The Very Thought of You (11 page)

“Let's go back to this interesting man. Does he have a name?”

Dominique's voice reminded Molly to put her brain back on hiatus. She struggled to empty it of thoughts about marriage and its pitfalls.

While the indicator remained stationary, a tiny thought sprouted in Molly's supposedly comatose mind. Then the indicator took a circuitous route and spelled out
N I C K.

“Are you interested in him?”

The planchette slid right over to
YES.

“No.” That was Ouija's first slip-up. It didn't matter how she reacted to him, Nick Mancini ranked just below Quasimodo in the “available to date” category. She didn't have to remind herself thirteen tenants and possibly the fate of the clinic stood between her and one of the hottest single men on the planet.

“Does he get you excited?”

YES
made another timely appearance.

“Baloney,” Molly muttered even as her inner voice screamed,
Liar!

“Shh. You're supposed to concentrate, especially now things have heated up.”

Molly wished she could find a way to chug a little wine without using her hands.

“Okay. Besides interesting and exciting, how else would you describe him?”

Molly blamed herself when the indicator stalled. Thoughts of Nick bubbled in her mind like the chocolate soufflé she'd burned recently. She searched for ways to describe him. She wasn't supposed to, though — description was Ouija's job. She took a deep breath and nudged her mind into a blank state. Just to ensure she didn't cheat, she closed her eyes.

“
S … E … X … Y
.” Her cousin's voice broke the hush in the room.

Molly's eyes popped open as the indicator ranged over another flock of letters.
H O T.

“Is he really?” Dominique asked.

“Some women might think so.”

“Do I sit opposite one?”

Molly shrugged. That was as close to the truth as she'd admit.

“Let Ouija confirm it.”

It took longer than usual for the answer to appear.

Dominique said, “Don't be resistant.”

YES
appeared in the window. “See, no resistance from over here. I think you cheated, though.”

“If that's want you want to believe, fine. It won't erase the truth. You're attracted to him.”

Molly hated to think of herself as just another poodle in heat. Next thing, she'd fantasize about buying a thong and having him peel it off her body.

“Would you like him to kiss you again?”

Molly wanted to bring this soul search to a close. Her mind buzzed from the effort to banish cognition to a dead zone. However, Ouija, seemingly impatient with her balking subconscious, whisked right over to
YES
.

Could that be true?

Dominique leaned closer. “On a scale of one to ten, how good a kisser is he?”

“The earth moved.” Molly pulled her hands off the planchette.

“Wow, and with only one kiss.”

Molly leaped off the sofa, sending Ouija flying. “No,
right now
.”

“Earthquake!” both shouted simultaneously.

Molly grabbed Dominique's hand and pulled her across the white shag carpet that covered a section of hardwood floor. She guided her to the archway between the living room and kitchen. Dishes danced against each other and chattered from behind the cabinet doors. The light fixture suspended from the kitchen ceiling swayed in a slow arc. Outside, car alarms shrieked.

Although Molly had experienced at least a dozen small quakes and one large one, she never got used to the swaying motion that signaled even a slight movement below the earth's surface. Especially since it always came without warning. She held tightly to her cousin's hands until the movement stopped.

“It didn't feel like the big one,” Dominique said.

Molly brought her rapid breathing under control. “Thank God it wasn't.”

“How would you rank it? Maybe a four on the Richter scale?”

“It's possible. Turn on the TV and see if there's any mention of it. I'll bring in the rest of the wine.” Molly headed into the kitchen. A couple of pictures were knocked off center, but other than that, the room showed no visible signs of damage. She grabbed the bottle of Chardonnay out of the refrigerator.

“It's just scrolling now. They think the epicenter is a few miles off the
Monterey coast. No major damage reported.” Dominique clicked off the TV.

Molly brought the wine into the living room and refilled their glasses. She turned on a light and blew out the candles. A glance into the street showed nothing unusual.

“Can you believe the earthquake struck at the precise moment I asked about Nick? He must have given you one hell of a kiss.”

