by Helen Conrad
“Like it?” he whispered.
She smiled, then let her lids drop sleepily again. More, she wanted to say. Much, much more.
But all too soon it was over. The warm water was cascading over her hair, rinsing out all the soap, and Michael was righting the chair so that she could finally come into a sitting position.
He put a towel over her head and she peeked out from under, suddenly shy to let him see her this way, without her dignity.
“Where did Nancy go?” she asked. “What have you done with her?”
“I just sent her on a little errand,” he said, taking her hand to lead her back to Nancy's booth. “She'll be right back.”
“What did you do?” she asked suspiciously, sitting in the chair and turning it so she could look into his face. Michael was picking up a pair of scissors and experimenting, snapping them open and closed, and Shelley forgot all about Nancy for the moment.
“Oh, no, you don't,” she said with firm conviction. “You may be borderline capable of washing hair, but cutting is a no-no.”
He looked crestfallen. “Just one little experiment?” he coaxed. “Wouldn't you like to try the wedge? It's all the rage with the new wave rock stars.”
“Where's Nancy?” She was getting desperate imagining what her hair would look like once Michael put his theories into action.
Luckily Nancy was coming back into the shop at that very moment. In her arms was a tray with a cake covered with candles. She smiled at Shelley, hid the cake, and motioned toward Michael to keep her occupied.
“I'm getting a bad feeling about this,” Shelley said, her voice low with a foreboding of doom. “Just what have you set in motion here?”
“I like birthday parties, don't you?” he asked pleasantly. He went back to drying her hair with the towel. “They're such cheery affairs. Everyone gets to eat cake and feel good.”
“It's not my birthday, Michael.”
“Isn't it? How was I to know?”
“It was a pretty good guess. One chance out of three hundred and sixty-five that you might be wrong.”
“Odds like that just challenge me.” He grinned, putting down the towel. “It was the only way I could think of to get her to leave you alone so that I could get to you. I slipped her some loose change to go next door to the bakery. Told her it was a surprise for your birthday.”
“Michael!”
But it was too late. The candles had been lit. All the staff and half the patrons were advancing on her, Nancy and the cake in the lead. The strains of “Happy Birthday to You” were beginning to lilt through the air. Shelley sat and watched them come, nonplussed. There was no way she could tell these good people the truth at this stage. She looked at the smiles on their faces. Michael was right. Birthday parties were cheery affairs. They were feeling good. And what did it hurt?
“I'll see you soon, Shelley.” He leaned down near her face, then just grazed her cheek with a quick kiss. “Have a nice party.”
“But—” She didn't want him to go. Suddenly she knew she never wanted him to go again. She loved him, loved him so much, she knew it was hopeless to try to pretend she could stifle the emotion. She reached out toward him and he took her hand, squeezing it for just a moment.
“I've got to go,” he told her. “I just wanted to make sure you didn't forget me.” And then he was disappearing through the advancing celebrators.
Forget him. Was he crazy? She would never forget him as long as she lived, even if she never saw him again. But she had to see him again. And she knew she would. She laughed and ate cake and had her hair cut, but he was never out of her mind for a moment.
She was crazy about him. No point in denying it any longer. So what was she going to do about it?
He dropped by the apartment the next evening, planning to leave a huge arrangement of summer flowers on her doorstep, but she caught him at it, throwing open the door just as he set it on the porch. She eyed the flowers and shook her head, but she had to smile at him.
“You want to stay for dinner?” she asked him tentatively.
He looked at her uncertainly, then shook his head. “Not until you make up your mind,” he said softly.
She frowned, not sure what he meant, but Robin came in right behind her and laughed at the two of them.
“You really ought to stay,” she said, dropping two bags of groceries on the decorative table on their front porch. “I’ve got juicy gossip and everything.”
They both turned to look at her.
She smiled smugly and made a gesture meant to show how her lips were sealed.
