Even that useful discovery she had failed to put to good use, although it was not as though there hadn't been ample opportunity. After they went out to a nearby burger-bar to grab a quick lunch, for which she had insisted on paying, they had returned for another hour at the range.
The high heels of her strappy sandals kicked against the truck's floor in frustration.
Georgina Coleman rarely failed to follow through with an established plan, but today would be one of those shameful occasions. Instead of seducing Rick Matisse, she had got him turning her into a bloody Annie Oakley.
Rick drove in silence along the crowded Interstate 5, keeping to the speed limit. The mental debate going on inside his head consumed what energy he had left from dealing with the busy Saturday afternoon traffic.
The bitter conclusion he came to was that sometimes a man had no choice but to walk away from temptation. Rick had never had any trouble controlling his weight. For the first time in his life he felt sympathy for all those unlucky men who needed to diet.
To see a table laden with delicacies—to look, to smell, to touch—and then walk away without tasting. That was what drove a sane man crazy. Or sent him down the path of drowning himself inside a bottle.
He had never before spent time with a woman like Georgina. Her razor-sharp mind absorbed and dissected every fact, and filed it away in some logical storage system where it integrated with every other fact and could be retrieved at random.
A total contrast to that was her child-like joy at mastering a new skill. She leapt up and down and clapped her hands, and she beamed at him with that megawatt smile of hers.
A smile he'd never really seen until today.
And her body, so compact and perfect inside that shrunken-up outfit. It was a mystery to him how a woman could be so skinny in places, yet at the same time so soft and rounded in other places.
The temptation overwhelmed him, but he had to resist, because there was Angelina to consider.
His world had changed when Angelina came into his life.
He was a father. He had responsibilities. His Saturday nights were spent trying to understand homework almost beyond his skill, and reading books about troubled children from dysfunctional backgrounds.
He could barely remember when he'd last had a woman.
Well, he could, if he was prepared to admit it to himself. It was that brunette from Traffic after the precinct Holiday Party last year. He'd brought her over, both of them drunk as newts. One of her false eyelashes had come off when she'd gone down on him. It had scared the hell out of him the following morning, making him think he'd picked up some sort of exotic intimate infestation.
Angelina had been away on a school trip that weekend. It was the first and last time he'd brought a woman home since the day his daughter came to live with him.
And now, Angelina wanted to be friends with Georgina. That meant he had to stay away from her. Otherwise, things would get messy. He'd be polite, he'd be friendly, but he'd keep his distance.
Nothing else would work, because in his opinion, men and women couldn't be ‘just friends'. The sex thing always got in the way.
Well, perhaps they could, he corrected himself, if the woman wasn't attractive. That ruled out Georgina.
He glanced over to her, sitting so close beside him. Then he let out one long slow sigh of regret, and concentrated on weaving the truck through the traffic
The following Tuesday, after a workday that stretched from seven in the morning to nine in the evening, Georgina and Annabel walked the three blocks from the bank to the nearest bar. They settled in one of the tiny booths crammed between the wall and the horseshoe shaped counter.
They both liked the place, despite the shabby interior and the overdone nautical theme. A plastic fish with British banknotes stuck in its gills hung on a driftwood plaque over the front door. Ornate letters carved into the timber spelled out the name ‘Squids Inn'.
By eleven o'clock, they'd finished eating. A tall waitress in white bell-bottoms and a striped fisherman's jersey stacked up the empty dishes and carried them away, fighting her way through the throng at the bar.
"Annie, how exactly would you define a date?” Georgina asked. She masked her embarrassment by raising her glass, and taking a long sip.
Annabel gave her a startled look. “A date? You don't know what a date is?"
"We don't really use the term in England. At least didn't when I was young. You either were going out with someone, which implied continuity, or you were not. A date sounds like something in between."
Annabel jutted out her chin and blew a strand of hair out of her eyes. A red flush brightened her cheeks, and her eyes couldn't focus. Georgina had only drunk two glasses of wine. Her concern had grown into alarm when Annabel ordered another bottle after they finished the first.
