Bedroom Eyes

by Hailey North

  That thought cheered her. She played along with Jewel, who really was the world’s best assistant. “I don’t know what you mean about a new look, but you earned lunch at Commander’s for coming up with that scoop about Fitzsimmon’s yacht.”

  “Oooh, you remembered to use it.”

  Penelope half-laughed. “Frankly, I couldn’t think of anything else. I haven’t come up with one decent argument for his IRS problem. I lost my copy of the letter, overslept and had to wing it at breakfast.”

  “Definitely a new man.”

  “Would you stop?” Penelope sat down at her desk. “Any calls?”

  “Several on your voice mail, and one other.” Jewel handed her a pink message slip. “No name, just this note.”

  CAN’T DO DINNER.

  Penelope crumpled the paper. That was that. He’d kissed her, found her uninspiring, and was blowing her off.

  Jewel watched, head cocked to the side. “Bad news, huh?”

  Penelope nodded, then pulled the Fitzsimmons papers out of her briefcase. “I’ve got a lot of work to do anyway.” She refused to let Tony Olano’s rejection get to her. The man could jump off a short pier as far as she was concerned. She didn’t care if she ever saw the man with bedroom eyes ever again. All he did was drive her nuts.

  The pencil she had picked up snapped in two.

  Jewel shook her head. “Don’t let it hold you down long. With that new look, you can get any man you want.” With those fine words, her secretary whisked out of the office.

  Her curiosity overcoming her, Penelope rose and walked to the mirror over an antique bookcase. Peering in, she studied herself for any sign of change.

  Her blue eyes might glow a shade bluer than they had the day before, her brown hair, thrust so quickly into its knot, had slipped into a much looser chignon than usual. A stray tendril of hair curled around one cheek.

  She stood on tiptoe to check the neckline of her blouse. Perhaps in her rush to dress she’d forgotten to fasten the top button or two.

  Penelope stared into the mirror, at the image of a woman who looked exactly like her.

  But the woman looking back at her in the mirror was dressed in a way Penelope would never. The delicate silver chain and initial “P” pendant she always wore tucked discreetly beneath her clothing winked at her. Worse, the lacy cups of her bra peeked past the lapels of her suit.

  Penelope stared at the woman, a female so unlike Penelope Sue Fields.

  She had forgotten her blouse.

  Rather than the wave of humiliation and embarrassment she had expected to wash over her as she regarded this sexy woman so unfamiliar to herself, she experienced curiosity and daring. If the lack of a blouse did this much for her, what would happen if she let her hair down at the same time?

  Raising her hands slowly, Penelope grasped the pins holding her chignon and let her hair spill over her shoulders. She fluffed it with her fingertips and blew a kiss toward the mirror.

  Gazing at this new self, Penelope sensed a rush of power. “Hah,” she said aloud. “Tony Olano, just see what you’re missing.”

  Chapter 17

  A few moments later, as reality set in with a shock wave, Penelope dropped into her desk chair, one hand pressed against the chain around her otherwise very bare throat. Not only had she made a fool of herself flirting with Clarke Fitzsimmons, she’d appeared in public half-dressed!

  And now, faced with that fact, her first reaction had been to try to look like a complete sexpot in order to catch Tony Olano.

  Whatever had happened to her common sense?

  Mrs. Merlin, Penelope thought, wielding her letter opener and tapping it against one hand, had a lot to answer for. Before the day Mrs. Merlin had entered Penelope’s life, all had proceeded in an orderly fashion.

  Since Saturday . . . Penelope shook her head, unable to finish the sentence.

  “I can’t believe you’re blaming that sweet little woman for your own actions,” she said aloud. “You’re the one who’s let the man with bedroom eyes turn your life upside down. Mrs. Merlin only happened along at the same time.”

  Glancing toward the door, Penelope reassured herself Jewel had shut it behind her. She didn’t need anyone to overhear her, compounding her embarrassment further. Even now she was sure her outrageous behavior at breakfast must be the talk of the office.

  With a sigh she turned to her file on Fitzsimmons. Time to look at that Opinion Letter again; she had all night to mope about Olano.

