Once Upon A Mattress. Kathleen O'Reilly
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to collapse, merely the rather loud whirring of the ancient air-conditioning system.
The Future Products and Research Testing area was on the third floor, and she was relieved to see the old metal elevator waiting for her. They had said she could have after-hours access—anything to keep their workers happy and productive. Right now, Hilary was too exhausted to think about work. Just a few hours of sleep was all she needed, and the research testing area was the perfect place.
The elevator shuddered to a halt, and she slid back the iron gate. First she looked to make sure the hallway was empty, and then she crept toward the open glass doorway that housed the next generation of MacAllister Beds.
At last.
Inside was another long hallway lined with eight doors. Each room housed a bed, a small television set, a nightstand, and a small hospital-style bathroom. Not quite the comforts of home, but there were no leaks, no standing water, and best of all, no room charges.
Hilary wandered from room to room, examining each bed closely. Over the years, she’d learned the power of a good mattress.
Five years ago she had graduated from the University of Tampa with a degree in industrial engineering. First job out, and she started in the sleep products industry. Twelve months later, she’d discovered she loved it, even with the uninvited remarks from the occasional yuckster: sleeping on the job, or sleeping with her boss. Everyone thought they were comedians.
She finally settled on the last room at the end of the hallway, number eight. First, she set her alarm for five o’clock—didn’t want to get caught. Next, she bounced on the mattress for a moment, then kicked off her shoes and sank onto the bed.
Ah. Bliss.
For a long time, she stared at the ceiling, wondering about her roof, wondering about her job, wondering about her $9,337 Visa balance, but gradually the lavender did its job, the barley cleared her worries away, and Hilary fell into a deep sleep.
BEN LIFTED HIS HEAD off his desk and opened one eye, the morning light way too bright in his office. Immediately the hammer in his head pounded with a vengeance. Ouch. Why in a building full of beds had he chosen to fall asleep at his desk?
“Mr. MacAllister!” It was the voice of a drill sergeant.
And now he was wide-awake. His latest temporary secretary, Helga Von Schmidt, was punctual, efficient and possessed no visible sense of humor. He hated her.
“Security registered motion detection in the testing center last evening and no trials were scheduled. I thought you might want to know, as security is your job.” She lifted one dark eyebrow as if he were completely inept. James Bond he wasn’t, but for God’s sake, it was a mattress factory. What were they going to steal?
“I’m on the case, Helga. You can relax now.”
She humphed and stalked out the door without so much as a cheerful smile to start the day. Ben wondered if the temporary agency would be annoyed if he called and requested a new secretary.
Probably. He seemed to be annoying a lot of people lately.
Still, security was his job. Or at least his latest job.
And it was time to check out the facts. Down at the research center, Ben looked into each room, wondering if he should test for fingerprints.
Nah. By the time he entered room number eight, he knew that no fingerprints were necessary.
There was a new smell that permeated this room. Pleasant, comforting. Not at all what they normally used in the testing lab, where antiseptic deodorizer was de rigueur.
The bed looked completely unused, and yet…
He sat down on the bed, a new test unit for the Dreamscape line. The innersprings gave way just as they’d been designed. He leaned back, letting the warm smell wash over him. Without thinking, he rested his head on the pillow, the scent of, what was that smell? Something with flowers and something else. It was soothing, relaxing, yet oddly elusive.
Something sharp poked his spine and he reached behind him, looking for a clue. But there was nothing.
Someone had lain here, he was sure of it. But why? A little catnapping on the job, or a little catnapping on the side?
What a perfect setup for an affair. No hotels necessary, just use the company’s product.
Ben sat up. For the first time the weight of responsibility was resting on his shoulders. With a scowl that would have made Helga proud, he strode out of the room.
Tonight he would discover just exactly what was being researched in the testing center.
Or who.
3
BEN WANDERED through the hallways late into the night, hoping he looked like the proprietary owner rather than a paranoid Director of Security. No one seemed to think it strange that Ben, who never worked more than thirty hours a week before, was now stalking the halls like a man bent on worldwide domination.
That was a laugh. All he wanted was his family back together.
Worldwide domination was probably easier. Actually, getting his family back together looked pretty much impossible. His mom acted too accepting of the divorce, his father was ready to audition for Fear Factor. MacAllister Beds was all that was left.
Gradually, the plant had emptied, the parking lot vacated. Now it was time.
He went to the research center and picked his spot carefully. The bed across from room number eight.
It sounded like a bad cable movie. Typical Thursday night fare.
He shook his head, tossing the thought aside, then he shut off the lights. Instantly, the room turned black as pitch, empty. He settled himself on the bed, crossing his arms across his chest.
Eleven…midnight. Still nothing. He tossed on the mattress, wishing for the familiar bed in his apartment. Another storm raged outside, the cooling masses pressing against the heated air. Nothing to worry about.
Finally, convinced he was paranoid and all was actually right with the world, Ben fell asleep, dreaming of lavender and the green eyes of a cat.
DETERMINED TO HAVE a solid alibi, Hilary decided to work in her office until midnight, or until her body quit, whichever came first. To be honest, the world was getting a little hazy and she wasn’t exactly sure what was what.
Could be the early onset of a cold. She should have stocked up on Vitamin C.
She made due with two cold tablets sans water. Her throat had expanded and she wasn’t sure that the water would have gone down. Her voice had dropped two octaves since this afternoon and soon it would be gone altogether. She liked talking to herself as her voice disintegrated—pretending she was Mae West. After all, a woman needed role models.
Feeling a little giddy, she did a short bump and grind to get into her sleep shirt and shorts.
By the time she reached the third floor, she was pretty well wiped. Walking like the zombie she was, she thought she’d returned to the room she’d been in the night before. Pulling her pillow from her backpack, she inhaled the soothing barley with a heavy sigh. At least she could still breathe.
She collapsed on the bed and then climbed under the crisp sheets. Her eyes felt so heavy, sleep was so close. Thank God for MacAllister Beds.
THERE WAS A HAND on her breast. A possessive hand. Hilary smiled drowsily at the familiar warmth. Mark always did have a perfect sense of timing.
The alarm began to beep, and Hilary reached over to shut it off.
Then she rolled closer to him, basking in the heat that radiated from him. Ah…he felt so good. Slowly her fingers crept underneath his pajama shirt to find hard muscles beneath.
It must be the gym. She had told him it would pay off.
His