FANTA C

by Sandra Brown

  But every time she tried to review the profit and loss columns in front of her, her mind began to wander. It kept going back to the discussion Lilah and she had had the previous Saturday morning. Her sister had planted a seed in the fertile field of her brain, and it had germinated in spite of her wishes that it wither and die.

  If an interrogator had shoved slivers of bamboo under her fingernails, Elizabeth wouldn't have admitted writing out her stable fantasy in the privacy of her bedroom late Saturday night. She'd toyed with the tempting idea all through the McDonald's dinner and Disney movie she'd treated her children to that evening. On the outside chance that she might see Thad Randolph, she hadn't wanted to hang around the house. She'd kept the kids out as late as possible and was miffed to see that his Jeep wasn't parked in his driveway when they finally did get home.

  The outing had still been well worth the effort. The kids had loved the classic animated film. They'd individually thanked her for taking them when she kissed them good night. But as always when she went into her room, undressed, and got into bed, she was alone.

  It was then that she had taken a spiral notebook out of the drawer in her nightstand and begun to write down the word pictures her mind was constantly painting. She became lost in the effort. The words seemed to appear on the paper through no volition of her own. They flowed freely from the pen as though it were as magical as the wand in the fairy tale she'd just seen.

  Descriptions of the characters, their clothing, the setting, all came easily because she envisioned them so clearly. But some words she found difficult to write. Words which she would never have occasion to speak aloud. Anatomical parts for instance, or words with blatantly sexual connotations. But she penned them nonetheless. By the time she put a period at the end of the last sentence, her body was damp with perspiration and her heart was thumping in a lovemaking rhythm.

  Laying her pen aside, she flipped back through the pages and read what she had written. After reading the final word, she threw off the bed covers, ripped the pages out of the notebook, and destroyed them in the bathroom.

  Her fantasy had sounded dopey. Lilah was insane and she was insane for ever listening to her. Agitated with herself, she returned to bed and snapped off the lamp. She tried to sleep, squeezing her eyes shut so tightly she got a headache from the effort. Tossing and turning, she tried to convince herself that the fantasy she had written had been so bad as to be unreadable. But that wasn't true. She'd ripped it up because it had been so good.

  She had lived with herself for twenty-nine years and had never guessed what a dirty mind she had!

  Fantasy was closed on Sundays. That afternoon she'd taken the children on a picnic in the municipal park to keep them occupied and away from the house. When they left, Thad had been out pruning shrubs.

  "Can Thad come on the picnic too?" Matt had asked her as she shepherded him into the car.

  "Thad's busy."

  "He pro'bly wouldn't be busy if we asked him to come on the picnic."

  "We aren't going to ask him."

  "We've got plenty of food."

  "He can have some of mine," Megan offered.

  Elizabeth climbed behind the steering wheel and quickly started the car to end the argument. The picnic had been successful. But while the children played on the jungle gymn, Elizabeth sat on a park bench and analyzed the fantasy she'd written the night before. She thought of ways to change and improve it. Then she would remember that it no longer existed and was a closed issue. She forced herself to forget it.

  Well, now it was Monday. She had work to do. The owner of the hotel chain was due to arrive at any minute. And she still hadn't forgotten the erotic dream she'd committed to paper. She was preoccupied with her fantasy and her troublesome neighbor.

  Although that was the trouble, he wasn't troublesome. She couldn't fault him for anything. As neighbors went, he was perfect. He could have been a real hell-raising bachelor who had women constantly parading through his house. He could host drunken orgies that would keep her up nights. He could be ornery about the noise her children made when they played in the backyard. The motorcycle seemed a bit out of character. She suspected that he was no angel, but at least she didn't have to contend with a party animal.

  Of course he could have been more modest than to leave his shirt unbuttoned when he was working outside in his yard. On the other hand, he might not have been wearing a shirt at all. What if he'd been shirtless when the emergency with Baby occurred? What if his arms and their bunching biceps had been bare when he reached up for her and encircled her waist with his strong hands? What if she'd had to touch his naked shoulders and be pressed against that broad, hairy chest and flat, corrugated stomach? What if—

  "Mrs. Burke?"

  Elizabeth jumped as though she'd been shot and whirled around to see that a group of people had congregated just inside the door of her shop. They were staring at her curiously and she wondered how many times the man had spoken her name before rousing her.

  "Yes?" she said, breathless with embarrassment.

  "Hello. I'm Adam Cavanaugh."

  The dark-haired, dark-eyed man who was crossing the plush carpet, hand extended, was heart-stoppingly handsome. Impeccably dressed in a well-tailored three-piece pin-striped business suit, he still managed to look as dashing as a Caribbean pirate. That reckless flare was in his smile, which was wide, white, and friendly, and in his coffee-colored eyes, which twinkled with amusement, as though he knew he had caught her red-handed in a naughty daydream. He clasped Elizabeth's hand in a firm handshake.

