Romance: Catching Helena Handbasket (7 page)

Chapter Ten

     Early the next morning, Trey picked Helena up in his sleek ebony Jaguar and—in the wake of a spirited car ride in which they performed impromptu renditions of various ‘80s hair metal classics--brought her dockside at New York Harbor in downtown Manhattan.

     Standing hand in hand on the shore, the couple stared up in blatant admiration at the beautiful, emerald hued statue that held court at the center of the harbor.

     “There she is, Helena,” Trey told her, voice low and reverent as he made a broad gesture toward the lovely Lady Liberty.  “That strong, stalwart lady made of copper, iron and steel—a gift to us from the French, in recognition of the way in which liberty ‘enlightens the world.’  And aside from being a most impressive neoclassical sculpture, she is the first and brightest symbol that newcomers seek out when they arrive at our shores.”

     Helena nodded.

     “And she currently has a 4.5 rating on Google reviews,” she pursed her lips as she revealed this choice bit of info.  “I’m impressed.”

     After enjoying a ferry ride to the center of New York Harbor, the couple contemplated an honorary trek to the top of Lady Liberty; with Trey insisting that he always made this journey on foot, by taking the stairs.  Helena wildly applauded in open admiration of this concept; then promptly announced that she was taking the elevator en route to this same destination—but that she would be mentally willing on her lover in his longer, slightly more strenuous journey.

     Once the couple met at the top of the statue, the couple shared a romantic kiss at the astounding height of 151 feet in the air; which Trey followed up by sharing some precious tidbits about the history and structure of Lady Liberty.

     “She was sculpted by Frederic Auguste Bartholdi and originally dedicated in 1886,” he told her.  “About 3 million people visit the Statue of Liberty each year.”

     Helena shrugged.

     “Well I usually don’t get along too well with the popular chicks,” she revealed, “but Lady Liberty?  She is A-OK in my book.”

     The couple finished off their tour by sharing a long elevator ride to the ground floor of the monument; with a camera wielding Trey encouraging Helena to pose for photos beside the sculpture.

     “You have to practice for your big romance novel cover shoot coming up,” he reminded her.

     Helena snorted.

     “Except Lady Liberty doesn’t have a heaving bosom, baited breath or cheeks flushed with passion,” she reminded him, adding more seriously, “Although I must admit that I would like to take some pics beside Lady Liberty, to send home to the folks back in Indiana.”

     Taking his camera in hand, Trey went on to take several shots of Helena standing at the base of the Statue of Liberty.  In one photo she smiled and waved as a normal person would; in the next, and in true Helena fashion, she held up a recently purchased ice cream cone in lieu of a torch; wearing her straw wicker hat like a crown as she hoisted her chocolate and vanilla twist concoction high in the air.

     Then, in the final photo, Trey asked a passing tourist to shoot a picture of the couple together at the base of the statue; arm in arm as they smiled for the camera.

     Finally they grabbed a ferry back to the shore; hopping in Trey’s Jaguar to head over to Sardi’s; a signature New York City restaurant that Helena was eager to visit.

     Immediately impressed by interior tables lined with ivory linens, Helena also admired the brilliant caricature photos that lined the restaurant’s expansive walls.

     Claiming a table just beneath a caricature of Lucille Ball, a personal idol, Helena asked her date, “Have you ever been here before?”

     Trey nodded.

     “When I was a kid, my parents brought me here for my birthday every year,” he told her, adding as he retrieved a Sardi’s menu, “Feel free to get whatever you like here, babe—though I’d love to recommend my personal favorite dishes, the steak tatare, the sautéed shrimp in garlic sauce, and the tofu curry.”

     Helena smacked her lips.

     “Well now I don’t know if any of those dishes will live up to those I enjoyed back home in Indiana, on the rare occasions that my family went out to eat,” she asserted, adding as she squared her shoulders with obvious pride, “My employee discount at Murphy’s Wiener Mecca allowed and enabled us to eat in style; if you ever happen by there, I’d highly suggested the grilled frankfurter with a fine sauté of ketchup or mustard—with a Comet Cola, 2014 vintage or we’d get closed down, to wash it all down.”

     Trey laughed.

     “I’d love for you to take me there sometime,” he told her, taking her hand and kissing it warmly.  “This has been a wonderful day, my lady.”  He paused here, voice lowering to a succulent purr.  “One that I sincerely hope might evolve into an equally wonderful night—maybe even more so.”

