"And the bad?" he asked warily.
"Except for a few hours next Sunday evening, I won't be able to see you again for three weeks."
"I don't understand."
She started to tell him about Earthquake but decided it was easier simply to say she had made previous commitments.
There was a long pause. "I'm afraid next Sunday's out of the question, too. I'm catching a plane for Detroit that afternoon."
"Oh… I see." At no time in her thinking had she considered that they might have to work around his schedule, too.
"You don't have even a couple of hours during the middle of the week? I could rent a car and meet you someplace."
"I have some time between classes."
"There's no way I could leave the office this next week. My calendar is full." Frustration became a tangible barrier between them. It was one thing for two people to suffer a separation after their relationship had had time to grow and for bonds to develop that would hold them together; it was something else entirely when that relationship had so recently been formed and was necessarily as fragile as are all newborn things. "Janet…" He said her name with all the love that welled inside him. "Don't lose heart. We'll find a way."
They were simple words, but they were the right words. Little by little, she was coming to realize how special Eric was and how much he was worth the sacrifices she might have to make to see him. To save her the added expense of long-distance phone bills, he told her he would do the calling from then on. They set up days and times and unwillingly said goodbye. Afterward, Janet found it far easier to concentrate and was in a terrific mood when it came time for her to take Brian and Amy to the park.
The following week Eric called three times but only found Janet home once. For all the lip service he had paid to the need for patience, he discovered his patience was wearing impossibly thin. It was all he could do to hide it from Janet when he called early the next Sunday morning to tell her goodbye before he left for Detroit. Though he wouldn't be leaving for the airport for several hours, she had to be in Daly City to pick up a customer and take him and his party to the football game, which necessitated the early call.
"When will you be back?" she asked, sitting on the corner of the bed, trying to put her makeup on while looking into a mirror she held balanced on her lap.
"Wednesday or possibly Thursday."
"I'll miss you."
He absently massaged his temple. "I'd be a little more excited about that if you wouldn't also be missing me if I were staying right here in town."
How could she ever have thought this arrangement would work? Slowly, inexorably she felt herself being backed into a corner. "I've been thinking about next semester. If I could arrange my classes so that I only went on Tuesdays and Thursdays, we'd have another day to be together."
"And if you'd stop being so stubborn and let me help you out just a little, we'd have another day right now. Dammit, Janet, I'm not talking about taking over your life or trying to tie you to me in any way, I just want to give you a helping hand so we can be together more often." He was growing more and more convinced that doing things her way would eventually drive a wedge between them that they'd never be able to surmount.
"Buying me is what you're talking about. I don't care how you phrase it, Eric, it boils down to the same thing." She glanced over to the clock on the night-stand. She had less than ten minutes to finish dressing and get on the road. "Call me when you get back. We'll finish this then."
Why was he fighting with her when what he wanted more than anything else was to take her in his arms and tell her how much he loved her. "Can you stop by the office Thursday before you go to Coachman's?"
She would be delivering balloons on Thursday, which meant she'd have to show up at his office in costume again. Parading around in baggy pants and greasepaint in front of his friends and colleagues was the last thing she wanted to do. "I'll try, but I can't promise. If my last delivery is across town, I'd never be able to make it to your office and then all the way over to Coachman's on time." She looked at the clock again. Now she only had five minutes. She stood and shrugged out of her bathrobe. "I have to go now, Eric."
He resigned himself to waiting another five days to put his case before her one more time. He was becoming a little discouraged. Instead of the signs he had been watching for, that he was breaking down her resistance, she seemed to be more determined than ever to refuse his help. "Drive carefully." An ache gnawed at his insides.
"I always do." Why now, she wanted to scream. What screwy toss of the dice had brought Eric Stewart into her life at precisely the wrong time? When she hung up she was struck by a feeling of incredible emptiness. But, as usual, there wasn't time to dwell on how miserable she felt. Even with no tie-ups on the freeway, she was already going to be late. A self-deprecating smile lifted one corner of her mouth. That she was unable to dwell on her misery proved there were at least some advantages to life in the fast lane, after all.
When Thursday rolled around and she still hadn't heard from Eric, Janet was disconcerted to discover she missed him so much that she would have gone to his office wearing the infamous black corset and fishnet stockings just to see him again. Luckily, she didn't have to resort to anything nearly as dramatic. Since she had spent the day passing out samples of flavored almonds at a trade show in the Moscone Center instead of delivering balloons, she was wearing a favorite skirt and blouse. As it grew closer and closer to five o'clock, she paced back and forth in front of the booth, looking for her replacement. The second she spotted her, Janet hauled her back to the booth. The startled woman barely had time to remove her coat before Janet had thrust the tray of nuts in her hand and took off for Eric's office.
