To See The Daises ... First (11 page)

"You'll need a little background first," he said, gazing out the window. "I was what's commonly called a 'bright young man.' Lord, how I hate that phrase. It makes me sound like a light bulb. Georgia's father's company was my playground. My future was all mapped out. I ate, drank, and slept the company. And in a few years, I would have had the presidency." He glanced at her over his shoulder. "I had no doubt of that. I knew what Mr. Sellers had planned for me and I went along with it. Being president of a large corporation seemed a step in the right direction."

He wandered over to his desk and leaned against it, resting one thigh on the scarred surface. "A pleasant little side-benefit was Georgia. She's a sharp lady. She saw which way the wind was blowing. She recognized the ambition in me and made sure she attached herself to whom she thought would be the winner."

Sunny made no comment, but she could have told him that Georgia's motives for attaching herself to Ben were not that clear-cut. She may have, as he said, recognized him as a winner, but that was not her main reason. Ben could have been an ordinary pencil pusher and still would have attracted the attentions of women like Georgia.

"Then the snake entered the Garden of Eden and my first bite of the apple was decidedly rotten." He grinned suddenly. "Which is a silly way of saying I found out the company had been using underhanded and, to my way of thinking, unforgivable practices for years."

He paused. This part was difficult for him. She could see it in his face. "You know that there are certain substances that are illegal to use in the United States?" She nodded. "It's not uncommon for companies to sell those products to third world countries. I knew those things were happening and, like every other average citizen, it made me a little sick to think money was more important than people." His voice became low and intense. "But I had never looked closely enough at my own company to find that they were doing the same damn thing."

For a moment he stared silently down at his clenched fists. When he spoke at last, his voice was harsh. "All those years I spent there and I hadn't even bothered to find out what was going on."

It hurt so badly to see him condemning himself, but she was helpless to do anything about it. She knew this was something he had to resolve by himself. "What did you do?" she asked quietly.

"I went to Mr. Sellers. It was just possible that he didn't know either. Things like that happen. In a company that big, sometimes the right hand doesn't know what the left is doing. But he knew all right; He knew and even when I asked him about the people whose health was being affected at that very moment, he shrugged it off. His only excuse was 'Everyone does it' and he proceeded to name the companies—companies bigger and more respected than his—that do the same thing."

He laughed bitterly. "I wasn't naive. I knew about the things that went on privately in the business world. Hell, I've used some of those dirty tricks myself. You have to be ruthless when you're dealing with that amount of money and power. But this wasn't a business opponent we were talking about. This was the lives of people who had nothing to do with the business world. These people never know from day to day where their next meals are coming from. They don't deserve that kind of treatment," he ground out with dark intensity.

"So I left. I gave up everything that had to do with that kind of life. Except my paintings. The money that came from the sale of my house and the rest, went into more paintings. I had never collected with an eye to their possible increase in value. I bought what pleased me. It sounds silly now, but the beauty of those paintings seemed to be a hope that I could hang onto, an indication that there was something pure and good somewhere in the world."

"And you've found nothing else in the world with that same purity and goodness?" she asked slowly. It seemed so strange to her that she could look around from any point in the world and see so much to please her—so much that was good, when he could see so little.

"Sometimes. Sometimes I think I have, but then I realize it's only an illusion and has no basis in reality."

"I wonder if you know how sad that is," she murmured.

"Are you going to analyze me again?" he asked warily.

She laughed. "No, I'm not. I have faith in you. I know that eventually you'll work it out. And when you do, you'll see that the good outweighs the evil. If for no other reason than that, selfishly, people want to be surrounded by what pleases them. And goodness is more pleasing than evil."

"You have everything all worked out, don't you?" He was staring at her curiously.

"Not everything," she murmured,. running her eyes wistfully over the bare flesh of his upper torso. Then she grinned when she saw him watching her. "I still don't understand the theory of relativity."

He seemed suddenly to realize that he was only half-dressed, for he rose abruptly from the desk and ran a hand distractedly through his thick, brown hair as he muttered, "Yes, well, I guess I'd better get dressed."

He darted a glance at her, his eyes narrowing in exasperation when he saw the amused twinkle in her eyes. "I have to go to the post office," he explained belligerently.

She watched silently as he picked up his shirt and headed for the bathroom. With every minute that passed they came closer and closer to the final step in their relationship. It seemed incomprehensible to her that she could leave him without knowing him completely. It had to happen. This thing between them was too strong to ignore. The question was—when?

