Time After Time (2 page)

"Oh, my God!" Tanya gasped. "Speak of the devil—Lord, I hope he didn't hear us."

Glancing around, Leah saw her superior pass their table with an older man of medium build. The two men were ushered to a secluded booth that Leah knew was always held for Paul Gregory.

"I don't care what y'all say. I think he's the most gorgeous man I've ever seen. He always reminds me of Heathcliff."

The comment from the fourth woman at the table brought a fresh round of laughter. Faith Noble was nineteen and had been a typist at Universal for three months. The other members of the group made fun of Faith's wide-eyed innocence and would deny with their last breath that she brought out protective instincts in them, but they weren't fooling anybody.

As the others began teasing Faith, Leah took a minute to study her boss. Heathcliff? she thought, tilting her head as she stared at him. Dark brown hair... dark features... was there a hint of cruelty about his strong lips? Leah had never cared much for the sulking hero of
Wuthering Heights,
but she could see that there might be a resemblance.

At that moment he glanced up and met her gaze, frowning slightly. Leah quickly looked away. No, not Heathcliff, she decided, swallowing a nervous laugh. Mr. Gregory portraying a romantic hero in the grip of ah all-consuming passion was more than even her imagination could take. Vulcan he was, and Vulcan he would remain.

As she shook out her napkin, her thoughts went back four years to the first time she had ever seen him. It had happened on her first day at Universal. At the time she had been only three years older than Faith, and to be perfectly honest, she supposed she had probably felt a little like the younger woman did now.

No, that wasn't honest enough, she scolded herself silently as the other women talked around her. Faith had a crush on Mr. Gregory. That came nowhere near what Leah had felt. She had taken one look at him, and it had been like being kicked in the stomach. It was scary and exciting all at the same time, bringing a flush to her face and a peculiar flutter to her chest.

She had found the sensation too overwhelming for comfort and had been almost relieved to find that he was married. She didn't—then or now—have time for emotional involvement and wasn't the type—then or

now—to indulge in casual affairs. Pulling up a little iron will of her own, she had buried the attraction. By the time his wife had died in a skiing accident a little more than a year after they had met, their relationship was solidly professional.

"Stop laughing," Faith protested indignantly as they continued to tease her about her fantasies. "I think he just pretends to be cold because he's still grieving for his wife. Everyone says they had a perfect marriage. That they were made for each other." She sighed, her eyes dreamy. "I think it's so beautiful and so tragic."

Tanya raised an arched brow. "Honey, you've just waved a red flag in front of our blond bull here." She grinned at Leah. "Come on, Leah. Tell Rebecca of Sunnybrook Farm what you think of men and women being 'made for each other.'"

Leah leaned back in her chair, glancing around the table at the expectant looks of the four women. She smiled slowly. "I think it's a crock of—I think it's nonsense," she amended hastily for Faith's benefit. "There is no such thing as a perfect marriage. Mr. Gregory and his wife might have had a good marriage—I don't know enough about it to have an opinion—but they were not made for each other." She took a bite of pasta, her face thoughtful. "Larger-than-life love, love for all time, is a fairy tale that has caused more American relationships to fail than any other single thing you can name. If a husband or boyfriend is a no-show in bed, it's because he's not Mr. Right. If he doesn't make enough money or he drinks

too much, he's obviously not that One Everlasting Love. When the relationship gets rocky, what does the woman do? Does she examine the problem, whatever . and work to help fix it? Not on your life. She dumps the poor sap and goes out looking for the other half of her soul," she finished with mild derision.

The older women had heard Leah's opinions on this and a dozen other subjects before, but they loved egging her on. She could use logic to debate any subject, taking any side she or the others wished. For the most part, it was merely a verbal game, a party trick. But this time, Leah wondered if she didn't half believe what she was saying.

"But how can you talk like that, Leah?" Faith asked, frowning. "Look at Romeo and Juliet—"

"That's fiction, It doesn't count." Leah waved the suggestion away with one slender hand.

"Okay," Shelley said, her face eager as she threw herself into the subject. "What about the Duke and Duchess of Windsor? Ha! I gotcha this time."

Leah shook her head, grinning. "First, ladies," she said, nodding to her audience, "consider the proposition that maybe he wasn't really keen on the idea of being king in the first place. In that case, abdicating would have been no great sacrifice. He couldn't very well say 'Gee, guys, I don't think I want to be king after all.' No, instead, he latches on to the first ineligible female to come along and claims her as his one true love."

She took a sip of Chianti, carefully formulating her thoughts. "That's only one of my theories, you un-

derstand. Let's say it happened just the way everyone believes it did—the man gave up a crown, plus a lot of power and worldly considerations for the woman he thought he loved more than those things. Once he had taken that step, then what? The whole world was watching, for heaven's sake. Think how embarrassing it would have been to admit that they got on each other's nerves, or that her personal habits made him retch," she finished, her eyes gleaming with impudence.

Everyone except Faith was laughing. She looked a little stunned. "No—no, it couldn't have been that way," she said, her plump face set in belligerent lines. "You don't know anything about it."

"Of course I don't," Leah agreed without hesitation. "But neither do you. I'm just saying it's a possibility. The fact that they stayed married isn't proof that they had the perfect love. They had no choice but to stay married."

"I don't believe you. And I'm glad I don't," Faith said softly. "The world would be a lonely place without love."

"Oh, Faith," Bitty said in exasperation. "Don't take it so seriously. This is just talk—like gossiping about Lester, only on a bigger scale."

"According to Les, nothing bigger exists," Tanya said dryly.

