Because she was a fool, that’s why. He was gone. Good riddance. If only she could believe this!
She would have liked to discuss Deke Washburn with Jill, but to do that would be to open everything Deke had said and done to endless discussion and dissection. Jill delighted in analyzing man-woman relationships. Dorian wasn’t ready to submit Deke to such scrutiny.
Dorian really had no choice but to take the Dr. Feelgood job, according to her agent. She could build upon her Dr. Feelgood fame to establish her career on a broader base. Never mind that commercials weren’t art; this one, because of its uniqueness, would give her career a boost that she’d never get from stints in a dinner theater production.
“And to think this Dr. Feelgood opportunity came along out of the clear blue,” Jill said to Dorian one day as they were taking advantage of a beautiful sunny weekend to go rollerblading in Piedmont Park.
“It was more like it came out of a red Miata,” Dorian said, unable at the moment to match Jill’s enthusiasm. They had stopped to rest on a park bench, and she saw a Miata stopped at a traffic light in the distance, reminding her of the one she’d given up.
“What? Oh, the car. You should have kept it. How are you going to get back and forth to the studio? Didn’t you say that the studio is in Alpakka?”
“The MARTA doesn’t even go to Alpakka,” Dorian said glumly. “And the studio is a full fifteen miles from our apartment.”
Dorian was still mourning the absence of the red Miata. It was silly, she knew. She really couldn’t accept such an expensive gift. But still, she’d half expected the car to reappear in her parking space.
She considered herself to be adept at reading men—knowing what they wanted, when it was time to lead them on, when it was time to ease away. She always ended up easing away. They never did.
And now Deke Washburn had proven himself to be the exception to the rule. He hadn’t even bothered to ease. He had practically galloped out of her life on the day that he’d seen her home on the MARTA.
“I said, let’s go see if we can find a water fountain,” Jill said.
Dorian got up. “Sorry, I wasn’t listening.” She started off along the path, rolling along with great determination.
Behind her, Jill labored to catch up. “Wait up,” she called. “What’s the matter with you? Honestly, Dorian, I’ve never seen you like this. You act as if you’re lost in space.”
Dorian slowed down until Jill came abreast of her. “I was thinking about where I’m going to get the time to shop for a car once I sign that contract,” Dorian said.
“Send a male friend to do it,” said Jill. “Like Charles, for instance. He loves to dicker, and he’d bowl a used-car salesman over with his plummy British royalty accent.”
“I’d rather not ask Charles. I feel as if I’m halfway responsible for what happened at Moonlight & Magnolias.”
“Someone else, then?”
“All the men I know have disappeared from my life. They get tired of being put on hold while I attempt to make a living at what I do best,” said Dorian. “Anyway, men are distractions at best and destructive at worst, and most fall somewhere in between. Who needs it?”
“I assume that was a rhetorical question. Besides, another guy will show up in your life sooner or later. They always do.”
“I don’t need a man. I can manage by myself. Men always try to tell me what to do, how to live, and so on. It gets tiresome.”
“I never noticed your actually paying any attention.” Jill rolled to a stop in front of a water fountain.
“Well, I wouldn’t make a man the linchpin of my life,” Dorian said while Jill was drinking.
“What’s a linchpin?” Jill asked, wiping the water off her chin.
“Oh, it’s something that keeps a wheel from sliding off an axle. It’s just an expression.”
“I wonder if skates have linchpins,” Jill said speculatively. They skated away from the water fountain, dodging two small girls who were jumping rope.
“I wonder if it makes any difference,” Dorian said. “Don’t you have anything more important to think about?”
“Sure,” Jill said. “This.” She pulled a chocolate bar out of her pocket and broke it in two, offering half to Dorian.
Dorian knew she shouldn’t be eating chocolate; she should be sticking to a diet so that she wouldn’t seem overweight in the commercials. Everyone knew that the camera added ten pounds.
But the chocolate went down easily, and after she ate it, Dorian could have sworn that she felt a definite upswing of her mood.
