Angel Be Good (7 page)

"I may have lived in that era, but that
doesn't mean I took part in it!"

"So, what's your answer?"

"About what?"

"Making love. Here. Now."

"You're incorrigible. You should be thinking
about mending your ways rather than sex, you lout. Besides, it's
time again."

"More? You've got more planned?" His
expression was positively gloomy.

"Of course. Why do you think I'm still here?
It's nearly one o'clock."

He shook his head. "I don't think I want to
be reformed, Daphne. I like myself and my life. Why should I
change?"

"Because you don't like yourself nearly as
much as you pretend, that's why." Having seen his father in action,
she became more and more convinced that Nat was the better man. Nat
had been shaped by his father's neglect, yet showed an as yet
untapped potential for far more love and giving than the lieutenant
had ever aspired to. She wanted to help Nat more than ever because
he deserved to know love. "Come on, show me your photocopier."

Nat led her out of his office, through the
outer office and into the hallway, the whole time keeping his
thoughts to himself. Why didn't he say something? Up until now he'd
dominated their conversations.

Was he angry? Turning to check his
expression, their eyes met.

Nat felt his gut clench when she turned her
sapphire gaze on him. An idea had hit him like a freezing pail of
water. Was it possible that his father had been in love with
Daphne? Would it explain why he'd been so remote with Nat? Why his
dad so rarely came home? Perhaps when Daphne had died, his father
had felt that any chance for personal happiness had gone with
her?

There was something about her that appealed
more than just physically. The wicked gleam in her eye maybe? The
way she chugged back whiskey? Her infectious laughter? How her eyes
appeared to see deep inside him, down to his musty soul?

He could understand why his father might
have been in love with her. And he couldn't find it in himself to
be angry. But it wasn't necessary that he fall in his father's
footsteps this time. It didn't necessarily follow that like father,
like son. So she was a nice girl and rather fun to be around, she
didn't mean any more to him than any woman he found temporarily
amusing. Turning, he led her into the copy room where a bank of
copiers rested against a long wall.

"You want to see the color copier first?"
Pointing at the proper machine, he sagged into the door frame,
wanting to maintain a safe distance from her. Tried to drive the
memory of her scent from his mind. Who'd believe he could be such a
sucker for sandalwood and talcum?

In spite of everything he'd learned about
her, he still found her to be the sexiest woman he'd ever met and
he wasn't about to explore it any further. Thank God, she'd refused
his offers. A woman like her could break a man's heart. Thank God,
he didn't have one to break.

Daphne glanced over her shoulder at him.
Funny how one look could make his chest hurt.

"Can you show me how it works?" she
asked.

"Sure." Determined not to touch her, he
crammed his hands into his slacks pockets, then joined her. Nodding
his head at the control panel, he explained, "That's where you tell
it how many copies you want, the size and so on."

"Where is the paper stored?"

"There's a drawer that pulls out below." He
unclenched his fists and withdrew his hands from his pockets to
roll out the drawer.

Daphne knelt to check out the other drawers
and Nat cooperated by pulling down the front panel so she could see
the mechanisms hidden inside. When her curiosity seemed to be
satisfied, he closed the drawers and panels. She explored the
copier with her hands, running them over the surface, stopping
occasionally to ask about various knobs and attachments, like the
stacker tray. His traitorous mind imagined her hands running over
his body in the same way, exploring, touching—dammit, this had to
stop.

"What's this for?" she asked. Glancing down
to see what she meant, he almost panicked. His hand shot out to
grab her arm and pull her to safety.

"You've got to be more careful, Daph! You
almost stapled yourself. That's the electronic stapler you were
sticking your fingers into." He couldn't believe it. His heart was
pounding and he could feel a light sweat beading his forehead. All
this because some woman almost hurt herself? He'd never felt
protective in his life. Until now.

Trying to cover his overreaction, he
fingered the charm bracelet Daphne wore on her right arm, reluctant
to release his hold on her and the soft heat of her skin. He lifted
a charm, pretending interest, when all he wanted was to stroke that
soft skin, to continue feeling the electrical zings brought on by
touching her.

