Blogger Bundle Volume I: Dear Author Selects Unusual Heroines
Page 26
“Maybe I am.”
“Is the thought of making love to me so frightening?”
The thought of making love to her was pure bliss. But Amanda carried a high price. I’d just disappoint you, Amanda. Been there, done that. “I don’t want a relationship” is how he ended up answering her.
“Maybe I don’t either.”
“You’re not that kind of girl,” he said, wanting to get out of this conversation quickly. It was getting harder and harder to remember why he had to leave.
“And that’s the only kind you ever get involved with, right? I never said I wanted to marry you,” she said in a quiet voice.
“No, that’d certainly be a cold day in hell, wouldn’t it?” He took hold of the doorknob and twisted.
“Joe,” she put a hand on his arm.
He stared deep into her eyes, seeing concern and pity reflected there. The pity is what spurred him on. “What’s the matter, Amanda? None of your usual crowd giving you any? You want to get laid?” he said, trying to sound like he wasn’t dying inside.
Damn.
He had to get out of there.
“Good-bye Amanda,” he said, closing the door behind him. But instead of walking away, he just stood there, staring at the impenetrable barrier separating them.
No. Damn it all, no.
“Amanda?”
“Go away, Joe,” she said from behind the door.
“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that.”
“No, you shouldn’t have. Go away.”
Joe stuffed his hands in his pockets and started down the empty hallway.
Give it up, Barrington.
He spun on his heel and turned back. “Would Eggs Benedict help?”
“What?”
“If I made Eggs Benedict, would it help?”
“No.”
He had just pressed the elevator button, when she opened her door. “But you might want to try it anyway.”
7
THE SMOKE ALARM wouldn’t shut up. Joe kept dousing the pan with water, the kitchen floor was now completely wet. What a disaster. The fire was out, but the cast iron skillet still sizzled and popped. And then there was the smoke. Lots of smoke.
Bam. Bam. Bam.
The door sounded as if somebody was trying to break it down. Now what? Joe took one last look at the complete mess in his kitchen and then ran to open his door.
He fumbled with the lock, and the pounding stopped. He flung the door open. Vincent stood there with a baseball bat.
“You’re here!”
Millions of wiseass remarks sprang to Joe’s lips, but he remembered his resolution. For today, I will not be a jerk. “Yeah,” he answered.
Vincent charged into the room, brandishing the bat like a weapon. “I called 9-1-1—”
Sirens blared down the street.
“I’ve got everything under control,” Joe yelled, like he burned food in his kitchen every day. From his window, he could see the pride of New York running into his building.
Vincent disappeared into the smoke emanating from the kitchen. The fire alarm screeched in long bursts.
“What were you doing in here?” Vincent hollered. “I haven’t seen that much smoke since Manny Abramson cleaned his burners with lighter fluid. Even I can spot the difference between Fantastic and EverLight. I don’t know what they’re going to do with him. He can’t take care of himself much longer.” Vincent’s voice trailed off, and there was more thudding as the sound of heavy boots pounded on the steps.
The fire department was here.
Joe held up a hand as a team of six firemen appeared at his door. “S’all right this time, guys. Got everything under control.” Joe hoped the captain would ignore the blasting alarm.
The captain leaned against his ax. “You’re sure, son?”
Joe laughed in what he hoped was a confident manner. “Yup. A little accident in the kitchen.”
The fireman looked at him, a question in his eyes.
The alarm stopped. Thank God. Joe owed Vincent for that.
Joe nodded once more.
“Cooking?”
Joe felt a warm flush that had nothing to do with the heat from the kitchen. “Yes, sir.”
The fireman’s face split into a grin. “You wouldn’t believe how many calls we get like this. You single?”
“Yeah.”
The captain grew serious. “Well, we need to get a look at the kitchen, but it shouldn’t take too long.” After a quick but thorough inspection, the captain spoke to Joe. “Be more careful next time, son. One grease fire is all it takes.”
“Sorry, sir. I will. I promise.”