“Men aren’t the answer. Chocolate is,” Dorian called over her shoulder to Jill, who laughed.
“Chocolate may be the answer, but what was the question?”
“Linchpins?” called Dorian, but by this time, she’d left Jill far behind.
* * *
DORIAN SHOWED UP at the corporate offices of Dr. Feelgood’s Herbal Teas shortly after noon on Monday to affix her signature to the contract, a document that guaranteed her employment for the next six months. She waded through papers, signing each one in turn. When at last she had finished, Bob suggested, “Now, shall we celebrate over lunch?”
“I’d be delighted,” Dorian said, but the only reason she wanted to go was to see if Deke would show up.
He didn’t, so throughout the meal as she and Bob exchanged polite conversation, Dorian tried to think of a way to bring up Deke’s name.
She didn’t have to because, much to her relief, Bob Washburn finally led into the subject of Deke over dessert. It happened when Dorian complimented his tie, and Bob said that his wife chose most of his ties but that they’d both been amazed when Deke had presented him with this one. Deke had apparently found it in some out-of-the-way boutique.
Dorian ignored the mention of the boutique and pounced on the opening.
“Deke? I thought he must be out of town,” she said ever so casually.
“No, he’s around, but Larissa has been monopolizing him lately. She’s trying to make him over into high society and marry him off to the prettiest post-debutante in Atlanta, and she knows quite a few.”
Dorian could think of no suitable reply to this. But at least now she knew why Deke hadn’t called. He had been busy turning on his charm with post-debs all over town, pursuing them, showering them with new cars. For the first time in her life, she thought she might be feeling a little green curl of jealousy right in the pit of her stomach.
“Not that Deke is going to adopt Larissa’s list of suitable friends. He’s not much into the white-wine-and-brie scene. Deke won’t knuckle under to Larissa. Especially after he moves into his own place.” Bob chuckled, seeming to find it amusing that Deke would buck his wife.
As Bob asked for the check, Dorian wondered why she should care what Deke was doing or with whom. Deke was nothing but an irritation, an annoyance. True, he had helped her nail down this job, but on a personal level, he was pure trouble. Also, she never became romantically involved with the boss. It had happened once before in her life with disastrous consequences. And she was now working for Deke Washburn, like it or not. It was hard to think of this boyish, devil-may-care scamp as the power behind the Dr. Feelgood’s empire, but that’s exactly what he was. She would do well to remember it.
And then she looked up and saw Deke proceeding purposefully through the restaurant, looking neither to the right or left.
Uh-oh, she thought.
People stopped eating to stare at him as he passed, maybe because the other people in the restaurant were wearing business suits or tailored dresses, and Deke wore his trademark faded jeans and a black T-shirt. As people gawked, Deke slid into a chair beside Dorian. Bob’s pen stopped in midair on the way to signing the credit-card slip.
Deke looked not at Bob or the astonished waiter but only at Dorian, taking in her open mouth, her wide eyes. He spared a glance for his brother. “I hope I’m not being so rude that you’ll never speak to me again, but Bob, will you scram? Leave me alo
ne with Dorian?”
Dorian was stunned. He was talking so loudly that she was sure that everyone in the restaurant could hear every word he said.
Bob was completely unperturbed. He handed the pen and the tray with the check on it to Deke. “I’m always happy to clear out if you’ll get the check,” he said.
“No problem.”
“Then if you’ll excuse me, Dorian,” Bob said with a wink, and he left.
Dorian stared at Deke. His hair stuck up in a cowlick at the crown of his head, his shirt revealed muscles rigid with tension, and his jeans clung to his legs as if they had been painted on. She thought he was the most handsome man she had ever seen, and she hated herself for thinking it.
“Dorian, I can’t explain this,” he said heavily. “I tried to stay away, but I couldn’t. I haven’t stopped thinking about you since I left you that day I escorted you home on the MARTA.”
Dorian, for once, was speechless.
