Calculated Risk (22 page)

Jerry gave an understanding nod. “Vikki
needed the assurance; Vixen would have preferred the minks be on
the endangered species list.”

With a masculine hand pressed against
the small of her back, Vikki wended her way through the occupied
tables. She courteously tried to avoid dragging the sumptuous fur
against any of the seated diners. Her successful exit was
dramatically halted when a rude, bulging-veined hand sank into the
soft, thick lustrous mink.

“Look, Harriet! See! I told
you it was
her!
”
Fingers still gripping the fur hem, a short, rather barrel-figured
woman stood up. “It is
you
, isn’t it?”

With a mixture of surprise and fear,
Vikki viewed a freckled face framed by excessively short brassy
blond hair. She tried to free the coat and, failing, stepped back
against Jerry’s protective bulk. “Excuse me. I – I –“

“Don’t deny it!” The nasal voice grew
louder, much to the delight of the interested bystanders. “I know
you and your husband and your lover.” Prying eyes inspected Jerry,
noticing his wedding band. Her tone grew triumphant. “Is this your
next victim, you scheming hussy? How could you ruin so many lives
without even a thought?” A warning finger was pushed into Vikki’s
face. “You can’t keep getting away with this! That wonderful
Reverend Patrick Malone knows what you did to your last husband.
He’s not going to let you get away with murdering anyone
else.”

“Betty’s right,” added the woman named
Harriet, her voice tight as the gray curls that framed an angular
face. Brown eyes stared into Vikki’s stupefied expression. “You are
evil! I know what you’re trying to do to your sweet sister-in-law,
that trusting angel of a girl. You’re trying to drive her insane.
She’s so confused.” The words caught in her throat, she sniffed and
wiped her nose against her napkin. “Betty, let go of that coat. No
telling where it’s been.” A shudder twitched thin
shoulders.

Jerry’s whispered “Careful, Vixen”
vibrated in Vikki’s ear. Ten elegant fingers moved up the wide
lapels on the mink to adjust the shawl collar. “My sister-in-law is
a simpering wimp,” came her throaty response. “Beth has difficulty
putting a straight part in that Alice-in-Wonderland blond hair of
hers. I’m trying to help the girl, point out her
weaknesses.”

Her seductive voice continued. “And
wonderful Reverend Malone?” Vikki’s face turned slightly to the
left, chin tipped downward, dark lashes narrowed over clear blue
eyes. “I don’t suppose you notice how the good Reverend enjoys more
than his share of the afternoon sherry. And isn’t he the
eavesdropper?” The two women exchanged meaningful glances. “I’ll
tell you what else the food Reverend enjoys.” Vikki leaned close to
the woman’s ear and whispered.

“Black lace
what
?” Betty gasped,
released her hold on the fur, and fell back into her
chair.

“What? What!” The words squeaked from
Harriet’s throat as she watched Betty fan herself with her
hand.

Betty’s strangled tone rose above her
companion’s. “Wh – when?” She demanded from Vikki.

“Tomorrow.”

“We’ll cancel those tickets to that
Broadway show,” she told Harriet. “We’ll call all the girls back
home. You won’t believe what she just told me!” Betty gave Vikki
her sweetest smile. “All thirty-two members of our garden club
watch you every day. Could you please autograph…” her stubby
fingers rummaged through her purse “…this?”

“Your parking voucher?”

“No…oh, dear, they’ll want that, won’t
they? Harriet!”

“Here, Miss Mallory.” The other, less
flustered woman supplied a hastily ripped sheet of paper. “Just say
something wonderfully wicked to Harriet and Betty from
Schenectady.”

Using Jerry’s felt-tipped pen, Vikki
signed the requested note with unprecedented flourish. “How’s that,
ladies?”

Harriet made a quick grab, read the
inscription, and, smiling passed it to her companion. “I just love
your clothes. Where did you get that tiny red and black sheer teddy
you had on yesterday? Wouldn’t Gordon just love me in that,
Betty?”

