Читать книгу How To Get Your Man - Elizabeth Harbison - Страница 10

Men are very visual creatures. Discover his favorite colors and swathe yourself in them. This will make you a soothing, comfortable presence to him, though he won’t realize exactly why. This is the first step in our Plan of Seduction.

Remember, color is very powerful and, just as you want to wear his favorites, you must avoid those he doesn’t like. An unpleasant association with a color you wear can make you someone to avoid, rather than someone to adore.

—Leticia Bancroft, How To Seduce Your

Dream Man

“Joining the army or something?”

Bonnie Vaness stopped in the middle of locking the dead bolt of her apartment and glanced impatiently behind her at Dalton Price, the building manager. “What are you talking about?”

“That outfit you’ve got on. It’s the third ugly green thing you’ve worn this week.”

Bonnie automatically put a hand to the new olive-green suit she’d gotten from Delaney’s Department Store over on Quince Street. It had cost half a week’s paycheck.

“Not that you wouldn’t make a great soldier,” he went on, raking a hand through black hair. “Temper like yours…”

“Shut up, Dalton.”

He laughed. “Hey, I’m just saying—”

“I know what you’re saying. You’re saying I look horrible in this. Thanks.”

He gave a broad shrug. “Now did I say that? I didn’t say that. It’s not you, it’s the outfit. I’d think you’d be glad for the objective opinion, before you go trotting off into the world looking like that.”

She didn’t look at him. She didn’t want him to see he was plucking away at her raw nerves like a bad street musician on a broken banjo.

Of course, Dalton Price had been plucking at Bonnie’s nerves since second grade at Tappen Elementary School in Tappen, New Jersey, when he’d been the only one close enough to hear her accidentally call Mrs. Perry “Mommy.” He’d spent years tormenting her about that and every other stupid thing she was unfortunate enough to do in his presence. His imagination was limitless.

“Don’t you have something better to do than critique my clothing?” she asked him, uncomfortably aware that he might be right about the outfit. When she’d tried it on, she told herself the greenish tint to her face was from the fluorescent lighting in the dressing room, but now she was starting to think it was the reflected olive green bouncing off her skin.

She wasn’t about to let Dalton know of her doubts.

“Isn’t there a hairy sink waiting for you somewhere around here?” She clicked the lock in place and turned to face him.

Though she said it lightly, her curiosity about his job had been piqued for some time now. Ten years ago, Dalton had gotten a football scholarship to some college out west and everyone in town was abuzz about what a success he’d made of his life, and how he’d become an investment banker and married an actress from some since-canceled sitcom. Then, about four months ago, Dalton was suddenly back, divorced and with a nearly adolescent daughter in tow. Stranger still, despite his proximity to New York City, he wasn’t working as an investment banker. He was working as a super in what was a nice old building but certainly not fancy.

Bonnie wondered if he’d ever really been successful or if that was his mother’s fantasy.

At first she’d been sympathetic toward him, but he hadn’t been in town two days before he started giving her the same old guff he’d always given her. And she gave it right back.

Some things never changed.

He leveled a blue-eyed gaze at her now. A gaze which had, she knew, reduced many foolish women to quivering puddles of submission.

It only ticked Bonnie off.

“I fix everything that needs to be fixed,” he said, in answer to her question.

“Yeah?” She dropped her keys in her bag. “Then fix my shower. It’s been dripping since Carter was president.”

“Carter who?”

Bonnie’s mouth dropped open just as Dalton gave a sly smile.

“Man, you’re such a sucker,” he said.

“I am not, I just…” She stopped. Yes, she was. He’d suckered her over and over. Someday she’d learn.

“Don’t you have a bus to catch?” he asked her, interrupting her private reverie.

“Oh! Yes.” Why did she find Dalton’s presence so disconcerting? “Paula’s waiting downstairs and she’ll kill me if we miss the bus into town because I had to stop and fight with you again.”

He smiled and slipped a wrench out of his back pocket. “I’ll be around later. You can yell at me then. Meantime, I’m gonna go fix Mrs. Neuhouse’s leaky faucet.”

“And my shower…?”

“It’s on the list,” he said over his shoulder as he walked away.

“I’d like to see this list.”

“Come by later tonight.” He didn’t look back. “I’ll show it to you. It’s under my pillow.”

It was hard to believe he got women with that kind of line. Bonnie figured there were a lot of girls out there who were so blown away by his looks that they didn’t care about anything else. Idiots. “Just fix the shower, all right?”

“Daddy!” A young girl with pale gold hair came running around the corner. “Wait! Daddy!”

Elissa. His nine-year-old daughter.

