"Okay, Mark, let's see what you have to say when a tough dyke claims your girlfriend." Her black leather boots were polished to perfection, the silver tips shiny and pointed. Zipping her jacket, she hurried out to meet Taylor.
Taylor eyed Taryn's outfit and wondered what she might possibly be up to. Knowing better than to ask, she sat quietly while Taryn settled in the back seat. Although she liked to be chauffeured sometimes, Taryn refused to let anyone open a door for her. Taylor had learned to sit patiently, waiting. When Taryn finally gave her the go-ahead to leave, Taylor asked, "Where are we going?"
"I have a visit to make," she replied.
The twinkle in her eyes hinted that this would be no ordinary outing. "What's the address?" Taylor asked very politely.
"The office of Sands, Kaufman and Nord," Taryn informed her.
Taylor smiled, for she recognized the name immediately. It was the law firm where Mark worked. Making a quick reference to the street locator on the dashboard, she requested directions.
Traffic was unusually light, so it didn't take long to drive downtown. Taylor was thankful for the calm because Taryn seemed very edgy. Taylor likened her to a frisky colt ready to bolt out of the stable at the first opportunity. There was so much tension inside the car that Taylor breathed a sigh of relief when they arrived and Taryn got out.
Taryn was so intent on her mission that she almost forgot to tell Taylor when to pick her up. She strode around to the driver's side of the car and bent down so she was eye-level with Taylor "Give me twenty minutes," she told her.
Just as abruptly as she appeared, Taryn turned and walked away.
Taylor watched as she strode past a gray-haired man wearing a doorman's uniform. Anyone observing the scene would have found it very comical. Here was Taryn, a leather-clad dyke, strutting into a prestigious office building past a doorman who seemed ready to say something but couldn't quite get it out. By the time he did, Taryn was already inside the building. Taylor laughed, wishing she could be a spider on the wall when Taryn entered the reception area of Sands, Kaufman and Nord law offices.
Sands, Kaufman amp; Nord was a very old firm in Chicago. They catered to a select group of men and women. The bottom line was money – old money. When Taryn strode into the office, all eyes were fixed upon her. She smiled and offered the receptionist her business card. "I'm here to see Mark Clayton," she informed the woman sitting at the desk.
Her styled hair and carefully layered make-up giving her the appearance of a fashion model, the receptionist could not disguise her look of disdain. "Is he expecting you?" she asked.
Her voice was so cold and icy that Taryn was tempted to check her for a pulse. "Just tell him I'm here regarding my client, Kimberly Justin. I'm sure he'll find time to meet with me for a few moments."
The woman lifted the receiver and pressed a button on the console.
"Mr. Clayton, there's a woman here asking to speak to you."
Taryn watched as the woman paused to look at an open schedule book on her desk.
"Uh, no. She doesn't have an appointment. But she said it's about Kimberly." There was another pause. "Yes, sir."
Taryn smiled. "He'll see me now?" she asked very innocently. She would have loved to plant a big wet kiss on the woman's mouth just to see her reaction.
Mark appeared in the doorway, interrupting Taryn's speculations about the stuffy receptionist. He looked first at Taryn, then the receptionist, then back to Taryn. "You wanted to see me?" he asked, a quizzical expression on his face.
Taryn couldn't tell if he looked puzzled, embarrassed or both.
"Yes, Mr. Clayton. Shall we go into your office?" Taryn swished past the receptionist and offered her hand demurely for Mark to shake.
Surprised by her forwardness, Mark became very nervous. His hand was trembling so much that he wished he didn't have to shake hands with her. Whatever could this woman want? And what did it have to do with Kimberly? Mark grasped her hand very lightly, then turned to the door and said, "My office is this way."
Taryn followed Mark down the hall and into his office. When he closed the door, she turned and faced him. Without asking, she lit a cigarette and blew a puff of smoke in his face. "Kimberly Justin has engaged my company to provide a service for her over the next few weeks. Although I cannot give you any details, I can tell you that she will not be in touch with you during that time. If you have any questions or need to contact her for any reason, you may call me at this number." She handed him a copy of her card, suspecting that the receptionist had tossed hers in the wastebasket as soon as Taryn was out of sight.
