by Ami LeCoeur
I glowed with pleasure, even though I did my best to force it down. What a smoozer. “One of the perks of being the boss is setting your own hours,” I reminded him. “I’m looking forward to it.”
“Terrific. Can I pick you up at your office?”
“Oh, that’s not necessary,” I protested, unexpectedly flustered and a little wary after everything that had happened recently with the men I’d let into my life. “I can take a cab. It’s not far.”
“I insist. It will be so much nicer to arrive there with you.”
How could I argue with that? The man knew how to get his way. “All right, if it’s not too much of an inconvenience.”
“Why would you say that? I wouldn’t have offered if I worried about it being inconvenient. Look, you don’t always have to be in charge, you know. It’s okay to let someone else take the lead. It’s actually a gift to the other person when you accept their generosity.”
I chuckled. “Okay, you win. I’ll try to keep that in mind next time I get an offer.”
“Do you know what you’ll be wearing?” he asked, changing the subject.
That one threw me. “Um… probably what I wear to work every day?” I looked down at my uniform. “A blouse and slacks.”
“Hmm.”
Just like that, and I started to second-guessed myself.
“Might I suggest something... along the lines of a dress? Or a skirt, at least, with a blouse. A twinset, if you have one. That would be nice.”
I was at a loss for words. I opened my mouth, then closed it without making a sound for several long moments. “Oh,” I finally managed. “Yeah, I have those things. I guess I could wear something like that instead.”
“That would be great.” His relief was evident, but that actually put me off a little more. Was he insinuating that I couldn’t dress myself? I hadn’t needed help dressing since I was a little girl.
He’s probably just stressed out because it’s his first signing, I reminded myself. I decided to cut him some slack.
“I’ll pick you up at one,” he said. “The signing starts at two. This will be great. I’m glad you’re coming. Thank you.”
“Sounds good. I’ll see you then.” I was smiling when I hung up; he sounded so happy. I was still a little confused by the conversation though. What was wrong with the way I dressed? It was as though he thought I might embarrass him. Then why did he invite me? I drummed my fingers on the desk, chewing the side of my mouth as self-doubt clawed its way through me.
What was up with this guy, anyway? Suddenly, I wasn’t so sure the signing would go well, not if Scott was so concerned that he had to start telling me how to dress. Tammy. She would save me. I called her at the gallery.
“Hey, it’s me,” I said when she answered.
“Who else would be calling from your number, dork?” Tammy laughed.
I ignored her. “Scott just called about the book signing.”
“Ah, so that’s why you sound all flustered?”
“I’m not flustered,” I said. “Just a little nervous.”
“Why? It’s just a book signing.”
I couldn’t put it into words, so instead, I asked, “Will you be there?”
She snorted, and my heart sank a little. “Please. You know I don’t read all that psycho killer stuff. It would give me nightmares.”
“It doesn’t mean you can’t come to the signing,” I hissed.
“Sorry, kiddo. You’re gonna have to face that music on your own. But you know I want to hear all the details afterwards.”
I frowned at the phone, wishing she could see my expression. “All right,” I said, my voice dropping at least a full octave. She was right, I was on my own. But I didn’t like the way it felt. I doubted it would be half as good as I’d hoped when Scott first invited me.
“Be sure to call and tell me how it goes,” she said. “And for goodness sake, keep an open mind, would you? No pre-judging until you have something to judge.”
I promised, then replaced the phone on the stand, shaking my head and still trying to figure it all out. Then I proceeded to spend way too much time thinking about what I should wear on Wednesday.
Chapter Four
By Wednesday afternoon, I was feeling much better about the signing. I’d decided that it was only right and fair to give Scott the benefit of the doubt. With that in mind, I chose an uncharacteristic sweater set and pencil skirt.
“Don’t worry, I can hold down the fort here. And, by the way, you look fabulous,” Rhonda assured me as I left my office.
“My legs feel naked,” I confided.
