Cocktail Hour (2 page)

“Oof!”

“Oh, no. Are you okay?”

She looked at her hands on the carpet, her face flooding with heat while a shrieking outraged voice had risen above the hubbub in her head. Ruined, everything... no! She would not give up. Never! She would fix this somehow. She took a deep breath. “Ah, thank you,” she said as calmly as she could.

Then a flash of an idea hit her. She sat back on her heels and looked at her reddened palms. "Oh, dear. I think I've hurt my hands. They're really raw." She still didn't look up at him, holding out.

"Here, let me help you up. How did this happen?"

She saw his hand reach down through breaks in the curtain of her long dark hair that had fallen forward to hide her face.  "Oh, it's the new carpet. My heel caught," she said in a little-girl voice, not bothering to explain why she was beside his desk instead of in front of it.

"Please, let me help you."

"Oh, you're so kind." She threw her hair back off of her face and reached for his hand before rising as slowly and delicately as she could, as if she'd really been injured.

When she was finally standing, she turned to look up at him and melted a little before an old familiar tingle jumped up her spine. Wow. Nothing had changed. She waited for him to react, recognize her. Then the amazement and infatuation would set in. This was it. 

His blue eyes were caring, but revealed nothing else. Grant shook his head. "I'm so sorry about the carpet. Do you want me to look at your hands?"

She tilted her head slightly. "Oh, I don't want to impose, Dr. Palmer. I'm supposed to be here to help you, not myself." Minutes seemed to have slowed. Where was the “aren't-you”?

"Here, let me look. It's no trouble."

She put her mildly smarting hands in his and felt a shock go down her arms. Oh, my.

He moved his head back and forth, looking at her palms from each angle. "Well, it's a very mild abrasion. But I can get you some salve; that might help with the stinging."

She stared at his handsome and still-dear face. How could he not recognize her? Maybe he was too distracted by her hurt act. She'd stop it now. It wasn't working the way she thought it would. She pulled her hands out of his reluctantly, not wanting to stop the zinging pleasurable feeling his touch brought. "No, really. They've stopped hurting. I'm fine. Please, I've taken up enough of your time," she said and gestured to his desk. "Why don't we sit down for a minute and talk about Mennon's products and the needs of your practice? I won't be more than a minute; I'm sure you have back-to-back appointments."

He paused and then nodded, putting a hand out to the guest chair before moving to sit behind his desk. “Sure, I have a minute. My wife – you met her, she’s the office manager here, you’ll work with her to stock our samples and materials – she mentioned that you had an amazing new product.”

Sitting with her legs crossed prettily, Bianca looked at him one last time, waiting some flicker, but there was none. She would have to wallop him with it; for some reason he was oblivious, distracted. She’d wait, pick just the right time. She launched into her spiel, finally sticking to what she’d been taught. It had been tough to learn; her background was psychology, not science or biology. Still, she’d been driven ever since she struck up a conversation with a woman named Jessica at her gym while waiting for a spinning class to start.

Bored out of her mind once she decorated their new house in Belle Haven, tired already with John, her once shiny-toy husband who had gotten scuffed by reality once the honeymoon was over, she had been looking for the next big thing and Jessica showed her the way. Beautiful and charismatic, Jessica told Bianca all about the big money and success that pharma sales had brought her. As she spoke, glowing with a tan in March from a recent sales-award-earned all-expense-paid luxury trip to St. John courtesy of her employer, Bianca knew immediately what her next big thing was. The challenge of it, the heated competition - it was exactly what she loved.

But then she got pregnant, before she was even finished crafting a new artificially pumped-up resume. And at first, having a baby seemed like a fun pit-stop. She would dress the baby up in all sorts of darling outfits and host huge birthday parties with on-site carnival rides and have all sorts of Hallmark-mommy-moments. Then she became swollen in spite of the strict dieting and vigorous exercise that she continued to pummel her body with against doctor's orders, suffered through the horrible birth which no amount of flowers and gifts from her husband would wipe from her memory, and went home with little Sebastian.

After a month at home with her son she knew what motherhood really was: a lot of exhausting thankless work, most of it dull or disgusting. Once enlightened, she hurried to secure a live-in nanny and got back to work on her resume, lying to John and saying that she would still make time for their family. She didn’t even bother to cross her fingers when she said it. What did he care? He was always working, too. And she needed to have something that she was excited about. It had turned out to be the best decision of her life. And now, she was going to enjoy the ultimate fruit – Grant Palmer, at long last, crazy in love with her.

Finishing up her pitch, she decided to take a risk. “Asking for the business” was the last step in the process, and usually on the first meeting she only asked to schedule a five minute conversation in the next few weeks. Once they were more familiar, she’d suggest a dinner program or a lunch-and-learn. And even later, she’d push for actual prescriptions. But after her winning day, she knew she was on a roll.

“So, knowing all that you now know about what this product does for women, I’d like to ask you
to write Revita for the next five patients who walk through your door! They’ll love you for it. What do you say?” she asked, leaning forward and smiling at him, letting the slight touch of cleavage her jacket revealed plump up from her change in position.

He didn’t glance at her breasts, which was unusual. Instead, he shook his head and smiled. “I’m sorry, I don’t write that way. However, I’ll definitely take some samples and do my homework on the product. I’m always interested in the latest and greatest.”

He stood. She startled and looked up at him. This was nothing like she expected, knew she deserved. “Well, I hope you’ll consider a five minute appointment in a few weeks. We have many other products, some even more exciting.”

