Читать книгу Brief Encounters - Suzanne Forster, Suzanne Forster - Страница 8

SWAN HAD ALL OF NINETY seconds to herself in the bathroom before her cell phone rang. She considered ignoring it but remembered Lynne had promised to call, and she needed to talk to her partner. If it turned out to be someone else, they would just have to listen to her tinkle.

Swan hit the talk button, but didn’t even get to say hello.

“Can you spell yacht?” Lynne Carmichael sang out. “I’m on his yacht, Swan! Gvon Marcello’s yacht! We’re heading out to sea in a matter of minutes.”

“I can’t even spell Gvon,” Swan admitted. “What are you doing on his yacht? I need you here!”

And that was an understatement. She and Lynne weren’t just business partners, they’d been all but inseparable since childhood, sharing everything, especially their problems. They’d gone to the same schools right up until they graduated high school, when Swan had received a scholarship to study design at Brooks College, and Lynne had pursued a business degree at U.S.C.

“Swan, this is big. Big. I showed Gvon our stuff, and he loves it. He’s dropping hints that he might give us our own label. We’d design for him, but it would be our name on the clothes. And he doesn’t want just underwear. He wants loungewear, too, and maybe eventually, sportswear, men’s and women’s. Think about it, Swan. This is a dream come true.”

Swan had thought their tour was a dream come true, but she could hear Lynne’s excitement. “How did you meet him and why are you on his yacht?”

“It was that fund-raiser fashion show I told you about. One of the models introduced me to Gvon, and I had my suitcase of samples with me. Now he wants to talk business, and he said we could do that on his boat—I mean, yacht, excuse me!”

Swan’s sense of urgency grew and it wasn’t just physical. “Lynne, is this what we want to do? Team up with someone else?” They’d worked so hard for this chance to have their own line and they’d always seemed equally driven to succeed. Lynne came from money and Swan didn’t, but that had never mattered to either of them. Swan sometimes wondered if they each needed to prove themselves because of their very different stations in life—Lynne because she’d been given so much and Swan because she’d been given so little.

“It’s not someone else. It’s Gvon Marcello! How many pipsqueak designers like us ever get this chance? Just to be near him is golden.”

Lynne was not going to be talked out of this opportunity. That much was clear, and Swan didn’t necessarily want to pass it up, either. Big breaks came rarely in their business.

“Okay, okay, do what you can,” Swan said, “and then get yourself back here. The party’s tomorrow night.”

There was a distinct gulp on the other end. “I’ll never make it back for the party, Swan. We’re heading out for some secret destination, and even I don’t know where we’re going. Gvon’s destinations are always secret, so the press won’t find out.”

“And you’ll be back when?”

“Two days, three at the most. I know this is crazy and unexpected, but think of the chance to bond with a couture designer.”

“Bond? It sounds like you’re being kidnapped.”

“Oops, we’re leaving. Hear that horn? Now, listen to me, Swan, this is important. Art Long called me, and our loan’s come through. You need to go to the bank at ten tomorrow and pick up the check. Art will be waiting for you.”

The check, thank God! They’d had to mass produce their line to supply the boutiques, and the cost was staggering. Without this money, they wouldn’t be able to handle the mounting bills or pay their share of the tour expenses.

“You’re going to have to sign for it,” Lynne was saying, “and you may have to sign my name, as well, but don’t worry. You’ve done that before on business stuff. Besides, Art’s the loan officer, and he’ll push it through.”

Swan winced at the pressure, both from Lynne’s news and her own bladder. She’d held back out of correct telephone etiquette, but everyone had a breaking point. A sigh of relief escaped her.

“Are you peeing?” Lynn asked.

How could she tell? Swan plucked the air freshener from the back of the commode and spritzed the air, as if that could disguise her failure of nerve. How many over-achievers out there had to trot to the john just when things were getting challenging? This had to be a club with a membership of one.

“I’ll take care of the check,” she assured Lynne. “Have fun, but if you’re not back in time for the L.A. show, I’m coming to get you.”

“So I guess the audition went badly?” Lynne persisted. “If you’re in the bathroom, it must have been bad.”

“Sometimes people just have to go. I was in here when you called.”

Lynne sighed. “How bad was it, Swan? You might as well tell me.”

