A Special Man (2 page)

"Greenleigh Acres is unique," Ginny said, and not without a hint of pride in her voice. "It's not a hospital or a funny farm. Mostly it's a resting place for the rich and famous. We get actors and actresses who want to lose weight or dry out or who are simply between pictures and need pampering. In fact Delores Carey is here right now."

Amanda swung around. "Really?" she asked, impressed against her will as she thought of the auburn-haired actress who had been the top box-office draw of the sixties. "She's one of my favorite actresses. I must have seen The Dark Backward a dozen times."

Ginny grimaced. "Don't worry. You'll meet her. No one escapes Miss Carey unnoticed. We also get actresses who are on their way to being somebody. Protegees of directors or other rich men. They come here to recuperate from nose jobs or breast augmentation or tummy tucks or having the fat sacked out of them." Ginny leaned against the desk. "And sometimes Greenleigh is simply a place for the pillars of society to send their embarrassments."

"Embarrassments?"

"We get a lot of those—I won't call them loonies because I can tell it upsets you; you'll toughen up in time. Right now we've got a twenty-year-old man who enjoys dressing in women's clothes. The catch is his father is a famous senator. And we have Mrs. Osgood. Her nephew is big in computers. That's not exactly a sensitive occupation, but he's trying to get the government to institute reforms in public education. Her 'eccentricities' would set him back a century. And then there's Virgie."

"Virgie?"

"DeVries, You've heard the name, of course."

"Not as in William DeVries?" Amanda said, picturing the strong, down-to-earth face of the world-famous evangelist.

"The same," Ginny said. "Virgie, his daughter, likes men... too much. She's a nympho like you've never seen before. She's caused us no end of problems. She's hit on every man on staff and not a few of the guests."

Amanda swallowed heavily. What in hell had Dr. Anderson gotten her into? "Tell me about the rest of the staff," she said, trying to get the conversation back to territory familiar to her.

"Let's see," Ginny said, flopping down on the couch. "We have a total of ten nurses—you'll meet them all later—at least three on duty at all times. Dr. Greg Nabors is the internist who takes care of things when Dr. Sutherland is away. Resident psychiatrist, Paul Choate. A full staff in the kitchen. Maids, gardeners, lifeguards, stable personnel and guards." She ticked them off on her fingers.

"Guards?"

"That's mostly to keep reporters and nosy people out," Ginny said. "We rarely have any trouble inside, but sometimes one of the loonies will get testy. That's when the guards come in handy."

The door opened and a tall, harassed-looking redhead stuck her head in. "Ginny, I've been looking everywhere for you. Mrs. Baxter is doing it again," she said, her voice breathless. "In the lounge."

"Oh, hell," Ginny said, pulling herself to her feet. "Come on, Amanda. Time for your baptism by fire."

She moved quickly toward the door with Amanda two paces behind her. "Who is Mrs. Baxter, and what is she doing in the lounge?" Amanda asked, trying to keep up with the rapidly moving nurse;

"Evelyn Baxter, and if she's holding true to form, she's putting on a show for the guests*" Ginny said over her shoulder, her voice husky with exertion. "She used to be one of the most famous socialites in Palm Beach. Her husband, with his brothers, owns Baxter's Department Stores. Evelyn's husband didn't like t the way she was treating his mistress, so he had her shipped here."

"Can he do that legally?"

Ginny shrugged. "Since Evelyn tried to drown said mistress by pushing her face into a bowl of champagne punch, he was probably being kind."

They ran the rest of the way. When they reached the lounge, they heard laughter and saw a crowd of people gathered to one side of the room. Suddenly a purple silk blouse came flying over the top of the crowd. It landed gently on the head of a portly bald man, the color clashing violently with his orange plaid Bermuda shorts.

