Even if Gerard Cinclare had decided not to buy from her, she felt somehow deflated that he had not even passed comment on her much improved showing after the disaster in Dallas.
She wondered if the message she had received from the outwardly kind-hearted Jeri, to the effect that although Gerard had enjoyed her line, he was apparently not interested enough to place an order with her, may perhaps have been Jeri’s subtle way of telling her to stay away from her special man. Not that she was even interested, or was she?
Her mind went back to the fleeting glance of Gerard as he watched her walk back down the catwalk with her models. There was a certain something different in that look on his face, and the fact that she couldn’t put her finger on what it meant, was for some reason eating away at her.
Once again, she was about to give herself a stiff talking to along the lines that it didn’t really matter what Cinclare felt about her line, when the phone on the wall by the tub rang, jolting her from her reverie. Pulling herself together, she managed a quick “Hello?”
One again, that deep baritone voice started to send chills down her spine. “Hi, Miss Dubois, this is Gerard Cinclare.”
Controlling her unexplained increase in heart rate, she managed a casual response. “I would never have guessed,” she began. “And by the way, it’s Francine!”
He gave a brief laugh at the other end. “Ah, yes, Francine,”
he paused a moment. “I hope I’m not disturbing you?”
“No, that’s okay, I was just taking a soak in the tub?”
He laughed again. “Lucky old tub!” he added, causing another flutter in Francine’s rib cage. This was the first even veiled hint of sexuality from the handsome entrepreneur and when she looked at herself in the mirror, she was almost instinctively covering herself up, as if he were right there in the room watching her.
He paused again, as if not sure where to begin. “Nothing of importance, it’s, it’s just that I wanted to make sure you were all right after your planned meeting with, with…”
“My Ex?”
“Yes, yes, that’s it.”
Her heart seemed to soar for a brief second at the first hint of sensuality and now even thoughtfulness from this man who had once annoyed her so much that she could have killed him. Once again, she found herself volunteering personal information in a way she had never ever done in the past, even to her closest friends.
“Well, thank you for asking, Gerard,” she still felt a little familiar calling him by his first name. “At least he wasn’t stoned tonight which helped a lot.”
The deep voice at the other end still held a friendly touch of concern. “I’m glad to hear it.”
She lowered her voice, divulging even more of her private concerns. “He needs help, a lot of help!”
“I think you’re right, but is he prepared to ask for it?”
It was a searching question that she debated answering. “I think so. I guess time will tell. At least he’s agreed to stay away from us until he succeeds.”
Gerard still sounded quite formal and businesslike. “Well, I’m glad to hear it,” he hesitated a moment. “Ah, about the show.”
‘Here it comes!’ her heart almost skipped a beat as she tried to sound casual, unconcerned. “What about it?” she asked.
His answer was brief, unemotional. “I thought it went well. Congratulations. Goodnight, Francine.”
‘Just like that!’ she consoled herself not to have expected more as she woodenly replied, “Goodnight, Mr. Cinclare!” before putting the phone down slowly. No mention of why he didn’t order any of her lines, but at least it was light years better than his cruel criticism of her talents back in Dallas.
She leaned back and closed her eyes to try and blot out the image of those flirtatious, almost mocking green eyes and mumbled,
‘To hell with you, Mr. Know-it-all!’
Strangely enough, frustrating and outwardly inscrutable though he may have been, if she had been given her choice of any one escort to take her to the fashion show that evening, without question it would still have been a certain man in a dark green dinner jacket.
All she had to do was try and get rid of the ever present, adoring blonde on his arm, a blonde that try as she may, she couldn’t help but like.
‘Get a grip, girl!’ seemed to echo in her ears once again as she toweled herself dry to get ready for her dinner date.
CHAPTER 18
It had turned even cooler as Francine walked the couple of blocks to McCafferey’s. Among the late evening tourists she somehow felt quite safe in what was once a most dangerous city to be out alone in at night, particularly if you were a well-dressed, attractive woman.
The steakhouse was crowded when she arrived and the second she walked through the door, Roger, who was sitting at the bar, still accompanied by the two bosomy females from the show, waved Francine over to join them. She approached them somewhat apprehensively.
“Hello, darling,” he kissed her on the cheek. “I’d like you to meet Jessica Davis and Myrtle…”
Myrtle, the more attractive of the two, finished the sentence for him. “Harrington, Myrtle Harrington.” she held her hand out to Francine who shook it politely.
“Hello, I’m Francine.”
Jessica oozed her way into the conversation, breasts bulging out of her cleavage. “Yes, you’re Francine Dubois, the designer!”
“You could say that,” Francine replied, looking at Roger as if to say. ‘Who are these characters?’
He quickly took the cue. “Myrtle here is married to Dave Harrington, President of our New York TV affiliate. And this is Jessica, a friend of Myrtle’s. We all met at the show, darling!”
Francine glanced quickly at Jessica’s left hand and seeing no ring on the wedding finger, she realized why the old girl was almost busting out of her bra to get at Roger.
Sensing the look in Francine’s eye, that simply said. ‘Let’s get out of here!’ Roger excused himself from the two ladies.
