by Nella Tyler
“I have no idea how you live,” Cole mentioned, handing her a plate with hors d’oeuvres artistically arranged around a small bowl of caviar.
She shook her head and held out her hand. “No, thank you. I tend to stick to simpler foods. Those would just be wasted on me.”
“Gilda, nothing is wasted on you. You are perfect and deserve to have everything that life can offer you.”
She was silent and thoughtful for a few moments, thinking of Carson. “I have many blessings. I’m perfectly fine.”
“You know I’m interested in you, don’t you?” Cole’s face came close and even though Gilda had dreamed of that moment since he’d invited her to dinner, for some reason, she pulled back. “What’s wrong?” he asked her.
“I’m not so sure, but I think it’s because I thought you were like me, and now you’re not. It just feels different.”
Cole, frustrated and unused to rejection, pulled back instantly. “Okay, let’s talk about this. What makes me so unlikeable suddenly? You were fine at lunch, and fine when you first came here. Tell me what you’re thinking.”
Gilda reached behind her head and removed the clip that held up her braid. She needed to feel more comfortable for this kind of discussion. She folded her feet beneath her and picked up the glass of wine again. She shook her head and the braid opened, a curtain of shining, long hair spilling over her shoulders and down upon her breasts.
Cole hardened at the sight, picturing that beautiful mane spilling down onto his chest. He wanted her to ride him, somewhere wild, such as aboard a sailboat on a stormy sea with the wind lifting her hair like a Valkyrie. He broke from his reverie to Gilda was looking at him, a look of expectancy on her face.
“I’m sorry? You did that thing with your hair and it sent me into a daydream. You have beautiful hair, you know.”
“Thank you, but I asked you what you wanted from your life, besides being a cop?” She was genuinely interested; he could tell by the look on her face.
He lifted the wine bottle to refill their glasses, but she waved him away, looking at her watch. The gesture did not go unnoticed. He sprang to his feet. “I didn’t realize the time. Look, why don’t you come with me into the kitchen? I’ve got steaks ready to go under the broiler and there are salads waiting. How do you like yours cooked?”
“My steak or my salad?” she quipped, and he turned to see her eyes sparkling.
“Smarty pants. Just for that, I’m throwing your salad into the toaster!” He grabbed for her to slap her playfully on the bottom, but as he drew her close, he could smell her perfume, as sweet as a garden on a hot Southern night. Her eyes widened as he pulled her against his chest and tilted her chin upward until he could kiss her — hard. He breathed in her air, and the scent flowed through his head, inflaming his body with desire for her.
She was full-breasted and ripe as a freshly picked melon. He kissed her and thought of sunshine and wagons piled with hay popped into his mind, of the shiny coat of a horse lathered from a long run, and of a cool stream lacing the trunks of shady oaks, standing sentry against time itself. She was elemental and real in this city of danger and superficiality. He knew in that moment that he would never find another like her — not here, not with her innocence. She was a little girl wrapped in a woman’s body, and her eager smile lit the skies around her.
Cole kissed her harder, forcing her mouth open to receive his tongue. She jerked a bit, and he wondered momentarily how innocent she might really be. The thought was fleeting, however, as her sweet body melted against him, and he knew that he wanted her.
He scooped her up and carried her back to the sofa, laying her down on her back and supporting his weight above her. He kissed her cheek, inhaling the scent of her hair and moving down the side of her neck into the hollow where her neck met her shoulder. The soft, tender skin he found there was his undoing, and as her hands came up to protest, he grabbed them both with his one and held them captive over her head. The motion was unconscious, born of the need to be closer to her, to possess her as one would a newly blossomed flower.
Gilda, however, wasn’t so overcome.
Shades of Scott and the way he’d tied her arms outward returned, and she felt the familiar fear blossoming in her tummy. She began to thrash, pushing Cole off her by rolling out from beneath him and giving him a shove with her hip. He felt himself falling from the sofa and when he released his grip upon her to catch himself, she was out from beneath him, lightning quick.
