Envy (15 page)

Thankfully, she made it up the path without encountering any local fauna. She dropped her stick, dusted off her hands, and took a good look at the hulking building. It was, as Mike had described, a structure on the brink of collapse.

The wood was gray and weathered. The tin roof had been corroded by rust. Large patches of the exterior and part of the roof were covered by an impenetrable carpet of vines. One species bloomed bright purple flowers that seemed incompatible with the overall feeling of dilapidation and abandonment.

With misgiving, Maris approached the wide door that was standing open. The interior was even larger than indicated by the exterior. It was cavernous and dark inside, with only an occasional stripe of sunlight shining through a separation in the vertical wooden slats that formed the walls or a miniature spotlight cast on the dirt floor by a hole in the roof.

The rear half of the lower story was covered by a loft. The ceiling of the overhang was built of massive wood beams. A large wheel about ten feet in diameter was situated just beneath this ceiling and was connected to the dirt floor by a wood column as big around as a barrel. Maris had never seen anything like it.

She blinked to adjust her eyes to the gloom.

"Hello?" Receiving no answer, she stepped inside and took a few hesitant steps forward.

"Parker?" After a moment, she repeated,

"Hello?"

"Here."

She jumped and flattened her hand against her heart, coming about quickly. He was in a corner behind her, invisible except for one ray of sunlight coming through the roof and reflecting off the chrome of his chair.

Recovering, she asked crossly, "Didn't you hear me?"

"Are you serious? All that thrashing? You'd never make it as an Indian brave."

"Then why didn't you say something?"

"How'd you get here?"

###"Walked. How'd you get here?" ######255

"How do I get everywhere?"

"You can roll your chair along that path?"

"I manage."

He remained where he was, but she could feel him looking at her and realized that she must appear only a silhouette against the square of light behind her. She advanced farther inside but only a few steps.

"Where'd you get the clothes?"

She glanced down at her casual skirt, shirt, and sandals as though she'd never seen them before. It was an outfit she usually took to their country house for a summer weekend of cookouts and antique shopping. She'd packed it herself in New York just two days ago, but it seemed much longer ago than that and much farther away.

"Mike arranged for my suitcase to be picked up at the hotel and sent over. He went to the dock and met the boat."

"He's gone dotty."

"Pardon?"

"He's got a crush on you."

"He's just being nice."

"We've had this conversation already."

They had. She didn't want to repeat it. The last time, it had ended ... She didn't want to think about how it had ended.

A silence ensued. Her eyes had adjusted to the dimness, but she could still barely see him where he remained in the deep shadows of the corner. To fill the awkward silence, she said, "This is a picturesque building."

"Which you accidentally happened upon?"

"Mike gave me directions."

"Mike talks too much."

"Not that much. He gives away none of your secrets."

"Until a few minutes ago this building was my secret. I come here to be alone."

She ignored the implication that he didn't welcome her company and took a look around. The dirt floor was littered with animal droppings and trash. At one time, someone had built a fire.

Traces of ash and charred wood were still scattered about. A staircase attached to one wall led up to the second level, but many of the steps were missing, and those that remained appeared incapable of supporting anything heavier than a beetle. All in all, it was a spooky old place, especially the rear

#portion with its low overhang and ##########257

antiquated industrial apparatus that looked to her like something an evil giant might use to physically torture an enemy giant. She couldn't imagine why Parker chose to spend time here.

"What's its history?"

"Do you know anything about cotton?"

Cheekily she quoted a popular TV

commercial. "Ìt's the fabric of our lives.`"

To her surprise, Parker laughed. A real laugh, not that scornful sound that usually served as his laughs. Taking advantage of this rarity, she added, "It's also useful when it comes to removing nail polish."

His laughter subsided, making the resulting silence even more noticeable. Then he said gruffly, "Come here."

CHAPTER 11

Parker waited out her hesitation. He didn't repeat the request, figuring she would call his implied dare, and she did. After a moment or two of consideration, she carefully picked her way across the distance separating them.

Her hair had been gathered into a makeshift ponytail that subtracted at least five years from her appearance. Her white shirt was tied in a knot at her waist. Her khaki skirt was short enough to show a couple inches of thigh. Smooth, shapely thighs that invited libidinous speculation.

"When this gin was first built," he said, "three sides of it were left open. The machinery was animal-powered."

"Animal-powered?"

"Follow me."

He wheeled toward the back of the building. As she followed him beneath the overhang, she reflexively ducked her head, causing him to smile. She had cleared the low, spider-infested ceiling, but not by much.

"I've never had that problem myself," he said.

He then pointed to the faint ring in the hard-packed earth. "If you look closely, you can see a circular depression there in the dirt. That's the path worn by the mules that turned the drive wheel that powered the gin stand."

"Up there?"

###"Right. When cotton was king, it was #####259

brought here by the wagonload. Long-strand sea island cotton. High grade. Silky in

texture and more easily separated from its seeds than other varieties."

"Therefore very desirable."

He nodded. "And the island's sandy soil was ideal for growing it. It was unloaded onto a platform outside and carried up to the second floor, where the gin separated the fiber from the seeds.