  She placed the letter in the center of her desk, but instead of focusing on the black and white text, she found herself wondering what Mrs. Merlin was doing this morning.

  Was she at home, sitting on her front porch sipping coffee with chicory, eating anything besides oatmeal? Or had something gone awry, as things often did with the miniature magician’s spells, and Mrs. Merlin was even now caught up in a new adventure?

  Penelope stared at the letter then at the rest of her desk piled neatly with work waiting to be done. She fingered the Fitzsimmons file and made a mental note to have Jewel make another copy of the Opinion Letter for her to take home.

  She opened her Day-Timer and powered on her computer.

  But her mind returned, again and again, to the message slip she’d crumpled. Bending down, she found it on the plush carpet beneath her desk and slowly unfolded it. CANT DO DINNER.

  The unspoken message was clear. He might as well have added, “Tonight or any other night.”

  Penelope sighed, then something inside her toughened. Who the heck did he think he was, brushing her off that easily?

  The old Penelope would have buckled, would have stayed at work late, not surprised by the rejection, expecting it, assuming she deserved it.

  She straightened her shoulders and glanced down. The lacy edges of her bra shifted against her skin, revealing even more of the undergarment.

  Never in her life had she done such a thing! To have forgotten her blouse was to have paraded naked in the streets.

  So let an insufferable egotist like Tony Olano stand her up for dinner. She’d show him!

  Not that she had any idea exactly how she’d do that, but she had a sense growing within her, like a flame taking shape from a pile of kindling, that she’d sure figure something out.

  A soft knock sounded at her office door.

  Burying the turmoil within, Penelope called, “Come in.”

  Jewel pushed open the door, most of her hidden behind a bouquet of pinkish yellow longstem roses.

  Penelope’s heart leaped, then settled hollowly. Any man who canceled dinner didn’t send flowers.

  Did he?

  “So, is this Mr. Right?” Jewel carried the vase to Penelope’s desk and settled it beside the framed picture of Penelope’s mother. The other junior partners at LaCour, Richardson, Zeringue, Ray, Wellman and Klees had photos of children, dogs, cats, fishing trips, and Mardi Gras costumes littering their desks. Penelope had one picture, that of her mother, taken at her law school graduation.

  Staring at the roses, Penelope shook her head.

  “You know, for someone who claims to work twenty-four hours a day, you sure are developing a horde of admirers.” Jewel settled the vase.

  “What do you mean?” Penelope reached for the florist’s card in her assistant’s hand as she asked the question.

  “ ‘Can’t do dinner’—that implies a date was planned. And somehow my instincts—purely female, you understand—tell me that these flowers didn’t come from the same guy.”

  That interpretation intrigued Penelope. “Why do you say that?” She flicked open the envelope containing the card.

  “The wording. ‘Can’t do dinner’—now, that’s a real he-man sort of message. Prissy pink roses, these have got to be from a different sort of man.”

  “Hmmm. What sort of flowers would the first guy send?”

  Jewel tipped her head to one side. Her braided hair swayed softly, giving off a melodic tinkling as the fasteners swayed one against the other. “I
don’t think he would. Flowers would die far too soon to suit him.”

  Penelope stared at the note: I’LL DIE IF YOU DON’T SAY YES. Glancing quickly at the half-dozen roses in the vase, she shivered. They might as well have been blood red.

  “Ooh, an evil admirer.” Jewel folded her arms, clearly settling in for a complete confessional.

  Penelope laughed. How glad she was she’d hired Jewel, despite the warnings of the three-piece-suited mannequin who ran the law firm’s personnel office. True, she was irreverent, had quite a mouth on her, and always spoke her mind. But her research, computer, and people skills surpassed that of any other assistant Penelope had seen strolling down the halls of the firm.

  Not only that, Jewel was the closest thing Penelope had found to a friend in this exotic but somewhat overwhelming new city.

  “He may be,” Penelope said slowly, thinking of her earlier conversation with Hubert. “You know a lot of people in this city.” Her assistant had worked in various law firms, as well as at federal court. “Can you tell me anything about a lawyer named David Hinson?”