When Ginny began pushing her way through the onlookers, Amanda followed because it seemed to be expected of her. At the center, a thin, middle-aged woman that Amanda presumed was Mrs. Baxter stood with her hands on her hips, still wearing a lavender satin slip. Her platinum hair hung in a smooth pageboy the way it must have done for years. Outsize, tinted, rimless glasses covered the upper part of her face. She had a look Amanda had seen before, but only in Beverly Hills and on Rodeo Drive.

The older woman laughed throatily and continued to back away from the people cautiously approaching her. Suddenly, she turned and ran. She was surprisingly agile for her age. Like Hamlin's helpless children, everyone followed her across the lounge, then down a hall, watching helplessly as she ducked through swinging doors.

"The kitchen," Ginny said over her shoulders to Amanda as she, too, pushed open the doors.

The kitchen gleamed with stainless steel and white porcelain. The white-uniformed staff was gathered together in a corner, talking casually to each other, waiting for the disruption to be taken care of as though it were an entirely normal, and even expected, event.

"Evelyn," Ginny called coaxingly. "Come on now, put that down."

In one hand, Evelyn Baxter held a massive strawberry shortcake, a creation that should have been in a gallery above a plaque stating "Sculpture in Red and White." The older woman lowered her gaze to the confection, then raised it slowly to the people just inside the door, her eyes sparkling. Before anyone had time to prepare for her next move, the beautiful dessert came sailing through the air.

And the battle was on. Amanda caught her breath and ducked behind a table, noticing that others were also taking cover. I've stepped through the looking glass, she thought, feeling a giggle rise to the surface as chiffon pies and cream puffs landed with soft splats


around her.

Gathering her courage, she peeked over the table just as a napoleon hit a tall man in the stomach. Mrs. Baxter shrieked and jumped in the air victoriously, for all the world like a cheerleader at a football game.

Amanda laughed. She couldn't help it. Everyone was taking it so seriously while Mrs. Baxter was so obviously enjoying herself. If Evelyn Baxter was an example of the mental patients at Greenleigh Acres, Amanda knew she had nothing to worry about. The older woman was simply a mischievous elf.

To one side of the door, Ginny whispered to Ralph, obviously planning their battle strategy. Amanda glanced back at Mrs. Baxter and caught her breath.

"Oh, no," she whispered, then she shouted. "Ginny, watch out! For heaven's sake... duck."

The last word came out sheepishly as a lemon chiffon pie glanced off the side of Ginny's face. The pale-yellow mass slid slowly downward, catching in the brown hair, dripping to the tennis dress.

Amanda sank back to her hiding place behind the table, hoping Ginny wasn't looking in her direction to see her shaking with laughter.

Then suddenly Amanda's laughter died as she met gray eyes across the room. Laughing gray eyes. Now there were three of them in the room enjoying the scene, Amanda thought with pleasure. There was an immediate sense of recognition, of deja vu. It was wonderful, like climbing an icy mountain and suddenly coming across edelweiss.

In those few seconds it was as though she and the man with the gray eyes had spoken aloud, their conversation leaving her strangely exhilarated. She knew this was a man she would like. This was a man she wanted to know better.

Maybe he was the psychiatrist, Choate, she thought. He was well over six feet tall, large-framed, looking more like a boxer than a doctor, and was casually dressed, but so was everyone else.

As Amanda watched, another man approached the one with the laughing eyes. The gray-eyed man's smile faded and the two men walked away together. As the door closed behind them, she decided that maybe her old boss, Dr. Anderson, had known what he was doing after all when he retired.

Smiling, her attention returned to the kitchen carnage. Two guards were braving the sticky missiles and approaching Mrs. Baxter. Amanda had the feeling that the older woman had decided on her own that the game was over or they wouldn't-have taken her so easily. As they walked away, the men slipped and slid on the glutinous mess, trying to look dignified and failing.

As the door swung shut, Mrs. Baxter's voice drifted back like lingering smoke on an empty battlefield. "Oh, my, that was fun," she said. "Let's do it again tomorrow."

