Designs On Daphne (5 page)

  Settled in, wrapped in its pale leather seats, Daphne sighed.

   “I think we should skip dinner, Rodric,” she suggested as he accelerated out of the garage and turned onto a well-lit main avenue. She touched his big fingers, now wrapped on the burled walnut of the automatic shift. “It’s late, and you have a full day tomorrow, don’t you?”

  “Why, Miz Daphne, it’s very kind of you to think of me, but what we had at Jeffreys wasn’t any kind of dinner, and I surely can’t leave you fend for yourself tonight, not after all the help you’ve given me.”

  She let her fingers graze his, not being suggestive in any way, just to maintain the positive rapport of their professional contact, while deferring to his manhood.   She’d read about that, online.

  “I don’t mind. You must be tired. Your day will start early tomorrow morning. I’ll just heat a can of soup.”

  “Soup?” Rodric scoffed. “What kind of dinner is that? What’s your favorite take out, Miz Daphne? I’ll just call ahead and order you something. We can pick it up on our way back to Hyde Park.”

  Her heart leapt at his consideration. “Oh, thank you! I just love the little Thai place! Here’s their number, I have their menu almost memorized!”

  Daphne couldn’t possibly admit to Rodric that she was still too much of country girl to feel right about eating all alone in a city restaurant, that she’d taken to ordering meals and eating them by herself in his mother’s apartment. She was so was tired of eating alone! And they’d had such fun tonight, she wanted more of his company. 

  As he dialed, she heard herself say, “They have the best Pahd Thai! And delicious spring rolls too! Shall we order something for you? No sense me eating at your mother’s place all alone, is there? I’d just love it if you joined me, Rodric!”

7

   Rodric told Daphne all about the history of Austin as they stepped off the elevator outside his mother’s apartment. He knew a lot about the city, things he wanted to share with her, and she enjoyed listening.

  Ever the gentleman, he took the key from her hand to open the door. Inside, she slipped her boots off and moved barefoot over the plush, creamy carpet to the counter, where he set the bags of Thai food.

  She pulled out some elegant plates and big cloth napkins, dishing up dinner and grabbing chopsticks as Rodric sprawled on the deep cream leather sofa. His suit jacket was folded neatly over a chair, his shoes and tie off.   One leg up on the tufted cushion seat, one arm languishing along the backrest, he listened intently as she told him all about what she’d discovered in Austin. Silly things, really, but he seemed so interested in her descriptions of the different cuisine offered out on Congress Avenue, the work of the artists she’d introduced herself to, the funky accessories she was finding in galleries and auction houses and secondhand shops.

  Engrossed in wonderful conversation, it felt perfectly lovely to join him on the sofa for a cosy dinner. Handing him their plates, she spread a napkin on his lap, carefully protecting his charcoal wool slacks and what was underneath, spreading another napkin under the extra food which she set on the side table. Then she sat down, placing her napkin in her own lap. She was hungry, even after all the carpaccio.

  Rodric passed her a plate with an admiring smile, and they dug into Pahd Thai with chopsticks, sampling Beef Pahd Sarn Sian, crunching on spring rolls, swapping stories about their childhoods. She laughed out loud over his teasing account of the day they’d met at Red Rock Ranch, before Ty’s parents had divorced, before Ty’s mother June changed her name back to Laslow and moved up to Montana with her horses.

  When they finished eating, Daphne stacked the takeout containers on their plates. She was about to get up, but Rodric put an arm out across her tummy. Taking the plates, he insisted she relax while he cleaned up. They continued chatting as he stashed leftovers in the fridge, tossed empty containers and rinsed plates and slipped them into the dishwasher. Pleased, Daphne thought it felt very cosy and nice being with him, almost perfect, really.

  Rodric came back to the sofa with a single container of sweet coconut rice and two spoons. Feeling drowsy and deliciously happy, Daphne slipped down to the carpeted floor, and the narrow silk skirt of her peacock blue dress crawled up her thighs. Standing with the dessert in his hands, Rodric was unable to keep his eyes from tracking all over her body. That was nice too; there was a hungry look on his face. Pleased, Daphne smiled up at him, and he plopped down next to her.

  She didn’t mind that he didn’t acknowledge her bare thighs, that he didn’t drop a hand to them or run it up under her dress. She was a professional, and they were working together, so she certainly wasn’t noticing what promised to be a sizable package emerge beneath his napkin.
The second time tonight!

  The tops of their arms touched as he leaned to give her a spoon. His eyes dropped to her lips, then the pale green of them gazed into hers, affectionate and amused and full of desire.
Finally!