He realized the charms were unusual, not the
sweet-sixteen stuff he'd expected. Particularly unusual was that
every charm was an exact duplicate of the others—a quill in an ink
pot.

She must have seen the question in his eyes.
As she dragged her hand from him she shrugged. "Whenever one of my
articles was a cover story, I bought myself a charm as a
reward."

"How many are there?"

"Nine. I was hoping my tenth would be . . .
Never mind. The past is behind me now. But Leonard said I could
keep the bracelet." She smiled, a forlorn little smile. A smile
that made him want to take her into his arms and comfort her.

What was it about Daphne that brought out
instincts he hadn't even known were latent? What was it about her
that made him want to pull her tightly up against him, wrap his
arms around her and keep her there? What was it about her that made
him picture long nights of sultry lovemaking amid uproarious
laughter?

Ridiculous. He must be suffering from sleep
deprivation. Checking his watch, he saw it was already one in the
morning. He stifled a yawn as Daphne opened the top of the copier,
revealing the glass board on which the paper to be copied would
rest.

Leaning forward to explain how to size up
the paper, a flicker of light on the glass caught his attention.
That hadn't ever happened before.

He looked more closely. Suddenly,
incredibly, the glass screen completely lit up as if he were at a
movie theater. In the glass, he could see snow falling on Fifth
Avenue – a Fifth Avenue lit up with twinkling white Christmas
lights and gaily decorated windows filled with Christmas themes
while hundreds of people of all ages walked the street, going into
and emerging from shops with their arms full of holiday booty.

"What the hell is this?"

"Don't you get it yet? This is Christmas
Present," said Daphne in a musing tone. He glanced at her and saw
her eyes were alight with pleasure as she took in the scene. What
was it about New York City with its too crowded streets that
appealed to her? He looked back at the copier, wondering if he
should be offended that evidently he was Scrooge to her Ghost.

The scene had focused on a little girl, her
head covered in curls, her face glowing with a warm smile directed
at the man holding her hand. Nat looked at the man. Cousin Percy?
Was that the child he was always bragging about?

Curious, Nat studied the child. He couldn't
remember her name. Laura? He thought that was it. At her birth,
Percy had asked him to be her godfather and Nat had quickly
refused. For the first time, he wondered if it had been his
loss.

He'd thought Percy's motivation had been
pure greed, that if Nat left this earthly plane something would be
in it for Laura and Percival. But the girl's smile drew Nat, made
him want to bounce her on his knee and make her double over with
childhood giggles. Her smile was familiar somehow. Then it hit him.
Laura had his mother's tender smile.

It was like a fist in his gut.

The scene on the glass screen danced past
Percy and his family, swirled into a giant toy store crammed with
customers, displaying every toy any child could wish for. Bikes,
dolls, action figures, skates, radio-controlled cars, stuffed
animals. The screen froze for a moment on a beautiful doll, dressed
in Victorian apparel, velvets and furs. Next to it were racks of
little girl clothes matching the doll's outfit from head to
toe.

The camera flew again, this time to a
neighborhood market, filled to overflowing with turkeys and nuts
and fruits and vegetables, ready for purchase by last minute
shoppers. There was even a section for the true procrastinator,
with pies and meats already cooked, just waiting to be eaten.

The view shadowed for a moment and then lit
up again. The scene was a busy hospital emergency ward. A nurse
holding a thermometer in one hand and a fistful of candy canes in
the other. As she chatted to a frightened senior citizen with tubes
attached to his chest and arms, the nurse offered him a candy cane.
The older man smiled a gape-toothed grin and happily took the
candy, for a moment forgetting his pain and remembering the joy
that was Christmas.

The camera panned in on a gurney in the
hallway, a young black man bleeding from a bullet wound and the
doctor frantically trying to staunch the blood before wheeling him
into surgery. In the background, Nat saw a Christmas tree, flashing
out red and white lights. The colors of a hospital.

Next the picture moved with great speed, in
a blaze of color until it focused on a bridge, one Nat thought he
recognized as the 49th Street Bridge. Then the scene moved lower,
lower, until it centered on the shadows beneath the bridge.