"There's a broad definition, and there's specifics,” Annabel declared, her voice a little too loud.
Georgina hushed her. “I've never seen you get drunk before. Is something wrong?"
"That's because you've known me less than a year.” Annabel hoisted a brimming glass up for a toast. Then she leaned back, and downed the wine in a few gulps.
Georgina laid a hand over Annabel's arm to stop her from reaching for the bottle again. “What's that supposed to mean?"
"A date is a social activity between two people who're meant to be attracted to each other. Only some of them are not. Some of them are chasing money.” Annabel shook off Georgina's hand and picked up the bottle to refill her glass. “That was the general definition. Do you want to hear the specifics?"
"What's wrong, Annie?"
"There are three specific aspects. One, the guy picks you up and brings you home. Two, he pays. Three, you kiss him good night. If you don't score three out of three, you didn't have a date. You just hung out."
"Oh,” Georgina was distracted for a moment.
Annabel set her glass down and narrowed her eyes at Georgina. “Is this to do with your stupid project?"
Georgina pulled a face.
Annabel spread her hands, palms up. The gesture sent her swaying, but she regained her balance. Her hair fell into her eyes as she flopped back against the padded bench. “So, how's it going?"
Georgina grimaced again.
Annabel leaned forward, beaming. “You know the four sweetest words in the English language?"
Georgina shrugged. “I don” know. Something about everlasting love?"
"Hell, no,” Annabel slurred. “They are ‘I told you so'."
Georgina burst into laughter. Then she dropped her gaze to her glass and swirled the contents. “All right, so it's not going well. I don't mind admitting that.” Her jaw tightened and she looked up at Annabel. “But you're wrong if you think I'm giving up. I'm a couple of weeks behind schedule. That's all. I'll catch up."
Annabel shook her head. “I don't give a rat's ass. The guy's probably a bastard anyway. Most men are."
Georgina reached out and grabbed her friend's wrist. “Annie, what's wrong? Talk to me."
Annabel twisted her arm free and raised her hand for another mouthful of wine. She tipped her head back and drained the glass. “It's my wedding anniversary today. I always get drunk on my wedding anniversary.” She managed a shaky smile. “There's no other way to celebrate the day that ruined your life."
The empty glass clattered to the floor as Annabel toppled sideways and slid off the bench, disappearing under the table. Georgina dove after her. Annabel's mouth hung open. A soft gurgling sound rose from her throat and echoed against the tabletop above them.
Georgina crawled out and rushed to the bar. “Does anyone know first aid? My friend has fainted."
The bartender in a Popeye outfit came over and poked his head under the table. He curled his fingers over Annabel's wrist, then pulled up one of her eyelids and peered. “She's just drunk,” he announced. “Take her home, put her to bed. She'll have one hell of a headache tomorrow."
"How I do I get a taxi?” Georgina fretted.
"Jimmy will help you.” Popeye pointed to the entrance, where a burly pirate kept guard.
Georgina ran up to the pirate and tipped him a twenty. The pirate disappeared down the street. Georgina returned inside and found Annabel asleep under the table. The pirate reappeared a few minutes later, and together they heaved Annabel's limp body outside, where a battered cab waited.
"No. She'll throw up.” The swarthy cabbie reached to slam the door.
"I'll pay.” Georgina dug in her handbag while the pirate supported Annabel. “Look.” She showed the cabbie a roll of bills. “I'll give you a hundred dollars if she's sick in your vehicle."
The cabbie relented, and the pirate and Georgina joined forces to cram Annabel inside. Georgina followed, and the cabbie set off, muttering curses in some foreign tongue.
The journey to Hillside Heights Apartments seemed endless. The dead weight of Annabel bounced against Georgina at every turn. The beastly cabbie made it worse by speeding, and on at least two occasions clipping the curb.
For an extra tip, the cabbie agreed to carry Annabel inside. He clamped his hairy arm around her waist and hauled her along. Georgina opened the front door and rushed ahead to press the button for the elevator.