  "Mr. Cavanaugh, it's a pleasure to meet you in person." She congratulated herself for not stammering, which, under the circumstances, was a real feat.

  "The same goes for me." He released her hand and looked about the shop. Turning to his entourage of yes-men, who respectfully lurked in his aura, he nodded with apparent satisfaction. "The photographs I was sent didn't do Fantasy justice." His dark eyes swung back to Elizabeth. "I love it."

  "Thank you."

  "Wherever did you get the idea?"

  She shrugged self-consciously. "I've always liked beautiful things. Feminine things. When I decided to go into business for myself, that's what I wanted to sell. I tried to think of a suitable location for such a shop, where there would be men buying presents for their ... ladies. At that time, Hotel Cavanaugh was still under construction." She smiled up at him. "It seemed a natural."

  "Very intuitive."

  "I'm glad you saw the same potential that I did and accepted the proposal I sent you."

  "Actually I can't take the credit for approving your idea. I have lessee managers who handle that. However, I couldn't be more pleased that they decided in your favor."

  She was appalled at her naïveté. Adam Cavanaugh was far too important and busy to concern himself with each and every lessee. She felt herself blushing.

  "I'm sure your appearance boosts your sales, Mrs. Burke." Without compunction, Cavanaugh studied her face and hairdo. The chignon was loose and wispy enough to suggest that it had been mussed. Perhaps by a man's caressing hands. "You certainly look the part."

  Elizabeth grew warm beneath his appraising stare. "I brewed some spiced tea." She hoped to remove his attention from her by indicating a simmering silver pot and a collection of porcelain cups sitting on a small round table covered with a lace tablecloth. "Would you like to sample some of the chocolates I sell?"

  "I'll pass on the tea, but the chocolates, by all means," he said with a brilliant smile which was almost boyish.

  Not only was Adam Cavanaugh incredibly handsome, he was likable. He chatted with Elizabeth while the lackeys in his entourage sipped tea and munched down almost fifty dollars' worth of chocolates. The entrepreneur seemed genuinely interested in her. When she mentioned her children, he quizzed her about them at length and paid close attention to her answers. It was little wonder why this man was so successful. He was a good listener and made the speaker feel that what he had to say was important, interesti
ng, and entertaining.

  He took her hand again and pressed it between his. "I'll be in and out of the city for the next few weeks," he told her. "I want us to get together for a private meeting. Can that be arranged?"

  "Certainly," Elizabeth replied with more composure than she felt. His touch was that of a man who touched women frequently, who knew how, and who enjoyed it.

  "I'll look forward to it, then."

  He retained her hand for several seconds before saying good-bye and turning toward the door. He was brought up short at the sight of the woman standing on the threshold. She had on tight black leather pants tucked into knee-high boots. A long fringed paisley shawl had been tossed over a black turtleneck sweater. Gold disk earrings dangled from her ears, nearly brushing her shoulders. One had a feather in it.

  It was Lilah. Elizabeth's heart sank when she saw the mischief dancing in her sister's eyes. Lilah was so unpredictable, one never could guess what she was going to say or do.

  "Hello, Adam." She flashed Cavanaugh an audacious and dazzling smile. At the familiar use of his first name, several members of his entourage blanched. "I recognize you from your pictures in the newspaper."

  Though she would rather undergo oral surgery, the responsibility of making introductions fell to Elizabeth. "Mr. Cavanaugh, this is my sister, Lilah Mason."

  "How do you do, Ms. Mason?"

  Lilah's shoulder settled against the doorjamb in a relaxed posture that matched her lazy voice and half-mast eyes. "How do I do what?"

  One of Cavanaugh's subordinates cleared his throat. Another gasped. From behind Adam's back Elizabeth glared unspoken threats at her sister. But Lilah was undaunted. "If you were on your way out, don't let me keep you."

  "I don't intend to." Cavanaugh turned his head and gave Elizabeth a curt nod good-bye, then brushed past Lilah who was still indolently leaning against the doorjamb. The Cavanaugh thanes scurried out in the wake of their angry warlord.

  "Lilah, how could you?" Elizabeth hissed as soon as the group had cleared the door.

  Lilah laughed easily. "Relax, Elizabeth. You had him eating out of your hand. I was watching through the window. I behaved so badly that you'll seem like an angel by comparison. In essence, I just did you a big favor."

  "Well, don't do me any more! You embarrassed me half to death. Mother and Father would be aghast."

  Lilah twirled off her shawl with a matador's flourish. "I doubt it. They know I'm the black sheep. Can I have this last chocolate? I didn't think those buzzards were going to leave a single one." She popped the piece of candy in her mouth and chewed with vigor.

  Elizabeth rubbed her forehead. "I have a headache."

  Lilah took sympathy. "How was it going before I made my entrance? It looked good from where I was standing."

  "He's positively charming."

  "I could afford to be charming, too, if I had his zillions."

  Elizabeth ignored the crack. "I didn't expect him to be so sincere, so human. I thought he'd he brusque and all business. Intimidating."

