Love Easy

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Love Easy Page 6

by Roe Valentine


  “It was there.” Norma pointed, getting some strength back in her body. “I saw it. Oh dear…maybe he…killed her? I don’t know what he did to her.” Her voice trailed off to a whisper, and she began to question what she saw. Perhaps the mint julep made her hallucinate? No, she couldn’t have hallucinated that. The tiny hammer that pounded on her skull reminded her that it was real.

  Disregarding her pounding head, Norma sprinted toward the end of the alley.

  Henry followed behind her step for step, though he didn’t run.

  Standing there, where the redhead and man struggled, made her feel faint; it was as if she had entered into some alternate universe where everything was backwards. She lifted her trembling hands to cradle her stinging cheeks; the cold got a hold of her skin and picked away with icy nails.

  “It was here.” Her arms fell to her sides, and she turned a desperate glance to Mr. Chapel. “He hurt her!” she grunted and closed her eyes. “Oh, I don’t know what he did to her…”

  “Norma.” Henry captured her flailing hands easily with his large palms; she didn’t notice how huge his hands were until they were on her. “There is nothing here.”

  She snapped away from his warm hands and said in a very breathy, empty voice, “I didn’t help her…” Her heart thumped with hard pulses.

  He inched closer, taking her arms and pulling her into his body; he pulled her inside of his jacket. She could smell him again and it was better than the most expensive perfume. Her head was spinning, but she welcomed his embrace for balance, mostly.

  His muscles relaxed and invited her to hang on to him for dear life. The sensations from their close encounter at the Daily flooded back. His eyes were soft and yielding like they had been under the harsh lighting in the press room. She didn’t realize how impressive his arms were until she was in them; he was just so big and capable. She felt…safe. She embedded her face into his gray vest, breathing in deeply—his scent took her to far off places, exotic places.

  “Baby…Henry.” A thickly seductive voice cut through the cold air. Echoing the melodic voice were the sounds of high heels clanking against the icy ground. “What are you doing? I’ve been waiting for my dance.”

  Norma, still entrenched in Mr. Chapel’s coat, looked up, turning her neck toward the blonde Sheba, also known as Mr. Chapel’s girlfriend.

  She stood in front of them with one hand on her hip and the other holding the same expensive cigarette holder. Her blue eyes iced over as she drank in the scene. The Sheba’s narrowing indignant eyes honed in on the contact point between Mr. Chapel and Norma.

  Norma jumped back in response to Mr. Chapel’s shove—how did he make that seem dignified?

  Calm and collected, the way he did everything, he adjusted his coat and hat, not saying anything. He was eloquent as he smoothed himself over, surely knowing the Sheba stared daggers into him, her breathing growing heavier as the seconds rolled by.

  Norma scanned the ally for a quick getaway.

  “I am taking care of business,” he finally said.

  Norma gasped—not the response she expected. What business was he taking care of exactly?

  “Applesauce!” the blonde rebutted, wearing that same sourpuss expression on her beautiful face. “I don’t know of any business that requires female subordinates to cling to their bosses.” She tossed a less than friendly glance toward Norma.

  Again, Norma didn’t blame her.

  “Well that is not for you to decipher, Annabelle,” Henry said. “I have to get my employee home safe. It is my…responsibility as her boss.”

  His responsibility?

  “I’m fine, Mr. Chapel, truly. I can make it home,” Norma lied. She had no idea how she’d get home. The Jazzy Cat was too far to walk, and Ralph had left her to the wolves—or Henry Chapel as it were.

  “We are going.” No challenging his decision. Norma knew that from his reputation at the Daily.

  “The party has just begun.” Annabelle took a puff of her cigarette. She threw her head back in uproarious laughter—probably drunk off gin or something stronger.

  “The party is over,” Henry said with the same definitive tone.