All five of them sputtered with startled laughter. Leah knew it was time to change the subject, but for some reason she couldn't let it go. She felt just as protective toward Faith as the others did, and didn't like

the possibility of the younger woman getting hurt because of her unrealistic dreams.

"I didn't say love doesn't exist, Faith," Leah said, leaning forward. "I simply said love between a man and a woman lasts by sheer determination and sometimes by force of habit. There is no great plan. By all means, fall in love. But be realistic about it. Don't expect to find something that transcends time and space. Be happy with a man you can bear to face across your cereal bowl every morning."

Faith grinned, looking suddenly mischievous. "I'll take Mr. Gregory. I would love to wake up to him every morning."

The resulting hoots and groans caused the people at the surrounding tables to glance curiously in their direction.

"You innocent," Leah said, her brown eyes sparkling with humor. "The man would chew you up and spit you out, and there would be little bits of Faith all over Dallas."

"But I would have died happy," Faith said with a silly grin; then she paused, studying Leah. "I really can't believe you don't think he's attractive. You're working with him every day now. Hasn't he ever... well..."

"Put the make on me?" Leah suggested. "Patted me on the rear and said 'Hey, toots, how's about I jump your bones?'"

"No," Faith protested, laughing. "Hasn't he ever asked you out? You're beautiful and—well, classy." She glanced down at her own chubby figure. "And

thin. If I looked like you, I'd go after him in a minute."

"And you'd fall flat on your face," Leah said, her voice dry. "I doubt if our adorable VP even knows I'm female. I'm a working machine. And if I don't do the work, I'm a dead machine."

She glanced down at her watch. "Oh, Lord," she groaned, standing abruptly. "I'm supposed to view the tapes of the new presentation in five minutes."

After fumbling in her purse, she threw a ten-dollar bill on the table. "I'll be your best friend if you'll pay for me—someone, anyone. Bless you, my children. Oh, God, I'll never make it. I expect change from that ten," she called over her shoulder as she hurried away.

She had almost reached the door when she collided solidly with Mr. Gregory. "Excuse me," she muttered breathlessly, giving the man with him a harassed smile as she rushed out the door and broke into a sprint.

By the time she reached the office building, the luncheon debate was forgotten, but Leah recalled it later and wondered if she had mortally offended the god of love with her impudent monologue. Some strong force was obviously at work, because the rest of the day was an unqualified disaster.

The proposed presentation was supposed to be shown at a conference that was only two weeks away and was of such substandard quality that even she, who was used to tackling incompetence, couldn't believe it. And as if that weren't enough, the files she needed to compile the figures for Mr. Gregory had

disappeared into thin air, causing her and Charlotte to spend the rest of the day searching for them.

Leah had eventually discovered the missing papers under a girlie magazine on Les's desk. And on the floor. And behind the wastebasket. Instead of helping her, he had tried to explore new territory while she was on her hands and knees under his desk. The resulting explosion was probably heard in Houston and had left Lester pale and gratifyingly subdued.

It was after seven before Leah finally managed to find a stopping place in her work. Shadows were gathering in the corners of her office as she stuffed the files into her battered briefcase and slipped back into her shoes.

As she walked down the hall toward the elevator, the rest of the building was unnaturally silent, reminding her of a line she had heard years before.
The last living cell in a dead body.

The thought made her laugh aloud, and the sound came back to her as a muffled echo. The emptiness didn't bother her. She loved the place, bustling or dead.

Since the doors were locked at six she had to call Mr. Timms, the night watchman, to unlock them for her.

"How many times this week does this make?" he scolded, shaking his head. "You and Mr. Gregory are neck and neck as to who can work the longest hours." He glanced behind her. "See what I mean?"

Looking over her shoulder, she saw her boss stepping from the elevator. She raised a hand in response to his stiff nod and left the building.

When she walked into her apartment thirty minutes later, she didn't stop to sit down. She merely tossed her briefcase on the coffee table as she passed it on her way to the bedroom. After carefully hanging up her green linen suit, she headed for the shower.

Later, when she reentered the living room, she wore a blue nightgown that barely reached her thighs, her feet were bare and her hair was pulled to the back of her head in a less-than-neat ponytail. She walked straight to the kitchen and began pulling things from the refrigerator for a salad.

On the nights when she brought home work from the office, her routine was always the same. She didn't have to think about it; every movement had become automatic.

Five minutes later, back in the living room, she placed the salad and a glass of cider on the coffee table and walked to the bookcase opposite it. Opening one door, she exposed a portable television and a VCR.

On a shelf below the television was a stack of videotapes. She took the top one and inserted it. After playing it, she would remove it and place it in a different stack. Then, when they were all played, she would start over again. She never even knew what movies she inserted. It didn't matter, because Leah never watched them. Although she never admitted it, even to herself, the movies kept the apartment from feeling quite so empty. The sound of a human voice, even in a movie, was comforting.

As she sat at the coffee table, glancing through the papers, she quickly ate her salad. Leah knew she ate too fast—it was a habit she shared with many busy, ambitious people—but there always seemed to be something more important that needed her attention.

In the next few hours she broke away only once, and that was to carry the dishes to the sink, rinse them and stack them in the dishwasher. The rest of the evening she spent bent over her work.

At five minutes after eleven she stood and stretched her back. It was done, she thought. Walking to the television, she wondered how long the screen had been filled with gray static. She pulled the tape from the machine and placed it in the empty space beside the others, then closed the cabinet.

Leah was satisfied with her day's work. In fact, she thought smugly, she was satisfied with her life. How many people could honestly say that?

Switching out the lights, she walked to the bedroom and pulled back the cover on her bed. She had trained her mind to work for her and could usually fall asleep at will. Tonight, however, she still felt wideawake. The project wouldn't let go of her mind.