Power Play (3 page)

Suddenly, he thought about thick high heels and open brown eyes on a plain face. He shook his head. Mary wasn’t his type at all. He liked his women sophisticated, not looking as though they’d scold you if you held your fork wrong. But he had enjoyed talking to her. He wondered what Mary would have said if he’d introduced himself. She probably would have clammed up and ignored him. That would have been a shame. He found her honesty refreshing, although some of what she said about him had bruised his ego. He knew she was going to be stunned when she discovered who he was, but he knew she would handle it like a professional. He wouldn’t have to worry about her making a scene. She wasn’t the type. He began to whistle. She thought she’d never see Edmund Davis. He’d have to prove her wrong.

M
ary sat huddled in the corner of her apartment, wrapped in a blanket as the lights from the city seeped through the blinds, mingling with the reddish glow from the setting sun on the wooden floor. She was about to close her eyes when someone knocked on the door.

“Mary, open up. I’m worried about you.”

She recognized the voice but didn’t respond.

“Mrs. McQueeth called me. You forgot to visit her.”

Mary scrambled to her feet. Poor Mrs. McQueeth. She’d forgotten she had promised to see her today. She had hoped to tell her all about the promotion and services she would now be able to afford for her. Edmund Davis had crushed that dream. Mary opened the door and saw Sara Leon, her friend of ten years. Sara lived in a colonial two blocks away. She was best described as lean, with short hair and a habit of wearing noisy jewelry. Today, large wooden beads hung from her neck.

“I didn’t think anything would be wrong with you,” Sara said. “Then Mrs. McQueeth reminded me that you were going to be promoted and…” Her words trailed off as she stared at the empty apartment. She pushed past Mary and slowly spun around. “Are you trying to achieve a minimalist effect or something?”

Mary shook her head. “No.”

“Are you moving?”

“No.”

“Curtis dumped you?”

Mary nodded.

“That bastard.”

“He took my champagne,” she said bitterly. “Even though I’d bought it with my own money.”

Sara clasped her hands together with joy. “So you got the promotion?”

“No.”

Her hands fell to her sides. “Oh, James is a bastard, too. I’m sorry. What was his excuse this time?”

“It wasn’t just James’s fault. Edmund Davis, the investor of one of the projects, asked for me specifically.”

“Why?”

“James didn’t say.”

Sara walked around the room. “This is unbelievable. That bastard Curtis took everything?”

“He was kind enough to leave the bed.”

Sara paused. “Did he leave the sheets?”

Mary shook her head.

“I didn’t think so. Those sheets were expensive.”

“I didn’t really like them anyway. I would have preferred something else besides brown or black.”

Sara sighed. “I really am sorry.” She bit her lip. “Look, why don’t you stay with me and Larry? You’ll get back on your feet soon.”

“That’s okay. I can afford this place and I’ll find furniture. It won’t be as upscale as what Curtis liked, but it will do. Did Mrs. McQueeth get her dinner?”

“Yes. She’d really love to see you, but I know you’re not in the mood to see anyone right now.”

Mary sighed. “It’s all right. I need to get out anyway.”

Moments later she and Sara sat in Mrs. McQueeth’s small two-bedroom track house. Mary controlled a shiver in response to the cold dampness that clung to the air. Because of the increase in oil prices, Mrs. McQueeth couldn’t afford much and was unable to keep the house adequately heated. Luckily, spring was slowly breaking winter’s hold, and warmer temperatures were predicted soon. In spite of her arthritis, Mrs. McQueeth kept her house impeccably clean. The tiny living room had a fading sofa, with fraying all around. Two hand-crafted wooden side tables held bronzed Tiffany lamps (gifts from her only daughter before she died) and a handmade oval rug. But although the house was chilly, the smell of her cooking scented the air. As usual, Mrs. McQueeth had baked Mary’s favorite zucchini bread and made a pot of lemon tea. Once settled, Mary told her what had happened, delivering it as cheerfully as she could so she wouldn’t depress her friend.

“I was worried about you when you didn’t show up,” Mrs. McQueeth said, her coarse hands reaching for a teacup. She had the face of a woman who had enjoyed her seventy-two years and claimed every laugh line and the few wrinkles she had embedded on her cinnamon face. “But I couldn’t have imagined the day you had.” She went to a side table and pulled out a book. “His name goes in my magic book.”