The cabbie propped Annabel against the wall. Then he turned to Georgina, holding out his empty palm. Georgina handed over the fare and the tip. Annabel mumbled to herself, starting to slide down to the floor.
The cabbie gave a disinterested grunt and left. Georgina propped up Annabel and shoved her into the arriving elevator. Upstairs, Georgina rammed her shoulder under Annabel's jaw to free her hands to unlock the door. Together they stumbled through and crashed down, barely missing the hall table.
Annabel murmured something as she lay sprawled on the rug that covered the hardwood. “Who is?"
It was only a couple of whispered words. First Georgina thought it was a question. Then Annabel said it again, and Georgina realized it was a name.
Lewis
.
"Who is Lewis?” Georgina asked.
Annabel squeezed her eyes shut and shook her head. Georgina struggled up. She wedged her hands under the limp arms and dragged the heavy weight along the floor, feeling bewildered.
The once wealthy and privileged Annabel Fairfax was the most serene person Georgina had ever known. Every blow life had dealt her Annabel seemed to have accepted with grace. But Annabel had never spoken about why she had left her husband, and she had never mentioned anyone called Lewis.
Georgina hoisted the inert body onto the spare bed and rolled it under the covers. Then she got herself ready for the night, and settled down to sleep.
In the morning when Georgina woke up, Annabel had already showered and dressed. Her hair and her clothes were immaculate. Breakfast was laid out on the table.
"Thanks for being such a champ last night,” Annabel said with a bright smile. “I don't know what got into me. I don't usually drink too much."
They ate in silence. Annabel had already ordered a cab. During the drive to the bank, they sat in the back and talked about the weather, like two polite strangers.
Each day for the rest of the week, Georgina felt her spirits sink. Loneliness. The emotion she'd fought so hard to shut out since her childhood ruled her life.
She had no one ... no family at all ... no siblings, no parents. Not even cousins or uncles and aunts, since both her parents had been only children.
Her maternal grandparents had died without ever really knowing her. Her brief visits had been formal occasions. Afternoon tea sipped in strained silence, in an English country house cluttered with exotic souvenirs that looked out of place. The slow ticking of the grandfather clock in the musty drawing room had been punctuated by questions about how she was doing at school, and other forced attempts at conversation.
Each visit had ended with a stern reminder for Georgina to pray for her dead parents.
Then she had taken the train back home to Grandma Ethel. Postcards had arrived at steady intervals from far-flung corners of the world. Christmases and birthdays, a green van from Harrods department store had delivered a present.
Always something useful. Never anything frivolous or fun.
Then, around the time Georgina went to university, both her maternal grandparents had died in quick succession. Her grandmother had withered away with stomach cancer, and her grandfather had suffered a heart attack soon after, as if unwilling to be left behind.
Their acceptance of Georgina as their beloved grandchild only came posthumously, when she was named the sole heir in their joint will. She spent an aimless week in the quiet country house, trying to somehow get to know them through the miscellany of belongings collected over a lifetime.
In the end she abandoned the effort. The contents were donated to charity and the house sold. She kept nothing, not a single knick-knack, painting, or ornament. Death had colored everything too stark.
It wasn't their money that she had wanted, but their love. Georgina lay on the living room sofa and whimpered in misery, kicking at the blanket that covered her legs.
In her childhood, when she was old enough to walk alone to school, Georgina had played a game. She had wandered around the leafy suburbs of Brighton after lessons, until she spotted a kind looking lady in the right age. Then she followed the lady. She crept closer and closer, until she was close enough to pretend that the lady was her mother, and they were walking home together.
Once she sidled right up, and slipped her fingers into those of a plump woman with cascading red curls and a jolly face covered with freckles. After the woman overcame her surprise, she smiled down at Georgina. Then she gently withdrew her hand and hastened her steps. Georgina stood still and stared after her, blinking back tears, until the woman disappeared into the crowd.
Grandma Ethel was the only person she had ever loved, but Grandma Ethel was gone. Georgina was totally alone.