“You’d better spill the beans, Robin,” Shelley warned her, trying to regain some equilibrium. “Michael’s an experienced interrogator.”
Michael nodded, his eyes sparkling. “Ruthless, if I do say so myself,” he added, teasing. “In other words, I have ways to make you talk.”
Robin rolled her eyes. “I couldn’t keep this to myself if I tried,” she said. She looked at Shelley. “It’s about your cousin Tag. And Mickey Adams.”
“Mickey?” Shelley scrunched her face as she considered the subject. “Isn’t she supposed to be getting married today?”
“She was.” Robin raised an eyebrow significantly. “To Robert Harding, the banker.”
“Yes. I have the announcement here somewhere.”
“Don’t bother digging it out. The wedding didn’t happen.”
Shelley turned to stare at her. “What? Where did you hear that?”
“Jennifer. The lady who is about to deliver twins at any moment. She was there. I saw her at the market.”
“What happened?”
“Well, it started out okay. From what Jennifer said, it was a beautiful wedding. Flowers everywhere, garlands of roses decorating the pews. Lovely voices singing lovely songs. And then it came time for the ceremony. Everyone was sitting there, waiting. Robert and his best man were at the altar, along with the minister, waiting. The Wedding March boomed out. Everyone turned.” She threw her hands up for emphasis. “But no bride appeared. Nothing..”
“What?” Shelley pulled her arms in close, suddenly chilled to the bone. “Mickey didn’t show up?”
Robin shrugged. “Not only did she not show up. She was seen driving off with your cousin, Tag Carrington. And his boat is now missing from the marina.”
“No!” Shelley gasped, hand covering her mouth. “I was just talking to him the other day and he said…” Her voice trailed off. What had Tag done? Had he just ruined his life? And Mickey’s? How could they have been so reckless.
“Well, he’s gone. And so is Mickey. And everyone knows they were crazy about each other. So what do you think?”
Shelley frowned, sick at heart. “Do you really think he kidnapped Mickey? Stole her right out of her own wedding?”
“Looks like.”
Shelley swallowed hard and looked at Robin again. “Do you think it was against her will?” she asked softly.
Robin snorted. “Hardly. She’s loved him for years.”
“Oh.” Shelley put her hand over her heart. It was thumping so hard, she was afraid the others could hear it. Was Mickey brave? Or incredibly foolish? She wasn’t sure what the answer was.
“What about Robert?” she asked, suddenly remembering the poor groom left at the altar. “How’s he taking it?”
“Not well, from what Jennifer said. He’s called the police and vowed to go after her himself if they can’t do something about it.”
Shelley nodded. “You can hardly blame him. Poor guy.”
“Poor guy,” Michael said, finally joining the conversation. “But dangerous guy right now. He’s got to want his harpoon in Tag’s hide the way Ahab wanted that white whale. I’d stay out of his way.”
Shelley stared at him. This was exactly the sort of thing she had to guard against. Untamed emotions, grabbing something because you wanted it, no matter the consequences— Didn’t he see that things like that destroyed lives? Didn’t he understand how impossible it was?
No, she didn’t think he did. But he dropped a kiss on her cheek before starting off again.
“You don’t want dinner?” she asked rather plaintively.
He shook his head. “Not tonight,” he said. “I’ve got things to do.” He gestured toward the flowers. “Better put them in water. You wouldn’t want them to wilt.” Then he grinned as though that should mean something to her and walked off whistling.
“Darn you Michael,” she whispered, but she turned back toward the apartment and followed Robin in. “If you ever figure out what men really want out of life, let me know,” she said, feeling grumpy.
“Will do,” Robin answered breezily. “Right after I get a good fix on what we women want.”
They ate without him and chatted, then Shelley’s phone rang. Her brother Rick was on the line.
“You won’t believe this,” he told her without preamble. “Kathy won.”
She gaped in shock. “Kathy won? You mean, at the Rome swim meet?”
