What Was I Thinking? (15 page)

“Sip this while I see to your belongings,” he
said, handing it to me. “You’ll feel better soon, I promise.” He stroked the
hair off my forehead, and then straightened up and closed the door, quietly.

I took a cautious sip. Brandy again. It did
seem to help. So did sitting still and being taken care of. I didn’t pay any
attention to what was going on outside the car.

Eventually, Bert opened the rear door on his
side, and put something on the back seat. “I’ve got your costume and boots. Is
there anything else you want to take home? Or is it all merchandise?”

“No, that’s all,” I said, a bit drowsily.

“All right then. I’ll have these fools arrange
to return it to the store.”

I thought to tell him that the samples belonged
to
TAPI
, not the store I’d been visiting,
and that was why I’d carried them out with me, and then I decided I really
didn’t care.

He shut the door and dealt with things, and a
few moments later he got into the driver’s seat and turned to me. “Look at me,
Addie.”

I turned obligingly, and he switched on the
dome light to take a good look at me. He put a hand on my cheek and tipped my
head back a little, looking searchingly into my eyes. I wondered vaguely if he
were
going to kiss me again, but he didn’t. He just said,
“Pupils look good. I don’t think you hit your head.”

“No, I didn’t. I landed on my side the first
time, and on my ass the second, but my head never hit anything.”

His eyes flared just a little on “ass” but he
didn’t say anything, and I wasn’t in any mood to care whether he found me
improper. “Where does it hurt?” he asked.

I sighed and thought. “My stomach hurts a lot,
I think there are scrapes on my left arm and leg, and
my a—
my
behind feels bruised. I don’t think anything is broken, though, and the brandy
is helping.”

“Good. Shall I take you to your home, then? We
can call your physician when we arrive.”

“I don’t need a doctor. I just need to go
home.”

“Well. Let me buckle you in and then you can rest
while I drive, and we’ll see about your injuries when we get there.”

I didn’t argue. Sitting still, being cared for,
and sipping brandy seemed just the thing, and everything else could wait.

When we got to my apartment, he helped me out
of the car and gave me his arm for the walk to the elevator while carrying that
costume with the other hand. I had stiffened up considerably on the drive and
was grateful for the help.

I showed him where the spare key was hidden
under the tear in the hall carpet, and he let us in. For a wonder, he actually
came into my apartment, but he clearly wasn’t comfortable being there. I
insisted on going to the bathroom to clean up and left him fidgeting in the
main room.

I felt considerably better after the bathroom.
Why does stress make a person have to pee? Don’t know, but it does. And I had
washed my hands carefully and taken inventory. I was going to have an
impressive bruise on my backside—I’d twisted around to get a look at it in the
full-length mirror inside the door—and another, at least as impressive on my
midsection. There were red marks on my thigh and the outside of my left knee,
where my jeans had provided some protection from the asphalt, and my elbow and
forearm were pretty scraped up from their contact with the asphalt.

I washed and dried the scrapes carefully, and
took the Band-Aids and bacitracin back into the living room to ask Bert for
help. That made him very uncomfortable.

“Are you sure you don’t want me to summon your
physician?”

“No, Bert. I really don’t need a doctor. I just
need help putting Band-Aids on the parts that are hard to reach.”

He looked dubiously at my arm, and then seemed
to notice for the first time that I was standing. “Let’s get you comfortable on
the sofa. Sit down, sit down.” I sat. It did feel good. I was depressingly
shaken from my little adventure.

Then he accepted the supplies from me and with
great care, and obvious discomfort, patched my arm. He insisted that I take off
my shoes and put my feet up on the sofa, and asked permission to get a blanket.

I said ‘sure’ and asked for a pillow, too.

He gathered them, and got me all tucked up with
my head on the pillow, my right side against the back of the couch and my sore
left side outward, where it wouldn’t get rubbed against anything, and a blanket
tucked tightly around my feet and pulled up to my waist. He put the brandy, a
glass of water, my phone, and the TV remote in easy reach on the coffee table,
and stood back to survey his handiwork.

“Are you all right now?” he asked, with every
appearance of anxiety.

“Yes, I’ll be fine,” I assured him. “You’ve
been wonderful, and I’ll be okay if you’re ready to go home.” I would have
liked to ask him to stay, but given his reaction to a normal kiss…

“Is there a lady of your acquaintance who could
sit with you? I don’t like to leave you alone in such a state.”

“Oh, I’m okay, I don’t need…” I trailed off. It
was true that I didn’t
need
anyone to
sit with me, but it was also true that I didn’t want to be alone.

“Addie, I know you’re very self-sufficient, but
you have had a terrible ordeal and you shouldn’t be alone. Please, tell me whom
I could call for you. Or I could contact Mrs. Peacock. I’m sure she would
come.”

Well, I couldn’t have him waking up Mrs.
Peacock. It must be midnight at least. “Maybe my neighbor could come over, if
she’s not asleep. Susan lives just in the apartment over there.” I gestured
vaguely.

“Very good,” he said, and left.

No more than two minutes later, he came back
with Susan in tow. He confirmed that we felt sufficiently safe without a man in
attendance, thanked Susan, touched my cheek gently, said good night, and left.

“So that’s the romantic Bert,” Susan said. “I
like him.”

“I do, too. I think I probably love him,” I
said, muzzily, and closed my eyes.

* * * *

When I woke up, it was full daylight and Susan
was snoring in the chair. She really had stayed all night. How kind.

I got up very carefully, hoping to let both
Susan and my bruises stay asleep. It worked for her, at least. I tiptoed to the
bathroom, and took care of various necessities, including that bubble bath.

