Best Laid Plans (3 page)

"You work
with
me, Sherry
Lau, not for me," Amanda corrected. Then a smile curved her full lips.
"I'll let you know when you ever overstep."

Relieved laughter drifted through the
phone lines. "Despite the rain, we had a marvelous day. Busy as hell and
all the stock is moving. Oh, by the way, Mandy, you had a visitor about half an
hour ago."

"Another salesman?"

"Attaché case not a sample bag.
No, he was definitely not in the rag trade." A purely feminine giggle
added credence to her statement. "Quiet and shy, big guy with dark hair
and a moustache. Ve-rry attractive."

"That description does not ring
any bells, although," her tongue clicked against the roof of her mouth, "you're
making him sound most intriguing. Did he leave a card?"

"Uh-uh. We were swamped and when
I went back to ask, he'd gone. Sorry."

Amanda's high forehead puckered in
thoughtful contemplation. "I'll bet it was that insurance agent who's been
trying to sell me an IRA. He loves being cryptic." Her eyes were drawn to
the wall clock. Father Time was showing no mercy. "Listen, Sherry, I've
got to get the girls out for the finale. If everything is done, why don't you
call it a day?"

"Thanks," came an appreciative
murmur. "Hey, have a little fun tonight. I'll open up tomorrow."

Fun
. Amanda winced. Wasn't fun supposed to invigorate,
not drain? Mentally chastising herself, she resolutely pushed aside the
depressing devil that had pursued her for the past few months and plunged back
into her work. "How did the slides time out, Isaac?" She handed back
the phone.

"If Mr. Cramer follows this
speech," he tapped the blue index cards, "you'll have seventeen
minutes. That includes getting the screen off the stage."

"Bianca will kiss you over the
extra time." She smiled, then the curved lips drooped. "Let's hope
the little darlings can do this in one smooth take."

Isaac flashed a wide-toothed grin.
"I automatically reset the runway lights and switched to the red
filaments." His large hands curved in a caressing gesture along the metal
console housing. "That will warn and silence the audience for your opening
lines, and then I'll fade up with the music."

"Sounds perfect. Let me see if
they're set backstage. Maybe we can wrap this up fast and get in an hour's rest
before the public comes sashaying in." Amanda made her way back, to the
draped wings.

Mme. Duprée scurried past the
glamorous queue poised for the finale. "Twelve minutes, good? Yes?"
Pale nails pointedly tapped the antique pocket watch suspended from a black
ribbon around her thin, lined neck.

"Exceptional, but you won't have
to rush." Amanda's comforting hand calmed Bianca's twitching, age-spotted
fingers. "Isaac tells me you'll have another five minutes."

The sprightly couturiere blew at a
gray lock that evaded the pins holding her sleek chignon. "That will help,
merci, merci à vous!"
Bianca waved toward the nostalgic, ruffled petticoats steeped in lace.
"Charmant."

"Very," Amanda concurred,
inspecting the collection of dainty confections that conjured romantic visions
and hinted at more provocative nighttime intimacies. "They look
adorable."

The initial offering started with a
pristine eruption of Edwardian lawn ruffles, satin streamers on lacy camisoles,
pastel teddies and precocious merry widows. Then came slithering, satiny
forties pinup-girl gowns, marabou feathered jackets and floating pajamas. The
climax was an all-out seduction made with the voyeur in mind. A true fantasy
courtesy of the wizardry of metallic bras, sheer harem pants, sassy Parisienne
teddies, plunging silk pajamas, clingy gowns and pantaloons. It was a baker's
dozen that began with a look of innocence, sprinkled with a hint of coquetry
and finished by captivating and enticing the imagination.

"You all look enchanting. I
doubt one mouthful of dessert will be consumed when you step on the runway. All
eyes will be devouring these luscious delights." Amanda's words inspired
the preening group, but her clear gaze concentrated on Lizette.

The lead model looked every inch the
Gibson Girl. Black hair in a billowing bubble, heart-shaped beauty mark pasted
on her high, rouged cheekbone, her slim figure was now an hourglass in a pale
lavender silk camisole and blousy, satin-trimmed bloomers.