“Yes. Kathy won. She came in first. She proved to the world that a swimmer doesn’t have to be under twenty-five to come out on top. World champion. Our sister. Number one.”
Shelley bit her lower lip and tears began to pour down her face. Everyone had told Kathy she was crazy, but Kathy had faced them all down and she’d believed in herself. “Oh Rick,” she sobbed. “I’m so proud of her.”
“Me too.” Rick sounded a bit tearful himself. “I gotta go. I’ve got to call Dad.”
Shelley nodded. She knew her sister would want that. Funny how Kathy had always been at odds with their parents, while she and Rick had lived a different sort of relationship with them. Chemistry. It was all about personal chemistry. “I’m so happy,” she said, and she knew she was crying harder than the situation warranted.
“Hey kid,” Rick said, getting concerned. “Are we going to see you at the ball tomorrow?”
“Sure. Of course.”
“Great. We can tell everyone the news then and we can all celebrate Kathy’s triumph together,” he said. “Like a family.”
She nodded, but the tears wouldn’t stop. “Love you,” she muttered as she hung up. Love, the universal remedy to everything. If only one knew how to use it.
Shelley was off to the Waltz Away Ball at her grandfather’s mansion, Mar Vista, the next night. She tried to talk Robin in to going with her, without success.
“I’ll just stay home and sulk,” Robin said. “That’s about all I’ve got left.”
So Shelley went by herself and didn’t get home until almost midnight.
“The whole thing was crazy,” she told Robin as she walked in the door. “Butlers passing out and birds flying around. But my grandfather seemed to like it and I guess that’s all that counts.”
The funny thing was, Robin didn’t seem to be listening. She was bouncing off the walls. Shelley tried to figure out what was going on, but all she could get out of her were unintelligible squeaks and squeals, with a lot of waving about of paper things. Finally she grabbed away one of the papers and read it. It was a letter from Jim.
“A round-trip ticket.” Robin was finally able to form real words. “A round-trip ticket. I'm turning it in.”
Joy was blooming all over the woman, and she was talking about turning in a round-trip ticket to Rio de Janeiro? Shelley was thoroughly confused, so she tried to read the letter.
“He wants you to meet him in Rio to talk things over,” she said, looking puzzled.
“Yes!” Robin squealed. “And he doesn't even know about the letter I sent him, where I absolutely groveled at his feet. Oh, he's so wonderful, I'm so lucky, how could I ever have let him out of my sight?” She grabbed away the letter and kissed it soundly.
Shelley shook her head. “But you're turning the ticket in? I don't get it.”
“Of course, silly. He sent a round-trip ticket so I could come back if I want to. But I don't want to! I'm going to turn it in for a one-way. Do you think that will convince him I mean it?”
Shelley grinned. “It convinces me.”
The night was filled with furious packing and lots of hugging and not a few tears. In the morning Robin was off to the airport, and Shelley was left to worry about her own romance once again.
CHAPTER TEN:
Teaching a Lesson to the Teacher
Shelley always wore her glasses when she lectured at the local college as part of the adult-education extension program. She wore her hair back in what she thought of as a sophisticated twist, dressed in suits, and tried to look as professional as she could. That was the only way she could face all those people every Thursday night.
Her class wasn't large. There were twelve participants on most nights, men and women in their late twenties to mid-thirties, serious people who wanted to find out how to gain control of their lives.
The room they used was small and intimate, carpeted and furnished with armchairs, more like an office than a classroom. The members of the class could draw their chairs up close to the desk from which she lectured. She liked to encourage class participation. She felt that the class members were getting into it more if they had to make comments and think out questions.
The class was called Getting in Touch—with You! She hadn't named it. The course had actually been offered for years, and she'd been asked to take over barely three months before when the psychologist who usually ran it took a much-needed sabbatical.