When Amanda moved to stand beside Ginny, the nurse glanced up, her eyes daring Amanda to comment. "I'm sorry," Amanda said, laughter bubbling up again. "I know it's awful, but Ginny, you look so funny. There's a little blob of whipped cream just above your ear."

Ginny stared at her for a moment, eyes narrow, then slowly she began to chuckle. "Okay, it's funny...from the outside. You ought to try it from this side."

On their way back to the office, Amanda said, "Ginny, who was the tall man by the door?"

"Who?"

"The one with the unusual gray eyes," Amanda said. "I thought maybe it was the psychiatrist."

"Paul has brown eyes." Ginny touched up her hair gingerly and grimaced. "I've got to go clean up. This is definitely not in my contract. If you'll stay here, I'll take you to lunch when I get back."

When the door closed behind the nurse, Amanda moved to sit behind the wooden desk. Her first day on the job, she thought, giving her head a wry shake. Then she laughed softly. If this was any indication of what was to come, at least she wouldn't be bored.

Looking through the desk drawer, she began to decide where she would put her things. Pictures, pen-and-ink set, all the things that would truly make this her office.

Her office, she thought with a grin as she leaned back in the leather chair to prop her feet on the desk. Her last office had been a beige cubbyhole. Beige furniture, beige carpet and beige work. The work here would be positively psychedelic in comparison.

She almost fell over backward when the door opened and Dr. Sutherland walked in. Jumping up, she nervously smoothed her linen skirt. "Dr. Sutherland," she said, her voice husky with surprise.

He smiled. "Sit down. You look good there."

The owner of Greenleigh was tanned and slender, looking more like an artist than a doctor. His features were breathtakingly perfect. But it was the soft charismatic smile that captured attention.

"I'm sorry I wasn't here to welcome you, Amanda," he said, his accent leaning toward Boston. "I hear Mrs. Baxter has created a stir. Not a very good introduction to Greenleigh Acres, I'm afraid," he added with what sounded like genuine regret.

Her blue eyes sparkled with laughter. "I didn't mind. It made me feel like one of the family. I'm glad to see the guests enjoy themselves."

There was no answering smile in his eyes as he leaned one hip against her desk. "Mrs. Baxter is something of a problem," he said, his voice serious. "But after all, that's what Greenleigh is here for. I'm just sorry it happened on your first day. I should have been here to introduce you to the facilities."

"Please, don't apologize, Dr. Sutherland," she said, feeling vaguely uncomfortable. He obviously took his work seriously. "I know you're a busy man. I honestly didn't expect you to take care of me."

"You're a member of the family, now," he said, flashing the charming smile at her again. "Call me Ted." When he reached out and took her hand, she blushed in her confusion. "I hope you haven't gained a bad opinion of us. It's usually peaceful here."

She murmured a denial, wondering what on earth was wrong with her. She was definitely flattered by his attention. After all, he had the most beautiful women on two coasts drooling over him. But this was not the kind of employer-employee relationship she was used to. While she had no objection to seeing him after working hours, she preferred an uncomplicated atmosphere in the office.

As though sensing her hesitancy, he rose and walked toward the door. "I'll leave you to get settled in now. But if there are any problems, just come to me."

"Dr. Sutherland?" He lifted a brow. "Ted," she amended, laughing hesitantly. "There was a man in the kitchen." She smiled apologetically. "I'm trying to get the staff straight in my mind," she explained. "He was tall, muscular. Dark hair. Dimple in his chin. Scar on his forehead."

He thought for a moment. "I don't really... wait, you must have seen Daniel Phillips."

Daniel Phillips, she thought. A nice name. "What's his position here?"

"He doesn't work here," he said, grasping for the doorknob. "He's a guest at Greenleigh Acres."

Amanda held her breath. As her pulse picked up, she almost knew what was coming.

"Until recently he was a leader in world industry, but unfortunately he is a victim of Sutherland's Complex." He said the words matter-of-factly, his voice clinical and detached. "It's left him hopelessly brain-damaged.''

