Many times Lara had thought, Why not just work with what I've got? She smiled at herself in the mirror again. From the bust upward, she was what they considered "a knockout". She was gorgeous, as pretty as any of the lean fruits, prettier than many. She primped her flowing, rippling locks again. Damn, Girl, you've got it going on, she told herself. And she believed it. After all, men liked a pretty face. A pretty face and a bright smile could turn many a male head. She had looks. She had brains. She could get their attention. The problem, she found too often, was that their attention was all that she could get, and even that did not last.
After too many first dates that never turned to seconds, and too many men who were there for a night and skidded off like hit-and-run drivers in the morning, and the sight of too many women who were not at all plump, pleasantly or otherwise, on the arms of too many beautiful-looking men, Lara had weighed her options and found them not to her liking. More than once she had thought to place a personal ad specifically looking for a "chubby chaser". There were problems with that as well. She hated thinking of herself, or identifying herself, as "chubby," even though she was. And personal ads, she had learned early in her dating life--such as it was--came with their own pitfalls. There were the men who lied about their looks and their jobs and their living situations, the men who were older than she wanted, the men who were chubby themselves. She had stopped talking to her girlfriends and the women in her family about her troubles with men. She was tired of hearing that she was "too picky" and of the insinuation that she was being "shallow". To Lara, those were the things people told you when you respected yourself enough to think you should have what your heart really desired, the things people said when they thought you had no business thinking of yourself as anything special--or anything more special than they. People, however well intentioned, trying to talk her out of her heart's desire for what they thought was her own good, did Lara no favors, so she kept her feelings and her heart--and, alas, everything else--to herself.
Sighing, Lara kicked off her shoes and padded in bare feet from her bedroom to the office section of her living room, where she kept a large, comfortable leather chair at the desk. She curled up in the chair and reached over to her iPad which rested next to the computer. She put it in her lap. She then reached over next to where the iPad had rested and took from there the thin, rectangular white box, which she rested on the arm of the chair. She lifted the lid and smiled a little smile at the rows of chocolate truffles nestled in the box. They were nothing but truffles; she always ordered them specifically. The confectioner's shop down the street knew her as "the truffle lady". She may not be able to get or hold onto the kind of man she wanted, but chocolate was another matter entirely.
With a truffle in one hand, Lara used the other to turn on the iPad. Munching on her sweet surrogate for a boyfriend, she opened her PDF reader and went over her notes for the fundraising party she was attending this evening. Her latest project was for wildlife organizations focused on the conservation of tigers. Scrolling through PDF pages copied and downloaded from the Web, Lara again went over the things that she had been reading for the last couple of weeks about tigers, all the facts with which she would need to arm herself to help the conservation groups persuade wealthy guests to donate to their cause, the protection of one of the most beautiful and endangered animals on the planet.
In the documents that had pictures and illustrations in them, Lara saw page after page with images of tigers: in tall grass, in forests, in water and by the sides of streams. She saw them in zoos and in performing acts. As she kept paging through, so many of the things that she saw disturbed her, dismayed and appalled her, made her almost want to cry. There were images of places with tiger skins stretched out, stripped and ripped from the beautiful animals after they were slain. There were pictures of places where tigers' body parts were sold as trophies, as delicacies, and for quack "medicines". She saw pictures of hunters standing proudly with their guns beside the bodies of tigers they had shot. What the hell do you have to be so proud of? she thought. As a fundraiser, Lara worked mostly with things about which she had no personal feelings. Most of the time she was only helping people collect money, and the work was only work. But this was different. What men were doing to the tigers, whose numbers had fallen precipitously into mere thousands in isolated pockets of the wild, was nothing less than the destruction of something beautiful. The destruction of beauty, the rendering of beauty into extinction, made Lara want to cry. Or get very, very angry. This time it was not just a job, just a thing to pay the bills. This time it meant something. She bit into a truffle and felt like a tiger biting into a deer.