***

Ben held his packages between the wall and his chest while he fished the key out of the pocket of his jeans. In his haste, he almost dropped both it and a small heavy sack that began sliding precariously downward as he struggled to maintain his balance.

At last the apartment door swung open. "Nice to see you again, Mary Louise," he called cheerfully over his shoulder to the eyes across the hall, grinning when he heard the door slam shut.

"Sunny!" Dropping the packages on the couch, he walked toward the bedroom. "Sunny, where are you?"

"Ben?"

He stopped when he saw her appear in the open kitchen door and with swift strides crossed to her, grabbing her to spin her around in a circle. The surprise on her face brought a shout of spontaneous laughter from him.

"Drop everything. We're celebrating." He gave her a breath-stealing hug, unable to contain his excitement. "Come see what I bought."

"Ben, what's going on?" Sunny sputtered, dropping a dish towel onto the counter before following him into the living room. "What happened? You've been gone for hours." She paused, her brow wrinkling with thought. "The post office," she murmured, then her eyes widened. "You went to the post office! Ben, you've sold something important!"

She clasped his right hand in both of hers. "You have, haven't you?" she said, laughing in excitement. "Oh, tell me before I hit you."

He watched the delight in her face and felt a warmth flood through his body. She was pleased. Genuinely pleased for him. Pulling the letter from his pocket, he silently handed it to her.

She quickly scanned the page, then squealed in excitement. "They loved it! They really, really loved it. And a check enclosed! Ben, you're rich!"

"Well, not exactly rich," he said, chuckling. "Just a little less poor. But that's not the important part. Didn't you see who the letter was from?"

She glanced at the letter again. " 'Family of Man'? Is that good?"

"Good? It's only the most prestigious magazine in the country—no, not the country," he amended, flopping down on the couch with a stunned laugh, "the world." He pulled her down on the couch, clasping her by the shoulders as he stared at her in amazement. "In the world, Sunny!"

"Oh, Ben," she said with a sigh. "That's wonderful." She gave him a mock-stern look. "Didn't I tell you? Didn't I say all you needed was patience?"

"Yes, Miss-Know-it-All, you did," he admitted. "Now, open the packages and see what I bought you."

"Me? Ben, you shouldn't have bought anything for me," she said quietly, then her eyes began to sparkle with mischief and excitement. "What is it? What did you buy?"

"Here." He laughed in delight as he handed her a large box. "Open this one first."

Accepting the box, she glanced up at him, her eyes glowing with a deep warmth that made him catch his breath. Pulling her eyes slowly away she began to tear away the wrappings. Then suddenly her movements stilled. "Ben," she said in a reverent whisper, rising to her feet. "A dress."

She held the soft, green fabric to her and twirled around before him. "Ben, a dress. It's absolutely gorgeous."

"Now open this." He handed her a smaller package.

"More? Ben, this is too much," she protested, sinking back to the couch as she fumbled with the bright plastic bag. "Oh," she whispered. "Ben . . . shoes . . . and pantyhose ..." She paused as she lifted the last item from the bag, cradling it gently.

"A lipstick," she breathed, then scrambled to her knees, holding his face between her hands as she kissed him gently on the lips. "Ben, lipstick."

"Yes, I know." He laughed through the constriction in his throat. "Lipstick. I should have thought of it before. To tell you the truth, I wouldn't have thought of it today if the saleslady hadn't suggested it."

"No!" she protested. "You've been very thoughtful. You've given me everything I need. But—well, lipstick is a little like sexy underwear. No one really notices, but it makes you feel so much better . . . more feminine."

If you look any more feminine, I'm going to be in big trouble, he thought warily, but said aloud, "Go try them on, for heaven's sake, so I can see if I got my money's worth." As if he hadn't gotten more than he had hoped for in her reaction to his gifts. "Ill put the champagne on ice and we can celebrate in style."

"Champagne?" she murmured, raising an eyebrow in inquiry. "Are we changing our lifestyle?"

He chuckled and gave her a push toward the bedroom. "Definitely. Now we can have jelly with our toast. Now go change. You can't have even cheap champagne in jeans."

***

Sunny dropped the packages on the bed, hugging herself as she twirled around in pure pleasure. This love she had for Ben, although its lifespan could be measured in mere hours, was a solid, true thing, and seeing him so happy sent her emotions soaring.

Stripping quickly, she pulled the dress from the box and slipped it over her head. It fit perfectly, as she knew it would. It seemed almost to be an arrangement of sheer scarves as it fell from connecting points at each shoulder in erratic, but very feminine, lines to end in an indefinite hemline around her calves.