Amanda knew if Lizette put a
judicious jiggle in each step and a flirtatious smile on her face the other
models would duplicate and embellish that effort. The girls were highly
competitive, each eager to attain lead status and anxious to bathe their egos
in applause.

"The music Isaac selected
certainly fits this scintillating lingerie," Amanda continued, her voice
more authoritative. "Match the carefree lightness in
Satin Doll
,
slink into
Body and Soul
and titillate with
Walk on the Wild Side
.

"When Ellington's last piano
note tinkles away, no one should want to go to heaven, just straight to the
bedroom." She flashed them an unrepentant grin. Her hands clapped for
order, trying to diffuse the giggles and laughter. "Let's do this in one
-"

"Excuse me, Miss Wyatt."
Isaac's palm cupped her elbow.

"Please don't say we have
another problem," her suddenly weary voice begged.

"I'm not sure," he
returned, thumb jerking back toward the ballroom. "There's a dude here insisting
on seeing you. He pushed his way past the maitre d'. He's not with the hotel or
the Cancer Society." Isaac's baritone lowered another octave. "I
stopped him just as he was heading up the runway."

"Dark hair and a
moustache?" At his affirmative nod, Amanda's straight nose wrinkled.
"It must be that pesky insurance man who was at the shop. What he won't do
for a commission!"

Isaac flexed broad shoulders.
"Hey, no sweat. I can bounce him easy." Pushing up the white sleeves
on his knit shirt, he angled toward the stage staircase.

"Wait a minute." Amanda's
voice halted the burly Tulane running back who also held a spot on the dean's
list in engineering.

"Let me handle him." She
gave Isaac an appreciative smile. "Who knows? He just may have a dynamite
policy."

Her fingernail clicked against the
glass face on Bianca's pocket watch. "Give me ten more minutes and
then," she winked at Isaac, "lower the lights and start that
music."

He was seated at the corner
tulip-bouqueted table, elbows on the green linen cloth, one charcoal
slack-covered knee bouncing to an inner rhythm. The broad shoulders and back
that confronted Amanda commanded attention. Smiling slightly, she knew exactly
what was going to transpire. They would exchange the usual amenities. She'd take
his card, shake his hand and give him a well-mannered, well-practiced version
of: "Don't call me, I'll call you."

As her black leather pumps quietly
traveled the thirty-foot carpeted runway, Amanda viewed her target with
judicial appraisal. At least the man was impeccably groomed. She focused on his
masculine silhouette, following the dark brown hair that waved and molded
against his head before edging a crisp beige shirt collar. The tailoring on the
blue-gray glen plaid blazer was meticulous, the blue-and-beige-accented fabric
quite distinctive.

One well-shod foot echoed against the
wooden step the same instant Amanda recognized the designer jacket was an Allyn
St. George. The man stood and turned. Gray eyes collided with brown.

He was no stranger.

She blinked twice. "Lucas?"
The name was whispered, her memory questioned. Amanda stopped, cocked her head
and stared. "Lucas!" She began to run, literally skidding to a halt
in front of him.

The hazel eyes that surveyed her were
as familiar as the truant dark curl that insisted on falling against his broad
forehead. Lines had etched his wide brow, crinkled the corners around his eyes,
subtly aging his rugged, sun-bronzed features. The rangy, long-legged,
loose-limbed body had filled out; the virile masculine physique was accented by
the impeccably tailored clothes.

Amanda lifted her hand, a gentle
fingertip ruffled the thick, dark moustache that shrouded his firm upper lip.
"Lucas Crosse, whenever did you grow this?"

Pulling his head back, he lunged
forward and snapped at her finger like a turtle. "I thought it would
toughen up this face. Give it that distinguished barrister look," Lucas
explained in his best sanctimonious, courtroom manner. His own pomposity made
him grin, and two dimples dented his lean cheeks, making a mockery of his
officious tone.

