She loved cooking. It was possible that part of it had to do with the chemistry of the process, but beyond that was the satisfaction of having a product for immediate use. Randi preferred to let Maria do the cooking, and in return made sure to put a little extra into the grocery budget.
"You just do it better," Randi admitted. "I'll cover the housework and take care of the cat if you do the food."
And Maria had. Now she set to work cutting up the chicken and humming to herself as she did so. Initially Maria had been worried about working in someone else's kitchen—it was one of those tricky issues she understood intuitively, but Trevor had reassured her that Mrs. Cabot would understand, especially given the circumstances.
Maria chopped the vegetables and set the chicken to simmer, then looked through the spice rack for parsley, dill and oregano. The kitchen was enormous, and briefly she thought of what this vast room would be like before a dinner party, with several courses all being prepared at once. She wondered if Howard ever had such parties. Her older sister did; Lucy was certainly enjoying New York society these days, much to their mother's delight. Maria was glad for Lucy and her husband John, who always reminded her a little of a big blond teddy bear.
The soup needed to stew for a while, and after Maria finished washing the dishes, she wandered out of the kitchen looking for something else to do in the meantime. The living room had several bookcases and she drifted over to look at the titles when something else caught her eye. In the next room beyond a pair of French doors stood a baby grand piano. Drawn to it, Maria crossed the living room and touched the gleaming ebony lacquered surface with gentle fingers as she studied the folder of sheet music propped above the keys.
Chopin, she noted with a smile. Maria slid onto the bench and lightly rested her hands on the keys, feeling a surge of pleasure at the familiar feel. Gently, she began the Etude, going slower than the signature required as she re-acquainted herself with the piece. As her confidence grew, she finished it and began a simple fishing song from Genoa, playing softly in the warm afternoon light. One song led to another, and soon she was in the middle of If Ever I Would Leave You from Camelot when she heard the sound of footsteps on the stairs.
"Don't stop," Howard snuffled, making his way through the living room towards her. "You're fabulous!"
"That's very flattering but you need to go back to bed, Howard," Maria chided, rising from the piano and blushing. Part of it came from his compliment, which was sweet, and part of it was because he was in pajamas.
Thin silk pajamas in black and silver stripes that hung off his trim frame gave her a new appreciation of her boss. Howard Stark was leaner than she realized, and seeing the hollow at the base of his throat was making her pulse jump a bit. It was so vulnerable and pale . . . .
"I will, I will . . . eventually," he told her as he dropped himself into one of the upholstered chairs nearest the piano. "But I'm not sleepy and if I stay right here like a good little invalid would you keep playing?"
She considered the request and sighed, nodding. "All right, but you need a blanket. The soup should be ready in about an hour, if you're up for it."
"There's a throw on the back of the sofa," Howard pointed out, and she brought it to him, tucking the cashmere around his frame before returning to the piano.
"Any requests?"
Surprise me. And thank you," he told her, settling back and closing his eyes. Maria took a breath and dropped her fingers onto the keyboard once again, going on sheer whimsy. She played college songs and ballads, show tunes and sentimental favorites from the past and when she finished with a soft version of A Nightingale Sang in Barkley Square, applause made her look up. Both Howard and Trevor were clapping. She blushed. "Ohhh . . . ."
"Superb." Howard smiled. "And to think you're wasting your time with chemistry!"
"Howard!" she laughed, feeling her face go pink again.
Trevor deftly set a pair of slippers at Howard's feet before rising to smile in her direction. "It was indeed a pleasure to listen to you, Ma'am."
"Thank you. I . . . should check on the soup . . ."
It made her proud that despite his cold, Howard Stark had two bowls of her soup, and looked a lot better for them. They sat together at one end of the long dining room table, eating as the sun went down.
"I'm telling you my grandma Zelda couldn't make soup this good," Howard murmured, "and that's saying something."
"It's not difficult," Maria responded, and added, "Zelda?"
"Zelda Stein. My mother's side of the family is from lower Manhattan while my father's folks came from England and settled in around Coney Island area. Jewish of course."
"Of course," Maria agreed, smiling. "Which means you know good soup."
"Exactly," Howard agreed. "Listen, that's not a problem, is it? My being Jewish? I don't really practice the faith . . ."
Maria held her breath a second, then reached over to touch his hand. "It doesn't matter at all to me. I wouldn't care if you were African or Chinese or Martian, Howard. You're a good man inside and out and I'll believe that to my dying day."
He stared at her, his nose red, his dark eyes slightly bloodshot. Maria realized how dark his five o'clock shadow was, and how she'd never noticed how long his eyelashes were.
"There's a 'but' at the end of that sentence," Howard mournfully observed, "isn't there?"
"I can't speak for my mother," Maria sighed. "She's very Catholic about a lot of things."
There was an awkward pause and Maria bit her lip, wishing once again she wasn't quite so blunt at times when Howard chuckled.
"Guess I'll just have to win her over then," he decided. "Because this soup is that good."
Maria laughed.