Joe waved until the men were out of sight and then closed the door, leaving him alone with Vincent, a smoky room and a huge mess. Time to get to work.
Vincent came out of the kitchen with the incriminating evidence. “What was this in its former life?” He held up the blackened frying pan.
Joe sank into his chair. His comfort. He ran a hand through his hair. The pan was history. One day old and it would never see another. There was a reason Joe didn’t cook. “Eggs Benedict.”
Vincent stared at the pan, then back at Joe, then back at the pan. “You need help.”
Well, that was the understatement of the year. He started to laugh, half in fun, half on the verge of serious mental collapse. It’d take more than carbonized Eggs Benedict to dampen his hopes. Joe sucked in some air. The day was still young.
“Yup. And I’m ready to learn.”
AMANDA ALLOWED herself to sleep in and woke up the next morning at 5:37 a.m. That was just enough time to wash, dry, curl and dress and still be at work by seven. She had just finished dressing when the bell rang. One of her neighbors? When she opened the door, no one was there, just a small glass dish.
She stared down the hallway. Empty.
Hmmm. She opened the lid and smiled. Eggs Benedict. There was a note attached.
Amanda,
Eggs Benedict, Day One. If you could please leave the container outside the door when you’re done. Don’t worry about washing it. I’ll take care of that. Also, if you could check the appropriate boxes below.
Too much cayenne
Not enough cayenne
Too cold, please heat more next time
Temperature just right
Sauce too runny
Need more sherry
Perfect
I wish things were different, Amanda.
See you soon,
Joe
She ate the eggs, marked the “Not enough cayenne” box, just to throw him off, and put the dish outside her door. She wished things were different, too. And if she got her way, they would be.
Amanda,
Eggs Benedict, Day Two. I added more cayenne, but it tasted really hot to me. See what you think. Also, I’m leaving you a cookbook for five-minute meals. You do too much.
Too much cayenne
Still not enough cayenne
Perfect
Still mad at Joe
Not quite as mad at Joe
See you soon,
Joe
Amanda,
Eggs Benedict, Day Three. Okay, I think I’ve got the eggs down now. Since you’re still mad, I made breakfast potatoes as well. They turned out pretty good.
Add cheese
Not enough cayenne (for the potatoes)
Perfect
Still extremely mad at Joe
Still mad at Joe
Potatoes were a step in the right direction
See you soon,
Joe
Amanda
Eggs Benedict and breakfast potatoes, Day Four. Do you think I should add some swiss cheese instead of the cheddar to the potatoes? Or maybe both?
Want swiss and cheddar
I hate swiss. Why didn’t you know that?
Ditch the cheddar
Ditch Joe
Still mad at Joe
Only slightly mad at Joe
See you soon,
; Joe
Amanda,
Eggs Benedict and Breakfast potatoes, Day Five. I can tell you’re softening. The check marks don’t look so violent anymore. Glad you’re liking the potatoes. I brought some O.J., as well.
Don’t like O.J., please change to apple juice
Need coffee
Milk?
Thinking that Joe might be an okay guy
Thinking that Joe is an ass.
See you soon,
Joe
“SO, YOU’RE Mary Sunshine today. Looks like somebody is getting some.” Grace perched herself on Amanda’s desk, attired in an American flag pantsuit.
“Not some. Only breakfast.”
“A gentleman friend is making breakfast for you?”
Amanda buffed her nails on her white silk vest. “Only for the last five days. Eggs Benedict, potatoes, and café mocha.” Joe was coming around to her way of thinking; she knew it.
“Oh, that Dr. Barrington, he’s something, isn’t he?”
“No, no, no. It’s Joe Barrington, thank you very much.”
“No way, boss!”
“Way.” Amanda nodded, quite pleased with herself. “He gave me a cookbook, too.” And tonight, she was going to really let loose and make E-Z Chicken Stroganoff.
“Oh, sounds like he’s smitten. He really cooks, though? I mean, Lenny Titolo cooked a mean lasagna, but he really raised his brothers and all, and then after he married Mary McAnnally, he just turned into a porker. So, he really cooks?” Grace peered over the rims of her glasses at Amanda.
