Hardly Working (13 page)

My reflection in the mirror didn't say anything about a new chapter, however. It looked like the same old Dinah. So I took my credit cards out to get a little exercise. I did some major retail damage that Sunday, single-handedly giving the nation's economy a big boost.

Monday

At work, Lisa said, “There she is,” as I came through the door. “Cougar Woman.”

To oblige her, I clasped my hands and held them over my head.

Even Ash paused in my office, smiled quickly and nod
ded, then walked on. Any acknowledgment from Ash was a big deal, a bit like being awarded the Nobel prize.

Jake came by, hovered in my doorway and said, “Great going, Dinah. I'd have been shitting myself if I found a big cat like that in front of me. God, I remember when I was at high school, I had to do one of those outdoor camping survival courses, all that big man crap, cutting your own firewood, making a bed out of fir boughs, living off roots and berries, yecch, thought I would die before it was over. So when I finally got the diploma from the teacher, I told him, ‘I'm strictly a hotel man.' You got guts, Dinah.”

“I sort of grew up in the wilds. You could say it's my mother's doing. One of the few good things she has done.”

“That's pretty uncharitable of you. You got a bone to pick, or something?”

“No,” I said defensively. The picked-over bones were Thomas's department. But Jake didn't know about Thomas. Nobody knew about Thomas. He was my private Dumpster in human form. I didn't want to start the day with more nickel and dime psychology about my relationship with my mother, so I changed the subject. “Hey, Jake, what do you know about Hamish Robertson?”

“Lower mainland's third wealthiest man? That Hamish Robertson?”

“Yeah.”

“Been trying to track him down for years but he's untraceable. These days all his mail goes to a box number. Sometimes I wonder if maybe he hasn't died.”

An hour later, Ian Trutch came into my office. Now that I had a little experience in standing up to predators, I didn't feel so threatened by him. I even felt a kind of sympathy for him.

Poor man.

The life he led couldn't be easy.

Darting into strange new cities where he didn't know a soul, devastating companies and terrorizing all their em
ployees, few of whom he'd had the pleasure of knowing before cold-bloodedly giving them the axe.

Surely his days were lonely and exhausting.

He sat down on my extra chair—I didn't get a chance to tell him the dust would ruin his suit—and he said, “Well, Dinah. I hear you took on a cougar.” He was transfixed by the bandage on my cheekbone.

“Jeez, the news travels fast around here. Yeah, I guess I did in a way. Just me and him in eye-to-eye combat. I really had to use my mouth to talk him off me. He never touched me but he wasn't far from it. It was crazy. My life flashed before my eyes. I think I had an epiphany or something.”

His blue eyes shone. “You did? Tell me about it.”

“Nothing new. Nothing you don't already know, I'm sure. Just that now I really believe it. That your big exit could happen any time. That life is completely unpredictable so you better live it as intensely as you can. Feed every sense.”

Could I hear myself?

What are you doing, Dinah? part of me was thinking.

My mind was telling me to shut up, but my mouth was telling him to come and get me. And as if that weren't bad enough, I was wearing a new tight bubble-gum-pink sweater that bared my shoulders in the most unprofessional way.

My mouth babbled on without me, “Now tell me, Ian, have you ever had your life flash before your eyes?”

“Once, driving on a highway.”

“Well, I'm not a danger freak but a little danger makes you glad to be alive. It makes everything taste better. Delicious. Sensual.” I said the last two words very slowly.

“Perhaps I ought to take you out to lunch then, so you have something to taste.”

“Oh.” I hadn't expected it. He was closing the circle again with the old lunch routine. My mouth finally slowed down and let my brain catch up. “I uh…I don't know. I have so much to do today. It's starting to rain. You'll have a terrible
time finding parking. And I really have to work on the list of invitations for the Space Centre.”

A dark butterfly of irritation crossed Ian's face. He whispered, “Just stop it, Dinah. I know you feel it, so stop pretending you don't. Stop denying the most natural thing in the world.”

“I'm not denying anything.”