Mary laughed. “You still have that?”

She sent her a stern look. “Don’t make fun. It allows me to rest assured that everyone in here gets what they deserve.” She scribbled something down, hiding her words so that neither Sara nor Mary could see, then closed the book and put it away.

“I’m sorry I didn’t call. That was unfair of me.”

“You’re better off without that Curtis character. He may have been rich and good-looking, but he was rotten to the core.”

Mary looked at her, surprised. “But he was always nice to you.”

“But he was never nice to you. You were his personal dishrag. I know that sounds harsh, but I have to say what I saw. You decorated that apartment according to his tastes, ate the foods he liked, vacationed where he wanted to and never got that wedding he’d been promising you for years. No, I’m glad he’s gone. Now you can meet a good man.”

“I’m through with men right now.”

“Don’t say that,” Sara said. “There are plenty of good ones still out there.”

“Most of them are married,” she said, thinking of Sara’s husband, Larry.

“I know Larry is a catch, but he isn’t the only good man around. There must be others.”

Mary briefly thought of the stranger in the elevator. She wondered if he was single. She doubted it. Single men like him didn’t stay single long. But if she’d been a lucky woman, he would be single and she would be his type. She scoffed at the thought. As if a man like that would be interested in a plain woman who needed her cheap, ugly heels stuck back on her shoes with superglue.

But he had been nice, and Mary could imagine spending a day with him and a night and another night…

“What’s his name?” Sara said.

Mary’s face grew hot. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Yes, you do,” her friend said with a knowing look. “We were talking about men and suddenly you started to smile. You’ve already met Curtis’s replacement.”

“No, I haven’t.”

Sara and Mrs. McQueeth shared a look, then stared at her with doubt.

Mary glanced down at the floor. “I did meet someone today who I thought was very nice.”

“What was his name?” Sara asked.

“I don’t know.”

Her expression fell. “You didn’t catch his name?”

“I didn’t think to ask.” Mary waved a dismissive hand. “Anyway, it doesn’t matter. I’ll probably never see him again.”

Sara and Mrs. McQueeth agreed and changed the subject. After visiting for an hour, Sara left to run errands and Mary left soon after. Before entering her apartment, Mary checked her mailbox. She quickly flipped through the stack of bills and junk mail and saw what looked like an invitation. She was about to toss it away along with the “Still Single?” junk mail she received every few months, but something about it made her curious and she opened it.

It read:
You have been personally selected to join The Black Stockings Society, an elite, members-only club that will change your life and help you find the man of your dreams. Guaranteed.

Yeah, right,
Mary sniffed. It’s probably just another scheme wanting to get her money.
Black Stockings Society, indeed.

She was again about to toss it in the recycling bin when she noticed how it had been addressed: “To Ms. Mary Antoinette Reyland.” Only a few people knew her middle name. Who had sent the invitation? Why hadn’t they signed their name? She grew more curious as she noticed it was a handwritten note, on expensive parchment paper, lined with finely woven lace in a gold-lined envelope. Mary thought for a moment. Things couldn’t get any worse. It was probably someone trying to cheer her up. Why not? She read more.

Dumped? Bored? Tired of being single? Ready to live dangerously?

Yes, yes, yes!

Then this is the club for you. Guaranteed results! Submit your application today.

Mary rushed into her apartment and began filling out the enclosed questionnaire. Some of the questions seemed laughable.

How would you spend a day at home?
With someone wonderful.

Would you prefer roses or daffodils?
Roses.

What would your ideal man be like?

This question made Mary pause; then she thought of the man in the elevator and wrote,
Attractive, kind and sexy,
then added,
with warm brown eyes.
Her stranger may have been the first three, but his intense cool gaze was unsettling.

She didn’t think the questionnaire made much sense and doubted her answers would be very helpful but filled it out as truthfully as she could. When she was finished she carefully read the “sworn oath” at the bottom of the page:
As a member of The Black Stockings Society, I swear I will not reveal club secrets, I will accept nothing but the best and I will no longer settle for less.

Mary hesitated, wondering if she’d be able to keep it a secret (if it were true), then thought about the promise of a new life and recklessly signed. Before sealing the envelope, she attached a check for the nominal membership fee, then decided to post the application that evening. She drove to her local post office and with fingers crossed popped it in the drive-by mailbox.

