Crazy for You

by Claire Applewhite

  “Well, what did you have in mind? It’s after one o’clock now.”

  “My friend is here with me now, Miss Bolivar. Would you like to speak with him?”

  Leila felt intrigued, though she knew she should be discreet. Instinctively, she knew this. And so, she would wait.

  “I think I will wait. I prefer to meet a person in person. It’s so much more, personal, don’t you agree?”

  A pause lingered.

  “Rocco, are you there?”

  “Oh yes, Miss Bolivar. It’s just that, my friend here, he says that you’ve already seen him. At the Cinnabar Club, in the dining room. He is sure—well, he is really certain—you would remember him.”

  Leila gasped. Could it be? Then she swallowed, hard. Could it be a trap? After all, she didn’t know this Rocco well at all. One could say that she did know Giles Dingwerth though, and he certainly had strong connections to the Cinnabar and evidently, to Rocco too. No, she would not go to the Cinnabar Club to dine. It was too risky, at least for her tastes.

  “I will meet your friend, Rocco, but, well…he will come to me. I am staying at the Hotel Charlotte on Romine Avenue. How does four o’clock sound, for a drink or two?”

  Not five seconds later, Leila glowed with anticipation.

  “Four o’clock, then. I’ll be waiting.”

  Four

  “Danny? Well, what do you want to know?” Bunny’s nose crinkled in amusement. “You always ask about him, Penny.” The blonde studied her auburn-haired friend and giggled. “I’m starting to think you have a thing for my new husband.” She smacked her glossy lips and sipped from her frosty strawberry daiquiri, garnished with a tiny pink paper umbrella. This, she removed from the rim of the tall glass, and proceeded to open and close it while she spoke. “Look at this! It’s hot pink. I just love pink, if it’s really hot, don’t you, Penny? Penny, what are you staring at?”

  Penny leaned against the round patio table and straightened her white plastic sunglasses. “Tell me I’m crazy, Candy, but isn’t that Bunny’s Danny over there, jabbering away on his cell?”

  Like Bunny, Candy was a blonde. Unlike Bunny—aka June—“Candy” used her real name. Candy, however, had other unique attributes that were not real. Like, for example, her nose, and obviously her platinum hair, and um well, her blouse-busting breasts. She crossed and uncrossed her long tanned legs and squinted in the appointed direction.

  “Absolutely. It’s Danny Hunt-er. Just look at that smile. Wonder what he’s up to?”

  Bunny closed the mini-umbrella and laid it on the table. “What kind of remark is that?”

  “Well,” Penny said, “did you know he was coming here for lunch? I mean, I guess that’s what he’s up to.”

  “Well,” Bunny said, her pink mouth poised in a pout, “I didn’t tell him I was coming here for tennis today. It just didn’t come up. That’s all there is to it.”

  “Right,” Candy said. “It’s probably nothing. Just a coincidence. So, go on over and give him a great big old kiss, why don’t you?”

  “Or,” Penny said, “you could wait until later tonight and just ask him, ‘Say hon, where did you eat lunch today?’”

  Bunny snatched the umbrella, twirling it while she pondered the predicament. A quick glance told her that her husband had departed—in a hurry, it seemed.

  “’Kay, ’kay. That’s exactly what I’ll do.” She grinned and sipped at her drink. Her tanned face wore a triumphant expression. “Thanks, guys.”

  Giles opened the door to his spacious office and flipped on the florescent lights. At first, he wondered why his secretary hadn’t already done this, and then, he remembered that Melanie had the day off. Well, poor thing, she needed it, didn’t she? Getting married again, for God’s sake, what was this, her third husband?

  Giles shook his head and plopped down in the leather chair behind his oversized mahogany desk. Much simpler, wasn’t it, to do things his way. He and the Junebug had been married for 36 or was it 38—he could never get it straight—years now, and if he got restless every now and then, why, he took care of it. Not divorce, never divorce. Too expensive. There were other ways. Like Leila.

  Leila. He reached for the phone, and then remembered. She said she’d call, didn’t she? Well. Giles glanced at the clock. One thirty. Maybe he’d go down the hall and see about what his Vice-President in Charge of—now, what had he put young Daniel in charge of, he could never get it straight—well, it didn’t matter, did it?