By the time she finished lunch--which the chocolate did not spoil--and she had to shower and dress for the party, Lara had fixed her mind on the work awaiting her. She could not show the people at the party how she really felt. She had to keep it all on a professional level. She would keep it professional--and she would get results. The theme of the party, which was being held at a penthouse just off the park near the river, was in fact tigers. Everyone invited was required to wear something to evoke the image of the big striped cats. Lara imagined the tableau that would meet her eyes when she walked in, as the party filled up; all the tiger outfits that people would be wearing. Some, she guessed, would even be in costumes. Back at the mirror, she let the corner of her mouth turn up in a wry smile at the thought of being in a penthouse full of stripes, whiskers, ears, and tails. For her part, Lara chose to don the shoes from earlier and her slinkiest black strapless formal, or at least the slinkiest such dress made for a pear. This she accented with a sash across the waist, for which she had searched high and low in the city and which she had finally found on line--a silk sash with a tiger skin print. She was satisfied that it was appropriate for the evening and for the part she would be playing in it; tasteful and not ostentatious. Ruffling her hair one last time and putting on her black tiger-print wrap--another painstaking find--she was ready to go to work.
CHAPTER 2
The party was held in a penthouse taking up the uppermost two floors of a building of condos in the toniest, ritziest part of town, on a street that looked as if one should have a six-figure income just to walk there. The penthouse itself looked as much like a museum or an art gallery as a place where someone lived. It was all huge picture windows, vast and spacious rooms, wide stairways, brass railings, an indoor water fountain with koi fish swimming in the pool, and sumptuous furniture, all done up for the evening with potted palms, exotic ferns, and wild flowers to suggest a rain forest. This was the home of the very monied widow Mrs. Eve Dwight-Harrington, a member of that idle rich benefactor class whose names one saw in the lists of donors to arts and cultural programs on Public Television. Arriving at the party, Lara found her friend Clara Olstead, a friendly looking African-American woman, standing near the door, mingling with various tiger-garbed guests. Lara was an old friend that Lara had met after college; as a freelance publicist and party planner she traveled in many of the same circles as Lara herself.
Clara noticed Lara and excused herself from the people with whom she was chatting. With a broad smile, she went over to Lara and gave her a hug. Lara grinned at Clara's tiger-striped tiara, arm bands, and bracelets accenting her eggshell-colored dress. "Looking good, Girl," she said.
"You too, Girl," Clara said back. "Come say hi to Eve." Clara took Lara by the arm and together they made their way among people in tiger suits, tiger masks, tiger hats, tiger coats and jackets, and the like, to where a middle-aged lady in a tiger print dress stood looking like a Hollywood star from the 1940s. "Eve," called Clara, "Lara's here."
The older woman turned her attention to the two younger women and smiled warmly. "Lara, Dear, good evening."
Lara clasped hands with Eve, returning the smile. "Hello, Eve. So nice to see you again. I've been so looking forward to this. It's good to take on a project that means as much as this. How is everything going so far?"
"Mostly lovely," replied Eve. "Ever
yone I've spoken to seems terribly interested in helping this particular cause. Well, mostly everyone."
"Oh, my," said Lara. "Who would be here who isn't interested in helping tigers? Don't tell me it's some corporate boardroom type whose company wants to develop tiger habitat. What would someone like that be doing here?"
"If only it were something like that," Eve sniffed like a tiger picking up a bad scent in the forest Tilting her head subtly in one direction, she said, "Look over there."
"Oh, right," said Clara. "I forgot about her."
Curious and concerned, Lara looked where Eve and Clara were looking. Across the room stood a broad-shouldered man in a long black opera coat with his back turned to them--and facing him was a young, or youngish, light-haired brunette in a leopard-print jumpsuit. Not a tiger's stripes--a leopard's spots. This woman at a tiger-themed party had actually come dressed as the wrong kind of cat. Not only was she inappropriately costumed, she was one of those women--the slender, softly curved, toned, tight-bodied women who were always draped over the men that Lara fancied the most.
Lara disliked this woman instantly. She felt like hissing and spitting at the sight of her. "Who the hell is she?"