She eagerly pulled on the pantyhose and the strappy sandals, then stood before the spotted dresser mirror. It was a dress for a fairy queen, she thought. Then, gazing critically at her figure in the mirror, she began to frown. Her hair was wrong. It was much too casual to match the dress.

She turned and quickly rummaged through the wrappings on the bed until she found what she _was seeking—the gold ribbon that had tied the dress box.

After ten minutes of fighting her curls, she managed to subdue them long enough to tie her hair on top of her head with the gold ribbon. Backing away from the mirror, she nodded as she viewed the completed picture. Much better, she thought ^as she applied the peach-colored lipstick.

"Now," she murmured, turning away from the mirror, "for the unveiling."

After opening the door, she languished regally against the frame, her arm raised and the back of her hand pressed elegantly to her forehead.

She watched him anxiously beneath lowered lids as he caught his breath and started abruptly toward her. As he drew closer, she extended a limp hand.

Laughing huskily, he knelt before her and raised her hand to kiss it. She felt his warm lips on the back of her hand, then slowly he turned it over and pressed a kiss deeply into her palm. Oh, how she loved this man. She wanted so badly to reach out and pull him to her.

She shook her head, willing strength into her legs to keep them from folding beneath her, then laughed and raised her nose haughtily. "Rise, varlet."

"Am I allowed to speak?" he asked soberly.

"Of course," she said, nodding with royal condescension. "You may say all you like about how lovely. . . exquisite . . . breathtaking I look." Then she looked down and added hastily, "But don't let me put words in your mouth. Anything in that vein will do nicely."

"Actually," he began, his lip twitching in amusement, "I was going to say I smell something burning."

"Dinner!" she gasped. Running to the kitchen, she grabbed two pot holders and threw open the oven door. She fanned frantically at the smoke, then pulled the charred remains from the rack to lay it on the top of the stove.

"What is it?"

She whirled around to find him looking skeptically at the black lump. "It's a roast," she replied indignantly.

"Uh-uh." He shook his head in a wry sideways motion. "Maybe it used to be a roast, but now it's definitely an ex-roast." He nodded wisely. "Yes, that is most certainly a late roast. A once was, a former, a defunct... . roast."

"Very funny." She had the feeling she should be irritated with him, but her heart swelled at seeing him so carefree. "You can joke all you want, but what are we going to do about dinner?"

"Details," he said airily. "You bother me with details. We have champagne—which should by now be an exquisite lukewarm. What more do we need?"

"Food," she muttered.

"Then make hors d'oeuvres. Something simple— Beluga caviar or pate de foie gras will do," he threw over his shoulder as he returned to the living room.

She heard him twirling the champagne bottle in a bucket of ice and smiled lovingly. Moments later when she carried the glasses and a tray into the living room, he was leaning back on the couch, his hands joined behind his head and a contented smile spreading his firm lips.

When she sat the platter on the coffee table, he glanced down at it suspiciously, then at her. "What are they?"

"Hors d'oeuvres."

He leaned closer. "They look like vanilla wafers."

She gazed at him disapprovingly. "You're a writer, use your imagination. Besides, they're perfect for dunking. If you tried to dunk caviar, the roe would slide off your cracker into the champagne."

He thought for a moment. "You're right. I never thought of it before, but what could be more disgusting than fish eggs in the bubbly?" He picked up a glass, ignoring her laughter, and filled it.

When they both had their glasses, he raised his high. "To the exceptionally good taste and amazing perception of the editor at 'Family of Man.' "

"Hear, hear." She raised the glass to her lips, then put a slim finger under her nose as the bubbles began to tickle. "Wait—I've got one. ... To the giant—and unheralded—talent of a man we all know and love." Before he could complete his "amen," she added, "Truman Capote."

His laugh caught him in the middle of a bottoms-up gesture, and he threw her an indignant look as he began coughing. "Ill get you for that," he muttered, then poured more champagne into both glasses and said, "To the post office, and may they continue to bring such delightful offerings."

"To the vanilla wafers!" she exclaimed exuberantly. When he looked at her doubtfully, she shrugged. "I ran out of toasts."

As she picked up one of the small cookies, he leaned back with a sigh and sipped his champagne. "This is the beginning, Sunny. It's finally the beginning. If this story is well received, I'm on my way. I can do the stories I want to do."

"What do you mean 'if.' " She dipped the wafer into the champagne in her glass. "Of course, it will be well received. You wrote it, didn't you?"

He smiled indulgently. "Have you ever read any of my work?"

"No ..." she admitted slowly. "But you told me it was good and you're a man of your word."