Molly thought for a moment. Maybe it wasn't earthquake-sized, but it came close enough to shake up her orderly little world.

“Do you think half the state might have slid into the ocean just now if he'd asked you for a date?”

Molly shook her head. “Don't worry. He won't. Especially after I bailed on him this afternoon.”

Dominique scooped up the planchette and Ouija board and placed them in the box. “Why won't he? He kissed you. He's interested.”

Molly turned on another lamp. “He's interested in protecting his profit margin.” It occurred to her that while her mind subconsciously enjoyed the kiss, she should have ground her heel into his instep. She'd learned how at the self-defense course she took last year. Protection for when she sometimes had to hike to her car after dark. It hadn't occurred to her then that the technique might also come in handy for warding off men with agendas.

“You think he'd use you?”

“Get real. I know he would. It's not like we shared a romantic dinner and he parted with a hundred fifty bucks for the privilege to sit across a table from me. We stood on the threshold to the apartment from hell.”

“So why did he … you know?”

Why indeed? Even more provocative was why she let him. “I suppose he tried to prove a point.” Also, she'd bet the raise she couldn't afford to give herself it had nothing to do with the marriage thing.
Mrs. Mancini.
Really.

Molly plopped down on the sofa.

“What point?” Dominique carried the blue and white striped upholstered armchair she'd occupied back to its usual place beside the silk palm and sat down.

Molly hoped it wasn't to prove how easily he could manipulate her. Handsome, sexy, interesting men did that to women all the time, usually to lure them into bed. All Nick wanted was for her to stop waving her calculator under his nose.

“Maybe he wanted to show me his warm side. You know, live up to his golden reputation. Maybe then he could convince me to sympathize with his situation. ‘Aw, shucks. Here you are, a great guy, held up practically at gunpoint by your tenants, and I'm ready to pull the trigger for them.'” Molly sighed. “The thing is, I don't really believe he's cold. But calculating? I'll bet he could teach a course on it.”

“Play his game. Suck up to him. He's attracted to you. Use your body.”

“You mean have sex with him?”

“Not actual sex, unless you want to. Just put it out there, get him hot. Then maybe he'll hit his bank and empty out his accounts. That's what you think he did with you to garner your sympathy.”

“I can't.”

“Then let your subconscious do it, because
it
thinks he's H … O … T. If you're not up to it, introduce him to me.”

Molly stared at her cousin. Was she unhappy in her marriage, too? She'd been only twenty when she married Rob. That was twelve years ago. True, after all that time, ardor was bound to cool a little. Had they hit a patch of ice? Molly didn't know how to broach the subject or even if she should. “Are you and Rob … ah … having problems?”

“No more than usual. Just minor stuff. Rob and I are perfectly suited to each other. Oh, every now and again, I have to use a little thought transference on him when he says he's too tired for you-know-what.” She laughed. “Why, did you think I was interested in an affair?”

“Well, no.”

“I was fantasizing. That isn't reserved only for singles.” She took a sip of wine. “Don't tell me you never fantasize about sex.”

Molly shrugged. Sure she did, but not on anything like a regular basis. Actually, she hardly ever did. Dwelling on sex was nowhere near as fulfilling as the real deal.

“Would it be so hard to fantasize about sex with Nick?” Dominique grinned. “Tell the truth or I'll cart Ouija out again.”

Molly took her time and sipped her wine. She let it warm her insides. Her inhibitions would lessen if she drank enough of it.

“It probably wouldn't be hard at all.” That's where it would stay. At least she was smart enough not to get into a situation where he could
program
her into the real thing. Since she'd never agree to another apartment hunt, her worries ended there.

All evening, she'd been expecting a call and an accusation that she cut out on him. But then again, she hadn't even stuck around to retrieve her folders from his car. Maybe he took a good look inside and realized she was right about the lack of affordable housing. Maybe he'd given up and accepted the truth.

“Do you have today's
Chronicle
?”

“What?”

“The
Chron
. Where's today's pink section? You haven't thrown it out yet, have you?”