At last I rinsed off in cool water, dressed,
and went back to the living room. Susan was just beginning to stir. I put
bagels in the toaster oven for both of us and sat at the kitchen table checking
the news on my laptop and drinking a Diet Coke while she came to. It didn’t
take very long.

We had a general chat of good mornings and
thank
yous
and no problems, and then she
said she’d go get some coffee for herself, eying my soda with disdain, and a
couple of newspapers, and would be back for bagels, if that was okay. I said it
was fine, and set the toaster oven to keep the bagels warm.

We had a nice morning, or rather, early
afternoon, reading the papers, doing crosswords and Sudoku, and eating bagels
with cheese and fruit. We talked a bit now and then, mostly over how much my
job sucked and what a find Bert was.

I remembered that I had promised myself I would
spend the day job-hunting and closed my eyes. Susan saw and asked if I was in
pain.

“Only mentally,” I said. “I just remembered
that I was going to spend the day updating my résumé and doing an online job
search. I really, really need to do that, and I can’t even imagine getting the
energy to do it.”

“Well, if you want my professional opinion—”
She broke off. “
Do
you want my
professional opinion? I don’t think sometimes. I’m sorry.”

“I guess I do. I didn’t realize this touched on
your profession.”

“Anything to do with emotional states does. And
I do advise people when they’re changing jobs, sometimes. In my professional
opinion, then, you’ll do yourself no good if you try to contact prospective
employers in your current state. You’re in no shape to make a good first
impression, or to judge what should be in your résumé.”

“Oh. So I have a good excuse to put it off?
Good. I should ask your professional opinion more often.”

“In that case, I have one more and you didn’t
ask for it at all.”

“Go on.” I didn’t want to set a precedent of
welcoming unsolicited advice, but I was curious.

“Call in mugged to work tomorrow. You need and
deserve the rest. Moreover, you won’t do yourself or your career any good until
you’re feeling a little better.”

“Hmm.
That does sound like a very
good idea.”

My phone rang. It was Bert. Huh. First time
he’d ever telephoned me. I answered.

“Addie, may I come up? I have come to call,
uninvited, as per our earlier discussion.” I had to smile.

“Sure. I’ll be right down to let you in.” We
hung up.

“Is that Bert?” Susan asked, rising.

“Yep.”

“I’ll go let him in. I should get back to my
own place anyway, and you should stay put for a while.”

“Oh, thanks.” It did sound unbearably difficult
to make the trip down to the front door and back.

A few minutes later, there was a knock at my
door, and Bert stood there holding a large bouquet of daisies and carnations in
a fancy vase. Susan stood behind him, beaming over his shoulder. I beamed, too.

After a little kerfluffle about whether Bert
would consent to come in without Susan to chaperone, she went back to her own
place, and Bert came in for just a couple minutes, with the door propped open.

He set the flowers on the table, asked
anxiously how I was, and, when I said I was feeling much better, and healing
well, gave a sigh and took me into his arms. He pulled me against him, stroking
my hair as I leaned into his shoulder.
So much for wanting a
chaperone.

“Oh, Addie, I have been so terribly worried
about you. Seeing you hurt made it even clearer to me how dear you are. Please
say I have some hope that you could return my feelings.”

He pulled back a little, and looked down into
my eyes. His were grey, I saw. I liked them. “Yes,” I said, and stopped talking
because he kissed me. It was a real kiss again, like the one that had started
all the trouble. It was wonderful, but I was almost afraid to move, afraid I would
spook him again. I held back, and only raised my hands to his arms, and let him
kiss me. It was still wonderful.

When we finally stopped, he took a deep breath
and touched my face. “Oh, Addie,” he said.
“Oh, Addie.”
He kissed me again. This time I took a chance and put my arms around him,
kissed him back, with interest. By the end, one of his hands was scandalously
low on my back, and the other was twined in my hair. Mine were both on his
neck, sliding up into his hair. It was some kiss, and I knew he wanted more. So
did
I
.

He pulled back again, but didn’t go into panic
mode. Instead he spoke, as previously instructed. He swallowed hard, and said,
“I love you, but this is not right. I must leave while I can still bring myself
to.”

Damn! But at least he listened to instructions.
It beat disappearing for a week.

“Addie? You’re not answering. Have I hurt you?”
he looked concerned.

I hid a smile. “No, no, I’m fine. I’m just
sorry you have to go.”

“I must, though. You know that.”
No I didn’t,
but I was a fast learner, too. I knew it would
only freak him out if I argued. So I nodded.

He stroked my cheek softly, whispered my name,
and was gone. I sat down in the nearest chair as if my legs had been kicked out
from under me. Wow.

Chapter Nine

Liftoff

I called Campbell Monday morning, and told him
I couldn’t come in because I had been mugged on the way out Saturday. He said
that had nothing to do with showing up on Monday. Thanks for the sympathy,
bucko.

I explained, with patience I didn’t feel, that
one, I was injured and not up to it, two, my car was still across town so there
were practical difficulties, and three, the project had endangered me and
caused me injury and loss—he didn’t need to know there was less than ten
dollars in the wallet—and four, I wasn’t asking permission to stay home, I was
notifying
him.

He notified me that I didn’t have a job
anymore, and if I tried any nonsense about suing, I’d be sorry.

I hung up and fixed breakfast. Screw him.

I spent the rest of the morning alternately working
on my job search and canceling the stolen Visa. It involved a lot of phone
calls, some of them long. There were intermittent buzzes of calls waiting, but
I ignored them. I wasn’t going to give up a connection with Visa, one achieved
at great pains, or to interrupt a phone interview.