Gray Quinn's Baby (13 page)

T
HE
night of the party turned out better than Magenta had dared to expect. Her colleagues forgot their differences and started to mingle and get to know each other. Friendships were forged across the sexes, which was exactly what she had hoped would happen—and some of those friendships were heating up, which couldn't hurt. But when Quinn called her into his office she soon realised that not everything was going to plan.

She should have thought this through, she realised as Quinn gave her outfit a scorching review. ‘That dress is shapeless.'

And thin. And she was only wearing paper knickers beneath her paper dress, while Quinn—alarmingly, surprisingly, incredibly—was dressed exactly as she would expect a sexy guy to dress for an evening out in the twenty-first century. He wore a crisp, white shirt with the sleeves rolled back to reveal his muscular, hair-shaded forearms, sharp jeans with an understated belt and the cleanest black shoes Magenta had ever seen. This, together with the craziest-coloured socks, she noticed now as he crossed his legs at the desk to lean back and stare at her—red, fuchsia-pink and black stripes—quirky, sexy, different. ‘Let me explain.'

‘Please do,' Quinn invited dryly.

‘It's a paper dress,' she explained, running her hands down the offending garment. ‘So you can't expect it to be cut in a sharp design. It's meant to represent practicality.'

‘Well, I doubt it will ever take off in a big way, other than into a niche market. Something as ugly as that doesn't deserve to last in the realms of fashion.'

‘Thanks for the vote of confidence. It's one of the products your team was keen to promote, by the way.'

‘I hadn't forgotten.'

Quinn's eyes had lit—was that humour?

‘Personally, I agree with you. I don't think paper fashion will fly for long, however fiercely we promote it.' But, eerily, Quinn was correct; disposable paper-garments would have a niche market in clinics, beauty salons and other places where a single wear was all that was required. Of course, she had the benefit of knowing this for sure while he could only be using his intuition. She dismissed the shiver down her spine. Quinn couldn't be aware of the future. ‘At least I'm there with the theme,' she said, eager to distract herself from questions with no answers as she looked him up and down.

‘As am I,' Quinn said, standing up. ‘I'm guessing this is exactly what I'd be wearing if we were living in the twenty-first century.'

Magenta paled. The shiver was back again. Why had he chosen the twenty-first century in particular?

‘You've done well,' he observed, lifting the slats of the blind covering his window. ‘Everyone appears to be enjoying themselves.'

‘I'm glad you're pleased.'

Quinn's appreciative glance sent heat dancing through her.

‘You look hot, Magenta.'

‘Do I?' Magenta's hand flew to her brow. ‘Perhaps a glass of water…'

‘Or a jug full?'

She shrieked with shock as Quinn slowly poured the jug of water on his desk slowly down the front of her dress.

‘I can't believe you did that!' she exclaimed. ‘You've—'

‘Ruined your dress?' Quinn hummed. ‘You know, I think you're right; this will never catch on.' Taking hold of the front of it, he peeled it off her.

She was shivering with a combination of shock, anger and arousal as Quinn continued his unrelenting survey. ‘Stop that,' she said. ‘You can't just—'

‘Trial a product?' he suggested.

‘I am not a product.'

‘If you were, I'd buy you.'

‘Like you'd get the chance,' she huffed, but fighting off images of Quinn in his role of sexual master of the universe with a shopping list in hand wasn't quite so easy. ‘And what am I supposed to do now?' Crossing her hands and arms over her sodden paper-bra and pants, she glowered at him. ‘Should I staple a few sheets of A4 together and go as a galleon?'

‘Lucky for you, I bought a dress.'

‘You bought a dress?' she queried. ‘Good for you. I'm sure you'll look very nice in it.'

‘For you, idiot.'

And now she
was
shocked. ‘What type of dress?' she demanded suspiciously. ‘I'd better warn you now, I don't do caftans.'

