The Red Diary

by Toni Blake

  Lowering the seed bag against the door frame, she ran to grab the receiver. It was Carolyn, calling to make plans for the evening. "Want me to pick you up?"

  Lauren took a deep breath. "Uh, thanks, but I'd rather drive separately."

  "Why?" She sounded surprised.

  "Because I may not stay very long. I'm only going because I feel obligated to. And that reminds me, I wanted to kill you last night." The words were spoken with the I-love-you-but-I-mean-it tone that only longtime friends could share. "Oh?" As usual, Carolyn sounded totally in the dark. Lauren sighed. "Inviting him to have a beer with us?

  And then pressing me into that conversation about where everyone had sex? I wanted to die. You know I'm not into that kind of ... group foreplay, or whatever it was."

  And also as usual, after a reprimand, Carolyn sounded contrite. "I know, I know," she crooned, "but I thought it would be good for you. You need to have more fun. And if you don't take advantage of this opportunity with your hot painter ... " She concluded by letting out a heavy breath of exasperation. "Honestly, Laur, sometimes I'm just worried you'll end up alone." Funny, she'd had the same thought about her best friend. "Oh, Carolyn ... " She trailed off into a sigh. "Sometimes I wish I could be more like you, but I'm just not. I'm not as open, I'm not as comfortable talking about personal things with people I don't know .. ," I'm not as comfortable offering sex to every man I meet. "I'm just not as ... social as you." Lauren's mind flooded with images of the two of them back in high school, talking on the phone about boys, lying on the beach with fashion magazines, laughing at things no one else would ever think funny. They'd been so much alike then, but all that had changed when the one guy Carolyn had ever loved had unceremoniously ditched her. He'd been a senior at U of F when Carolyn had been a sophomore. She'd fallen madly in love with Clark, and he'd said he wanted to marry her. On the day he graduated, though, he announced that he'd changed his mind, wasn't ready to settle down, and was moving to California for a job. He didn't want Carolyn to come with him. Once she'd stopped crying, she'd immersed herself into her fun-loving. freewheeling lifestyle and never looked back, leaving Lauren to feel like a stick in the mud. "I'm sorry, Laur," Carolyn said. "I was just trying to get you to loosen up a little."

  "Well, stop it," she said, half-playful, half-serious. "Okay, okay. I get it. You don't want to have fun. You want to grow old with your cat."

  Not exactly. but close enough if it would make Carolyn behave.

  "I promise I'll try to be good from now on. Well, I mean, where you're concerned." Carolyn gave a typical naughty giggle. ''But before we gel off this subject completely, there's something I just can't leave alone."

  "What's that?"

  "It's about your painter." She inserted a dramatic pause. "For someone who isn't into those kinds of talks, you seemed raptly fascinated by his story."

  Lauren's stomach twisted. She'd sort of forgotten that part, or at least forgotten Carolyn had been sitting there watching it. 'That was just ... " What? What was it?

  "Wildly out-of-control sexual chemistry," Carolyn offered matter-of-factly, "whether you like it or not."

  At a complete loss, Lauren took a deep breath, practically spat, "He's a jerk," then cast a quick look to the open back door, just to make sure she remained alone.

  Carolyn only laughed. "Sometimes that's how boys tell us they like us, remember? In the third grade, they pulled your pigtails, now sometimes they just act like macho idiot assholes."

  "Whatever. I want nothing to do with him. And by the way, let's add inviting him to the party to the list of things I want to kill you for."

  Her friend chided her. "You sound way too upset about this, Laur."

  She shook her head, disgruntled, and while she didn't really want to share her feelings about Nick with Carolyn, something inside her broke. Her lies sounded stupid, even to her. "It's weird," she admitted. "I don't even get it myself. And I don't quite know what to do."

  "So the situation is, you're madly attracted to him, but you don't think he's a good guy."

  For some reason, the memory of him defending her, telling Carolyn to leave her alone, replayed in her mind. But she still said, "Yeah, that's pretty much it."

  Carolyn released what almost sounded like a motherly sigh. "I know you don't go in for casual physical relationships, but sometimes even nice girls find themselves in places where it's easier to forget about what's meaningful and concentrate on what's fun," Lauren swallowed nervously. "I keep telling you, I'm not into fun."