“I know you don’t think much of me, and I understand why. I’m asking for a chance to prove to you that I’m a nice guy. I’m nuts about you. I love the way you walk and talk and the way your hair swishes when it hangs down your back. I like the dimples in your knees. I like the way you took care of Charles when I hit him and never seemed to mind that he bled all over your suit. And right now I want you to get up and walk out of this restaurant and get in the car parked by the fire hydrant right out in front.” His gaze was so intense and his words were so forceful that Dorian had no doubt that he meant every syllable. Furthermore, when he looked at her that way, she felt com-pletely naked, as though she wasn’t wearing a stitch.
“You shouldn’t order me around,” she said, unable to give in so easily.
“I shouldn’t, but I am. It’s the only way to get my point across. So what does that mean?” His hair had fallen across his forehead, and he looked as if he would kiss her if she gave him half a chance. The fact that everyone was staring at them seemed not to bother him in the least.
“I don’t know what any of this means,” she said, unable to stop looking at him. Inwardly, she was close to swooning.
“Give me a minute or two to pay the check. Go outside—you’ll see the red Miata that you don’t want. It’s unlocked. I’ll meet you there. We’ve got to talk, Dorian.”
Talk? When he looked at her like that, she wouldn’t mind speaking whole soliloquies if it meant that he’d keep on doing it.
All of Dorian’s resolutions concerning Deke Washburn flew out of her head. Who he was and what he was mattered not at all. She stood up and said, “I’ll be there,” before fleeing from the restaurant, her pulse pounding in her temples.
* * *
IT WAS A DAY for speeding along the highway without a care in the world. Unfortunately, Dorian couldn’t stop thinking that this was a fool thing to do, running off with Deke Washburn like this. Maybe he regretted it, too, because as they headed out of the city with the convertible top down, he was grim-faced and silent. Dorian sat beside him, her hands clasped in her lap, unable to talk to someone who refused to look at her.
“Where are we going?” she ventured finally.
“You’ll see when we get there.”
She absorbed this in silence. “Jack the Ripper. The Boston Strangler. You get my drift,” she said hopefully.
He took his eyes off the road momentarily. She was relieved to see that there was a glint of merriment in their depths.
“Dorothy and Toto. Phileas Fogg. Do you get mine?” he said.
“Not exactly. Is it a clue?”
“Yes, but don’t expect me to tell you anything more. I certainly hope you’re the kind of woman who likes surprises.”
She thought she detected a worried note. “Pleasant surprises are great, but—”
“Relax. It’ll be fun.”
“Fun,” she repeated.
“Sure. Loosen up, Dorian. Anyway, what I want to know is, why do you keep slipping your shoes off and on?”
She hadn’t realized she was doing it. “I have blisters. Look,” she said, extending her foot so he could see.
He winced. “Are all women masochists?” he wanted to know.
“Maybe,” she said. “It would explain a lot.”
He ignored this and slowed the car in front of a strip shopping centre, turning the steering wheel sharply when he came to an empty parking space in front of a trendy women’s clothing store.
“We’re going to outfit you more sensibly,” he said in reply to her questioning look. He reached across her and mashed the car door handle until the door swung open.
She looked down at her businesslike navy blue suit, panty hose to match, and the high-heeled pumps that belonged to Jill.
“What’s wrong with this?” she asked uncertainly.
“Nothing. It looks great on you, but I’m going to buy you something more suited to the afternoon’s activities.”
“Which are?”
“None of your business yet. Hurry up, time’s a-wasting,” he countered. With one last quizzical look, she got out of the car.
Before she could think of a response, he added, “You’re much too serious. Remember, this is supposed to be fun,” he said, a sudden smile lighting up his face.
She was really glad to see him grinning at her, his eyes crinkling at the corners, one straight lock of hair falling in his eyes.
“Come on,” he said, and before she knew it he was around the car and grabbing her hand, leading her into the clothing store.
“Find her something to wear. Sportswear or something,” he commanded the girl behind the counter, who was blowing a bubble with her gum and reading a copy of the Wall Street Journal.
