Sweet Dreams (3 page)

“Being sexy and brooding works if you’re a vampire,” Chandra shot back.

“You like vampires?”

“Yes. But only if they are sexy.”

“I thought all vampires were sexy, given their cinematic popularity nowadays.”

“Not all of them,” she said.

“What would make a vampire sexy, Chandra?”

“He would have to be…” Her words trailed off. She threw up a hand. “What am I doing? Why am I telling you things you probably already know?”

“You’re wrong, Chandra. I don’t know. Perhaps you can explain what the big fuss is all about.”

She stared, speechless. “Are you blowing smoke, or do you really want to know?”

Quickly rising from the sofa and going down on one knee, Preston grasped her hand, tightening his grip when she tried to pull free. “I’m begging you, Chandra Eaton. I need your help.” He was hard-pressed not to laugh when Chandra stared at him with genuine concern in her eyes. He didn’t need her help with character development
as much as he wanted to know what motivated her to write about her dreams.

“You’re serious about this, Preston?”

“Of course I’m serious.”

“Get up, Preston.”

“What?”

“Get up off your knees. You look ridiculous.”

“I thought I was being noble.”

“Get up!”

“Yes, ma’am.” Preston came to his feet and sat down again.

Chandra rolled her eyes at him. “I’m not old enough to be a ma’am.”

“How old do you have to be?”

“At least forty,” she said.

“Don’t worry, I’m not going to ask your age.”

“It’s not a deep, dark secret,” she said, smiling. “I’m thirty.”

“You’re still a kid.”

“I stopped being a kid a long time ago. Now, back to my helping you develop a sexy character. What are you going to do with the information?”

“Maybe I’ll write a play about two star-crossed lovers.”

“That’s already been done.
Romeo and Juliet, Love Story
and
West Side Story.
”

“Has it been done on stage as a musical with vampires and mortals?”

Unexpected warmth surged through Chandra as her gaze met and fused with Preston Tucker’s. She didn’t want to believe she was sitting in his living room, talking to the brilliant playwright.

“But you don’t write musicals.”

“There’s always a first time. It could be like
Phantom of the Opera
, or
Evita.
”

“Where would it be set?”

Closing his eyes, Preston stroked the hair under his lower lip. “New Orleans.” When he opened his eyes they were shimmering with excitement. “The early nineteenth-century French Quarter rife with voodoo, prostitution, gambling and opium dens and beautiful quadroons with dreams of becoming
plaçées
in
marriages de la main gauche.
”

Chandra pressed her palms together at the same time she compressed her lips. How, she thought, had he come up with a story line so quickly? Now she knew why he’d been awarded a MacArthur genius grant. The plot was dark, but with a cast of sexy characters and the mysterious lush locale, there was no doubt the play would become a sensation.

“Would you also write the music?” she asked Preston.

“No. I know someone who would come up with what I want for the music and lyrics.”

“What about costumes?”

“What about them, Chandra?”

“Women’s attire changed from antebellum-era ball gowns to the flowing diaphanous dresses of the Regency period. Are your characters going to be demure, or will they favor scandalous décolletage?”

Staring at the toes of his slip-ons, Preston pondered her question. “I’d like to believe the folks in the French Quarter didn’t always conform to the societal customs of the day. Remember, we’re talking about naughty
Nawlins
.”

“It sounds as if it’s going to be just a tad bit wicked.”
When she smiled, an elusive dimple in her left cheek winked at him.

“Just a tad,” he confirmed. “When do you think we can get together to talk about developing a sexy vampire story?”

Chandra narrowed her eyes at Preston. Was he, she thought, blowing smoke, or was he actually serious about needing her input? “I’ll be in touch.” She wasn’t going to commit until she gave his suggestion more thought.

“You’ll be in touch,” Preston repeated. “When? How?” Chandra stood up, as did Preston.

“I have your e-mail address, so whenever I clear my calendar I’ll e-mail you.”

The seconds ticked as they stared at each other. “Okay. Let me go and get your portfolio.”

Walking over to the window, Chandra stood and stared down at the street. She couldn’t wait to tell her cousin Denise that she’d met Preston Tucker. After graduating from college, she and Denise had regularly traveled to New York to see Broadway plays. Every third trip they would check into a New York City hotel and spend the night. A few times they were able to convince their dates to accompany them, which worked out well since the guys always wanted to hang out at jazz clubs in and around Manhattan.