  In a flash, he gripped Annabelle’s arm and walked—shoved really—her toward the secret entrance. Norma stayed behind, kicking up the ice and gravel from the ground. She counted the number of knocks on the door before the portly doorman peered through a crack and exchanged words with Mr. Chapel. Annabelle groaned the whole time. Apparently Henry decided Annabelle could find another ride home.

  Norma continued to kick her feet against the gravel, and as she scanned the ground, a sparkle from the alley caught her eye. Light bounced off something near a couple of turned over tin cans. Walking over to it, she squinted at the tiny object pressed into the gravel. In seconds, she stood before the shining object and bent over to lift it with trembling fingers.

  Her heart stopped, legs felt like jelly again. The darned headache only got worse.

  In her hand, she held a single pearl, one of the many pearls that had broken free from the redhead’s necklace during the scuffle. Her hand quickly closed about it as she glanced around again—still nothing.

  Was it just a lover’s quarrel or a legitimate attack? Did she make it out alive?

  A brutal lover’s quarrel much like the ones she remembered as a child when her father would come home intoxicated and demand from her mother anything he felt entitled to? She pressed those calamitous thoughts back to where she kept them under lock and key.

  Minutes later, Mr. Chapel’s blue luxury motorcar crushed the gravel underneath the tires as he drove up. The sound startled her, and she tightened her fist so the pearl couldn’t escape. Glancing over the posh car, she decided he was better off than she had heard. His family owned some commodities company. Was it a copper or cardboard box company? She couldn’t remember.

  She reached for the door handle but was stopped by Mr. Chapel who lunged from the driver’s side. “You stay there.” He strode over to the side where she stood and took the handle in his large palm, pulling it open.

  Norma stepped aside, while he proved he was a gentleman.

  “Thank you,” she mumbled and slid in the seat, not making eye contact. Why was his politeness making her uncomfortable? She’d expect a man of his status and upbringing to open a car door for a woman.

  He nodded, and waited until she settled in before he shut the door and returned to the other side.

  The car ride was quiet until Mr. Chapel’s deep voice cut the tension. It startled her at first—he sounded like the voice of the good Lord splitting the heavens. “You really are shaken up, aren’t you?” He turned the steering wheel to navigate the car down Norma’s street.

  She didn’t immediately say anything. The tone in his voice soothed her. He was not the Mr. Chapel she’d become accustomed to. In fact, he broke down her defenses without much effort. How could she respond in her usual sass-mouthed manner? He was kind enough to leave the capable Annabelle behind to give her a ride home.

  With eyes focused on the road, she wondered how capable Annabelle was exactly; she looked like she could keep up with the likes of Mr. Chapel. Norma didn’t like the tightening in her stomach when she thought of Annabelle in those terms, but she digressed.

  Finally, she decided on the right words and cleared her throat. “What I saw was very disturbing. To make matters worse, I am left to speculate what happened to the poor Jane. What did that bimbo do to her? It’s all so surreal. I almost feel like I dreamed it.”

  “Maybe you did?” Henry suggested without expressed judgment. Not even the inflections in his tone suggested he thought she dreamed the incident, but of course, she assumed the opposite.

  “How dare you, Mr. Chapel? I am not unsure of what I saw, and you have a lot of nerve suggesting I didn’t see what I most certainly saw!” The words sounded better in her head, and she mostly certainly sounded a loon—Freud’s sign sprouted light bulbs and highlighted the words Nut Case. She probably
should have been more gracious about the ride home.

  “I just want you to be sure. Those claims are quite serious,” he said, still with an even tone. His hands slid across the steering wheel as she watched his smooth skin contrasted against the black metal.

  She had to turn away.

  Mr. Chapel’s car stopped in front of her brownstone building. How did he know her address? She was too preoccupied to ask. The two were silent within the close space of the car. She didn’t make a move to exit, and he didn’t usher her out by any means. She didn’t dare look at him, although he looked at her.

  Was she ashamed of how she acted? Surely having a breakdown in front of Mr. Chapel didn’t do much for her cause—if she had one. Being so close to him did awful things to her insides. Images of his arms wrapped around her flashed in her mind again. The images made her tingle deep within and confused her.