‘Or micro-minis, apparently.' Quinn stared at her legs, where to Magenta's horror she realised her hold-up stockings were slowly slipping down and wrinkling unattractively around her ankles.

‘Shame about the underwear,' he murmured, drawing Magenta's attention back to his sexy mouth. ‘I guess that's gone south too.'

She tipped her chin in the air and refused to look at him. Quinn had probably bought her a prim little school-ma'am dress, complete with a coy little Peter Pan collar, long sleeves, full skirt, and a nipped-in waist—and she'd hate it. Or not.

She stared in surprise as Quinn produced the dress.

Now she was thrown into total confusion, because this was a dress that perfectly complemented Quinn's twenty-first-century clothes. It was a figure-flattering navy-blue column of silk cut just above the knee—but the finishing touch really floored her. ‘Where on earth did you get these?' she gasped as Quinn handed her a pair of sexy black suede shoes with tell-tale red soles.

‘Not only am I well prepared,' he said dryly, ‘I am also way ahead of my time.'

A feeling of light-headedness passed over her. She could hear the music playing outside Quinn's office. A selection of Beatles hits was just coming to an end, and the following track was some raunchy Rolling Stones.

‘You seem bewildered, Magenta,' Quinn murmured as he ran the palm of one warm hand very lightly down her naked arm. ‘Why is that?'

Because she wanted Quinn, with his dangerous smile and sexy eyes, in spite of the fact that he had treated her no better than a novelty product to be tested, trialled and put aside when he grew tired of it. And because there was no longer any place for reasoned thinking.

He lifted his hand away, breaking the spell. ‘I'll turn my back while you get changed, shall I?'

‘Yes, you do that,' she told him.

Magenta was willing to bet she had never thrown clothes on so quickly in her life. ‘It sounds noisy out there,' she said as she made the final adjustment to the tights Quinn had also thoughtfully provided, along with some underwear that proved that he had both good taste and the ability to judge her size down to the nearest millimetre. ‘I think I should go and check.' She didn't wait for Quinn to answer; she knew how fast he moved.

When she returned to the main office, she saw the party had really livened up. All the desks had been pushed to one side to create a dance floor, and if dirty dancing hadn't been
invented yet there were certainly some hot contenders for stealing the crown. The boys and girls in the office were definitely getting to know each other a whole lot better….

‘You look like you're missing out, Magenta.'

She tensed as Quinn's shadow fell over her. ‘If I were looking for a partner, you might be right.'

‘I am right,' he said.

Did the music have to change that very moment from heated to cool? And did Quinn have to pull her into his arms? ‘Did I say I wanted to dance?'

‘You didn't say no.'

The psychedelic classic
A Whiter Shade of Pale
was hardly conducive to tension, but she held herself aloof.

‘Oh good—you've relaxed,' Quinn murmured against her hair.

She knew he was teasing her; she could hear the smile in his voice. ‘Do you seriously expect me to relax after everything that's happened?'

‘I know a way.'

They both knew a way, but whether she was ready to play with fire again was another matter.

‘Do you want to go home with me? Or would you rather live dangerously in my office?'

Quinn always got right to the point. She should say no; she should do a lot of things. But the heat rising inside her was making sensible decisions impossible. And what did she have to lose? This was a dream, wasn't it? Any self-respect she might lose in the short term would be restored the moment she shook herself awake.

She wanted more than this…

But sometimes in dreams, as in life, you had to settle for what you had, Magenta concluded as Quinn led her by the hand through the press of people. The promise implicit in his grip had quickly reduced her to liquid fire, and she could only be relieved that no one turned to look at them, though the
party had reached that stage where they could have walked through it naked and no one would have noticed.

‘It's a huge success,' Quinn observed, shutting his office door and leaning back against it. ‘And that's all down to you.'

‘Hardly.'

‘What have I told you about underplaying your skills, Magenta? If you don't believe in yourself, why should I? Stop with all this negative and give me something positive.'