After they were done, she walked him back up the stairs and although she tried not to be nervous, Maria was. She'd never been in a man's bedroom before, and although she was aware that they weren't going to do anything improper, it still felt slightly daring.
She knew what could happen. Maria had dated; she'd done a few things her mother would say rosaries for if she'd known about them. Randi had also given her a great many details about sex, half of them from books, half of them from personal experience, which was slightly scandalous and totally typical of Randi.
They reached the top of the stairs, and Howard sneezed. That settled the matter and Maria herded him through the open doorway towards the bed, feeling amused at her thoughts of a moment before. "All right, you need rest now."
"For once I'm not going to argue," Howard sighed, and pulled back the covers. He slid in and yawned as Maria watched him settle himself into a comfortable position. He looked up at her in the lamplight, and the shy but adoring gaze in his eyes was impossible to miss.
She reached out to brush a hand over his forehead. "Sleep, Mr. Stark. You'll be better in the morning."
"Thanks to you, Miss Carbonell," he murmured. "Armando will drive you home safely; Trevor will see to it."
"All right," Maria agreed, and feeling daring, she bent and kissed his forehead.
When she did so, Howard gave a contented little sigh and smiled, showing his dimples on either side of his mustache.
"Now I'll sleep well," he told her quietly. She turned off the light and left the room, feeling giddy and smiling to herself. At the foot of the stairs, Trevor stood waiting, his expression kind.
"Thank you for your care of Mr. Stark, Miss Carbonell; this good deed is very much appreciated."
She bent her head to hide her blush. "He's a dear man," Maria replied simply.
Trevor helped her into the car and Armando rolled down the glass to speak to her. "Where to, Miss?"
"Cathedral Heights," she instructed, and gave him the address. They drove in the twilight, and with an hour the landscape slowly changed from rolling hills and groves to the familiar city lights of D. C. Maria relaxed as they pulled up to the brownstone and fished out her keys. The driver waited until she'd let herself in, and then pulled away.
Randi's note on the fridge was short and breezy: Got called to fill in for DC-Atlanta run. Back Monday. We need crackers. Love—R.
After feeding Doctor No half a can of tuna, Maria went to bed, feeling content.
Mid Saturday morning, the doorbell rang just as she finished rinsing out the last of her stockings. Maria dried her hands on the towel over her shoulder then headed to the door.
"Yes?"
"Miss Maria Carbonell?" came a questioning voice.
"Yes."
"These are for you-"
She blinked as the delivery boy handed her a huge bouquet of velvety red roses artfully arranged in a cut crystal vase. "There must be some mistake . . ."
"No mistake ma'am. I'm under strict orders to make sure those get delivered into your hands personally," the teenager told her with a grin. "No delivery, no bonus!"
Maria gave him a smile and shifted the flowers as she plucked the envelope from them. It was definitely addressed to her in familiar engineer's printing. "Well then, let your boss know I got them, personally!"
The boy smiled again and jaunted back to the delivery van, leaving Maria to carry in the lush bouquet and set the roses on the tiny kitchen counter. She pulled the card out of the envelope and read it.
Maria,
You've made me soup, you've played piano for me, you've even seen my pajamas and didn't laugh at them—how did I get so lucky?
Yours,
Howard
PS. Mrs. Cabot wants your recipe.
She didn't stop smiling all day.
-oo00oo-
When the invitation arrived, Howard spent two seconds wondering how he could get out of it. The third second brought a quick image of Maria to mind, and suddenly the stiff card with the gilt lettering and seal of the White House held new possibilities. Exciting possibilities.
He took a deep breath and spoke to himself, something he often did when alone and faced with a decision. "She's brilliant, beautiful, far too young and waaaay too good for you, Stark. Maria Carbonell isn't looking for a good time or a sugar daddy, although a lot of people think otherwise. On the other hand, fuck 'em."
Howard snorted. He didn't use profanity on a regular basis even with himself, but he'd already faced a few smug looks and few smutty comments from associates about his 'consultant' more than once. George Roberts was one of the worst; his leering jibes always making Howard grit his teeth.
"Consultant, that's a good one," Roberts had snickered. "I'll have to use that myself the next time I'm on a business trip. Hey Honey, I'll be late—I was up all night with my consultant!"
It had taken every ounce of tact not to take a swing at that fat, bloated face; instead, Howard had smiled and had taken him to a long business lunch. Later in the week, he bought out all of Roberts' suppliers. That had made him feel a little better.
"She might say no," Howard mused, staring again at the invitation. "Not everyone wants to go to an official dinner for . . ." he looked again at the card, "San Sebastian. Still, I'm betting she will."
With that thought in mind, he called Maria's extension at the lab and waited. She picked it up on the third ring, her voice somewhat breathless. "Carbonell here."
"Stark over here," he replied. "Listen, I hate to pull you away from all those fantastic breakthroughs you're making, but I need a date for dinner at the White House. Think you can free up your Saturday and go with me?"
Her spluttering was cute, and he grinned, hearing it.
"But . . . the White House? Howard!"
