Huhmm. In my own handwriting. No telling what that would reveal, with her disjointed words and floppy loops and straight lines. If he were a handwriting expert, she wouldn't give herself away with any clues she couldn't interpret herself. Better type the message and keep some of her mystery intact until she found out more about this dude.
If she drove down to the post office that night and dropped it in the slot, he'd get it the next day. And he'd also get a hint of how devoid of men her life had been lately.
Better to keep him guessing and waiting by that mailbox, she decided. Besides, with her design class at the community center tomorrow evening, if he called she wouldn't be here to answer the telephone. And that would give her an extra day to find out more about him from other sources. She'd hold the card for a little while longer.
Lacey got out of bed excited about the new day the following morning. She turned on the radio full blast on her drive to the Victorian house where she had moved the boutique. The house was more suited to her old-fashioned designs than the wedge of office space in the Edgewater shopping mall where the shop had been. But Lacey had worried about losing the mall traffic when she made the move to the house.
She needn't have worried. Even in those cramped quarters Lacey had built her reputation in the short two years she had built up the business. The customers had followed her to her new location and brought more clients with them.
Lacey's business offered just enough of a unique variety to appeal to a wide-ranging clientele. Her main love—and the reason for the boutique's success—was original design. Each carried her label and trademark of lace, even if the lace could only be seen on the hemline of the garment's petticoat. Her penchant for designs had grown out of a love for clothes and a collection of hats she had begun accumulating as a child. Whenever she had traveled she had bought a hat to remind her of the places she had seen—straw hats from the Caribbean islands, a Nova Scotia fisherman's sou'wester hat or a frilly lace bonnet from Paris. Then, for one of her design projects in school she had created an original outfit to match a hat. That was when she had realized what pleasure and satisfaction designing gave her. She had worked for other people until two years ago, when she had taken the gamble and gone into business for herself.
Now she had her own shop specializing in her designs. She also offered a service of recreating designs from pictures or descriptions a client would give her. She was able to afford the services of several housewife seamstresses who worked out of their homes whenever Lacey gave them an order. Since she had moved to the Victorian house, Lacey had added an array of accessories and a selection of other clothes which expressed her flair for dressing. The trip to Atlanta next week was for the purpose of expanding her boutique.
Together with her manager, Lacey had arranged the rooms of the house to have a cluttered, attractively cozy feel to them so that customers could almost get the same kind of excitement in shopping one would get in rummaging through an attic. Lacey even had one room set aside for antique garments she occasionally found at estate sales and secondhand shops. She had spent months at country auctions searching for old trunks and armoires in which to display her original designs.
Lacey was a powerhouse of activity where her business was concerned. This was her baby, her life, the essence of her self. She often worked eighteen-hour days, seven-day weeks. When she wasn't in the boutique working directly with her clients, she was at her drawing board at home, thinking up new designs. She didn't have time to date, and in fact preferred not to, since her experiences lately had been less than exciting. When the man of her love life appeared, if ever, it would be when she least expected it, in the most unlikely of places. She didn't want to meet him in a singles bar.
Take this Rafe Chancellor, she thought while driving home for a quick lunch and a check of the mail. He might not be what she was looking for, but he had style—just judging by his flowers and note. That was something she hadn't found too often in the men of her acquaintance. Now that she thought about it, she hadn't ever found it in anyone to her satisfaction.
She really should send that postcard back that afternoon, just out of curiosity to find out who he was. But she wanted to check him out a little further first. She could call her friend Amy, who was married to an army sergeant. If Rafe was retired military, chances were they would have heard of him, since Keesler Air Force Base was the local hangout for all the military within range of the PX. Right after lunch she would call her.
Lacey turned into her driveway, parked the car and walked across the street to check her mailbox. It was jammed with catalogs which she received from around the world and often used as a spark for some of her more imaginative designs. Junk mail again, she sighed, until she came to the letter from Rafe Chancellor. Smiling, she raced into the house anxious to see if this contained details of that mysterious Phase Three he had omitted in the previous note. Maybe it would list Phases Five, Six and Seven, continuing where his flowers and card had left off yesterday.
When she entered the house, the first thing she saw was his flowers. At least she had to hand it to him for being romantic in his pursuit. It was like having a secret admirer, but instead of guessing who the admirer was, she was guessing what he was like, and getting only bits and pieces of his personality through people who knew him.
And the flowers! A woman never could get too many of those, if they were given in the right spirit, and not the way Dominick used to bring her roses. The bouquet of Rafe's demonstrated a thoughtful side of his character, or maybe just a calculating characteristic. Whatever the motive, he was definitely a man worth investigating further. She tore open the letter.
Dear Ms. Lacey Adams,
This is just to remind you to take advantage of the special offer which you received with flowers yesterday, asking you to return the enclosed self-addressed, stamped postcard at your earliest convenience, sometime between now and July 1985, when the offer expires. If you need references to help you make up your mind about the plans suggested in the letter, you may contact A. J. Tell at 404-555-9151. Just mention my name and your code of Alpha One. Tell A.J. you have received a once-in-a-lifetime offer from Rafe. Next tell A.J. that you need him to search the files and provide you with a background evaluation.