  Finally, she allowed his gaze to grab hers. When she did, his pupils dilated—his eyes appeared strange in the darkness of the car. Was it concern? Or desire?

  His intense stare made her quiver. Her nerves stood at attention—even more than they already were. His mouth opened and then closed. She wanted to urge him to continue, but she didn’t. Might have been better that way.

  Moments later, he spoke, his tone calm. “Will you be okay? Do you need me to escort you inside?”

  His offer made her insides jerk. She couldn’t possibly invite her boss inside her home. Could she? No, that would not be appropriate. After everything that happened—the touch at the Daily, the confrontation with Ralph, the assault, the embrace in the alley. No, she definitely couldn’t allow him in her home. Some things needed to be kept separate.

  She shook her head as if he had asked to have her first born. His lips pressed together as his gaze shifted to the steering wheel for a moment.

  What is he thinking?

  He was just so different. What would she do with the new Mr. Chapel? She could deal with the indifferent Mr. Chapel, even the angry Mr. Chapel. The Mr. Chapel sitting inches from her was a man capable of feeling the full spectrum of emotions.

  Perplexed, she wondered how the hollering tyrant could be so gentle. Clearly she treaded on uncharted waters with this man.

  He placed his large palm on her hand. It was like fire on her skin—liquid heat crawling on her fingers, between her fingers, too. It sizzled.

  She shifted her eyes back to his brooding gaze; still neither spoke. The only thing louder than the soft thumps of ice falling against the windshield was the beating of her heart. Words were hard to come by. He rendered her speechless. The man deserved a Pulitzer for that alone.

  Finally, he spoke. “I really hope you’re okay, Norma.”

  His words echoed in her ears. She pulled back her hand, placing it on the door handle.

  “No, let me.” He moved to open the driver side door.

  “Don’t bother.” She opened the door and stepped out with little grace. She leaned over and looked him in the eyes one last time. “Thank you.”

  His stare was intense, and there seemed to be unsaid words between them. She couldn’t be sure though. Perhaps she had unsaid words for him. The longer they stared, the more she became aware that she held her breath.

  Shifting her gaze to the passenger seat, she sucked in a bit of air before shutting the heavy metal door. She needed to be out of there. Her feet scampered up the small concrete stairs, and with her key, she unlocked the door and shut it behind her.

  ****

  Norma ran up the concrete steps to her brownstone as if she were running from the cops. The snow sprinkled on her dark coat as she removed a key from her clutch and pressed it into the door. In seconds, she was inside her apartment and didn’t look back.

  He remained, watching her and making sure she was unharmed. What was behind her front door? Who was Norma outside of work hours? Thinking about her in those informal terms—away from the Daily—brought him to a new awareness of her, of him.

  He studied the door, wanting to take the short walk to it and knock, but didn’t. There were a few too many things he wanted to do, but didn’t. He wanted to smash in Ralph’s face, and not just because he couldn’t stand the sap, but because he had touched Norma with such callous hands as if he had a right to breathe in the same air she breathed. He didn’t like how the bastard was too close to her—her face. His jaw clenched the longer he thought about what had happened. He didn’t like Ralph’s lips on her—surely taking a kiss. What woman in her right mind would let that moron put any part of him on her? Norma was a smart woman, he knew that rather quickly.

  Sitting in the driver’s seat under the lamp light in front of Norma’s brownstone, he contemplated her door with more interest than he’d shown Annabelle.

  Snow fell on the windshield and gathered on the hood of the car. Norma had been inside her apartment for minutes, and he remained staring at the door, willing her to reappear. Did she know he stayed outside waiting? He imagined all the things he would do if she opened the door. Inappropriate things—things a boss should not do with his subordinate. But she was so lovely; how could he not think of inappropriate things? How could he not want more from her after their moment at the Daily and after holding her in his arms in the alley?