“Joe cooks quite well.”
Grace was impressed. “And if he’s good in the kitchen, is he just as good in the boudoir?”
“Grace, that’s none of your business.”
“He’s not, is he? Tsk, tsk. Those good-looking ones are always too confident. Please me, baby, or I’m outta here.”
That didn’t seem fair to Joe. Amanda defended him. “Actually, I must disagree. What I’ve seen is outstanding. He does these great long kisses.”
“Only kissing?”
“We’re going to close the deal real soon or I’m not Amanda Sedgewick.”
“Well, you go, girlfriend. I don’t know a man alive who can resist a woman with a little hanky-panky on her mind.”
That earned a frown from Amanda. There was one. Joe “I’m An Old-Fashion Neanderthal” Barrington. But that was going to change very soon. “I’ve never really seduced a man before.”
Grace peered from behind her frames. “No?”
Amanda bounced her pen on the desk. “Have you ever seduced a guy?”
“Millions of ’em.”
“Millions?” Amanda looked at Grace with new eyes.
“Well, four. Maybe five if you count Eddy Delvecchio.”
“What works?”
“Aggression. Honey, take no prisoners. You got to look ’em in the eye, and say, ‘I want your sex.”’ She pouffed her hair. “It’s never failed me. Except with Eddy, but he’s gay, and I didn’t know it until Linda told me, and then I didn’t want to believe her, but when he turned me down, and I had on my Lolita skirt, one hundred percent guaranteed satisfaction, I knew it was true.”
“What’s a Lolita skirt?”
“One of those short, little flouncy things and then you go commando.”
Commando? Amanda took a deep breath, taking note of the panty hose, camisole, and discreet white underwear that she was wearing underneath her dress. She didn’t know about going without underwear. That sounded extreme. And slightly wicked. She lowered her voice. “And everyone can see?”
“Well, only if they’re looking. You remember, Sharon Stone, Basic Instinct?”
Maybe there was something to it. “I bet fairy-tale princesses don’t go commando, do they?”
“No, a princess is strictly Victoria’s Secret. They don’t got the goods.” Grace stood up, folders in hand. “What’cha thinking, boss?”
Amanda started doodling on the paper in front of her. Skirts with panty-lines and Victoria’s Secret undergarments. She sighed and marked a big X right through the middle. “I’m thinking I never liked being holed up in an ivory tower anyway.”
ON WEDNESDAY Joe actually dared to pick up the phone and call her. She wanted an affair. He wanted an affair. Neither of them was looking for a serious relationship. Hell, that’d be a joke, wouldn’t it?
Still, this was Amanda, and all the lines, all the smooth moves that Joe had ever used, just didn’t seem to fit. for the first time in his life, Joe had no idea how to proceed.
Amanda needed romance and candlelight, and Joe wanted to give her that. But how?
All week there’d been dreams. Amanda was on 60 Minutes, being interviewed, wrapped in nothing but one of her white satin sheets. He kept waiting for the sheet to slip lower, but it never did. She answered every question with poise and confidence. Looking every bit like the superstar she was.
How could a guy live with that?
Joe couldn’t, could he? God, but he wanted to. Maybe there was a way after all.
It took a different sort of man than Joe to walk away from that sort of woman. He dialed her number.
THE NEW YORK CITY courtroom was imposing and awe-inspiring. Amanda loved to come here and absorb the scent of hundred-year-old wood overlaid with the smell of justice.
The lawyer for Clean-All Industries was Robert Kendall from Peters and Solomon. Amanda had heard of him, but had never seen him in action. He was one of those high-dollar sharpshooter attorneys. She tapped her pencil against her notes and tried not to smile. Today, she was going up against the big boys, and it was bad form to show your hand too early. Instead, she leaned down under the table and pretended to adjust her shoe, giving in to the urge to grin.
“All rise.” Amanda stood, giving Kendall a polite nod. He was toast.
Judge McKee was a stickler for starting on time and today he looked particularly impatient as he scurried into the courtroom, robes flying in his wake.