  She thought she’d asked the question in a casual enough fashion, but the drop of Jewel’s jaw told Penelope she hadn’t fooled her one bit.

  “Tell me no,” Jewel said, sinking into one of the two leather armchairs in front of Penelope’s desk. “Tell me these roses aren’t from David Hinson.”

  Penelope nodded, wondering whether her old law school mentor would criticize her for fraternizing with the help at the firm. Always keep your business to yourself, Mrs. Rosen had said, time and time again, to the charges she’d been sending out to the shark-infested waters of some of the nation’s top law firms.

  “Whew!” Jewel glanced over her shoulder.

  “The door’s shut,” Penelope said, “so cough up whatever it is I ought to know.”

  “Well, I know you’re new to the city,” Jewel began slowly, pleating the lap of her skirt, “but it doesn’t take long before you figure out there are certain forces at work here.”

  “And Hinson is allied with one of those forces?”

  Jewel nodded. “Bad blood, Penelope, very bad blood. Not only does he do all the legal work for the guy everybody who’s anybody knows is the old geezer who controls the New Orleans mob element, he’s a creep. And I mean big time.”

  “We’re talking about David Hinson?” Penelope studied her secretary closely. “About six-foot-two, blond hair, blue eyes—”

  “Yep.” Jewel nodded. “For fun he beats up his girlfriends, or prostitutes, whoever he happens to find at the right moment.”

  “I can’t believe we’re talking about the same man.” Could she be such a bad judge of character?

  “Ever seen that twitch below his right eye?”

  Penelope froze. “Twitch?”

  Jewel nodded. “Comes out when he doesn’t get his way. Then—bam! Watch out!”

  Penelope pictured him at Primo’s, awaiting her answer as he held out the gaudy ring.

  When she’d hesitated, the twitch had been very much in evidence.

  “How do you know so much about him?” She had to ask. Jewel always seemed to know the skinny on everyone, but Penelope had never figured out her sources. Actually, Penelope had never questioned her fallibility before today. But now she felt she had to know.

  Jewel shrugged. “My brother’s a cop. My great-niece is a prostitute. Go figure.”

  Penelope shivered. “So you know of what you speak.”

  “Fancy way to say it, but yeah, my dope’s straight.”

  Penelope considered the information. A thought spiraled up within her, and she decided to risk the question. “And Tony Olano, ever heard of him?”

  Again her assistant nodded. “Who hasn’t?”

  Penelope wanted to scream. Did she have to prompt, or was that all she was going to get?

  “Stay away from him, too,” Jewel said, rising from the chair. “Not for the same reason as Hinson, of course, but that guy breaks even the toughest hearts. And he got into trouble for taking a bribe.” She shook her head. “I always thought that was too fishy to be true. Had to be someone’s idea of revenge. Whatever happened there I don’t know for sure, but I do know Mr. Love ’Em and Leave ’Em Olano would eat you up and spit you out. But he is gorgeous. Those eyes!”

  Ah, yes, those eyes. “Thanks for the scoop, and the advice.”

  Jewel rose. “Anytime,” she said. “Anything else?”

  “Hmmm. Why don’t you take these roses out to the reception desk?” Penelope tore the card into bits even smaller than what she’d done to the message slip.

  Lifting the vase, Jewel said, “And I know there’s no need to mention where these came from.”

  Penelope smiled. “Thanks.”

  With one hand, her assistant saluted and backed from the office, flowers in tow.

  Penelope twirled around in her chair, then reached for her phone.

  Chewing on the stub of a pencil, she dialed information.

  “New Orleans. Primo’s,” she said.

  Mrs. Merlin was discovering that being short and flat was a hundred times worse than only being six and a quarter inches tall and her usual round self.

  Five times now she’d called out for help, but either no one could hear her or the heartless souls inhabiting what looked like a very stuffy sort of library would not deviate from their schedules to involve themselves with her plight.

  From what she could figure out, she’d become a one-dimensional human bookmark. She could see in one direction and as far as her line of sight extended there were books lined neatly on shelves in a pretty classy-looking room done in dark wood. Men and women wandered in, collected a book or two, then either disappeared or sat down at one of two tables.

