Authors: Sally Falcon
“You always complain when you take me to the theater, and you know you enjoy it as much as I do,” the woman accused, moving closer with each syllable. “I know I caught you sniffling during the finale of
Cats
a few months ago.”
“Trevor, how are you?” Wes’s question made Jessie want to sink under the seats in front of her. This just couldn’t be happening, she thought wildly, and if it was, what had she done to deserve it?
“Good Lord, Wes. Wes Lendall. This is a surprise,” Trevor replied from directly in front of her as the two men shook hands. His greeting wasn’t enthusiastic. “I haven’t seen you since last year’s slow-pitch tournament.”
“Definitely. Jessica, I’d like you to meet an old opponent of mine. He’s one of the sneakiest pitchers in the league.”
Only Wes would be delighted over the skill, Jessie decided as she peered over the top of her playbill.
The sight of Trevor in his charcoal-gray suit was as unnerving as she expected, making her feel small and vulnerable in her seat. His expression was guarded as he leaned back against the row of seats in front of them. Lowering her playbill slowly, she placed it in her lap and folded her hands over it. “Hello, Trevor.”
“Jessie, how are you?” His moderate tone and hooded eyes gave away nothing.
“Oh, do you know each other? It’s amazing how everyone seems to know one another in a city the size of Little Rock,” Wes declared, oblivious to the tension Jessie thought was crackling in the air. She gripped her hands firmly together in the lap of her terra-cotta silk dress, hoping to steady her jangled nerves.
“Yes, isn’t it?” What were the odds of this happening? she questioned rationally on one level while getting up enough nerve to look at Trevor’s date on another. She quickly masked her astonishment. She hadn’t expected to find a matronly woman, liberal streaks of gray in her neat blonde chignon, smiling at her. The woman was old enough to be Trevor’s mother. “T.L. hired Aesthetics, Ltd. for his new office building, and I’ve been working on some plans for Trevor’s house.”
“You must be Jessica DeLord. I’m so pleased to meet you. Both Tory and T.L. have mentioned your work,” the lady exclaimed before looking reproachfully at her companion. “No one mentioned you were working for Trevor. If he gives you any trouble, you let me know, dear. I’ve been handling the Planchet men for over twenty years, now.”
“Jessica DeLord and Wes Lendall, this is an old friend of the family, Arnette Montgomery.” Trevor made the introduction with a rueful smile as the others nodded in acknowledgment. His shuttered gaze did not change. “Under the guise of housekeeper, she’s been terrorizing my family for those twenty years she mentioned.”
“Son, you might want to reconsider that statement.” Arnette gave him a measuring look, as if she knew he wasn’t up to her weight in an argument. “But only if you ever want to eat another bite from my kitchen or not have your laundry tied in knots.”
“I think she has you there, Trevor.”
Please let the play start now,
Jessie pleaded silently. She wasn’t sure how much of this pleasant social chatter she could stand.
“And she has a darn good point, too,” Trevor told Wes with a masculine shrug of resignation. “Arnette’s also the only person I know that can keep T.L. in line.”
“Miz Montgomery, if I can ever be of service, please let me know,” Wes stated in awe of her talent.
“Thank you, sir.” Her smile for Wes changed into an arch look at the man next to her. “You could learn something from this young man.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Trevor had a strange expression on his face that Jessie couldn’t understand, but she knew that she didn’t like it. His attention seemed to be riveted on Wes, as if he took Arnette’s last words seriously.
A second later, Jessie breathed a sigh of relief as the lights started to dim, making it unnecessary for Wes to comment, “It looks like they’re about to begin.”
Glancing over her shoulder, she realized that the theater had completely filled while she had been fixated on her own personal drama. Arnette’s next words had her heart plummeting to her knees.
“Trevor, you go ahead and sit there next to Jessica. I’d be tempted to tell her all sorts of incriminating stories about you, and I want to concentrate on the play.”