‘Will this do?' Going for broke, she wound her arms around Quinn's neck.

‘It's a start.'

She heard the door lock.

Quinn's hands quickly ignited an inferno. The memory of pleasure mixed with the anticipation of more was an explosive recipe. It made her reckless, made her want to hurry things along.

‘Hey,' Quinn murmured, taking hold of her hands when she tugged at his belt. ‘Not so fast—haven't I taught you anything?'

Who was backing who towards the desk?

‘Same underwear as the dress?' Quinn demanded, thrusting one hard thigh between her legs.

‘If you mean that paper stuff that disintegrates at a touch, then yes.'

‘Excellent. Let me know if this is going too fast for you.'

‘I will.'

‘You're on the pill?'

‘Of course I am.' She blushed. Strange to think she'd been so intimate with Quinn and yet could feel so awkward and exposed when he asked her a perfectly reasonable, if unexpected, question.

‘I only ask because I heard some clinics in this country will only prescribe the pill to married women.'

‘But that's ridiculous.'
And quite possibly true.
This was
the sixties, after all. And, though almost a week had passed in dream time, she was methodical about taking her pill each morning in the real world—even though there wasn't the slightest chance she would ever put it to the test.

Needless to say, she hadn't brought her pill with her on this crazy time-slip adventure, but that hardly mattered when she had probably only been asleep a couple of hours.

And that was her last rational thought before Quinn sank deep inside her. She had forgotten how good he was, and now she discovered that his desk was at the perfect height. He helped her up; she drew her knees back and he moved in close. Testing her, he found her more than ready. She climaxed immediately. But she hadn't finished with him yet. ‘Fill me,' she commanded hoarsely. Nursing him, she worked her muscles. ‘I want all of you.'

And that was exactly what she got, only now realising that neither of them had paused long enough to use protection.

 

They returned to the party together and Magenta soon forgot her moment of concern. None of this was real. It was wonderful, but it was still only a fantasy, and all she'd cared about while she was living the dream was that Quinn lost his brusque business-manner. He'd done more than that, Magenta realised when Quinn put his arm around her waist. Something had changed between them, bringing them closer.

Quinn remained at her side from that moment on, and everyone accepted them as a couple—though, in fairness, everyone had had quite a bit to drink by this time. The spacemen were barely distinguishable from the aliens, she noted with amusement as Quinn forged a passage through the heaving throng of green-smudged silver people and silver-streaked green folk.

But at least she wasn't on her own when it came to the way she felt about Quinn. If anything, he was more outwardly affectionate in front of the other people than she was, and when
the party finally drew to a close their destination was in no doubt.

They seemed to laugh all the way back to his house. Quinn drove smoothly and fast, and still found time to regale Magenta with stories of how far the party had gone in loosening everyone up. ‘You're definitely in charge of office parties from here on in,' he told her. ‘You have the knack of bringing people together.'

Never more so than now, she hoped when Quinn swung the car into the drive and they both climbed out.

They barely made it through the front door before they fell on each other, kissing and touching, as if tomorrow with all its uncertainties was almost upon them and the here and now was a fragile, unpredictable thing that refused to be captured or slowed down.

They made love on the hall rug, which fortunately was thick enough to cushion them, and wide enough so they didn't have to test the cold, hard marble floor. If there was anything nicer than snuggling up to Quinn, she had yet to discover it. When they were both briefly sated, Quinn suggested they go to bed. ‘Now there's a novel idea,' she observed, laughing with happiness as he swung her into his arms.

She should have known that happiness was as fragile as time—and that it didn't do to be too greedy where either was concerned.

T
HE
idyll lasted for a matter of weeks. During this time, they visited a fun fair; Quinn won a lop-eared rabbit on the shooting range and held Magenta tight when they rocketed through the candy-floss-scented air. Playing it serious, they went to an art gallery one day and to a concert the next, before Quinn changed the pace, taking her down into a cellar for some alternative musical entertainment, where the throbbing beat rang off the walls along with the sweat.

