Authors: Bryan Murray
DESIGN FOR LOVE (3 page)
“Miss me, honey?” she spun around to see Roger Kenner, her boyfriend, tall, handsome, a big grin on his face.
She smiled half-heartedly. “Me? - Naw!” she gave him a friendly hug. “So, how was the assignment?”
“The pits! Following political conventions is like watching grass grow - so, how about dinner tonight?”
“Oh, Roger, I’m right in the middle of something,” but when she saw the look of disappointment in his eyes, she quickly added. “But, tell you what, give me a rain check on dinner and I’ll stop by later on my way home, Okay?”
“Okay, Baby,”’ he grinned wickedly. “I’ll put a bottle on ice.”
‘Yes, and put your libido right there with it
,’
she was tempted to say, but instead she added. “See you later.”
He kissed her neck before leaving. “You bet!”
* * * *
Later that night, lying back in Roger’s bed after making love, Francine had to admit that Roger was without doubt an accomplished lover, even if that particular evening she had faked her first orgasm with the handsome newscaster. At one time, just to feel the strength of his manhood inside her, had been enough to arouse her to the heights, and when he touched her nipples the way he knew she liked to be touched, that was all it would take.
But now, as Roger sang the song of the contented lover in the shower, Francine’s mind drifted back to her earlier confrontation with Cinclare and she was already getting strange, new vibes. She idly wondered if Gerard Cinclare was
also
a man with whom you faked an orgasm, or if indeed one touch from his handsome body sent a woman completely over the edge. At least the beautiful blonde on his arm that night at the show certainly looked devoted to the self-centered entrepreneur. But what was she thinking of, the guy was a jerk, end of story!
* * * *
After dropping Alison at school on the way in to the workshop, Francine’s mind was already focusing on New York and all the planning ahead. She made a mental note of all the minor details to be taken care of such as travel plans, hotels, etc. and most important of all, making sure that the right models to handle her upgraded line actually turned up on the day. Coping with another of Vince’s theatrical breakdowns, not to mention one of her own, was more than she could handle.
As she walked into the office, past Darlene and Thelma, both diligently sewing up two new items, Vince was standing in the doorway, garishly dressed as usual, chrome dome shining, a smile on his face and a huge bunch of flowers in his hand.
Francine smiled. “Vince, you shouldn’t have!”
He looked deflated. “Get real, Princess -
me
buying flowers for a mere chick! Don’t be silly, darling, these are from an admirer of
yours!
”
She looked firstly confused and then angry. “I
knew
it! Roger has a chick on the side - this, my God, this is a
guilt
bouquet!”
Vince smiled. “Wrong, darling - this is not the vain Roger’s handwriting.” he handed her the envelope and she removed the card, mouth agape when she saw who it was from.
“Cinclare! I don’t
believe
it!”
“I think he likes you, Princess!”
“Yeah, right. If you’d heard him criticizing our line after the Dallas Show, you’d have wanted to
kill
him!”
Vince tried in vain to put on his comical, macho image. “He did? Then he’s a dead man!”
She smiled. “What are you going to do, darling, beat him senseless with your biscotti stick? The
nerve
of that guy!”
“So, what does he say?”
She quickly read the card. “He hopes we can be friends! What a jerk!” she dumped the flowers in the wastebasket with a flourish. “Now, down to business.”
The following day, Francine was so engrossed in her preparations for the trip to New York that she almost forgot that this was the day that Yvette was having her biopsy, breast cancer being the deadly suspect.
She pulled up in the early evening outside the tree-lined hospital and rushed inside and up to the private room to find Yvette, still looking glamorous, sitting up in bed and very upbeat about her condition.
“It looks good, darling - at least Doctor Zhivago thinks so.”
“You mean that’s his real name?” Francine looked incredulous.
“Of course not, silly, it’s just that he looks so much like Omar Sharif!”
Francine shook her head disparagingly. “What looked good, Mother? For heaven’s sake, tell me, what did he say exactly?”
“He said that it hadn’t reached the lymph nodes, so hopefully they can get all of it.”
“And the boobs?”
“Hopefully they’ll stay!”
Francine gave a huge sigh of relief. “Thank God for that!”
“Can anybody join in?”