  The pause between them seemed significant . . .  pregnant, even.

  But he was just wagging the spoon, waiting for her to dig into the container for the first bite of dessert, she realized. Blushing, she did, and then he took his bite. As his broad, full lips closed over the spoon, she tried not to be conscious of their movement, of the desire she had to have them on her. She couldn’t help herself; she wanted him to claim her, to feel his lips on her face, all over her skin.

  She wiggled closer, so her bare arms and thighs touched the fine cotton of his dress shirt and the summer wool of his gorgeous trousers.  Sprawled together on the floor eating coconut sweet rice felt so right, she could definitely feel herself enjoying that shower with him, feel the pulsing water and. . . 

  She shivered, and he looked at her again, like he might kiss her. Or eat her. “M-mm, yummy,” she said, scooping her spoon in for another bite. “I’m glad you suggested this. I haven’t ever had a chance to try a Thai dessert.”

  “Sweet coconut rice is the quintessential Thai dessert,” Rodric assured her. Their eyes met, and she found herself blushing.
Because I want to be under him right now! I don’t even want to wait for that shower! In Esther’s apartment, no less!!

  “Quintessential?” Daphne asked, nudging his arm. “Do you use that word in the courtroom?”

  Rodric laughed. “Nope, not usually. I reserve words like quintessential for Thai desserts. And some women.”

  “What makes this dessert quintessential?” Daphne asked, not letting on how much she enjoyed his inference.

  “It’s the most perfect example of a Thai dessert,” he said, licking his spoon, lightly touching it to her thigh. “The consummate sweet, spectacular smooth texture and such a distinctive flavor. When I was in Thailand last year, my driver mentioned . . .”

  She couldn’t be disappointed that he’d changed the subject to his tour of Thailand, she told herself. After the rice, they talked some more. His body was warm and so large, she enjoyed the comfort of it close beside hers.
Since this is all that I’ll ever get of him,
she reminded herself.
Because he’s my client, not my boyfriend or my husband.

 
It was after eleven when Rodric finally said he had to go. Gathering his long legs, he stood. His big hands reached down for hers. As he pulled her up, she collapsed into him, letting her nipples brush the fine cotton of his white shirt, staying with him as he collected his suit coat and walked to the door. She hoped his hand would graze her back, as it had at the grandstand and in the restaurant, but it didn’t.

  She wanted him to be tempted to linger, but he wasn’t.   She wanted him to kiss her, but he didn’t.

  She told herself she wasn’t disappointed when he only pecked her cheek and said goodnight, no touching, nothing more.
Why doesn’t he want to touch me so badly he can’t resist, like the old days? And he didn’t mention he’d had fun with me!!

  She couldn’t be disappointed. It wasn’t a date, she reminded herself, locking the door behind him, feeling the warm cosiness of their closeness drift away as her own lonely sadness returned.

  
He’s my first client, and he’s just good company.Very good company, in fact. But I can’t get hung up on him, or I’ll be doomed.

8

  Daphne’s cell buzzed at ten-thirty next morning.
Daisy?

Today was her sister’s birthday. She’d already tried once to get through, but she’d gone right into voicemail.

 
Rodric!

 
His familiar warm voice said, “Good Morning, Miz Daphne. I hope I didn’t wake you?”

  “Oh, no, I’ve been up for hours. Tried a yoga class, even. I was wrapped up like a pretzel,” she chirped, thrilled by the sound of his voice.

  But he didn’t comment on what she must have looked like, wrapped up like a pretzel.
The old Rodric wouldn’t have let that pass,
she thought, feeling forlorn.
And then he launched right into more of the work he needed from her, darn it!  

  “Miz Daphne, you started telling me about your idea for window treatments in the dining nook last evening. Do we have any idea about what would look right there? And what do you think of the cabinet hardware? It’s a little underwhelming, to my tastes.”

  “Yes, it’s austere, minimal, especially with the dark, angular cabinetry and slick granite countertops,” she replied. “The designer was going for a more muted look than you’re used to, sweetie.”

  Did I really just say ‘sweetie’? Oh, that’s real professional!
   She sucked up her stupid mistake. Assuming a formal, more cautionary tone, she went on. “The window treatments are very important, since you’ll want to upholster the six chairs that go around dining table in a complementary fabric.” 

  “What I think is that there’s nothin’ about that kitchen that says Texas, Miz Daphne, nothing that says home to me. I don’t want to go overboard, but it’s the kitchen. Can’t you make it look a little more . . ?”

