Surprise Package (6 page)

      
Jeff was going to pick her up at work. She figured she could make it from her job to the lobby in FS&G's building by half past five if she rushed. But at four-thirty her cell phone rang. Jeff had a “family emergency” and couldn't make it. They met the next night; and he was brimming with apologies, although not very forthcoming about what crisis had taken place in Scarsdale. He took her to a small Indian restaurant up by Columbus Circle, where the food was fabulous.

      
By the time they reached the Park Avenue apartment, Gilly had other things on her mind than family crises. He left her after midnight, saying he had an early-morning class. She had to be at work early, too. But sleeping in that big bed without him had become quite lonely. And, after all, they only had two weeks before Charis and Bill returned to reclaim their luxurious living quarters. Gilly didn't want to waste a single day.

      
This forced her to consider what she'd do when she had to return to her Yonkers apartment. How would she explain that they couldn't use her place any longer? She racked her brain for several days, trying to work up her courage to confess the deception; but every time she was on the brink of doing it, something would interfere. Either she'd lose her nerve or he'd break their date.

      
The abrupt breaking of dates was beginning to worry her. What if he was like Frank Blane after all? What if he had a wife or another girlfriend tucked away in his Washington Square apartment? When Charis phoned her from Nice, she laid out her misgivings about the relationship to the only friend she could confide in.

      
Charis didn't beat around the bush. “Arrange some excuse to go down to NYU and meet his roommate. But before you even waste time doing that, call the university and verify that they have a Jeffrey Brandt enrolled in the law program.”

      
“But...that's so cold...as if I don't trust him.”

      
“Well, why should you?”

      
“Yeah, he could be lying just like me, right?”

      
“You said it, sweetie, I didn't,” Charis chided gently.

* * * *

      
The next day Gilly did some detective work. There was indeed a Jeffrey Lyle Brandt enrolled as a third-year law student at NYU. Although his family had an unlisted number and Gilly had to ask a big favor from an old Oberlin classmate working for the phone company, she learned that a Lyle Bearsford Brandt lived in Scarsdale. From another classmate practicing law on Long Island, she found out that Mr. Brandt was a retired attorney. Jeff was who he said he was. The only thing remaining was to check out the roommate and verify that he was a he.

      
“Would you believe the coincidence, Jeff—I'm going to be attending an afternoon workshop at NYU tomorrow. Can we meet somewhere for coffee—that is, if you have time?” Her voice sounded breathy and frightened. She had always been a terrible liar.
Except when you came up with that whopper about your job
. Ignoring the small squeak of conscience, she made arrangements to meet him on campus after his last class of the day.

      
The coffee shop was small and crowded, a favorite hangout for grad students. As they wended their way through the chairs and tables overflowing with a motley assortment of humanity, Gilly scanned faces. Long-haired hippie types with untrimmed beards and Birkenstocks argued vehemently with preppy-looking youths in button-down collars and Dockers.

      
“Does Karl hang out here?” she asked brightly. “I'd love to meet him.”

      
Jeff shrugged, taking her coat, then pulling off his bomber jacket and piling them on what might have been the only unoccupied chair in the place. “Sometimes he's here. His schedule is pretty crazy.”

      
“Whose isn't? This is the first time we've made contact in nearly a week,” she replied.

      
He leaned down and brushed his lips across her neck as he pulled out a chair for her, murmuring, “We haven't made contact yet.”

      
“Well, if Karl isn't at your place...”

      
“It's a student dump—two guys batching it, Gilly. Considering what your apartment is like—”

      
“You're a student. I was one once, and I remember what my place looked like—a mix of
Escape from New York
and
Angela's Ashes.
”

      
He studied her face for a moment as they sat at the small table with noise and people pressing in on them. “You are really incredible, Gilly. You're bright, beautiful, successful, you have everything you want—”

      
“Not everything, Jeff.” Her fingers stroked over the back of his hand, tracing the pattern of dark hair delicately with her nails.

      
“Let me see if Karl's around.” He squeezed her hand, then stood up and made his way to the bar, where he talked with a balding man sporting a belly that hadn't come from drinking espresso. As he served up coffees, he pointed across the room to a corner table near the window. There sat a tall, lanky man of indeterminate years who bore a remarkable resemblance to Jimmy Stewart, his concentration focused on an oversized textbook and papers spread out across the table.

      
Jeff motioned for her to join him as he wended his way over. “Hey, Karl. Dr. Oppermann laying it on again?” he asked as Gilly joined them. Placing his arm around her shoulders, he said, “I want you to meet—”

      
“You have to be the legendary Gilly Newsom,” Karl said with a smile as guileless and open as a Kansas cornfield, which exactly matched his origins.

      
As he stood up and offered her a chair, they exchanged introductions. Jeff went off to bring them coffee. “Jeff says you're a Midwesterner. So am I. Ohio.”

      
“I could tell by your lack of accent. Everyone on the coast has one. You ever notice that for all the kidding we get about being hicks and hayseeds, all the national newscasters talk like us, not New Yorkers, Southerners, or New Englanders?”

      
Gilly liked him already. “How long have you and Jeff been rooming together?”

      
Karl Mathis scratched his thinning brown hair and considered. “Let's see, I started law the term after Jeff, so that makes it about a year and a half now. With both our crazy schedules, we hardly ever see each other.”

      
“Jeff says you really hit the books every night.”

      
“Have to. I'm not as smart as he is.”

      
Jeff rejoined them, and they talked for a while and sipped the scalding, inky brew. Gilly liked Karl—a plus, considering that she wouldn't have cared if he were an ax murderer as long as his name was Karl, not Karla.