“Terrible.” Swan shuddered at the thought. “I molested a repairman, thinking he was one of the models.”

“Way to go!” Lynn chortled with delight. “Was he cute?”

Swan found herself smirking into the mouthpiece. “Cute doesn’t begin to describe this guy. He’s sex on the cloven hoof, sent from the hottest region of hell to torment me.”

“Wow, that good?”

“Dark hair, blue eyes, the longest legs I’ve ever seen.” Including the third one. “Just my type.”

“I didn’t know you had a type.”

“I didn’t, either.” Swan sighed, perfectly aware that she would never see the man again. Lynne would have gotten his business card and his bank balance before she let him go. Probably a saliva sample, as well.

“Well, it sounds like you’re having fun, you vixen. How’s the model search going otherwise?”

“I still haven’t found anyone who can dance and unbutton his fly at the same time. I never realized what an art form that was. We should have called the modeling agency instead of letting Gerard recruit his friends.”

“Well, then call the modeling agency.”

“And how do you suggest we pay them?”

“With the check you’re picking up tomorrow!”

That prompted Swan’s second sigh of relief. Of course, they had money now. Maybe they could even afford to pay Gerard’s back wages. Oh, happy day. Now all she needed was for Lynne to come back safely and the show could go on.

“Gotta go,” Lynne said. “Something’s moving and it isn’t me.”

“Be careful!” Swan pleaded, but her partner had already hung up. And with the sound of Lynne’s voice went Swan’s elation. Somehow Swan was going to have to get through the launch party tomorrow night and probably the L.A. show on her own. The odds of Lynne getting back for either seemed slim. But Swan wasn’t alone. She had her indispensable Gerard—and some emergency funding to ease the pain.

Thanks to Art Long, she thought. Lynne had been dating him for a couple of months now, and Art was the one who’d suggested they use the villa as collateral for a business loan. Lynne’s mom and stepdad had retired and moved to the Florida Keys, leaving her the charming, three-story mansion. Unfortunately, Lynne could barely afford the taxes, and her mother’s one condition was that she cover all costs in maintaining the house.

Swan had moved in last year to help defray expenses and they’d converted the villa’s first floor into their design center and offices. But they were still running short every month. Then La Bomba, a trendy west-coast clothing chain, offered to show Brief Encounters’s wares exclusively and to promote them with a fashion show tour. It looked as if the struggle was over. But only in the long term. In the short term, their manufacturing costs had soared and they had yet to recoup any of the money. If the shows didn’t generate strong sales…

Well, Swan wasn’t going to think about that.

Art had pushed the paperwork through in record time, and now it seemed he was willing to participate in a bit of forgery, as well. Lynne had her ways, but Swan wasn’t sure she wanted to know how Lynne had managed to wrap a banker around her little finger.

Swan’s crisis seemed to be over, so she quickly finished. Washing her hands, she glanced at herself in the oval mirror above the marble sink, but did not like what she saw. She looked exactly like what she was: a thirty-year-old woman who’d had to sacrifice most of her “me” time to keep a business afloat. Her aquamarine eyes were her best feature, but even their rather exotic almond shape couldn’t stop them from looking stressed and weary.

Tired of fighting with her long auburn hair, she’d gone after it with a claw clip and it was now back where it belonged, sitting on top of her head. She was grateful for its rich luster, but she probably could have used a stylist—a few highlights wouldn’t have hurt, either. Still, all the sacrifices had been worth it, especially now. She’d come a long way since she and Lynne had joined forces. They both had.

They’d grown up together, though under very different circumstances. Swan’s mother, Pat, had worked for Lynne’s mother as a housekeeper, but they were both single moms and had many things in common, which was probably why their working relationship had developed into a lasting friendship. Eventually Lynne’s mother, Felice, had remarried, but she and Pat had remained close. Pat still worked as a housekeeper for another very wealthy family. Her duties now mostly involved supervising the household staff. Whenever she could, she traveled to Florida to visit Felice.

Swan owed much to her mother. It was Pat who had taught her to sew and to piece whole outfits together from whatever material was available. Swan took to it quickly, once fashioning slacks and a blazer from a corduroy bedspread. But her mother was also a cautious and fearful soul who believed that dreams were dangerous and pursuing them even more so. She’d never wanted Swan to do anything but follow safely in her footsteps. “It’s steady work,” she liked to say. “You’ll never go hungry or lack for a roof over your head.”

