Shock (19 page)

"Really?" Spencer commented as his imagination took wing. He'd never been with two women before, although he'd seen such episodes in X-rated videos.

"Really!" Deborah said, trying to make her voice huskier than it really was.

Spencer gestured with his palms up, fingers spread. "Hey, I certainly have an open mind! Let's do it!"

"Wonderful," Deborah said. "We'll meet you at the Barn at five-thirty. And do me a favor."

"Certainly," Spencer said. "What?"

"Don't work too hard the rest of the afternoon. It will be better if you're not too tired."

"You have my word," Spencer said, raising his hands in surrender.

JOANNA SLAMMED THE CAR DOOR AND STUCK THE KEY IN the ignition, but she didn't start the car. Instead, she leaned her forehead against the steering wheel while Deborah got in on her side.

"Now run this by me once more," Joanna spat. "Did you tell me that you agreed for the two of us to go to dinner with this disgusting lecher who you admit has some sort of sexual fantasy in mind? Tell me that I'm just dreaming this all up!"

"No, you got it right," Deborah agreed. "But I'm surprised at your description of the good doctor. This morning you said he was distinguished."

"That was in response to his appearance, not his behavior; and that was this morning, not this afternoon."

"Well," Deborah said. "You should have let me know you felt so strongly before I was carried off into his office."

Deborah knew she was taunting Joanna, but her roommate hadn't given her a chance to explain the situation. As they left Wingate's office, Deborah had mentioned the evening's plans, and Joanna had immediately launched into an angry diatribe. Then, without allowing Deborah so much as another word, Joanna had stormed out of the Wingate Clinic.

"This car is going back to Boston straightaway," Joanna announced. "If you want to stay out here and get it on with that rake, that's your business, but personally I think you are crazy."

"Will you calm down!" Deborah said.

"I'm quite calm enough," Joanna said. "Now, are you getting out or what?"

"Shut up and listen!" Deborah ordered. "I had the same reaction as you when he first suggested dinner. But then it occurred to me he has something we want and need: something critical!"

Joanna took a deep breath to keep from lashing out again at Deborah. As usual Deborah was forcing her to ask. "Okay," Joanna said at length. "What does he have that we need?"

"His blue access card!" Deborah said triumphantly. "He's more than a department head, he's the founder! His blue card will certainly open the door to the server room and probably every other door in the entire place."

Joanna lifted her head from where she'd been leaning it against the steering wheel. What Deborah was saying was undoubtedly true, but what did it matter? She looked at her roommate. "He's not going to give us his access card because we go to dinner with him."

"Of course not," Deborah said. "We're going to take it! All we have to do is get him drunk, and while one of us is diverting him, the other snags the blue card."

At first Joanna thought Deborah was just being her blithe self and that she'd laugh and say she was just kidding. But she didn't. She returned Joanna's gaze with a look of self-satisfaction.

"I don't know," Joanna said. "Sounds easy on paper, but difficult to execute."

"You said yourself we were going to have to be creative to get into the server room," Deborah said. "This is creative."

"You're making a lot of assumptions," Joanna said. "How do you know he drinks? Maybe he's a teetotaler."

"I don't think that's a worry," Deborah said. "He mentioned that the restaurant where we're supposed to meet him has a good wine list. Wine and women are definitely on his mind."

"I don't know about this idea," Joanna said reluctantly.

"Oh, come on," Deborah said. "Admit it's a good ideal Have you come up with another plan for getting into that room?"

"No, but. . ."

"But nothing," Deborah interjected. "What do we have to lose?"

"Our dignity."

"Oh, please! Give me a break!"

Just then Dr. Donaldson and Cynthia Carson came out through the clinic door. Joanna suddenly scrunched down and ordered Deborah to do the same.

"Now what?" Deborah asked, mimicking Joanna and flattening herself below the level of the window.

"Dr. Donaldson and Cynthia Carson just came out of the clinic," Joanna whispered. A few minutes ticked by. The women heard car doors open and slam shut followed by the noise of the tires moving on the gravel-strewn pavement. Only then did they sit up.