Sucking in her breath, Jessie tried to make herself as small as possible in her plush seat. In spite of her precaution, Trevor’s shoulder rubbed against hers as he sat down.
The house lights dimmed completely, momentarily leaving the audience in total darkness. By the time the stage lights came on, Jessie had forgotten about her escort, all her awareness centered on the man sitting to her right.
For one irrational moment, she thought of getting up and walking out. Just as quickly she knew that she wasn’t capable of making a move or of embarrassing Wes. She was afraid to move in case she brushed against Trevor accidentally. Her skin was already tingling, almost anticipating his touch. Instead of seeing Jean Valjean being persecuted on stage, she was reliving the harrowing moments in Trevor’s arms the day before.
She didn’t notice that her playbill and clutch purse had slipped to the floor until Trevor moved beside her. When he bent down, then straightened and turned toward her, she didn’t understand what he was doing.
“I don’t think you want to lose these,” he murmured, pressing the two items into her lifeless fingers. For a moment, he seemed hesitant to release her, the warmth of his hands bringing life back to her own.
“Thank you,” she whispered, trying unsuccessfully to read his expression in the dim light from the stage. The exchange inexplicably lessened the tension between them, allowing her to ease back in her seat. The figures on stage still made little sense, but she no longer was in a state of panic over what he would do next.
Suddenly other events came into proportion as she reviewed their relationship. He really hadn’t done anything outrageous since the night he had returned from Washington. After that, his behavior, while annoying at times, had been fairly normal. She had been letting those early incidents influence her chaotic thoughts. He had done nothing outrageous recently to warrant her apprehension whenever he appeared. Yesterday, although unsettling, had simply been an accident.
The swell of the music and the pandemonium of the students’ marching song brought her attention back to the stage. Fleetingly, she was grateful that she had seen the play in New York the year before. She would be able to have a reasonable discussion about the story on the way home. Where had the last two hours gone? she wondered with a momentary panic. Intermission was only a few minutes away.
As the house lights came up, she glanced at Trevor’s profile from beneath her lashes. He seemed to sense her action and turned his head, his dark brown eyes only inches from her own. What did she do now?
The decision was taken out of her hands. Wes took control, not seeming to mind that neither Jessie nor Trevor had much to say about the play. Arnette’s enthusiasm made up for their silence. There was also a number of acquaintances to be acknowledged, so Jessie didn’t have to worry about how to fill the time during the fifteen-minute interval.
As she sat down again, she knew that she would not be going out with Wes Lendall again. Gina had been right, and it wasn’t fair to Wes. She was letting the memories of her childhood have too much effect on her adult life. Her candidates weren’t the answer to her dilemma. Though she still wanted to have a baby, a family, she knew that she would have to find another solution. Something that wasn’t cut and dried; something that made her face her ghosts squarely without jumping at imaginary shadows.
Trevor shifted restlessly next to her. When his shoulder came to rest against hers, Jessie didn’t move away from his warmth. For once, she didn’t try to fight the sensations caused by his touch. Almost on reflex, she leaned against him, not really aware of what she was doing until his arm stiffened. Hastily she jerked away, crossing her arms in front of her.
What was she to do now? She might have misjudged Trevor, but how did she admit her mistake? It wasn’t something that could just be blurted out. How had her life become so mixed up? She had only a simple desire to have a child. Why had it become so complicated? She knew that she had to meet the problem head on, but what about her pride?
When the house lights came up again some time later, she still didn’t have an answer.
As Wes exchanged pleasantries with Trevor and Arnette, Jessie tried to think of something significant to say before she left. It was hopeless. Her mind went blank the second she glanced in Trevor’s direction. He was looking directly at her, almost willing her to say something. Moving abruptly to break the spell that held her tongue-tied, she dropped her purse again, the contents spilling on the floor.
She quickly knelt down to retrieve her belongings, only to have Trevor move faster. Without bothering to stand up, she watched him collect her possessions and drop them into the black leather purse. When he was done, he seemed to hesitate before returning it to her.
