Her Man Friday

by Elizabeth Bevarly

  "When I was fourteen," he said suddenly, softly, noting with dubious satisfaction the way Chloe flinched at the sudden sound of his voice in the otherwise silent car, "I had a friend who was much like your Lauren. His name was Jason, and I didn't like him much. But there are times in life when intimacy is bred with those who offend and annoy us the least. Plus, my mother detested him, something that went a long way toward cementing my friendship with him. He was not, shall we say, a good influence. Nor was he particularly reliable."

  Chloe's face was still turned to the window, but she glanced his way as she said, "What happened to him?"

  Schuyler crossed one leg over the other and flicked at a nonexistent piece of lint on his trouser leg. "I have no idea. I like to think he's in a Turkish prison somewhere, but something tells me he doubtless became either a highly successful CEO or else is, at this moment, holed up in Montana somewhere plotting to overthrow the government with a band of hired ex-Green Berets. He wasn't a very nice person."

  There was another brief bout of silence, then Chloe remarked, "But you were friends with him."

  "Yes. I was," Schuyler conceded. "For a time. I remember one night in particular—when I was fourteen, as providence would have it—when Jason convinced me to do something I shouldn't have done. Actually, that night wasn't the first occasion upon which he did that. It was just the first time doing something I shouldn't have done backfired on me."

  Chloe hesitated only a moment before asking, "What happened?"

  Schuyler inhaled deeply and released the breath slowly, trying to keep at bay memories of that night that remained far too fresh for his tolerance. "To make a long story, whose details I'd prefer not to discuss, short, I ended up alone, facing down five young men who had exceeded their genetic potential in the brawn and ugliness departments. Unfortunately, they weren't likewise gifted with brains, and any effort I made to talk them out of doing what they wanted to do failed most profoundly. To put it simply, they beat the hell out of me that night."

  Chloe turned her head then, to face him fully, but in the dim light of the car, he had no idea how to gauge what was going through her head. Especially since she said nothing in response to his assertion.

  "They broke my arm, my wrist, three fingers, and two ribs," he said. "I received a minor concussion, and had to have five stitches under my chin. If you ask me nicely, when we get home, I'll show you the scar. I am, after all, rather proud of it."

  "Why?"

  He sighed again and uncrossed his legs, leaning forward to weave the fingers of his hands together between them. Then he waited until he was sure Chloe was looking at him full on before he continued. "Because, my dear daughter, it's a very effective reminder of how close I came to submitting with much success to my own feelings of self-destruction." He leaned back in his seat, and this time, he was the one to stare out the window at the swiftly passing darkness.

  "I hated myself when I was young," he told her, surprised at how easily the words came. "I hated being different from everyone else. I hated standing in the middle of a crowded room, pretending I felt comfortable, when I knew I would never be comfortable around anyone. I hated being able to easily comprehend things that baffled other people completely. I hated seeing things differently, understanding things differently, reeling things differently. And I hated knowing that no matter how hard I looked, I would never, ever, find anyone who was like me, anyone who shared the same thoughts and feelings I claimed myself. And I hated knowing that, even though I was surrounded by people—people who cared about me, even—I would essentially be alone forever.

  "There were times, Chloe," he continued more softly, "when I wanted to die instead of having to go on with the rest of my life feeling the way I felt, knowing the things I knew. And because of that, I frequently cast myself into situations that might, somehow, achieve such a goal for me, when I couldn't go about doing it on my own."

  This time he did turn to look at her again. "At best, I wanted to create some understandable, identifiable reason for why I felt so angry and resentful and dissatisfied all the time. I needed an excuse for why I was so utterly unhappy. Talk about your rebel without a clue…"

  In the brief slash of a passing street lamp, he saw that she was gazing right at him. Intently, and with full understanding. Then the shadows fell again, something that made it possible for him to continue.

