by Amii Lorin
“I’m going out to lunch with Alek, Tara. He’s waiting in the car now. I probably won’t be back for the rest of the day. You’ll have to handle anything that comes up.” David’s voice was completely normal, yet Tara felt herself grow warm at the speculative glance he passed over her.
“David, about this morning. I don’t know how to explain, except—” She paused, searching for words, and David cut in gently. “Don’t worry about it, Tara. You should know by now I’m broad-minded and anyway, Alek explained everything, even though it wasn’t necessary. It’s really none of my business. Now I’ve got to go, as we’re meeting the contractor. See you tomorrow.”
More confused than ever, Tara sat stunned. What in the name of sanity was going on? What explanation could Alek have given for his outrageous actions? And why wasn’t it any of David’s business? You would think a madman running around loose would be everybody’s business.
The more she thought about it, the more convinced she became that Alek Rykovsky was playing some sort of cat-and-mouse game. But to what purpose? More than likely, she thought, his pride had been injured and he wanted to make her uncomfortable. Well! He was certainly succeeding there. But why involve David?
By the time the rose arrived Friday morning, she hardly gave the identity of its sender a second thought. After the events of the day before, it didn’t seem to matter much. Besides, she had slept badly and was tired, not at all looking forward to round three with the Mad Russian. She was at a total loss as to what he hoped to gain, and so completely missed the clues.
It was a quiet weekend. Too quiet. Tara was not in the habit of running out several nights a week, but she usually went out at least one night during the weekend. Sometimes with a man, but more often with a group of young friends, which included David and Sallie, for dinner or stay-at-home evenings of take-out food, conversation and occasionally a rented video. This was the second weekend in a row she had not received a call or invitation from one of her friends, not even Sallie.
The only unusual thing that happened was on Saturday and Sunday morning when she went to the door to answer the bell only to find the hall empty except for the now familiar florist’s box containing a single white rose.
By Sunday night Tara decided the whole thing was very weird. She liked her quiet, but this was too much. Beginning to feel vaguely like the last person on earth, she reached for the phone with the intention of calling Sallie when its sudden jangling ring startled her so badly, she actually jumped.
“I didn’t interrupt anything, did I, Tara?” Betsy’s voice was as much of a surprise as her words, as Betsy seldom called and then usually only when she wanted something, as it seemed she did now.
“Interrupt anything? For heaven’s sake, Betsy, it’s after ten thirty. Tomorrow’s a working day. I’ll soon be going to bed.” What kind of a wild existence did her sister think she lived, anyway?
“Well, Sis, you’re such a close-mouthed thing, one never knows. Except of course, what one may read in the papers or”—she paused—”hear through the grapevine.”
There was a definite insinuation in Betsy’s last four words and Tara felt her skin prickle.
“What?”
“Doesn’t matter,” Betsy said. “Look, Tara, the reason I called was, if you decide to give up your apartment, will you let Ken and me know? Maybe even talk to your landlord for us?”
Give up her apartment? What in the world? Her tone was an equal mixture of exasperation and puzzlement. “Betsy, I don’t know what you’ve heard or think, but—”
“Oh! I had no intentions of prying,” Betsy interrupted, her words coming in a rush, tripping over each other. “I’ve told you how small Ken’s place is and I thought I’d get my bid in if you were considering it. You know, I’m a big girl now and I’m hip to the ways of the world and I do understand. I mean, he’s such a magnificent... fantastic hunk of man.”
Skinny Kenny? Magnificent? Fantastic? Tara knew her sister was inclined to exaggerate, but this was too much. Puzzlement won out over exasperation. “Bets, I think some explanation is necessary,” Tara began, only to have Betsy interrupt again.
“No, really, just keep us in mind. Okay? Bye.” She hung up and Tara stared at the receiver in her hand as if she had never seen one before. Sighing deeply, she wondered if everyone around her was slipping over the edge, or if it was she who was going bananas.
