February
Ginny stared off into the distance as the plotter droned on and on, drawing up the latest set of plans for the San Marin County Court House. The darn thing had only been changed about a thousand times! All those years of night school so she could create beautiful houses for the rich and famous and what was she doing? Working for Abraham, Smith & Snyder (the employees loved that acronym) drawing square, ugly buildings that would fit in the County budget.
Sigh.
At least all these revisions gave her lots of time to daydream.
In the six months since she had returned from vacation, Ginny had run the day at Castle Dracula through her mind so many times she felt like a VCR stuck on permanent fast-forward.
Over and over she remembered the feel of her phantom lover's lips on hers. His strong arms, his hard body. In her dreams, he came to her and played her body like a finely- tuned instrument. But she never saw his face.
She wondered again for about the hundredth time how he could have seen her when she couldn't make out hide nor hair of him, only dark on dark. He had called her beautiful but it had been pitch black in that stairwell. Had he just handed her a line to get what he wanted? For some reason, she was certain that was not the case. He had been very sincere. Maybe he was blind, `seeing' with his hands? No, that explanation didn't work either - He hadn't felt her face. Could he have meant beautiful in an emotional sense, like a beautiful personality?
Ginny grimaced, wrinkling her pert little nose.
Get real! He was a man, emotions had to pried out of most of them with a crowbar. Besides, he'd hardly known her long enough to comment on her personality. The only logical conclusion was the same one with which she had been confronted at the time, and every day since: He had actually seen her. But, how?
She shook her head, a look of confusion drawing her dark brows so close together they almost met at the bridge of her straight nose. Long, dark lashes fell over sky-blue eyes as she closed them to clear her mind of images that never failed to frustrate her. Behind her lids, the scene played again.
The suffocating darkness, the strong arms, the all-consuming kiss, and then - the abandonment. The beam of a flashlight had found the stairs as his last words, 'be careful', were still echoing through the stairwell. The tour guide had come up one short when counting his tourist lambs and had gone looking for the stray. Finding the stairs, he had, of course, assumed she had fallen down them, and descended to find the body.
She had informed the guide that there was a man down there doing some sort of work, but he had just smiled at her with that look that said he thought she, along with most English, should be locked up somewhere for her own safety.
As their guide was hustling everyone back to the bus, Ginny had asked him if he were going to look for her rescuer. He had given one sharp shake of his head and Ginny had seen the one thing she had expected all along on this tour - fear. It shone clearly in his dark eyes. No, he was definitely not going any farther down those stairs than he had ventured to find her.
She had protested, wanting desperately to find her would-be lover, but the others on the tour were becoming a little perturbed with all the delay. Ginny had had no choice but to get on the bus, leave Dracula's castle and spend the rest of her tour waiting for the touch on her shoulder that would put a face on the phantom. It never came. She supposed someday she would stop waiting. Someday.
The blare of her telephone rudely shook her from her musings. The LED display on the top of the phone read "Mr Abraham." Ginny's throat tightened. What had she done? What had she gotten caught doing? Her hand reached out and jerked the receiver from its cradle, but took its time getting it to her ear. She cleared her throat and answered in her best professional voice.
"Ginny Parker."
"Ms. Parker?"
Oh, yuck! It was Lois, Mr. Abraham's secretary. She was the type that called everyone `Ms.' because it was her life's work to be politically correct. For the most part, Ginny hated politically correct.
"Yes?"
"Mr. Abraham would like to see you in his office at 10:45 this morning. Does that suit your calendar?"
"Just a minute, let me check."
Ginny pushed the `hold' button, looked at her desk clock and quietly seethed. 10:30. This was just like Lois. She had probably known about this meeting since 9 o'clock this morning, if not yesterday, but she loved to throw around her power, making it clear that her boss, and, therefore, she, to a certain extent, controlled everybody. What was Ginny supposed to say: `Sorry, I can't see the big boss this morning, I have an appointment to get my dog clipped'? Still, she would let Lois sweat on hold for a minute, thinking she might have miscalculated this time. Examining her not-very- long-but-well-manicured fingernails as she slowly lifted the phone back to her ear, Ginny pushed the button, freeing Lois from Muzak limbo.