“No? Well, then it's settled.” He lifted the sheet of paper out of my hands and put it back on my desk. Then he gestured toward the hallway and said, “Come on. We need to hold a summit. A private one. You and I.”

I knew it was a ruse. There are beautiful men who seduce less beautiful women to have a submissive handmaiden, or a favor, or just the thrill of adding another notch to their bedpost. But then my motives weren't so straightforward either. I wanted to do it if only for the sake of statistics. I just couldn't let another year go by and on the physical front, Ian was one of the better candidates around. And I had a brand-new man-eating reputation to live up to. Life was short. I knew that now.

I followed him along the narrow hallway like a prisoner walking Death Row for the last time, and although the only thing that was going to die was my long stretch of celibacy, the foreknowledge made it worse.

As we headed toward the exit, Jake popped his head out of his office. “Hey, Dinah, you leaving?”

I nodded weakly.

“Where can I find you if I need you?”

“Where? Uh…”

“We're going out to do some fieldwork,” interjected Ian.

I wanted to say, Don't look for me, Jake. But if you care about me just a little, have my principles scraped up off the floor of my office, glued back together and sent to me c/o Mr. Hot and Cold Running Charm, Esquire, Higher Management Vampires Unlimited, Lower Circle, Hades.

Ian led me outside and down to his car. Perhaps he had genuinely intended to take me out to lunch first, but as soon as we were safely belted into our seats, he reached across the Ferrari's gearshift and beige leather divide and lightly rested his fingers on the back of my neck. I said nothing, looked out the window as if I hadn't seen all that scenery a hundred times before. He didn't drive us to a restaurant but straight to his hotel without a word. In the parking lot, he came around to let me out, then guided me ahead of him, pushing slightly, his fingers on the back of my neck again. In the hotel elevator, he grabbed me, but not so roughly that I needed to complain, and kissed me, explored me with his hands.

“I don't think I should be doing this,” I said.

“Why not?”

“Because I think I hate you.”

“I love the way you hate me,” he whispered and grabbed me again. A body ache that was three years old (if you didn't count that pathetic accident with Mike) made me grab him back.

Once inside his suite, our clothes flew off as if they'd been caught in a hurricane and torn away, and an hour later, Ian and I lay naked across the scrambled bedding in his Gold Floor suite, amazed. A full unopened bottle of champagne sat in a bucket of melted ice. Outside, the November storm beat against the window glass, which was now steamy.

Ian whispered, “I love doing this in the rain.”

I stared at the streaming window.

“You're awfully quiet,” he said.

“I've got a lot to think about.”

“Like what. Tell me.”

Like how to keep you sweet until I find my donor.

“Oh, just all the things that have happened to me in the last few days.”

He ran his finger across the bandage on my cheekbone.
“Well, now you have this great souvenir of your adventures with wild animals. That's always a good thing.”

“Hey, city boy, what would you know about it?”

“Well, let me see. I recall lots of wildlife from my New York and Boston days. Albino alligators. Pink elephants. Pigs with wings. And…oh yeah…there was that tenant on the floor above me. The city can be a dangerous place.”

I moved his finger off the bandage. “There probably won't be much of a scar. Nothing so exciting as claw or tooth marks. I banged my face when I fainted. So now I want to see all
your
scars. I'm sure they're much more interesting.”

He kissed my fingertips. “Mine are strictly emotional.”

“Uh-oh. Does that mean you're going to turn out to be a big needy mess?”

“I don't know.” He wedged his knee between my legs. “Let me give you another sample of my neediness.”

“Do you think it's a good idea?”

“A fantastic idea.”

“If it's anything like what we were just doing, I'm afraid we might murder each other.”

“But what a great way to die. I say we go for the double homicide.”

Late into the afternoon, the enemy and I punished each other's bodies. I hated to admit it but the summit was a success. Although the Cold War of minds hadn't actually ended, a bilateral accord of bodies was reached. Twice.