  “Homey?”

  “Yes. What I want is something nice enough for entertaining, but not so nice you don’t want to take your boots off and stay awhile,” he said, drawling his words out like a true Texan.

  A vision of the tasseled valances and long drapes his mother favored burst into Daphne’s head.
Something like that would appeal to him, just a little less dramatic, a little less overdone, nothing shiny or silk or tapestry.

  “I think I can come up with some window treatment ideas, Rodric. You’re thinking some new cabinet hardware, too?” she asked, mentally adding that to her ‘to do’ list.

  “Yes, ma’am. And another thing. Could you possibly go through the kitchen and figure out just what else I’ll need to outfit it completely? Go ahead and get everything you can think of, Miz Daphne, just put it on the card. We need to do that pronto. I’ve decided to throw a housewarming party weekend before Labor Day for my friends. They should see the place now, before it’s finished.”

  “A housewarming party?” Daphne asked, her voice growing faint. “Are you doing the cooking?”

  “I sure could.” His deep, pride of Texas voice rose an octave. “Unless you have a better idea?”

 
Darn it, but he’s good at roping me in!

 
In the way of a typically needy, clueless man on an unlimited budget, Rodric had big ideas and no way to achieve them alone.

  “I’m sure you have much better ideas than I do, Miz Daphne,” he continued. “That is, if it’s not too much trouble for you to think about, with everything else. It doesn’t need to be a fancy party, but it would help to have the kitchen outfitted in time. The bed will be delivered soon, too. I thought it would be awfully nice to move in a little early.”

 
Bed? What bed?

 
She was the decorator on the job! She was certain she’d painstakingly gone over every detail with him! She’d taken copious notes, and even she had no idea what he was talking about. . . They’d only looked at beds last night, and no order had been placed. They hadn’t even seen a salesperson!

  Granted, her mind had been soused in champagne, but she had been paying attention. . . In the past twenty-four hours, planning Rodric’s apartment had become a runaway race horse.
What ever is he talking about?

 
Granny Antelerone’s voice told her of course it served her darn well right, since her mind had wandered into that incredible glassed-in shower far too often!

  Rodric chuckled, familiar and affectionate. He was just waiting for her to say something. She had to push away the sensation that he was standing right behind her, moving closer. She felt naked, felt him touching her. . .
NO!

  She took a deep breath.
Now I have the kitchen to think about. . . And a party to plan! How can I be preoccupied by inappropriate extra curriculars with a party to plan??

 
“Daphne?” he asked.

  “What, oh, yes, Rodric?”

  His voice was gentle. “You were processing that I’ve decided to move in early?”

  “Ah-no, darling, ah. . . I’m sure I can take care of outfitting your kitchen,” Daphne said smoothly, “And I’ll have five or six designs for window treatments with corresponding hardware tonight, tomorrow at the latest.”

  “Excellent. We should plan on dinner, then, tomorrow?” Rodric asked.

  Besides her carnal preoccupations, Rodric’s company was something she’d begun to truly appreciate: she absolutely abhorred dining alone. Some of the women in her evening class had begun going out together for drinks afterward. Her feelings had been hurt thinking about it, but now she had Friday night plans, too.

   With Rodric.

  Erotic naked images of them together evaporated. Well, almost. Her mouth began to water at the prospect of trips to the gourmet and department stores for cutlery and Calphalon and everything else he’d need.

  She found herself smiling. “Sure thing, honey-button, see you tomorrow!”

*****

  That afternoon in Williams-Sonoma, Daphne stood in front of piles of boxes containing the Kitchen Aid Pro 600 stand mixer and every attachment available, from sausage grinder to ice cream maker. Wondering about Christmas cookies and pizza dough, she began to come to her senses.  
What am I doing?

   She’d chosen twenty five copper-clad Mauviel pots and pans, from the teeniest little sauce warmer to a roasting pan big enough to fit a long side of pork ribs next to a mammoth turkey.

  She’d even measured Rodric’s oven, to be sure it all  would fit inside.

 
What am I doing?

  It had been so cosy next to Rodric last night, talking and laughing on the soft carpet of his mother’s apartment.

 
What am I doing?

  She thought about how she’d wanted to crawl into his lap after they’d finished the coconut rice. She’d taken his hand when they’d mistakenly walked to the nursery furniture, too, and that was after she’d had the urge to drop to the bed he’d seemed to like and pull him on top of her!

 
What am I thinking?

   She’d touched his thigh more than once as he told her stories over dessert, and had been truly annoyed that the evening hadn’t ended with a real, honest to goodness kiss, a kiss that would define their relationship as other-than-professional, and not-just-friends.