     Helena froze.

     “After climbing 354 steps to get to the top of the Statue of Liberty, I’m kinda surprised that you still have the energy to even contemplate—um—just what you’re contemplating right now.”

     She took in her breath as Trey leaned across the table and seared her lips with a passionate kiss; a short but intense gesture that stole her breath outright.

     “I’d climb far more steps to get to your bedroom,” he whispered in her ear. 

     Jerking back in her seat, Helena felt her cheeks flush hot as her heart and pulse pounded in her ears.  Even so she grabbed her dinner menu and hid behind it; avoiding his heated gaze as she said, “Please, dear, not in front of Sardi’s.  Now tell me more about that downright awesome steak tartar.”

     Ignoring her question, a frowning Trey sat back hard in his seat and rose his hand to his face.

     Helena,” his voice barely above a whisper.  “Tell me the truth.  Are you a virgin?”

     Peeking out from behind her menu, Helena gave him a short, sharp nod before casting her gaze to their immediate surroundings.

     “Something like that—perhaps just slightly,” she revealed, adding as she gestured toward a neighboring table, “Hey, is that David Letterman dining right beside us?  Always nice to see a fellow Hoosier—hey, Dave!”

     Surging upward from their table, Helena hightailed it for their neighboring table; greeting with enthusiasm a dark haired thirty something man who looked absolutely nothing like David Letterman.  After being asked—politely but pointedly—to leave his table immediately, she then set about identifying as many of the Sardi’s caricatures as possible; rounding the restaurant as she offered door prizes to those who could supply the names that managed to elude her; with prizes including empty straw papers, half eaten rolls, and discarded napkins; basically anything she could find scattered at recently vacated tables.

     Finally she returned to her table; where a waiting Trey applauded her antics—further rewarding them with two steaming plates of gourmet food, which she promptly proceeded to devour.

     “This grub is absolutely delicious!” she exclaimed, avoiding Trey’s gaze as her head bowed low above her succulent, fresh prepared dishes.  “No need to make conversation when you have so much good food in front of you.  More eating and less talking—that’s what I say!”

     Her fork stilled in her hand as Trey leaned forward to press two tender lips against her fair cheek.

     “Helena, I think it’s beautiful that you’re a virgin,” he whispered in her ear, “It’s nothing to be ashamed of—quite the contrary, you should be proud.”

     Setting her utensil aside with a long, hard sigh, Helena fixed him with a long, hard stare as she said, “Growing up, Trey, my virginity was indeed something to be proud of—especially after one of my teen aged cousins turned up pregnant, managing to shame and scandalize the entire family in the process.  I was indeed always proud to focus on my studies, on preparing for a career—and, truth be told, not a lot of guys at my high school were interested in claiming my V card.  As I get older, though, I wonder sometimes just what I’m waiting for.”

     Trey shrugged.

     “Could it be that you were waiting for a tall, dark haired, passably handsome gentleman who just might hold an executive position at a major publishing company?” he asked, pursing his full, moist lips in a most adorable manner.  “Whose name starts with a T?”

     Helena thought a moment, then snapped her fingers.

     “You have to be taking about Tom Hiddleston!” she nodded with enthusiasm.  “He’s tall, usually dark haired, depending on the role, has recorded various books on tape and Shakespearean sonnets for major publishing companies, and he is indeed handsome, but far more than passably…”

     “I was referring to myself,” Trey interrupted with a grin, adding as he dove once again into his quickly cooling meal, “It was worth a shot.”

     His grin broadened as Helena dropped her utensils and wrapped her arms around Trey’s bulging shoulders.

     “I know, babe—though I have to say that if you’re passably handsome, then Michelangelo’s Statue of David is just kinda presentable, on a really good day,” she rolled her eyes heavenward.  “And believe me, I’ve dreamt of being with you since the day we met—I just wonder how easy it would be to face each other at work the day after we’ve ripped each other apart in passion.”

     It was Trey’s turn to drop his utensils—along with his jaw.

     “So you’re thinking things could get pretty passionate between us?” he rasped out, his voice suddenly and mysteriously losing all semblance of volume.

     Helena chuckled.

