Authors: Carolyn Thornton
Lacey thought she had covered a lot of ground for such a
limited topic. "What does he look like?"
"Average," Jennifer answered.
"Average what? Height? Hair? Eyes?"
"Yes, definitely average," Jennifer confirmed.
"How about his hair?"
"He has some," Jennifer answered.
Lacey laughed. "That's not telling me much."
"Well, it's kind of short, kind of brown, kind of average."
"Oh. I'll just have to see for myself, I guess."
"Best advice I could give you."
Lacey chewed her lower lip, trying to think of anything
else she could ask. "You've been a big help, Jennifer. What do you
think I should do? Should I go out with him?"
"Why not?" Jennifer answered. "Do you have anyone you're
seriously dating right now? What was that guy's name who was with you
at the New Year's party?"
"Dominick, the drip."
"Oh."
"No, I'm not dating anyone special. With my schedule, it's
better to be uninvolved. Besides, Dominick was the kind of man who was
jealous of the time I spent at work. He had no concept whatsoever of
how much my business is a part of me."
"I can see why there would be trouble there," Jennifer
sympathized. "Maybe you'll like Rafe Chancellor better. I get the
impression he doesn't need a woman the way a lot of men do today.
That's not to say he doesn't like women or enjoy being around them,"
Jennifer qualified, "it's only saying he wouldn't smother you."
Lacey considered Jennifer's comments and smiled. "No
commitments."
"Something like that."
"That could be ideal."
"Or average," Jennifer said, and laughed. "Good luck,
whatever you decide, and let me know what does or does not develop."
"I will," Lacey promised, and hung up.
She picked up Rafe's latest letter and read it again.
Should she or shouldn't she phone the references he had listed? If she
did decide to call, what would she ask?
Lacey was disappointed that afternoon when she finally
drove home from the boutique and didn't find any new flowers from Rafe
on her doorstep. He was just as likely to put a giraffe in her
backyard, she decided, opening the door and putting her purse and keys
on the nearest countertop. What little she was learning about him told
her to expect the unexpected.
She looked at the flowers sitting on the kitchen counter
where she had last left them and tried to form an image of this mystery
man. Cowboy boots, spurs, flowers, military rank and a daughter.
An hour after she had called a pizza parlor for her dinner
delivery, she had her feet propped in the chair opposite the sofa as
she set aside the last slice and picked up Rafe's return card again.
She really should send it back. It was nothing more binding than a free
mail-in certificate. She would be under no obligation to follow through
once he received the card. All she would be agreeing to do was answer
her phone if he called. If she didn't like what she heard, she could
always hang up.
After she returned home from her design class she spent
the remainder of the evening watching TV and wondering about Rafe
Chancellor. What kind of man approached a woman for a date through the
mail? Was he the type who was so desperate for a date he'd lay down
good money for a computerized dating service? Was a blind date that
different? Did he run personal ads in the newspaper? She could see it
now:
Cowboy in search of cowgirl. Have saddle will travel. No
experience required. No age limit. No one turned down.
Why, she wondered, was he so determined to go out with
her? What had George told him? She had never had success with blind
dates in the past. If her life hadn't been so devoid of men that day
when she ran into George in the grocery store, she would never have
given him whatever go-ahead she must have given him. There were times
when she enjoyed a simple meal with a man in a restaurant. But she
wasn't interested in anything more. What was this Rafe Chancellor
expecting of her? What was he looking for in a woman?
She could picture him with a bristly unshaven face, like
some early American gold prospector living in the wilds of North
America. Maybe it had been so long since he'd seen a woman he couldn't
remember what they looked like or what they were. Maybe he'd just heard
stories of women and always wondered what use they could bring him in
his gold-panning fever. And now that his scouting friend, George, had
reminded him of women, he had decided to place his order for one, like
flipping through the pages of a catalog.
Model #1: Five feet, five inches, blue eyes, brawny but
not too brainy, able to chop wood and carry buckets of water a distance
greater than one hundred feet. Comes equipped with changes of outfits,
self-contained and able to amuse herself on long winter nights when
prospectors are out hunting for hibernating bear. Also substitutes as
bed-warmer when hot water bottle springs a leak.