A single white rose continued to arrive daily at the office, and by midweek Tara simply sniffed it appreciatively, stuck it in the vase, and went about her work. She was grateful for one thing: Aleksei Rykovsky hadn’t shown up at the office at all and David treated her as if nothing had ever happened.
It was almost noon on Friday when Sallie dashed into the office. “Hi, Tara. Is David terribly busy? I have something I want to check with him and I’m in an awful rush.”
“David’s never too busy to see you, Sallie.” Tara laughed. “Go on in and surprise him.”
In less than ten minutes Sallie was back, standing in front of her desk, pulling soft tan gloves over her hands.
“I wanted to check with him about the wine for tomorrow night. I was going to call him from home, but then Mother came to look after Tina, and I didn’t think of it again until after I’d left the house.” Sallie spoke quickly, glancing at the clock. “I’ll miss you tomorrow night, Tara, but David explained everything and I do understand. At least I think I do.” Sallie’s expression held concern; she seemed almost hurt. “Oh, Lord! I have to run. I’m meeting Dave’s mother for lunch and I’m going to be late.”She grimaced, threw Tara a half-smile, and dashed out again.
Tara experienced the same prickling sensation in her skin she’d had the previous Sunday while talking to her sister, and with it a mild sense of alarm. What was this all about? It was beginning to seem that everyone understood everything but her. She was tempted to confront David but she could hardly go in and blurt out, “Why haven’t you invited me to your party?”
She worried about Sallie’s words and attitude the rest of the day and finally decided the only cause she could think of was Aleksei Rykovsky’s extraordinary behavior the week before and her own unwilling involvement in it. But good Lord, she had been unwilling; surely they realized that. Then pride kept her from going in to question David.
As she left the office that afternoon, she hesitated with a sudden aversion to spending the entire evening alone, confined within those few small rooms. Then with a quick, decisive step she walked to the car. Her mother’s birthday was the following week and, as she had a sweet tooth that was rarely indulged, Tara decided to take a run to her favorite candy shop and buy her mother a large box of chocolates.
She turned onto Route 222 heading south and was past the consistory building before the beauty of the late October afternoon struck her. When she glanced at the grounds of Cedar Crest College to her right, her breath caught in her throat. The long fingers of the westering sun bathed the fall foliage in a golden glow, setting the russet leaves alight. The glory of the Pennsylvania autumn had always affected her with soul-wrenching intensity and today, caught so suddenly, the beauty of it all cut into her deeply. Hurt, confused by the events of the last few weeks, she was doubly vulnerable to the heart-twistingly beautiful power of nature.
She felt the hot sting of tears behind her eyes and shook her head impatiently. This is ridiculous, she thought moodily. The last few weeks she had spent most of her time either in her apartment or at the office. She needed a break, a diversion. She’d visit the gift shop on the floor above the candy shop, make herself a present of some small object. Hadn’t she always heard that spending money on something not really needed could always lift a woman’s spirits?
In the candy shop she gave her order to the clerk for the special assortment her mother loved then slipped up the narrow stairway to the floor above. The gift shop was well stocked, the merchandise displayed on tables and shelves along the walls and down the center of the room, leaving a narrow aisle to walk around. Tara moved slowly, her eyes
darting around, trying to see everything. Then her eyes stopped and focused on a painting on the wall. Studying the brilliant fall scene intently, she gave a sudden, startled “Oh” when a body jolted into her from behind.
“I’m terribly sorry,” a pleasant voice said close to her ear. “I’m afraid I wasn’t watching where I was going.”
She turned, mouth opened to reply, but the words were never uttered for he exclaimed, “Tara! I don’t know if you remember me. Craig Hartman, we met at David’s six months ago.”
Recognition brought a quick smile to her face. “Of course I remember. You’re the guy who was getting ready to go to South America for your company.”
“Right. I just got back on Tuesday. As a matter of fact I was going to call you as soon as I’d finished my report to the firm.”
“Really?” she laughed. “Why?”
“To ask you to have dinner with me some evening.” He grinned boyishly, and Tara remembered she’d liked him when first meeting him. “This is incredible seeing you here, of all places. What are you doing here?”