Rapidly he explained that Dorian would need something in the way of pants, like jeans or a pair of bloomers, which made Dorian stifle a giggle.
“And she’s got to have a T-shirt or a blouse, make it something pretty, and socks and shoes,” he said.
The girl looked doubtfully at the high-heeled pumps. “The only shoes we carry is our special line of hand-painted sneakers,” she said.
“Sneakers would be good,” Dorian told her.
“And don’t take too long,” Deke said summarily. He picked up the salesclerk’s discarded Wall Street Journal and leaned against the counter to read it as Dorian was borne away to the dressing room.
Dorian found a pair of leggings that fit, after which the girl went away and came back with a long, tuniclike silk T-shirt in periwinkle blue, dyed to match the leggings. Socks and a pair of ridiculous paisley-painted sneakers com-pleted the outfit, which was outrageous but flattered her coloring. Deke perked up considerably when she reappeared.
“That looks great,” he said enthusiastically, his eyes raking her from top to bottom. “How are the feet?”
“Better,” Dorian admitted. She wiggled her toes in blissful relief.
“I like your boyfriend,” the girl whispered to Dorian as Deke signed the credit-card slip, and Dorian whispered back, “He’s not my boyfriend.”
“You could do worse,” said the clerk as she handed Dorian her own clothes folded into a bag, and Dorian shot Deke a worried look, trying to figure out if he’d heard. If he had, his face gave nothing away.
“Now,” Deke said when they were back in the car and speeding south. “What do you usually do for fun?”
“Jill and I like to go rollerblading. It’s good exercise.”
He seemed taken aback. “Rollerblading? It looks dangerous. You shouldn’t be doing it,” he said.
“I wear elbow pads and knee pads and a helmet.”
“You are now officially the new Dr. Feelgood. What if you break a leg or an arm and can’t work?”
“You have a tea that soothes an upset stomach and one that makes people sleepy. Don’t you have one that mends broken bones?” she asked, all innocence.
“No, but I’ll start working on it immediately after I discover a blend that cures the common cold. Seriously, Dorian, you shouldn’t take chances. Promise me you wo
n’t do any more rollerblading, at least until we’ve filmed all the commercials.”
“I’ll think about it,” she said. Her contract carried no restrictions about rollerblading or anything else. Furthermore, she didn’t want Deke Washburn telling her what to do.
She ventured a look at him as he concentrated on weaving through the steady stream of cars. He had put on a pair of sunglasses, so she couldn’t see his eyes. His arms were tanned and muscular, and he handled the car like a race-car driver, exhibiting a certain controlled recklessness. She found herself staring at the freckle on his earlobe, and when he noticed, she quickly looked away.
“So, um, Deke, what do you do for fun?”
“Oh, usually when I have extra time I like to get outdoors to renew my covenant with nature,” he said. They were now on a winding country road southeast of Atlanta, whizzing past boxy farmhouses and rural mailboxes mounted on wagon wheels. In the surrounding fields, red clay dust hung over the cotton and soybeans, lending a rich mellow glow to the slanting rays of the afternoon sun.
“Covenant with nature?” she asked.
“Yeah, well, it’s hard to explain. I take from nature in the form of herbs and give it back to people in the form of tea that they can drink to make them feel better. Without nature, where would I be? Back in Rabun County, taking tourists fishing on Blue Lake or some fool thing. So the way I see it, I owe everything to nature. It’s been good to me.”
“Blue Lake is where you lived before you moved to the city?”
“I have a house there. It used to belong to my Granny Nan, who taught me everything I know about herbs. She was a healer, a real old-fashioned herb doctor.”
“And she showed you how to make the teas?”
“A few, but I really began to come into my own after I began experimenting with different blends and spices. I’d backpacked through Europe after I quit college, and I’d seen how the Europeans depend on their herbal teas. I thought we needed something like them here, in the United States. I realized that Granny Nan knew more than almost anyone about the healing powers of herbs, so I talked it over with her. She guided me as I was developing my first twenty-two-herb tea.”
The World's Last Bachelor Page 7