"Nothing I can't reschedule, Lois. Please tell Mr. Abraham I'll be there."
She swore she could hear the sigh of relief.
"Very well, Ms. Parker," Ginny ground her teeth and imagined Lois in her underwear, something her mother had told her to do if someone she couldn't tell off ever annoyed her. The picture was so funny, she had to stifle a giggle. "We will see you at 10:45 sharp."
Click.
Ginny nearly ran to the bathroom. Dark red business suit trimmed in black. Check. White blouse, collar demurely buttoned with just the slightest hint of white lace chemise showing. Check. Skirt short enough to let them know you're under 30, long enough to say you're a serious businesswoman. Check. Nylons tight, no runs. Please, God, no runs! Check. Black shoes shiny, no scuffs, two-inch heels. Check. Whip the brush out of her purse, run it through her long auburn hair, making sure it framed her face to perfection, a plump curl resting over one breast, the rest of the mass behind her shoulders falling to the middle of her back. Check. Brush back in purse, make-up bag out. Carefully reapply deep-red lipstick to emphasize the full lips with which God had blessed her. Check.
Arching her brows at her reflection, Ginny decided she looked fine.
Besides, rumor had it that old Mr. Abraham couldn't see beyond his nose without his glasses and was usually too vain to wear them! She dropped off her purse back at her office, picked up her briefcase - all the best- dressed business women wore them - and arrived at Mr. Abraham's office at 10:43.
Lois looked at her wristwatch disapprovingly. Ginny wondered if she were supposed to walk through the door at exactly 10:45.
Probably.
Lois pushed her librarianish glasses up the bridge of her nose and picked up her phone.
"Mr. Abraham, Ms. Parker is here for your appointment."
With an imperious nod, Lois returned the receiver to its cradle, stood and opened one of the double doors that right-angled her desk. She waited as Ginny passed through the door, then pulled it closed behind her. Ginny wondered if that was what the slamming of the coffin sounded like.
"Parker, come in, sit down."
Ginny quickly occupied one of the three overstuffed chairs that sat, uncrowded, in front of Mr. Abraham's huge mahogany desk. This office screamed executive. The entire wall behind the desk was window, the plush carpet a deep chocolate brown. And the bookcases! How would it be to have eight-foot-tall mahogany bookcases in your office?
Before she could peruse the place further, Mr. Abraham cleared his throat and claimed her attention, getting right to business. His authoritative tone came from years of being immediately obeyed. "Mr. Tyler Alan wants Abraham, Smith and Snyder to design, and handle all construction details for, his residence at Park Lane. His budget is open. He wants a single architect to handle the whole operation. He asked for you by name, Parker."
Ginny's heart jumped into her throat, stuck there and stopped beating. Her own project? A house? She had the sudden urge to pinch herself to be certain she wasn't dreaming. Tyler Alan? Did she know him? Had she met him at some office party and forgotten? Had he seen examples of her work and decided she had the style he wanted for his home? Wow, what a responsibility! The whole project. Was she ready? She realized with a start that she wasn't listening to Mr. Abraham.
"...were ready to take on that kind of responsibility but he was quite adamant that you be the architect. The customer's always right, so they say. Unless, of course, you feel that you aren't ready to handle something this big, in which case I can tell Mr. Alan that you weren't comfortable..."
"When do I start?"
Though it might make life at good ol' A.S.S. unbearable in the future, Ginny was not going to pass up an opportunity like this. Even if it meant interrupting Mr. Abraham himself. She knew he felt she hadn't proven herself enough to run a solo project. Well, the only way she was going to prove she could swim with the sharks in the deep water of business was to jump in with both feet. She just hoped she didn't drown.
Standing up for yourself in a predominantly man's world was a touchy proposition. She didn't want to come on too strong and find herself labelled a bitch, but she refused to be the good little girl, doing everything she was told without question, or credit, in short, to be a doormat. Striking a happy medium made you a bitchy doormat. Also not a good position. Being a businesswoman was tricky business.
Mr. Abraham frowned his disapproval at her interruption, but one corner of his mouth twitched slightly as though it wanted to rebel and turn up in a smile. Ginny breathed a sigh of relief. She had done the right thing. Mr. Abraham tossed a manila folder across his desk, something akin to making a field goal. It landed directly in front of her.