“Just browsing while I wait for a candy order to be packaged. And you?”
Again the boyish smile spread over his face. “I remembered late this afternoon that my sister’s first wedding anniversary is tomorrow and dashed over here, after I left the office, for a gift. I was looking at the paintings and not watching where I was going when I bumped into you.”
Tara grinned back. “And I was looking at one and didn’t see you coming.” She glanced back at the fall scene and his eyes followed hers. “That is nice,” he murmured. “Are you going to buy it?”
“No,” she laughed softly. “I’m afraid my budget wouldn’t allow it.”
“Then I think I will. Pat has a spot in her living room where it will go perfectly.” He motioned to the sales clerk and asked her to wrap it up, then turned back to Tara. “Have dinner with me this evening,” he said abruptly. “We can go from here. I know it’s early, but we can have a drink or two first, get to know each other a little.”
“But I haven’t been home,” she said, laughing in surprise. “I’m still in my work clothes.”
His eyes went over her slowly, appreciatively, before he stated warmly: “You look lovely. Besides which, I’ve just come from work myself.”
Over dinner, she studied him unobtrusively. He wasn’t much taller than she and, though slender, was compactly built. Fair, closely clipped curly hair complemented light blue eyes, and she thought that although he didn’t posses the devastating handsomeness of one Aleksei Rykovsky, he was certainly a very attractive man. Then she slid her eyes away with a flash of irritation at herself. What in the world had made her think of that miserable man, let alone make a comparison between him and Craig?
“Hey, there.”
Tara looked up, startled and wide-eyed, at Craig’s laughing voice. “I thought you’d dozed off for a minute. Not very good for my ego at all.”
Tara laughed with him, firmly pushing the thought of the Mad Russian from her mind.
It was a pleasant evening. They laughed and talked for hours, discovering they had a few mutual friends besides David and Sallie.
When finally they said good night at the door of her apartment, Craig having followed her car in his own, she felt happier and more relaxed than she had in weeks.
Her lightened mood lasted through the weekend, even though the white rose appeared exactly as before, and the phone remained strangely silent.
She was walking to the filing cabinet early Monday afternoon when the phone rang and she stopped beside her desk to answer it. It was her mother, and she asked Tara, in an oddly strained voice, if they could have lunch together one day that week.
“Of course, Mama,” she answered, a small wrinkle forming between her eyes at the strange tone of her mother’s voice. “I’ll tell you what. I was planning to take you shopping for your birthday present on Saturday. Why don’t we wait, and I’ll buy you lunch at at that new place in the mall? I hear the desserts are luscious.”
Her mother hesitated then agreed dully, and Tara felt a flicker of alarm. Was she not feeling well? Her mother loved the rare treat of having lunch anywhere so long as she didn’t have to cook it herself. Most especially she liked the desserts. Her apparent disinterest now worried Tara.
“All right, Mama, I’ll pick you up at nine thirty Saturday morning. Okay?” Her mother agreed in the same strained tone, then said good-bye and hung up.
Her frown deepening, Tara lowered the receiver slowly as the office door opened behind her. A small shiver slithered up her spine, and the instrument clattered onto its cradle from nerveless fingers. She knew, somehow, who had come into the office and felt goose bumps tickle her upper arms moments before she felt his hand lift her hair and his lips touch her neck. She parted her lips but words wouldn’t come. Shock, outrage, and something she didn’t want to examine seemed to have frozen her mind and body.
His voice was a barely discernible murmur at her ear. “Have a good time Friday night, pansy eyes?”
She made a small, inarticulate sound in her throat, and he laughed softly, deeply before adding in a much stronger tone, “I’ve tried to stay away from this office, telling myself the nights should be enough, but it seems I’ve grown greedy and my self doesn’t listen.”
A shudder tore through her body at the caressing, lover-like tone, and she closed her eyes, willing him to go away. She felt David walk past them and go into his office, closing the door with a soft click, and her moan was a painful thing in her throat: “Oh, God!”