Maybe that was another reason Swan felt the need to prove herself. Her doting mom was waiting for her to fail.

Swan felt as if she were carrying Brief Encounters squarely on her shoulders right now, and everything she and Lynne had was at stake. It wasn’t just their business, it was this house, too….

But if she didn’t stop thinking like that, she would never get out of the loo.

She peeked up and down the hallway before letting herself out of the bathroom. Somewhere loose in this building was a dangerously attractive telephone repairman with a twitch, and she did not want to run into him again.

SWAN HAD ALWAYS FOUND banks a bit stifling, but this morning was different. She was absolutely thrilled to be at the Manhattan Beach branch of First National Heritage. Her pulse was alive with excitement as she walked into the heart of the brick-and-marble building and looked around for the man she needed. Now, where was Arthur Long?

She searched for a tall, lanky man with a heavily jelled crew cut and round Harry-Potter-like glasses. Swan didn’t know a whole lot about Art, except that he was a loan officer at First National and Lynne was quite taken with him. Art was cute in a bankish way, and he had a habit of looking you straight in the eyes and clasping your hand the way a minister would. Unfortunately, he reminded her more of a salesman than a minister. He talked fast and breathy, and he liked to slip your name into the conversation as often as possible, as if to cement the fact that you were friends, darnit.

There he was, coming out of one of the bank’s offices. She waved and managed to catch his eye. He headed her way, all horn-rimmed spectacles and big wide smile. Probably a perfectly nice guy, she thought, wondering why she wasn’t lucky enough to be attracted to one of the nice guys of the world. Her first—and last—romantic disaster had been a limo driver, a bad boy down to his muscle-man T-shirts and unfiltered cigarettes. And now she was losing her mind over a telephone repairman who was too sexy for his tool kit?

She could feel the heat rising all over again as she thought about what she’d done to him. What she didn’t understand was why she couldn’t get him out of her head. She’d even dreamed about him last night, and of course what had she done in the dream but give in to her crazy impulse and touch him. The entire vibrating length of him. What happened after that was the stuff of X-rated videos. It could probably have gotten them arrested in some states.

“Right this way,” Art said, seemingly unaware of his client’s rocketing blood pressure as he guided her into his office. “Have a seat and we’ll have this taken care of in a couple of minutes.”

Swan managed to sit in an overstuffed leather chair and return Art’s smile without giving away her breathy, over-heated condition. She forced herself to take in her surroundings. The size of the room and the quality of the decor were impressive. The desk looked as though it might be mahogany, and there was a matching credenza against the wall. Apparently Art was doing well. She was glad someone was. Was that gleam of gold on his wrist a Rolex watch?

“I can’t tell you how much Lynne and I appreciate this,” she assured Art. “I just wish she could be here.”

His nod said he did, too. “She told me about Gvon. If all goes well, and I know it will, Swan, you two could be doing your fall show in New York next year.”

He seemed very understanding about Lynne’s sea voyage with another man, but it was widely believed that Gvon’s interest in women was solely limited to the clothes he designed for them, so perhaps Art’s masculinity wasn’t threatened.

Art dragged a large folder of papers from the side of his desk to the center. Even though there was no one else in his office, he lowered his voice. “We just need you to sign Lynne’s name on a couple of these documents. As long as we have her permission, there’s no problem. Basically, this stuff gets filed away and no one ever looks at it again.”

Swan shifted uneasily. She wished she could be as casual about this little bit of forgery as Art and Lynne. Still, there weren’t any other options. They needed the money now. The fate of their tour was on the line—and if the tour was on the line, so was their business.

“Okay,” she said. “It isn’t as if I haven’t done this plenty of times—Lynne and I are always signing each other’s names to forms, but never loan documents.”

Art pulled a Cross pen from his pocket and handed it to her. “It’ll be fine, Swan. There and there.” He pointed to the appropriate places.

Unlike Swan’s carefully controlled signature, Lynne’s was a flamboyant scrawl that was completely illegible. It fit her carefree personality perfectly. Art slid the document that named the house as collateral over to her. Swan made a practiced twirl with her right hand and then laid pen to paper and signed her partner’s name.