She only smiled and shook her head. “If I had legs like yours, they’d be naked all the time.”
I was still grinning at her remark as I stepped onto the elevator. When I arrived at the lobby, Scott was waiting by the curb.
“Wow, you found a parking spot,” I marveled. Then I got a good look at his car and had to stop for a moment to admire it. I was never one for cars, in that I couldn’t care less about brand names, but I knew a good-looking automobile when I saw one. The cherry-red sex machine Scott drove qualified.
As soon as I buckled myself in, he handed me a book. His book.
“You should get the first autographed copy,” he said. “So here it is.”
“Thank you for thinking of me.” I smiled, admiring the book and feeling honored. “I mean, the first autographed copy. That’s saying something.”
He chuckled. “It’s actually the second copy. Mom got the first one.”
“Of course she did.” I smiled, remembering Tammy’s story about how they’d met in the first place. I figured any guy who cared about his mother was more likely to care about women in general.
The bookstore was small, a Mom and Pop shop, not one of the major chains. Personally, I always preferred the comfort and personal attention in the smaller, local businesses. I was a local businesswoman, after all.
The owner gushed over Scott, thrilled to have a hometown writer in the store. While they prepared for the signing, I hung in the background.
“You’ll sit here, right?” Scott patted a chair slightly behind his own. I assured him I would. It was exciting, being in the middle of the action. And a bit of a relief to not be the one in charge. Scott clearly enjoyed it, virtually unable to keep the smile off his face. Yep, I’d be proud if I were him.
When two o’clock rolled around, the fans poured through the door and into the small private signing area. Not poured, exactly, but something more than a trickle. It was gratifying to see a steady flow of people waiting for Scott to sign their copies. And man, did he eat up the attention, just as he had at the brunch. He reminded me of a little boy, thrilled to pieces at how clever he was to write his own book, thanking people over and over for their interest, even asking them questions about themselves. It was that touch of personal interest which seemed to appeal the most to the fans. It appealed to me, too.
The signing lasted two hours, and when it was over, Scott flexed his fingers in mock agony. “I never thought I’d get tired of signing my name,” he admitted with a chuckle.
“No one would ever know. You held up like a champ.”
He looked at the clock on the wall. “It’s only four-thirty, but I’m starving. Join me for an early dinner?” I nodded gratefully. I was hungry too. After they chatted about the sales and success of the signing, he thanked the store owner once more. We left the store, and he looked around the street for a likely place to eat.
“There’s a little pub over there,” he said, pointing. “What do you think?”
“If they serve food, I’m all for it.” We crossed the street, and thanks to the early hour, were seated straight away.
“Well, congratulations. That was exciting; you must be very pleased. I’ve never been to a book signing, much less sat with the author himself.”
“It was a treat to have such a beautiful woman with me. And you look very nice, by the way. I’m glad you took my suggestions on what to wear.�
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I bit my tongue, a little surprised. With the signing over, I didn’t think it needed to be mentioned again, but apparently, he felt otherwise.
“Did you hear the things people said about my book? The ones who’d already read it, I mean?” He was positively glowing. “They loved how richly I drew the characters. I thought they might. I spent a lot of time adding shading and depth to the personalities. You’d be surprised how the little details add so much. A word here or there, a line in just the right place.”
“I’m sure you put lots of effort into it. I can’t wait to read the book. I’ll be sure to put time aside for it,” I promised. “I feel as though I have—”
“And the killer. I don’t think that’s much of a spoiler since the book is called Death and Taxes.” He chuckled at himself. “Remember at the brunch, when I said the killer’s tendencies and personality were informed by real-life people? It’s true. Once you’ve read my book and we can discuss it, I’ll tell you even more.”
I chuckled. “I can’t wait. I’d better read fast then.” I took a breath to continue, but he cut me off again.