Just what did this Rafe Chancellor think he was getting in
her, sight unseen? Or had he seen her? Could he have come into the shop
and checked her out when she was unaware of him?
Just who did he think he was to expect he was going to get
her at all? She wouldn't return the card. It was too risky, in spite of
all the favorable comments everyone had been giving her about him. He
could have paid all those people to say good things about him, now that
she thought of it. All of them were his agents for hire, designed to
give nothing but good propaganda in his conquest of her.
He couldn't have known she would call Amy, Lacey reasoned,
or Jennifer. That was a remote connection he couldn't have counted on,
although Amy was the one who had suggested she call Jennifer. No, it
was more likely that if he paid anyone to say good things about him, he
would have paid the references he had listed in his note.
Lacey got up from the sofa and went into the kitchen to
rummage through her purse for Rafe's latest note. Why not call these
people, just for fun, to see what kind of propaganda they would give
her about him?
A. J. Tell was the first name on the list. Her heart
pounded at the prospect of dialing this complete stranger to ask him
about another complete stranger. What would she say? What would she
tell him she wanted to know?
At least he hadn't given her an 800 number. That showed he
didn't do this on such a regular basis that he had to cut down on phone
costs. What the heck, she thought, clutching the phone receiver in her
hand. All the references could do was tell her she'd gotten the wrong
number and they'd never heard of a Rafe Chancellor, or else they could
fill her in on anything she thought she wanted to hear.
The phone rang twice, three times, then four, and Lacey
began to wonder if this was a business number reached only during the
day. She was ready to hang up when, on the sixth ring, someone sleepily
answered the phone.
Oh Lord, Lacey thought, glancing at the clock. She hadn't
thought of time zones. What if she had dragged this poor person out of
bed? But it was only nine o'clock here now. Ten shouldn't be too late
for phone calls on the East Coast, and if this was a West Coast call,
it'd be earlier.
"Hello," Lacey stammered. "May I speak to A. J. Tell?"
"You got him," the answer came, followed by an audible
yawn.
"I'm sorry," Lacey apologized. "I hope I'm not calling too
late and didn't wake you up."
"You did," he answered, "but it's no problem. Who is this?"
Lacey took a deep breath. She should have prepared some
opening remarks or a speech before she attempted this phone call. Now
that she had him on the phone, she wasn't certain what to say.
"I'm Lacey Adams," she replied. "You don't know me, but I
think you do know Rafe Chancellor."
"Yeah. I know Rafe. How's he doing?"
"Fine," she responded automatically. "I mean, I guess he's
fine. I really don't know. I've never met him. You see, that's why I'm
calling."
There was a pause on the other end of the phone; then A.J.
said, "I think I'm still asleep. I'm not following this conversation.
Am I even having a conversation? Run that one past me again."
Lacey grimaced. This was turning out to be much more
difficult than she had imagined it to be. It was a good thing she
hadn't thought through to all of these possibilities before she picked
up the phone, or she wouldn't have picked it up and dialed this mystery
number in the first place.
"Let me try to explain," Lacey began. "You see, I got
these flowers and a note from Rafe yesterday, and then another note
from him today with your phone number."
"What for? Is this another one of his mastermind projects?
Should I go get my checkbook?"
"I don't think so," Lacey answered. "But it could be one
of his projects. That's what I guess I'm trying to figure out. He's
trying to get a date with me, and he listed you as a reference."
Laughter boomed across the line.
Lacey frowned at the phone and held the receiver away from
her. Was it that funny when Rafe Chancellor tried to get a date? She
put the phone back to her ear and waited for the laughter to stop.
"Let me get this straight," A.J. finally sobered enough to
say. "Rafe Chancellor has asked you for a date and given my name as a
reference?"
"I know," she sympathized, "it sounds like you're a second
in a duel, doesn't it? But you see, we've never met. Until a couple of
days ago I didn't even know what a Rafe Chancellor was—and
still don't. That's why I thought I'd call you, since he listed your
name and number as being someone who could tell me something about him."
"Did he give you other people to call too?"