“I hope there aren’t any problems with this,” she said. “Lynne would be devastated if she lost that house. It’s been in her family for ages, you know.”

Art just grinned and swept the papers into a neat pile. “You two are unstoppable, trust me. You have a great future ahead of you.”

“If only you were an underwear buyer.” Swan watched as Art bundled the documents into a fan folder. From his top desk drawer he took out a check and a leather-bound book. “How’s a hundred grand sound?” he said, handing her the check.

Swan’s hand trembled as she took the money from him. Her breath faded as she looked at it. One hundred thousand dollars.

“I had this organizer made up especially for your whirlwind tour,” Art said, holding up the leather book. “It has your company name embossed on the pages and there’s a digital order book in the back to keep track of your skyrocketing orders.”

Swan had a mental image of the old organizer in her bag, which was falling apart from wear. The book he handed her was beautifully crafted. The organizer section was made of high-quality paper with their company name inscribed in beautiful lettering. The other section contained several useful compartments, including the one that held a tiny computerized order book. Swan was sure the package must have cost several hundred dollars.

“Thank you!” she exclaimed softy. “It’s beautiful. Lynne will be as thrilled as I am.”

“Listen, when she gets back, we’ll all get together and have dinner. My treat.”

Swan shook her head in protest. “Our treat, and we’ll wrestle you for the check. You’ve been much too good to us.”

Despite the banker specs, Art had a dashing smile and he flashed it now. “What red-blooded guy would turn down a chance to wrestle two beautiful women?”

Once Swan had gathered up her belongings, Art escorted her as far as the door of his office when a ringing phone stopped him. Swan quickly thanked him again and left. As she walked through the lobby, heading toward double glass doors leading to the bright sunshine outside, she had a thought that almost frightened her.

No turning back now.

MOMENTS BEFORE THE PARTY was about to start that evening, Swan stepped out onto the patio and allowed herself a moment to take in the magical world that lay before her in the estate’s gardens. She clutched her new leather organizer, where she’d jotted her commentary for the show, and took a breath. Gerard had outdone himself. She couldn’t imagine how he’d managed to put together such an elegant display on a party budget that bordered on embarrassing. Buffet tables sat on the left and right of a rented champagne fountain. Japanese lanterns hung in colorful patterns, augmenting the starlight from a crystal-clear sky above. At the far end of the garden Gerard had set up a runway, accented by delicate white lights. The entire space had become a place of wonder and delight.

“Are you pleased?” Gerard asked as he hurried up the flagstone steps and joined her. He took a moment to check out Swan’s outfit and gave her a surprised blink of approval. It was a daring black silk halter top with a bias-cut skirt that she’d put together a couple of summers back, wondering if there would ever be an occasion to wear it. To gear yourself up for a bold move, this was the dress to wear, she thought. And tonight was the night.

“If you’re not thrilled with all of this,” he said, “I’m going to hang myself. Just like that nanny did in The Omen.”

The way he stood with his hands on his hips and his face all expectant made Swan laugh. Gerard was no taller than five feet six and on the plump side these days but his heart was large, and that was what mattered. Plus, whatever he lacked in stature, he definitely made up for in Sturm and Drang.

“Gerard, I love it! How on earth did you ever manage this?”

He flipped his hand casually. “Oh, it was nothing. A little of this, a little of that, and a lot of discount shopping.”

“I’ll never be able to repay you. Not just for this, for everything you’ve done these past few days. I couldn’t have made it without your help.”

“My pleasure, Duckling.” He loved to call her Duckling instead of Swan, but at least he didn’t put the U-word in front of it. “Lest you forget,” he said, “I’m your biggest cheerleader. It isn’t every day that a couple of feisty independents decide to strike out on their own, especially in this business—and you know how I love an underdog.”

He headed off, beckoning her to come with him. “The guests will be arriving any minute, and you’re the receiving line. Once you greet everybody and get them eating, drinking and mingling, I’ll do the honors and introduce you.”