She glared at him, not seeing his face, but that of Scott. Wild-eyed, she looked around and saw her handbag, scooping it up and literally running for the elevator. This time she saw the slender button cut into the ebony molding and punched it. She fell inside when the doors instantly opened, pounding the button panel until the doors closed and it began to whoosh downward.
Cole had regained his feet and was left standing in the doorway, looking after the elevator doors as they closed. What the hell just happened? He crossed the foyer and hit the elevator button himself, knowing he would be too late. It would take its occupant to the ground floor before returning to receive him. He had to try, though.
When he finally got to the street level, Gilda was gone. He looked at the doorman, who could clearly see his upset, but the sentry slightly shrugged and turned back to his duty of looking out over the street. The man didn’t want to get embroiled in what he believed was a lover’s quarrel — it never paid because they always made up.
Cole’s shoulders sagged, and he went back to his apartment, throwing the steaks into the refrigerator and throwing the salads in the sink with a crash. Flipping off the lights, he threw himself into his bed and tapped the alarm clock. He lay on his back, kicking off his shoes and peeling his clothes off until they were an indiscriminate pile of fabric on the floor. The housekeeper who came three days a week was due in the morning and would see to them.
He lay there for a long time, the scent of Gilda’s sweetness still lining his nostrils. His head swam as he tried to recall their conversation. Over and over, he played their words in his head, looking for that moment when it had all gone bad. He punched the pillow next to himself and wrapped his core around it. It wasn’t the form he wanted that night, but it was the only one that didn’t fight him off.
Chapter 10
Gilda pushed open the door to Mrs. Crutcher’s apartment building and trudged up the stairs. Carson was still up and excitedly met her on the stairs.
“Mama! I thought I was going to spend the night with Mrs. Crutcher! But you’re home! Is everything okay? Did you have a good time with your friends?” His enthusiasm was like soft fireworks blowing up around her heartsick body.
Behind him stood Mrs. Crutcher, a sad and sympathetic look on her face. She understood that Gilda was home far too early to have had a complete date. Gilda sent her a wave and a gesture of thanks from her heart before letting Carson into their apartment. She nodded understandingly and turned to go back inside.
“He was a good boy, like always. Maybe next time he can spend the night,” she suggested coyly before she closed her door.
Gilda sent Carson to get ready for bed and once she had tucked him in, she ran herself a hot bath and climbed in for a nurturing soak.
She was heartsick. She hadn’t felt even a tinge of interest in any of the men at the precinct — not until Cole had walked into the unit. She had always thought she would be single for the rest of her life and welcomed it. She wanted to dedicate herself to raising Carson well and not to having any man threaten his position as eventual man of the house.
Now, she’d thought she’d found someone who would be the right man — someone who would keep her safe. Someone who could be a good father for Carson. She was very attracted to him, as he appeared to be to her. Why didn’t he tell me he came from a rich family?
Gilda rolled onto her tummy and hung her chin over the edge of her pillow. She didn’t like it when there were secrets. It made her wary, and then she couldn’t be herself. Her radar woul
d go up, putting her instantly on the defense. She knew instinctively that she belonged to a different world. Her people had no money and no way of making it…legally. She had broken free from that mold by moving to New York City — something with which her mama had completely disagreed.
Now, she was a mama herself and needed to establish a set of moral guidelines for Carson. She didn’t want him to identify with the poverty of her childhood, the kind that led good people to do bad things. It was generally the people with money who corrupted the system; they were the only ones with enough influence to accomplish it.
That was what she believed, and she now wanted to keep Carson as far away from Cole as possible. She knew Cole wasn’t a bad man, but she knew that if Carson saw how Cole lived, saw what she wasn’t able to provide him with, he would grow up feeling as poor as she had. She couldn’t allow that.
Her cell rang. Cole’s face came up on the caller ID. She hesitated a moment and good manners prevailed. “Hello?” Her voice was soft and tentative. Carson was sleeping in the next room.
