MISTLETOE OVER MANHATTAN

by Barbara Daly

  Wednesday evening he stood in Phoebe's conference room reading the note Mallory had left him. "I'm going to find a suitcase. I'll be back at the hotel a little after eight."

  He could not, absolutely could not believe Mallory could make love with him with such apparent pleasure and be seeing someone else. But he was holding evidence to the contrary right there in his hand. For the second time this week, she'd gone somewhere without him. He would have been happy to help her pick out a suitcase, but she hadn't invited him. Ergo, she had a life that didn't include him but might possibly include someone else. If the practice of law did nothing else for you, it taught you to be logical.

  He was grinding his teeth, chewing his lower lip and fiddling with his pen all at the same time when a slight noise alerted him to the fact that he wasn't the only person in the office suite. He spun to see who'd stepped into the conference room and saw Phoebe behind him.

  She'd taken off her jacket and was wearing a T-shirt that didn't have quite enough room in it for her breasts and didn't quite make it to the waistband of her very short skirt. Plus, she was sending him a provocative smile and gazing at him with sultry eyes.

  Yep, I'm in trouble.

  "Hi, Phoebe." He used his hearty tone, the one he used with women when he was trying to tell them he wasn't interested. "I'm just about outta here. See you in the—"

  She was blocking his way. "Don't leave." Her voice was so soft it was hard to believe it belonged to Phoebe the lawyer. "I have a bottle of simply wonderful wine in my office. Come in and have a taste."

  It occurred to Carter that he would have to confront the problem at one time or another, and it might as well be now, when he was a little bit mad at Mallory. "Okay, I will," he said. "Thanks."

  The twenty-fourth floor was still brightly lighted, awaiting the services of the cleaning crew, except for Phoebe's office, where he observed at once that she'd dimmed the lights. Big trouble. She began to open the wine, not talking, just lifting her gaze to his between turns of the corkscrew and gazing at him like a snake might gaze at a mouse. Not that Phoebe looked like a snake or he felt like a mouse. It was just that he knew devouring him was what she had in mind.

  He tried a little commentary on the weather.

  "Mmm," she said.

  He made mention of the political situation in the Middle East. "Mmm," she said.

  "How about that California state budget shortfall!" he tried next.

  She didn't even bother with the "Mmm." She poured the wine, brought him a glass and sat on the arm of his chair, draping her arm around the back.

  He got up. She followed, cornering him at the windows. He was thinking, Twenty-four floors. A guy could get hurt pretty bad jumping twenty-four floors.

  Nonetheless, he opened the curtains, getting ready, just in case. The office looked out on a slice of the Rockefeller Center Christmas tree, a Norway spruce well over one hundred feet tall and sparkling with maybe thirty thousand lights. It gave him an idea that was better than jumping. "It's almost Christmas," he said, and turned to face her. "What do you want for Christmas, Phoebe?"

  She gazed at him with longing. "You," she said on a soft breath.

  "What's your second choice?" He spoke as gently as he could.

  She stared at him, and he was horrified to see that her eyes were brimming. "You mean, what do I really want out of life?" Her voice quavered.

  He nodded dumbly, scared to death she was about to tell him.

  "What I want is for my father, just once, to tell me I handled a case right," she stammered out. "All this—" she waved a hand at the wine, her tight T-shirt"—was his idea. I didn't want to do it this way. It's not the right way and, besides, anybody with two eyes can see you're in love with Mallory."

  Carter handed her his clean breast-pocket handkerchief and one of Maybelle's cards, then stood there awhile, just patting her shoulder and asking himself if she was right. Was he in love with Mallory?

  Each morning Mallory asked herself how life could be more perfect. At dawn on Thursday of their third week in New York, with Carter sleeping beside her, she knew how. He was still sneaking away a couple of times a week on this pretense or that. He didn't stay out late, he didn't come home mussed or go directly to the shower, he just—went out. Of course, she was sneaking away, too. But she was seeing Maybelle, which wasn't hurting Carter a bit. She'd seen Maybelle Monday night and last night at seven. Monday she'd told Carter she needed a manicure, and she and Maybelle had talked while she did have a manicure at Saks's Elizabeth Arden Salon.