After that you can call 919-555-5722. Your assigned code here will be Alfa One Charlie. Mention that you have received a request from Rafe to meet you. Ask that the file be pulled for a written dialogue on Rafe. It will be necessary to explain that you are considering the possibility of going out on a date with Rafe. Once you have mentioned this, any questions you have will be answered. But!!!! Do not ask about the Middle East. That is a four-hour introduction to the problem. If you still need additional information, call my secretary at 555-8282 here in town and ask her to leave a message for Lieutenant Colonel Rafe. I'm still waiting by my mailbox. I'm still wondering what day you will return the card with your encoded action message.
Your hopeful new friend,
Rafe
Lacey was laughing by the time she finished this note. She had to hand it to him for persistence. It looked as if he was covering all the bases for her. What in the world had George told Rafe about her to make him so eager to meet her?
As soon as Lacey got back to the boutique, she headed for her upstairs office, pulled out the phone book and called Amy.
"Amy? Lacey. What do you know about Rafe Chancellor?"
Amy laughed. "You don't give a person half a chance to register who's calling first, do you? Why do you want to know about Rafe Chancellor?"
"I'll tell you in a minute," Lacey promised. "Do you know him?"
"Sure. Everyone's heard of Rafe if they're connected with the Army, maybe even if they're just plain military. He's quite a legend. Why?"
"It's a long story," Lacey answered, eager for information. "What do you think of him?"
"Very interesting man. A gentleman. He was talking to me at the colonel's one evening and some of the men were cutting up in the corner—really
loud and not the best of language. Rafe just turned and looked at them, cocked one of his eyebrows and announced, 'I'm talking to a lady here.' Did it ever shut them up. He has enough rank to put just about anyone in their place, even if he is retired."
"Tell me more," Lacey urged.
"Only if you tell me why. How do you know him?"
"I don't, yet," Lacey told her. "He sent me flowers yesterday and wants to take me out. But I've never met him. Should I meet him?"
"You'll like him," Amy answered. "I've been trying to set him up on a date with one of the girls here at work, but it hasn't worked out. I never thought of introducing him to you. How did all of this happen?"
"It didn't," Lacey answered. "Not yet. A friend of ours, George Bridges—"
"I know George."
"Well, George mentioned him to me the other day right between the frozen foods and the laundry detergent."
"What?"
"We were in the grocery store at the time."
"I see," Amy answered, still sounding puzzled.
"I wasn't paying attention at the time to what he was saying about Rafe. But I am now." Lacey picked up the letter from Rafe and wondered what she would say if she called the numbers he had given her for references. It was difficult enough getting the message across to a good friend about the strangeness of Rafe's approach. "He sent me flowers yesterday."
"Flowers! My husband doesn't even remember what a flower looks like. He thinks it's something I bake bread with. But you haven't met Rafe?"
"No. All I've had so far are flowers, a note of introduction and a return postcard for my reply if I decide to let him call me."
"Wow," Amy said. "Did you? Send the card back, I mean? Isn't that cute?"
Lacey had to admit, at least to herself, it was exciting to have a man ask her for a date in this manner. "No, I wanted to talk to some other people first, like you." Lacey played with the corner of Rafe's latest letter. "That's why I'm calling, to make sure I want to follow up on this person. I mean, it is kind of strange, being approached through the mail this way, don't you think?"
"I think it's positively romantic."
"Well," Lacey said, and smiled. It was, and she was secretly delighted. "What can you tell me about him? What does he look like?"
"He's tall," Amy said. "Very slim. Makes me feel fat."
"That thin?" Lacey commented, thinking of Amy's svelte, perfect figure and knowing from Amy's five-eight height Rafe must be tall for Amy to consider him so. She was beginning to get a picture of a beanpole giant with spurs. "This could present problems," Lacey mumbled, thinking of the swimsuit figure gracing her refrigerator door and wondering if such a thin man would consider her too fat to go out with. Then again, a man like that might give her just the incentive she needed to push her over the edge to Slim City. He could be good therapy for her. "What color is his hair?"
"Humm. That one's hard. Kind of light brown to reddish."
"This gets more complicated," Lacey said. "I'm starting to picture this person with multicolored hair. Nobody agrees on it. Other than hair, what does he look like?"
"He's no Tom Selleck or Burt Reynolds or Tom Jones," Amy said, "but he's no Don Knotts, either."
"That leaves a wide range for my imagination and doesn't tell me a thing."
"You'll just have to see for yourself," Amy said. "When are you going out with him?"
"I don't know yet," Lacey answered. "I haven't sent the card back yet. How does your husband like him?"
"I think he's basically well respected by everyone. The NCO's talk about him as if he'd be a fair and approachable officer to have in command. He's in business for himself now, though, did you know that?"
"I don't know anything. What kind of business?"
"I'm not sure," Amy answered, taking a few minutes to think. "It must be some kind of management thing, or consulting or something. He has his fingers in different pies. He's not locked into a gas-pumping job that begins at five and ends at five day in and day out. I think he travels a lot too."