Switching styles, he escorted her to an up-town disco where they danced on a mirrored floor beneath coloured lights. On another night they saw
Breakfast at Tiffany's
at the cinema with an exquisitely beautiful Audrey Hepburn in the lead. One evening they decided to stay at home and cuddled up in front of the television, watching Goldie Hawn playing the ditsy blonde in
Rowan and Martin's Laugh-in.
Then late one night they discovered a mutual love of jazz, and ate hot dogs at a late-night cab stand after the jazz club, sharing anecdotes with friendly cabbies as they licked mustard and ketchup off each other's fingers.

She was falling in love, Magenta realised as Quinn walked her home along the embankment, where the river Thames stretched wide and silent at their side like a black-satin ribbon sprinkled with stars.

It was a wild, funny, tender, rollercoaster time, during which they grew as close as two people could grow. Now
tomorrow was Christmas Eve, a time for presents, fun and celebration.

It was definitely not a time for Magenta to be clutching the edge of the sink in the ladies' room at the office, while wondering if she was going to pass out or be sick.

I'm pregnant
, she thought, staring at her green-tinged reflection in the mirror.

It had only been the one time without protection, but one time was enough. And she was sure. She had never been more certain of anything in her life—she was expecting Quinn's baby.

But how could this happen in a dream-world?

Anything could happen in a dream, Magenta reasoned, though dreams didn't usually feel as realistic as this, nor did they usually last as long. She was growing increasingly concerned—or was that hopeful?—that perhaps she really was in the sixties. There was no need for her to buy a pregnancy kit to confirm what she already knew. The changes in her body had been swift and all-consuming. She was late, sick and, more important than all of that, had the overwhelming sense that she wasn't alone in her body any longer, a fact which thrilled her beyond belief. She felt instantly protective of the tiny life inside her, even though motherhood wasn't part of her life plan, or even her dream plan. And, yes, it might have taken two to tango, but she had never asked anything of Quinn and she didn't intend to start now.

The rest of the day passed quickly, with everyone tidying up the loose ends of the campaign in preparation for the launch after the holidays. Magenta stayed behind to make sure the new top-flight team of men and women had everything they needed before she left. Quinn was still working in his office when it came time to lock up. She had some chilly hours of uncertainty ahead of her, she reflected, picking up her coat in the staff room. She was the only one who knew about her baby—Quinn's baby—and, though she could happily cope
with a pregnancy, she would prefer to do so in a world she understood. ‘Oh, why can't I wake up?' she murmured, without realising Nancy had joined her in the room.

‘Long, hard night?' Nancy suggested with amusement. Opening her handbag, Nancy began to touch up her make-up.

‘A great night,' Magenta admitted honestly. She hadn't spent a night without Quinn since the party, which was weeks ago now, and they had all been great.

‘Is there something wrong?' Nancy said, turning to look at her with new interest.

‘No,' Magenta said with a laugh in her voice. ‘Long, hard day, that's all.'

‘Are you sure that's all? You look to me like you're hiding something.'

‘No, I'm not.' She was a hopeless liar. Nancy had become her best friend in this strange dream-world and Magenta was eager to share her news with someone. ‘Except…I've got something amazing to tell you.'

To Magenta's dismay, Nancy paled. ‘You're not pregnant, are you?'

‘Why do you say that?'

‘It's the first thing that popped into my mind.'

‘And if I am? Would that be so terrible?'
From the expression on Nancy's face, Magenta realised she was clinging by her fingertips to cloud nine—that as far as Nancy was concerned it was that bad.

‘If you're married, that's fine. If you're engaged, that's almost acceptable—though it would raise eyebrows and cause a whole world of unwanted comment here.'

Magenta laughed incredulously. ‘Are you saying only married women can have children?'

‘That's the usual way, isn't it?'