The two women broke away from hugging each other to see Carl Dubois standing there, father and estranged husband, a bunch of flowers in one hand. Swarthy, white haired and with a healthy suntan, Carl approached the two women a little tentatively as Yvette smoothed her hair nervously.
“What are
you
doing here?” she asked him.
Carl smiled. “When Francie told me you were coming in today, I figured the least I could do was give you some moral support - here, these are for you,” he handed her the flowers and added self-consciously, “I’ll be going, then.”
Francine grabbed his arm. “No, Daddy - stay a while!”
Yvette also gave him an assuring smile. “Yes, don’t go, Carl, the flowers are lovely - and it’s good news!”
He smiled a relieved smile, affection still clearly there for the vivacious Yvette, his brief, meaningless transgression with the woman at that convention that caused the break-up, now a distant memory - at least for him, if not for Yvette.
Later, after a friendly visit with Yvette, Francine and Carl walked down the hospital corridor towards their respective parking spots.
“So, how are things at Classique Fashions?” he asked.
“Well, we just had our first show in Dallas.”
“And?”
“And it went O.K., I guess.” try as she may she could not sound upbeat about the show.
The astute Carl looked her closely in the eye. “Is there something you’re not telling me, Francie?”
“I guess I never could fool you, Daddy. I suppose the designs were okay and we’ve already had orders for two items, but we had a couple of minor disasters during the presentation.”
“I’m listening?”
She described the two embarrassing incidents and also the loud criticism of her work by Cinclare. Carl was totally unshaken.
“Don’t let it get to you, darling. What does that jerk Cinclare know anyway?”
“Well, he does own a chain of fashion boutiques, Daddy!”
“Tush! Tush! Ignore them all, my darling. My baby has a
special
talent - that’s what your mentor at the design college told me and
that’s
good enough for me!”
When it came to flair and talent, Carl himself had considerable creative business acumen, sufficient to where he now owned three distribution centers across the USA for his imported glass and crystal ware with another under construction in Toronto. His unfailing support, both moral and financial, for Francine’s pursuit of her dream of being a designer, had forever endeared him to her heart.
“So, Daddy,” she changed the subject. “What’s the latest between you and Mommy? Has she forgiven you?”
He smiled. “Well, Princess, let me put it this way. The flowers were in a vase of water when I left - a month ago, I’d probably be wearing them,” he shrugged philosophically. “I guess I can live in hope.”
She hugged his arm affectionately. “Well, hang in there - she still loves you, you know. Notice how she checked her appearance the second your handsome face appeared in the doorway?”
He grinned. “So, what you’re saying is?”
She interrupted him. “What I’m saying is - don’t give up, Daddy!”
He smiled. “Correct! And that’s exactly what I’m saying to you, Princess, don’t you give up either! Show that Cinclare chap what a Dubois is really capable of.”
She hugged him affectionately. “Thanks’, Daddy, I needed that!”
He gave her a parting hug. “Well, gotta go, call me and we’ll have lunch.”
“I will, bye, Daddy.”
As Carl headed towards the west parking lot and Francine headed east, she turned the corner in the hospital corridor only to be almost knocked off her feet by a bunch of flowers held outwards in the hands of a large man coming towards her. She almost fell backwards.
“Hey, watch where you’re…,” but she stopped in mid-sentence when she saw that the person holding the flowers was Gerard Cinclare! He grinned disarmingly as she managed the startled comment. “Oh, no, not
you
again,” and she couldn’t resist adding, “And if those are for me, you can forget it!”
The smile suddenly disappeared from his face. “No, actually they’re for my mother. She was admitted today - mild stroke, I’m afraid.”
Francine was mortified. “Oh, my God! Look, I’m so sorry, that was a flippant remark. I’d no idea, is she going to be alright?”
He looked suddenly tense and the debonair look on his face disappeared momentarily. “I don’t know, I hope so. Look, I know what you think of me, but I don’t suppose you’d like to come with me to visit, just for a few minutes?” he quickly added. “You know how women like to talk to women?”
She looked at him aghast, “You’re
joking
?”
“No, really, look, I understand if you’re busy.”