     “Indeed,” she affirmed, waggling her eyebrows to comic effect.  “If we got through any given evening without the neighbors calling the cops, then I for one would be sublimely disappointed.”  She paused here, her smile dissolving as she added, “What happens, though, when the morning comes and we have to face each other at work?  What will our co-workers say?  And could it possibly affect our working relationship?”

     Helena took in her breath as her date surged across the table, seizing her lips in a passionate kiss; his full, moist lips massaging hers as his tongue plundered her mouth.

     “I promise you Helena,” he whispered against her lips, “I’ll be worth the risk.”

     Breaking their kiss, Helena felt her cheeks flush as she redirected her attention to her much beloved dessert plate; ignoring the probing stares of fellow and sister diners, many of whom she was sure were thinking—if not proclaiming outright, just too low and subtle for her to hear—“I’ll have what she’s having.”

     “Please, dear,” she sent a playful wink in the direction of her beaming date.  “Not in front of Sardi’s.”

Chapter Eleven

     After ending the evening with another passionate kiss—one shared at her apartment door—Trey bid Helena a reluctant good night; leaving her with a sexy promise that made her heart race.

     “If you won’t take me to the heaven of your bed tonight, darling, then take a fantasy of me,” he growled, burying his head in her neck and kissing its tender nape.  “Think of us together, and all the pleasure I could bring you—all the fantasies I could fulfill for you, that would far surpass anything you’ve ever read or written.”

     Pulling away from him with a shuddering sigh, she fought to control the wave of raw desire that threatened to overwhelm her; her heart pounding in her ears as she turned for the door.

     “Yeah, well, will do,” she muttered, adding over her shoulder, “I’ll see you first thing tomorrow morning for our weekly staff and brainstorming meeting.  Stud.”

     That night Helena found it hard to sleep; visions of Trey filling her dreams with his gorgeous, flawless—and conveniently naked—image.  She imagined the two of them making love long into the night; finally satisfying the incredible wave of sensual tension that seemed to fly free and fast between them.  Endlessly she writhed in sweat slicked sheets; saving, of course, for the one time during the evening that she awoke to the totally gross feel of those nasty, sweaty sheets.

     “I had no idea that unbridled passion could be so, well, icky,” she groaned aloud at one point, rising from her bed to take a cold shower, change her sheets, and wash down a little ice cold moo juice before once again hitting the sheets.

     Finally rising for good at 6 a.m. the next morning, Helena took another cold shower before devouring two doughnuts, a whole grain cereal serving and two protein bars; finally doubling up her daily dosage of applied underarm deodorant—all the while thinking that she in all likelihood should have used spray starch instead.

     “So I feel like, for all intents and purposes, that I did actually have sex last night,” she rolled her eyes heavenward as she finally grabbed her briefcase and purse and headed for the front door.  “Except I didn’t have what my college boyfriend would so articulately refer to as an ‘organism.’  No wonder we didn’t last much past graduation.”

     This train of thought continued to drive her waning energies as she jumped the subway to work; humming an array of hits that she was sure had absolutely nothing to do with her heated state of mind.  They were “I Want Your Sex” by George Michael, “Let’s Get It On” by Marvin Gaye, “Should I Do It?” by The Pointer Sisters, “Get It On (Bang a Gong)” by T. Rex and later by The Power Station (being a latter day Duran Duran fan, Helena held a slight preference for this more recent version, one performed and produced by a side project of the immortal Boys from Birmingham), “I Want You, I Need You, I Love You” by Elvis Presley, and “Heaven’s Just a Sin Away” by The Kendalls.

     “And here Ma and Pa thought that they were keeping me all nice and pure and uncorrupted by always making me listen to country, the classics, and a bit of top 40,” I smirked, “as opposed to metal and rap.”

     Of course, she mused, bygone classic ditties like Me So Horny by 2 Live Crew also would apply.

     “Yep, yep,” she mused, walking finally through the impressive front entrance of Elmhurst Publishing, “Aside from sneaking occasional, clandestine glances at Skinemax After Dark, I also sometimes listened to those certain radio stations on the other end of the dial.  Wild Rebel Girl I am, all the flippin’ way.”

     Arriving soon at Trey’s office door, she took a deep breath and opened the door to reveal a vision of flawless masculinity; a gorgeous, glorious man that stole her breath and made her heart pound.

     Oh, and Trey was there too.