"The lint was then blown out, collected, and carried to an outdoor screw press, which was also mule-powered. Once it was pressed into bales, they were bagged and hauled cross-island to the dock for transport to the cotton exchanges on the mainland."

"It sounds very labor-intensive."

"You're right. From the time a cotton seed was planted in early spring until the last bale of the crop was shipped out, the process took a year."

"Was this the only gin on the island?"

"Right again. One planter, one gin, one family. The family that built my house. They had a monopoly that made them rich until the whole market collapsed. They tried to switch to oyster canning, which was being done on other sea islands, but they didn't know anything about it, went completely broke within a year, and cleared out."

"So this structure more or less chronicles the island's history."

"Nineteenth century history for sure," he said. "It's documented that in 1878 a little girl, a child of a worker, walked behind one of the mules turning the screw press outside. The ornery animal kicked her in the head. She died two days later. Her father put down the mule,

execution-style. The details of what he did to the carcass are gruesome. A duel between feuding brothers is also recorded. They shot and killed each other in 1855.

"Then there's a romantic myth about the love affair between a white overseer and a beautiful slave woman. It's told that their affair was looked upon with such vicious disfavor that they were cast off the island in a small boat. It's said they were bound for Charleston, but folks watching their departure through spyglasses reported that they saw them capsize and perish, which many thought was a befitting punishment.

###"However, years later, a colony of ##261

mulattos was discovered living peacefully on another sea island previously thought to be uninhabited. These people were believed to be the descendants of the mixed couple and the survivors of a shipwrecked slave ship. They were an incredibly handsome clan. Some had skin the color of café au lait and eyes as green as jade.

"A visiting French nobleman, who was deep-sea fishing in the area, sought refuge from a storm on their island. While he was there, one of the nubile young ladies caught his eye and captured his heart. They married and he took all her family back to France with him. Where they lived happ'ly ever after."

Maris drew in a long, slow breath. "You tell good stories, Parker."

"It's a fable. Probably untrue."

"It's still a good story."

"So you're a romantic?"

"Unabashed." She smiled, then said, "You know a lot about the gin. Was your family in the cotton business?"

"I think my great-granddaddy picked it by hand during the Depression. But so did just about every able-bodied person in the South. Women, children, blacks, whites, all struggling to survive.

Hunger doesn't discriminate."

"What did your father do?"

"Physician. Family practice. The gamut. From delivering babies to lancing boils."

"Is he retired?"

He shook his head. "He couldn't break a forty-year habit, and he couldn't heal himself when lung cancer caught up with him. He died long before he should have."

"And your mother?"

"Outlived him twelve years. She died several years ago. And before you ask, I'm an only child."

"So am I."

"I know."

After registering momentary surprise that he knew that, she said, "Oh. The article."

"Yeah."

Several strands of hair had come loose from her ponytail and were lying against her nape. The wheat-colored strands appeared slightly damp and curled from the humidity. He caught himself staring

#at them. ###########################263

He looked away to clear his vision. "Yeah, that article was chock-full of information about you, your father, and your husband. What's he like?"

"Very robust. Especially for a man of seventy-eight."

"I meant your husband. Is he also very robust?"

"We agreed not to ask any personal questions."

"That's personal? What don't you want me to know about your husband?"

"Nothing. It's not that."

"Then what?"

"I followed you here to talk about _Envy."

"Want to sit down?"

Apparently confused by his sudden shift of topic, she shook her head. "There's nowhere to sit." She glanced at the beams overhead.

"Besides, it's creepy under here."

He swept his arm toward the front part of the building and she preceded him from beneath the overhang.

Her attention was drawn to a circle of bricks in the dirt floor. They were stacked two deep, forming an enclosure roughly five feet in diameter. "What's that?"

"Careful," Parker warned as he quickly rolled his chair to her side. "That's an abandoned well."

"Why in here?"

"One of the more innovative patriarchs of the cotton dynasty decided to convert the gin to steam power. He began digging this well for the water supply, but died of diphtheria before the project was completed. His heir abandoned the idea as impractical. Rightly, I believe. It

wasn't economically feasible for the amount of their production."

She peered over the rim of bricks into the darkness of the hole. "How deep is it?"

"Deep enough."

"For what?"

After holding her gaze for a moment, he backed up, then wheeled past her. He hitched his chin toward an upended crate. "That'll do for a perch if you're not too particular."

After testing the crate's sturdiness, she gingerly sat down on the rough wood.

"Be careful of splinters," he warned.

"Although my picking them out of the backs of your thighs is a bewitching thought."

###She shot him a withering look. "I'll ##265

take care not to fidget."

"I'm sure I would enjoy extracting the splinters, but I'm equally sure your very robust husband wouldn't approve."

"Was that thunder?"

"Changing the subject, Maris?"

"Yes."

Grinning, he glanced over his shoulder toward the open door. It had grown noticeably darker outside as well as in. "Afternoon thunderstorms frequently boil up during the summer. Sometimes they pass over in an hour or less, sometimes they linger through the night. You never can tell." Overhead the first raindrops struck the roof with fat-sounding slaps.