“It would curl your hair if you knew how twisted people can be. Sometimes I wish I didn’t know so much. It’s tough to stop analyzing people. Like the students in my classes. Some of them are so eager to please me. It’s blatantly obvious which ones didn’t get enough approval when they were growing up, and which ones were coddled by Mommy and Daddy.”
He launched into a story about one who had offered to keep writing a paper until it earned an A, no matter how long it took. I felt sorry for the kids, whoever they were, but found it interesting that Scott saw them as a case study and not much more.
He was obviously in his glory, but he’d earned it. I sat back and let him have his moment. I was kind of relieved that I didn’t have to carry the burden of conversation on my own. It gave me a welcome chance to simply enjoy my meal.
On the other hand, I didn’t much like the feeling of being talked over, and there had been a bit of that since we’d been seated in the pub. I chalked it up to excitement over the signing, nervous energy. All in all, Scott was as charming as ever, making me laugh with his funny descriptions of professors he worked with and people he’d met at the publishing house.
I was still laughing when we left the pub and throughout the ride back to the office. I asked him to drop me there, so I could catch up on the work I’d missed while at the signing.
“Can I convince you to miss more work tomorrow?”
I grinned. “Another afternoon signing?”
“No, an evening event this time. Forgive me if I’m wrong, but I’m guessing you’re the kind of person who works morning, noon, and night.”
I had to shake my head at how well he’d summed me and my social life up in that single sentence. “Well, you’re a little too close to the current truth. But I’m trying to loosen up, really.”
“Then I guess you’ll have to make the time to join me for a special showing at our local museum. There’s a private showing of a new exhibit that’s set to open this weekend.”
“Private showing? As in you’re Mr. Special?”
He laughed. “No, but I’m a contributing member, so I have tickets. And I’d really like for you to accompany me.”
I enjoyed Scott’s company. More than I had the company of most other men in the past several years. He made me think, kept me on my toes, and he was endlessly interesting. Okay, so he had some quirks. Who didn’t? The fact that he wanted to attend a showing at a museum was like music to my ears.
“Okay, you’re on.”
He grinned and leaned over to brush my cheek with his lips. “I’m looking forward to it. Thank you for sharing my special day.”
I smiled as I walked into my building. Finally. A gentleman, through and through.
Chapter Five
“So? How’d it go yesterday? You never called.”
“I’m sorry, doll. I forgot.” I set down my morning coffee as I juggled the phone. Trust Tammy to call me first thing, demanding details. Of course, she knew my schedule, which meant she knew it was a good idea to catch me before the day got rolling. “It all went well. If it hadn’t, you definitely would have heard.” She snickered at that.
“Well, thank goodness, then. I’m glad you hit it off! Do you think you’ll see him again?”
“Not just again, but tonight, actually. We’re going to the museum for the special pre-opening showing of that new German exhibit.”
“Oh! That one will be pretty evocative, I think. Just enjoy yourself and keep your prude glasses in your purse,” she laughed. “If he’s taking you there, he’s really checking you out. Hey, sorry, gotta run. Details later, don’t forget!” After a kissing noise, she was gone.
Her comments had me wondering just what she meant. Evocative? Prude glasses? Checking me out? Then I laughed. If I knew my best friend, she was already planning the wedding. I didn’t have the heart to tell her to slow the heck down. It was just a second date, after all.
At the same time, I had to keep reminding myself of that very thing. It was only the second date. No need to obsess over what to wear or how to do my hair. Remembering Scott’s earlier comments and suggestions, though, I couldn’t help it.
By the time seven-thirty rolled around, I was pacing the living room. My cat was in a total state, clearly picking up on my energy. “Calm down, fluff ball,” I told her. “There’s nothing to worry about.” I wished I could listen to my own advice.
Scott called to tell me he was downstairs, and I went down to the front door with my heart in my throat. My cocktail dress was brand new. It wasn’t something I’d purchased specifically for that evening, but it was something in my closet I hadn’t worn before. My hair was in a French twist, with tasteful jewelry and reasonable heels completing the look. There was the smallest part of me that wondered whether I’d stack up, or if he’d find something wrong with me.