"I'm getting out of here," Joanna said after making sure the coast was clear. She started the car, jammed it in gear, and backed out of the parking spot.

"So," Deborah said, "are you with me or not?"

Joanna sighed. "All right," she said. "I'll give it a try. But to get that blue card will take more than dinner. We'll have to get him to take us back to his house."

"Probably," Deborah admitted. "But we might get lucky."

"As far as the division of labor is concerned, I want to make it clear that you'll be doing the distracting and I'll be doing the extracting."

"I think we'll have to play it by ear. As I said earlier, he's expecting some kind of menage a trois."

"Good grief!" Joanna exclaimed as she nosed the car up to the gate to get it to open. "None of my old friends in Houston would believe this!"

The women drove into town and revisited the RiteSmart drugstore to ask directions to the Barn. The pharmacist had gained a few pounds but was just as cheerful as he'd been a year and a half previously.

"The Barn is about two miles north of town," he said, pointing up Main Street in the direction they'd come. "It's a good restaurant. I recommend you have the pot roast, double-baked potatoes, and the cheesecake with chocolate sauce."

"That sounds like nice, light fare," Joanna mocked as they returned to the street.

The women spent a half hour window shopping to pass some time before getting back into the car and driving out to the restaurant. It was a quaint establishment having been an actual barn in its previous life. Lots of old-fashioned farm equipment graced the grounds, and some was even attached to the side of the building. Inside, the animal stalls had been converted into eating areas with banquettes. The only windows were in the front creating a dark, cozy atmosphere in the interior.

"Miss Marks and Miss Heatherly?" the hostess asked before the women had a chance to say a word. When they answered yes, she motioned for them to follow. Clutching several menus, she led them to the rearmost stall. There in the dim, candlelit recess was Dr. Spencer Wingate decked out in a blazer with an ascot and matching pocket square. When he caught sight of Joanna and Deborah, he bounded out from behind the table, gallantly kissed each woman's hand, and then graciously gestured for them to sit down. The hostess placed menus in front of each woman, smiled, and disappeared.

"I hope you don't mind," he said. "I've taken the liberty of ordering some wine before you got here." He reached out and turned the labels of the two bottles sitting on the table toward the women. "A crisp white and a full-bodied red! I like my reds full-bodied." He laughed briefly.

Deborah winked at Joanna. She thought the evening was getting off to a good start.

"Would anyone like a cocktail in addition to the wine?" Spencer asked.

"We're not hard liquor drinkers," Deborah said. "But don't let that inhibit you."

"A martini would hit the spot," he said. "Are you sure neither of you ladies would care to join me?"

Both women declined.

The evening progressed smoothly. The conversation was effortless since Spencer was easily encouraged to talk about Spencer. By the time dessert was served, the women had been treated to a lengthy and detailed history of the Wingate Clinic and its success. The more Spencer talked, the more liberally he drank. The only minor problem was that he showed no outward effect from the alcohol he'd imbibed.

"I have a question about the clinic," Deborah said when Spencer finally paused in his monologue to attack the cheese cake drenched in chocolate sauce. "What's the story about the pregnant Nicaraguans?"

"Are some of the Nicaraguan ladies pregnant?" Spencer asked.

"It seemed to us they all were pregnant,' Deborah said. "And all about the same degree, as if they'd become pregnant through some airborne infection."

Spencer laughed. "Pregnancy as an infectious process! That's a good one! But it's not too far from the truth. After all, it is caused by the invasion of a few million microorganisms." He laughed again at his attempt at humor.

"You mean to tell me you are unaware of these pregnancies?" Deborah asked.

"I know nothing about them," Spencer assured her. "What those ladies do on their time off is their business."

"Why I'm asking," Deborah continued, "is because we were told becoming pregnant for them was a way to earn extra money."

"Really?" Spencer said. "Who told you this?"

"Ms. Masterson," Deborah said. "We asked her about them at lunch."

"I shall have to ask her myself," Spencer said. A short, faltering smile appeared on his face. "I've not been as actively involved with the clinic as I should have been over the last couple of years, so there are certain details I'm not aware of. Of course I knew about the Nicaraguan ladies being with us. It's an arrangement Dr. Saunders has made with a doctor friend in Nicaragua to solve our chronic manpower problem."