  Late yesterday afternoon she'd sneaked out of Phoebe's office while Carter was gathering some things together, leaving him a note saying she was going to buy a new suitcase and would see him at home. She'd picked out a suitcase in ten minutes and then taxied up to a boutique on the Upper East side where she and Maybelle had talked and selected two dinner dresses and two more jackets for Mallory.

  "Variety is the spice of life," Maybelle had said.

  "So I've heard." Mallory spoke through clenched teeth, predicting correctly that she was in for another of the bankruptcy nightmares that had been plaguing her.

  "Not variety in everything," Maybelle had added, sounding unusually absentminded, "jes' in clothes."

  So while she'd been as thoughtful of Carter as she could possibly be, on Tuesday night he'd said, "I have an errand to do. See you at eight."

  He'd said it as if he didn't owe her an explanation, and, of course, he didn't. It was his reputation as a ladies' man that worried her. For all she knew, he saw her as just another of his string of women, while she…

  His face was toward her and she gazed at it, at the dark lashes that lay against his skin, the crispness of his tousled hair, and admitted to herself that if she hadn't already given him part of her heart, she wouldn't have been so determined to have sex with him. Had her feelings for him been locked up inside her, simmering, for all these years and she'd just now felt confident enough to let them out?

  But Carter had never said he loved her or indicated in any way that he felt committed to their relationship. She had to face the possibility that he never would.

  Except for that, she thought sadly, everything was perfect.

  "Hi," he said in the husky voice of a man just waking up. His smile was slow, warm and altogether irresistible.

  She settled her head down into her pillow. "Hi," she said as she felt his fingers trail lightly across her bare skin. Perhaps just having him committed to her for the next half hour was enough.

  The delights of the early morning made it even more incomprehensible when he said offhandedly that evening, "I told a guy I knew in college I'd meet him for a drink. You don't mind if I skip out for a while, do you?"

  The truth was that she minded terribly. As she fiddled with things on her desk, trying to stay busy while he was gone, the phone rang. It was Bill Decker, who spent a minute exchanging pleasantries with her and said at last that he needed to speak to Carter.

  She didn't know why he would need to say something to Carter he couldn't say to her as well, but she didn't want to sound jealous or competitive, so she said, "He's not here just now, Bill. Frankly, I don't know where he is, but—"

  Bill's chuckle interrupted her. "I think I can guess," he said.

  "Where?" She snapped out the word.

  "Okay, I'll level with you. Wasn't going to, thought it might embarrass Carter, but I've been putting a bee in his bonnet about Phoebe Angell."

  "Oh?" This time she managed to smooth out her voice. "What about Phoebe?"

  More chuckles. She wished he'd choke and there wouldn't be anybody around who knew how to do the Heimlich maneuver. "In a conversation I had with her," he said when he apparently felt he'd chuckled enough, "it was clear she was interested in him. I suggested he pay a little attention to her, stroke her up a little."

  "When he returns from stroking," Mallory said, feeling cold all over, "I'll ask him to give you a call."

  She stood absolutely still for what seemed
like an hour. Then she knew what she had to do. She had to see Maybelle. Maybelle would know it was an emergency. She'd find time for her in her schedule. Mallory flung on her coat and boots and went out into the night.

  "You done good, hon," Maybelle told Carter after he'd described his encounter with Phoebe. "You're a fine man and you did a kind thing. You followed your own conscience without hurtin' her any more than you had to. And—" she punctuated this by pointing a gold fingernail at him "—you found out what she wanted most in the world."

  Carter was amazed at how good her compliment made him feel.

  "And I been thinkin' about that All-I-Want-for-Christmas thing."

  He didn't remember telling her Mallory's name for it, but he probably had. "All ideas appreciated," he said.

  "I think this is a good one. You could produce a movin' pitcher or a sitcom with green people in it and cast all your witnesses, that is, if they're willing to settle."