Jerry supplied the answer. “Saks Fifth
Avenue.” He gently pushed Vikki toward the glass-etched front door.
“They’re setting up a Vixen lingerie display there tomorrow. All in
scarlet and black of course.” The two women oohed and aahed over
that information, then went on to discuss the possibility that
wonderful Reverend Malone was only posing as a minister.

“You were brilliant.” The PR man gave
Vikki a complementary hug.

“A Vixen lingerie display?” she
inquired once they were on the snow-edged sidewalk. “Now that’s
spur-of-the-moment brilliance!”

Jerry whistled for a cab. “I spoke the
truth,” he protested with studied innocence. “Just another one of
my genius suggestions. Since Saks is providing part of the wardrobe
on the show, they jumped at the tie-in.” He frowned at the bustling
traffic. “Why don’t you try hailing the cab?”

Her melodic laugher formed wispy puffs
in the dry frigid air. “You think Vixen will have better luck?”
Vikki shook her head. “New York cabbies are immune. They’re use to
celebrities. I waited over ten minutes just trying to get one to
take me here.”

Stepping off the curb and well into the
street, Jerry called back. “Look at the way those two women
reacted. The fans want Vixen.” Two more sharp whistles pierced the
air, but the cabs continued whizzing past. “Come on, Miss Mallory,
give it a try.”

Lifting her face from the mink’s
protection, she moved to Jerry’s side and extended one
black-leather-gloved hand in a regal, imperious gesture. Within
seconds, a cab came speeding to a halt. Vikki was impressed. “If
the fans want Vixen –“ she yanked open the car door “— then Vixen
they will get!” Her good-natured wink said it all!

An excerpt from
Designing Woman

“I don't understand you,” Griffen
ground out through clenched teeth. “You seem perfectly normal.” He
picked up a meat fork, jabbed at the platter and slammed food onto
his dish. “Maybe you need professional help.”

Brandy smiled at him, her tone one of
patient forbearance. “Actually I'm a product of my environment.”
She picked up a rolled linen napkin containing silverware, moved
out of line and headed toward a private table in the corner of the
large dining room.

Her emotions ranged from deadly calm
to seething turmoil. No matter what she said or what she did, that
insufferable man would see only what he wanted. And he so wanted a
nymphomaniac!

“What the hell do you mean, you're a
product of your environment?” Griffen slid into the chair next to
her. “For the last four weeks your environment has been filled with
hard work. If anything, you should be too exhausted to even think
of entertaining a male hooker like Pierre.”

Brandy exhaled an airy, musical sigh.
“What you have to realize, Griffen, is that my whole world revolves
around sensuality.” Her long fingers stroked the slender column of
throat down to the low V of her neckline. “Interior design and
architecture are very erotic occupations.” She picked up a carrot
stick, studied it for a moment, then placed it in her mouth, her
teeth snapped off the end. “Phallic symbols abound – look at the
skyscrapers, chimneys, pole lamps, and don't forget all those groin
vaults.”

A lazy smile curved her lips, she
watched his skin turn gray beneath his tan. “And, Griffen, what
about geodesic domes?” She reached for a Spanish olive. Her tongue
circled its green skin several times before poking out the red
pimiento. “They are very mammary-oriented in their
design.”

Brandy leaned forward, staring
intently into his glazed eyes. “Now tell me the truth, Griffen --”
her finger zigzagged along the curve of his cheekbone to the edge
of his tight, compressed mouth “ – don't you lust in your heart
every time you drive through a tunnel?

“Erotic symbolism is everywhere.”
Brandy studied his tray, then picked up her fork. “Just look at
your lunch.” She neatened the blob of cottage cheese on his dish
and centered the cherry. “And doesn't that sausage look right at
home snuggled between those two halves of baked potato.

“Griffen.” Her voice was low and
infinitely inviting. “Women have needs and those needs have to be
answered. I would have never had to put in that call to Pierre if
you hadn't been so stingy.”

Designing Woman is
available now on an eBook near you!

Enjoy an excerpt
from
Special Delivery

“
You
think
you know me,” she interrupted,
“but you don’t.”

