Tuesday, she spent the day delivering balloons to make up for missing her turn as a clown the previous Thursday. She slipped into a blue funk after making her last delivery to the children's cancer ward at San Francisco General Hospital. By the time she returned to the Anything Goes Agency, she was so depressed that when she washed off her clown makeup, she didn't bother putting her normal street makeup on afterward.
Michael Stephens, the co-owner of Coachman's, was waiting for her when she arrived for her evening shift. "Just two fares tonight, Janet. A quick run to take some rock star to the airport, then a night on the town for some guy and his girlfriend."
"Thanks, Mike. I can use the study time."
"How were the midterms?"
"Nothing to write home about."
He accompanied her to the limousine and stood by the time clock to talk to her while she went through her normal routine of checking out the car she would use that night. "You don't look so good tonight. Is there something wrong?"
"I'm just a little tired." And a little blue and a little heartbroken.
"Well, for God's sake, don't let yourself get rundown. I don't want you getting sick on me. I can't afford to have you out; you're the best driver I've got."
"That's nice to hear." She looked up from checking the front tire. "Does that mean you're thinking about giving me a raise?"
"You're already making more than any of the other drivers who work here."
"That sounds really impressive, Mike, but you and I know ten cents an hour above scale isn't exactly—"
"Oh, darn!" Mike comically exclaimed when the office phone rang and interrupted her. "Gotta go, Janet. We'll be sure to talk about this some other time."
She smiled. Their ten-cents-an-hour thing was an ongoing joke. Something, whether it was the phone or a customer or a suddenly remembered appointment, always prevented them from finishing.
As soon as she was through with the car, Janet went into the back room and changed into her uniform. A few minutes later she was on her way over to the Saint Francis Hotel to pick up her first ride.
She got a kick out of transporting celebrities and had learned to judge their personalities from the way they behaved during their rides. Those who were still new to the limelight were generally either brash and obnoxious in their efforts to appear accustomed to luxury, or they were pointedly unimpressed. Those who had been in the business longer usually fit into the basically-good-folks-who-happened-to-make-it-big category or were prigs who would have been a pain in the neck no matter what field they had chosen to make their living in.
Tonight her ride was a young woman dressed in black leather pants and a white pirate's shirt. Her waist-length hair was striped black and white. Her very straight-looking companion was a woman in her mid-forties with an easy smile and a hearty laugh. The young woman was refreshingly in awe of everything that was happening to her. On their way to the airport, she insisted that Janet keep the glass panel between them open so they could talk.
After she had asked Janet a dozen questions about what it was like being a chauffeur in San Francisco, she eagerly answered some of Janet's questions. She told her she knew being a rock star was a transitory thing and that the entertainers who managed any kind of longevity in the field were few and far between. Consequently, she intended to touch and feel and see everything she could while she was still on top and carry the memories with her when she moved on to something else.
Their time together did so much to improve Janet's mood that she turned on the radio and found herself singing country and western music along with Kenny Rogers and Dolly Parton as she returned to the city. She made it to the Sloat Boulevard address, where she was to pick up her next customer, ten minutes early, so she parked down the block and watched an old woman sitting on a bench feeding a lone gray pigeon.
When the ten minutes had passed, she pulled up in front of the apartment building, got out of the car and opened the iron gate that led to a courtyard and the apartments. She glanced at the lower-level numbers and realized the number she wanted was on the second floor.
When she knocked, a stunning, statuesquely built woman with red hair answered. Unlike most people with red hair and easily sunburned skin, this woman's complexion was tanned to a golden bronze and was clear of freckles. Her eyes were a deep, sultry brown, the kind Janet's father called bedroom eyes. She was dressed in a slinky black jumpsuit that had long sleeves and no back. Her full breasts, obviously unencumbered by anything as basic as a bra, moved freely when she turned to accept her coat from… My God, Janet mentally screamed. It was Eric!
Janet's eyes flew open as she unintentionally registered intense shock at seeing him there. They then narrowed again as shock turned to fury. How dare he do something like this to her? Who did he think he was, hiring her to drive him around with another woman after all they had meant to each other? She glared at him and was gratified to see he at least had the courtesy to look embarrassed.
The woman turned to Eric and lightly, intimately touched his arm. "I have to get my bag," she said, her voice every bit as sultry as her eyes. "I'll be right back." She made it sound like a promise fraught with possibilities.
When she had gone, Eric stepped closer and spoke to Janet in a hushed voice. "I'm really sorry about this." He nervously reached up to rub the back of his neck. "I specifically asked the agency to send a man to avoid any possibility that we might run into each other. I'd certainly understand if you didn't want to drive for me tonight, and if you want me to, I'll call for another limousine."
"Hey, no problem." She refused to let him see how upset she was. "As far as I'm concerned, you're just another fare."
"I'm happy to hear you feel that way. It'll make the evening a lot easier on both of us."
If she were just a little taller and weighed maybe forty or fifty pounds more, she would have gladly choked him. "It seems silly for us not to be friends, right?"
"Absolutely."
The redhead came back, possessively taking his arm and lovingly gazing up at him with her adoring, doe-like eyes. "I'm ready, Eric," she breathed.