Swan had been on the run for days, but suddenly her nervousness caught up with her. And it wasn’t just the stress of the tour, as if that wasn’t enough. She’d been having vivid dreams at night and flashbacks during the day, all of them erotic and all of them starring long-legged men with bulging tool kits. She never knew when the lurid images would pop into her head, and it was playing hell with her composure.

“I wish you were coming with me on the road trip,” she said, trailing after Gerard. “If you were there, I wouldn’t feel so…so…”

“Helpless? Vulnerable? Terrified?” Gerard offered.

Swan nodded. “Any one of those would fill the blank.”

Gerard grabbed her hand and led her back into the house and down to the foyer. Her black-beaded heels clicked on the marble steps and her skirt swished against her legs. The knowledge that at least she’d dressed for the part boosted her confidence. She left her organizer on an occasional table as he went to open the door and usher in the first of the guests. Here we go, she thought, taking a deep breath.

The guest list had been a calculated move with calculated risks. The L.A. Times and the Long Beach Press Telegram were both sending their assistant fashion editors tonight. Photographers from In Style magazine and Details were scheduled to show up, as well. The risk was that they would pan the line. Veteran designers could weather bad reviews, but hopefuls could be wiped out by just one, especially if it was the premier show.

Besides the press, the small staff of people who had actually worked with Lynne and Swan to get the new line from idea to reality had been invited, along with the managers of the Los Angeles La Bomba boutique. Swan’s mother had been invited, too, of course, but Pat McKenna was too concerned about the risks her daughter was taking to show up and witness them in person.

May she be wrong about that, Swan thought. With all due respect, may she be dead wrong.

Once she’d greeted everyone, Swan began mingling, making her way through the house and out into the gardens. It was quite a heady experience seeing so many enthusiastic faces and hearing the buzz of excitement about her new creations. Jan Hudson, the manager of La Bomba, rushed up to her.

“Wonderful party!” she said, clasping Swan’s hand. “We can’t wait for you to bring the show to the store. Everything is ready to go.” She glanced around. “Where’s your partner in crime?”

Jan clearly meant Lynne, but there was no time for Swan to explain. She was being summoned.

“It’s show time!” Gerard called, waving at her from across the wide expanse of neatly trimmed grass. He was climbing the steps to the stage and runway that he and his buddies had built.

“Good luck,” Jan said as Swan excused herself.

Swan silently rehearsed her opening lines as she headed for the stage. She wasn’t accustomed to public speaking, but the show had to go on, and she was the one who had to deliver it. Fortunately she had the organizer notes to back her up if she went blank. And this bold black dress as her shield.

Just don’t let me have to whiz, she prayed.

Gerard tapped the microphone with his hand. Three loud thumps assaulted the quiet night air. “Ladies and gentlemen,” he said, “she is not only the designer of the hottest new line of male undies in recent memory—which will be sold exclusively through the La Bomba boutiques, I might add—she is also our master of ceremonies tonight. I give you Swan McKenna!”

Waving to the clapping crowd, Swan hurried up two creaky wooden steps to join Gerard at the podium.

“Swan McKenna!” he bellowed again. Gerard gave her a thumbs-up before disappearing behind the curtain of the makeshift stage. He’d also volunteered himself and his motley crew to run the slide show, lights and sound system.

“Thank you all for coming,” Swan said, still a little breathless. Her voice sounded loud and hollow as it came through the speakers. “Some of you may have noticed that my partner, Lynne Carmichael, isn’t with us tonight. She was called away on a business matter, but she sends her love and her gratitude for your support.”

Swan sucked in a breath and smiled. “And now, I would like to present a sneak preview of Brief Encounters’s first-ever line of male undergarments. This is our fall collection, and we have for your viewing pleasure our Romeo Underwear, our Hero Bodywear and our Machismo Activewear!”

On that cue, Gerard flipped on the sound system and the night erupted with Jerry Lee Lewis wailing out “Great Balls of Fire.” The audience applauded as three male models burst onto the stage and began their routine. Behind them, projected on a black silk screen, were huge color slides of other pieces from the fall line. The photos had been Swan’s idea, and it had cut down significantly on their need for models.

“Starting the show is our Romeo for tonight, Brad!” The applause was instantaneous as Brad took center stage. He wore an Armani tuxedo jacket and very little else. In one hand, he clutched a dozen roses, and in the other, a heart-shaped box of candy. His lower parts were encased in a snug-fitting thong that was glow-in-the-dark pink. But even Swan wasn’t prepared when the lights went out. For a few moments, all you could see was a disembodied hot-pink thong bobbing around.

