so badly that she’d lie, cheat or steal for it. She was definitely improving.

  After crossing the neutral ground and dodging streetcars going in both directions, she parked in front of her office and let herself in with her key, leaving the door unlocked for those who would follow. From the foyer she noticed that it was strangely silent upstairs. Although two of the psychologists Antoinette shared the building with worked evenings or weekends, the others were as compulsive as she was about arriving early to start the day. And Rosy was always there before nine with the coffeepot steaming and the typewriter clattering.

  The suite of offices was unlocked, but the waiting room was empty. No Rosy, no associates. Antoinette shrugged and headed for her office. She was pushing her door open when she heard the sound. It was an ill-disguised cough, and it was coming from behind the door. Before she had time to realize she should be frightened, a voice boomed out “Surprise!” and a chorus of voices shouted a repeat.

  Antoinette stepped inside to an office transformed from Freudian chic to childlike splendor. “It’s not my birthday,” she said, examining the purple balloons and the purple, green and gold streamers that had obviously been left over from someone’s Mardi Gras celebration. Then she grinned at Rosy and three of her associates who had lined up in front of her. “But if you don’t care, I don’t care.”

  “We know, dahlin’. But it’s been a whole week now since you smoked a cigarette. That’s even better than a birthday!”

  Antoinette gave Rosy a hug, then hugged each of her cohorts in turn. John Simmons was an elderly man who specialized in working with families. He was everybody’s father figure. Daffy Brookes was a flamboyant redhead who looked like a young Shirley MacLaine and dressed entirely as she pleased, with no regard for style or public opinion. Daffy was a Gestalt psychologist whose passion was psychodrama and dream interpretation, and she was Antoinette’s closest friend. The third psychologist present, Jeremy Miller, worked exclusively with children referred through the school system. He had a quiet strength and a gentle sense of humor. He was exactly the kind of man Antoinette knew she should fall in love with and never seemed to be able to.

  Daffy was regarding her friend with interest. “So you went and kicked the habit.”

  “That’s a bit optimistic. But I did kick it for a week.”

  “You’re never going to smoke again,” Rosy prophesied, settling her arm around Antoinette’s waist. “And to celebrate, I baked an apple strudel.”

  “If I quit smoking, will you bake me a strudel?” John stepped over to Antoinette’s desk to begin slicing the flaky pastry.

  “You don’t smoke.”

  “I’d start and stop again for one of these.”

  “I’ll pour the coffee.” Daffy swept over to stand beside John, her long skirt rustling as she went. Today Daffy was imitating an eighteenth-century Russian peasant.

  “This is trading one form of oral gratification for another,” Antoinette warned as Rosy broke away to get her a piece of strudel. “If I start eating as often as I smoked, we’ll have to widen the doorways to get me into the office.”

  “You couldn’t get fat,” Daffy scolded. “You’re too tall. It’s little people like me who get dumpy after a dose of calories.”

  “Both you girls need more meat on your bones.” Rosy nodded for John to cut seconds. “More of you to love.”

  “Is that how it works?” Antoinette chewed slowly; the strudel was much too wonderful to hurry, and despite Rosy’s urging, she was not going to have a second slice.

  “All these years I’ve been trying to stay slim so some man would be smitten, and the problem was that there wasn’t enough of me to love.” Daffy, who had a string of men in her life long enough to wrap around the globe, passed the last cup of coffee to Rosy. “Give me the biggest piece, John.”

  “If there was more of you to love,” Jeremy predicted, “no man in New Orleans would be safe.”

  Daffy gave Jeremy her most alluring smile. “Is that a challenge or a warning?”

  “An announcement. I wanted that piece of strudel myself.”

  Antoinette watched the affectionate byplay among her friends. The first year of her practice had been conducted in a modern building with her own completely private office. Most of her earnings had gone to pay her rent. She hadn’t been able to afford secretarial help, and the isolation had almost driven her to seek a job with one of the social-service organizations in the city.

  John Simmons, a mentor from her graduate school days, had lost the lease on his office
about the same time Antoinette was contemplating dropping hers. Over drinks one night they began to explore the possibilities of sharing a space somewhere. Daffy had learned of their plan and asked to join them. Daffy had mentioned it to Jeremy, and Jeremy had told another psychologist who was looking for an office he could use in the evenings and on weekends.

  The five had searched and found the converted house on Carrollton, and although there were occasional disputes, they had managed to work out a comfortable, friendly arrangement. If there were times when one of the associates resented another’s methods or successes, there were more times when they were grateful for advice or even for a trusted place to refer a client they weren’t getting through to themselves.

  “Has it been bad?” Jeremy asked Antoinette.

  “Awful,” she said cheerfully. “Last night I seriously considered lighting a fire in my fireplace just to inhale the smoke.”

  “Isn’t the fireplace in your house blocked off?” Daffy asked.

  “That’s what stopped me. But just barely.”

  “Take deep breaths,” John counseled. “Smoking’s just a socially appropriate method of getting more oxygen.”

  “Did you try talking to the cigarettes like I suggested?” Daffy asked, starting on her second slice of the pastry.

  Antoinette remembered the session that Sam had witnessed. “I’ll get you for that,” she warned.

  “If all else fails, come into my office and I’ll let you work through your problems with my dollhouse,” Jeremy offered. Jeremy had an assortment of toys that he used to reach the children he worked with. It wasn’t unusual to see him down on the floor building elaborate cities with blocks as he listened to a little boy or girl talk about what was bothering him or her.

  “My mother warned me about playing house with good-looking men,” Antoinette teased.

  “May I help you?”

  Antoinette turned to see who Rosy was addressing. Sam stood in the doorway, dressed in brown slacks and a tweed sports coat. “Sam. Come in.”