My Fair Gentleman. Jan Freed
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“I can see that.” His tone matched his fists.
Okay, Catherine admitted silently, maybe she’d been a wee bit hasty describing it as she had.
“This sucks big-time,” Allie said, grabbing Joe’s arm. “Let’s go call Norman and tell him he can’t lease our apartment.”
“Too late, pal. He’s halfway here from Dallas by now.”
They turned to Catherine in unison, their identical brown glares prodding her guilty conscience. Her sweeten-the-pot offer didn’t seem nearly as brilliant today as it had in The Pig’s Gut.
“Where is my fully furnished apartment with a very large bedroom?” Joe asked carefully.
She looked up and squinted at the redbrick structure shimmering over the garage. “Technically speaking, it’s right in front of you. Just because the one bedroom happens to be the living and dining room, too, doesn’t mean it’s not large.” If her peripheral vision could be trusted, Joe wasn’t amused. “Now calm down. Once you see the inside, you’ll feel much—”
“You lied to me,” he interrupted.
She met his gaze at that. “I never lie.”
“Oh, excuse me. You messed with my head. Psychotherapy, I believe you couch doctors call it.”
This man was no amoeba. “Actually we prefer to think of it as creative ego management.” Her feeble smile died in the face of his deepening scowl. “That was a joke.”
A bad joke, but then, she doubted David Letterman could’ve cracked Joe’s contempt. Someone in his past had really done her profession a disservice.
He lowered his brows. “Where are the tennis courts you promised?”
Relieved, she turned and pointed toward the east. “See those big trees? The courts are right behind them. An indoor lap pool, also. The neighbors love pairing up for a tennis match, if you’re interested. We’re very friendly around here.” Didn’t she always wave at the sweating fools when she walked by on her way to swim laps in cool indoor comfort?
“And I suppose you’ll tell me the management that ‘loves children’ isn’t a lie, either.”
At last, firm ground. “I love children,” she stated unequivocally, frowning when he continued to look skeptical. “You certainly are being unreasonable for someone who’s expecting a Norman from Dallas any minute.”
“Gimme a break, doll. Am I supposed to be happy I gave up my big apartment for a doghouse in your backyard?”
She narrowed her eyes.
The makeup she’d carefully applied after his unexpected phone call was no doubt melting with her sweat. The wraparound denim skirt she’d anxiously selected clung, hot and itchy, to her hose. She’d worked every spare minute for the last month on the haven he’d just called a doghouse, hoping to use it as her summer office. Enough was enough.
“You called me, remember? You were the one who made plans to move into an apartment without seeing it first. I’ve been standing out here without the benefit of air-conditioning for fifteen minutes—ten minutes past my previous record—and I have nothing to show for it but sunburn and your verbal abuse.” She lifted her stinging nose high enough to do her Hamilton ancestors proud. “Considering you have the manners of a mongrel, a doghouse is exactly what you deserve. However, I’m offering you a charming efficiency apartment any number of people would be thrilled to lease. I decorated it myself. Now, do you want it or not?”
Joe looked as if he were choking on his answer.
“No?” Catherine inclined her head regally. “Well, then, perhaps I’ll call Norman when he arrives and see if he’s interested. Can you give me the telephone number, Allie?”
The wide-eyed girl nodded.
“Leave my daughter out of this,” Joe practically snarled. “Show me the damn apartment.” Spinning around, he glared ahead.
Catherine almost felt sorry for him. Almost.
“How can I refuse such a gracious request?” Pulling the keys from her skirt pocket, she brushed by Joe and mouthed “ego management” to his daughter in passing. After a startled second, Allie’s brown eyes sparked with feminine comprehension and amusement.
A warm glow spread through Catherine as she headed for the stairs leading up to the efficiency. Hearing footsteps behind her, she grinned in triumph.
“What are you smiling at?” Joe snapped.
Catherine started to turn.
“Would you chill?” Allie said to her dad, sounding thoroughly exasperated. “First you want me to be happy about moving. Now you don’t want me to smile. Make up your mind.”
His grumbled “Sorry” restored Catherine’s grin. She’d felt an instant rapport with Allie and looked forward to gaining the girl’s friendship.
Reaching the unshaded staircase, Catherine began climbing the steps, the biting smell of hot cedar reminding her not to touch the railing. At the small landing she stopped and inserted her key into the cherry red door.
“Well, here we are,” she stated the obvious, turning the knob and pushing forward with a sudden feeling of doom.
Maybe she’d been a wee bit hasty not telling Joe about his roommates.
HALFWAY UP THE STEPS Joe paused to rest. He’d come a long way since his surgery two months ago, but climbing reminded him why his contract hadn’t been renewed. Rubbing his left knee, he watched Allie tentatively follow their new landlord into the apartment. He should take his daughter’s advice and “chill.” But it was damn hard to do with Catherine’s little speech ringing in his ears.
The nerve of her, implying he’d been gullible, or worse—foolish—to act decisively and quickly. How many opportunities, how many good times would’ve passed him by in the past year alone if he’d waited to plan every detail in advance? More than she’d experienced in her entire uptight life, he’d be willing to bet.
His mosquito of a conscience buzzed out of nowhere and bit deep.
If he’d planned the off-season vacation his daughter”d begged him for, instead of flying off to Vail on impulse, maybe he’d still be on the Astros roster. Maybe Allie wouldn’t have cried her heart out when his mother left. Maybe—
“C’mon, poky,” Allie called down from the doorway,
Joe straightened and blinked. She had the filled-to-bursting look of someone hiding a good secret. Thank God. The apartment must meet with her approval. He waved and she ducked back inside.
Climbing the remaining steps without much enthusiasm, he reached the landing. The place would be sophisticated of course. And probably as sterile as the woman who’d decorated it. He hoped like hell the carpet wasn’t white. Assuming a carefully bland expression, he drew in a breath and crossed the threshold.
A riot of colors assaulted him.
Green. Purple. Red. Orange. Some others he’d seen on paint chips that never got taken home. Closing his eyes, he gave his pupils a minute to adjust from sunlight to lamplight, then risked another peek. He hadn’t hallucinated.
Lord have mercy, he’d just committed to living in a crayon box for a month.
“So what d’ya think?” His daughter’s eyes, soothing pools of familiar brown, had never seemed more beautiful. She gestured widely and grinned. “Does this place rule or what?”
Rule? It conquered. Overwhelmed.
“Catherine