W
hen I woke up it was seven o'clock, dark and still drizzling outside. Ian's side of the bed was empty but on his pillow was a large glossy black box embossed in gold script with the name of an exclusive boutique. Written on a little tag were the words: Dear Dinah, Open the box and put on the contents.

I pried open the lid. Under a layer of black tissue was a slinky, silky, black knit dress with tiny rhinestoned shoulder straps that crossed over an otherwise bare back. Under the dress were a pair of low black sandals with similar rhinestone straps.

I gingerly picked up the dress and went over to the full-length mirror. I held it up to myself and paraded back and forth until the ringing of the phone interrupted me. I hesitated then picked it up, knowing it would be Ian.

“Have you opened the box?” he asked.

“Yes. They're gorgeous. I hope it's not for services rendered.”

He laughed.

“Because if it is, Ian, you're the one who should be putting on the dress.”

“I wanted to give you a little gift. To celebrate your newly awakened senses.”

“It doesn't feel right. It's too much. I can't take it.”

“Would it make you feel any better if I told you my motives weren't altruistic? There's a party I think we should both attend. At the Golf Club. One of the GWI board members gave me the invitation. Word has it that Hamish Robertson was invited as well. You don't want to add this to your list of missed opportunities, do you, Dinah? I want you to put on the dress and shoes and meet me at the main entrance in twenty minutes. Is that enough time for you?”

“But Ian, it's pouring outside. There are puddles and these are sandals. And it's cold. These are the skimpiest clothes I've ever been asked to wear.”

“Your feet won't even touch the ground. And look in the closet, the garment bag. Twenty minutes.” He hung up before I could protest again. I went to the closet and found the black-and-gold garment bag. I unzipped it. Inside was a soft black wool knee-length coat with an astrakhan collar. My stomach hollowed as if I were on a plane that had just dipped a hundred feet. Ian Trutch had just sunk to a lower circle of hell and was trying to drag me with him.

Twenty minutes later, showered, perfumed and freshly made-up, I was standing at the main entrance, shivering. I had obligingly put on the dress and sandals, but my clothes were stuffed into my purse for the moment of my getaway, and I wore my Burberry instead of the new wool coat over the elegant dress.

A Blue Top cab with Ian in the back pulled up to the entrance.

As I climbed in, I could see his irritation. “You're not wearing the coat.”

“No, Ian. I'm not wearing the coat. Find someone else to wear it. Someone else who doesn't mind a collar made of slaughtered unborn lamb's skin, a lamb whose mother the ewe also died just to give us the pleasure of the astrakhan experience. Jesus, Ian. We don't come down on the shoe leather and the practical sheepskin for big winters, but really, astrakhan is definitely pushing it. It rates up there with clubbing baby seals. Beginners' stuff.”

Ian put a hand to his forehead and shook his head. “Sorry, Dinah. I just didn't think about it. It just didn't occur to me.”

“Don't worry, Ian. I'll help it occur to you whenever necessary. I'm proud to be the one who drives everybody crazy with animal rights.”

“You see, Dinah? You see how much I need you? Especially tonight. You know these people. I don't. I'd hate to offend anybody's political and ethical sensibilities.” But he grinned when he said it and it sounded as though he didn't mean it, as though he were just toying with me.

“And I need you in other ways, too.” He slid an arm around me, lifted my hair and began to kiss my neck. I couldn't believe it. He was starting all over again, right there in the back seat of the taxi. And the worst part was that I didn't stop him. As his hands moved under my dress and he got ready to shift himself into me, I realized he was a man who wanted, who was
compelled,
to raise the stakes. One thing was certain. Given the weird smirk on the driver's face, I would never be able to ride with Blue Top cabs again.

 

When we got to the Golf Club, the party turned out to be a dinner dance. It was in full swing. Ian was right. I knew a lot of the people there.

“Now Dinah, any sign of our man?”