Unable to watch a single soul suffer, and strangely enough at this very moment, even Gerard Cinclare seemed to have his own kind of inner suffering, Francine found herself, against all her better instincts, replying. “Well, just for a few minutes, but this doesn’t change a thing, mind you.”
He looked somehow strangely relieved. “Of course, I understand and thank you, Miss Dubois!” he reached out to touch her arm and the sudden contact was like a mild electric shock as the magnetism of their bodies almost seemed to create a spark, so much so that she jumped involuntarily.
She suddenly found herself mumbling the words. “Ah, it’s Francine - so, where is she? Lead the way?”
As she followed his urgent stride down the corridor, she was amazed at the leaden feeling she suddenly had in her legs. It was almost as if somebody had just tied diving boots to her feet.
They finally reached the room in a private ward and as they approached the door, Gerard gave her a sudden smile of gratitude that seemed to do strange things to her heart rate and then he grabbed her hand, as if to stop her escape, before they stepped into the darkened room. Strange sensations were now also doing quite a number on the fingers of Francine’s hand that Gerard was still absent-mindedly squeezing.
‘What’s wrong with you?’
she mused.
Lying in the bed looking frail but peaceful, Helen Cinclare gave a warm, tired smile when she saw Gerard approach the bed.
Seeing the worried look on his face, she tried to sound upbeat. “Gerry, darling! Now, I’m just fine, don’t you worry none and you can get that funereal look off your face.”
He bent and kissed her affectionately on the cheek. “You gave me such a shock, darling. I’ll talk to the doctor before I leave.”
Helen then focused on Francine as Gerard suddenly remembered his manners. “Mother, this is Miss, er…”
Francine interrupted quickly with a warm smile. “Francine, Francine Dubois, nice to meet you, Mrs. Cinclare.”
Helen was already assuming that Gerard and Francine were very close. She smiled and squeezed his hand as she looked closer at Francine.
“Hello, my dear,” she looked back up at Gerard. “Darling, she’s
beautiful
!”
Gerard suddenly understood her misguided assumption. He interrupted quickly.
“Ah, no, Mother. Miss Dubois - er, Francine is just a business acquaintance - we bumped into each other in the corridor.”
Helen had a twinkle of understanding in her eye as she smiled at Francine. “And let me guess, my dear, Gerry talked you into coming along for moral support?” she looked at him admonishingly. “You’re such a rascal, darling!”
Francine smiled and added. “You’re right, he is and I could also think of other names to call him,
believe me!
”
Gerard quickly changed the subject as he squeezed Helen’s hand. “I guess I never could fool you.”
Helen started to cough. “Would you find the nurse for me, I think it’s time for my medication.”
“Of course. Would you excuse me, Miss Dubois?”
“It’s
Francine
.” Helen corrected him.
“Of course.” Gerard added, somewhat embarrassed.
After Gerard left, Helen grabbed Francine’s hand, the two women seemed very comfortable with each other.
“Good, now we can talk.” Helen continued.
Francine smiled curiously. “About what?”
Helen smiled, a twinkle in her tired eyes, deciding to confide in the beautiful young woman opposite. “I know my son better than he knows himself, Francine, and he
really
likes you, mark my words!”
Francine found herself blushing for some reason, the old woman. must be hallucinating. “No, I think you’re mist…”
At that moment the door burst open and Gerard returned with a smiling Jeri once again holding his hand.
“Look who I found, Mother!”
Helen’s face lit up and she held out her frail arms. “Jeri, my darling!” she and Jeri embraced fondly.
Feeling a bit like an uninvited guest, Francine found herself edging towards the door before slipping quietly out into the corridor.
As Francine walked down the hospital corridor, she couldn’t wait to put space between herself and the scene she had just left behind. She was kicking herself for even agreeing to accompany Gerard Cinclare to his mother’s sick room. Now she was finding herself actually liking the apparently confused mother of a man she loathed, even though she had now seen him with his guard down momentarily.
She had almost made it to the exit door to the parking lot when a familiar voice behind her caused her to turn around. It was a rather breathless Gerard.
“Francine, wait a moment.” he called out as he rushed towards her.
‘Here we go again
!’
she whispered to herself as he finally caught up with her. “What now?” she murmured through clenched teeth.