“Why did you leave? You know I care about you, and I can’t help where I come from or how much money my family has. Would you have dinner with me tomorrow night? Please? It doesn’t have to be in my apartment — name the place, anywhere you like.”
She sighed and gathered her words carefully. “Cole, all my life, I’ve been under the thumb of rich folks and people who want control. I’m not saying you’re like that, but you, yourself, admitted that your daddy is. Right?”
He cleared his throat, not wanting to answer, but knowing he couldn’t get out of it. “Well, yes, I did say that.”
“So, it’s pretty likely that you and I aren’t gonna get along because I’m not from your people. I was born and raised poor and even though I live here in the city, I’m barely getting by. There’s not a thing wrong with that, but it’s who I am.”
“Gilda, I think you’re exaggerating things. There’s no reason for you to pin me with my father’s characteristics or to jump to conclusions.”
“Oh, yeah? Okay, let’s say your daddy invites us over to dinner, maybe on Christmas Eve with some of his friends.”
“Okay, and?”
“Now, first of all, I don’t have a thing to wear that would be right for something like that. I dress simply because I can’t afford more.”
“I could buy you a dress,” he interrupted quickly.
“See? That’s what I’m talking about. I can’t have you buying dresses for me, Cole. I’m not a kept woman.” She had rolled over in frustration and now lay on her back with one knee cross over the other. She stared at the ceiling as though an answer would present itself overhead.
“Of course, you’re not.” His voice was getting louder with his increasing frustration.
“So, what you’re saying is that I wouldn’t be welcomed unless I was wearing a nice dress, and since I can’t afford one myself, you’d have to buy it for me. That would make you ashamed of me. Well, I’m more than a dress, and I probably would be looked down on at that silly Christmas party, anyway. Obviously, you can see why I can’t date you.”
There was a long pause during which Cole gathered his words. “Gilda, honey, you know I care about you, but even you have to admit that was about the silliest logic anyone has ever used to not go on a date. All I want to do is to take you to dinner and maybe a play or a film or a gallery — you name it. The city is yours.”
Gilda sat up, protests welling up inside her. She was about to disconnect the phone when she felt a sudden warmth come over her. Why am I making such a fuss? He’s absolutely right. That really was silly. “Do I have to wear a fancy dress?” she asked him, her voice cocky and her manner teasing.
“You can come however you wish. You can even wear your scrubs from work. I just want to spend time with you; that’s it.”
“Okay, I’ll have dinner with you.”
“Good! Thank you! Give me your address, and I’ll pick you up at seven-thirty.”
Gilda froze. She might be willing to have dinner with him, despite his money, but she didn’t want him to see where she lived. The risk of him dropping by and accidentally meeting Carson was too great.
“I’ll meet you there,” she said quickly.
“Why? Is there something wrong?” Cole was tapping into her insecurities, and he seemed to know it. It was as if he were doing it intentionally, in an attempt to discredit her logic.
“No, what could be wrong? I’m just not ready to have anyone here and besides, it’s discouraged by my landlord. I live in more of a boarding house than an apartment building.”
He sensed he’d better quit while he was ahead. He named a restaurant and told her he’d meet her there at eight o’clock. “Wear whatever you like,” he told her once again before hanging up.
As much as she hated to admit it to herself, she was glad he’d called her back and glad that he had was inviting her to dinner. She fell asleep that evening dreaming of beautiful gowns by French designers and Cole sitting at the end of the sofa, waving away the price tags as she pointed out everything she liked.
Chapter 11
With Carson happily settled upstairs once again with Mrs. Crutcher, Gilda ordered a taxi and set off for the restaurant where she was supposed to meet Cole. He was waiting outside for her as the cab pulled up to the curb and opened her door, paying the driver and waving him off.
He hugged her and kissed the top of her head. “I’m so glad you decided to come,” he told her and held her hand as he escorted her inside.