Luckily, I had nothing to be worried about. He smiled appreciatively in his dark suit and tie as he opened the passenger door for me. “You look gorgeous,” he murmured, kissing my cheek before I slid into the car. I glowed with pleasure as he made his way back around to the driver’s side.
“Thanks for coming out with me again tonight,” he said as we pulled away. “I had such a great time with you yesterday.”
“Me, too.”
“Good. Tonight’s event is an ‘invitation only’ reception for donors to the museum. I’m passionate about the subject, so I couldn’t refuse the invite.”
“What is the subject, now that you mention it?”
“The Die Brucke movement. You’ve heard of it?” I shook my head. “Mmm. Then I look forward to seeing what you think about it. It’s a fairly polarizing style of artwork. People either love it or think it’s over the top. Are you the type who likes flowery watercolors? Still life? Religious paintings?”
“I do love the impressionists, and I like some landscapes. There’s nothing I dislike in particular about most art. I’m pretty open-minded.”
“We’ll see,” he said, lifting the corner of his mouth in a one-sided grin which made me curious and even slightly uneasy. Especially after Tammy’s earlier comments. I leaned back against the seat, wondering what I was in for.
I found out soon enough. Once we had our champagne flutes in hand, Scott escorted me through the museum. We strolled along the great rooms, taking our time to examine the museum’s regular pieces as we made our way to the new exhibit. I was a little surprised when we got into the exhibit room. The predominant focus there seemed to be various aspects of nudity. And what wasn’t nude was highly sensual. In fact, it seemed that sensuality jumped out at me from every corner of the room.
I cleared my throat. “Nearly every painting has some sense of raw emotion.”
“I was wondering if you would notice that.” Scott beamed at me as if I’d answered a question correctly. “One of the major philosophies of the Die Brucke movement was the expression of emotion
through either violent or sexual images. That’s why they never fell far into abstraction since they wanted to represent the feelings through recognizable forms. There is never a question about what you’re looking at.”
“No, there certainly isn’t,” I murmured, staring at one highly evocative piece featuring a man and woman embracing. The woman’s blouse was unbuttoned, her breasts bared. The yearning for connection was palpable. The next painting depicted a nude woman sitting in two-thirds profile, her face turned to the viewer. Her hands rested on her knees, her back. The curve of her backside was the main focus of the lighting. There was color in her cheeks, and her long, dark hair trailed down to the middle of her back. Her eyes held a depth of longing, almost inviting the viewer to join her.
“Some people don’t understand the importance of this movement, but then, most people are too repressed when it comes to sexuality—their own or others. A shame, really, since that repression limits their enjoyment of this magnificent work.” He fell silent for a moment, and I felt his eyes on me as I studied a sculpture. “Tell me, what do you think of it?”
“The work as a whole? I think it’s beautiful, sensual. Evocative. There’s a lot of talent here.”
“Many of the artists used their actual lovers as models… or turned the models into lovers.” He laughed.
“That would explain the intimacy of the images. It comes through in every piece. There’s no distance between the subjects and the artists.” He might have known about German art, but I knew something about art, too, even if it was from the commercial side. Some part of me felt a need to show him I could be his equal. I wanted him to know I wasn’t a novice, but I needn’t have worried about that. His appreciative murmur told me I was holding my own.
“Where did your interest in German art stem from?” I asked as he continued to share insight and background about the artists and the movement. I couldn’t help but be impressed with the depth and breadth of his knowledge.
“Once I began studying Freud, I decided to spend a summer traveling through Europe. I visited Austria and France as well as Germany. It was heaven, spending three months immersing myself in the culture, spending entire days in libraries and museums. I actually visited the Germanic National Museum in Nuremberg three times. I suppose that’s where I came to love German art. The National Museum spurred my appreciation and changed my life.”