The elevator ride in Eric's building was just long enough to give her sweaty palms and a silly, anticipatory grin that she couldn't suppress despite several attempts to tell herself it was important that she look dignified. After identifying herself to the impossibly beautiful receptionist and being told she could go right in, Janet found herself suddenly feeling shy. She was halfway down the hall when Eric came out of his office to meet her. Considering the circumstances, she thought they handled the meeting extraordinarily well. Their greetings were impeccably polite and rigidly proper. As soon as the door clicked closed behind them, however, they were in each other's arms, their previous decorum lying in a rumpled pile at their feet.
"God, how I've missed you," he breathed into her hair, holding her close and lifting her off the ground in his enthusiasm.
"I was beginning to think the time we spent together in Sonoma was only another dream," she said. How wonderfully she fit into his arms; how right his arms felt around her.
"And have I convinced you differently?"
"I don't know—kiss me again so I'll be sure." He complied with a deeply provocative kiss that left her reeling with want for him. His hands separated her coat and slipped up the silky material of her blouse to cup her breasts while his thumbs massaged her nipples until they were hard peaks. She tilted her head to the side, allowing him access to the sensitive hollow behind her ear. She was as helpless before the feelings that gripped her as an errant puff of cloud caught in the fury of a storm. "Please don't let go of me," she said, leaning heavily against him. "I don't think I could stand by myself."
"This is insanity," he murmured. "I want you so badly I can hardly breathe, and short of locking the doors and taking you over to the couch, there's not a damn thing I can do about it." He held the sides of her face and looked into her eyes. "How long—"
"I have to leave here by a quarter to six."
"That's fifteen minutes from now." With a heavy sigh of resignation, he put his arms back around her and held her as he would have held someone who was no more to him than a friend. "Janet… are you sure there's—"
"You can't possibly think I like this any more than you do." It hurt that he didn't recognize how hard she was trying to find time for them to be together.
"I don't." H
e led her over to the couch. "You'd think with all my training as a deadpan lawyer that I'd be able to handle missing you with a little more aplomb." Sitting on the forest-green watered-silk sofa, he pulled her down beside him and cradled her in his arms. "Detroit was pure hell. I spent so much time thinking about how having you there with me would have brightened that blighted city that I almost missed a couple of meetings."
"Believe me, you're not doing much for the quality of my studying, either. I had midterms this week, and for the first time ever, I'm actually worried about my grades."
How long would they go on like this before she would be willing to let him help her, he wondered, for what had to be the hundredth time. He felt so helpless. Here he was, a person who was paid an almost obscene salary for his power of persuasion, and he couldn't talk the most important person in his life into borrowing money from him. Knowing it was the wrong time and the wrong place, he still had to give it another try. "Janet… how much pressure would five hundred dollars a month take off of you?"
"A lot," she answered automatically and then suffered a sinking feeling when she realized where he was headed. "Eric, you're not going to start in on that loan thing again, are you?"
"What if I could get you another job with fewer hours but the same pay?"
She stiffened. "You mean some cushy thing where I file a few reports when I'm not filing my nails, my fantastic paycheck conveniently subsidized by you? Maybe you could even arrange a salary high enough for me to pay you back for the car insurance deductible, too," she added sarcastically.
"Why are you being so stubborn about taking my help?"
"Why are you being so insensitive?"
He decided it was time to try another line of reasoning. "You could think of me as your mentor. Lots of people, both men and women, have mentors."
"I believe, in this case, the correct term would be sugar daddy."
"I thought sugar daddy only applied if the man was old and doddering. I don't think I fit the bill on either account."
She twisted out of his arms, stood up and glared down at him. "There you go again, treating this as if it were some kind of joke."
He reached for her hand, but she pulled it away. "I'm sorry—I was only trying to keep us from getting into another fight."
"Well, guess what—you failed."
"Janet, we only have five minutes, please don't do this."
"How dare you put what's happening here today onto me." She knew exactly what she was doing, but she was powerless to control her actions. She had such a burgeoning feeling of hurt and frustration that she was striking out at the nearest person, and that person happened to be Eric. When he stood and tried to take her back into his arms she moved away, afraid that if she allowed herself even that much succor, she would break down. She knew she was walking perilously close to the edge as it was. The last thing she needed right then was to have his staff see her leave his office with eyes red and swollen from crying. She headed for the door. "I have to leave now," she said. "Well talk about this later."
Eric watched her go out the door, and it was everything he could do to keep from going after her. He walked over to his desk and picked up the file on the Jacobson account. After blindly staring at it for several seconds, he uncharacteristically lashed out, throwing the file across the room. Papers littered the floor, looking obscenely out of place in the meticulously clean office.
"Dammit," he softly swore through clenched teeth. He could feel the only thing that truly mattered in his life slipping through his fingers, and he felt completely powerless. Several minutes passed, then his frown suddenly changed to a half smile. His step lighter than it had been in days, he went around the desk to find a telephone number he had put in the top drawer. By the time he finished his call, he was smiling again.
Janet managed to maintain her composure until she was inside the steel cocoon of her Volkswagen. Then, despite giving herself a stern lecture about the utter futility of crying, tears began to slither down her cheeks. She impatiently wiped them away and blinked to try to clear the new ones that immediately formed. But no matter how fast she blinked, her eyes seemed to fill faster. Finally she gave up and admitted she was crying.