She turned when she heard footsteps. Preston had returned with her portfolio and handed it to her. Myles had given it to her along with a lesson plan book for her college graduation, and she had continued to use it while in Belize.

“Thank you for taking care of this for me,” she said. Chandra valued Myles’s gift as much as she did the contents of her journal.

Preston cupped her elbow and escorted her to the door. “I’ll see you downstairs.”

She gave him a sidelong glance. “I think I can make it downstairs all right.”

“I’ll still go down with you, because I need to pick up my mail.”

Chandra and Preston rode the elevator in silence, parting in the lobby. She felt the heat from his gaze boring into her as she walked out into the bright autumn sunlight. She strolled along a street until she found a café with outdoor seating.

She ordered a salad Nicoise and a glass of white zinfandel and then called her cousin at the child care center. It rang three times before her voice mail switched on. “Denise, Chandra. Call me back tonight when you get home. I just met your idol. Later.”

She ended the call, smiling. If anyone knew anything at all about Preston Tucker, it was Denise Eaton. Chandra decided she would wait until she heard from her cousin before she agreed to meet Preston again.

P
reston silently chastised himself for forgetting his manners. He hadn’t offered Chandra Eaton anything to eat or drink. It was apparent that his annoyance with his agent sending him on a six-thousand-mile wild-goose chase had affected him more than he wanted to admit. If Clifford had been in the room with him during the negotiations, there was no doubt he would’ve fired the man on the spot. Wanting to avoid a fight, he decided to wait, wait until Clifford contacted him.

He retrieved his mail and then returned to the apartment. A smile tilted the corners of his mouth when he recalled his conversation with the young woman who’d recorded dreams so erotic, so sensual that he felt as if he’d actually entered the dream and it was he who’d made love to Chandra. He’d taken one shower, then hours later he was forced to take another one. Standing under the spray of ice-cold water was the antidote to an
erection that had him thinking of doing what he hadn’t done since adolescence.

Preston hadn’t lied to Chandra when he told her he wasn’t romantic in the true sense of the word. Yet he’d never mistreated or cheated on any woman he was seeing. He’d grown up witnessing his father passively and aggressively abuse his mother until she’d become an emotional cripple. Craig Tucker had never raised his voice or hit him or his sister, Yolanda. But whenever he drank to an excess, he blamed his wife for his failures, of which there were a few. A two-pack-a-day cigarette habit and heavy drinking took its toll, and Craig suffered a massive coronary at forty.

Walking into his home office, Preston put the pile of letters and magazines on his desk. The idea of writing a dramatic musical was scary
and
exciting. And, although he’d mentioned using a vampire as a leading character, the truth was he knew nothing about them. Sitting in a leather chair, he reached for a pencil and a legal pad and began jotting down key words.

The sun had slipped lower in the sky, and long and short shadows filled the room when he finally glanced up at the clock on a side table. It was after five. He’d spent more than four hours outlining scenes for his untitled musical drama. What kept creeping into his head were the accounts of the dreams he’d read the night before.

A knowing smile softened the angles in his face. He suddenly had an idea for a plot.

Chandra spied her father’s car when the taxi driver maneuvered into the driveway. She hadn’t expected her father to come home so early. She paid the fare, and clutching the case to her chest, got out and walked to
the door. It opened before she could insert her key into the lock.

She didn’t have time to react before her father held her in a bear hug, lifting her off her feet. Wrapping her arms around his neck, she kissed his cheek. “Daddy, stop! You’re crushing my ribs.”

Dwight set his daughter on her feet. “I’m sorry about that, baby girl.”

Chandra smiled at the man against whom she measured every man she’d met in her life. Her father was soft-spoken, patient and benevolent—and that was with his patients. He was all that and then some to his children. He’d always been supportive, telling them they could do or be anything they wanted to be.

It was her father she’d gone to when she contemplated going into the Peace Corps. He encouraged her to follow her dream
and
her heart, while Roberta had taken to her bed, all the while complaining that her youngest was going to be the death of her.

She smiled at her father. He looked the same at sixty-three as he had at fifty-three. His dark face was virtually wrinkle-free and his deep-set brown eyes behind a pair of rimless glasses reminded her of chocolate chips. His thinning cropped hair was now completely gray.

“What are you doing home so early, Daddy?”