This Thursday night she'd almost called the session off. She was feeling tense and excited, sure that Michael was about to drop some sort of bombshell, and she couldn't keep her mind on her research. But responsibility took the upper hand, and she'd shown up right on time. She worked on papers while the people filtered in, so it wasn't until the bell rang and she rose to lean against the front of the desk and begin her lecture that she saw the new member at the back of the class.
Everyone else faded from her consciousness as she checked him out. The white polo shirt and dark slacks were fine, but the hair was parted in the middle and slicked down, and he wore round, owl-eyed glasses. There was a notebook on his knee and a pen in his hand. He was obviously ready and eager for information. He looked as though his name should be Horatio, Shelley thought. But it wasn't. It was Michael.
She looked away quickly, before he could glance up and catch her eye. She had to take a moment to control the bubble of laughter that was trying to escape up her throat. Coughing, she adjusted her glasses and raised her head again.
“Excuse me,” she said in a strained voice. “May I ask what you're doing here?”
All the others in the room turned to look at Michael, and he smiled at them, his face open and angelic. “I'm Mike Daniels,” he said with happy innocence. “I'm just auditing.”
“Just . . . auditing?” She noticed quite a glow centered just about over her heart. She was glad he was here. “Fine,” she told him. “You just go ahead and audit. And if you have any questions, don't hesitate to ask.” She smiled at him. He smiled back, but it was Mike Daniels, not Michael Hudson. She turned back to the class.
“Last week we started looking at games and how we all play them,” she began. “We talked about how games are transactions we set up to protect ourselves. We talked about how we try to cover up our weaknesses with them, how they keep us apart from those we love and want to get closer to. I asked you to chart a twenty-four-hour period, trying to pinpoint the different games you found yourself playing. Did you all do that?” Heads nodded, smiles popped out. “Good. Who would like to share their findings with the rest of us?”
She went on just as she did every Thursday night, only this time everything seemed heightened. There was a tension in the room, and it stemmed right from Michael's eyes. It was exciting, but she began to wonder when he would do something outrageous. As time passed and he sat quietly, as though he really were only auditing, she realized with a start that she was disappointed.
Was she going nuts? Did she really like it when he did crazy things?
Yes, so
mething deep inside cried out. I love it.
So when she saw his hand shoot up at the back of the room, she turned to him almost eagerly. “Mr. Daniels?” she asked, heart beating a little more quickly.
“Ms. Carrington.” He stood beside his chair to address her, though it wasn't the custom in the class. “I can't help but think there's something missing here.”
He looked so goofy in the round glasses, she found herself grinning in spite of what he said. “What's that?”
“Well, you call your class Getting in Touch—with You. But I don't see much touching going on.” He waved toward the others. “No physical contact whatsoever.”
Uh-oh. Maybe she'd been a bit rash to wish for this. A gentle buzz began to cloud her hearing and she felt a little dizzy—as though she were going into a trance. “You see, Mr. Daniels,” she managed to get out. “By getting in touch, we mean in the emotional sense.”
“Sure. I get that. But in my experience, I’ve found that hands-on methods work wonders to improve communication skills.”
She put her hand over her mouth to keep from laughing out loud. She was feeling a little punch drunk right now. He was talking but she wasn’t sure what he was saying. Something about Canola oil. He had a plan, no doubt about it. And she would end up embarrassed--and entertained at the same time.
Was he really doing all this just to get her to go out with him? And why was it again that she was resisting? Wouldn’t they all be happier if she would just give in?
“Mr. Daniels,” she said, demanding the attention of the class, even though he was in mid-sentence. “Enough.” She looked at the others. “Class, I’m afraid Mr. Daniels is taking us way ahead of our carefully structured lesson plan. I’m going to have to confer privately with him and thoroughly examine his research and experience before I can let him explain such advanced methods to students in a beginning class like this.”
She looked at Michael. His mouth was open in surprise. She gave him a haughty look, as though to say, “See? I can do this, too.”