  If she opened the door, he’d take her in his arms and kiss her, properly and not like some brute. He would touch her silky skin, take his time doing it. He would remove her modest dress piece by piece until she was nothing but raw nerves under his touch.

  With the grip of desire on his trousers, he shifted in the seat to relieve the pressure—it didn’t. It had been a good fifteen minutes since Norma slammed the door shut, and he couldn’t bring himself to drive off. He couldn’t bring himself to pick up Annabelle after the fiasco—God, he didn’t want to hear her mouth. In truth, he didn’t want much to do with Annabelle, but she was relentless in her pursuit—she always got her men to commit. Henry grunted; he would never commit to the likes of Annabelle. Beautiful women only got so far with him. They usually bored him to tears. Constant yapping about nonsensical things annoyed him. Annabelle wasn’t different, and he knew that upon first glance. But, his mother had insisted he court the blonde. His mind digressed. What would Mom think of Norma Hill? No, he couldn’t go there.

  Easing back onto the narrow road, he glanced at his pocket watch. After two in the morning. The small, quiet road was well lit, and the only sounds were the tires crushing the ice on the ground. He turned on the main street to make his way back to the Jazzy Cat. Something had changed in him. What the change was, he wasn’t sure.

  Chapter Six

  Henry rolled over in his large bed—perfect for him. It was fit for a king, and he was the king of paper. What else was he the king of? Not Norma. Did he want to be?

  No.

  He woke with her on his mind. Frankly, she hadn’t left it. Not since he got a glimpse of what was under her dress, and especially since he had her in his arms even for the briefest moment. His nether regions stirred at the recollection. Plain and simple, she stirred him. A knock at the door killed his arousal. Moaning, he shoved the velvet covers to the side and slid off the high mattress. The hardwood floor was cold against the pads of his bare feet. He wasn’t the kind of man to wear house shoes, though his father said a gentleman did. His father also said gentlemen wore a robe upon rising from the bed. Henry didn’t do that either. Bare from the chest up, he made his way through the penthouse above Michigan Avenue until he came to the front double cherry-paneled doors.

  Who would come calling at that hour? He glanced at the grandfather clock from across the living room. An hour past noon. Damn. He had an engagement and knew who stood on the other side of the door. Groaning he unlocked and pulled the doors open.

  “Henry!” Annabelle’s brows knit together. She was annoyed, though he wasn’t sure if it was because of last night or because he was supposed to meet her and his parents for lunch. “You were supposed to pick me up for lunch!”

  Squeezing his eye
s shut for a moment, his head pounded from her screeching voice. “Come in.” He pivoted on his heels toward the cushioned settee near the large window.

  The sound of the door slamming jerked his insides; the clicking of Annabelle’s heels followed. “Your mother is furious. We’ve been waiting at the Furhman Café for an hour.”

  “Yes, Mother would be furious.” He sighed, sitting in the seat.

  Annabelle advanced toward him until she stood in front, hands balled on the hips.

  “I can’t believe you would be late after last night’s stunt.” Her blue eyes hardened.

  Of course she’d bring that up.

  He looked up, wiping his eyes. Was he always “handling” something? Would he ever get a break?

  “I’m sorry you thought it was a stunt.” Norma needing help was not a stunt. It quite annoyed him Annabelle thought as much. “But, I don’t consider my employee’s misfortune a stunt.”

  “She was drunk. Playing games it would seem to me.” Her red lips pursed.

  God, he hated when she did that.

  “I’m just surprised the likes of her got you to play along.”

  His jaw tightened. “I would be careful if I was you, Annabelle.”

  “Henry…” Her voice softened. “I didn’t mean it like that.” She ran a gloved finger over his jaw.

  He swatted her finger away. “What did you mean then? Was I not supposed to help my employee?”

  Shifting her gaze to the floor, Annabelle stepped back. “It’s the way you helped her. And you didn’t say a word to me last night about it.”

  “You were drunk when I went back to scrape you off the dance floor. Really, Annabelle, you should ease up on the hooch.”

 

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