“Okay, let’s move this along. It’s my anniversary and I’m meeting my wife for lunch. I need to be out of here in,” he turned to the clerk, “how much time?”
The shorter lady at his side checked her watch. “Forty-five minutes, your honor.”
“Forty-five minutes it is.” After the attorneys stated their names and clients for the record, the judge pointed to Amanda. “Ms. Sedgewick, you’re up.”
Amanda stood up and took one last look at her notes. “Your Honor, Mr. D’Antonio has filed this action against Clean-All Industries alleging claims sounding in negligence and strict liability. In order to prepare this case, it is imperative that we receive the discovery requested, as reflected in Plaintiff’s brief and the exhibits and affidavits we’ve filed with it. The defendants’ objections are nothing more than roadblocks thrown in front of my client in an attempt to paper this case and hope that he’ll meekly turn tail and run.” Amanda shot Kendall a glance. “I assure you, Mr. D’Antoni is here for the long haul.” She glanced down to check her notes.
Kendall took advantage of her pause to interrupt. “But Your Honor, any alleged wrongdoing occurred over thirty years ago. Even if Clean-All was liable in this situation, and I’m certainly not saying that, the statute of limitations would long since have expired.”
Amanda frowned at Judge McKee, looking as if she was worried. “You Honor, Mr. Kendall can certainly raise limitations in a motion for summary judgment. But since he hasn’t, I suggest that we focus on the motion that’s before the court. My client has a right to the documents requested in the request for production. As you can see from the affidavits attached as exhibits A through T, we believe those documents will show that Clean-All was aware of the toxic component of its cleaner. We can prove that awareness through the settlement documents we’ve requested.”
“There was a settlement in this case?” The judge looked concerned.
“Not with my client, Your Honor,” Amanda answered. She’d anticipated that question from the bench. “Our in
vestigation has revealed that three of Clean-All’s employees entered into a settlement in 1971. As you can see from the affidavits, that settlement resulted from the employees’ threat to sue for injuries resulting from breathing toxic fumes.”
Kendall interrupted. “Exactly, Your Honor. That was over thirty years ago. Limitations has run.”
Amanda stood up straighter. “The discovery rule applies in this case, You Honor.”
Kendall took the bait. “Your Honor, the employees Ms. Sedgewick is referring to were obviously aware of the alleged toxicity. There is no reason to believe that Mr. D’Antoni would not have been just as cognizant. The discovery rule doesn’t apply.”
This was it. Amanda cleared her throat. “It certainly does, Your Honor. Mr. D’Antoni was not in the same position as those plaintiffs. He worked for the airline, not Clean-All. Clean-All deliberately and maliciously failed to inform the airline—or its mechanics—about the dangerous effects of long-term exposure. Those documents that we seek go directly to both this concealment and to the broader question of liability. My client needs those documents not only to establish liability, but to counter any limitation argument that Mr. Kendall may choose to raise.”
Amanda turned to Kendall. Checkmate, my friend.
“Point taken, Ms. Sedgewick.” Judge McKee studied the papers in front of him. Amanda held her breath. All her ducks were in order. Her motion and brief, the requests and responses, the affidavits of the prior plaintiffs and copies of every single case she could find that even remotely addressed the point—all highlighted and tabbed for the judge’s easy reference, of course.
Finally, he looked up. “Very good, Ms. Sedgewick. Mr. Kendall, you should have done your homework. Motion to compel is granted. Mr. Kendall, your client has thirty days to turn over the documents that Ms. Sedgewick has requested.” The judge turned to the clerk. “How much time?”
The clerk checked her watch. “You still have thirty minutes, Your Honor.”
The judge grinned. “Perfect. I’ll have time to stop and get some roses.”
EDWARD POWERS, the senior partner at Amanda’s firm, was waiting at the back of the courtroom. What was he doing here? Witnessing her history-making legal triumph, that was what he was doing here. Amanda assumed a professional stance as he approached. “Edward, I didn’t realize you were here.”