Strange Bedpersons (5 page)

“The Moby Dick
game
?”

“—but the game was meant for kids, so in the game—”

“Ahab makes it,” Gina finished.

“Exactly,” Tess said, dissolving into laughter. “And Park wrote the paper based on what he knew from the game. Isn’t that hysterical?”

“No,” Gina said. “I think it’s sad. Why did his parents only buy him educational stuff?”

“Because his parents want him to be God,” Tess said, slumping down in the chair. “And Park doesn’t have the brains to make cherub. So he leans on Nick, and Nick carries the whole firm. And that’s why I hate Park Patterson. If it hadn’t been for Park, Nick would probably have ended up as a district attorney, doing something decent for humanity, instead of running around pampering rich people. He’s so brilliant. It’s such a waste.”

“It’s his choice,” Gina said. “And so is this Welch thing. I don’t think you can blame Park.”

“I can blame Park,” Tess said. “He’s the one who made this such a big deal. He promised Nick he’ll make partner if they get this account.”

Gina sounded unconvinced. “So why do you care? I thought you spit on big business. Especially lawyer big business.”

“I do. Nick doesn’t. And he needs my help.”

“So you’re still hung up on him.”

“No, I’m not hung up on him.” Tess sat up again, annoyed. “I just feel sorry for him.”

“Right,” Gina said. “And?”

“And he makes me feel good.” Tess leaned back a little as she thought about it. “Okay, he makes me feel really good.”

“And?” Gina prodded.

“And he turns me on,” Tess finally admitted, sliding all the way back down into the chair. “I know, I’m shallow.” She sighed. “Really shallow. I know he’s a mercenary lawyer, but we’re talking about a man who turns me on doing his laundry. You know, the kind of guy you sit next to by the dryer, and he’s wearing a sweatshirt with the sleeves cut off, and you realize he has the best arms you’ve ever seen in your life, and suddenly you’re having hot flashes and losing your train of thought, and it’s either menopause complicated by Alzheimer’s or you’re in heat, and then that damn tingle starts and you know you’re in heat, and you have to go upstairs and lock the door, because if you don’t, you’ll claw off his shirt and bite into his bicep.”

After a long pause Gina said, “Would you like me to wait while you go take a cold shower?”

Tess ignored the question. “This is why I should not be seeing him again. Because it’s only a matter of time before I just drag him off to the nearest flat surface and have my way with him. And that would be bad.”

“Oh, yeah,” Gina said. “That sounds bad. I wish I had something that bad.”

“Look,” Tess said, “don’t get snippy on me. That
would
be bad. I mean, I’m already tempted by him just because he makes me laugh and feel safe. If I went to bed with him and it was great, I’d be in real trouble. Because as much as he makes me crazy with lust, he really isn’t right for me. He thinks my apartment is a dump, and he gets huffy about my thriftstore clothes, and he wears designer suits and gold watches.”

“Oh, well, gold watches,” Gina said. “There’s a real drawback.”

“It’s symbolic,” Tess protested. “I mean, he can be really sweet, but he can also be an uptight, money-hungry yuppie. And the thing is, those money-hungry times just seem to be getting longer and the sweet times shorter, and I don’t really believe you can change a guy, and who am I to decide to change him, anyway? He’s happy the way he is. We’re better off apart. Besides, he won’t let me wear an apron.”

Gina sighed. “I think you should lose your mind and marry him. God knows, I would. I’m the one who needs somebody to support me.”

“How very mercenary of you,” Tess said.

“How very practical of me,” Gina said. “So how old is this Park?”

“Oh, come on.”

“Come on, yourself. How old?”

“Late thirties, early forties, I think,” Tess said. “Nick’s thirty-eight, and I think Park’s a few years older.”

“I like older guys.”

“Gina!” Tess sat up and clutched the phone. “After all I’ve said about him? You wouldn’t.”

“Of course I wouldn’t,” Gina said, laughing. “I’m just yanking your chain. Can’t you just see me with some high-society guy? What a laugh.”

“Why?” Tess said, switching sides in an instant. “What’s wrong with you in high society? You’d fit in anywhere. In fact, now that I think about it, you’d be great for Park.” She started to grin as she thought about it. “He always dates these women who have the personalities of flatfish. It would do him good to meet a real female person.”

“Forget it.”