  Whatever their particular progression, they uniformly ignored her.

  Mrs. Merlin sighed and remembered Mr. Gotho warning her that she hadn’t traveled far enough down the path of enlightenment to attempt the type of magick she so wished to conduct. He’d lectured her as to the inappropriateness of candle magick for her overwhelming desire to help out in other people’s lives.

  Of course, Mrs. Merlin recollected with what would have been a sniff if her nose hadn’t been as flat as the rest of her, he hadn’t used the word desire. He’d called her a busybody who didn’t know when to leave well enough alone. Mr. Gotho believed strongly that people should handle their own affairs, something Mrs. Merlin had learned by observation of human nature was quite impossible for many.

  He’d even suggested that she consider college with a major in social work.

  Mrs. Merlin had laughed at the very idea!

  Why, before she could go to college, she’d have to finish high school.

  A door opened and Mrs. Merlin tried to wiggle. “Over here,” she called, but even to her ears the words seemed to disappear in a puff of air.

  If only she’d stuck to a simpler spell last night. But no, she’d been determined not only to put her body back to rights, but also to throw in a smidgen of help for Penelope, who’d been so kind as to rescue her from that basket of napkin rings.

  If only Penelope were here now!

  Mrs. Merlin wriggled and tried to edge herself higher between the pages of the book, to no avail. Only her neck and head showed. She’d have to hope that someone walked straight up to the shelf where she’d been stranded or she might live out the rest of her days as a bookmark.

  She sighed, thinking how she’d grown tired of oatmeal. Why, she’d never complain about eating the same thing ever again, not when she faced sure starvation, inch by inch.

  Footsteps muffled by the thick carpeting approached. Miraculously, they stopped in front of Mrs. Merlin, but far enough to her other side she couldn’t see the person. That made her nervous because not everyone would handle a summons by a human bookmark as neatly as Penelope had fielded her plea only last weekend.

  She was about to call out again when she found herself—within the book she marked, of course—lifted and carri
ed through the air. Thank the stars! She blinked and held her breath as the book dropped to the table with a teeny thud.

  “Ouch! Be a little bit careful, why can’t you?” Mrs. Merlin couldn’t help herself. Her tongue got her into trouble a lot, but her bones were a bit too brittle to be bounced around, particularly when they’d already been flattened.

  “Mrs. Merlin?”

  When Mrs. Merlin heard Penelope’s voice, she promised the goddess, the stars, and Mr. Gotho she’d never misuse candle magick ever again. Aloud, she said, “Who do I look like? Yul Brynner?”

  Penelope laughed and opened the heavy book.

  “Ah.” Taking a long breath, the first decent one in hours, Mrs. Merlin blinked, then blinked again. All she could see was black type dancing before her eyes above the glossy wood of the table. “You might turn me over,” she said.

  “I might.”

  Oh-oh. Mrs. Merlin detected a note of grim determination, bordering on a ruthlessness she’d not gotten from the lawyer before. Most of the time Penelope struck Mrs. Merlin as a little girl playing dress-up, but that voice belonged to a woman made of sterner stuff.

  What else had last night’s spell wrought?

  “Do you want something from me?” Mrs. Merlin asked the question in a cautious tone.

  “The truth. Did you throw in any bonus in your spell?”

  “Whatever do you mean?” Even to Mrs. Merlin’s ears, her own voice sounded less than innocent.

  Penelope must have leaned over the table, because her voice sounded right behind Mrs. Merlin’s flattened head. “I overslept, I practically flirted—flirted!—with my client at breakfast, and to top it off, I came to work without a blouse on under my suit.”

  “Well . . .”

  “The truth.”

  She found herself flipped over, about as elegantly as one would flip a flounder. Staring into Penelope’s blazing eyes, Mrs. Merlin couldn’t help but smile. The girl looked much better with a fire lit within her. “I did scrape just a bit of that cherry-red candle into my own flame.”

  “And?”

  Mrs. Merlin shrugged one squared-off shoulder. “I was only trying to help you get in touch with your passionate self, stimulate a few chakras, show you what you’ve been missing.”