Chapter Two

As though hypnotized, Amanda watched the door close behind him, then sat down slowly. Glancing down at her hands, she was surprised to find them shaking. She was shocked, more shocked than seemed reasonable.

Daniel Phillips's face rose up before her. His laughing eyes, his strong stubborn jaw. This and what she'd just learned were certainly incongruous, but she had never met the man. Why was she so distressed to find that he was brain-damaged?

Biting her lip, she tried to shake the feeling. Maybe it was the job itself rather than Daniel Phillips that was worrying her. In her old job, Amanda had been separate from individuals. They had merely been statistics, facts and figures in a paper file. When she had closed out a file, logically she had known that someone had died, but she had not known him or her personally. She had never once encountered the hopelessness of disease or disability.

Not only had she never encountered it in her job, Amanda thought suddenly; she had never encountered it in her personal life. It was something of a shock to realize that she had never known any physically or mentally handicapped people. That seemed wrong somehow. Were they so segregated that she had \ never come across any? Or, more disturbing still, had she unconsciously avoided them?

Amanda cut her thoughts off sharply when the door opened and Ginny walked in. The nurse had changed into a bright orange sundress that no more suited her coloring than had the tennis dress.

"Lunchtime," Ginny said cheerfully, evidently having disposed of the Baxter incident along with the lemon pie. "I'll introduce you to more of the staff now."

In the dining room, they took a table overlooking a small garden. The white-jacketed waiter took their order just as though they were patrons of an exclusive restaurant. After all that had happened, it felt a little like sitting down at the Mad Hatter's table for tea.

Amanda played with the silver knife for a while, her mind strangely sluggish as she thought back over everything that had happened since her arrival. Inhaling slowly, she glanced up. "Ginny, who is Daniel Phillips?"

"Danny?" Ginny asked. "Did you meet him? He's a love, isn't he?"

"I didn't actually meet him. I'm just interested. Tell me about him. He looks so... so normal."

"He looks like a hunk," Ginny said. "He's been here about six months. And he's one of the most gentle people I've ever known...as long as he gets his medication."

Amanda frowned. "What happens if he doesn't get his medication?"

"It's only happened once," she said. "It was a new nurse—I don't even remember her name. She didn't stay long enough to become an old nurse. Danny has to receive his medication every twelve hours. The nurse was busy, and by the time she got around to him, the effects of his last dose was wearing off. It took four guards and two nurses to hold him down. A lot of people had bruises the next day."

"You mean he becomes violent," Amanda asked, trying to relate these facts to the man she had seen in the kitchen.

"Violent is too mild a word," Ginny said, giving her a wry look. "He was out to do murder. But don't let it worry you. I'm in charge of his medication now, so there will be no more mistakes."

Amanda shrugged helplessly, wondering again why it mattered so much. "You would never guess to look at him that he was... that there was anything wrong with him."

Ginny raised one slender eyebrow. "Did you expect him to drool or something?" she asked, her tone causing Amanda to shift uncomfortably. "You'll get used to it. You treat the transients like the Queen Mother; you treat the Special Ones and the old-timers like children. After a couple of weeks, all this will seem normal to you."

Amanda laughed. "When this seems normal, I'll be ready for a room in B-North myself." She shook her head. "But since I want to keep this job, I'll pretend to accept everything. Even the fact that the man with the laughing gray eyes is really a patient. That one may be a little tough."

"Wait until you get to know him. After a while, you won't remember your first reaction to him. He's , thirty-nine, tests out at about a six-year-old level. And, like a six-year-old, he can ask some of the most damnable questions. They have no diplomacy at that age."

This is weird, Amanda thought, her confusion reflected in her eyes. The whole setup was weird. "Why do you call him one of the Special Ones? Who are the Special Ones?"

"The ones with Sutherland's Complex," Ginny said, picking up a fork as the waiter set their salads before them. "We only have two right now—um, this is good—Danny, and Maribel Fortnoy. Haven't you heard of the complex? It's been written up in all the medical journals and even some of the popular science magazines."

