Double the Heat (20 page)
Authors: Lori Foster,Deirdre Martin,Elizabeth Bevarly,Christie Ridgway
Tags: #Erotic Stories; American, #Man-Woman Relationships, #Mate Selection, #Contemporary, #Fiction, #Romance, #General, #Short Stories
“Sit, sit,” said Sinead, motioning toward the couch. Lennie sat, unable to resist running a hand back and forth over one of the velvet cushions. She loved velvet, but it was damn hard to work with. She’d once tried to make a velvet blazer for herself in high school, and it had come out looking like a luxury straitjacket.
“So, what have you got for me?” Sinead asked enthusiastically.
Heart pounding wildly in her chest, Lennie pulled the three sketches out of her portfolio and handed them to Sinead, who scrutinized them intently. One was a black draped cardigan made of cashmere; one was a 1940s-type pencil skirt with a back slit; the final design was a short snap jacket that would be made of rustic silk linen. Lennie tried to look interested in glancing around the office, but it was hard. Now and again, she slid Sinead a surreptitious, sideways glance, one time noticing there was an unmistakable indentation on the ring finger of her left hand, most likely from where she once wore a wedding ring.
The silence was killing Lennie. Finally, after what felt like forever, Sinead looked up. “I want all of them.”
Lennie couldn’t hide her shock. “Are you serious?”
“These designs are gorgeous, Lennie, and are just what I was looking for: items that are unique yet professional. You’re going to have an amazing career.”
Overwhelmed, Lennie didn’t know what to say.
“Lennie?”
“Oh, God, sorry. I just—I’m amazed.”
“Don’t be. What happens next?”
Lennie fought to keep her voice steady. “Well, I’ll take your measurements, and then I’ll make the clothes for you.”
Sinead pointed to Lennie’s satchel. “I bet you have a tape measure in there.”
Lennie blushed. “Of course.”
Sinead stood. “Measure away.”
Lennie was surprised by how talkative Sinead was as she measured her, gabbing about her family and her job, asking Lennie all about school and even about Aunt Mary. Sinead revealed that while she loved being an attorney, the job was so stressful that sometimes she wished she could just run away. Lennie wondered if Sinead’s commitment to work played any role in her split from her husband.
“Done,” Lennie said finally.
“Great.” Sinead went behind her desk, opened a drawer, and pulled out a checkbook. Lennie gasped when Sinead handed her a check and she saw the amount.
“This is way too much money for the materials I’m going to need.”
“We’ll figure all that out later. In the meantime, I want you to know there’s no rush on this. School should come first.”
“Of course.” Lennie knew she was right, but it was hard to even think about school right now when she’d just sold three designs. She couldn’t wait to tell Sebastian and Christie. She wasn’t so sure about telling her aunt just yet; she’d wait until she was done working on the parrot hats.
Lennie packed up her designs. “I can’t thank you enough—”
“Don’t be silly. I love that I’m going to be the first person to wear an original Lennie Buckley! My friends are going to be so jealous! Who knows? It could result in your selling more designs.”
Lennie nodded dumbly. Already selling her designs while still in school. It was amazing.
“I’m sure I’ll see you at the Hart sometime,” Sinead continued cordially, showing Lennie to the door.
“I really like it there.”
Sinead smiled proudly. “My folks have worked really hard to create a friendly atmosphere.”
“Well, they’ve succeeded.”
Sinead pressed her shoulder warmly. “Have a good day, Lennie. Simone will show you out.”
Lennie nodded. She was still pinching herself as Sinead quietly closed her office door behind her. Things were happening so quickly, her head was beginning to spin. But they were all good things. She had no complaints.
Eight
Lennie had no idea what to expect when she and Sebastian got off the subway in Coney Island, the last subway stop in Brooklyn. All she knew was what Sebastian had told her: that Brighton Beach was called Little Odessa because of the high concentration of Russian immigrants. Coney Island blended into Brighton Beach, and as they walked toward Brighton Beach Avenue, the area’s main thoroughfare, the first thing that struck Lennie was the lack of cars and tall buildings. Much as she loved living in the megalopolis that was Manhattan, being able to see the horizon was a nice change, especially since she could also smell the ocean on the breeze.