     Helena gaped outright at the masculine vision of Blaine Bennington, the tall, handsome blond she’d seen on the cover of countless romances.

     “Except the dude somehow managed to look even better in real life,” she marveled quietly, openly admiring his long, luxurious golden hair, eyes of emerald green and pure bronzed skin.

     “I’m pretty sure that he’s also sporting some mighty impressive muscles under that prim and proper business suit,” she stopped just short of licking her lips and bugging her eyes out in what she was sure would come off as a downright creepy expression.  “At this point, though, I might try to save some semblance of my professionalism by opening my mouth and talking—just hoping, of course, that no errant streams of drool make themselves apparent in the process.”

     “Hi,” she said finally, extending a hand in the direction of the man that dazzled her with a white toothed grin.  “I’m Helena Vance.  And you’re really, really hawt.  Ridiculously so.”  She paused here, pausing as she bit her lip, “Did I just say that out loud?”

     Pitching his head back in a leonine fashion, Blaine let loose with a sonorous laugh that reverberated in the room around them.

     “The dude even laughs sexy,” she mused silently, in no great hurry to reclaim her hand as he continued to—um—pump it vigorously.  “What’s up with that?”

     Finally breaking their hold, Blaine turned to a grinning Trey and said, “You’re right.  She’s absolutely delightful.”

     Trey nodded.

     “That she is,” he affirmed, adding as he made a broad gesture between them, “Thanks to you both for making it in so early for today’s meeting.  Unfortunately, things are quite busy at the Sunshine shelter this morning, and they weren’t able to send a representative to discuss the ins and outs of our charitable donation.  They thanked me profusely, though, and promised that a rep will be in attendance at the book’s release party.”

     Blaine nodded.

     “Sounds excellent,” he praised.

     Shifting his gaze back in the direction of an awestruck Helena, Blaine inclined his head in her direction as he said, “Ms. Vance, I want to thank you so much for allowing me to be a part of this project.  In addition to being totally intrigued by the storyline of your book, I’m honored to be able to support the cause of battered women.”  He paused here, adding in a low, sincere tone, “A few years ago, Helena, I had an aunt who was stuck in a bad situation—married to a man who developed a drinking problem.  She didn’t tell us when he started hitting her, but we saw the bruises around her eyes—and the pain that hid within them.  Finally I just went over to her house one day, confronted my uncle, and took my aunt back with me.”

     Choking back tears as she considered these words, Helena once again engaged a beaming Blaine in a warm, tender handshake.

     “So I guess you are a hero,” she praised with a smile, “Aren’t you?”

     Blaine grinned.

     “From what Trey tells me, Helena, I can say the same for you,” he nodded.  “He told me that you’ve done some extensive volunteer work at domestic violence shelters—so while I was able to help one woman, it seems that you have helped so many more—and now I’d like to help you, and your cause.  That’s why I’m donating 50 percent of my fee to your beneficiary, The Sunshine Shelter.”

     Helena said nothing, only graced her new friend with a warm gaze of sweet sincerity that he more than amply returned.

     “Well you’ve done it,” she managed finally, adding with a smile, “You have left Helena Vance completely and totally speechless.  I’m sure that this act surely signals a subtle astronomic shift in the universe somewhere, if not the onset of the Apocalypse.”

     Then she turned to Trey, her beam broadening as she told him, “Trey, thank you so much for making all of this possible.  I mean sure, it was always my dream to see my name on the cover of a book—but I never imagined that I—that we—could make such a difference with my first book.”

     She took in her breath as her lover fixed her with a warm eyed gaze of pure adoration.

     “It was all your idea, darling,” he reminded her, adding as he clasped his hands together before him, “And now the three of us are going to run with it.  I’ve arranged for us to fly out to London next week, to shoot the cover of “Pride and Passion” at Kew Gardens.”

     “The Royal Botanic Gardens?” Helena gasped, exchanging shocked looks with an open-mouthed Blaine.

     Trey nodded.

     “We’ll be dressing Blaine here as Lord Trace—and you, of course, will be adorned in the period finery that would only befit the charming Lady Helen,” he declared, aiming a chivalrous bow in the direction of his stunned lady.  “We’ll be shooting in the legendary rose garden, and also perhaps in the Palm House simulated rain forest.”

     Just not able to stand it anymore, a by now ecstatic Helena grabbed Blaine’s hands and engaged him in a spirited Do Si Do as she let loose with a joyous whoop.