  Carter opened his mouth to explain how difficult, call it impossible, that would be, but he didn't need to explain a thing. Maybelle could handle both sides of any argument.

  "But it turned out not to be setch a good idea. I talked to a movie person I know and he turned the idée down flat. The concept, he called it, didn't grab him, he said."

  Carter's mind was clicking like a computer keyboard. "No, that idea was over the top," he said slowly, "but I think you've given me one that might work."

  The rest of the session wasn't as productive. Maybelle seemed determined to make him admit he was in love with Mallory and furthermore to tell Mallory he was in love with her and see what she had to say about it, while he felt that if he was in love with Mallory it was none of Maybelle's business. Nor did he intend to make himself that vulnerable to Mallory until he was darned good and sure she was going to answer back, "I love you, too."

  While he was arguing his point, he realized so unexpectedly that it was like being ambushed in a dark alley, that it would hurt—a lot—if he decided he was in love with Mallory and then found out she wasn't in love with him. That made him mad at the world in general, and in that mood, he wasn't open to any suggestion Maybelle was likely to make.

  Mallory ran recklessly up to Maybelle's door. New doorknocker. A hand scrunched up like a fist as if it were about to knock. Mallory pounded it. Richard appeared. He seemed startled to see her. She breezed right past him anyway. "I need to see Maybelle. Just for a minute."

  "She's with a client," he mouthed, pointing at the closed door and crossing two fingers over his lips.

  "I'll wait."

  "She really doesn't like her clients to meet," Richard said, obviously trying to edge her back out the door. "It's a privacy thing."

  "I won't know the person," Mallory said, persisting. "I'm from out of town, remember? It'll be fine."

  "I think not." Richard was getting pompous. "Here's what we'll do. You go home and Maybelle will call you the minute she's free."

  "I can't go home," Mallory said. "I'm too upset."

  She heard voices close behind the door. "Hear that?" she said. "They're almost finished. So I'm going to wait and that's—"

  The door opened, and Carter stepped through it.

  His eyes widened and his skin paled. Her heart fell to her toes. "What are you doing here?" she whispered.

  "The question is," Carter said, "what are you doing here?"

  The foyer fell into thunderous silence, but not for long. "Oh, my gawd, I knew this was gonna happen, I just knew it," Maybelle shrieked from somewhere behind Carter.

  "I tried to send her home, Maybelle, truly I did," Richard said, looking woebegone. "But she's a very determined woman."

  "You've been consulting Maybelle?" Mallory said to Carter. "But why? And how did you find her?" However startled she was to see him, she was ecstatic to know he'd been seeing Maybelle and not Phoebe.

  "You were the one who dropped that card in the hall, weren't you?" Carter said, but he didn't smile, and his voice was eerily calm.

  "Whoo, what a relief," Maybelle said shrilly, scurrying out into the foyer. "Now you both know where the other one's been sneakin' off to, no place but to right here. No harm done. Isn't that grand? Now let's all sit down and have a little—"

  "I don't want to sit down," Carter said. "I just want to know what you were consulting Maybelle about."

  "Personal matters. Why were you seeing her?" She was merely curious. As far as she was concerned, Carter was perfect, didn't need to change a thing.

  "Personal matters." He threw the words back at her.

  He'd probably been as shocked to see her as she was to see him, but she didn't know why it was making him mad. "Oh, okay, I'll tell you," she capitulated. "There were some things about myself I thought I ought to change." Would she ever have the courage to tell him that she must have loved him even back in law school and that she badly wanted him to notice she was a woman? Even if she found that courage, she wouldn't say it here. Not in front of Maybelle and Richard.

  "Uh-huh," Carter said. "I think I know why you consulted an imagemaker. A lot of things are coming together in my mind."

  "What's comin' together?" Maybelle darted worriedly between Mallory and Carter.

  "That's what the clothes and the shoes and the stuff—" Carter mimed makeup application "—and the mistletoe were all about. You asked Maybelle to change you from the woman you were into the woman who seduced me." He shook his head, looking sad. "I thought you were different, but you're not. You're just like all the rest." He turned away and appeared to be leaving.