All the Russian butcher shops, delis, cafés, bookstores, and grocery stores amazed her. Even the storefront sign outside the Duane Reade drugstore had Cyrillic lettering. Clearly this was an area that didn’t feel compelled to cater to tourists.
Strolling along, Sebastian said “hello” in Russian to a woman selling what looked to Lennie like small pastries. She greeted him back cheerily, asking him a question, to which he replied in the guttural language being spoken everywhere.
“What did she ask you?” Lennie asked.
“How I was, and how my uncle was. She’s lived here forty years.”
“What was she selling?”
“Piroshki, small pastries filled with potatoes, meat, cheese, or cabbage.”
“Let’s get one.”
“I’m sure my uncle made some.” Sebastian looked a little melancholy. “What do you think so far?”
“I feel like I’ve entered a completely different world.”
“You have.”
“You homesick?”
“A little bit. But it will pass.”
At the end of the street, they made a right turn and walked the two blocks to the beach. Lennie felt content as they ambled along the pristine boardwalk. It was off-season, so it wasn’t crowded. The day was chilly, yet bench after bench was occupied by old men engrossed in chess games. Groups of older women bundled up in fur coats strolled by, gabbing away in Russian. They didn’t seem to mind the brisk wind coming off the ocean.
Sebastian glanced behind him at the closest group of women walking by. “That group that just passed us? They’re complaining about their children.”
“Isn’t that what all parents do?”
“I suppose.”
She’d been careful with what she’d worn, knowing that if she put together one of her more eclectic combos, it might lead Sebastian’s uncle not to like her. She kept her outfit simple: jeans, a simple white button-down blouse, and a pair of clogs. She was wearing makeup, but not much. She could tell by the relief on Sebastian’s face when he came to get her at her aunt’s that he’d been worried she might be dressed quirkily.
“You look nice,” she told him, when what she was really thinking was
God, you’re sexy.
His faded jeans were tight, and he looked as though he might bust out of the black T-shirt he was wearing beneath his open leather jacket. His mirrored aviator sunglasses were the icing on the cake. He looked like a
GQ
model.
God, you’re sexy.
His faded jeans were tight, and he looked as though he might bust out of the black T-shirt he was wearing beneath his open leather jacket. His mirrored aviator sunglasses were the icing on the cake. He looked like a
GQ
model.
Sebastian squeezed her hand. “You, too. I think my uncle Yuri will like you very much.”
“You really haven’t told me much about him, apart from the facts that he hasn’t really Americanized very well, he’s your dad’s brother, and he works as a translator.”
“Well, what do you want to know?”
“How long has he been here?”
“Twenty years, I think,” he said vaguely.
“Did he come here for a job?”
There was a long, uncomfortable pause. “He came because his father, my grandfather, was Jewish, so he had no future. Russia is more tolerant now, but twenty years ago, glasnost—the new openness in Russia—had barely started. He taught physics at the Moscow Institute of Physics and Technology. The discrimination became too much, so he left.”
Lennie was horrified. “That’s terrible.”
“Yes, it is,” Sebastian agreed.
“How come your father—”
“Because he was an esteemed hockey coach. People were willing to ignore the fact that his father was Jewish. No doubt if he was just a professor, the same thing would have happened to him.”
“Has your uncle ever gone back?”
“No. But my father visits him here every year.”
“That’s good.” Lennie knew it was an inadequate response, but she didn’t know what else to say. All she knew was that once again, the differences between the countries she and Sebastian had been raised in were painfully clear.
Eventually, they arrived at a small, eight-story, sand-colored apartment house, and took the elevator to the sixth floor. When the elevator doors slid back, Lennie found herself enveloped in a mélange of mouthwatering smells. She tilted her head back, inhaling deeply.