  Carolyn laughed. "If you ever tried it, you might actually like it."

  Time to change the subject. "What time are you going to Phil's?"

  Thankfully, that led to discussing what they were wearing and who else might be there, and the conversation dissolved into the easy rhythm their friendship had developed over the years. But after finally saying goodbye a few minutes later, she turned toward the door-to find Nick Armstrong leaning against the door frame, watching her.

  Shock rippled through the length of her body. When had he shown up?

  "What are you doing?" she asked. "Need to use your phone."

  "Oh." She nodded abruptly. "Go ahead." She motioned to the receiver she'd just hung up and watched as Nick stepped inside and came toward her. He seemed to fill the room.

  She turned her back, anxious for something to do, anything. Luckily, a couple of empty grocery bags still littered the kitchen floor. She stooped for one, then wondered if it made her denim shorts stretch too tight across her butt and if he was looking. She rose back up, then nervously folded the bag as he started to talk.

  "Tommy, it's Nick. Sorry it took me so long to get back to you ... Why don't you head over to Oceanbrook and see if Stan can use you ... "

  Tucking the bag under her arm, she reached for the other stray one, folding it, too. As she listened to him talk, her first thought was how conscientious he seemed about his work. She knew from casual chatter among the construction supervisors at Ash that he was renowned for doing a good, thorough job and ran a respected business. Could such a reliable, hardworking guy be as bad as she made him out in her mind? Unfortunately, though, her second thought was that the last time she' d seen him, he'd been relaying a sexual experience to her, and she'd been listening. with rapt fascination. "It's a two-story brick in that first culda-sac."

  Yeah, tomorrow morning you and Gary can start on that last house on Sea Breeze Court if it's ready "

  When he hung up, she flinched for no good reason at all except that Nick was in her home, standing a few feet away from her, and she was picturing him having sex with a girl on a horse. She turned to face him, praying he couldn't see any of that in her gaze.

  "Could I get a glass of water from you?" he asked. She blinked, then stepped around him to reach in the overhead cabinet where she stored the glasses.

  "I keep a cooler with me, but forgot to restock it this morning."

  How unlike him. she thought, to actually offer casual conversation, yet she could think of nothing to say back. After filling the glass with ice, then purified water from the refrigerator, she turned to hand it to him, but made certain not to lift her gaze. Still, when his work-roughened fingers touched hers during the exchange, it was impossible not to look at him: his face, those piercing eyes. She' d have sworn he could see all her secrets.

  She felt the need to fill the silence. "So, you're coming to Phil's tonight."

  "Does that bother you?"

  The question caught her off guard. "Why should it?"

  "I don't think you like me."

  Her chest tightened. She wished they weren't standing quite so close. "I never said that."

  "You didn't have to."

  She struggled for a reply, but again came up empty.

  He lifted the glass and took a long swallow, and she casually waited, watched, praying all the while that she didn't appear to be studying him with rapt fascination.

  "I don't have to go," he said, his eyes finding hers once more, "if it
'll make you uncomfortable."

  "Uncomfortable? Why would it make me uncomfortable?"

  "You seem pretty uncomfortable right now."

  She did? Of course she did. She gave her head another short shake. "I'm not. I'm just ... tired."

  "Oh yeah, I remember-you weren't feeling well last night." He didn't reveal that familiar wicked hint of a smile, but she knew it was there, lurking just beneath the surface. "Well, maybe you should get some rest this afternoon. Save up your strength for tonight." With that, he drained the glass, lowered it to the counter, and headed toward the back door.

  She knew what she needed strength for tonight facing the party, facing the people there, facing him. But she wondered just what he thought she needed strength for, just what he was implying, and even with his back to her now, she still felt the sex just oozing from him.

  He paused at the door to point at the large bag of birdseed still resting there, forgotten. "This need to go outside?" She gave an abrupt nod. "I have some bird feeders at the back of the yard"

  Nick Armstrong effortlessly hoisted the bag onto his shoulder and disappeared out the door, pulling it shut behind him. Upon realizing she hadn't breathed normally in quite some time, Lauren let out a huge sigh and tried to relax. Dear God, how had this man she didn't know gotten so deeply embedded in her world so quickly? And why were those dark eyes of his so lethal to her?