Dwight tugged at the thick braid falling midway down his daughter’s back. “My last two patients canceled, so I thought I’d come home early and take my favorite girls out to dinner.”

“Do you mind if we postpone it to another time?”

Eyes narrowing, Dwight led Chandra into the entryway. He cradled her face between his palms. “Aren’t you feeling well?”

“I’m well. It’s just that I stopped to eat a little while
ago. I’m certain Mama would appreciate you taking her to a restaurant with dining and dancing.”

“You know your mother was quite the dancer in her day.”

“She still is,” Chandra said. Roberta had danced nonstop at Belinda and Griffin’s wedding. She kissed her father’s cheek. “I have to go online and look for a job.”

“I thought you were going to take some time off before you go back to teaching.”

“I’d really like to, Daddy, but I have to buy some furniture before I move into Denise’s co-op.”

“You should talk to Belinda before you buy anything. She told your mother that she has a buyer for her house, and expects to close on it before Halloween.”

Myles had stayed in Belinda’s house during the summer, and then returned to Pittsburgh where he taught constitutional law at Duquesne University School of Law. Despite the uncertainty in the real estate market, Belinda was fortunate enough to find a buyer for her house.

Chandra couldn’t see herself purchasing property at this time in her life. Although she’d told her parents she hadn’t planned to live overseas again, she still wasn’t certain of her future.

“I’ll call her later,” she said to her father. “You and Mama have fun, and if you two can’t be good, then be careful,” she teased.

He chuckled and was still chuckling as she climbed the staircase. She walked into her bedroom, slipped out of her shoes and blazer and then sat down at the desk. Turning on her laptop, Chandra searched the Philadelphia public schools Web site for openings. Surprisingly, she found ten—eight of which were in
less-than-desirable neighborhoods. Her heart rate kicked into high gear. Instead of substituting she would apply for a full-time position. The one school that advertised for a Pre-K, third and fifth grade teacher was about a mile from Denise’s co-op and close to Penn’s Landing and to public transportation.

Chandra was so engrossed in copying down the names of the schools, their addresses and principals that she almost didn’t hear her cell phone. She retrieved it from her handbag, glancing at the display. “Hello, cousin.”

“Hello, yourself. When did you get back?”

“Yesterday. I called you because I had the pleasure of meeting Preston Tucker today.” She held the phone away from her ear when a piercing scream came through the earpiece. “Denise! Calm down.”

“You’ve got to tell me everything, and I do mean everything, Chandra.”

Settling down on the bed, she told her cousin about leaving her portfolio in the taxi and Preston e-mailing her to let her know he’d found it. She was forthcoming, leaving nothing out when she related the conversation between her and the playwright, including that he wanted her to work with him to develop a vampirelike character for a new play.

“Are you going to do it?” Denise asked, her sultry contralto dropping an octave.

“That’s why I called you. What do you know about him?”

“He’s brilliant, but you probably know that. And he’s never been married. There were rumors a little while back that he was engaged to marry an actress. But the tabloids said she ended it. He rarely gives interviews and manages to stay out of the spotlight. I’ve seen every one
of his plays, and if I were given the chance to work with him, I’d jump at it.”

“I’m flattered that he asked for my help, but why, Denise? Why me?”

“Maybe he likes you.”

Chandra shook her head.

“I don’t think so.”

“What did you say to him?”

“What are you talking about, Denise?”

“You had to say something to Preston for him to ask you to develop a character for his next play.”

A beat passed. “I told him that all his plays were dark and brooding, and he admitted that he was dark and brooding. I suppose when I said brooding works if he were a vampire, he took it as a challenge.”

“There you go, Chandra. You just said the operative word—
challenge
. Preston Tucker’s bound to have an ego as large as the Liberty Bell, so he expects you to put your money where your mouth is.”

“It’s either that or…”

“Or what?” Denise asked when she didn’t finish her statement.

“Nothing.”

Chandra had said nothing, although there was the possibility that Preston had read her journal. He hadn’t mentioned that he’d read it, and she didn’t want to ask because she didn’t want to know if he had. The only way she would be able to find out was to work with him.

“I’m going to do it, Denise. I’m going to help the very talented P. J. Tucker develop a vampire character for his next play.”

“Hot damn! My cousin’s going to be famous.”

“Yeah, right,” Chandra drawled. “I’ll let you know how it turns out.”

“You better,” Denise threatened. “I’d love to chat longer, but I have a board meeting in ten minutes.”