Amanda shook her head. "I suppose it has something to do with Ted... Dr. Sutherland."

Ginny nodded. "It's his life's work. His wife died ten years ago of a degenerative brain disorder, not Sutherland's Complex, but in his research to find out more about her disease he discovered the complex. That's the reason for the lab in the basement. He drives himself too hard."

So Ginny had a crush on Ted, Amanda thought, watching the nurse's face as she spoke. Amanda couldn't really blame her. He was definitely out of the ordinary.

"Hello."

Amanda turned to see a man of slight build standing beside the table. His red hair curled attractively, framing his lean, intelligent face. Amanda smiled up at him, then glanced at the woman across the table.

"Amanda, this is Paul Choate, our resident psychiatrist." Ginny's voice was stiff, her expression aloof. "Amanda is our new bookkeeper."

Reaching out to clasp the extended hand, Amanda said, "It's nice to meet you, Paul." He had a strong handshake. She liked that.

"Same here," he said, smiling shyly. "You're very welcome at Greenleigh. The last bookkeeper was chunky and male and bit his nails."

She laughed, glancing at her hands. "I don't bite my nails, but I'm sure I have habits that are just as annoying." She looked at him warily. "I hope you don't secretly analyze the people you work with."

He grinned. "Occupational hazard, I'm afraid," he said, ruefully. He fell silent, staring at Ginny expectantly as though waiting for an invitation to join them. As the nurse stared determinedly at her water glass, the tension built. Then Paul smiled sadly and walked away with a murmured goodbye.

Amanda stared at Ginny. "He seems nice," she said tentatively. "And very attractive."

"Forget it," Ginny said brusquely. "He prefers blondes."

Suddenly she stiffened and Amanda followed her gaze to the doorway of the dining room. A very blond, very sexy woman had just entered the room. Her very-wealthy-woman-lounging-around-the-house outfit was blue, complementing her tanned limbs. She was gorgeous, but she was also very serf-conscious in the way Charlotte Bronte meant the word, conscious of the way her body moved, the way her blond hair made the perfect frame for her face.

"Who's that?" Amanda whispered, leaning forward. "She looks like a movie star."

"Leah Houseman." Ginny's lips were tight with disapproval. "She's supposed to be our physical therapist."

The blonde moved across the room, attracting not a little attention, and sat at a table with a man who looked like a male model. There was a flash of white, even teeth in an evenly tanned male face.

"And that's Greg Nabors, our internist."

"They make quite a couple," Amanda murmured.

"She and every man within reach make quite a couple," Ginny said. "She knows them all...and I mean in the biblical sense. Right now she's having a supposedly secret affair with Tom Dicks. Secret only because she considers him beneath her socially. Of course, it's the physical that she's after. She's been through everyone else. She has her sights set on Dr. Sutherland, but he's too discriminating to sleep with her. It makes me sick to my stomach that Virgie is in here as a patient when Leah, who is no better, is staff."

Amanda bit her lip. She could hear the hatred in Ginny's voice and it made her uncomfortable. "Who is Tom Dicks?" she asked in an effort to turn the conversation away from Leah Houseman.

"Hmm? Oh, he's the man who takes care of Danny," Ginny said, her voice distracted as she stared at her salad. "You'll probably meet him later."

As they fell into an uneasy silence, Amanda gazed around the room. Very soon she was almost sure she could spot which of the diners were employees. Turning to Ginny, she said, "This may sound vain, but is it a prerequisite for employees to be attractive?"

Ginny glanced up. "I'd never thought of it before, but I guess it is. That's probably why the old bookkeeper didn't last. The people who come here are rich enough to buy beauty. Heaven forbid that they should see a plain face taking their temperatures or cleaning up their messes."