Ready, willing and, if Janet was any judge of such things, quite able. Inside, she seethed, her anger barely under control. Outside, she maintained her composure and managed to give Eric her most dazzling smile. "And where will you and the lady be going this evening, Mr. Stewart?" she said through clenched teeth.
"The lady's name is Rachel Hopkins, Ms Franklin."
Nodding her head to the woman, Janet said, "Ms Hopkins."
"Oh, please—make it Miss Hopkins." Rachel gave Eric another lingering look. "None of this feminist stuff for me," she cooed. "Deep down I'm just an old-fashioned girl."
Janet thought she was going to be sick.
"As for where we're going…" Eric said, meeting Rachel's gaze with one Janet considered equally insipid. "We thought we'd start at Fitzgerald's at the Park and then go to the Top of the Mark for drinks and dancing."
She wouldn't have to be any taller, only about twenty-five pounds heavier, and she'd gleefully stomp on his perfectly polished black leather shoes. How dare he take this woman to the restaurant he had picked out for her! "Well, we certainly don't want to get you there late, now do we?" She motioned them forward with a wave of her hand.
The drive across town was excruciatingly long. She seemed to hit every red light and could have sworn she got stuck behind every rubbernecking tourist in the city. The delay forced her to listen to a constant barrage of high-pitched laughter through the glass partition. Since Eric hadn't shown any particular prowess in the humor department when she'd been with him, she assumed he'd either been saving it all for tonight, or the redhead was one of those women who thought her laugh was sexy.
Finally they arrived at the restaurant. Janet pulled up to the entrance to let them off, found a parking place and came back to inform the doorman where she was parked so he could summon her when Eric was ready to leave. When she got back to the car, she didn't even bother pulling her bo
oks out from under the seat. She knew any attempt to read them would be an exercise in futility. What hurt the most was the seeming ease and incredible speed with which Eric had apparently got over her. Here she was, struggling to make it through each day, unable to sleep because of a white dress hanging in her closet, and he was going out on the town. And she was driving him!
Oh, please… make it Miss Hopkins, her mind mimicked. I'm just an old-fashioned girl. Janet just bet Rachel Hopkins was old-fashioned. She was the kind who wouldn't think twice about accepting money from Eric, and for far less reason. What was he doing with someone like her? She wasn't his type at all. He needed someone who was his equal, not a simpering wimp. Dammit, what he needed was someone like her.
The two hours it took them to have dinner seemed like twenty. By the time Janet had got around to wondering how many evenings like this one it would take to produce an ulcer in her churning stomach, Eric had opened the door and climbed in the front seat beside her.
"The doorman was busy, so I came to tell you we're ready to leave now. Rachel's waiting for us at the restaurant."
Janet was sorely tempted to drive off and forget the waiting Rachel. "Yes, sir." She started the car, and as was her custom on cold nights, let it warm awhile.
"I can't tell you how much it means to me to have you accept this evening the way you have, Janet. I was afraid we wouldn't be able to be friends, but I can see I was wrong. From now on I'll have no hesitation about asking for you to be my driver when I go out."
Before she could think her answer through, the words were out. "Eric, I don't think this Rachel person is right for you." She saw a muscle twitch on the side of his cheek and waited for the explosion.
"I appreciate your concern, but I'm sure you'll understand if I question your ability to judge who is right or wrong for me. Obviously both of us struck out in that department once already."
"I only meant—"
"That she's nothing like you?" he said softly.
His words had been spoken in a way that prevented her from telling what feelings lay behind them. Was it sarcasm or anger, mockery or a gentle plea? She would have preferred the latter, but the piercing look he gave her made her feel it was more likely one of the others.
"That's not what I meant." But it was precisely what she had meant.
"Tell me, then, what kind of woman would you choose for me?"
If she answered, she would surely give herself away. "I'm sorry I brought it up." She switched her attention to the car, putting it in gear and pulling into traffic. "Who you do or don't go out with is none of my business."
"On the contrary. I expect my friends to take an interest in what I do. I'm disappointed if they don't."
"Well, I'm afraid this particular friend is going to have to pass on giving you advice on your love life." She almost choked on the words.
"I'm disappointed in you Janet. I was counting on more."
She pulled up to the front of the restaurant. His statement, the way he said it; baffled her. Counting on more? Just what had he meant by that? Before she had a chance to ask him, he was out of the car and opening the door for Rachel.
The rest of the evening consisted of taking Eric and Rachel to the Top of the Mark for drinks and dancing, waiting around for a frustrating three hours, then driving them back to Rachel's apartment. When Janet got out of the car to open the door for them, Eric looked at Rachel with passion-filled eyes and told Janet it would be a little while before he returned.
Janet seethed for the first fifteen minutes. The next fifteen minutes she boiled. The half hour after that, she was in a rage. Of all the thoughtless, heartless things Eric had done to her that evening, this one easily took the prize. How could he leave her waiting outside while he wooed that… that… vapid creature?
Well, she wasn't going to wait any longer. She was going up to Miss Hopkins's apartment and give Eric Stewart a piece of her mind. After which, he could call a cab—or walk all the way home, for all she cared. She'd be damned if she'd drive him around the block.