Lacey picked up his letter again and turned it backward and forward. Maybe she should check the references listed on there. But how biased would his references be? Talking to Amy should have given her a more objective viewpoint.
"What happened on the date you set up for him?" Lacey asked.
"With the girl in my office? He called her at the last minute for the Military Ball and she couldn't make arrangements to go out with him on such short notice."
That doesn't sound good, Lacey thought. But if he turned out to be a dud for a date, she could always use his last-minute invitations as a legitimate excuse for not going out with him again. "It doesn't sound as if he's much of a swinger."
"Do you want a swinger?"
"No, but I'm not opposed to macho types from time to time," Lacey hedged.
"He has a definite flair about him. I hope you like chaps and Stetsons."
"I heard about his boots and spurs," Lacey confirmed Amy's impressions. "I hope he doesn't carry a whip."
Amy laughed. "He's a decent guy. You'll probably like him. I don't think he's the type who would force himself on you."
He wouldn't get very far if he tried, Lacey thought. She didn't like totally overwhelming, domineering men. She wanted a leader, but one who could respect her own abilities. "He's sounding better all the time," Lacey admitted, more inclined to mail the self-addressed, stamped reply card. "Why hasn't he been snapped up by some gorgeous slim female by now?"
"He doesn't get much opportunity to date, I think," Amy said. "The kind of job he has keeps him traveling a good bit, and when he's here he spends most of his time with his family. Did you know he has custody of a daughter?"
"No," Lacey said, impressed that this man was taking on the responsibility of a child after a divorce. The men she met very seldom even had furniture after a divorce, much less the care of a child.
"I'm not sure what sort of arrangement he has worked out with his ex-wife," Amy confided, "but until recently his daughter was living with him."
Lacey absorbed this additional information. Her opinion of the unknown Rafe Chancellor went up two notches. She would just have to send the postcard back to find out more about him.
"Is there anything else you can tell me," Lacey asked, "before I commit myself to this change in my destiny?"
"No, I don't think so," Amy replied. "But you might talk to Jennifer Queens. He sent his daughter to the private school where she teaches, and I think she could tell you more about him."
Lacey sighed. Whoever he was, Rafe Chancellor was going to be interesting to pursue.
"Thanks for all your help," Lacey said. "I'll keep you posted on developments. Come by the shop when you get a chance."
"I will," Amy promised. "It looks delightful from the story they did on you in the paper last Sunday."
"Thanks," Lacey said, and hung up.
Lacey toyed with Rafe's letter. She should send back his postcard just out of curiosity. Everyone seemed to like Rafe. He couldn't be all bad. But why was he approaching her through the mail like this? Why not just come out and call her on the phone, or walk into the shop and ask her straight out for a date?
If he did that, she wouldn't go. The direct approach had always been too direct for her. Men who were too blatant in their macho mechanics turned her off. She'd make one more phone call to Jennifer about Rafe, and if she got two out of three favorable opinions about him, she'd mail back the card. She should already have mailed it back in last night's midnight mailing.
Lacey looked up the number of Jennifer's school and dialed. Jennifer wasn't on break then, so she left a message for her to call back. While she was waiting for Jennifer to return the call, Lacey went down to the lower level of the shop. She tried to get involved in the rearrangements that she had initiated over the weekend, which still left one area of the shop in confusion. This was the bridal section, the most romantic room in the shop for Lacey.
Her original designs hung from the ceiling a
nd her favorite dress was hanging on an antique dress form in one corner of the room. All the trimmings for the traditional wedding—things old, new, borrowed and blue—were also displayed in the room. Lacey most enjoyed planning for weddings and was particularly excited now because one of her favorite clients had asked her to design an entire honeymoon wardrobe.
Lacey was just starting to work on a short jumpsuit to add to the things she already had at the seamstress's, when one of her shop assistants called her to the phone.
"Lacey, it's been a long time since I talked to you. Is anything the matter?" Jennifer asked.
"Oh, no. At least I don't think so. Not yet. I was wondering what you could tell me about a man named Rafe Chancellor. I understand his daughter attended your school."
"Angela Chancellor."
"Is that her name? It must be. How many Rafe Chancellors can we have on the Gulf Coast?"
"Not many, I wouldn't think," Jennifer answered. "She's a very smart child. It was a shame to lose her after the Christmas holidays."
"What happened?"
Jennifer sighed. "I don't know all the details, but apparently the Chancellors have some sort of joint-custody arrangement, and the wife decided it was time to take her."
"Oh." Lacey absorbed that information. "What about Rafe Chancellor? What can you tell me about him?"
"Extremely polite man. Obviously spends a lot of time with his daughter. I gather they're very close. At all the PTA and school functions he was prominently involved. You know what I mean. He wasn't afraid to express his opinions, especially coming in as a new parent in town. Why do you ask?"
"I may be having a date with him," Lacey explained. "I'm still trying to make up my mind."
"You'd have a good time," Jennifer told her. "The way you like to challenge people with ideas, he'd keep you on your toes."
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