"Wh… Whatever are you talking about?" Mark asked. He shook his head, a look of utter disbelief on his face. "Look, I don't know who you are or what you want, but I think you've got the wrong office. The Kimberly Justin I know is my fiancee. You can't possibly mean her. Why, she'd never do something like this – whatever it is you're doing – without consulting me!" He started for the door, wanting to get rid of this silly woman as quickly as possible.
Taryn inhaled a large mouthful of smoke and blew smoke circles, one after another. "Whatever you say, Mark. However, I must warn you. If you disregard this request, you must answer to Kimberly yourself." Dropping her cigarette in his coffee cup, she gave Mark a steely stare. Her eyes never wavering, she glared at him for a moment, then opened the door and left. A cloud of smoke billowed behind her.
Mark eyed his coffee cup. "It takes all kinds," he muttered. When he thought about it, this whole thing was so outlandish; he knew it must be some crazy mix-up or someone's idea of a joke. His concentration gone, he decided to call Kimberly and meet her for an early lunch. He lifted the receiver and punched in the code for her home number.
While Mark was calling Kimberly, Taryn was looking for the receptionist. She found her standing at a copying machine located a few feet past his door. Walking very quietly, Taryn sneaked up behind her and gave her ass a quick squeeze.
The woman jerked around so fast she sent the papers spinning from the copier tray. "Oh!" she exclaimed, a look of utter disbelief on her face.
Taryn winked and continued on to the waiting area. She had no doubt Mark Clayton was on the telephone trying to get in touch with Kimberly Justin. It would be interesting to see how the next scenario played out. She chuckled and punched the elevator button. Taylor was waiting when she exited the building "Let's go to Larry's Place,"
Taryn said as she got into the back seat. "I don't know about you, but I could use a good stiff drink."
Taylor shifted the car into gear and pulled into traffic. She watched Taryn through the rearview mirror. Although Taryn was turned away from her, Taylor could see the cellular phone in her hand. She suspected she was calling Morgan Estates to check on Kimberly.
Back inside the office building, Mark Clayton rested his six-foot frame against the edge of his desk and waited for Kimberly to answer.
His dark, perfectly styled hair was tousled from running his hands through it. He stroked his mustache and thought about his recent visitor. Must be a mistake , he kept telling himself.
Kimberly had seemed a little distant of late, but she was under a lot of pressure. He chuckled at himself for worrying about it. Kimberly's phone rang several times before her answering machine came on.
Mark was disappointed but not really surprised. She'd been working so hard lately, how could he expect her to actually take a Saturday morning off from her job? "Hi, babe. It's Mark. Just calling to see if you were free to meet me for lunch. I'm at work. Call me when you get home so we can decide what we want to do tonight. If I'm not at work, call me on my cellular phone. Love you. Bye."
Mark sighed and glanced at the gold clock on his desk. Even though it was a gift from Kimberly, he felt like throwing it. For some reason, he felt very angry. This day was going to be interminably long. One regret Mark had about working for Sands, Kaufman amp; Nord were the incredibly long hours they demanded. For Mark, that meant Saturdays at the office and more often than not, Sun
days. He sighed and returned to his desk. Mrs. Martin was having her will revised for the umpteenth time. Mark sighed and opened her file.
Mark lost track of the time as he poured over Mrs. Martin's latest request for changes. The next time he glanced at his watch, it was almost six o'clock. "Oh, shit!" he muttered. He hadn't heard from Kimberly. Would she have gone to visit her parents? He couldn't remember her saying anything about it. Thinking she might have tried him at home, he called and checked his messages. There were three, one from his brother asking him over for dinner, another from his mother asking him for dinner and the last call was a hang-up.
"Hmm." Mark started to call Kimberly again, then changed his mind. He reached for his coat and hurried out of the office. If she wasn't home yet, he figured she would be by the time he got there.