  She'd had a horrible time sleeping the night before, and she had an even more horrible feeling about Phil's party. Because, for some reason, she was actually anticipating it, anticipating seeing him there. In theory, she should be dreading it, but that underlying trace of anticipation kept nudging its way into her brain.

  Perhaps, she thought. she was simply wishing things were different, wishing he were different. What Carolyn had said was true-she wanted him badly, but she just didn't like him. This was no ordinary attraction.

  "What are you drinking?"

  Lauren looked away from the handsome, impeccably dressed businessman with salt-and-pepper hair to glance at her glass. "Chardonnay," she said dryly, annoyed with his moving-in-for-the-kill tone.

  He swirled red wine in a stemmed glass. "You should try the Merlot. It's exquisite."

  "Maybe I'll go do that." "Oh, I'd be happy to-"

  But she never heard the rest, because she was already heading across the large, vaulted-ceilinged room away from him.

  "Hey, Pet, what's the hurry?" A hand fell on her wrist, but thankfully it only belonged to Phil. She lifted her gaze to his pale green eyes and ready smile. As usual, every strand of his dark blond hair lay neatly in place.

  "Just escaping another one of your smarmy friends." "Which one?"

  She pointed across the crowded, bustling room. 'The forty-something guy standing by the stereo looking forlorn." "Damon Blanchard," Phil said with a short nod. "Just got divorced."

  "Figures. "

  He made a face. "Come on now, he's not that bad. A hell of a nice guy, and he's got a good-sized yacht and suddenly no one to share it with."

  "You've never had to fend him off, Phil. But hey, if you like him so much, maybe you could share the yacht with him." He grinned down at her. "Funny, Pet." "Have you seen Carolyn?"

  "She was hanging at the bar a few minutes ago with Mike and Jimmy."

  "Thanks," she said, then headed in that direction.

  Mike and Jimmy were hardly her choice of party companions, but better than Damon Blanchard.

  Yet when she saw the trio, she stopped short. Carolyn whispered to Mike, one hand on his cheek, but Jimmy hung on her from behind, both arms draped around her hips. Lauren still didn't know if it was a threesome or a tug-of-war, and she didn't care to explore it further.

  "Why, Lauren Ash, as I live and breathe."

  "Sadie!" she said happily, turning toward the voice.

  She suspected Sadie-her father's receptionist of fifteen years and a happily married grandma in her sixties-would be as uncomfortable at one of Phil's parties as she was. Nonetheless, Sadie's silvery hair framed her face in a short stylish cut, she wore a summery pantsuit that became her, and at a glance no one would ever think her out of place. Much like Lauren herself, she supposed.

  After they got Sadie a drink, they situated themselves in one comer of the enormous room to exchange small talk. Her father hadn't arrived yet, and they speculated which of the women he'd been dating would be on his arm.

  "Your father," Sadie said, "has changed a lot over the years."

  "Don't I know it."

  "I tried to fix him up with my cousin, Martha, but he wanted nothing to do with her. Said she was too old. She's forty-five and quite attractive .. ,"

  "But Dad doesn't even look at women more than half his age these days."

  "Men," Sadie quipped. "They're pigs," Lauren agreed. ''Except for my Arthur."

  Lauren smiled. "Why didn't you bring him along tonight?"

  "Here?" Sadie laughed. "He'd think I work at Peyton Place. The annual picnic is much more his style," she concluded with a wink.

  At the lull in conversation, Lauren scanned the room again, this time for Nick Armstrong. No sign of him. which was both a relief and ... well, something else she couldn't quite put her finger on, but she refused to call it disappointment. Which reminded her ... "By the way, I've been meaning to yell at you"-she narrowed her eyes on Sadie, "but you were out to lunch when I stopped in yesterday."

  Sadie didn't appear the least bit nervous. "What did I do?"

  "You sent that man to my house." "That man?"

  Lauren raised her eyebrows. "Don't play dumb. Nick Armstrong? The painter?"

  "Quite a sight, isn't he?"