"Hey, I have to show up and make nice, but I thought it would be fun to take someone who'll make it worth my time. I could get into trouble if left on my own," Howard murmured. Over the connection he heard Maria make a little noise that sounded suspiciously like an agreement. "What was that?"
"Nothing. I suppose I could put off ironing my blouses until Sunday," she shot back lightly. "The White House, huh?"
"Big place on Pennsylvania Avenue," he chuckled. "I'm sure you've passed it once or twice. They're throwing an official dinner for some little South Seas barony, so it will probably be seafood. Black tie, the whole nine yards. So is that a yes?"
"Yes," Maria told him quietly. "What time?"
"Thank you. Armando and I will pick you up around five," Howard told her, feeling a surge of pleasure at the thought. "And you won't need to bring a notebook for this one."
"Randi may insist I sneak a camera in; she's got a huge crush on the president."
"I'll get her an autograph," Howard told her. "He can be bought with cigars."
Maria laughed. "So can you. Oh, I have to go; my terpene's about to boil over!"
"Saturday, five o'clock, Miss Carbonell," he repeated and hung up. The ebullience of the moment lingered and Howard sauntered out of his office to Wanda Franklin's desk, trying not to grin.
She glanced up at him from her typing. "Someone looks very pleased with himself."
"Someone IS very pleased with himself," Howard admitted as he buffed his nails on his lapel. "Miss Carbonell has agreed to go to an official dinner with me this Saturday."
Wanda fought a smirk; she wasn't entirely successful. "Is that so?"
"Yep. Could be the start of something big."
"Will Mr. Stane be there?" Wanda asked quietly, hitting the return carriage.
Howard frowned. "Damn. I'm sure he and Loni will show up; they wouldn't miss a chance to schmooze in Camelot. I suppose Maria will have to meet them sometime."
Wanda nodded sympathetically. "Sometimes those social settings are good buffers. Shall I order a corsage?"
"Absolutely. I have no idea what Maria's wearing so you might call and ask. And while you're at it, get yourself a big vase of whatever you like as well." He bent to drop a kiss on the top of Wanda's head.
She grinned. "You ARE in a good mood, boss!"
"Enjoy it while it lasts."
-oo-
Later that day, Obadiah stopped by, handing over a folder full of specs for a streamlined port docking system. Howard took it and tossed it on the desk; he'd get to it on Monday.
"Going to the dinner on Saturday?" he asked casually.
Obadiah gave a sheepish shrug and ran a hand through his thinning hair. "Yep. Loni's dead set on making an impression. I think she's got the hots for Bobby. You?"
Howard nodded. "Might be a good time to talk to Udall and Stevens about a donation for that national cultural center they're so dead set on building."
"Culture," Obadiah rolled his eyes. "Makes for a good tax write-off."
"Not everything's defined by numbers, Obie."
"I'm not interested in what isn't," came the quick reply. "That's why you hired me, and let me tell you, the way things are shaping up in Asia now, we stand to get some pretty fat military contracts if we line our ducks up," Obadiah pointed out. "Anyway, Loni and I will catch you Saturday."
Howard gave a nod as Obadiah stepped out of the office, his thoughts turning back to Loni Marshall Stane
She'd blown into his life three years ago, all big smiles and double-entendres and he'd been caught up in her bon vivant lifestyle. Loni was always the life of the party no matter where the party was. Few people could drink her under the table though many tried, and Howard remembered being dazzled by her drive, her glittering intensity.
The flip side of that polished life of the party image wasn't nearly as pretty, and Howard remembered mornings of sullen hangovers and fights that flared up over the smallest issues. Loni off-stage was cutting and ruthless, a woman determined not only to climb to the top of the social ladder, but to stomp on the fingers of anyone coming up behind her. She could smile and make sweet small talk with a person one day then cut them off completely the next, and that callous streak within her nature bothered Howard intensely.
When Howard wouldn't make a commitment to her, Loni turned her sights on Obadiah, and pursued him instead, making it clear that the only feelings that mattered to her were her own. It hurt, but Howard couldn't deny a sense of relief either. Later, he tried to warn Obadiah, but oddly his CFO merely smiled at the awkward hints Howard dropped.
"Come on-you can come out and say it. Loni's a bitch, but that's all right. I've got her number. She and I, we've come to a nice little understanding. She's going to be an asset to us, trust me."
Obadiah married Loni a few months after that, and although Howard declined the honor of being best man, he attended the ceremony and presented the newlyweds with a beachfront house in the Cayman Islands.
Nowadays Loni was passably friendly to him, always making it subtly clear that he'd missed his chance. Howard ignored the tiny reminders and avoided any mentions of their past, which had worked well until now. Now Maria was in the picture, and Howard wasn't sure what to do. He'd mentioned his relationship with Loni to Maria early on—it was common knowledge and while he wasn't about to deny it, he'd only mentioned the bare details. Maria for her part had been sympathetically tactful, and hadn't pressed for details.
He rubbed his eyes. Loni and Maria, facing off. Maybe it wasn't too late to plead a broken neck and stay home.