Chapter Eight
Monday morning Kimberly Justin was startled from a deep slumber. Sunlight was streaming through the windows and three meowing cats were lined up around her bed. She glanced at the clock and realized she was going to be late for work. If she hustled, she thought she could make the Monday morning meeting. She flung the covers back and sat on the side of her bed.
"Ouch!" she groaned, clutching the side of her bed. Her head was aching and every movement made it worse. The weekend had given her a hangover far worse than any she'd ever suffered from drinking.
Saturday was a blur. She remembered being shown around Morgan Estates during the afternoon, Laurie and Susan whisking her about and fussing over her like two mother hens. After several protests and Kimberly's promise that she'd call Taryn later, they'd finally driven her home. She woke up with a fever Sunday morning and spent the rest of the day in bed, taking cold medicine and falling asleep over her laptop. "So much for finishing my report," she muttered.
Distressed by Kimberly's bout of inactivity and what they considered feline neglect, her three cats were dancing around her feet.
They meowed and purred and rubbed their heads against her ankles.
"Okay, okay," she said. "Breakfast for you and coffee for me."
Donning her robe, she went into the kitchen, the three cats following her.
They waited by their food dishes while Kimberly started the coffeemaker. She filled fresh bowls with crunchy cat food and made the exchange of empty and full bowls with only a minimal of protest from the three felines.
Kimberly flipped the television on and changed the station to CNN.
She poured some coffee and looked over her appointment book.
"Damn!" she said when she saw Camarin Knight's name stenciled in for lunch. The last thing she needed today was an interview. Now she'd have to take care extra special care with how she looked. "Why today?" she moaned, thinking how nice it would be to dress business casual today. She walked to the bathroom, hoping she'd remembered to buy more aspirin.
Forty-five minutes and three aspirins later, Kimberly pulled into the company parking lot. Thankfully, she had a reserved space. There seemed no end to the need for expanded parking, forcing several employees to search for parking spaces on the street. "Thank God for executive privileges," she muttered. After gathering her things, she locked her car and hurried inside.
Michael, her secretary, frowned when she walked into the office.
"You've got five minutes before the meeting," he said, pointing to his watch.
Too tired to even try to explain her tardiness, Kimberly thanked him for the reminder. It wasn't that she owed him any explanation of her whereabouts, but Kimberly knew how office politics worked. The last thing she needed was an employee speculating about what she did over the weekend. "I don't want to get too close to you," she said.
"Virus," she explained when Michael handed her the messages from her in-box. With the handful of pink slips in her fist, she walked into her office and flung them down on the desk. These were phone calls waiting to be answered and she wished she could toss them in the wastebasket. "I'm got to pull out of this," she told herself. She hung her coat and grabbed a writing pad and pen. There was nothing she hated worse than a latecomer, but there was nothing she could do about it now.
The conference room was on the west side of the building overlooking a pond with a fountain in the center. The last to arrive, Kimberly had no choice but to sit facing the sun. This was a section of the building under renovation. Unfortunately, the windows were not yet tinted. Kimberly's head ached and the sun hurt her eyes, but she tried not to squint as she looked around the room.
"Kimberly, I'm so glad you decided to join us," said Martin. His silver hair the only clue to his actual age, he scolded her with his eyes.
"We were just going over the minutes from last week," he said.
Kimberly heard the voices droning in the background. Although she tried to maintain eye contact with the people sitting around the large conference table, she had to fight to keep from falling asleep.
The meeting seemed to go on forever. Her mind a jumble of confusion, Kimberly wanted nothing more than a few minutes alone to collect her thoughts and figure out what was happening to her.
When the meeting finally ended, she gathered her papers and hurried back to her office.
She stopped by Michael's desk first, remembering to keep her distance because she might still be contagious. She picked up her morning mail and some additional messages. Michael was on the telephone with someone. He looked up, pointed to her calendar, and mouthed a reminder about her meeting with Camarin Knight.
Kimberly acknowledged the reminder and continued to her office.