“No. It's on the kitchen table. Why?”

“There's something I want you to read. I just remembered it.” Dominique retrieved the paper and thumbed through a couple of back pages. “There, read your horoscope for today.” She thrust the sheet into Molly's hands.

It took a moment to locate Capricorn among the other eleven horoscopes. Molly read hers quickly, then read it again.

A certain charismatic person is about to turn your world upside down. Don't even consider running away. You're already under his spell. Enjoy.

Monday turned into a busier than usual day at the clinic. Patients were lined up at the door by the time Molly arrived. The doctors treated them without a break. She stayed close to her office and worked on updating files and contacting people who showed interest in contributing to her future events. At one o'clock, she ordered a turkey sandwich from the deli around the corner. She ate half then and finished the rest at seven. That was it for food. The tenants' association meeting was scheduled for eight o'clock that night.

At a quarter to eight, she packed everything away and headed for her car. Minutes later, she cruised down the street and pulled over where the beginnings of Nick's construction project loomed behind a chain link security fence. Although a green windscreen was anchored to the street side, it was still possible to vaguely see into the site. It appeared like a dark specter ready to swallow the seedy apartment building that crouched beside it. Work had also begun in the empty lot on the other side of the building and that made up the third parcel. It was also protected by an identical fence.

Molly had her pick of parking spaces tonight, a rarity in San Francisco. As dusk settled on the horizon, all the commercial buildings — with the exception of the Swaying
alms
— stood dark and empty. Their occupants had decamped for the night. Directly across from the construction site, a beat-up van with faded flower decals on the door panel hugged the curb. A nearby streetlamp cast a pale yellow glow. Molly almost whipped a U and pulled in behind the van. Since it could house some latter-day hippies, it might be best to park in front of the apartment building. Instead, she angled her five-year-old pre-owned Chevy into the empty space alongside Nick's darkened trailer. That would make it less conspicuous in an area ripe for break-ins. Six months earlier she'd contributed a CD player to the bad guys.

She turned off the motor and pushed the last bites of a power bar into her mouth. Guilt poked at her chest now as she squatted on Nick's property, as if she were about to take part in some illegal activity. When Mrs. Zamoulian had asked her — no, begged her — to attend their meeting, she couldn't refuse. Not after she heard about the ruckus that had ensued during their initial powwow the week before. She'd already given Mrs. Z a few pointers on how to compose an agenda. Tonight she'd limit her contribution to introducing the tenants to the rudiments of Parliamentary Procedure. She hoped it would make more sense to them than it had to Mrs. Z when Molly first broached it.

So why the guilt trip? She needn't plumb her subconscious for the answer. She'd allowed Nick to kiss her and instead of giving him a knee in the groin, she'd gone right along and fully participated. And according to the infallible Ouija, she couldn't wait for him to kiss her again. Whenever she thought about it, the same tingling sensation invaded her lips as if they were still pressed against his. Now Molly prepared to enter what Nick probably thought of as the enemy's camp.

She tried to kick Nick out of her mind but he'd charged in and taken up residence there. Compared to other men she'd kissed, with his technique — unhurried, deliberate, and full out — he rated a straight A. She supposed she'd have to live on the memory. She had no romantic prospects in the foreseeable future, which was just as well. Alongside Nick, the next hopeful didn't stand a chance of coming off any better than adequate.

She exited her car and double checked to make sure all the doors were locked. She jammed her keys into the outer pocket of her purse and hurried the few steps to the front door of the apartment building. She scanned the name slots, found Mrs. Z's, and pushed the bell. A moment later, she was buzzed inside.

A narrow hallway, lit by two circular opaque glass fixtures mounted to the ceiling, led to a rear staircase. A threadbare carpet of some dark, indeterminate color covered the steps. Its installation probably stretched back decades just like the overhead lights. Someone had made an effort to patch it with black electrical tape, which created a checkerboard effect. Probably Nick. Better to make a temporary repair than have a tenant take a tumble and sue him.