Special of the Day

by Elaine Fox

  It was nothing personal. Steve seemed to be thanking her for something and apologizing for getting her home so late.

  Steve must be driving her home, Roxanne thought, and her nerves started to tremble at the knowledge that now was the time. She had to act. Quickly.

  Her heart hammered as she grabbed the carton of bulbs, jumped down, and dragged the chair back to the dining-room table. Then she put the lightbulbs on the counter in the kitchen and glanced out the window to the alley below.

  Steve’s truck was already gone.

  The coast was clear.

  She wasn’t sure how much time she had, so she rushed to the bedroom, carefully applied some makeup, took off her clothes, put on her black Chinese silk robe and headed for the door.

  Roxanne hadn’t been in Steve’s apartment five minutes when she heard the front door open. She was sitting on Steve’s bed, debating whether or not this was the most mortifying thing she’d ever done or the bravest, when the option of backing out of it was taken from her hands.

  He was here.

  Should she take the robe off? What did one do when one was hoping to seduce someone? Be subtle or blatant? Naked first? Clothed and apologizing later?

  Then again, how subtle was it to be in his bedroom, robed or unrobed? She should have sat on the couch. Or maybe she should have waited until he came home and just knocked on his front door. She could have let the robe fall from her shoulders at the door, and she would have been closer to making a clean getaway if he didn’t seem amenable.

  Heart fluttering and hands trembling like autumn leaves in a stiff breeze, she leaned back on his pillows and tried to arrange her hair artfully around her. She had brought a candle so he would see it was her, but the room was still pretty dim. She wasn’t sure he would notice it from the living room. She could be sitting here for hours while he worked on his computer or made dinner or something.

  Come to think of it, she realized she didn’t see any light coming from the living room either. Yet someone had definitely come through the front door. Why hadn’t they turned on the light?

  As quietly as she could, she pushed herself off the bed and tiptoed to the door.

  Someone was rustling around in the living room, but from here it looked perfectly dark. She crept down the hallway, inching her head slightly forward around the corner until one eye could see the room.

  In the corner stood a tall man with a flashlight, and he was going through Steve’s papers.

  Roxanne’s heart leaped to her throat and she backed into the hallway. It wasn’t Steve, standing there with a flashlight looking over his own papers. This man was bigger, bulkier…this man was shaped more like—Roxanne caught her breath.

  It all made sense. He would know all the details, he’d been fascinated by the story, he was the one who had implicated Steve to her…

  Roxanne’s blood began to boil, and before she gave it a second thought, she flipped on the hall light and stepped out into the living room.

  P.B. spun on his heels and issued a heartfelt “Shit!” the moment he set eyes on her.

  Roxanne stood there with her arms across her chest and adrenaline pumping in overdrive. “Hello, P.B.”

  “Roxanne! I—hi—uh, where’s…” He craned his head to look past her, as if expecting to see Steve emerge from the hallway behind her. When he didn’t, P.B. frowned at her and said, “What are you doing here?”

  “I was just about to ask you the same question.”

  P.B.’s face relaxed then, and he turned off the flashlight, putting it into his back pocket. “I was just picking up some stuff for Steve.”

  She looked at him in disbelief. A half laugh shot from her throat and she said, “What?”

  His head swaggered a little as he cooked up his story—no doubt bolstered by her failure to deny that Steve wasn’t here—and he put one hand arrogantly on his hip. “Yeah. Uh, Steve’s at my place and he wanted some of his notes. So I, uh, volunteered to come pick them up. On my way back from the store.”

  It was then that Roxanne noticed the plastic grocery bag P.B. held, in which several pieces of paper had already been stuffed.

  “So Steve’s at your place, and you came here to get stuff for him.”

  “That’s right.” P.B.’s face was cocky. His eyes raked her from head to toe, no doubt taking in her obviously naked state beneath the robe.

  Roxanne crossed her arms over her chest and pulled the neck of the robe closed with one hand. “Forgive me, P.B., if I tell you that I think you’re full of crap. I think you’re here ripping Steve off, just like you tried to rip me off.”