Two days later, a medium-size package arrived. When she opened it Mary stared at the contents in horror. It had to be wrong. Someone had sent her the wrong package. She couldn’t wear these, she thought as she held up a pair of black fishnet stockings. Where would she wear them and with what?

The package included four pairs of different types of stockings, a membership card that read,
Mary A. Reyland, Member, The Black Stockings Society,
and strict instructions. Always one to follow rules, she read them immediately.

Welcome to The Black Stockings Society. Your first assignment is to take your membership card to Mimi’s Hair Salon, where you will ask for their deluxe special. Then you will go to the Boutique Nouveau and ask for Rania. Set aside plenty of time for each of these appointments.
Directions, including a map and phone numbers, were included.

Once you have visited these two locations, you will select one of your pairs of stockings to wear to your next business meeting.

Her next meeting? The one where she was to meet Gregory Trent, the program manager at the senior community? No, she couldn’t. What would he think?

Mary chewed her bottom lip, then she decided that it didn’t matter what he thought. She’d spent too much of her life caring about what other people thought. If she wanted this to work, she would have to do exactly as she was instructed. Her old life wasn’t working; this couldn’t be worse.

That Saturday, Mary drove to the hair salon. She hesitated. The upscale double-glass doors intimidated her. She didn’t belong there. She always let Sara do her perms. She glanced at her membership card and the address she’d written down. This was the right place and the start of her new life. She took a deep breath and stepped inside.

As soon as she entered, Mary nearly ran back outside, feeling like an imposter. The opulent surroundings overwhelmed her—the gentle rush of a water fountain and the brightly colored plant collection, whose perfumed scent filled the air, greeted visitors in the entryway. The marbled floors and beveled mirrors lining the entrance gave the impression that she was entering a grand ballroom. The smartly dressed attendant behind the large mahogany desk looked up at Mary as though she were a homeless woman who’d stepped off the streets. “May I help you?” she said in a tone that said she probably couldn’t.

“I’d like an appointment.”

“I’m afraid we’re booked until summer.”

“Oh, but I was told to come here.”

“Who told you?”

Mary faltered. She couldn’t tell them that some unknown person had given her instructions. “A friend.”

“I’m sorry, but your
friend
should have told you that we fill up fast.”

“Perhaps there will be a cancellation?” Mary said hopefully.

The attendant’s disdain grew. “People know better than to cancel on us.”

This wasn’t working, and the female bulldog hired to guard the entrance of this sanctuary wasn’t going to let her pass. Mary turned to go and nearly crashed into a tall, expensively dressed woman barreling through the doors. “I want an appointment now,” she said.

The attendant looked at her computer. “I could get someone to see you in about two hours.”

“Two hours doesn’t sound like
now
to me. When I say now I mean within ten minutes and that’s being generous.”

“One moment, please.” The attendant picked up the phone then spoke in low tones to someone. When she hung up, she looked relieved. “Someone will see you shortly.”

Mary stared at her, shocked. “But I thought you said there weren’t any…” Her words died away when she realized both women were ignoring her.

“Good,” the tall woman said, then waltzed into the waiting room.

Mary watched her go, then stared at the attendant, who was doing an expert job of making her feel invisible. The old Mary would have slunk away, but this was the
new
Mary. The new Mary wasn’t going to be sent away. Mary approached the desk more determined. “I would like an appointment and don’t say I have to wait because she didn’t have to.”

“No, but
you
do.” The attendant returned her gaze to the computer and Mary’s patience snapped. James had turned on her, Curtis had betrayed her and she wasn’t going to accept it anymore. She reached across the desk and planted her hand on top of the keyboard. “Listen to me you little twit. Don’t you dare act as if you own this place when we both know if you were fired you couldn’t afford to get your nails trimmed here. You don’t know who I am, but I will make you regret this day if you don’t make an appointment for me right now. I’ll give you five minutes.”

The attendant blinked, unsure of what to do next. She sent Mary a look as though she were trying to guess if Mary really was someone important in disguise or a fraud. She decided not to make a wrong guess. “We really are busy, but I could fit you in Monday. I only let that woman in because she can be a real bitch. You don’t want to be that way.”