“Well, ladies, enjoy the rest of the evening. I’ll tell CJ that I met Dave’s wife when I get back to Dallas, and you take good care of yourself, Jessica!”
He smiled and gave them both a peck on the cheek as they left. Jessica once again was almost clinging to Roger, she was so pushy.
When they were finally seated at an elegant window table for two, Francine gave a wry smile. “Glad to know you weren’t lonely while I was gone.”
He grinned wolfishly. “Please, darling! Those two latched on to me at the show. I met Myrtle at a cocktail bash back in Dallas last year. Rich old cow, old man’s worth millions!”
“And Miss Boobs-a-plenty?”
He grinned again. “Jessica? Yes, she was hanging them out to dry, wasn’t she? Widow of some old dude in the oil business. These movers and shakers in Dallas, some crowd, believe me!”
He quickly changed the subject. “Anyway, enough about them, how did things go with your ex?”
She explained the conversation with Steve as Roger listened attentively. When she finished he frowned. “And do you think he’s capable of drying out?” he said it in such a way as though he almost didn’t want Steve to turn his life around in case it made waves between Francine and himself.
“I don’t know,” she replied. “But at least he’s got some incentive, that’s if wanting to see your child can be called an incentive to someone with his lifestyle!”
She felt that she wanted to change the subject. This had been too exciting a day to let the likes of Steve drag her down. “Can we eat, I’m starving?”
“Of course.” he clicked his fingers, a thing that always annoyed Francine, but it had its desired effect as the waiter arrived to take their order.
* * * *
Later that night, in Roger’s room, after telling Roger she had a headache to avoid his usual interest in lovemaking, the latter was already asleep next to her. She looked across at him, blonde hair over his face, a look of innocence in every line, and she asked herself what sh
e really felt about the handsome newscaster.
After a second faked headache to avoid his last two attempts at lovemaking, she was already wondering if there had ever been anything other than a sexual attraction between them. She could not dispute that Roger’s prowess and passionate kisses were enough to turn on most women, but behind that, what was really left?
She didn’t pine for his attention when he wasn’t there. She didn’t lust for his touch, although it certainly did things for her libido when he slowly undressed her, kissing her all the time the way he did. So, what was it? A means to an end? A way to keep her from going insane by dampening the sexual fires within her from time to time. One thing was certain as she gently reached over and brushed the blonde hair back from his eye, it definitely wasn’t love!
Love was when just the thought of someone touching you could give you goose bumps. Love was when a person could spring into your mind and make you smile inwardly, give you a warm feeling even when they weren’t even there.
She thought back to earlier in the evening to when she had been soaking in the tub when the phone rang. Why were the feelings she had felt then when talking to Gerard, a handsome man who hadn’t even as much as kissed her, so much more intense than those she had ever felt even when lying naked in Roger’s arms?
‘My God!’ she mused. ‘No, no, it couldn’t be, get real, girl!’
She climbed silently out of bed, quickly dressed and returned to her hotel room.
CHAPTER 19
After an early morning phone call to the concierge, when breakfast was finally delivered to her room, it came with all the New York newspapers. Francine was too nervous to eat until she had scoured every page for any news of the show.
Of greatest interest was the New York Times after her almost friendly brush with Chris Matlin. With feverish hands she searched the fashion page and finally found the section under Matlin’s bi-line covering the show.
He was quite kind to the big fashion names, in fact, Verucci must have been ecstatic at the review he received. Her eyes roamed the column and with baited breath she finally found a brief segment covering ‘Classique’. It seemed at first as though her eyes didn’t want to absorb the words until her vision came into focus and she started to read:
‘Among the interesting newcomers to the New York scene, ‘Classique’ of Dallas made a promising first showing. Although somewhat over-shadowed by the seasoned professionals, owner/designer Francine Dubois had an interesting combination of color and style in a smooth presentation.’
Francine threw the newspaper up in the air as all the pages parachuted in different directions. ‘Wow!’ was all she could manage, such was her exultation. Chris Matlin had been kind and encouraging in person and had not deviated in his written comments.
She made a mental note to thank him in Monte Carlo and proceeded forthwith to ignore all other papers scattered on the floor. The words of her Professor at the design college still echoed in her ears. ‘All you need is one good crit, that’s enough to keep you going’!
Francine then finished packing ready to check out, only to be interrupted by a knock on the door. She opened it to see a smiling, if somewhat bleary-eyed Vince standing there, clutching a copy of the New York Times in his hand.
She grinned like a schoolgirl. “I know, I read it! Isn’t it great?”
He hugged her affectionately. “It’s better than great, Princess, it’s the ultimate!”
* * * *
Later that day, after a relaxing flight back to Texas, the taxi had hardly pulled up outside Francine’s elegant house in a northern suburb of Dallas, before the door of the house opened and Alison came skipping excitedly down the drive.
“Hi, Mommy! You’re back! You’re back!” she cried.
Francine gave her a big hug. “Yes, my darling. Have you been a good girl?”
Alison grinned sheepishly. “I guess.”