  P.B. chuckled, but a malicious gleam appeared in his eye. Roxanne suddenly wondered if she might be in some danger. P.B. was a cop. He had ways of making crimes disappear. His own crimes, that was.

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said lightly. “And you haven’t answered my question. I thought you and Steve broke up. What are you doing here?”

  At that moment, the front door opened and the lights in the living room came on. Steve halted in the foyer as he caught sight of the two of them.

  “What’s going on here?” His eyes swept from Roxanne, dressed as she was, to P.B., holding his grocery bag full of papers, and back again.

  Roxanne and P.B. gaped at him.

  Steve’s expression went from shocked to confused to angry. “Someone want to answer me?” He let his gaze settle on Roxanne and his expression seemed to soften slightly. Then he turned to P.B. “P.B.? Why don’t you go first?”

  Roxanne breathed a sigh of relief. He couldn’t have come back at a more opportune time.

  “Yes, P.B.,” she said, stepping farther out into the living room, arms around her middle to keep her stomach from leaping straight out of her body. “Why don’t you tell Steve the reason you just told me for why you’re here?”

  P.B. looked from one to the other of them and tried to muster a chuckle. “It’s funny, really.” His eyes appealed to Steve. “You’ll laugh, Steve-arino.”

  Steve pushed his hands into his pockets and walked slowly toward him. “I don’t know why, but I doubt that, P.B. So let’s dispense with the niceties until we get to the bottom of this, okay?”

  He reached P.B. and took the bag from his hand, then looked inside. One by one he pulled the papers out, nodding as he read them as if it was all just what he expected to see.

  “I, uh,” P.B. began. “See, I was just, there was this, this thing, see. And after listening to you, um…”

  Steve looked at him almost pityingly. “I’ll tell you what, Peeb. I’ll save you the trouble. I already know what you were doing here. And I have to congratulate you, you put your hands on a lot of the right stuff.” He held up the pages.

  “She was here first,” P.B. blurted, gesturing toward Roxanne. “She was going through this stuff, I just took it from her. It’s evidence, that’s what it is.”

  “That’s not true!” Roxanne gasped.

  Steve turned and looked at her, his expression unreadable as his eyes searched her. Her cheeks reddened.

  “She doesn’t really look dressed for a robbery, do you think, Peeb?” He glanced back at his friend. Then he added, “But I’ll deal with her,” he turned back to her, pausing—and she wasn’t sure, but she could swear she saw a slight smile—before adding “later.”

  Roxanne’s entire body heated up at the prospect.

  He faced P.B. again, then walked slowly around him to place the pilfered papers back on the desk.

  “But you,” Steve continued. “I finally figured out it was you behind the break-ins. After that last one. The one when you dug the holes under the steps.”

  “Me? Behind the—? What the—?” P.B. blustered, scoffing and rolling his eyes from Steve to Roxanne as if they were all in on the joke. “That’s crazy. I didn’t break in here. That was, that was…”

  “Cut it out, P.B.” Roxanne had never heard Steve’s voice so cold. “I know I told you about the will, about how Portner had hidde
n something under a set of stairs in the house. I just didn’t think you were that interested. So I kept thinking, who knew anything about history, about this obscure cousin and his possible theft, yet would bother to dig under stairs that any reputable historian knew were built after the Civil War? Then it struck me. I realized that I hadn’t told you about that. Nor had I told you that the staircases had all already been investigated. You were the only person who might have known just one piece of that puzzle, and who would have been motivated enough and had access to go looking for this thing right now.”

  “Oh, come on. Lots of people would want to find a draft of the Declaration of Independence,” P.B. protested.

  “Sure, but nobody else believes it was really here. And why now? The issue has been dead for years in historical circles. You were the only person I told about those letters I found, the ones confirming the hidden document was one of Jefferson’s. The only one, P.B. So it had to be either you or me. And I knew it wasn’t me.”