After a brief glance over her head, he seemed to come to a decision. “I’ve told you I’m not dangerous. Tonight should have proven that. When are you going to admit it?”
She didn’t have a chance to say a word before he straightened and escorted Arnette toward the aisle. Wes led her in the other direction, when all she wanted to do was run after Trevor to discover what he meant. Only one thing was clear to her: She was never going to understand Trevor Planchet.
“That was a nice girl. A little quiet, but a nice girl.” Trevor didn’t bother to ask Arnette who she meant as he pulled up in front of her house. He agreed, but all he could think of was Jessie and her stunned expression before he left the theater. Had he finally blown it this time?
“Wasn’t it awful when the barricade collapsed and ruined the play? All that blood and gore.”
“What?” He turned to his companion to see if she’d lost her mind.
“I just wanted to get your attention,” she explained with a gentle smile.
“Why?” He didn’t bother to hide his suspicion. The angelic look on her face was all too familiar.
“Because if you let her go out with that Wes person again, I think you’re crazy. The young lady would have much rather been with you.”
Trevor threw back his head and laughed at her mutinous expression. Although Arnette harped at all the Planchet men about their bad habits, she thought anyone else who didn’t adore them needed their heads examined. He climbed out of the car, feeling much better than he had all evening. Knowing Jessie was going out with someone else was one thing; seeing her with the man was another—especially when he knew Wes Lendall was probably a perfect candidate to meet the requirements on her infamous list. Why couldn’t her date have been another jerk like the lawyer?
“Don’t you worry about Jessie and Wes, Arnette. I plan to do something about that real soon.” He helped her out of the car and walked beside her up the front walk. Jessica DeLord was going to have his undivided attention from now on, whether she liked it or not.
“What’s that?” Jessie stopped in the middle of the office Monday morning, suspiciously studying the large box on her desk. Foolishly she began to hope she knew what it was. All weekend she’d waited for a phone call that hadn’t been made or a visitor who never came.
“I don’t know,” her partner responded without looking up from the pile of papers she was frantically sorting through. “It was waiting outside when I got here this morning. Have you seen the Devons’ floor plan?”
“No, you had it last.” She approached her desk cautiously. The blue-and-white rabbit looked up at her serenely from his corner. Or was it mocking her? Placing her purse and portfolio on the glass surface of her desk, she reluctantly opened the box. Maybe it was simply a lamp or piece of sculpture she and Gina had ordered, she counseled herself as she tore off the plain brown wrapper.
When she pulled back the lid, she discovered her imagined piece of sculpture had fuzzy brown ears. She couldn’t contain her smile as she lifted the stuffed animal out of the box.
“Let me guess—a Teenage Mutant Ninja Bunny,” Gina commented dryly.
“I think it’s a French bunny,” Jessie said slowly, wondering how Trevor had found the right accessories. Like a
Les Misérables
character, Monsieur Bunny was wearing a student’s distinctive red sash with a pistol tucked rakishly in it; a sword looped on his paw.
“Don’t tell me the accountant sent this. There go all my preconceived notions.”
“Trevor was at the play, too,” Jessie murmured, not bothering to explain further. There was no response. Abandoning her search for a card, she glanced to her right and discovered that she had finally accomplished the impossible. Gina was speechless. “What’s the matter?”
The brunette shook her head as if to jump-start her brain. “You actually looked pleased that he sent this one. But more important, why aren’t you mad that he showed up at the theater?”
“Why should I be mad? It was a coincidence,” she explained while arranging the bunny brothers on the credenza. “I think you’re giving him too much credit to think he could manage prime orchestra seats on such short notice. I got the impression he takes Arnette to the theater all the time. Even if he does know Wes, I think it was an accident.”
“Arnette? This is getting really interesting,” Gina proclaimed, moving around to perch on the credenza. “Is she a blonde, brunette, or redhead?”