She inhaled deeply. "You can smell the rain."

"Smells good, doesn't it?"

"Sounds wonderful, too."

"Um-huh."

The rain didn't cool the air much, but it had a definite effect on the atmosphere. It became closer, denser. He was aware of it. And so was Maris. She probably couldn't characterize this sudden change any better than he could, but it was distinctly felt.

Her eyes moved away from watching the rain through the open door and found his. They stared at each other through the deepening gloom. Oddly, it wasn't an uncomfortable exchange. If he'd been forced to use an applicable adverb to describe the way in which they were looking at one another, he would choose "expectantly," a modifier that combined curiosity with caution, wonderment with undertones of wariness.

He felt her gaze like a tug on his chest drawing him closer, and he was looking at her with the same level of intensity. Given the

electricity arcing between them, he was curious to know what she would say.

She played it safe by commenting on _Envy. "That was a rotten trick that Todd played on Roark."

"Rigging it so he missed his appointment with Hadley."

"You set me up perfectly. I didn't see it coming."

"That's good."

"Now what is Roark going to do about it?"

###"What do you think he should do?" ########267

"Beat the hell out of Todd."

He whistled at her vehemence.

"Well, isn't that what a guy would do?"

"Probably," he replied. "Fury would be his initial reaction, and he would seek a physical outlet. But let's talk about it.

Remember, Todd was only paying Roark back for the toothbrush stunt."

"But that was a prank," she exclaimed.

"Gross and disgusting, granted. But college boys do stuff like that to each other, don't they?"

"Did you know college boys who did stuff like that?"

"I attended a girls' school."

"Right, right, I read that," he said, as though just reminded of that part of her bio, which he knew as well as if he'd written it himself. "So it's safe to assume that you have no experience of college boys and how they act."

"No, it's safe to assume that my experience is limited to how they act on dates with girls, which is different from how they interact with each other."

"Is that how you met your husband? On a date during college?"

"Much later than that."

"How much later?"

"When he came to work at Matherly Press."

"Smart move on his part. He married the boss's daughter."

That irked her. So much so that Parker knew he wasn't the first to connect those two dots. It had crossed her mind, too. Perhaps too often for comfort. Her expression turned professional and peeved.

"Can we get back to your book, please?"

"Sure. Sorry for the digression."

While taking a moment to collect her thoughts, she pulled her lower lip through her teeth a couple of times and absently fiddled with a button on her blouse. Parker wondered when those two insignificant, subconsciously feminine gestures had become so goddamn sexy.

"A prank is one thing," she said. "But Todd's joke had a meanness about it that was unmistakable. It wasn't harmless. It couldn't be undone as easily as buying a new

toothbrush. He was tinkering with Roark's future. This practical joke could damage Roark's grade, compromise his capstone,

#affect his writing ambitions, and #########269

possibly even crush them. He can't let it pass and do nothing."

"True. Roark won't fold. He won't easily forgive the experience, but it'll sure as hell motivate him."

"Yes, yes," she said excitedly. "This will fuel his determination to succeed."

"To reach a level of success that Todd will--was

"Envy," she said, finishing the thought for him.

He grinned. "Per your suggestion, I'll let him blow off steam, land a few punches, which Todd will concede he deserved."

"So they remain friends?"

"It wouldn't be a book if they didn't. If their friendship fell apart here, the story would be over."

"Not necessarily. It could be just as powerful if they became bitter enemies at this point."

"Wait and see, Maris."

"What?"

"Give me time."

Her eyes widened marginally. "You've got it plotted already, don't you?"

"For the most part," he confessed with a negligent shrug. "There are some details still to hammer out."

She tried, but failed, to look piqued.

"You've been stringing me along."

"To get you excited."

"I'm excited." Her animation proved it.

"May I make another suggestion?"

"I don't promise to take it."

"Agreed."

"Then fire away."

"Could we see Roark falling in love?"

"With the girl who went back to her boyfriend?"

"Yes. You told the reader that he fell in love, but we didn't get to see it. We didn't experience it along with him. You don't even give this girl a name. I think it could be very poignant, as well as useful toward developing his character. How he handles the disappointment. That kind of thing. And what if ..."

"Go on," he said when she hesitated.

"What if Todd were somehow involved in their breakup?"

Frowning, he thoughtfully scratched his cheek, reminding him that he hadn't shaved that morning.

"Wouldn't that be too much antagonism too soon? In those first few chapters, I'm trying

#to establish that these two guys are truly ##271

friends. Eventually the friendship is overtaken and then ultimately destroyed by their competitiveness. But if Todd interferes with Roark's love life, then screws him over with Hadley, that immediately makes him out the villain and Roark the hero."

"Isn't that the way it's supposed to be? I think of them that way."

"You do?"

"You're surprised?"

"The story isn't over yet. By the time you get to the ending, you might change your mind."

Her eyes probed his, as though trying to see the denouement behind them. "I really don't have a choice, do I?"

"No."