"That," frowned Clara, "is Gemma James, a supermodel. Or at least she's still trying to be one."
Lara forced herself not to growl audibly, Oh God, not a supermodel! It was another reason to hate her. This woman was from head to toes what Lara was only from the breasts up. Instead Lara posed the natural question, "What do you mean, 'still trying to be one'?"
"As a publicist I know how to check people out," answered Clara. "She's pushing 40 and the work is starting to dry up, not unlike the rest of her." Clara knew how "catty" she was sounding, but if one were going to be catty anywhere, this was the best place for it. "Her new career is looking for a rich husband to keep her the way she's gotten used to living. The word is, the TV producer she thought she was marrying called off the engagement because he had a roomful of Emmys and didn't need another trophy."
Lara was disgusted. "So she's trolling for a new meal ticket--here, now, dressed up as the wrong cat? Is she drunk?"
Clara shook her head. "She's liable to be on just about anything."
Lara said to Eve, "Well, why don't you just ask her to leave?"
Eve sighed, "Clara advises against it. If she makes an intoxicated scene, it'll put the event and what we're trying to accomplish in a bad light. Usually any publicity is good, but not for an evening like this. So I'm tolerating the little opportunist." She added a hint of a scowl to that last part.
Fuming, Lara looked back at "the little opportunist" and wondered aloud, "So who's that she's hitting on?" When a server brought a tray of champagne and Gemma and her prospective male companion each took a glass, the broad-shouldered man turned around and Lara got a look at what was standing there in the opera coat. In spite of her party manners, Lara let out a very audible gasp.
The man was nothing less than amazing. The black coat, trousers, and boots were all that he was wearing. The coat hung open and exposed a chest and stomach so hard and cut and packed that they were a veritable fortress of flesh. His skin was tanned in a way that one did not get on a beach or at a spa; this man was born that way. Waves of black hair topped a face with shocking, bright-green eyes--and a distinctly feline nose, snout, and whiskers, and orange, black, and white stripes. But the cut and contours of that face spoke of the human features beneath, features handsome enough to burn themselves into the heart of anyone who looked upon them. The sight of him made Lara clutch at her chest as if to stop her heart leaping from her body.
"Who is that?" Lara repeated. "And who did that makeup job on him? That's incredible!"
"I don't know," answered Eve. "His name is Manik. Evidently he's from England by way of India. All anyone here really knows about him is that his money is old, very old. He, on the other hand...makes me wish I were not the age that I am."
"He looks like he should have better taste than to be with this Gemma character, that's all I can say," Lara said.
"Tell it, Girl," Clara agreed.
Lara watched the needy, witless, fading supermodel hanging about the English god with the tiger's face, and with her mouth discreetly shut, she rolled her tongue across her teeth. Why is it always women like her? Always, every time. And what can I do about it? Nothing here. Nothing tonight. And what would I get if I tried to do anything about it? It's not like I can rescue this Manik from this idiot. It's not like he would even want me to rescue him. Unlike what he's made himself up as, he doesn't need anyone to save him. He doesn't need anything from me; I'm the one who needs... She didn't let herself finish the thought. If nothing else, Lara was a professional. She did not let things distract her when she was at work. Not even mysterious and impossibly beautiful men. Unlike this Gemma character, Lara had something to do that was actually of use in this world. She would do what she came to the party to do and let Manik take care of himself.
But oh, how Lara could take care of him. How she could indeed. However, her professional interests coincided just enough with her desire to meet Manik. She said to Clara and Eve, "Well, if he's a guest and he has money, I might as well meet him. He's what I'm here for." Head held high, she stepped away from her friend and her host, brushing aside the layers of meaning in the last thing she said, and headed directly for the model and the man with the tiger's face.
Lara was frankly surprised at herself. People who do not look like Manik--for for that matter, like Gemma--have a tendency to be intimidated in the presence of people who do. Lara was surprised at her lack of intimidation. Perhaps she was walking up to him to introduce herself strictly for business, but somehow she did not think so. Perhaps it was more that she knew this soon-to-be-faded beauty hovering next to him was not good enough for him. She knew nothing about Manik but his name, but somehow she could sense he deserved better than this back-issue cover girl.