  He rose from his chair and sauntered down the empty hall. Daniel needed a job, that was all there was to it. And, he’d given him one. He’d taken care of it. He had everything under control. Giles Dingwerth felt good.

  Until…until he strode into Daniel’s sunny, spacious, corner office. Clearly, young Daniel hadn’t been in charge of anything today. And, thought Giles, he was supposed to be in charge of something. Why, the engraved nameplate on his door said so: Daniel Hunter, Vice-President. Right? So, where was he?

  It was then that his cell phone rang. The familiar tune, “When the Saints Come Marching In” told him so. Well, it had to be Leila. That would cheer him up. Now, he was thankful for the privacy of Daniel’s office. He answered the phone.

  “Hello?”

  “Giles, it’s Leila.” She sounded rushed, even businesslike. So unlike her, really. Well, it didn’t matter.

  “Yes, darling. When can I see you again?”

  “That’s what I’m calling about. I may need to go out of town for the weekend.”

  “Oh? Did you know about this?” His wandering eye drifted to a framed portrait of his daughter’s wedding day—the whole family—just sitting there on Daniel’s desk.

  “No. Well, I suspected it, Giles. You know how this business can be.”

  Giles cleared his throat. “Where are you going?”

  “What is it, darling?”

  “I said, where are you going?”

  “I’m not quite sure yet, and Giles, I need to go now, I really do.”

  “I miss you terribly.”

  “What?”

  “Nothing. When will you be back?”

  “I should be back Sunday evening at the latest. You can call my hotel if you’d like.”

  Odd, thought Giles. Very odd. “Tell you what. Call me when you know where you’re going. I’d just like to know.”

  “I’ll try,” he heard her say, just before she clicked off the line. Had he been unreasonable in wanting to know where his lover of six months was going for the weekend? He didn’t think so. And yet…well, there was no obligation on her part, or his for that matter, to explain their whereabouts. It was the unspoken “rule” between them, was it not? One of his very own, in fact. He’d made that plain from the beginning.

  Ah, he thought—stabbed by his own dagger.

  Dan tiptoed into his “not so little” house. Crazy. Here he was, sneaking around in his own home, trying to change his own clothes, without telling his own wife. Crazy. The afternoon sun filtered through the gauzy bedroom curtains, casting shadows on the perfect walls. Those shadows made him feel guilty. Okay…so, he wouldn’t look. After all, what Bunny didn’t know couldn’t hurt her—right? And, the fact of the matter was, there was a lot that Bunny didn’t know. In fact, that was one of Dan’s favorite things about her.

  Now, he stood in his extra organized walk-in closet, evaluating his “casual options.” How casual should he go? The lady had proposed drinks, not dinner, but what if drinks turned into dinner? Would they? For a moment, Dan was stunned. If they did, what would he tell Bunny?

  He grabbed a red knit polo shirt and a pair of khaki twill trousers. He would worry about Bunny later. Nothing would stand in his way now. He would meet Leila. What would he say to her? How would the afternoon unfold, hmmm? Leila, Leila. He buttoned the bottom third button of the shirt and smiled. He liked that name. Sensuous, but not too sensuous. In any case, much better than Bunny.

  He checked the time—almost three o’clock. For a fleeting moment, he
wondered if he’d been missed at work today. Then, he decided. Number one, it was Friday, number two, it was Friday afternoon, and number three, he really didn’t believe he could ever be fired. Well, he virtually knew it. So, he put that thought right out of his mind. Time to think about the Hotel Charlotte…and Leila.

  “Daddy?”

  “Yes, Bunnykins,” Giles said.

  Back in his own office, he reclined in his leather chair. His feet crossed at the ankles, they rested on the edge of the executive size desk. He’d been terribly busy pondering the whereabouts of Daniel, Leila’s curious apathy, and of course, whatever he would do this weekend with Leila out of town, when his desk phone rang. Well, a phone call from Bunny always cheered him. Even if he suspected she wanted money—again—which she almost certainly did.

  “How are you?”

  A peal of giggles echoed from the receiver. “I’m fine, Daddy. I’m always fine, aren’t I?”