  "Life is dangerous for people like us, Chloe," he said, forcing a weak smile. "We think too much, we comprehend too much, we feel too much. Some days, it's exhausting just trying to get through to the end. But that doesn't mean we have to submit. I'm only now learning that. Hopefully, it won't be such a hard lesson for you, or one so long in coming."

  "What—" She stopped when her voice came out sounding rusty and dry, then cleared her throat before trying again. "What happened to you that finally made you feel better about yourself? When did you start thinking that maybe things would be okay?"

  Schuyler didn't hesitate at all this time before answering. "Lily happened," he said. "She was the first person to come into my life and treat me like a human being. Not a troublemaker. Not a brilliant mind. But a person. At first, I didn't quite know what to make of her when she did that. Then, I allowed myself to love her for doing it. More than I've ever loved anyone, I suppose. Until recently," he qualified. "At first, I mistook that love for the kind of love that a man feels for a woman he wants to make his wife. But soon I realized that it was actually something else entirely."

  "What?"

  "It was the love one feels for a friend—a true, genuine friend—that he knows he will have forever. No matter what happens. No matter how many people, or how many mishaps, or how many miles come between them. No matter how many hardships or injustices occur. Lily is a constant in my life. For a long time, I thought she was the only constant I would ever have. She's never cut me any slack, and she's never coddled me. Nor has she ever dismissed or overlooked me. When I met her, it was the first time I felt a kinship with anyone. And that has never changed."

  Chloe seemed to think about that for a moment, then said, "I need to find someone like that."

  Schuyler hesitated for only a moment before assuring her, "You have."

  She gazed back at him in thoughtful silence for a long time, but again, the shadows in the car prevented him from deciphering clearly what she might be thinking. Then, as softly as he had spoken himself, she said, "Do you still feel like you'll never meet anyone who's like you are? Who feels and knows and understands the same things you do?"

  This time when Schuyler smiled, the gesture was heartfelt. "No, I don't feel that way anymore," he said. "Because I have a daughter, and she and I are of one essence, one soul, aren't we? I don't know why I didn't see or understand that before. Some big brain I've turned out to be." He hesitated briefly before adding, "And, perhaps, there might be someone else who—"

  He stopped himself before saying any more about Caroline, before speaking out loud what was still much too new and uncertain for words. "I have a daughter," he said again, knowing that, at least, was certain. "I'll always have a daughter, I hope. And you, if you want one, will always have a father in me."

  "I want a father," she said immediately, plainly, genuinely. "I want you."

  Something inside Schuyler opened up wide, filling with warmth, with light, with a giddy sense of well-being. For a moment, he also felt that old ripple of terror rising, and with no small effort, he forced it back down. It was going to take time, he knew, before he would be any good at this parenting thing. But with any luck at all…

  "Well, then," he said. "I suppose we're off to a reasonably good start, aren't we?"

  Lily had never been more nervous about dinner in her entire life. Of course, that wasn't surprising, seeing as how her life—and the lives of so many others—pretty much depended on this dinner. She'd even shirked her professional duties to go shopping that day, so that she would have something reasonably appropriate to wear that was neither the cocktail dress of a hos
tess, nor the workday suit of a social secretary.

  No, tonight, Lily intended to dress as—and be—exactly what she was. So she had found her way to the very top floor of Bloomingdale's, and had selected a lovely, deceptively conservative Ungaro suit in smoke-gray velvet with pearl buttons. She fastened a string of exquisite pearls around her throat, fastened two more in her ears, then scooted her feet into black, low-heeled pumps. She swept her hair high on her head, applied only a minimal amount of makeup, and then, satisfied that she could successfully play her role to the public for the first time, she left her quarters to go down to the dining room.

  Leo hadn't yet arrived, but the rest of the usual suspects, save Schuyler, were there. Mrs. Puddle-duck, looking as morose as usual in tepid brown, hovered over her young charge, though not quite as militantly as usual. That was probably because Chloe herself looked small and tired, her bright fuschia dress making more obvious the pale undertones of her complexion. Her eyes were smudged by faint circles, attesting to the late and difficult night she had suffered, but she stood straight and tall, and she was smiling faintly at something Miranda said, so perhaps things were on the mend there.