Dumbstruck, Magenta stared at Nancy, a girl she had thought so feisty and up to the mark in everything.

‘You're having Quinn's baby, right?' Nancy demanded in her usual forthright way.

She nodded.

‘And you're seriously considering going ahead with the pregnancy?'

‘Of course I am. What else would I do?'

‘How long have I got?' Nancy murmured under her breath.

‘You disapprove?' Magenta couldn't have been more surprised.

‘
I
don't, but everyone else will.'

‘But it's no one else's business. I'm not asking for help. I won't be a burden to anyone. I won't even expect Quinn to take an active role in bringing up his baby if he doesn't want to.'

‘Boy, are you naïve.' Nancy was full of concern now. ‘Honestly, Magenta, I always thought you were smart, but now I'm not so sure. Can't you see what this will do to your reputation? Oh, forget that,' Nancy said, shaking her head in exasperation. ‘You won't be able to work, so what will your reputation even matter?'

‘That's a little dramatic, isn't it?' Magenta demanded wryly. ‘I can't see why it should change anything.'

‘And how many unmarried mothers do you know?'

‘Well, none in this—' She had been about to say ‘this world' but quickly held her tongue.

‘Do you have family who can care for the baby while you work?'

‘No, but what about childcare?'

‘Childcare!' Nancy exclaimed. ‘What planet are you living on? And without money to support yourself you're going to be in a real bind, Magenta. You have no idea what's ahead of you, do you?' Nancy demanded, staring her in the eyes. ‘If you did, you wouldn't want this baby.'

‘Nancy, no, stop it. I can't believe you mean that.'

‘You'll be finished in advertising,' Nancy said in a calm voice that really frightened Magenta. ‘And all the men here will have a field day.'

‘Then we won't tell them.'

‘Not even Quinn?'

‘I'll choose my time.'

Nancy laughed, but it was a hollow sound. ‘Yes, you do that,' she agreed.

‘And as for being finished…'

‘It's not you, Magenta,' Nancy was quick to say. ‘It's what everyone will think of you.'

‘And what will you think of me?'

‘I'm sorry you even have to ask that question,' Nancy told her, meeting Magenta's stare. ‘My feelings won't change—and I'll help you all I can. You just can't expect Quinn is going to step in, or that he'll even acknowledge the baby is his. He only has your word for that. I'm sorry, Magenta, but that's the truth and I'd rather I say it than you hear it from someone else…'

Of course—no DNA tests, no proof. No help of any kind for single mothers in the sixties—that was what Nancy was telling her. How had women managed? Magenta felt as bad as she had ever felt in her life—not for herself, but for all those women who had been treated so shabbily. ‘And what if I don't care what people think? What if I make a go of it?'

Nancy said nothing, which was an answer in itself.

Magenta shook her head. ‘I'm not ready to have this conversation,' she admitted. ‘It's too soon. I'm still getting over the thrill of discovering I'm pregnant. I hadn't thought of it as a problem, or anything remotely close. I'm sorry, Nancy, I shouldn't have burdened you with this.'

‘Who else can you confide in?' Nancy pointed out with her usual pragmatism. ‘Don't worry about me. It's you I'm worried about. You should take some time off work, try to come up with a plan. I'll help you.'

‘I don't want to take time off work—I'm pregnant, not ill.'

‘But when you start to show?'

In the sixties, that would be her cue to feel ashamed, Magenta presumed, imagining the reaction from the men in the office. But would she even be here that long, or would she wake up long before then? Uncertainty hit her like an avalanche. What could she count on in this strange, disjointed world?

Sensing her desperation, Nancy gave her a hug.

‘I'm all right,' Magenta insisted, pulling herself together. She would have to be. There was some irony in the fact that she had researched most things about the sixties except for this. But, if Nancy's concern was anything to go by, impending motherhood must have been a nightmare prospect for a single woman in the sixties.