“Are you coming up to Paoli this weekend?”

“I plan on being there. I’ll see you in a couple of days. Later.”

“Later,” Chandra repeated before she ended the call.

She sat, staring at the sheers billowing in the cool breeze coming through the open windows. To say she was intrigued by Preston Tucker was an understatement. Something told her that he didn’t need her or anyone’s help with character development. Did he, as Denise claimed, like her?

Chandra shook her head as if to banish the notion. She knew she hadn’t given off vibes that said she was interested in him. After her yearlong liaison with Laurence Breslin she had sworn off men. Whenever she affected what could best be described as a “screw face” most men kept their distance. The persistent ones were greeted with, “I’m not interested in men,” leaving them to ponder whether she didn’t like them or she was only interested in a same-sex liaison. She liked men—a lot. It was just that she wasn’t willing to set herself up for more heartbreak.

She went back to the task of researching schools. All she had to do was update her résumé and submit the applications online. Flicking on the desk lamp, she scrolled through her old e-mails until she found the one from Preston, her fingers racing over the keys:

Hi Preston,

I’m available to meet with you Friday. Please call or e-mail to confirm.—CE

She didn’t have to wait for a response when his AIM popped up on the upper left corner of the screen.

PJT: Hi CE. Friday is good with me. What time should I pick you up?

CE: You don’t have to pick me up. I’ll take a taxi to your place.

PJT: No, CE. You tend to lose things in taxis.

CE: You didn’t have to go there.

PJT: Sorry.

CE: Apology accepted.

PJT: Will call tomorrow to let you know when driver will pick you up.

CE: O.K. I’ll see you Friday. Meanwhile, think of a name for your vampire.

PJT: He’s not my vampire, but yours. So, you do the honor.

CE: O.K. Good night.

PJT: Good night.

Chandra logged off. She mentally checked off what she had to do before meeting with Preston. She still had to unpack, call her sister Belinda and update her résumé. During lunch she’d called the salon and was given an appointment for Thursday at eleven. The Eatons had
planned a get-together at Belinda and Griffin’s for Saturday to celebrate Sabrina’s and Layla’s thirteenth birthday. She wasn’t certain what her nieces wanted or needed, but decided to give them gift cards. Then, there was her ten-year-old nephew whom she would meet for the first time. Aunt Chandra would have to buy him something, too.

Chandra waited for the driver to come around and open the rear door for her. As promised, Preston had arranged for a driver to bring her to his apartment building. He’d also arranged for them to have brunch.

She gave the doorman her name and three minutes later she came face-to-face with Preston Tucker for the second time when the doors to the elevator opened.

Preston stared, completely surprised. He almost didn’t recognize Chandra. She’d changed her hair. The braid was gone, replaced by a sleek style that framed her face and floated over her shoulders. It made her look older, more sophisticated.

“You look very nice.”

Chandra couldn’t stop the pinpoints of heat pricking her face. She’d lightly applied a little makeup and changed outfits twice before deciding on a tailored charcoal-gray pantsuit, white silk blouse and black patent leather pumps.

“Thank you.”

Preston not only looked good, she thought, but he also smelled good. He wore a pair of black slacks and matching shirt and the stubble on his chin gave him a slightly roguish look. He’d admitted to being dark and brooding and his somber attire affirmed that. She didn’t have to go very far to find the inspiration for her vampire. Preston Tucker was the perfect character.

“Have you come up with a name for your vampire?” Preston asked as he led Chandra down the hallway and into his apartment.

“I have,” she admitted.

He closed the door and turned to stare at her. “What is it?”

“Pascual.”

Preston angled his head. “Pascual or Paschal?”

“Pascual. It’s Spanish and Hebrew for
Passover
. The name is somewhat exotic and implies that he’s passed through a portal from another world to ours.”

“If the setting is New Orleans, shouldn’t you give him a French name?”

Chandra drew in a breath, held it and then let it out slowly. They hadn’t even begun to work together and already he was questioning her. “I thought you said Pascual is
my vampire.
”

“He is, Chandra.”

“Then, please let me develop him the way I want, Preston. And that includes giving him a name that’s Spanish. Remember, France lost control of New Orleans to Spain, then regained it before it was sold to the U.S.”

Preston looked sheepish. “Unfortunately, history and languages weren’t my best subjects.”

“I have you at a disadvantage because my sister teaches American history to high school students.”