“
Really?” Bram considered
her statement for a moment. “You mean your reaction last night was
not unusual? That you readily melt against just
any
man? Come alive like that when
just
any
man holds
you and touches you? Make those adorable little mewing sounds when
just
any
man
kisses and caresses your gorgeous body?”

“
No, I do not!” Viewing his
grinning face, she hastily corrected herself. “You misunderstood my
point.”

“
That is the point,” he
countered. “I did not misunderstand. I understand you all too well
and your reaction to me is directly related to the brainwashing by
your aunt.”

Roxanne suppressed the urge to scream.
Instead, she drew a card. “This is the eminent psychiatrist talking
now, is it?”

“
Aunt Mathilda is a
formidable obstacle to overcome, but I’m just the man to do it.” He
scooped up her discard. “I told you this before, but I don’t remind
repeating it. I love you. I intend to make love to you before the
New Year dawns.”

“
That sounds more like a
threat than an endearment,” she pointed out ruthlessly. “Is that
the Tyler method? Threatening women into submission?”

“
Women usually threaten me
into submission,” Bram chided her. “You just don’t realize what a
wonderful man you’ve lucked into. But you will.”

“
I love me, whom do you
love?” came her sarcastic jeer.

“
I love you,” he returned
easily, again claiming another discarded club. “Considering the
fact Mathilda had you under her concrete thumb for – what was it? –
ten years, you turned out pretty well.”

Roxanne had to laugh. “Gee,
thanks.”

“
I’m serious.”

“
I know you are.” She
struggled to swallow another laugh.

“
It couldn’t have been easy
being a nurse-companion to a crabby spinster, puckered on both
ends, who was soured on love and cursed life in
general.”

Her eyes widened. “Is that your
considered opinion of Aunt Mathilda?”

Bram’s dark head made a modest bow.
“Spare me the compliments. I pegged the old biddy perfectly, didn’t
I?” Without waiting for Roxanne to agree, he continued. “Mathilda’s
specter haunts you. You’re afraid to let yourself go, let yourself
feel, let yourself love.”

“
Whom do you want me to go,
feel, and love?” she inquired, tossing out another club.

“
Me of course.” His blue
gaze leveled a peremptory challenge. “Only me. Tut, tut, you’re
getting careless.” He reached for the card. “I realize it’s going
to take constant tutelage on my part to exorcise Mathilda’s
fiendish control.”

“
That’s so wonderful of
you. So selfless and generous.” Roxanne took his discarded spade
and deftly laid down a perfect rummy meld. “Gin.”

Bram muttered an expletive. “I know
what the problem is. I know why I’m losing.”

She added another mountain of points
to her score before reassembling the cards. “What’s your excuse
this time?” Roxanne shuffled, waited for Bram to cut and began to
deal.

“
Not enough
incentive.”

“
I’m perfectly willing to
raise the limit to a dollar a point. You’ve already funded my IRA
for this year; I can let you start on my Keogh.”

“
Money was not the
incentive I was talking about.” He smiled with approval at his hand
and began to adjust his cards according to suits.

Roxanne stared at him with
growing suspicion. “What
is
your idea of the right incentive?”

“
Strip gin would be
interesting.” He drew the first card. “Of course, I know what your
reaction would be and I can hear Aunt Mathilda shrieking in horror,
a lace hanky pressed to her mouth while she hunts for smelling
salts to ward off the vapors.”

“
Aunt Mathilda, vapors?
Hmmm. Strip gin?” Roxanne picked a card and slowly began to
reorganize your hand. “I really think it’s time I told you the
truth about me and my family, and especially, Aunt Mathilda.”
Roxanne tutted Bram silent when he tried to interrupt.

“
Mathilda was born in New
York City. She was quite precocious. At fifteen she got her first
job. Ever hear of Minsky’s? Burlesque?” She fluttered her lashes
and smiled. “Take ten terrific girls and only nine costumes? Aunt
Mathilda was the
tenth
girl.