Why was she being so stubborn, he had asked. Why, indeed? It wasn't that she doubted he loved her. She could see his love radiating from his eyes every time he looked at her. But there was something that kept her from accepting the help he wanted to give—something so powerful that it made her break out in a cold sweat simply thinking about it.
Even though everything about their short courtship had a slightly wacky tilt to it, she no longer harbored the smallest doubt that she loved him. Then what was it? Eric was handsome and charming and personable… not to mention rich enough to ensure they would never have the type of financial problems that had contributed to her and Robert's downfall.
There it was—that sick feeling in the pit of her stomach. It happened every time she thought about Eric's money. It wasn't just comfortable money, she reminded herself, it was money enough to buy anything that struck his fancy… including her. And what happened when someone with that kind of money grew tired of something they had? They simply tossed it out and bought something new.
The blood drained from her face. Did she subconsciously believe Eric considered her a disposable commodity? Her mind flashed back over their times together. He had been so quick to offer her his help… even going so far as to propose marriage. If he were someone who felt things deeply enough to make genuine long-range commitments, would he treat marriage as flippantly as he had?
Every ounce of reason she possessed told her she was being unfair. But it did nothing to change her feelings or lessen her fear. She now recognized her refusal to let him help her as a perverse subliminal attempt to keep him interested.
Pulling up to a red light, she dug through the glove compartment for a tissue and blew her nose. She tried to imagine what Eric would say if she were to explain her reasoning to him. She didn't have to imagine—her gut instinct told her. He would laugh.
Eric stood on the corner of Market and Stockton, peering down Market, trying to pick out Janet's maroon-and-silver limousine through the swirling fog while nervously shifting a Neiman-Marcus bag from hand to hand. What, in his office, had seemed like a perfect solution to the problem they had discussed now didn't seem like such a hot idea. He tried to picture her reaction when she pulled up to the curb and realized he was her customer for the evening, but he was saved the mental exercise when the limousine swung around the corner and stopped in front of him. Before she could get out to open the door, he hopped in the passenger side.
"Eric… what are you doing?"
"If you recall, my car is still in the shop. I needed a ride."
Her eyes narrowed as she stared at him. "You were so desperate for transportation this evening that you offered a hundred-dollar bonus to get me as your driver?"
"He told you, huh?"
"In this business, a hundred-dollar bonus is big news. Everyone at the agency heard about it." With her face a mask that hid the cauldron of emotions bubbling inside, she returned her eyes to the road and engaged the turn signal. "Where to?" she asked, assuming her practiced professional attitude. She was determined to treat him like any other customer.
"Eventually, Fitzgerald's at the Park."
"Nice restaurant." She'd never been inside but had taken dozens of customers there and had heard every one of them rave about the meal and the service.
"I'm glad you think so."
"Why?"
"I had a hard time coming up with some place that was both quiet and elegant and still had food that was fairly uncomplicated. I thought it was about time I made up for that disastrous picnic I took you on."
"You expect me to go into a place like Fitzgerald's dressed like this?"
"I knew you would say that, so I had a friend help me pick this out for you." He laid the bag on the seat between them. "I promise you it's a lot closer to your size this time." H
e knew he was talking too fast, but he couldn't slow down. He felt he only had so much time and so many words to convince her.
"What is it?"
"A dress."
She felt as if she were trying to climb out of a pit that had sides made of sand. The more Eric tried to please her, the more she felt they were doomed. "And where am I to change into this dress?"
He refused to let the stony way she was responding to the evening he had planned discourage him. "Since the dinner reservations aren't until nine, there's plenty of time to make it to the Sea Cliff house first."
"I take it this means you've engaged my services for the entire evening?"
This time he couldn't ignore the chill in her tone and attitude. "What's wrong, Janet?" he said with a sigh.
When she answered, it was with wistful sadness. "You really have no idea, do you? How much is it going to cost you to be with me tonight?"
He thought for a moment. With the bonus he'd offered the agency, and if he were to add the price of the dress to everything else, it could conceivably reach a thousand dollars. "I'm not sure. I rarely pay attention to those kind of things."
"Let me make a guess, then. I'd say you'll be lucky to get away for less than three hundred." She left Powell and turned onto Lombard and headed west. They went several blocks in silence before she managed to speak again over the lump that had formed in her throat. "I know there are higher-priced hookers, but there aren't many."
His anger was instant. "That's a cheap shot—one I certainly don't deserve."
"Stop right there. It's my turn now." She was nearly yelling, she was so quick to defend her anger. "Were you or were you not planning to make love to me when we got to your house?"
Reluctantly he answered. "I admit I considered the possibility."
Damn! An unmistakable burning had started in the back of her eyes. "There may be kinder terms for what you had planned for me for this evening, but when all the flowery words are stripped away, it comes out exactly the same. When a man has to pay to sleep with a woman, that makes her a—"
A Week from Friday Page 14