Camarin Knight said she was a reporter for some new zine called Executive News . When she first approached Kimberly about doing a story, Kimberly was excited. But then she told Pat and her friend warned her to be very careful.
"Watch what you say," Pat warned her. "I've heard this woman has no principles whatsoever and she'll do anything to get a scoop on your personal life."
Kimberly thought about her friend's advice and wished she had time to change her mind. However, it would not look good to cancel a meeting only two hours prior to the scheduled time. She sighed and poured herself a cup of coffee. After sorting her messages in order of priority, she started returning calls. The two hours passed without notice. She was so intent on her work that Michael's sudden appearance in the doorway startled her.
"Didn't mean to scare you," he said. "I'm getting ready to go to the training center for my class in the new software program. All set for your meeting with Camarin Knight?"
"Not really, but it's too late to back out now," she replied.
"Need me to come along?" he asked.
Kimberly smiled at her secretary. "No thanks, Michael. I'll be okay," she assured him. Michael seemed more like a brother than a secretary to her. She remembered his fondness for Italian breadsticks.
"We're lunching at Tony B's. Want me to bring you back some breadsticks?"
Michael smiled. "Would you?" he asked, his voice sounding shy and uncertain.
Kimberly smiled. "Of course," she replied. Michael was very athletic, his body as finely tuned as his desk and office space was organized. "How do you keep everything running so smoothly?"
she'd once asked.
Michael had winked, a coy expression on his face. "Kimberly, I do things outside of work. Fun things like spending time with my lover.
Perhaps you need to spend more time doing things to work off the stress."
Kimberly smiled, watching Michael leave. His effeminate gestures and polite elegance hinted to others that he was gay. To Kimberly's knowledge, he confided in no one other than herself and a friend who worked in the legal department. Kimberly found herself wondering about Michael a lot lately. What was his life like outside of work?
Did he keep his personal life private because he wanted to do so? Or was it a necessity borne of the negative stereotyping that took place when people learned someone was gay?
By the time Kimberly returned all her calls and caught up on her mail, it was time to leave for her m
eeting. She sighed and checked herself in the mirror. "Could be worse," she muttered.
Camarin Knight prided herself on being punctual. When she arrived at the restaurant fifteen minutes late, she was not a happy person. Rudely pushing her way through the crowded lobby, she snapped at the hostess. "Has Kimberly Justin arrived yet?"
The elderly couple waiting in line to be seated seemed totally unperturbed by Camarin's aggressiveness. They stepped back and smiled, as if to say, "Go ahead. We have all the time in the world."
Their patience added fuel to the fire already kindled in Camarin Knight. She looked over her shoulder and glared at them.
Kimberly saw Camarin following the hostess to the table. She noticed right away that something was seriously wrong. With all the other things going on, Kimberly was determined to keep her cool with Camarin. She stood and extended her hand. "Hello, Camarin."
"Hello, Kimberly. I'm sorry I'm late," she began. "My taxi got tangled up in a traffic jam caused by road construction on Lakeshore Drive. Doesn't it sometimes seem that winter and road repair are the only two seasons we have."
"Doesn't it though," Kimberly quipped. "I've told myself several times that I should move south. Unfortunately, I just keep saying it rather than doing it." She smiled at Camarin who was now sitting across from her. She didn't look at all like Kimberly imagined. Pat's depiction of her as the ruthless reporter seemed an injustice.
"What keeps you here?" Camarin asked. She smoothed her skirt and leaned toward Kimberly. "Someone special in your life that you don't want to leave behind?" she asked in a conspiratorial tone.
Kimberly smiled again and bit her tongue. "I can't say it's any one thing," she replied. "How about you, Camarin. Anyone special in your life?"
Camarin blushed. If you only knew , she thought to herself. Ah, but the possibilities are endless , said the little voice inside of her. To Kimberly she replied in a somewhat teasing voice, "Hey, this interview is about you!" She spotted the waiter and signaled for him to come over. "A half bottle of zinfandel, please." The waiter nodded and left.
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