“I’m not kidding.” Tess examined her new idea and liked it. “Listen, if you’re not busy this weekend, I can get you invited to a party full of rich guys with husband potential, and you’ll get to see Park in action because you’ll be his date.”

“God, no,” Gina said, the horror in her voice evident even over the phone. “Rich guys? I don’t want a rich guy. I’d stick out like a sore thumb.”

“What are you talking about?” Tess said. “You would not. And speaking of sticking out, what was the deal with the gum? You only chew gum when you get nervous. What happened?”

“Nick kinda makes me nervous,” Gina said. “It’s not his fault. He just always looks so...slick. You know?”

“I know,” Tess said gloomily as she sank back into her chair.

“Listen, I appreciate this, I really do,” Gina said, her words tumbling out in a nervous rush, “but I can’t go to this thing with you. I’d die, I really would.”

“No, you won’t. I’ll be with you. Besides, you need this. You want a husband, you’re going to get one. This place will be crawling with rich guys. One of them might be nice. If nothing else, you’ll get a whole weekend of free food.”

“I don’t need food that much.”

“Besides, it’s just Park,” Tess said. “He has the brains of a kumquat. You’ll do fine.”

“I don’t know,” Gina said.

“I’ll give his secretary your number,” Tess said. “This is going to be great for you.”

“Gee, thanks,” Gina said. “I don’t know about this, Tess.”

“Trust me,” Tess said. “This is going to be the best thing that ever happened to you.”

By Thursday, she was regretting she’d ever met him and counting the hours until she saw him again.

“This may have been a mistake,” he told Christine Thursday morning when she brought the mail into his office and dropped it on his massive ebony desk.

“Probably,” Christine agreed. “Park left a message. He has a date for tomorrow night with someone who can read. He said to tell you thank-you.”

“What do you mean ‘probably’?” Nick demanded, tipping his leather desk chair back so he could meet her eyes. “You don’t even know what I’m talking about.”

“You’re not sure about Tess,” Christine said.

“How’d you know that?” Nick narrowed his eyes suspiciously. “You know, sometimes you’re a little creepy, Christine.”

“I live to serve,” she said.

Nick stared at her for a moment, biting his lip, tapping his pen on the desktop. “It’s not just her mouth,” he said finally. “It’s her clothes. She’s completely capable of wrapping herself in a thrift-store tablecloth and calling it a Victorian sarong.”

Christine waited, staring into space as if mentally doing her nails.

“Christine...” Nick began, smiling at her with all the charm in his possession.

Christine buffed another mental cuticle.

“Yo, Christine,” Nick said, snapping his fingers.

“I’m here,” Christine said. “Waiting for orders. Any orders.”

“You know, Christine,” Nick said, “the life of a secretary is a...
varied
one.”

“What do you want me to do?” Christine said flatly.

Nick gave up on the charm. “I know this isn’t in your job description, but go get Tess a dress and have it delivered to her. Then take the rest of the afternoon off so I don’t feel guilty about making you shop instead of type. I’m not going to get a damn thing done until this party is over, anyway.”

Christine stood patiently. “Where, what size, what color?”

Nick took a card out of his desk and began to write. “I don’t care where. I don’t know what size. Black. Conservative.” He finished writing and handed her the card. “Put that with it.”

Christine read the card. “I need to know the size.”

Nick frowned. “Sort of medium.”

Christine looked at him with contempt, which Nick saw as a move in the right direction, given Christine’s general detachment from human interaction.

“How tall is she?” Christine asked.

“Oh...about here,” Nick said, slicing his hand at chin level.

“About five eight,” Christine guessed. “How much does she weigh?”

“I don’t know,” Nick said. “She’s not fat, but she’s upholstered. You know, soft not bony.” He looked confused. “She’s medium.”

“Breasts?” Christine asked.

“Yes.”

“No, how big are they?”

Nick frowned up at her, trying not to think about Tess’s breasts. He had two whole days to get through, and he was distracted enough already. “They’re, uh, sort of more than medium, I guess. Do we have to talk about this?”

“She’s a ten, a twelve or a fourteen.”

“Split the difference—go for the twelve.”

“Fine,” Christine said, and drifted toward the door, the card in her hand.

“Hey,” Nick said. “Would you like some money to pay for this?”

“No,” Christine said at the door. “I’ll put it on your Visa.”

Nick blinked. “Can you do that?”

Christine smiled at him serenely and left.

“Hey, Christine,” Nick called after her. “If you ever turn to a life of crime, remember I was good to you. Christine?”