Bonnie paused and watched the two of them together. She couldn’t help it. Not only was she enchanted by the girl—she had been ever since she’d first laid eyes on her—but she was also captivated by the sweet interaction between father and daughter. Bonnie’s own father had passed away in a car accident before she was old enough to know him, and she had always had a soft spot for good father-daughter relationships.

For all Dalton Price’s faults, even Bonnie approved of his parenting.

“I thought Mrs. Malone took you to school already,” he said to his daughter, with that tenderness that never failed to tug at Bonnie’s heart.

Nelly Malone was an elderly neighbor who lived in the building. She was practically like a grandmother to Elissa and loved to spend time with her. Bonnie sometimes wondered if Elissa was doing more for Nelly than the other way around.

“I forgot my lunch money again,” Elissa told Dalton.

“Ah, okay.” He reached into his pocket for his wallet and pulled out a single. “That enough?”

“Daddy, it’s a dollar sixty just for lunch. You know that. And dessert is extra.” She shook her head but smiled. “We should just set up an account at the school like all the other kids do.”

“You don’t need to start living on credit this early.” He took out another two dollars, handed them to her and ruffled her hair. “Here you go, baby. Get an ice-cream sandwich for dessert. I love those things.”

“Okay! Thanks!” She threw her arms around him and hugged him before clambering down the stairs like a toy that had been wound up in his hands.

With an ache in her chest, Bonnie watched her go, then watched Dalton sigh, shake his head slightly, and go up the stairs toward Mrs. Neuhouse’s apartment.

Five minutes later she and Paula Czarny walked down the chipped sidewalk of Tappen Avenue toward the bus that took them to Hoboken, where they took a ferry into Manhattan every morning. It was a balmy fall morning, close to seventy degrees but in the sun it felt warmer. Bonnie was already sweating in her suit.

“So tell me why you’re wearing this horrible drab color all the time lately, even though it’s hideous and makes you look like you’re seasick,” Paula said.

“You don’t like it either?”

“Hate it.” She frowned and looked at Bonnie. “What do you mean ‘either?’”

Bonnie gave an exasperated groan. “Dalton Price. Couldn’t let me leave today without giving me at least one thing to feel self-conscious about. God, I hate him sometimes.”

“I think he’s hot.”

This made Bonnie impatient. “You’ve always had lousy taste in men.”

Paula shrugged. “At least we’ll never fight over one. So, seriously, about this outfit. And the silk one yesterday. Is this what you’re doing with all the money you get from that fancy ad agency? Buying the most hideous clothes you can find?”

Bonnie sighed. It wasn’t her first choice in colors either, but she had a mission. She’d bought these clothes with the single purpose of winning over Mark Ford, the new vice president of marketing at her company. He’d started working there four months ago and Bonnie had been…intrigued…ever since.

He was the kind of guy you saw in cologne commercials, gliding across a sea of blue glass in a big white sailboat, his dark blond hair mussed by the wind, his face kissed golden by the sun. He was a modern Prince Charming whose smile promised a lifetime of happily ever after.

Bonnie wanted a lifetime of happily ever after.

“You’re missing the big picture here.” Bonnie stepped gingerly over a pile of what she hoped was only mud. “The reason I’m wearing this color is because Mark Ford likes this color. No, he loves this color. His entire office is painted this color.”

Paula stopped and gave her friend a look that mingled disbelief and disapproval. “And you want to look like his office. This is your grand scheme to seduce him, to blend into the walls of his workplace.”

Bonnie shook her head. It did sound stupid, put that way. “Leticia Bancroft says men have a powerful subconscious reaction to color. Wear a color he likes and he’ll be drawn to you like…” She searched for the perfect analogy but came up short. “A magnet. A really strong magnet.”

They started walking again and Paula stepped squarely in what Bonnie was now fairly certain wasn’t mud, muttered an oath and scraped the stiletto heel of her shoe on the curb before saying, “I don’t think you ought to want a man who loves drab green.” She finished scraping her shoe and they resumed their walk down the hill toward the bus stop. “Sounds like some sort of latent militia thing to me. Like those guys out in the Midwest. Is it the Midwest? Or the Northwest?”

“He is not the militia type,” Bonnie said, increasing her gait. She didn’t want to miss the bus again. She had a meeting at ten with, among others, Mark, and she did not want to come in late, soaked in sweat from running to Hoboken to catch the ferry to lower Manhattan. “He’s the blond, blue-eyed, captain of the football team type. The weekend house in the Hamptons type.” Definitely not the type to sneak into a closet with another woman at the office Christmas party; probably not the type to pass out on the front sidewalk after a night out with the guys; and absolutely not the type to fixate on buxom young blondes. No, Mark Ford was a grown-up. It was about time Bonnie went out with a grown-up. She would have sighed longingly if she weren’t running. “The marry-me-and-father-my-children type.”