Chapter Five

      
Everything should have been perfect after that. Gilly even thought up an excuse for when the Lawrences' returned to claim their apartment: she would tell Jeff that the owners of the building were doing a massive repainting project, and she would have to vacate the premises for the holidays and stay with a friend up in Yonkers. That left her with a few more weeks to work up the courage to tell him the truth.

      
But her confession had taken a backseat to other concerns. The broken dates were beginning to bother her. Bother her a lot. If he had to work the way she had to put herself through college, or if he had to really beat his brains out with the books, like Karl, she'd have understood. But Gilly knew better. Jeff was uncommonly bright. Karl had told her about his GPA and how easy the law classes were for him. She also knew that no one with parents in Scarsdale's elite needed to hold down a night job. The hours during which he mysteriously disappeared were far too erratic for that anyway.

      
Gilly desperately wanted to confront him and ask point blank what was going on, but her guilt over her own deceptions held her silent. The strain in their relationship was telling on both of them. Just as she was leaving the office, her cell phone rang. “This is Gilly,” she answered.

      
“Hello.”

      
She could sense the hesitancy in his voice. “Hello yourself. We still on for dinner and a movie tonight?”

      
“That's what I'm calling about. Something's come up.”

      
“This is the third time in the past week, Jeff.” God, she sounded like a nag. Like someone who actually had a claim on him.

      
“I'm sorry, Gilly. Look, it's the end of the term, and I have all these projects to complete for my classes.” Jeff racked his brain for something plausible.
Damn idiot, introducing her to Karl, so she knows enough to realize I haven't been studying all those nights!

      
“But this is such short notice, Jeff.” All his broken dates seemed to come that way—that, or he would simply be unavailable for days.

      
He could hear the chilly tone in her voice, and it fueled his guilt. “Professor Anderson has offered a chosen handful of the favored a chance to hear him expound on the New York State bar exam tonight. I can't pass up the opportunity.”

      
“I thought Karl said Anderson had already left on sabbatical.”

      
Now, the tone of voice had shifted to decided suspicion. He cursed beneath his breath. “Sorry, Gilly, but I really have to go.”

      
The next day, just as she was leaving for work, he arrived at “her apartment” with a big bouquet of white roses and a contrite expression. “Forgive me, please? I don't intend for anything to come between us, but you should understand how important finishing my degree is to me.”

      
“How can I refuse when you put it that way?” She took the flowers and turned to reach for a vase. He slipped his arms around her and nuzzled her neck. “Enough of that or you'll make me late for work—and don't you have class this morning?”

      
He sighed theatrically. “You would have to remind me. Yes, I do, but we can at least take the subway together.”

      
She put the roses in water; and they headed to the station, walking briskly in the chill December air. “There's something I've been meaning to ask you, Jeff.”

      
He stiffened, faltering a step, covering it quickly “Shoot.”

      
She forced a merry expression and teased, “Don't panic, it's not a proposal. Just a special occasion that I'd like you to share with me. My best friends are coming back to town next week and they always give a Christmas party at The Apple’s Eye—you know, the restaurant in Midtown near Rockefeller Center? Charis reminded me about it when she called last night. It would mean renting a tux. Although I know you'd look smashing in one, you might not want to, but—”

      
“You're babbling again, Gilly,” he replied, interrupting her with a swift kiss on the cheek. “When is this stellar event?”

      
“On Tuesday, seven in the evening.”

      
There was a hesitancy in her voice that puzzled him. Hell, she was right. He'd had enough of society events and monkey suits to last him a lifetime...especially monkey suits. But for Gilly he'd do it. “It's a date, kiddo. I just might be able to find an old tux buried somewhere in the back of my closet.”

      
“Along with your sweaty gym shoes and that awful Kelly green sweater?” Karl had taken to doing a lot of studying at the law library on campus the past few days. She suspected Jeff had asked him to allow them a bit of privacy—and Jeff had finally brought her to his apartment, which was really not as dreadful as he described.

      
“That's my lucky sweater.”

      
“Why? You weren't wearing it the day you ran into me.”

      
“Conceited woman,” he groused, but before he could say anything more, Gilly gasped sharply. He, too, could hear the sudden screech of a dog in pain. It was coming from across the street, where a squat, muscular man was thrashing a Rottweiler with the handle of the dog's leash. The cracking of leather striking the dog's snout and legs made Jeff wince. Gilly started across the street with fire in her eyes; but before she could get two steps off the curb, he was beside her.

      
“Let me handle this.” She did not protest, but neither did she stop following as he darted between cars to the other side. Jeff sprinted toward the guy flailing the hapless animal, a half-grown pup who cowered against the pavement. His tormentor now stood spread-legged over the Rottie, ignoring the hard looks he received from a number of passersby.

      
“You stupid, worthless piece of crap! Trip me one more time 'n I'll kick yer brains in!” He started to raise the leash again, cursing loudly as he did it. He did not hear Jeff approach but was vividly aware the instant Jeff reached between his spread legs from behind and grabbed the front of his jacket, jerking it down roughly with one hand as he yanked the man's collar back with the other. Since the most delicate portion of his anatomy was now squeezed by his own coat and Jeff's fist, the abuser was forced to stand on tippy-toes, gasping for breath.

      
“What the f—”

      
“Is this your dog, you bastard?”

      
Gilly had never heard Jeff sound so street hard—a far cry from a scholar from Scarsdale. She paused on the curb, then reached out to grab the pup's leash when the thug dropped it. The poor beast was trying to crawl away. Gilly crouched to gather it in her arms, crooning to it as she listened for the reply to Jeff's question.

      
The man shook his head as best he could, bleating out, “N-no, I'm...hired...to walk it.”