  Roxanne swallowed. She hadn’t. She had believed P.B. The obviously lying, sleazy, reprobate P.B. What was the matter with her?

  “I was trying to help you, man,” P.B. said, finally settling on a plan of defense. He slapped Steve’s shoulder with a broad palm and gave a laugh of bravado. “Come on, I knew you were afraid to do it, ’cause of her. That’s right.” He nodded at Roxanne. “He wanted to look around, but he didn’t want to piss you off, Miss High-and-Mighty. Thought you’d be an unreasonable bitch and not let him—”

  “Shut up, P.B.” Steve grabbed him by the shirt front, and even though P.B. was the bigger of the two men Roxanne saw uneasiness in P.B.’s eyes. “Who do you think you are? And who the fuck do you think you’re talking to? You can’t just make up anything you want and have us all believe it.”

  Roxanne cleared her throat. Both men looked over at her. “Is that why you told me you thought Steve was behind the break-ins, P.B.? Because you were trying to help him?”

  Steve’s eyes glittered as he turned back to his former friend. “You said I was behind them? You told her I was the one digging up her basement? Is that…?” He turned back to Roxanne, his face fierce. “Is that why…?”

  Roxanne looked down, too ashamed of believing P.B. over him to look him in the eye.

  Steve looked back at P.B., then shoved him, hard, letting go of his shirt as P.B. stumbled back into the desk chair. He caught himself between the printer and the wall.

  “Hey, you were the one doing all the investigating, looking for that copy of the Declaration of Independence,” P.B. said belligerently, poking a finger through the air at him.

  “For the book, P.B. Remember the book I’m writing? You knew why I was looking for that information, and it wasn’t to start digging.”

  “Oh come on. You know you wanted to look. Besides, if you hadn’t kept talking about it, telling everyone, making it into such a big damn story, I wouldn’t have been interested in it at all. Nobody would have. Seems to me it could be anybody looking for that thing now. You made it sound so valuable and all.”

  “No, it couldn’t have been anybody,” Steve said, his voice low and barely controlled. “It could only have been somebody stupid enough to think they could break in and dig around and never have anyone be the wiser. It had to be a cop, the cop called to the scene so the report would never be filed. It had to be someone whose friend was inadvertently telling him where to look. Jesus!” Steve spun away from him, one hand raking through his hair as he tried to cool off. “How could I have been so stupid?” He turned back. “I knew that squirrel thing was bogus. What’d you do, scrape it off the road?”

  P.B. looked away, not answering.

  Steve glanced over at Roxanne, who straightened when his eyes fell upon her. “And you believed him?” he asked, his voice quieter but the emotion no less powerful. The disbelief in his eyes was painful. “You thought I was trying to rob you?”

  She shook her head. “No.” She cleared her throat. “No, Steve.” She paused. “Not at first.”

  Steve exhaled heavily and gazed at her, the hurt clear in his eyes.

  She spoke quickly, glancing at P.B. “At first I thought he was just jealous. Bitter, you know, about…about us. But then…then I saw you, the other night, after Cheeto got into the kitchen. I went downstairs and I saw you looking behind the freezer, pulling on some of the plaster wall, looking behind it. And I just…” She shook her head again. “It was just too easy to believe I’d made another mistake, that I’d trusted the wrong guy. Again. I’m so sorry, Steve. You can’t imagine how sorry I am.”

  His expression did not change during this speech, but his eyes never left hers. She could see his breath moving his chest up and down, betraying his agitation, and wished she could go to him and hold him, tell him in every way she knew how, that she would be sorry for the rest of her days for not believing in him.

  Several long moments of silence later, Steve turned back to P.B. with a sigh. “Listen, P.B., I don’t know what to do about you. You’ve broken in to my apartment, you’ve betrayed me, you’ve lied, you would have stolen, if you hadn’t been so inept. Tell me, would I be wrong to turn you in to your department? What would you do?”

