by Dianne Emley
Iris’s mutterings attracted scant attention from coworkers outside her office. They’d grown used to this eccentricity of hers and had learned to stop asking, “Did you say something?” when she was in this mode.
“You don’t care if Paula goes to Dolly’s funeral. You’re the one who said good riddance to bad rubbish when she left. So what’s this really about, Mr. DeLacey?” She pulled her string of pearls back and forth between her fingers and scowled at the window.
“Hot out today, huh?” Amber stood in Iris’s doorway, startling her.
Iris still wore her animosity toward Bill DeLacey on her face when she turned toward Amber but quickly caught herself. She loosened her rigid jaw and smiled. “Shake and bake.” She returned to her chair. “Earthquake weather.”
“Not according to the Caltech scientists.”
“Everyone who lives here knows that when it’s hot and dry during the day and cold at night, it’s earthquake weather.”
“I think with every earthquake, all the scientists find out is how much they don’t know.” Amber sat in one of the two chairs facing Iris’s desk.
Iris tapped a pencil on her desk, sliding it between her thumb and index finger until she reached the eraser end, then sliding it the other way until she reached the lead. “Comforting thought.” She lost her grasp on the pencil and it skittered off the edge of her desk.
“Something wrong?”
Iris nodded pensively. “Yeah. I’m going to a funeral today of a woman who hanged herself. The mother of a family who lived next door to where I grew up.”
“How awful. Had she been depressed?”
Iris laughed wistfully. “I think there was always something wrong with her up here.” She tapped her temple. “It baffled me as a kid. Sometimes she’d go on these crying jags. Other times she’d be manic, scrubbing floors in the middle of the night. Other times, she was just fine.”
“Sounds scary.”
“She had a nervous breakdown when I was fourteen. Her husband had her committed to a mental hospital where they gave her shock treatments.”
“Shock treatments?”
“Calmed her right down. Boy oh boy, did it ever.” Iris shook her head with dismay. “I guess they finally wore off or something.” She leaned back in her chair and crossed her legs. “It’s sad. She had plenty of her own problems, but she always had time for me when I was a kid. It meant a lot.”
“Really? Why?”
Iris casually lifted and dropped one shoulder. She didn’t like talking about her private life in the office. “I don’t know. You know how things get out of proportion when you’re a kid.”
“What happened?” Amber probed, revealing a little too much enthusiasm, as if she had sniffed blood.
Iris had come to consider Amber a friend, but she still held something back from her, even though Amber hadn’t given her any indication that there was any reason to. Also, Iris didn’t like revisiting her past. And she found it hard to trust people completely. “Nothing to write home about.”
Amber changed the subject, appearing to respect Iris’s desire not to dwell on it further. “I’m having lunch with some of my old friends from Pierce Fenner Smith today.” She stood and walked to the door. “Want to come? Might cheer you up.”
“Thanks, but I have to bail out of here early to pick up my mom and sister.”
Amber quickly stuck her head back inside Iris’s office and loudly whispered, “It’s Garland Hughes with Oz. Hughes must have flown in from New York last night.”
Iris jumped to the window that overlooked the suite.
Herbert Dexter, the manager of the Los Angeles office, looked even taller and lankier than usual next to Hughes, his shorter, more solidly built boss. They were chuckling amiably. Hughes exchanged a few words with the temporary secretary and the three of them chuckled some more. Hughes chummily rested his hand against Dexter’s back as they went through Dexter’s office doorway. When Hughes turned to close the door behind them, he spotted Iris standing behind the open miniblinds and Amber in the doorway of Iris’s office on the opposite side of the suite.
“Oops!” Iris quickly busied herself at the filing cabinet in the corner. Amber feigned interest in what Iris was doing.
Hughes waved.
They offhandedly waved back, as if they’d just noticed him.
“I think he’s charming, don’t you?” Amber asked.
“Definitely. He’s strong and boyish at the same time—a potent combination for me.”
Amber regarded Iris. “He’s available, you know. He just got divorced.”
“A recently divorced man. How delightful.”
“I always thought he had an eye for you.”
“Nah. He’s just nice to everyone.”
“He’s probably here to talk about Oz’s replacement. Everyone’s wondering who it’s going to be.”
“I’ve been wondering that myself. I would kill for that job.”
Amber looked at Iris incredulously.
Iris smiled cagily. What Amber didn’t know wouldn’t hurt her. Iris had lunch plans with Garland Hughes.
“You don’t think you’re a candidate, do you?” Amber asked sarcastically.
Iris was surprised by Amber’s tone. “Sure. Why not?”
“Iris, you’ve really got to let go of this fantasy. They’re not going to make you manager of this office. I’m not saying they’d never promote you, but you’d go to another office. I don’t want to sound mean or anything, but I don’t want you to get your feelings hurt.”
“Amber, I didn’t get where I am by being negative.”
Amber looked aghast. “You got the corner office. You got the title. You got the raise. You got the good accounts. I think you’ve squeezed all you’re going to from their feeling sorry for you.”
“Sorry for me?”
“Sure. Because of the murders a few years ago.”
“You’re kidding, right?”