  Lily was certain Schuyler would be there for her tonight. She was certain because she had made it abundantly clear to him earlier that, if he wasn't there for her tonight, then she would make kielbasa out of him.

  Inhaling a deep breath—the last she would take as Schuyler's secretary—she strode purposefully to the bar on the other side of the expansive room. And, seeing Janey Kimball standing nearby wearing her usual straw chapeau and dainty gloves, not to mention a lilac gown that was positively gossamer, Lily decided to try flexing a little muscle.

  "Janey. Darling," she said. "Fix me a martini, would you?"

  Without turning her head, Janey dropped her mouth open in outrage at the suggestion—nay, the command—that she should perform a service for someone other than herself. Then she jerked her head around to look at Lily, and whatever words she had been about to utter were squelched before making themselves known. She swept her gaze over Lily from head to toe, then up again, then down again, and then fixed on her face for some moments. And then, almost imperceptibly, Janey nodded.

  "All right," she said, surprising Lily. She pivoted around to the bar. "I suppose I could do that."

  Miranda Kimball, too, seemed to notice something different about her son's secretary, because she crossed the room in a graceful, and abundant, flow of purple satin, pausing to stand in front of Lily. But she said nothing at first, only gazed in steady perusal at the woman she had scarcely heeded before.

  Then she tilted her head to the left a bit and said,

  "What was that, Joan?" After a brief pause, she smiled and nodded. "Yes, I think so, too. Lily does look divine tonight, doesn't she?" Then, to Lily, she added, "Miss Crawford thinks you have a very powerful aura about you this evening. And you do. It's very… potent."

  Well, Miss Crawford would know, Lily thought.

  Janey extended a martini to her then, and she took it with a quick nod of thanks. She was about to respond to Miranda's comment, when she suddenly felt the presence of an aura that was infinitely more important, infinitely more potent. She sensed, more than saw, Leo enter the dining room, and when she turned to gaze at him, her heart nearly jumped out of her throat.

  Because, like his friend Eddie Dolan, who stood at his side, Leo was dressed in the most elegant, most sophisticated—most erotic, most sexy—tuxedo that Lily had ever seen. His hair was slicked back dramatically, as if he had just stepped from a fabulous forties film, and he had a white rose affixed to his lapel. It was identical to the one Mr. Dolan wore in his own lapel, so Lily was certain it was Leo's friend who was responsible for the adornment, and not Leo himself. Added to that, he seemed in no way comfortable in the formal attire, and that, more than anything else, made Lily go hot all over with her love for him.

  He had a lot to atone and apologize for before the night was over, she reminded herself. But gosh, he was awfully cute.

  The two men strode forward—Mr. Dolan with considerably more finesse than Leo—but she scarcely noticed the other man at all. As they drew nearer, Leo lifted a hand to the black tie at his throat, tugged at it viciously, and muttered something to his friend that sounded like, "I still can't believe I let you wrestle me into this penguin suit."

  "Mr. Dolan," she said, extending her hand toward him, deliberately excluding Leo from the greeting just to tick him off. The gesture worked really, really well, too, because he frowned and refused to look at her. "I'm so happy you could make it this evening." She turned to Leo then, as Eddie Dolan's huge hand swallowed hers. "And you brought Mr. Freiberger—or whoever he is—with you. How nice."

  Leo was still trying to wrangle his tie when he glanced up at her, then back down at his tie, then back up at her again. Immediately, his fingers stopped worrying the length of black silk, and he narrowed his eyes at her suspiciously. He, too, dropped his gaze downward to survey her, then back up again, inspecting her attire and her… aura. Or something. But instead of being impressed by what he saw, as the others so clearly had been, he frowned.

  Before he could remark, however, Janey Kimball forced her way into the small group and eyed Eddie Dolan with much interest. "Can you spell onomatopoeia?" she asked him without preamble.