"What kind of research is Dr. Saunders involved in?" Deborah asked.

"A little of this and a little of that," Spencer said vaguely. "He's a very creative researcher. Infertility is a rapidly advancing specialty whose advances will soon be making a big impact on medicine in general. But this discussion is getting way too serious." He laughed, and for the first time swayed a bit before steadying himself. "Let's lighten it up. What I propose is that we go back to my house and raid my wine cellar. What do you ladies say?"

"I say the sooner the better," Deborah responded as she covertly poked Joanna, whom she felt was being far too quiet and demure. "I think having more wine is a terrific idea," Joanna said.

When the bill came, the women were interested to see where Spencer kept his wallet. They were both hoping it would be in his jacket pocket. But it wasn't. To their chagrin it was in his rear pants pocket where it returned once the credit card had been replaced.

As they reached the front of the restaurant and were about to leave, Spencer excused himself to use the rest room.

"You're going to have to be creative to get his pants off," Joanna whispered. They were standing near the hostess podium. Although there had been no patrons when they'd arrived, the restaurant was now almost full.

"It's surely not going to take creativity to get him out of his pants," Deborah whispered back. "The creativity is going to come in dealing with his expectations. I'm amazed at how much he drank and how little it's seemed to affect him. He's had two martinis and two bottles of wine minus the minuscule amount you and I drank."

"He did slur his words a little during dessert," Joanna said.

"And sway a little, too," Deborah added. "But that's not much effect for that much alcohol. To be that tolerant he must be more of a lush than he appears. If it had been me with that amount of alcohol, I'd be comatose for three days."

Spencer appeared at the men's room door, smiled when he saw the women, and then proceeded to stagger on a skewed course to collide with the hostess stand. He grabbed onto it for support. The dismayed hostess came from behind the stand to help.

"All right!" Deborah exclaimed in a triumphant whisper to Joanna. "That's encouraging. It must have been some kind of a delayed reaction."

"Is he all right?" the hostess asked as the women came up on both sides of Spencer and lent a hand.

"He's going to be just fine,' Deborah said. "He's just unwinding a bit."

"Do you beautiful ladies know where my house is?" Spencer asked, slurring his words again.

"We certainly do," Deborah said. "Ms. Masterson pointed it out to us today."

"Then we'll have a race," Spencer announced.

Before Deborah could nix the idea, Spencer shook free and ran out of the restaurant.

Deborah and Joanna exchanged a startled glance before giving chase. When they emerged into the fading evening light, Spencer was already climbing into his Bentley. They could hear him laughing.

"Wait!" Deborah cried. They ran toward the car, but by the time they got to it, Spencer had the huge engine roaring. Deborah got her hand on the driver's side door handle, but the door was locked. She rapped on the glass. She started to suggest that she drive, but Spencer merely laughed harder, pointed to his ear to indicate he couldn't hear, and then accelerated out of the parking lot.

"Oh crap!" Deborah said as she and Joanna watched the red tail lights disappear into the gathering gloom.

"He shouldn't be driving," Joanna said.

"Yeah, well, he didn't give us a lot of choice," Deborah responded. "I hope he makes it. If he doesn't, let's be the first on the scene - not that that's how I planned on getting that blasted card!"

The women ran back to the Chevy Malibu. Joanna got it out on the road as fast as she could. After every curve they half expected so come across the Bentley off in one of the stubbled corn fields. When they got to the traffic light at the corner of Pierce and Main, they began to relax, realizing that in all probability if Spencer had gotten that far, he was going to make it.

"What did  you  think  of  Spencer's   response   about  the Nicaraguan ladies?" Deborah asked as they turned onto Pierce and headed east.

"He seemed truly surprised about them being pregnant," Joanna said.

"That was my take as well," Deborah said. "I'm getting the impression that things are happening at the Wingate Clinic that the founder doesn't know much about."

"I'd have to agree," Joanna said. "Of course he admitted he'd not been as involved with the clinic as he should have been over the last couple of years."