But that was no reason to give up. She had a baby to fight for now, and if people were as narrow-minded as Nancy suggested then she'd find a way to start up her own ad agency—working from home, if she had to. She would make this work and support her child whatever it took.

But then another, bigger problem hit her: would she still be pregnant in the real world? And, if the answer to that was no, did she want to wake up?

Maternal instinct was a formidable force, she realised as Nancy continued to offer advice. ‘Some women have no alternative but to have an abortion or give their child away.'

‘Then I feel sorry for their unimaginable plight, but I'm not one of them.' Discovering first-hand what it had been like to exist in an era where the single mother had been stigmatised made Magenta long to be able to go into battle for each and every one of them.

‘And when some men find out you're pregnant,' Nancy went on, ‘they'll assume you're easy meat.'

‘Then they'll soon learn they're wrong. I'm sorry, Nancy—I
don't mean to have a go at you. It's just that this is all so new to me. But don't worry; I will sort it out. And I'm going make a start right now by telling Quinn.'

‘Good idea,' Nancy agreed. ‘You should before you pass out, or you're sick on someone's shoes.'

Magenta managed to wrestle up a smile for her friend at the door. ‘I'll try not to be sick on your shoes.'

‘That's all I ask,' Nancy said, playing the same game with a faint smile in return.

 

Quinn was packing up his things when Magenta knocked on his office door and walked in. Before she had found out about the baby, they had agreed to meet in town for something to eat, but events were moving too fast to wait for that.

‘Hey,' he said, looking up. ‘Hungry already?'

She stood for a moment just drinking him in. Quinn had announced that the last day before the holidays would be a dress-down day. No one did casual better than he did and, in faded jeans and a leather jacket left open over a close-fitting top, he looked amazing. But it wasn't Quinn's physical features that drew her; that was the least of it. It was the warmth in his eyes and the curve of his mouth. She wanted to frame that and remember it, as if tomorrow was coming round a lot faster than she wanted it to, and then everything would change.

‘Well, come on,' he said. ‘Spit it out. I know that look.' Still leaning over the desk, he gave her the Quinn smile, the one with warmth, fun and trust in it.

She took a breath and began. ‘I know I told you I was on the pill.' She didn't need to say anything else. Quinn's face had already changed. Frown lines had deepened between his eyes. ‘I know it was only that one time…' she went on.

‘When circumstances overcame us?' Quinn straightened up.

That's one way of putting it, Magenta thought as anxiety
started to build inside her. She couldn't read Quinn. She didn't have a clue what he was thinking. ‘You're pregnant?'

‘Yes, I am.' They had grown so close, yet suddenly Quinn was like a stranger standing in judgement on her. ‘I don't want anything from you.'

‘Why not?'

That was the one question she hadn't anticipated. ‘Because I can manage this on my own.'

‘So, you're cutting me out?'

‘I just don't want to be dependent on anyone.'

‘Sounds to me like I'm going to be a father but you'd prefer I didn't interfere.'

‘I'm sorry if it came out that way, it's not what I meant.'

‘How do I know that?'

‘You'll just have to take my word for it.'

‘Like I took your word for the fact that you were on the pill?'

‘Aren't we both equally responsible?' Now she was getting mad.

‘Well, of course we are, Magenta, and I'm happy to accept full responsibility. I only wish you could be as straight with me.'

‘I am being straight with you.'

‘Are you? I feel like I don't know you—like you're hiding something.'

‘I can explain.'

But she couldn't. How could she explain what she couldn't understand? How could she tell Quinn that this was a dream and that she might wake up at any moment to find out that none of it was happening?

Quinn's sound of exasperation forced her to refocus. ‘Why don't you tell me what's really on your mind, Magenta?'

Quinn was waiting for answers and she had none.
This is a dream
, she wanted to blurt out.
I'm locked in a dream and
I can't get back
. ‘The pregnancy was a shock to me,' was the best she could manage.