  “Yes, you are. How’s Daniel feeling these days? Is he sick?”

  “Sick? You’re just like Mommy; when I talked to her earlier this morning, she wanted to know if Danny was feeling all right too. Why are you asking me the same thing?”

  Giles swung his shiny shoes onto the thick carpet and rested his elbows on his desktop. “Well, he’s not at work today, Bunns. I haven’t heard from him, so…obviously, he must be sick, hmmm?”

  “He’s not sick, Daddy. I just saw him at the club talking on his cell.”

  “At the club? You mean, the Cinnabar?”

  “Well, where else? It’s the only place I can get court time on Friday, isn’t it? You know that, Daddy.”

  “Poor Bunnykins. Have you tried other places?”

  “Daddy! How could you ask such a thing?”

  “Well, I was just wondering. Back to Daniel. You say you saw him at the club?”

  “Yes, Daddy. Honestly, you just ask the silliest questions sometimes.”

  “Did you talk to him? Ask him why he wasn’t laboring away for the three D’s this afternoon?”

  “No, Daddy.” Bunny sounded bored. “I was sitting with Penny and Candy, and they suggested, well somebody did, that I ask him where he had lunch today. You know, see what he says. Kind of like a joke on him, you know?”

  “Umm-mm,” Giles said, nodding his head. He knew only too well about jokes like that. Only too well.

  “Bye, Bunnykins,” he said.

  Squeaky kisses into the phone. “Bye, Daddy. Bye-bye.”

  Then it hit him. Bunny hadn’t asked for money. She’d just called to say hello and goodbye, which is mostly what Bunny always had to say, along with a few other tidbits, and that was that. For a moment, he stared at the family wedding portrait on his desk. His gaze centered on Bunny and Daniel. Why, if that boy ever hurt Bunnykins, he’d kill him. He would.

  Just the thought of such an infraction made his face as red as a tomato. Well…no need to get so excited. Daniel probably had a very good reason for his unexplained absence this afternoon.

  Personally, Giles couldn’t wait to hear it.

  Dan circled the block several times, trying to decide where to park his Porsche. It had been a tough decision to bring it, rather than call a taxi. If he left it behind, especially at home, he might have to explain why he left it behind, whereas if he drove it himself, he had to find an inconspicuous—like, invisible—place to park it. Like now. His whole problem, he decided, stemmed from inexperience. He was a novice at this game. From her specific instructions, he had gotten the definite impression that Leila Bolivar was not. A raspy voice startled him.

  “Hey! You loss’ or somethin’?”

  Dan found himself idling in front of the Hotel Charlotte, staring into the curious, yet knowing eyes of a black man somewhere in his sixties. A grizzled gray stubble covered his chin. His green work shirt bore the name “Luther” embroidered in red thread.

  “It’s jus’ that I done watched you go roun’ the block three times now like you lookin’ for somethin’ you cain’t fine. Maybe I can help you, man.”

  Dan glimpsed the time on the bank clock across the street. Three forty-five. “I need to park my car is all. I have an appointment at four.”

  Luther grinned. “Well hey, why didn’t you say so? That’s my job. Jus’ gimme the keys. Where’s your ’pointment?”

  “Uh listen, I can just park it myself. Is there a garage nearby?”

  “What’s your problem? Naw, there’s never been a garage exacly—gettin’ fancy on me here—it’s jus’ Luther’s Fine Parking, is what I like to call it. Which is jus’ a fancy name for ‘You Park It, I Watch It,’ all for the bargain price of twenty-two dollars a day or four an hour, whichever you prefer. By the way, I accept tips. Where did you say your ’pointment was?”

  The bank clock chimed four o’clock. Dan threw the keys at Luther. “Here, you park it and you watch it. I don’t have time to do both.” He pointed to the gold gilt building to his left. “This the Hotel Charlotte?”

  “It be that,” Luther said. “Listen, when you thinkin’ you gone be back?”

  Dan flashed The Smile. “Either six or who knows?”

  Luther rolled his eyes and slid behind the wheel. “Whooeee! Take your time boy,” was all he said.