 
What am I thinking?

 
She hadn’t stopped. Thinking. Of Rodric. Of his kitchen. Of his meals, possibly alone. (
What would he cook, all by himself?)
Of his living room, soon to be comfortably outfitted with two long tufted leather sectionals punctuated by wonderfully funky throw pillows, (
the happiest balance between deliciously sophisticated and inviting and comfy, if I do say!)
   Of his clothing; his suits, fine, expensive and attractively tailored, paired with the most exquisite white shirts and his sumptuous ties. Of the silk boxers and dressing gown she wanted to buy and then take off him, cast on the carpet of his bedroom. . . She sure as hell had not stopped thinking of his bathroom, or that damned shower, her breasts popping against the glass as he. . . .

  The only thing that had kept her from thinking about Rodric naked and wrapped around her was his kitchen, his window treatments, and now this darn housewarming party he needed her to help plan.

  Naturally, she’d be there. At the party.

  She’d help him plan it- he’d need her help, that was for certain. She’d already decided what menus to pick up. They’d choose from a nice selection of cold and hot entrees local restaurants could provide as early as tomorrow night, together on his mother’s carpet, she hoped.

  Of course, there would be a few things she’d whip up herself, now that she’d seen to it that he had the right mixer, the right saute pans, and everything else she’d need.  

He’d damn well have the right chef’s knife - he’d have nine of them, and the steak knives, and the boner and the cleaver, two sized of cleaver, actually, and the Japanese knives that Anthony Bordain recommended, and the parers and other incidentals. . . .In fact, he’d have everything she’d ever wanted in her dream kitchen, and a few things she hadn’t thought of yet, too.

  Surveying the goods in front of her, she smiled, thinking about his guests ooh-ing and aah-ing over her special appetizers. She decided to suggest they shop for his everyday plate ware and silverware too, that weekend. They’d go to Sak’s, look at the selection there, and then on to Neiman Marcus, to compare.
What am I thinking? Am I leading him on a wedding registry tour!

 
But no, that wasn’t it: Rodric had already had a wedding. With Caroline. They’d done that together.

He hadn’t done anything with Caroline in the shower all tiled in travertine marble, with double detachable shower heads, she was sure of that.

  Well, not the same shower, anyway.

  She was a professional, she reminded herself. Rodric and his mother had asked for her help. They were paying for her services, her design ideas, the organizational and planning skills manifest in her industrious, miles-long lists. Divorces were painful, and Rodric needed her caring and support so he could start his life over.

  But as she carefully inventoried all the boxes and consulted her list again, making sure she’d remembered everything, she couldn’t repress the re-emergence of a nagging fear. In the not too distant future, Rodric would be doing some selecting of his own: he’d be choosing a fiancee slash wife slash mother, the woman who would bear at least two of his babies, but probably more. . .

 
And before she gives him those babies, he’ll put a ridiculously large, freakishly uber-sparkling engagement ring on her finger. Then she’ll be able to quit her job and spend all of her time planning their humungous, outrageously elegant wedding!

  She was certain it would be a who-cares-its-a-second-wedding-for him whopper of an affair, a no expense spared full on connubial extravaganza.

  Because Rodric had not mentioned budget as much as once. And she was a professional, so she’d bet the bank it would be no-holds-barred for his fiancee. He’d hand the girl the reins, and let her run with them, whomever she might be.
But who would she be??

  Yesterday in the restaurant, Rodric had very specifically made her aware that this apartment was not a bachelor pad. It had been his duty to alert her, as a professional, she’d decided late last night, after she’d been awake for hours tossing and turning, trying to pretend she wasn’t disappointed he hadn’t kissed her.

  The penthouse overlooking Lake Travis with the pool on the roof that she had not even summoned the courage to ask to see was his, “I’m going to find the perfect girl very, very soon. I’ll marry her and take her to Paris, then we’ll come home so I can wake up with her every morning and kiss her every night, touch her and keep her safe while planting my seed in her over and over and over again, on the sofa and in the bed and in the shower against the glass and in the tub with the jets stroking our wet bodies and maybe even on the kitchen table, anywhere and all the time so she’ll have my baby really soon,” place.

  Til death do us part.

  It was the ‘I’ll take her every which way and six times on Sunday place.’ A first home, a place for romance, the ‘just-until-the second baby comes and and we move to a big Texas house with gardens-place.’

  Like he’d had with Caroline. Only bigger. And it would be gardens. Not a yard, real gardens.