Nothing but silence answered him, so he returned to the problem at hand. How much of a liability was Tess going to be at this party? The more he thought about it, the more depressed he got. Asking Tess had been dumb, and sticking her in an expensive black dress was not going to help things much. Not unless he got her an expensive black gag to go with it.
This is what happens when you let your emotions take over,
he railed at himself. Just because he wanted to see her again—only all of her this time—he’d asked her to a career-making weekend.
The career comes first,
he reminded himself.
Don’t forget that again.

Then he went back to worrying.

The underfed messenger pumped his Adam’s apple nervously as he stood in the hall outside her apartment. “Jeez, lady,” he said. “You really live here?”

“Don’t be a wimp,” Tess told him, but she tipped him more than she could afford anyway, resisting the impulse to offer him food instead. Then she took the box into the apartment and opened it.

Nick had sent her a black crepe dress. It came below her knee and laced at the sides with black crepe laces that blended so well with the fabric that they were practically invisible. The dress was beautifully if conservatively cut, and Tess hated it on sight. When she tried it on, she hated it even more. It fit perfectly when the laces were loosened, and it made her look respectable and successful. She wanted to kill Nick, but she called Gina to come over instead.

“Stop bitching,” Gina told her when she got to Tess’s apartment. “He probably knew you didn’t have anything for this kind of shindig. He was being thoughtful.”

“Wait’ll you see this thing,” Tess said, dragging her into the bedroom.

But all Gina said when she saw the dress was, “It’s beautiful. It really was thoughtful, Tess.”

“Thoughtful, my hat. He’s being patronizing. He thinks I don’t have anything decent.”

Gina looked around Tess’s bedroom, which was furnished with a creaky bed, a dozen thrift-store pillows and Angela, and raised an eyebrow at her.

Tess grinned and flapped a hand. “That’s not what I meant. I meant he’s assuming I didn’t have anything decent to
wear.”

“You don’t.” Gina dropped onto the bed and looked at the dress wistfully before she returned to her attack. “Look, Tess, he did his laundry with you. He knows what your clothes look like. He knows what you dress like. He did you a favor. What’d the card say?”

“What card?”

“There must have been a card.” Gina sounded exasperated as she reached for the box and pawed through the tissue paper until she found it. “Got it. It says...” She hesitated while she pulled it out. “It says, ‘I saw this and knew you’d look great in it. Thank you for saving my life. Nick.’” Gina frowned at Tess. “And you’re not planning on hanging on to him? You’re nuts. I’d kill to have somebody write me cards like this.”

“That’s because you don’t know him like I do,” Tess grumbled. “I mean, look at this dress. Nancy Reagan would love this dress. He’s trying to make me a Republican for the weekend.”

“Nancy Reagan dressed great,” Gina said. “You’re such a bigot. If it’s Republican, you want to burn a cross in the yard. Shape up.” She looked at the dress wistfully again. “It would be nice to have clothes like that, you know? Real clothes, not just cheap stuff.”

Tess looked at the dress dubiously. “I suppose so.” She pulled at it a little, growing more cheerful as she studied it. “It’s just one night. And then maybe I can change the laces to red and lower the neckline.”

“And put a slit up the side and pretend you’re Suzie Wong,” Gina added. “Why don’t you just give respectability a try?”

“Never,” Tess said. “You’ll know I’m dead when I start acting respectable.”

“Somehow I’m not worried,” Gina said. “Listen, all I’ve got for this thing is my black jersey dress. You know, the one with the belt? Is that gonna be okay?”

“Sure.” Tess shrugged. “You look great in everything.”

“It’s not like this,” Gina said, fingering the material of Tess’s dress one more time before she let go.

“It’s not the kinda dress that people just look at and know it’s a good dress.”

“Gina, you look so darling in everything you put on that people don’t care what you’re wearing.” Tess hung the dress on the back of the closet door. “Forget about your dress. You’ll look great. Nick’s picking me up at four. You’re riding with Park, right?”

“You’re not going to be late, are you?” Gina said, sudden panic making her voice sharp. “Please.”

“You’re not even riding down with us,” Tess said. “What difference does it make to you whether I’m late or not?”

“All those people.” Gina clutched her hands together. “I want them to think I’m classy. I need you near me.”

“Not if you want people to think you’re classy,” Tess said, and shut the closet door on the Nancy Reagan dress.