  "What do you mean, 'just like all the rest'?" This was just a silly little coincidence they should be laughing about. Instead, Carter seemed to be extremely upset and she couldn't figure out why.

  He paused and turned back to her. "I thought you were starting to respect me because I was handling the depositions well, but you weren't really impressed by my legal skills. All you wanted was to get into my pants."

  "Isn't it the woman who usually says that?" Richard asked Maybelle in a hushed tone.

  "Shhh," Maybelle rasped back at him.

  Carter turned on their mutual imagemaker. "In fact, you probably advised her to flatter me, that men were so egotistical they'd believe anything."

  "No, she didn't," Mallory said, feeling desperate. "You did handle the witnesses well. I was being honest with you. I don't know what I did to make you so mad!"

  "What's making me so mad," he said, giving her a humorless smile, "is being treated like an empty-headed gigolo. That's not what I am, and I wanted you, of all people, to know it."

  "Empty-headed—" She couldn't even follow his line of reasoning.

  "What you did was deliberate, Mallory, a scheme from your clever little mind. I was hoping it came from the heart." He shook his head once sharply. "So it's over. From now on we are professional colleagues, nothing more."

  Before she could gather her wits about her, he was out the door and on his way down the sidewalk. She ran to the door, too. "Wait just a minute," she yelled into the street. "What were you consulting Maybelle about?"

  He was gone.

  But Maybelle wasn't. "He wanted people to stop thinkin' of him as an empty-headed gigolo," she said in a despondent way that was totally unlike the Maybelle Mallory knew. "You're so smart you shoulda been able to figger that out for yourself. Dickie, I got to find me a new line of work. This one ain't givin' me any personal satisfaction and the money's real disappointin', too."

  Mallory collapsed to the floor in tears. "Don't cry, hon," Maybelle said, scooping her up with amazing strength. "I ain't quittin' my job yet. Come on in and let's have us a cup of real coffee to calm us down. We'll think of somethin'. Don't you worry."

  * * *

  13

  « ^

  On Saturday morning, the first day of Hanukkah and five days before Christmas, Carter lay in bed staring at the ceiling. All day yesterday he'd fought the sick feeling in the pit of his stomach as he did his best to carry on with the depositions. But th
at was all the fight he'd had in him. He could feel himself giving in to the—he guessed it was heartbreak.

  He didn't know men got heartbreak. He thought they just got mad.

  He reached over to his night table, picked up his pen between his fingers and felt a little better, but not much. For reasons he couldn't imagine, Mallory had changed from a steady, trustworthy woman to a manipulative one. He hadn't thought it could happen. He'd thought she was one of the most ethical human beings he'd ever known.

  That was one of the things he'd liked about her.

  Maybe she'd actually been mad that he hadn't gotten her a separate room and had decided to show him she knew what he'd really had in mind. Or maybe it had bothered her that he hadn't seen any problem with them being in the same room and she had set out to show him how wrong he'd been about her, that she wasn't "good old Mallory" anymore but a hot little number.

  Try as he might, he couldn't have imagined Mallory going to bed with a man she didn't respect. That was another thing he'd liked about her.

  I love so many things about her.

  No, loved. Past tense. He'd been wrong about her ethics, wrong about her need to respect the man she gave herself to, because it was clear she didn't respect him at all.

  He needed to move out of this suite. The St. Regis was still fully booked, but New York had thousands of hotel rooms. He'd assumed they couldn't all be occupied by shoppers, theatergoers, and folks in town for a taste of a New York Christmas season.

  But a blizzard had raged through the night. With all three airports socked in, all the hotels just might be fully booked. Where would he go? It didn't matter. He'd sleep on a bench in Grand Central station. He had to move.

  But to move, he'd have to pack. To pack, he'd have to fold everything that was lying around and sort through a thousand scattered pieces of paper.

  He'd reimburse Mallory for the ornaments she'd insisted on buying, but he was taking the tree. He'd leave her the mistletoe to remind her of the way she'd tricked him into that first kiss.