Coming just within arm's length of the tiger-faced Adonis, Lara said, cordially, "Good evening, Mr...Manik, correct? My name is Lara Everly. I'm..."
A very masculine, very refined, English-accented voice rolled from his whiskered lips. "...the fundraising coordinator for this event," he finished for her. "Yes, I know. I remember your name from the literature."
Lara tingled all over at the sound of that voice. She barely noticed that Gemma wasn't smiling, and she didn't care. Lara held out her hand. Manik took her hand, bowed down, and gallantly kissed it, tickling her with his whiskers. Lara tingled more and Gemma's eyes narrowed resentfully. Lara still did not care. Manik stood back up, released her hand, and fixed the emerald jewels of his eyes on the pear in the tiger sash. Lara made herself talk instead of staring: "And Manik...is that your last name?"
"Please, I prefer just Manik." Minding his manners, he gestured to the leopard-clad woman beside him. "And this is..."
Now it was Lara's turn to finish for him. "Yes, your date, Ms. James." Deigning to acknowledge the model's presence, she simply said, "Nice to meet you."
"And you, Ms. Everly," the model said simply back.
Manik said, "Gemma isn't actually my date. I came by myself this evening. She's been kind enough to keep me company."
Hooking her arm around Manik's in an almost proprietary fashion, Gemma said, "Manik has been telling me all about India, where the tigers live."
Eyeing Gemma the way a butcher looks at a piece of meat on a hook and selects where to cut, Lara said, "Oh, India, yes. Tigers are indigenous to India, where there's a lot of controversy over land set aside for them. Some people want that land for other uses and if they take it away, the tigers will have no habitat left. Did you see that in the literature?"
Gemma stiffened at Lara's questioning, and Lara knew at once that the model hadn't read a word about the reason for the party. "Um...no, I didn't. But Manik was explaining to me..."
Lara cut her off. "Yes, tigers' natural habitat is India and Asia. But not Africa. Leopards, cheetahs, and lions live in Africa. Did you r
ealize that's a leopard print you're wearing?"
Gemma's mouth hung open, but no answer escaped it. She looked up helplessly at Manik, who smiled down solicitously at her, then smiled with fascination at Lara. "Uh...um...I think Manik was just about to tell me something about that..."
Manik offered, "Yes, I was going to bring that up just before you came over, Lara." At his using her first name, Lara felt as if a spark had suddenly been lit in the small of her back. She loved the way her name sounded in his voice. "It seems either everyone was too polite or didn't have the heart to point out Gemma's honest mistake. Big cats are not all the same, are they?"
"No, they're certainly not," replied Lara, satisfied that not only had she sliced into Gemma in exactly the right way, but that Manik had even helped her do it.
Anxious to regain her footing with her zoological faux pas made so plain, Gemma put on her best camera-ready smile and said, "I guess I ought to watch more Animal Planet, then!"
"And maybe even some National Geographic," added Lara, and smiled with closed lips. Then, directly to Manik: "I hope we have a chance to talk more later in the evening."
"So do I, Lara," said Manik, with another gallant bow of the head.
Lara turned and went back to Clara and Eve, her beaming smile showing them but not Manik and Gemma how proud she was that she had held her own with one of the women who always took home the choicest men.
The evening segued into a buffet dinner and dessert, after which the Eve and the guests all withdrew into the cavernous living room where chairs and sofas were arranged about a large screen connected to an iMac on a table. Lara took her place beside the table to begin the presentation that would be the party's main event. A member of Eve's staff dimmed the lights. As Lara began, she sought out the the face of Manik in its feline guise and found him sitting on, of all things, a love seat, with Gemma coiled up beside him with her arm once again around his. Hoping that no one would see her nostrils flaring, Lara started the slideshow on the computer.
AREA 69: An Alien Invasion Romance Novel Page 30