Not unlike my dreams, Swan thought ironically.

The crowd howled and flashbulbs popped as photographers jostled one another for a better angle.

“The Romeo imprint is for the romantic at heart,” Swan said. “The man who knows how to sweet-talk and candy-walk his way right into his lover’s heart. Romeo gets his Juliet every time when he’s wearing a Brief Encounters design!”

As Brad left the stage, the second model came forward. He wore a traditional red fireman’s helmet and had a length of fire hose draped over his bare shoulder as he strode confidently down the runway. “For the damsel in distress, for the adventuress, and for all who love a man in uniform, bring on the heroes!”

This round of applause was even louder than the first. Swan noticed that a few of the women in the audience were actually getting to their feet to get a better look at Sam the Fireman. Sam’s formfitting briefs were fire-engine red with black suspender-like straps attached. When he got to the end of the lighted runway, he stopped and yanked the hose from his shoulder, pointing the nozzle at the audience.

“What do you think, ladies?” Swan asked cheerfully. “Is he hot enough for you? Should we hose him down?”

Sam dazzled them with a raffish grin before bowing his head. As he turned, the audience got their first good look at his tightly knotted buttocks, and the normally tranquil garden gave up a roar of approval.

“Whew,” Swan said, wiping her brow in exaggerated fashion. “We better cool things off.” There were loud groans of protest and Swan laughed. “You don’t want to cool off? Not even with a swim? How about a swim with the man who’s bold enough to wear Machismo?”

Model number three sprinted onto the runway in a black bikini swimsuit that left little to the imagination. Atop his head was a black swimming cap and goggles. Tall, tanned and sleek as a panther, he made his way down the runway.

Swan gave her spiel on the Machismo line and allowed the raucous response to build as she waved all three models back onto center stage. “This is only the preview,” she shouted, trying to be heard over the noise. “The entire line can be seen tomorrow night at the La Bomba boutique on Melrose. Again, thank you all for coming!”

With that, she grabbed her organizer from the podium and descended into a throng of well-wishers. Her sense of relief outweighed everything else, but the success of the event began to dawn on her as she was swept into one embrace after another. Her guests, professional and otherwise, seemed thrilled by the program—and happy for her. Maybe it was safe to say that the fashion show was a hit. She only hoped the line was, too.

The press rushed over with questions about the show, and there was a line of people waiting to extend their congratulations. Swan held out through most of it, savoring the sweetness of Brief Encounters’s first victory, and wishing Lynne had been here to share it. She had to find Gerard to thank him, too. But finally, she had no choice. The need to excuse herself was becoming more urgent every second.

“Brava!” someone called out as Swan hurried into the house. Some of the guests had moved inside from the garden, and she smiled, waving as she sailed by them. The closest bathroom was in the hall, under the foyer staircase. She turned the knob, grateful that she had made it. Locked! From inside someone said, “Out in a sec.”

But Swan didn’t have much more than a second. She trotted down the hall and ducked into one of the guest rooms. The bathroom door was open and the light was off. Empty.

In record time she had her ruffled skirt hiked up and her panties and panty hose down to her ankles. She’d worn panties because her new Tanga Totally Nude panty hose were quite risqué without them—and also because of the problem that had brought her to the bathroom. A psychologist friend had told her that her sense of urgency was nothing more than a reaction to stress. Swan didn’t disagree, but tell that to her bladder on a night such as this.

It hit her suddenly how exhausted she was. The past few days had been a whirlwind of activity, but she had made it through, and she had made it through on her own. It had not only gone well, it had gone better than she’d dreamed it might—the perfect day, really.

Lord, she was tired. She could go to sleep right here.

Letting her eyes drift shut, she reached for the toilet tissue. A few seconds later she heard a creaking noise and she slowly opened her eyes again. A few seconds? Swan blinked several times. It must have been long enough for her to have fallen into a deep sleep—because she was now dreaming that there was a man in her bathroom—a very tall, angry-looking man holding a big gold badge.

“Swan McKenna?” he said. “You’re under arrest.”