     “Well hot damn!” she declared.  “I always had wanted to be adorned in period finery while shooting in a legendary rose garden and—as an added perk—a simulated rain forest.  Definitely on the bucket list, that particular happening.”

     Both Trey and Blaine laughed uproariously as a giddy Helena continued to dance and whoop, landing finally in the chair before Trey’s desk.  A still smiling Blaine joined her seconds later, and the two signed contracts that pertained to the cover art and promotional tie ins associated with Helena’s work.

     “I seriously want to see this cover on coffee mugs, T-shirts, the business end of an adult toy, and mayhap even your garden variety toothpaste dispenser!”  Helena declared, drawing vaguely horrified looks from her publisher and cover model.

     “Um, we’ll see Helena,” Trey nodded, adding as he pressed the talk button on his nearby intercom, “In the meantime, I think we really need to have Irving Birnbaum present for this meeting.  He is, after all, the editor for this book.”

     Ignoring the strangulated moan of protest that arose from Helena’s lips, Trey said into the intercom, “Irving, could you come in here please?”

     Blaine smiled.

     “I always enjoy meeting editors,” he told Helena.  “They tend to be very calm, quiet people—the consummate professionals.”

     Helena gritted her teeth.

     “Well I must admit that this description fits Irving to a T,” she agreed with a nod.  “Just make sure that the T is crossed at all times, and capitalized if needed.  Otherwise, your earthly existence might very well be at risk.”

     As if on cue Irving Birnbaum crossed the threshold into Trey’s office; fixing his employer with a cold stare as he asked in an annoyed tone, “Is this important, Boss?  I was editing Marianne Morgan’s latest romantic epic, Fiery Flames of Fanning Desire, and I was just about to correct the last of her many dangling participles. I tell you, Trey, that woman just may be the bane of my existence.”

     Trey nodded.

     “Well I’m…sorry to hear that, Irving,” he allowed, suddenly grabbing the paperweight from his desk top and stuffing it inside his drawer.  “I’d like to introduce you to Blaine Bennington, our cover model for Helena’s book Pride and Passion.”

     Immediately Blaine stood from his seat, offering his hand to a still seething Irving.

     “Very nice to meet you, Sir,” he nodded with a smile.  “Don’t you just love Helena’s book?  I had the pleasure of reading a preview copy…”

     He stopped short seconds later, as Irving’s eyes lit up with something akin to demonic intensity.

     “A PREVIEW copy?” he bellowed, fists balling as an angry shade of red illuminated his sallow complexion.  “You read my work before it was completely edited, fact checked and proofread?”

     Blaine nodded.

     “Actually Irving,” he continued, his smile dissolving in the face of evident editorial ire, “I am of the opinion that Helena’s work is so good that she doesn’t need an editor.”

     Helena gasped, gaze shooting to Irving as she predicted the imminent destruction of her foxy cover model.

     Letting loose with an animal growl, the pickled proofreader dug deep into his pants pocket and withdrew a large oval paperweight; one emblazoned with the ironic phrase, “Be calm and edit.”

     “Criminy, he brought his own weapon,” Helena surged from her seat, ready to tackle her cuckoo co-worker as he charged in the direction of a stone faced Blaine.

     She stopped stock still seconds later, as Blaine pulled back his arm and threw a single hard punch that cracked the jaw of a stunned Irving; sending the wacky wordsman careening toward the floor with a low, anguished groan.

     Surging forward to retrieve the paperweight that fell useless from Blaine’s hand, Helena stood over Irving as he squirmed on the floor; shaking his head to clear it of its shocked haze as a thin trail of blood fell free from his lip.

     “Irving,” she summoned, tone hard and unyielding.  “Meds.  Now.”

     Immediately sitting up on the floor, Irving wiped the dust from his clothes and stood to his feet.

     “Oh yeah,” he said, nodding as he turned toward the door.  “I do believe I forgot those this morning.  Nice meeting you, Blaine.  Later, Trey and Helena.”

     Nodding in his direction, Blaine took his seat at Trey’s desk and said, “So now then, about those contracts?”

     “Um, absolutely!”  Trey assented with wide eyes, reaching for their contract papers with frantic hands.  “Any chance you’d like a greater percentage of the royalties, Mr. Bennington sir?”