Gilda had worn simple black dress slacks, a turtleneck sweater, and pumps. Her strawberry-blonde hair was piled high on her head and held in place by a pair of black filigreed barrettes she’d found at Goodwill. As a matter of fact, the entire outfit had been sourced at Goodwill, although no one was the wiser — at least, no one she cared about.
The restaurant was called Goodies and featured a mixed menu of casual dishes and a long list of candy-flavored drinks. Some contained alcohol and some didn’t; but the general idea was that adults could come there and have fun as they had when kids. Cole’s goal had been to lighten the tension between them and having a truly fun time seemed the best way to accomplish this.
He had reserved a table out of the main walkways, and Gilda was charmed to find it was a pub table painted bright pink with multi-colored high stools topped by paisley cushions. The walls held posters of children’s movies and each table held an oversized princess telephone.
“What the phone for?” she asked immediately, picking up the receiver.
“That’s how you order food or drink. You can also dial another table — see the number hanging overhead? That lets you flirt with people and invite them to play games with you.
“Is this supposed to be some kind of kinky place in disguise?” she wanted to know.
“Gilda! Do you think I’d bring you somewhere like that? No, everything here is exactly as it appears. Here,” he said, handing her a colorful tablet. “This is the menu. All you have to do is touch what you’d like and then key in the table number. It’s actually pretty fun; give it a try!”
Gilda looked over the menu and saw that although the food had catchy juvenile names, it was actually intended for an adult palate. She chose salmon with a vinaigrette sauce and steamed vegetables. Cole tapped his own preference and they settled back to look around.
Cole reached over the table and held her hand firmly. “I’m so glad you decided to come,” he reiterated.
The phone on their table rang. Gilda jumped and looked at it.
“Go ahead, answer it,” Cole urged.
She looked to him for reassurance and tenderly picked up the receiver and held it to her ear. “Hello?”
“Hello there, Miss. If you’ll look to your right, you’ll see a clown with a red nose and a number on his shirt. If you will run across the room and tap that number on the keypad you’ll find next to the register, you’ll get a big prize.”
The line went dead. “What on
earth?”
Cole grinned. “Was someone giving you instructions?”
She nodded. “Yes, but I don’t understand.”
“Better not wait. Do what the voice told you to do, and scoot to it! These are timed.”
Gilda looked around until she spotted the clown and when she found him, she saw there was a red “14” on his shirt. She left her stool and quickly walked across the room, looking for the register. It was highlighted by a neon sign pointing downward with a dollar sign, and she headed straight to it. True to the instructions she had received, there was a keypad, and she quickly punched in the numbers 1-4 and hit “Enter.”
A siren began to howl and somewhat frightened, she headed quickly back to where Cole was sitting, except that he was no longer there. Puzzled, she took her stool, and suddenly there were balloons dropping down from the ceiling, each imprinted with the number “14.” They fell into piles surrounding her, but still there was no Cole to be found.
She felt a hand tapping her shoulder and turned to see a life-size replica of the wall clown, but this one was alive and held out a bouquet to her. She took it and he tipped his bowler and disappeared beyond the balloons. She counted fourteen red roses and held them against her chest.
She felt a touch at her elbow this time and turned to see two women, each dressed in a turn-of-the-century long gown. One held a key, and the other waggled her finger for Gilda to follow. Looking around for Cole, she still didn’t see him. Thinking he must be part of the game, she followed the woman who led her to a brightly painted door that was crooked and held a giant blue handle. The woman handed her the key and motioned for Gilda to slide it in the lock, which she did. The woman then motioned for her to turn the blue handle, and Gilda complied.
The door opened and inside she saw Cole, sitting on a sofa, one leg crossed over the other knee. “Come in, Gilda,” he said, motioning to her.
Her mouth dropped open as she realized that this was the exact image she’d seen in her dream the night before. She walked toward the sofa and Cole patted a cushion. “Pick anything you like,” he said as models began to enter the room, each dressed in an outfit more stunning than the one before.