  To his credit, Mr. Dolan seemed not to be at all surprised by the query. He furrowed his brow and rolled his eyes upward for a moment, as if concentrating very hard. Then, "Nope, sorry," he said. "I can't."

  Janey brightened some. "Do you know what it is?"

  Again, he seemed to think hard before answering. "Yeah, my Aunt Peg suffered from it real bad. A couple doses of Pepto-Bismol always cleared it right up, though. But she was a great old broad, Aunt Peg, in spite of her affliction."

  Janey's smile in response to that, Lily noted, could have lit up eastern Pennsylvania for the next two millennia. "Lily," she said, "aren't you going to introduce me to our guest?"

  Lily made the necessary introductions, marveling at how Mr. Dolan, too, seemed inordinately eager to make Janey's acquaintance. Then the two of them strode off toward the bar, leaving Lily to contend with Leo on her own.

  "You look wonderful," she told him, unable—and unwilling—to keep her feelings to herself on that score. A wave of uncertainty washed over her, though. In spite of recognizing this man, she was beginning to feel as if she'd never really met him at all. "I just wish I knew who you really are," she added softly.

  His expression revealed nothing of what he might be thinking. And all he said in response to her assertion was, "Yeah, well… that makes two of us. And you don't look so bad yourself," he hurried on before she could comment on his remark. He didn't sound much pleased by his observation, however. "Different, though," he continued, scanning her from head to toe again. "I just can't say exactly how."

  Ah, well, she thought. He'd figure it out soon enough. Hey, he was a smart guy, after all.

  "Is your name really Leonard?" she asked.

  He winced, but nodded. "Yes. My name really is Leonard. But, please, call me… something else."

  "Well, then, how about Mr. Freiberger?" she asked, not quite able to mask her sarcasm entirely. "Could I call you that and still be correct?"

  "No," he told her.

  "Because that's not really your name, is it?"

  "No."

  "And you're not a bookkeeper, either, are you?"

  "No."

  When he didn't volunteer the information she was so inexpertly skirting around, Lily asked him flat out, "Who are you then? Really? And what brought you to Ashling to begin with?"

  "That's a question I'd like to have answered myself."

  They both turned then to see Schuyler approaching. He, too, was dressed in a flawless tuxedo, his fingers curled around the stem of a martini glass streaked with cool condensation. He covered the few feet left between them, then fixed his attention entirely on Leo.

  "You've disrupted my enti
re household since you came to Ashling, Mr. Freiberger, and I think the least you could do is tell me why."

  "His name isn't Mr. Freiberger," Lily said.

  "Yes, I know," Schuyler conceded, still looking at Leo. "But it will do for the next few moments, until we get this all straightened out." He glanced down at his watch. "Dinner won't be served for another half-hour. Shall we retire to the library for this? It could, after all, get ugly. No need to ruin everyone's appetite."

  Leo turned a questioning gaze to Lily. "He knows about this?"

  Lily nodded. "Of course he knows. He and I were up all night discussing it. And between the two of us, we hope we can make you understand something very important."

  Schuyler turned away from Leo then for the first time, and gave his full attention to Lily. He opened his mouth to say something, then took in her attire and her new attitude. Then he smiled. "Why, Lily, darling. You wear it well. Something tells me that perhaps we should have done this years ago."

  She smiled back. "I only hope it doesn't all blow up in our face tonight."

  Leo was obviously becoming impatient, because his voice was tinted with irritation when he said, "Would somebody care to enlighten me as to just what the hell you two are talking about?"

  For another scant moment, Schuyler and Lily gazed at each other, both knowing that everything was about to change, and trying to preserve, for one or two final moments, what had been a way of life for them for so long.

  Then, after a quick sip of his martini, Schuyler turned back to Leo. "Freiberger," he said, "you might want to fix yourself a drink before you join Lily and me in the library." He smiled wryly. "Methinks you are going to need it, old man."

  And without awaiting a reply, he spun on his heel and strode confidently out of the dining room without a backward glance.