“Don’t worry, darling,” the fiend with the lover’s voice whispered. “You’ll understand everything very soon now, I’m afraid.” Then he caught her rigid chin with his long fingers, turned her head, and brushed her mouth against his in a soft, tantalizing kiss before quickly releasing her and following David.
She was completely bewildered, feeling shattered and vaguely tearful.
The feeling remained throughout the week, and she hardly noticed the white morning roses. One thing she did notice was the strange, speculative looks aimed at her from her co-workers in the front office. And that made her even more edgy and nervous.
Chapter Three
By Saturday morning Tara had managed to pull herself together yet she still had to force a cheerful smile to her lips when she picked up her mother. The smile faded quickly at her first glimpse of her mother’s face. Lines of strain pulled at the corners of her mouth, and she avoided Tara’s eyes as she seated herself in the car.
As she drove downtown, Tara made a few vain attempts at conversation but finally gave up as the only responses she received were mumbled monosyllables.
They shopped a few hours, Tara becoming ever more concerned at her mother’s lack of interest at everything they looked at. Finally, at eleven thirty, Tara gave up, saying gently, “Let’s go have lunch now, Mama. Maybe we’ll feel more like it after we’ve eaten.”
She studied her mother during lunch, growing more uneasy by the minute. Her mother barely touched her food, and when they’d finished and were sipping their coffee, Tara asked anxiously, “Mama what’s wrong? Aren’t you feeling well?”
The eyes that Marlene Schmitt turned to Tara sent a shaft of pain to her heart, so reproachful and hurt was their expression.
“I’m sick at heart, Tara,” her mother finally answered sadly. “So much so, I feel physically ill. After the way you talked to Betsy just three weeks ago, I can’t believe you’re doing this. And Tara, I can’t bear it.”
Tara’s eyes widened at the pain in her mother’s voice. What had she done to cause her mother this anguish?
“But Mama, what have I done?” Tara asked anxiously, watching with alarm her mother’s eyes fill with tears.
“Oh, Tara, don’t. I know I’m a little old-fashioned and naive, but I’m no fool.”
“Mama, please—”
“No. I would listen to you, take your side, in most things. But not this.” She paused, a sob catching
in her throat, then went on, cutting off the defensive words on Tara’s lips. “Your father asked—no, told—me to bring you back to the house. I must warn you, he is beside himself with anger.”
The last word was no sooner out of her mother’s mouth when Tara rushed into urgent speech.
“Mama, if you’ll just ex—
“Tara, please,” her mother said softly, glancing around the crowded room. “I can’t discuss this here. I won’t talk here. I want to go home.”
Tara sighed in frustration. “All right. Let’s go and get it over with.”
They drove in silence, Marlene Schmitt quietly wiping the tears from her cheeks with a sodden tissue.
Tara bit her lip in vexation, frantically casting about in her mind for some transgression she may have committed to cause her mother such unhappiness.
She followed her mother into the house, her steps faltering as she entered the living room. They were all there. Her father, his face flushed a dark, angry red; Betsy; George; and even the fourteen-year-old Karl. Anger stirred, replacing some of her anxiety. What in the world is this anyway? she wondered. The words kangaroo court flashed into her mind, and she pushed the thought away. Good Lord! This was her family, not a band of enemies. Yet the atmosphere of censure was so thick, it touched her skin chillingly.
Ever defiant, the light of battle gleamed in Tara’s eyes. She had no idea what this was all about but she’d be damned if she’d stand before those condemning eyes meekly. Her father’s first words took the wind from her sails.
“Well, Tara. I’m surprised you have the nerve to face any of us after your big talk three weeks ago.”
“Dad,” Tara began patiently, “I haven’t the vaguest idea what—”
“Haven’t you?” Her father nearly choked on the words. “Haven’t you just?” His eyes went around the room, touching every face, then settled again on her. “Anyone else would have the sense to be ashamed, but not Tara. Look at her. Proud as a damned peacock. Not our Tara. Oh, no. Rules were made for everyone else. Tara makes hers up as she goes along. You make me sick, girl.”