12
Janet got out of the car, slamming the door behind her with a vengeance. She stomped up to the iron gate and went into the courtyard, which she found eerily dark. Hadn't these people heard that thieves did their best work in dimly lit places?
Feeling her way along the rough stucco wall by only the ghostly light of a mist-covered full moon, she found the stairs. She wrapped her hand around the icy railing and started to climb. She was at the first landing when a feeling of apprehension struck. As she stood there trying to comprehend the feeling, the back of her neck began to tingle. Something—a sixth sense, invisible vibrations, whatever—told her she wasn't alone. Her heart racing, she tried to see into deep shadows near the top of the stairs. Her breath caught in her throat when she made out the form of a man. He was hunched over in a crouching position, poised as if ready to spring.
She froze. Her heart slammed against her chest. Not knowing what to do, she did nothing. Suddenly the man moved toward her. She let out a piercing scream.
"For God's sake, what's the matter with you?"
Her hand over her speeding heart, she blinked, again trying to erase the darkness. "Eric?" she gasped, positive she had recognized his voice.
"Janet?"
"What are you doing sitting out here on the stairs in the dark?" she demanded, her intense relief producing a flash of anger. "You nearly scared me to death."
A door opened behind him, then another somewhere close by. "What's going on out there?" a deep male voice demanded.
"It's all right," Janet quickly answered. That's all they needed—someone charging down the stairs on a rescue mission. "I just ran into something in the dark, and it frightened me."
She heard a muted grumbling and then the word, "Women," spoken as if that explained everything. The sound of a pair of doors closing followed the grumbling.
She turned her attention back to Eric. "Now would you please tell me why you're lurking around out here?"
"I'm not lurking, I'm sitting."
"Dammit, Eric, give me a straight answer, or I'm going to scream again. Only this time, I'll make it loud enough to bring the house down. And when someone asks me what's wrong, I'll tell them you tried to assault me."
"All right, you win," he said with a resigned sigh. "I wanted you to think I was inside with Rachel."
Stunned by his confession, she leaned against the railing and thought for a minute. At last the evening made sense. Eric had carefully planned everything that had gone on in an effort to make her jealous. And al-though she knew he wasn't aware of it yet, his plan had succeeded beyond what was probably his wildest dream.
She climbed the few steps that separated them and sat down. She could see him clearly now. He had turned his collar up and had his arms folded tightly across his chest in an effort to ward off the cold. "I don't understand why Rachel made you wait out here?"
"She thinks I left a long time ago. She had an early flight tomorrow, and I didn't want to keep her up any longer than I already had."
Janet reached for his hand. It felt like a chunk of ice. "Just who is this Rachel?"
"A friend of Susan's."
"And a consummate actress." Several seconds passed in meaningful silence. "Janet, we can't go on like this."
"I know," she said softly, expressing a world of meaning in the two words.
Her answer caught him off guard. He had anticipated more of a fight or, at least, a little more resistance. His success made him push harder. "I want you to come home with me tonight so we can get everything that's keeping us apart out in the open and settle it once and for all."
"All right."
"All right?" he almost shouted. "You're going to capitulate that easily, after I've been out here all this time freezing my…" He struggled for a suitable word. The ones that came to mind belonged in a locker room. "What I've been freezing off is beside the point." He raked his hand through his hair. "If you figured out what I was doing, why didn't y
ou say something earlier?"
"You're giving me more credit than I deserve. The only thing I figured out during those miserable hours you forced me to wait for you is that I love you beyond reason… beyond stubbornness, too." Her voice dropped to a whisper. "I've decided that if at all possible, I would much rather live my life with you than without you."
He no longer felt the cold as the warmth of her words penetrated him, creating a joyous swell of pleasure. He cradled her face in his hands. "I love you," he said. She came forward to receive his kiss. The touch of his lips erased the pain of their separation. The trauma of the past week had created a compelling, nearly compulsive desire to be in the loving shelter of his embrace, to feel the healing touch of his love. Her arms wrapped around his neck. "Didn't you say something about taking me somewhere?" she murmured against his lips as relief gave ground to passion.
Reluctantly he held her away from him. He wanted more than tonight from her. He wanted her with him the rest of his life. "I have to warn you, Janet," he said, his voice deadly serious. "Once I get you on board The Promise, you're not getting off again until we've decided once and for all how we're going to start seeing each other on a regular basis."
She ignored his warning. There was no longer any doubt in her mind that they would find a way to be together. "On board?" she repeated, confused. Could all Eric's vague references to promising things have been about a boat called The Promise?
Was it possible he had never told her where he really lived? "I thought you knew my home was in Sausalito."
"I did. But you never mentioned your home was a boat." How could she not know something like that about him?
"It's where I've lived for the past five years."
She took his hand and stood up. The information that Eric lived on a boat didn't come close to fitting in with the mental image she had created of the strait-laced, rich corporate lawyer. Obviously there were some important things she didn't know about Eric that it was high time she did. "I want to see this boat."
A Week from Friday Page 17