In the dark, Nat could just make out a small
fire. The view closed in until it centered on a man warming his
hands above the fire. Another of New York's homeless. Then he heard
a woman's voice. She reached forward and hugged the man. Neither of
them were dressed well, although they were dressed warmly in layers
of tattered and dirty clothes. Beside the woman, he saw two
children – a boy of about five and a girl of about nine. Their eyes
sparkled in the firelight, eagerly anticipating the meal their
parents prepared.

"I managed to get half a chicken. What a
Christmas dinner! And your mom earned the carrots by cleaning out
the drain in front of Hazelman's. Tonight we have our own feast and
tomorrow we'll go to the shelter for Christmas supper," the father
said with a smile.

"We may not have much, but we've got each
other—and we'll have full bellies tonight," added the mother.

The boy piped in, "Do you think this year
Santa might be able to find us?" His sister elbowed him, but the
boy refused to be ashamed. He waited for an answer.

The mother met the father's gaze. "I'm
sorry, son. I just don't think so."

The boy brushed back a tear. "It's not
fair.

"No, Harry. It's not," said the father.
"Life isn't always fair. But, we've got a lot more than lots of
other people. We've got each other, we've got a fine meal, and
we've got a safe place to sleep tonight."

The mother spoke up. "Christmas is a time to
be thankful for what we do have. I'm grateful for each of you."

The girl didn't say anything, just gazed
sadly into the fire. The father reached over to rub her knee. "I
know it's not like we used to have, Sue. Harry here is too young to
remember well, but my luck will turn around again, you'll see. It's
almost a new year and with it will come good things."

"I think this is as good a time as any, to
pass out our gifts. What do you think?"

Everyone nodded and smiled. Nat looked at
the scene, wondering where they'd found money for gifts when they
had so little food and even Santa wouldn't be visiting. He couldn't
see any packages. He watched curiously as the mother handed around
envelopes, each with a name and a drawing hand written on the
front.

"As you know, these aren't the real thing,
but we've got our dreams and we've got our prayers," said the
mother. "I promise to do my best to help make our dreams come
true."

The father looked out from beneath the
bridge, at the starlit sky, and took a deep breath. "All I need is
just a little luck and our luck is about to change. I can feel it
in the air."

The boy was the first to open his envelope,
pulling out a picture cut out from a magazine. "A skateboard," he
cried out with pleasure.

The girl went next, slowly pulling out her
magazine clipping, obviously taking joy in the anticipation of what
surprise would await her dreams. "Oh, Mom. It's beautiful." She
held the slip of paper up for all to see. Nat recognized the
Victorian doll he'd seen at the toy store.

The girl clutched the picture to her chest.
"Her name's Bessie."

"Poppa, you're next," added the boy. "What
did Mom pick for you?"

The father opened his envelope, but before
withdrawing his cutting, he leaned forward to kiss his wife on her
cheek. Then he pulled it out and cried out, "Perfect! A business
suit. Next you know, I'll have a job on Wall Street and be
hobnobbing with the rich and famous. It's exactly what I
wanted."

"Now it's your turn," said the girl shyly,
as she handed an envelope to her mother. "Open it."

The woman was fast to comply, shooting a
quick wink at her son before doing so. "Oh. It's a house. Look,
dear!" She showed the clipping to her husband. "Thanks so much.
I'll have wonderful dreams tonight."

Then the father pulled a stack of envelopes
from his pocket, passed around one for each of them. The mother
opened hers first. She laughed. "A fine mink coat! I'll be
grand."

"I'd like you to be warm," he said
quietly.

Next the girl opened hers. Out fell a series
of clippings, showing a Christmas feast to dream of. Turkey,
stuffing, vegetables, pies, cakes. "Oh, how yummy! But," she added
reassuringly, as if she were the parent, "our dinner is better,
Poppa."

Lastly the boy tore open his envelope. "A
puppy! Oh, Poppa, I've always wanted a fireman's puppy. Maybe next
year, Santa will find us and bring me one with spots just like this
one."