"Yes, he did," Lacey answered, picking up the letter with
the names and numbers and reading out the others to him.
"Yeah, yeah. I know. Served with them both in Nam."
"Oh, he warned me not to mention the Middle East with the
second number. That, he said, would be a four-hour introduction to the
problem."
He laughed again. "Sounds like Rafe. Damned if it doesn't."
Now we're on the right track
, Lacey
thought. "Well, do you know him, then, rather well?"
"As well as any man can know another, I guess," A.J.
answered. "We flew Cobras together in Nam and still see each other. I
guess he's one of my best friends."
Now we're getting somewhere
, Lacey
thought,
even if it is in a biased sort of way
.
"What kind of a person is he?" she asked, not certain now how specific
she wanted to get with her questions.
"The best," A.J. answered. "Earned every award for valor
except the top one that a man can get. He has so many awards his chest
isn't broad enough to accommodate them."
"Oh," Lacey replied, impressed.
"Was shot down a couple of times, and wounded twice."
"Oh," Lacey answered again, wondering if his wounds had
anything to do with the reason why he hadn't approached her in person.
"The best," A.J. repeated.
"Oh," Lacey said again. She had been on the fringes of the
Vietnam war when she was growing up, while Rafe had been in the heart
of the conflicts, getting shot down and wounded. She didn't know enough
about that era to ask the proper questions to draw A.J. out on the
topic of Rafe's past. Besides, she was more interested in his present,
and it didn't look as if A.J. was going to be able to help fill her in
too thoroughly there.
"You've been a big help," Lacey said. "I'm sorry I
disturbed you, but thanks for telling me about Rafe."
"You should call the next number on that list," he
advised. "But you'll hear the same thing I've told you. Rafe's a good
man. What I want to know is about you."
"What about me?"
"Who are you that Rafe wants to go out with you?"
"That's a good question," Lacey said, blushing suddenly as
she wondered if she was worthy of this war hero. "I have no idea why he
singled me out. I don't even know that we have anything in common."
"I wouldn't worry about that," A.J. said. "Rafe's
interests are as varied as acts in a circus. I don't think there's
anything he hasn't done, tried or planned to try."
"Thanks again for your insights," Lacey said again, ready
to hang up.
"No, wait, tell me something about yourself," A.J. urged.
"What do you do?"
"I design fashions," Lacey answered. "What do you do?"
"I'm an airline pilot," he answered. "Tell me something
more about you so I can see what caught Rafe's attention."
"I don't know what caught his attention," Lacey answered,
"since we've never met. The only thing I can figure out is it was
boredom on his part. Otherwise, why go to all this trouble?"
"You don't know Rafe," A.J. said. "He's not the kind of
man to judge—or who should be judged, for that
matter—by appearances alone. There's a lot behind his facade,
if he lets you in."
Lacey was beginning to see that. The plot was thickening
faster than pea soup, and she wasn't certain she wanted to add to the
recipe. "Well, good-bye."
"Wait," he shouted.
Lacey held the phone away from her ear and then put it
back in place. "Yes?"
"Are you going out with him?"
Lacey felt more confused than ever. A war hero. How could
she identify with such a revered person? What would they talk about? "I
don't know. I'm still thinking about it."
"You won't regret it," A.J. said.
That's easy for you to say
, Lacey
thought after she had finally managed to hang up on A.J. Rafe
Chancellor was as much a mystery man as he had been before she made the
call. The basic question remained: Why should she follow through and go
out with him? She'd give it some more thought and sleep on it tonight.
Tomorrow would be soon enough to make any decisions.
The next day Lacey had just about decided that no matter
how creative and inventive and romantic this Rafe Chancellor was in the
eyes of all the girls in the shop whom she told the story to, she just
wasn't going to send back his postcard. It was too much like following
orders. She had worked long, hard hours to establish her independence
on the business front and she had done that, not by following a
pull-tab-A-and-insert-into-slot-B instructions, but by following her
instincts and forging ahead on her own. If Rafe Chancellor wanted to go
out with her badly enough, he could just meet her the way any ordinary
male would—face to face.