“You can’t always get everything you want, Iris.” Amber walked down the corridor and sat down in her cubicle with her back to Iris.
Iris stood in her doorway, stunned. “What the hell got into her?” She returned to her desk. “Iris Thorne gets everything she wants? Huh. Maybe I could if I knew what it was I wanted.”
CHAPTER TWELVE
Iris loitered in the cavernous lobby of the Edward Club, looking into the glass cases lining the walls that displayed artifacts from the club’s history. Black-and-white photos honored the EC’s bearded or mustachioed founding fathers who also had a hand in building Los Angeles. Engraved silver and bronze trophies celebrated the members’ athletic triumphs over other members. Delicate pieces of crystal stemware edged in cobalt blue with a florid EC etched on each face were carefully displayed. A folded white card, solemnly lettered in black ink, stated that this was the club’s traditional crystal and it could no longer be obtained. The passing of an era was mourned. In private, members mourned the passing of another era, when the membership was homogeneously white, Christian, and male.
Garland Hughes was fifteen minutes late. Iris had at first eagerly agreed to have lunch with him, considering herself to be truly anointed to dine tête-à-tête with her boss’s boss at his club. After languishing for a few years, her career was again on the move. Big things were afoot. Momentum was building. Hallelujah.
Then she’d decided this might involve something more than just her career. It was a subtle, unstated thing. During his monthly visits to the L.A. office, she thought she detected something in the way he looked at her with his head slightly turned instead of facing her head-on and in the way his voice softened just a tad when he spoke to her. Even his eyes had seemed to soften. Once she suspected that his interest in her went beyond business, all the subtle little signs might as well have been flashing in neon. Not that she minded. She’d always found him very attractive. The combination of self-confidence, achievement, and power had an effect on her that she never obtained from eating oysters. And his chiseled features,
piercing blue eyes, and athletic physique didn’t hurt either. But he was her boss’s boss, for goodness’ sakes. Hadn’t she already gotten into enough trouble at the firm?
Her black St. John suit meshed well with the ladies who were there that afternoon for luncheon and a fashion show. Usually her conservative business attire served to indicate that she wasn’t on the lunching ladies’ team. But twice while she was waiting, hosts from the front desk had tried to guide her toward the luncheon and twice she had politely explained she was here for a business meeting, holding up her briefcase as if it were some sort of badge.
Such a mistake used to irritate her to no end. After all, she’d worked her butt off for everything she’d accomplished and it offended her to have people assume she was some executive’s pampered wife. But today the idea had an alluring, almost forbidden appeal. After all, she could pass for privileged. She’d fooled Kyle Tucker. It had taken a lot of years and a lot of tears to cover up those blue-collar roots. She’d done it the hard way, with lucky breaks few and far between and with plenty of so-called friends like Amber clinging to her ankles, trying to make sure she didn’t get ahead, at least not any faster than they did. So what if she decided to let someone like Garland Hughes bring home the bacon? So what if she did?
It was an alluring proposition, as such things usually are. But like the teller’s fantasy of robbing the bank and moving to Argentina, it was fraught with problems. Long ago, Bill DeLacey had told her there was no such thing as a free lunch. To get something you have to give up something. What would the price be? It certainly meant handing over some power and independence to another and trusting that the gifts would be honored and not abused. The very thought made her feel short of breath, as if someone had put a pillowcase over her head.
A man darted into the lobby with the air of someone who was very busy and who assumed the people he came into contact with would recognize this and not waste his time. His business attire was spit-and-polish perfect, caressing his athletic body in the easy manner of fine fabrics. However, his short, straight auburn-brown hair was askew on his head, the result of him frequently running his hands through it in frustration.
Garland Hughes spotted Iris and walked toward her, his thick-soled, expensive leather shoes resounding against the lobby’s polished marble floor. He seemed to be glad to see her but there was also something of relief at having finally arrived and being able to mentally tick off one more item on the “to do” list.
“Iris!” He extended his hand before he’d reached her. “It’s good to see you.” His blue eyes, harried when he first come in, grew animated.
She took his hand.
He squeezed hers and looked into her eyes two seconds past business cordiality.
“Good to see you too, Garland.”
“You look terrific.”
That was proof. This lunch was personal. Iris couldn’t stop herself from blushing. “Thank you.”
They entered an old, wood-paneled and brass-trimmed elevator where they were alone. He gave her a look out of the corners of his eyes. There was something vulnerable and open in it that put her on guard.
“I’m sorry to hear about your loss,” he said, meaning the funeral.
“Thank you.”
“Let me know if I can do anything for you.”
“You already have. I’m taking the afternoon off.”
He laughed. She was glad. She didn’t know how in the world she was supposed to act with this man.
“Actually, after lunch I’m going to follow up on a sales lead, a referral from a client, before I head over to the funeral.” She wanted him to know she wasn’t taking the entire afternoon off. He was still her boss’s boss. No need to be unnecessarily cavalier. “I’m going to pitch one of the L.A. City Council members.” It wasn’t exactly name-dropping, but it wouldn’t hurt if he knew she moved in high circles.