  Right there in Williams-Sonoma, surrounded by a wealth of the most perfect kitchen gadgets, Daphne suddenly didn’t feel very well, not very well at all. Her mind spun dizzily over furniture details and window treatments and party recipes and everything else.

  Her senses ran hot and cold.

  Very, very confused, she plunked herself down on the biggest box, the one that held the roasting pans.

 
What will I do, once Rodric is happy in his new life?

 
Her stomach twisted. There’d be no more cosy evenings on the carpet together talking things over, that was for sure. Would she be a friend to the couple? Would he ask her to help his fiancee and the mothers plan their wedding?

 
Darn it!

  She’d always wanted to plan a big, no expense spared wedding -- she’d already proven to Miz Esther and Rodric how well they all worked together.

 
Double Darn it!

   Of course, Daisy’s wedding was likely coming up. She’d have a hand in planning that.
With Ella Jean and Daisy, who of course have their own ideas, Daisy’s being ‘let’s keep it simple and plain and fun’, not the ‘fancy and lets knock their socks off!” wedding I want. Daisy saves the sock-knocking for the barrel racin’ arena!

 
Daisy’s wedding would be just fine, she’d see to that.
   But if I suggest anything more than long tables with pretty arrangements of country flowers under a big white tent, she’s gonna laugh me out of the room! And Ella will go along with whatever Daisy wants, so it’ll just be some big half-a-steer barbecue brouhaha, or something like that.

   Daphne had always dreamed of a big, splashy, showcase kind of wedding, the kind Rodric’s fiancee would have.

 
Triple Darn it!

 
She glanced down at her left hand, then leaned her elbow on her knee, hiding her empty fingers up under her chin. Leaning on it, she felt very, very disillusioned, almost frantically so.

 
Maybe I’ll make friends with this girlfriend of Rodric’s right away! Then she’ll have to ask for my help planning the wedding. She might ask me to be a bridesmaid, even, since I’m so good at planning things!

  But she wasn’t having much luck making friends lately, other than Rodric, she reminded herself. She hated the strained, uncomfortable feeling she had trying to interact with the women in her design class. This whole visit to Austin was really beginning to upset her. In Hobble Creek, she’d drawn new friends like flies to dog poop, locals and strangers alike.

 
Maybe the girlfriend will like the decorating I do in Rodric’s apartment so much, she’ll ask for her help with the big house!

  That would be the house the girlfriend slash wife would help pick out, the they’d have all that sex-while-she was-ovulating-hoping-to- get pregnant three more times place.

   As big as it was going to be, Daphne positively knew that house would be happy and loud and overrun with children! Toddlers at first, with sticky faces and lumpy diapers all fussy and underfoot, needing to get cleaned up in time for playgroup and kinder music. Then they’d grow up, fighting with one another as they climbed into her big champagne EV SUV for rides to soccer practice and riding lessons and swim team and cello. Or flute. Or piano. She stood up. Rodric’s children would be nicely dressed, she was sure of it, as she and Daisy had never been, in fancy, preppy clothing like their father always wore. And they’d have clean faces and neat hair, which she and Daisy most certainly had had.

  But Daphne never had piano lessons, never got to perform in a recital, and she’d always wanted to. Sandra Ellsworth had piano lessons, and so had Janie Dupree.

  Rodric would positively need a piano in the next house.

  “Is this every-?” the saleslady started, then bit her words back, so as not to interrupt Daphne’s thoughts.   Because the next thought she had wasn’t a very good one, not a very good one at all. Daphne certainly didn’t feel about it the way she would have a few weeks ago, back when she’d seen Rodric at Daisy’s rodeo.

  
There must be a lovely, young single girl he’s planning ask to his Housewarming Party . . . Rodric and his mother asked me to decorate the apartment in time for the party, so he could impress his new girlfriend! She might be a savvy assistant who knows all the pro se and Prosecco and prosciutto legal latin terms. She might be a lawyer herself! What if she’s a professor. . or even a Senator’s daughter??

 
Daphne swallowed. She might meet Rodric’s girlfriend very shortly, in the dream kitchen that she’d made certain had every appliance any girl could ever want.

  The terrible feeling that had swirled into her stomach now tightened in her throat. She’d come to Austin weeks ago, for city excitement, for a change of pace and lots and lots of shopping.  Once in Austin, she began to have less and less of an idea where exactly she belonged, and to whom. Decorating Rodric’s apartment was rapidly becoming a confusing quagmire, and potentially very painful. It felt as though her world could dissolve at any moment!