“Good!” Francine was overjoyed to be back and quickly paid the cab driver who had by this time unloaded her bags on the sidewalk. She was glad that Vince had taken the fashions back to the workshop in the limo.
As Francine and Alison started to pick up the bags, Mrs.‘T’ came out to give them a hand.
“Hello, Mrs.‘T’,” Francine gave her a knowing look. “Everything okay?”
The older lady managed a fake smile. “Yes, just fine, Francine,” she began, giving her a knowing wink of concern. “Just put on a pot of coffee, let’s get you inside.”
Francine froze momentarily, realizing that something else had happened, but she decided to wait until they were alone and could talk in private.
They went indoors and Francine gave Alison the small gift she had brought her. It was one of the kid’s cyber toys, a ‘Furbee’.
“Wow! A Furbee!” Alison squealed in excitement. “Can I go and show it to Dawn?”
Francine hugged her. “Of course you can, sweetheart, but come right back, okay?”
“Okay, Mommy, wow, this is cool!” she whispered in awe as she headed out of the door.
The second the child had disappeared Francine turned to Mrs.‘T’, almost too afraid to ask. “So, what happened?”
Mrs.‘T’ picked up her cup of coffee. “Well, I had another phone call this morning, first thing.”
“And?”
The older lady still looked a little uptight. “It was your ex-husband again!”
Francine was almost afraid to ask. “And what was it this time? Was he still slurring his words?”
“No, as a matter of fact he sounded pretty normal. He said something I didn’t quite understand, but he said that you would.”
“I’m listening?” Francine was almost ready to scream if Mrs.‘T’ didn’t get to the point.
“He said he was going to take care of things. I thought it sounded a bit like a threat.”
Francine heaved a huge sigh of relief. “No, that’s okay. He was just confirming that he would be taking care of something personal that I asked him to do.”
Mrs.‘T’ looked relieved. “Well, that’s okay, then, I guess,” she patted the back of Francine’s hand. “Let’s get you a nice cup of coffee.”
“That would be nice.” Francine was still in shock to a degree that Steve had called yet again, but a part of her heart rejoiced in the fact that it sounded on the face of it as though he was now finally ready to make an effort to get help.
Sitting back with a welcome drink, she started to set out in her mind the hectic schedule that now lay ahead with the trip to Monte Carlo now looming closer by the minute.
Even before Francine had finished her coffee, the phone was ringing. It was an inquisitive Yvette on the line.
“So, my darling, how did it go?”
Francine grinned at her Mother’s concern. “Well, let me put it this way, we didn’t disgrace ourselves and the newspapers,” she added quickly. “Well, at least the New York Times, were kind to us!”
Yvette was bubbling with enthusiasm at the other end. “But darling, that’s fabulous! So, what now?”
Francine wasn’t being sidetracked, no matter how upbeat she felt personally. “Before we get to that, Mom, what about you? How did the visit with the Specialist go?”
Yvette sounded enthusiastic. “Pretty well, I think. He’s looking at possible medication to begin with and hoping to avoid chemo.”
“Really? That’s great!” she was almost afraid to ask. “And what about you and Daddy?”
“What about us?” Yvette sounded slightly evasive.
“You know what I mean, Mom. Have you forgiven him yet?”
There was a pause on the other end of the line before Yvette replied, choosing her words very carefully. “Let me put it this way, he’s on probation.”
“And does he realize this?”
Yvette gave a half chuckle. “Well, my darling, I never had so much attention lavished on me for years!”
Francine interjected. “That’s because he loves you so much, Mom,” and then she added quickly. “Now,
I hope you’re not stringing him out as a punishment before you give in?”
Yvette tried to sound indignant but failed miserably. “Who me?”
Francine shook her head in disdain. “Just like a couple of kids, the pair of you. So, when did you last see him?”
“Last night.”
“And?”
“And we had dinner, that’s all.”
Francine grinned in relief. “Well, that’s a start, now don’t you make him wait too long, okay?”
“I’ll think about it. Well, I’ve got to go, darling, I’m being picked up for lunch in 5 minutes.”
“You are? By who?”
“Oh, just your father!” Yvette chuckled wickedly again.
“Mother!” was all Francine could come up with, but inwardly she was rejoicing at the apparent reconciliation that seemed to be under way with her parents.
CHAPTER 20
By eight thirty next morning, Francine was already at the workshop and things were hectic to say the least. When she walked through the door, the phone was ringing off the wall with follow-up orders from New York, Thelma was scribbling down messages and Vince was heading swiftly towards one of his favorite tantrums. This time it was in conversation with the Dallas Morning News Fashion Editor.
“Yes, I know, Henrietta. Yes, yes, we value your coverage, but Francine only just walked through the door and the phone’s been ringing off the wall with orders,” he winked conspiratorially at Francine. “Yes, yes, that would be fine,” he continued. “3 o’clock on Friday afternoon, yes, bring a photographer with you, that will be okay. Yes, bye, my dear.”
He put the phone down and grinned at Francine. “That was Henrietta. She must have picked up the write-up from the New York Times and after months of being a bitch, all of a sudden, we’re flavor of the month!”
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