He glanced at his watch for a nanosecond. “I’m sorry our lunch got squeezed into an hour. I’ve got meeting after meeting during this trip.”
“No need to apologize.” That’s probably how it would always be with him, apologies for the scarce time spent with her. Maybe that was okay. She wasn’t much on clinging people anyway.
In the large, high-ceilinged dining room, the tall windows were draped with heavy burgundy velour tied with gold tassels. They ordered lunch and drank iced tea from the club’s new crystal and gossiped about the firm.
“So how’s the new hire, Kyle Tucker, working out?” Garland asked between bites of his flattened chicken.
She sucked in a few strands of linguine with scallops that hadn’t made it completely into her mouth. It was a sloppy dish, which she was thoroughly enjoying but never would have ordered on a typical business lunch. Since he’d revealed a glimpse of his private, vulnerable side to her, she’d reveal something of herself to him—she could eat like a horse. “He’s very determined to succeed. Seems bright. Has savvy.”
“Good, good. He didn’t have the experience we were looking for, but Herb felt very favorably about him. Since we needed someone who could come on stream quickly, I decided to take a flyer with him. I don’t know if we’ll ever get on top of this employee turnover problem at the L.A. office.”
He seemed reflective as he ate another piece of chicken. Iris slurped some more linguine with equal reflectiveness.
Then he glanced at her in a way that made her hold her breath, as if he were about to reveal something else that was private. “Please keep an eye on him. If anything goes wrong, we’ve got to nip it in the bud.”
Well, she’d called that one wrong. She took a deep breath and tried to relax. Maybe this was just a business lunch after all. She probably needed to start dating again and get out more. She was finding smoke signals everywhere.
He paused for half a beat, then continued, “How’s Amber doing?”
“Fine. Great.”
“Herb and I are close to getting Viagem’s pension fund. We’re thinking of giving it to Amber. You think she’s up to it?”
“I think that would be quite a coup for her.”
“Of course, you’d be my first choice to handle it, but you have too much on your plate as it is.”
“I agree. Let Amber have a shot.”
“Do you think she’d be too aggressive, that she’d gum things up trying to make a splash?” Iris sighed and looked out the window at a homeless man standing on the corner next to a bucket of soapy water and waving a squeegee, offering to clean windshields for change. She was reminded of the tattered man who had cleaned her windshield just to be nice. “Frankly, Garland, I feel uncomfortable talking to you about my coworkers. It makes me feel like I’m a mole for the other side.”
“You’re right.” He rubbed his already disheveled hair.
She patted her lips with the napkin, leaving rose lipstick marks on the crisp white linen, then bought a few more seconds by picking flecks of lint from her black skirt. “I also feel uncomfortable about this lunch. Tell me if I’m completely off base, but did you ask me to lunch for personal or business reasons?” There. She’d said it.
His eyes softened and he gave her that sidelong look.
She’d hit the nail on the head. Her skin grew hot. She was blushing again.
“Good broker’s instinct.” His voice grew gentle. “I didn’t know how to broach the issue with you, Iris, or even if I should, but I am very attracted to you.” He reared back. “Of course, that’s in addition to having the utmost respect for your intellect and your business acumen and your value to the firm.”
“I’m very flattered.” What else could she say? But it happened to be the truth.
“I’ve spent many hours wrestling with whether I should reveal my feelings. But nothing ventured, nothing gained.”
“I’ve always found you attractive too, Garland.”
“I hoped you’d feel that way.” He slid his hand across the tablecloth and touched the tips of her fingers. “Would you consider going out with a beat-up, battle-scarred jo
ker like me?”
She left her hand where it was. His fingers felt soft and warm against hers. It had been a long time since she’d had any contact of that sort. She hadn’t realized how much she missed it. “I would love to, but potentially it creates a lot of problems. I don’t want to put my job at risk.”
“I understand.” He took her hand between both of his and leaned toward her with his elbows on the table. “There’s something that might mitigate the situation. I’m probably leaving the firm.”
She raised her eyebrows.
“Some friends and I are putting together a venture capital group. I’ve been thinking about going out on my own for a long time and things finally seem to be falling into place. This is confidential, of course.”
“Congratulations. That’s terrific.”
“It may be as soon as a few weeks. It may take a little longer. When it happens, I’d like to take you to dinner to celebrate.”
“I’d love it.” She smiled at him. She felt attractive and desirable. She felt good.
They finished their meal. As soon as she laid her knife and fork across her plate, it was swept away by a sharply attired middle-aged Latino waiter who had been chatting familiarly with some of the other diners.
Garland sat back in his chair, crossed his legs, and dropped his folded hands in his lap. His demeanor lost the softness it had acquired when they were talking about personal issues and grew tough edges. He seemed to have something on his mind. “Iris, there’s another matter I wanted to speak with you about.”
Iris’s body temperature, which had returned to normal after their previous discussion, was again on alert.
“You might have heard that Herbert Dexter plans to move back to New York.”
“I’ve heard a rumor.”
He laughed. “It never ceases to amaze me how confidential news like this gets out.”
Iris shook her head to commiserate but said nothing. Even though Amber Ambrose had been snotty to her earlier that day, she wasn’t about to rat her out.