  Five

  A light drizzle sprayed the sidewalk and Gabby Knowes, Society Gossip Columnist, darted for the revolving doors at the Hotel Charlotte. She was a tall young woman, about 5’10”, with a mane of tangled copper hair and long scarlet fingernails. Light powder coated her porcelain skin, and square tortoiseshell framed sunglasses shaded her blue eyes. In a feverish haste, a young man dashed into the whirling glass cyclone beside her. She stumbled, and dropped a box of fresh glazed donuts onto the wet, greasy floor. The soft, crusty pieces flattened and ripped while the glass doors swirled and twirled. The normal flow of traffic slowed.

  “Hey, you big jerk! Come back here!” Gabby said. For a moment, she thought Tom Cruise had nudged her. Why hadn’t he helped her clean up the doughy mess? In fact, the young man rushed into the waiting elevator. Apparently, he believed the crowd wouldn’t notice him. To the contrary, his hasty retreat only insured that they did. Where had she seen that guy?

  Like lightning, it struck her. Dingwerth Distinctive Designs, that’s where. The day she’d tried to interview that pompous patriarch for a feature article in the Gateway Gabette—yeah, that younger guy was his Vice-President in Charge of Something. She couldn’t remember what. Come to think of it, she’d brought a box of donuts with her that day too. That day, no one had knocked her over, but she hadn’t gotten the interview either. Well, she’d just make another appointment to get back into, what had the old goat called it, the Three D’s? Not for nothing did people call her The Hurricane.

  Now, the redhead approached the Front Desk. Surely, they would call Security! But, Security, all two guards of it, was engaged in rescuing a toddler from a stalled elevator. The desk clerk studied her for a moment and mumbled that she certainly didn’t look “stalled” to him. The nerve! If she had anything to say about it—and she always did—she’d splatter the front page of the Gateway Gabette with that careless remark. She would.

  Gabby stared while the housekeeping staff struggled to clean up the soggy bits from the sugar-glazed foyer. Her blue eyes observed each and every detail. While she watched the sweeping, the spraying, the mopping, her thoughts churned.

  In the meantime…

  She tramped back over to the marble topped front desk and dinged the brass bell. A young man with wavy brown hair stared back at her. “Madam?” he said.

  The redhead whipped a business card from her red envelope-style clutch purse. She leaned in towards the man and whispered, “Look, you know that donut mess back there? Well, here’s my card. If you hear anything, I mean anything, about the people involved, anything, please, please give me a call. There could be a little cash in it for you if you know what I mean. My name’s right on there, see? It’s Gabby. Gabby Knowes.”

  She turned and stompe
d into the lobby. Where to now? She checked her watch. She felt like a bourbon and water. If she hurried, she could catch happy hour in the hotel lounge.

  She hurried.

  Dan couldn’t believe his luck. He guessed that’s what he would call it. Actually, he didn’t know what to call it, because he’d never experienced anything like it—the thrill, the surge, the drive that consumed him like a blazing fever. He craved more of it, whatever it was. He craved more, and he craved all of it.

  Her long fingers entwined the crystal tumbler, the tips tracing little circles into the droplets. It was only a matter of time, this, they both knew. They couldn’t explain the feeling that they’d both been here before, but they knew that couldn’t have been. That they’d known each other for years, maybe forever, but they both knew that they hadn’t. And, that they were destined to be together forever, but, ah forever, well…they had both already pledged that eternity to someone else.

  They had this moment. This, they knew. Absolutely.

  “So,” Leila said, her lush red lips curling at the ends, “it’s Dan, is it? Dan Hunter. I like that name.” She tossed her head and her long, raven hair tumbled down the arch of her back. “You know who I am. You know, I wanted you from the moment I saw you. Did you know that?” She squeezed his hand.

  Dan thought he would melt. What was happening to him? He sipped at his Scotch and water. Something gnawed at his brain, and even his gut. What was it? He smiled The Smile. He gazed into her dark eyes. “There’s still something I don’t know that I would very much like to know more about—if you don’t mind.”

  “Yes?” Her eyebrows arched in mock wonder. Again, her lips curled at the ends. “What is that?” She sipped at her drink, a rum and Coke.

  “How did we, uh, connect today?”

  Leila batted her thick black lashes. “I don’t know what you mean. You are a friend of Rocco’s, aren’t you?”