He glanced down as she dunked another cookie. "Are you really eating that?"

"It's delicious," she said enthusiastically. "Here, try one."

"Cookies with champagne seems somehow . . . perverted," he murmured as she dipped a wafer in his glass and raised it to his lips.

Chuckling, he opened his mouth to receive her offering. Suddenly his lips grazed her fingers, bringing an electric jolt of awareness. His laughter faded as their eyes met and held. And before she could prepare herself, the sensuous threads of the night before picked up the erotic pattern, weaving it stronger and with greater intricacy.

Slowly, he picked up a wafer and dipped it into her glass before extending it to her parted lips. "Why can't I touch you?" he whispered huskily. "I want so badly to pleasure you, to find my pleasure in you. I want to repay you for showing me the world outside this room by showing you a secret world."

His finger lingered on her bottom lip and he gently followed its shape. There would be only the two of us in the secret world. No past, no future. No one to tell us it was wrong for me to touch you—to love you."

His low, husky voice carried her without effort into his dream world as he spoke. She could feel a fine, sensuous mist surrounding them as the erotic images cut off reality.

"I didn't even have a chance to tell you last night how unbelievably lovely you are." His finger slid to the mole beside her mouth, his breathing sounded strangely harsh as he continued to speak in an urgent whisper. "Did you realize last night that I was afraid? Afraid to touch you for fear you might slip away from me. You're so small, so perfectly formed. I felt like an animal for wanting to touch you, to devour you. I had your body beneath my hands at last and they trembled as though I were a boy on his first date."

Sliding his finger to her chin, he drew her closer as his head began to descend. Things seemed to be happening in slow motion and an enormous urgency built inside her. Then, when his lips were only a breath away and her eyelids were drifting down in anticipation, something began to penetrate her consciousness.

Stiffening, she turned her head toward the bedroom. Then, recognizing the familiar tapping sound, she moaned in frustration. Halting a shiver of disappointment, she stood up with a sigh.

"Where are you going?" he asked in surprise, his voice still holding traces of the sensuous huskiness.

"To answer the window," came the disgruntled reply as she disappeared into the bedroom.

She walked to the window and pulled it open. "Hello, Mary Louise," she said in resignation as the girl crawled through the window.

"I just wanted to warn you," the girl said as she pushed her glasses back on her nose. "One of those packages Ben brought home had a bottle in it. I figure he's going to get you drunk so you'll give in to him."

"I was giving it the old college try," Sunny muttered under her breath.

"I got here as soon as I could to warn—" Suddenly she stopped and stared at Sunny. "Sunny, you're gorgeous," she breathed in awe.

"Thank you. Do you like my dress? Ben bought it for me and yes, he bought a bottle of champagne, but he's not trying to get me drunk," she said without pausing, then inhaled and added, "Was there anything else you wanted?"

Mary Louise turned and looked at the two of them in the mirror. "Who do you suppose decided I should be fat and ugly and that you should be thin and gorgeous?"

"You're not fat and ugly. A different hairstyle would do wonders for your face, and instead of those ruffles you need to dress to suit your looks."

"Like what—a dog collar?"

Sunny laughed and put an arm around her shoulder. "Stop putting yourself down. You're funny and intelligent beyond your years. And with the right clothes, you'll also be very attractive."

"Sure," the girl said doubtfully. "Brooke Shields, watch out." Then she stared up at Sunny. "IVe got some babysitting money. I told Daddy he could have it, but he told me to spend it on something for myself. Could we go tomorrow and pick out some clothes?"

Mary Louise rarely spoke of her father, and when she did it was always with a worried, wistful expression on her face. "I don't see why not," Sunny replied. She stared at her young, grumpy friend thoughtfully. "You love your father very much, don't you?"

For a moment she didn't think Mary Louise was going to answer. Then she said in a rush, "He needs me to take care of him. He works so hard." She sighed. "He blames himself because my mother left us for someone who had more money. But she was stupid. Nobody with money could be better than Daddy."

"I'm sure you're right," Sunny murmured, aching for the girl's loss. It explained so much of her belligerent attitude.

Sunny silently watched Mary Louise climb out the window, vowing to do all she could to help her, then turned back toward the living room, crossing her fingers in the hope that the spell had not been broken.

But she had hoped in vain. When she walked into the next room, she found it empty, and heard the rattle of dishes in the kitchen. She walked slowly to the coffee table, sighing as she picked up a vanilla wafer, and dipped it wistfully into one of the glasses that sat abandoned on the table. She stood there for a regretful moment, then moved toward the kitchen to help Ben with dinner.