“Sounds dull.”

Bonnie looked at her. “It’s not dull. It’s mature. Logical instead of just chemical. Unlike this thing you have for Mister Parker….” Mr. Parker was Paula’s boss. His first name was Seamus, but Paula thought it was “sexier” to call him Mr. Parker. “Or are you trying to tell me that’s love?”

“No way, baby, that’s lust. Good ol’ lust. Oh, crud, there goes the bus!”

Bonnie looked up just as the bus rumbled away from the curb at the bottom of Tappen Avenue.

“Hey!” Paula shouted, pulling her shoes off so she could run faster. “Hey, wait a minute!”

Bonnie, in more sensible, though olive-green, shoes, pounded down the sidewalk after her.

Paula shouted an expletive and the bus jerked to a halt and the door shuddered open.

Bonnie caught a glimpse of an old woman in a scarf looking out the window, and she winced. “Paula, have a little respect.”

“You’re such a goody two-shoes,” Paula said to her, climbing the steps. “Seven-forty,” she snapped at the driver when she reached him. “This bus isn’t supposed to leave until seven-forty. It is now—” she thrust her wristwatch in front of the driver’s face “—seven thirty-seven. Thanks to you, I’ve probably got runs in my stockings and I’m gonna look hideous when I get to work.”

“I didn’t tell you to run around widout your shoes on,” the driver said in a thick Jersey accent.

He couldn’t have been more than twenty or twenty-one, Bonnie thought. He had no idea what he was up against. She’d known Paula since kindergarten and she’d never known her to let go of an argument until some sort of blood was spilled. Hopefully humiliation and an abject apology would suffice.

Paula drew up her petite frame. “The West Hudson County transit authority, who issues your paychecks by the way, employs you to follow the schedule that they’ve set forth. When you drive away before your appointed pickup time, you are, in fact, breaking your employment contract. Which is grounds for termination.” She narrowed her eyes at the driver. “Which means you’d be sacked. Got it?” She rifled through her large handbag and pulled out a pad of paper and a pen. “Now what’s your name?”

“Don Vittoni,” he said miserably.

She wrote and said, “Okay, listen, Don Vittoni, I’ll let it slide this time, but if you do it again, I’m gonna have to write a letter to your boss. Got it?”

He nodded.

“Good.” She smiled and turned to Bonnie, who was now cringing with embarrassment as the entire bus had gone quiet. “Let’s find some seats.”

Three men scrambled to their feet, vacating their seats.

“Thank you, gentlemen,” Paula said sweetly, pulling Bonnie down the aisle with her.

They sat and the bus thundered away from the curb. Paula tapped the face of her watch. “Seven-forty. Right on schedule.”

“I think poor Don Vittoni nearly wet himself,” Bonnie commented as they rumbled down the rough road toward the city.

“That’ll teach him. Now, where were we?”

“When?”

“Oh, yes, green—”

“Do we have to talk about this?”

“—it’s not slimming, you know.”

“What are you saying, I look fat in this?”

“Well…yeah. Not that I think you should lose weight or anything.”

“Really?” Hope surged. For as long as she could remember, Bonnie had been ten pounds over the insurance chart weights for her height.

“Yeah. I think you’d look weird skinny.”

Bonnie’s heart sank.

“I just think, you know, you should wear clothes that flatter you,” Paula said. “Like black.”

“Because it’s slimming?” Bonnie glared at Paula. It wasn’t the first time she’d called attention to the extra padding Bonnie carried around with her. She’d been doing it since seventh grade. And all that time, Paula had stayed infuriatingly thin, with a tiny waist and the kind of heart-shaped butt that men loved.

“No, because with that pale blond hair of yours it’s really striking. Red, too. And red would give your cheeks a little color.”

“God, now I’m pale. Look, Paula, I have a meeting with Mark this morning. This is just the kind of pep talk I don’t need, all right?”

Paula raised her hands. “All right, all right, I’m just trying to help.”

“Well, you’re not.”

“Okay. I won’t say another word.” Paula pantomimed locking her lips and throwing away the key.

“Good.”

A split second of silence passed.

“Except to say this: if you want to seduce this guy, you ought to throw away that book and use your brain instead. Men like sex.”

Several heads swiveled their way.

“Am I wrong?” Paula asked the elderly gentleman next to her. “Men like sex, right? They like to see a little skin.”

Bonnie’s face burned.

The elderly woman sitting next to the elderly man leaned toward Paula and said, “They certainly do.”