  P.B. sighed and looked at his feet. After a minute he looked up, his face contorted. “Hey, man, I answered your question for you. You don’t have to look down there now. And I would’ve told you if I found something.”

  Steve shook his head. “I don’t believe that for a second.”

  P.B. didn’t look at him. “Okay, okay. I’m getting out of here. I can’t deal with this right now.”

  He started toward the door, then turned as he reached it, realizing that nobody was going to stop him. “For what it’s worth, Stevie, I’m sorry.”

  Steve just looked at him.

  P.B. turned the knob and left.

  Several minutes ticked by before Steve turned to Roxanne. She flushed from head to foot as he let his gaze take in her attire, then her position near the hall that led to the bedroom.

  “I didn’t know you were writing a book,” she said softly. “I should have. I should have asked what all that research was for.”

  “You did. I just didn’t tell you.” He tilted his head. “And I didn’t know you spent ten years as a model in major magazines. That makes me the more oblivious one, don’t you think?”

  She shook her head. “I made it sound like I’d never do that. I didn’t want you to know.”

  He gave a short laugh. “I guess neither one of us knew much of anything about the other.”

  She looked at the floor. “I guess we just didn’t know each other very well.”

  “Or trust each other very much.”

  She made a pained face. “I’m so sorry, Steve. I don’t know what to say. I just didn’t know who to trust. Not because of you, but because of me.” She laughed once, shortly. “Talk about baggage.”

  She looked up at him. His face was impassive, contemplative. A long silence stretched between them.

  “And what,” he said finally, “did you hope to accomplish here tonight?”

  Roxanne was relieved to hear a gentle tone in his voice. At least she thought she’d heard it.

  “Well,” she began, “I wanted to apologize. Really apologize. So I, uh, I thought if I came up here—”

  She stopped as she heard his footsteps on the floor, looked up to see him walking slowly toward her.

  “If you came up here…?” he prompted.

  Her hands knotted in front of her. “Yes, ah, you see, I thought I’d need to get your attention first, make sure you would listen and not just slam the door in my face.” She let go of her hands and brought two fingers to play with the lapel of her robe. “Which is why I…wore this. Because we always seemed to, or rather we never had trouble with…you know. And I so wanted you to hear my apology—”

  He reached her, then, and before she could finish the sentence he swept her up and off her feet, into his arms. Her hands went automatically around his neck
.

  “I don’t want any damn apology, Roxanne,” he said low, his face close to hers as he held her against his chest. “I want to know how you feel.”

  “How I feel?” she repeated, breathless. She couldn’t take her eyes from his.

  “About me,” he added quietly.

  Her eyes were swimming in his, their gazes locked as if they were each other’s lifeline.

  “Oh Steve,” she said, her voice husky with emotion. “I’m in love with you. Totally. Completely. Head over heels.”

  A slow smile curved his lips and lit his eyes. “Head over heels, huh?”

  She smiled back, tentatively at first, then more broadly. “That’s right.”

  “That’s all I need to know.”

  With that, he carried her down the hall and into the bedroom.

  “And just so you know,” he added, before he kicked the door shut behind them, “I’m in love with you, too.”

  “Head over heels?” she asked.

  He laughed. “Over and over.”

  “Then that’s all I need to know.” She put her hands to his face and kissed him.

  Epilogue

  Six months later

  Bar Special

  Old-Fashioned—the way it should be

  Bourbon, sugar syrup, angostura bitters, water

  Dessert Special of the Day

  Wedding Cake and Champagne—made for each other

  White cake with raspberry cream filling, vanilla fondant, candied flowers, and the best bubbly $100 can buy

  The knock on Roxanne’s door came at 7 p.m. exactly. Roxanne glanced at the kitchen clock and smiled. He was right on time.

  She checked her face in the hall mirror, brushed a finger beneath each mascara’d eye and pinched her cheeks. Then, smoothing the fabric of her sleek black cocktail dress one last time, she opened the door.

  What she saw took her breath away.

  Steve, in a tuxedo.