"You look beautiful." Had
it really been two years since he'd last seen her? Funny, whenever he read her
letters or heard her melodic voice on the phone, his mind replayed visual
souvenirs. But the pictures weren't of
this
Amanda.

If anything, she was more attractive
than he'd remembered. Her face had broadened, though the chin was still
pointedly determined. Her eyes had always reminded him of the mist on a
Highland moor - mysterious, patient, clouded with dreams. Today they sparked
with flames, reflecting the red suede outfit that defined a more womanly
anatomy. Two large hands cupped her face before rumpling the nimbus of sienna
curls. "Amanda Wyatt, whatever have you done to your hair?" Lucas'
deep voice mimicked.

She wrinkled her pert nose. "It
was a birthday present: to me from me. That midback braid suddenly got very
heavy and old, so -" two fingers made a scissors-like movement through the
tousled curls. Amanda's smooth brow furled with consternation. "Lucas, what's
the matter? What's happened?" Her hands seized his jacket sleeves.
"Are your folks all right?"

He captured her fingers, threading
them between his own. "Nothing is the matter, and my folks are just fine.
My mother is still raving over that peignoir set you sent her for
Christmas." He winked, "and so is my dad."

Tilting her head, Amanda aimed an
accusing glance. "Then what are you doing here?"

"You make it sound like I've
flown in from another planet instead of Dallas," Lucas teased. His
knuckles landed a velvet punch against her jaw. "On the expert advice of
my tax man, I've decided to contribute some hard-earned bucks to the Cancer
Society. I packed my black tie and came to view your latest triumph." His
arm made a gallant sweep toward the stage.

"Lucas, I don't believe you for
a minute," came her peremptory announcement. "Your right eyebrow
always wiggles when you lie." Amanda folded her arms across her breasts;
the toe of her shoe tapped a censuring refrain against the gold-and-green
patterned carpet.

"It's a damn good thing you'll
never sit on one of my juries," he grumbled, eyes half-hooded from her
ominous gaze. Lucas winced and rubbed his face. "All right, Mandy, if you
want to know the truth, I was damn worried about you."

"Why?"

"Why?" He gave an
exasperated snort. "Because when I called last week and sang 'Happy
Birthday,' my off-key baritone didn't get its usual laugh." It was his
turn to focus an interrogative stare. "I didn't even get a conciliatory
chuckle, just a polite thank you for the earrings." He sucked in his
cheeks. "Too polite."

"Lucas, I love the
earrings." Her thumb and forefinger caressed the gold leafs that dangled
from her earlobe. "You mean you came here just because I didn't sound
right?"

"Call it ESP. I remember flying
much farther on the same feeling."

Amanda found herself blinking
rapidly, anxious to disperse the dampness that stung her eyes. "Look, your
psychic radar is off. You just caught me on a bad day," she chided,
forcing a smile. "Turning thirty is a big milestone. I guess I was lonely
and still suffering jet lag from the Paris buying trip and working on this show
and - "

"Mandy," Lucas interrupted,
lifting her chin to study artfully controlled features, "I can always tell
when you're lying. A rain cloud forms over those crystal irises."

"And how could you tell that
through the telephone lines?"

He grinned, the indentations clefting
his cheeks. "I don't need to
see
you. I can tell more by what you
don't say. I know you better than your mother. Whom I called, by the way."

"Lucas!" She stamped her
foot and turned her back.

"Mandy," his deep voice
curled into her inner ear, his warm breath made the leaf earring shiver,
"come on. Tell me what's really bothering you. Your letters and phone
calls have only given me the surface." His hands slid up her arms, curved
around her shoulders to pull her against him. "I think it's time we had
one of our meaningful dialogues."

A chuckle escaped her.
Meaningful
dialogue
. She had started using that phrase when they were in college. It
was true then and now. She and Lucas had always been able to talk, to
communicate, to exchange ideas and even to fight without ever jeopardizing
their relationship. They had achieved intellectual parity. Their friendship
enriched one another's life. They related to each other as people. What they
had was very rare, very exquisite - a mutual caring that had stood time and
distance, growing ever stronger and richer over the years.