Paula splayed her arms. “Thank you.” She turned to Bonnie with a smug expression. “There, see? I told you.”

“Very scientific.”

“Ask anyone here.” Paula started to stand up but Bonnie grabbed her and hauled her back down again. There was a guy several seats down dressed as what appeared to be a Power Ranger. Bonnie did not want to engage him in a conversation about sex.

“Stop it!” she said to Paula. “Look, you do things your way and I’ll do things mine.”

“Okay, but I’ll bet you I get my boss before you get yours.”

“He’s not exactly my boss, he’s the vice president of the company. But your point is taken. And you’re wrong.”

“So we have a bet?” Paula held out her hand. “Whoever gets her dream man first wins dinner at Martini’s.”

“Will it shut you up?”

“For now.”

Bonnie put her hand out. “Then it’s a deal.”

By four o’clock in the afternoon, Mark Ford had postponed his meeting with Bonnie two times. She was beginning to think it wasn’t going to happen when his administrative assistant called hers at four-fifteen and asked if she could go to his office.

It took only about ten minutes for them to agree on their handling of a new account, but during that time Bonnie noticed he kept solid eye contact with her. That was a good thing. Leticia Bancroft had mentioned eye contact as a major key to seduction.

Bonnie was collecting her notes when Mark suddenly said, “Hey, can I ask you something a little…off topic?” He gave her a dazzling smile.

Wow—could Leticia Bancroft’s advice really be working this fast? “Sure.”

“Do you know anyone here who might be willing to spend a little overtime with me? I need some help getting my office into shape—” he glanced around and lowered his voice “—for obvious reasons.”

Obvious? What did that mean? Was he being coy? Was this his way of asking her if she’d be willing to see him after hours? She knew better than to assume and make a fool of herself. “What did you have in mind?” she asked, hoping that was generic enough to be an appropriate and encouraging response to any of several things he might be alluding to.

She wished Leticia Bancroft were here to interpret his body language because Bonnie was lost.

“Well, it’s this paint.” He leaned forward and said conspiratorially, “When Brian asked if I wanted army green, I thought he was joking.” He made a face. “I mean, come on, who would want to look at this color all day? It’s depressing.”

Bonnie couldn’t have been more aware of her own suit at that moment if it had been on fire. “I see…” she hedged.

“So I was thinking maybe I’d just pick something else—anything else, really—and ask maintenance to handle it in the evening. So it’s not so obvious to Brian that I’m changing it so soon.”

She nodded. “So you need someone to pick out paint?”

“Exactly. Paint and accent pieces. Make the place look modern.” He gave another winning grin. “Make me look like a power player.”

Something inside of her softened, despite her embarrassment at being swathed in a color it was now obvious he detested. He hadn’t meant to offend her, of course. He had no idea she wore the color to lure him. And now he was revealing a little bit of good old-fashioned humility and insecurity. That was good. She’d never dated a man who was willing to open up.

“I’d be glad to help you.”

“Really? I’d hate to bother you with this.” He glanced at her suit, perhaps doubtful of her ability to pick colors.

Would he? Was he really just in this for the paint?

“If there’s an administrative assistant who might have more free time…” he went on, giving her a questioning look.

What did that mean?

It only took her a split second to decide it didn’t matter what he meant, because she’d already volunteered to help him and even if he was giving her an out, she’d look like a jerk for taking it.

“Honestly, I don’t mind helping you out. It would be a nice change of pace.”

“Great. Thanks a million.”

“It’s nothing. When do you want to go?” She’d gone one step too far. She knew it as soon as the words left her lips. “I’m free tonight.”

He shook his head. “I can’t make it tonight—”

She shouldn’t have said it. She knew she shouldn’t have said it. Pages twenty-one through twenty-five of the book went on at great length about not pressing the man for a date but letting him make all the moves.

“But if you want to go get some ideas and bring them in tomorrow, that’d be super.”

What could she do? She couldn’t say she was suddenly unavailable. So she nodded. “No problem.”

“Maybe you can show me what you come up with over lunch tomorrow.”

“Sorry, I can’t make lunch tomorrow.” This was really counterintuitive. He was asking her out, that’s what she wanted, so how did it make sense to say no? It didn’t. This was a science, not a game. “How about Wednesday?” she suggested, feeling Leticia Bancroft’s figurative ruler on her knuckles again.

He looked at his desk calendar and made a quick note. “Wednesday it is. I’ve got you down.”

“Wonderful.” She smiled. “I’ll see you on Wednesday then.”

It wasn’t until she left his office and closed the door behind her that she finally thought about what had just happened.

She had a date with Mark Ford. A lunch date, granted, but it was still a date. Technically.

This was progress.