  Sadie flashed a knowing smile, but Lauren simply shook her head. "Sadie, of all the painters that work for us, you had to pick him?"

  "I thought I was doing you a favor," she said with a wink. "Thought he might make nice window dressing for a few days." Despite herself, Lauren had to laugh, but then said, "I don't need window dressing, and I find him ... belligerent. "

  Sadie shrugged. "I've talked to him when he drops off his invoices at the office, and he seems all right Not exactly a warm and cozy personality, but okay. Maybe you just bring out the animal in him," she added with a suggestive grin. "All right, enough," Lauren warned. "Knock it off. But the next time I need a subcontractor and I call you for help, pick someone a little less ... everything."

  Sadie chuckled, and Lauren decided it was best to change the subject, but within a few minutes, Sadie announced she was leaving and Lauren's stomach sank. "You're stranding me already?" She planned to depart early herself, of course, but she'd been here less than an hour.

  "I've made my appearance," Sadie said. "But now I'd rather go home to Arthur and see what he found with his metal detector on the beach tonight."

  Lauren sighed. If she had an Arthur, she'd rather go home, too. "Wish me luck among the piranha," she said, walking the other woman to the door.

  "Just don't go in the water," Sadie teased.

  Yet when she was gone, Lauren took her advice, getting another glass of wine, then heading back to the corner where they'd stood together just a minute ago, more than content to blend in with the scenery for as long as possible. She even positioned herself slightly behind a potted palm.

  Only one guy bothered her. "Hiding back here, honey?" he asked, pushing palm fronds aside. He was blond, thirtyish, and rather cute, but ...

  "Yes," she said. "From who?"

  "Guys who call women they don't know 'honey.''' He blanched, then walked away, and she took pride in

  her boldness, even though she suspected it was only the wine going to her head.

  When Lauren spotted Phil's wife, she made her way through the roomful of Tampa Bay's "beautiful people" to reach her. "Hey," she said, approaching from behind.

  "Hey yourself," Jeanne said, turning to give her a once-over. "You look great!"

  She shrugged. "Thanks." Jeanne always complimented her clothing and asked for fashion advice, but seldo
m took it. At the moment Jeanne wore bright colors that clashed more than complemented, and her shoulder length brown hair seemed to hang too plainly, pushed behind her ears.

  "I'm sorry I didn't get to say hello before now. But unfortunately," she added, rising on her tiptoes to scan the room, "I can't find Phil, or he'd be the one greeting all his friends."

  "I saw him ... well, not long ago." Lauren tilted her head and grinned. "But Phil gets around quickly, so I suppose he could be anywhere by now."

  "You said it. I've never known anyone with more energy than my husband."

  "Hey, Jeanne," came a male voice from the next room, "are there more of those little shrimp hors d'oeuvres?"

  "Just a minute," she called, then turned back to Lauren. "Well, if you see Phil, tell him to track me down-I could use some help out here on the front lines."

  "Will do," Lauren promised, then watched as Jeanne disappeared through a doorway.

  Stranded again, she thought, in a roomful of vultures.

  The easiest move seemed to be returning to her trusty comer, so that's what she did-refreshed her wine and attempted to retreat.

  Darkness had just fallen outside, filling the windows and turning the room more shadowy, when Nick Armstrong appeared, dressed to match the night in a snug black T-shirt, black jeans, and black boots. For once, there was no bandanna on his head, and his dark hair fell around his face, wild and sexy. Lauren didn't move, but hiding didn't keep tendrils of awareness from wrapping around her. She swallowed a quick sip of wine, trying to quell the sensations, to no avail.

  Hiding behind a potted plant also didn't keep Nick Armstrong from finding her-his eyes connected with hers instantly. But she darted her gaze away, some impulse toward self-preservation kicking in. Seeing him here, like this-he no longer a painter, she no longer someone paying him to do a job--was different, even more frightening than usual. She knew some hedonistic part of her had actually looked forward to this moment, but now that it was a reality. instinct made her want to run. "What's a gorgeous girl like you doing in a comer?" She flinched her gaze to the tall, swarthy guy with a proprietary hand now planted on the wall above her shoulder. The messy hair on his head and the sandals on his feet pegged him as a beach bum.