“I don’t know what’s cooking, but it smells heavenly.”
“Ah, just wait and see,” said Sebastian with a wink.
Lennie realized that when she’d been outside, taking in all the new sights and sounds, she’d been able to keep her nervousness at bay. Now that they were standing in front of Uncle Yuri’s door, she was hit with a bad case of the butterflies. She tightened her grip around Sebastian’s hand.
“Don’t worry,
milaya moya
,” he reassured her. “It will be fine.”
milaya moya
,” he reassured her. “It will be fine.”
Lennie swallowed as Sebastian rang the doorbell. There was the sound of three locks clicking back; then the door swung open to reveal a well- built, silver-haired man, dressed in rumpled black pants, a turtleneck, and a lint-covered gray cardigan that had seen better days. His face lit up as he reached out to warmly take Lennie’s hands between his.
“Welcome, welcome. I’m Yuri.”
“Lennie.”
“Yes, yes, I know. My nephew has told me about you. Come in, come in.”
Lennie followed Uncle Yuri into the apartment. “See?” Sebastian whispered as he closed the apartment door behind them. “It will be fine.”
Sebastian hugged his uncle, who immediately began talking to him a mile a minute in Russian.
“English,” Sebastian said to him softly but firmly. “You have to talk English.”
“Yes, of course.” He looked at Lennie apologetically. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to be rude.”
“It’s okay, I understand.”
The apartment was tiny, every nook and cranny piled high with books and papers, some of them yellowing with age. Sebastian and Lennie sat down on the faded floral couch while Yuri settled into a battered leather armchair opposite them.
“When are you going to clear this junk out?” Sebastian asked him. “It’s a fire hazard. I told you: I’ll help you.”
“And I told you to mind your business,” Uncle Yuri chided affectionately. He turned his attention to Lennie. “My nephew tells me you design clothing.”
“Yes. I’m going to school for it, but I just sold three of my designs this week.”
Uncle Yuri nodded approvingly. “You’re hardworking. That’s good.”
“Why don’t you let her design something for you, so you don’t roam around all the time looking like an old man?” Sebastian asked.
Uncle Yuri said something to him in Russian again, but this time Sebastian laughed.
“He’s telling me again to mind my business, but in a more colorful way,” Sebastian explained.
“Something not fit for a beautiful lady’s ears,” Uncle Yuri added.
Lennie nodded and smiled. The heat in the apartment was stifling. Any minute now, she was going to start sweating, not something you wanted to do the first time you met your boyfriend’s only relative in the country.
“Would you like some good, strong black tea?” Yuri asked.
Oh, hell. If she drank something hot, she’d find herself sitting in a puddle of her own sweat. Yet she didn’t want to be impolite.
“That would be lovely,” she fibbed.
“My uncle makes good tea,” said Sebastian.
Yuri rose, disappearing into the kitchen.
“You’ve got to open a window,” Lennie quietly begged Sebastian. “It’s like a sauna in here.”
“I know. I can’t stand it. I think he keeps it so high because for so many years, the heat in his apartment in Moscow barely worked. Now he’s obsessed with it.”
Sebastian crept over to the thermostat and turned it down. “That should make it better.”
When Yuri reappeared, he was carrying a tray with three glasses, not cups, of tea, each glass in a holder of delicate silver filigree.
“Here,” said Yuri, handing Lennie a glass. “This is the traditional way we drink it. None of those cups and mugs for us!” He held his tea glass high. “
Za fstryechoo!
To our meeting!”
Za fstryechoo!
To our meeting!”
The three of them clinked glasses, then settled down to talk. Having no children of his own, Yuri seemed to revel in telling Lennie stories about Sebastian as a little boy, which embarrassed Sebastian, if his eye rolling and heavy sighing were any indication. He didn’t seem to mind, though, when his uncle sang his praises as a hockey player. Somehow, Lennie wasn’t surprised.
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