I shook my head. In my files back at the office, I had one photo portrait of Hamish Robertson and it wasn't recent. He'd been a younger man when the picture was taken.
Twenty years younger. It showed a slender good-looking type with a shock of curly black hair, bare knobbly knees below a red, blue and green kilt and dark eyes, winking at the camera. I'd found it in an old business magazine in my great-grandfather's basement treasure hoard. The elusive man had once been featured in an article on early success stories. I scanned the room all evening but there was no sign of him. When the orchestra struck up a tango later in the evening, the image of Hector Ferrer wouldn't leave me alone. As the roomful of some of Vancouver's wealthiest citizens bumbled around the dance floor I couldn't help but think that they could have benefited from a few lessons with Hector. He really was, in comparison to these people, a very good dancer.

Throughout the evening, Ian stood just behind my shoulder as I chatted with people and playfully extorted donation pledges. I had the feeling that he wasn't as comfortable with the Vanpfeffers of this world as he should be, but I was willing to cut him some slack because his bilateral accords were truly amazing.

Around eleven, I turned to Ian and said, “Please, can we leave? I'm exhausted. Tomorrow's another working day and it's always a good idea to have Ash process these pledges before people forget they've made them.”

“I'll take you back to the hotel and we can…”

“No,” I interrupted. “No, take me back to my car. I'm really beat. I just have to go home.”

In the cab on the way back to my car, Ian's voice took on a strange pleading tone. “I wish you'd reconsider. Stay the night with me, please. Stay the night.”

There was a long kiss in the cab, and I thought I better get out while the going was still good.

“I'll see you tomorrow, Ian. Listen, what about work?”

“What about it?”

I was half expecting him to give me a little speech about
not mixing business and personal lives but he said nothing except, “Tomorrow,” and our hands slid apart as if we were a pair of figure skaters gliding away from each other.

When I reached my back door there was a note taped to it.

It read, Dinah, I'm at Jon and Kevin's for dinner. You were invited, too. Join us at theirs, even if it's late. Joey.

It seemed like a sane way to finish off a day of insanity. A nice chat with Joey, my Savior and his partner. I turned around and headed back down the stairs to their place. As I approached their front door, screeches of laughter came from within. I rang the bell and the noise stopped abruptly. The door was opened by Kevin, bright-eyed and flushed with high spirits. He sang out, “Dinah, we were just talking about you.”

Now
that
was something to worry about.

He caught my expression. “No, no, just wondering when you'd get here. Not rewriting your bio for
People
magazine or anything like that. You're so elegant tonight. What's the occasion? Come in and show everyone how fabulous you look.” I followed him inside.

The wreckage of a banquet filled the table. Joey and Jon were leaning back in their chairs one-upping each other with titles of B-rated science fiction classics.

“Attack of the Killer Tomatoes,”
said Joey.

“The Amazing Two-Headed Transplant,”
countered Jon.

“Dinah's here,” announced Kevin, with a loaded voice.

My Savior came right over, boldly lifted the flaps of my Burberry to have a look at my dress, then held me at arm's length and said, “Well, wow. Look at you. Who do you think she looks like? She reminds me of one of those big movie stars of once upon a time but it won't come to me.”

“Ava Gardner,” said Kevin.

“That's it,” he agreed.

I was flattered. It wasn't the first time somebody had com
pared me to Ava Gardner. But just between you and me, Ava Gardner had much longer, slimmer thighs.

Jon went on, “Where were you tonight? We wanted you to come to dinner. You look lovely. Looks like you've been out winning Oscars.”

Joey held up a hand. “Whoa, whoa. Just a minute. Hands off. The Oscars are my department. God knows there are few enough of them to go around. We can't just start giving them out to any old bag in a fancy evening dress that happens to come along.”

Kevin said, “Oooo, touchy,” then ushered me over to the bar. “Now Dinah. What would you like? We're drinking Avocat. Dutch egg liqueur. You must have some. The pale yellow would look so very classy against that black dress.”

“Convincing enough argument for me.” I took the glass that was offered and joined the communal toast to good health and good sex. Joey's words.

And then I added, “But you have to be careful that good sex doesn't take a toll on good health.”