  "Honestly, Lizzie, you take the cake. He's as slick as a billiard ball, but it's all an act. Don't you realize that? Enjoy his charm, but don't fall for it."

  "I liked him."

  "You're supposed to like him."

  "He asked me to meet with him in private sometime soon.

  "Oh, really?" Lilah sipped at a cup of tea, made a disagreeable face, and returned it to the table.

  "Don't say 'Really?' in that tone of voice. It will be a business meeting." Lilah's expression reeked with skepticism. "Strictly business."

  "I'm sure it will be." She said it in a tone that indicated she didn't believe it for a minute.

  "I don't see why you're so suspicious of him."

  "Then I'll tell you why. He's gorgeous, granted. But I'm always leery of men who are that debonair. I just don't trust them. There's got to be a worm in an apple that shiny."

  Elizabeth had tired of the subject. Adam Cavanaugh would probably never speak to her again. He might even terminate her lease after her sister's behavior. "What are you doing here anyway? Don't you have any patients today? And is that the latest in uniforms for physical therapists?"

  "That all depends on the kind of therapy one is dispensing," she said with a ribald laugh. "Don't you like the outfit?" Lilah pirouetted and Elizabeth had to admit that her sister looked smashing. "In fact I'm wearing this for one of my patients. He's paraplegic because of a motorcycle accident. He's been bitching that people are prejudiced against bikers, me included. I thought I'd show him just how free-spirited I can be."

  Elizabeth's mind backtracked to her conversation with Thad about motorcycles and sitting astride them.

  Lilah drew her back to the present. "Written down any fantasies for me?"

  "No." Lilah instantly saw through Elizabeth's lie, but before she could take issue with it, a customer entered the store. He looked around uneasily. Elizabeth recognized his symptoms. He was uncomfortable in such a feminine environment, just like a woman would be in a hardware store looking for a particular nut to fit a certain bolt. He was wearing that same lost, bewildered expression. "Can I help you, sir?" she asked him.

  "I'm looking for something for my wife. An anniversary gift."

  "I have a wide selection of crystal perfume bottles. Would you like to see them?"

  Lilah took the brush-off for what it was. She replaced her shawl, then sashayed toward the door. As she went past the nervous man, who was paunchy and balding, she whispered, "Forget the fancy perfume bottles. If you want something that won't collect dust, check out the red satin garter belt."

  * * *

  "...to the carnival Saturday night."

  The last several words of Matt's endless monologue jabbed through Elizabeth's headache and disturbing mental review of her meeting with Adam Cavanaugh. The fork she had been mechanically feeding herself with halted midway between her meat loaf and her mouth. "Carnival?"

  "The Fall Festival at school, Mom," Megan patiently explained. She was much like John. He had been a stickler for details. Always organized, on time, and in control. While Elizabeth was unfailingly absentminded, her daughter never forgot anything.

  "Oh, of course. The Fall Festival." She remembered sticking a notice to that effect on the refrigerator door a week or so ago. Glancing toward it now, she saw that the photocopied bulletin had been covered up by a crayon drawing of a grinning jack-o-lantern and six flying ghosts. "It's this Saturday night?"

  "From seven till nine-thirty," Megan informed her. "And we want to stay for the whole time, don't we, Matt?"

  "Yeah. The raffle drawing for the compact-disc player isn't until nine-fifteen, so we can't leave before then. Thad said so too."

  "Thad? What does he have to do with it?"

  "I invited him to go with us."

  Elizabeth's fork clattered to her plate. "You didn't really, did you?" she demanded of her son when she was able to speak again.

  Matt looked at her warily and nodded his head up and down. "This afternoon."

  "And what did he say?" She dreaded to hear.

  "He said sure."

  Elizabeth rolled her lips inward to keep from uttering the swearwords that surged to mind. "How could you do that, Matt, without consulting me first? I can't believe you did such a thing."

  "She said I could."

  "Who said you could?"

  "My teacher. Miss Blanchard. Both parents are s'pposed to come to the festival. Everybody else has a mom and a dad. Since I don't have a dad I asked her if I could 'nvite somebody else and she said I could." His lower lip pooched out and began to tremble. "But you won't let Thad come with us. You won't let us do anything fun. You're mean! You're the meanest mom in the whole world."

  In tears, the boy raced from the table, knocking over his glass of milk in the process. Elizabeth let him go. Her head fell forward into her waiting hands. She dismally watched the milk pool on the table, then dribble over the edge onto the tile floor, and still she didn't move.
/>   It had been difficult for Matt when he started public kindergarten and realized that most children had a living father, even if he was divorced from the child's mother and lived in a separate house. Matt had been just a toddler when John was killed, so he didn't remember what it was like to have a father. Elizabeth had spent hours explaining John's death to him. But to a five-year-old child, a deceased father was a difficult concept to grasp, much less become reconciled to.

  "Mom, the milk's dripping all over the floor. Do you want me to clean it up?"