His eyebrows went up. “Really? Well, certainly. I meet with reps regularly. Just see Kate. She’ll get you scheduled. Here, let me walk you out.”

Bianca slowly gathered up her things while he walked to the door of his office and waited for her. She stood, shook her head and smiled at him playfully, as if it didn’t matter. And it shouldn’t have. She had changed so much. But once he knew… “You really don’t recognize me, do you?"

Grant's expression was mild, polite. "I'm sorry?"

"Scofield Junior High? We both were in the same class. Bianca Moretti?"

"Ah, Scofield? Wow, that was eons ago. We were in the same class?"

It wasn't possible. How had he not noticed her? Every boy in her class remembered her: skinny Spaghetti Moretti with the big meatball-zits. She'd been a joke. She swallowed. Was she going to have to say it? "Ah, it's funny, but they used to call me Spaghetti Moretti."

He let out a little mirthless laugh. "Kids can be cruel, can't they? I guess I'm glad I wasn't too social back then, just played football and hit the books,” he said, and shook his head. “So, Scofield, huh? Small world. Sorry my memory isn’t better. I guess I stuffed too much information in my head during med school to remember anything important like old schoolmates. I’m amazed you remember me.”

“Ah…,” Bianca said, at a loss for the first time in years. He was supposed to be floored, be awed, be enamored! His smile was friendlier now but still reserved. He turned and led her out of the office and she followed, feeling an odd tumbling-down feeling and wondered if she was going to fall again.

He stopped at the front desk and addressed his mouse-wife, who turned away from her computer as they approached. “Hey Kate, guess what? Bianca here went to the same junior high I went to. I guess I’m going to be running into a lot of old classmates now that we’re living near my home town.”

Kate smiled. “Really? Were you two having a trip down memory lane?”

“Nope, I can’t remember her at all. Isn’t that terrible? I’m sorry, Bianca. I’ll have to start cramming with the old yearbooks, my memory isn’t what it should be,” Grant said, tapping his head.

Bianca looked at him. He seemed almost cheerful about the whole thing. She looked again at Kate, a skinny little no-looks blond that didn’t fit at all with Grant. No, this was not how it was supposed to be. It was not how it was going to be. She was going to make him remember her, make them both remember her vividly, even if the all the memories were fresh. She always got the man she wanted, even if she had to try harder with some than with others. And she wanted Grant, now more than ever.

But there was something else happening. Her solid world seemed to have come unhinged and for the first time in years she felt fragile, floating. The office reared up around her while Grant and Kate's laughter morphed into snickering in her ears. The smell of the new carpet was overpowering. She looked down and the carpet seethed, and she knew that if she was able to peel it back from the floor, she'd find thousands of trundling beetles and shiny slithering millipedes convulsing under it.

Swallowing back the rising bile in her throat, she put out a hand and placed it on the reception desk to steady herself. "Ah, who…," she said, and took a breath before continuing. "Who can remember everyone?" She paused and took another breath through her mouth, careful not to breathe through her nose and smell the carpeting. Game face, now. This weird feeling would pass, but a first impression was forever. And she would prevail. She straightened, raised her chin, and plastered on a smile. "Thank you so much for meeting with me, Dr. Palmer."

"Please, you can call me Grant. And it was a pleasure. We'll see you in a few weeks. I've got to get to my next patient, so I'll see you then."

She widened her smile. "Of course. And I'll leave some samples and materials with Kate."

"Do that. Thanks," he said, a hand briefly raised before turning away. No lingering gaze, no dragging out the conversation. What was Grant made of? Rock? And why was he so damn attractive? Sizzling, really. She remembered his touch, the shock and the pleasure of it. It had to be the old infatuation still at work. Or was it something more? Was she actually falling for him? She had no idea. She had never fallen for anyone; they fell for her.

She turned to look at Kate, her game-face still plastered on, when an idea occurred to her. A brilliant idea, actually. “So, you two just moved back?”

Kate nodded enthusiastically. “Yes, a couple months ago? Well, it’s back for him. I’m from Vermont. Where we lived before?”

Bianca could imagine Kate in Vermont, her pale cheeks made rosy by the cold wind in winter, bundled up in a parka. Maybe that was when Grant had become attracted to her. But he couldn’t be now. “Well, this may seem a little forward, but I know what it’s like to be new in town. My family moved a lot when I was little,” she said. She had never lived anywhere but Fairfield County, with the exception of the disastrous stint in the convent. “I know how hard it is to make new friends, trust me. Anyway, a few of my friends are getting together tonight at seven for cocktails and I was wondering if you’d like to join us?” Other than Chelsea, who had invited her and was Bianca's only friend, a sweet little pushover she’d known since high school, Bianca didn’t know the other girls at all, but knew not to pass on that information and possibly scare this little mouse away.

Kate’s pale blue eyes became huge and bright. “Really? That's so nice of you?”

“Oh, no, it’ll be fun. We’re going to that new little tapas place, Ibiza, in downtown Stamford. Say you’ll come.”

“Okay, really? I'd love to? I haven’t met anyone here yet. Outside of the office, I mean?”

Her balance back, a curling warmth filled Bianca. Oh, this was going to be good. “Great. We'll see you there at seven. Okay, so let’s talk samples and that next appointment.”

Bianca scheduled the appointment, loaded Kate up with samples and colorful shiny pamphlets, and then strode out of the office with her head swimming with a variety of different schemes, turning each over in her mind and examining them for holes.