Joey was suddenly alert. “Good sex…what? Okay, Dinah. What's going on here? Where have you been? Is there something you want to tell us?”

“Uh…” I could feel the blood rushing to my head and it wasn't just the liqueur.

“Oh, go on. You're among friends,” coaxed Joey.

Jon and Kevin nodded.

“As long as it doesn't leave this room,” I instructed them.

“I'm a tomb,” said Joey. Jon and Kevin nodded in unison.

“That's what they all say, until it gets exhumed,” I said.

“Talk or I'll be forced to blackmail you. The dirt,” squealed Joey. “I want to hear it all.”

I hesitated, then let it spill. “The dirt is the new CEO.”

“No,” exclaimed Joey.

“Yes.” I was emphatic.

“The new CEO and who else?” asked Joey.

“Who do you think?” I did a little curtsey.

“I can't believe it. You didn't.”

“I did.”

“Nah, really? You and your highly comestible boss?”

I nodded.

He turned to Jon and Kevin. “You both have to know that she has this new boss, straight out of the pages of
GQ.
How did you do it, Dinah? I mean, not to say that you're as ugly as a fistful of squid bits or anything like that, but as soon as I saw him, I thought, this guy does not dally with the plebes, this guy goes out with models.”

Jon had crossed his arms and had that concentrated serious expression on his face again. Everything seemed to be an enormous riddle for him.

“I'm a plebe?” I protested.

Joey went on, “I've been trying for ages to get Dinah back out there and grab some guy, any guy, the first guy who can tie his own shoelaces and pronounce his own name, then throw him down on the spot and have plenty of sex therapy with him, then fling him aside and find somebody else and repeat the procedure over and over until she gets it right.”

I took off my Burberry and hung it over the back of a chair. “It's part of my new plan. I'm supposed to be a man-eater, according to somebody I work with.”

“You are?” asked Jon, smiling faintly.

“Yeah. It was news to me.” I laughed like a true skeptic. “This guy, the new CEO, Ian Trutch, well, he's very smooth. Smoother than anybody I've ever known. I'm wondering if I shouldn't be worrying about not being as perfect as he is. I'm not really sure where all this is going to lead.”

“Just be yourself. That always takes things where they need to go,” said Jon.

Joey tossed back his lank blond hair. “If it flops you just tell yourself that it doesn't matter because he was only a man
to practice on, Dinah, not the real thing. But then if it
does
work out, then good. You can lie and say it's the real thing. Then you'll be an official couple, complete with that lobotomized look and I can invite the two of you over and then lock you in a closet and have my way with Mr. Ian Trutch. Right?”

I raised my glass to him. “That'll be the day. But how do you know when it's the real thing?”

“It's all the real thing and none of it's the real thing. It is what you make it.” Then he said to Kevin and Jon, “You should have seen the way she used to moon around over that grubby fiancé of hers when she first came over here from the backwoods, after breaking up with him. Really, it was enough to put you off your food. I had to get a forklift over to her place to pry her off the couch before I could get her to come out clubbing. She was starting to resemble The Blob. And her clothes didn't help. Would Mexican field worker's widow describe her look? I don't think so. She was wearing these black drapery things that people hang over mirrors at funerals. I started to think maybe she was just hiding some hideous skin disease….”

Jon frowned. “Some people just need more time than others.”

“Well, I hope if I ever take three years to get over a man, that somebody will shoot me, because it'll mean that I've become senile and a burden on society.”

I made a face at Joey.

“Come and sit down, Dinah,” said Jon, nodding to the empty place on the brown couch. “Over here, next to me.” A strange look was exchanged between Kevin and Jon, and Jon gave a little flick of his head in Kevin's direction. Was I detecting jealousy?

I sat down.

“So now that you have this new person in your life, does
it mean there won't be any more Greek dancing with your neighbors?” asked Jon. His voice had a little edge of regret.

Was there trouble in paradise between him and Kev?

“There can never be enough Greek dancing with my neighbors.”

He stared at my cheekbone. “While I've got you here, let me take a look at those stitches and put on a new dressing.”