They ate in silence for a while. Suddenly, Ginny laid down her fork noisily. "I'm not really hungry," she said, her voice gruff as she avoided Amanda's eyes. "And I'll bet you're exhausted. Why don't you go take a nap? You don't start work until tomorrow. You might as well take advantage of the free time."

It didn't take a genius to know Ginny wanted to be alone. Amanda left her outside the dining room and made her way back to her room. But she didn't want to rest. She was too keyed up. Too much was happening too soon.

Moving to the window, she looked over the grounds. The pool's blue water sparkled in the sunlight. Short palms lined the edges, giving it a touch of

Hollywood that seemed redundant given the beautiful people seated under umbrellas and reclining in loungers.

It looked inviting. Making up her mind quickly, she changed into a white, one-piece suit and grabbed a towel. A few minutes later, she stood on the edge of the pool. Inhaling, she dived in and swam the length several times, then held on to the side to catch her breath.

Boy, are you out of shape, she told herself. Not so long ago she could have swum the length ten times and not even felt the strain.

"The white suit looks nice, dear, but with that hair, a teal-blue bikini would be outstanding."

Amanda jerked her head up and saw the face she had seen so often on the screen of a darkened theater gazing at her with those famous drooping, sexy eyes.

Delores Carey was still beautiful. The fact that she had gone slightly zaftig didn't affect her famous sensuality one whit. Her red hair was hidden by an outrageous flowered bathing cap that matched the sarong-type swimsuit molding her ample curves.

"Miss Carey," Amanda said, smiling in pleasure. "It doesn't really matter, does it? With you here, no one would notice if I were wearing fig leaves."

The older woman laughed. "I like you. Come out and talk to me."

Pulling herself up to sit on the side of the pool, Amanda grabbed the towel she had brought from her room and blotted her long hair. Then she moved to sit on the adjacent lounger.

"Would it be gauche to say I've seen every movie you've ever done and loved them all?"

"Only if you add that you saw them all on the late, late show."

"I don't suppose a Delores Carey revival would be less offensive?" Amanda asked, laughing.

"Only slightly." She sighed. "Don't ever get old— what's your name?"

"Amanda... Amanda Timbers. I'm the new bookkeeper."

"What an amazingly dull occupation for someone with your looks," she said dryly. "Well, Amanda, as I was saying, never get old. Do yourself in at the age of twenty-nine. Old age is a self-inflicted wound."

"You don't look over twenty-nine, but if the daily tabloids are right, you are. But that didn't keep you from getting the Oscar for The Dark Backward, which happens to be my favorite movie of all time."

"I played an aging hooker," Delores said. "What kind of role was that? If they hadn't had to apply makeup to make me look older, more dissipated, I'd never have taken it."

"You loved it," Amanda said accusingly. "I can tell by your voice."

Delores laughed. "You're right. I loved it. I think I was finally playing myself."

"I don't believe that, but you were wonderful anyway. Are you between pictures? Is that why you're here?"

"How kind of you. I am probably permanently between pictures. The only ones offered now are the kind that have me playing some sweet old lady who buries people in her petunia bed or hangs them neatly in the cellar. No, I'm here because of a chronic condition. You laymen call it loneliness. I just got rid of gorgeous young stud number nine hundred and seventy-eight. Actually he got rid of me, but I don't pine for him."

"I'm sorry."

"Don't be. All men are snots, but I'm sure you know that. And age has nothing to do with it. There are simply young snots and old snots. This one I don't miss at all. No foreplay, absolutely none," she said, leaning toward Amanda. "The only thing he had going for him was enthusiasm—youth is so vigor-eras—and the size of his—"

Amanda gave a choking cough. "I think we can leave the rest to my imagination," she said, laughing. "What are you doing at this pool? I thought there was one on the other side that the guests use."

"There is, complete with manufactured waterfall. But they're all so boring over there. The most interesting conversation I would get there is what type of spoon to use with caviar," she said, her voice malicious. "Silver gives the caviar a metallic taste, you understand. It must be mother-of-pearl or nothing."