"There's the basics - size and layout of the lot. A few of Mr. Alan's ideas; though, I have to admit, he doesn't seem to be too picky. Check on that before you put too much work into this thing, Parker. He might be one of those who gets all his ideas after you've worked your ass off and gotten everything under way. Then he wants to `change a few things'. Usually means redesigning the whole damn thing from the ground up. Talk him up good to begin with and you might be able to head that off at the pass. He wants to meet you for dinner at the address on the inside flap of that folder. 8 o'clock tonight. Any problems?"
Ginny had begun studying the stats, visions of Scarlett O'Hara's Tara dancing in her head. She now realized that she was being dismissed. She stood and shook Mr. Abraham's outstretched hand. The firm handshake told her all she needed to know about his confidence in her handling this project.
She was about to open the door when Mr. Abraham's quiet, for him, "Parker," made her turn back to face his desk. "I don't know why Alan asked for you specifically. I hope it's your talent, you've got plenty of it. If it's not, if he tries anything funny..."
He dropped his eyes to the ground, a man used to knowing exactly what to say at a loss for words. When he raised them again, he looked slightly angry.
"Abraham, Smith and Snyder will not pursue any project at the price of the dignity of one of our employees. And our lawyers will be happy to sue the bastard if he thinks differently!"
With that, he sat and turned to his computer, his embarrassment at the subject matter he had just addressed apparent in the dark red coloring his face and neck.
Ginny quietly said, "Thank you, Mr. Abraham," and left his office. She managed to get through Lois' office and into the hall before her maturity deserted her. As soon as the door closed she pulled her elbows into her sides and said, "Yes!" Stomping her feet, she turned in a little circle, resembling the cartoon character Snoopy.
"Yes, yes, yes!"
She sailed on air to her office where she closed the door, sat down her briefcase, then broke into a rousing chorus of James Brown's `I Feel Good'. After a couple minutes of dancing and singing, she sat behind her desk, put her feet up, leaned back and began imagining what it would be like to have a wall of glass at her back and giant mahogany bookcases at her side.
Ginny stared off into the distance as the plotter droned on and on, drawing up the latest set of plans for the San Marin County Court House. The darn thing had only been changed about a thousand times! All those years of night school so she could create beautiful houses for the rich and famous and what was she doing? Working for Abraham, Smith & Snyder (the employees loved that acronym) drawing square, ugly buildings that would fit in the County budget.
Sigh.
At least all these revisions gave her lots of time to daydream.
In the six months since she had returned from vacation, Ginny had run the day at Castle Dracula through her mind so many times she felt like a VCR stuck on permanent fast-forward.
Over and over she remembered the feel of her phantom lover's lips on hers. His strong arms, his hard body. In her dreams, he came to her and played her body like a finely- tuned instrument. But she never saw his face.
She wondered again for about the hundredth time how he could have seen her when she couldn't make out hide nor hair of him, only dark on dark. He had called her beautiful but it had been pitch black in that stairwell. Had he just handed her a line to get what he wanted? For some reason, she was certain that was not the case. He had been very sincere. Maybe he was blind, `seeing' with his hands? No, that explanation didn't work either - He hadn't felt her face. Could he have meant beautiful in an emotional sense, like a beautiful personality?
Ginny grimaced, wrinkling her pert little nose.
Get real! He was a man, emotions had to pried out of most of them with a crowbar. Besides, he'd hardly known her long enough to comment on her personality. The only logical conclusion was the same one with which she had been confronted at the time, and every day since: He had actually seen her. But, how?
She shook her head, a look of confusion drawing her dark brows so close together they almost met at the bridge of her straight nose. Long, dark lashes fell over sky-blue eyes as she closed them to clear her mind of images that never failed to frustrate her. Behind her lids, the scene played again.
The suffocating darkness, the strong arms, the all-consuming kiss, and then - the abandonment. The beam of a flashlight had found the stairs as his last words, 'be careful', were still echoing through the stairwell. The tour guide had come up one short when counting his tourist lambs and had gone looking for the stray. Finding the stairs, he had, of course, assumed she had fallen down them, and descended to find the body.
She had informed the guide that there was a man down there doing some sort of work, but he had just smiled at her with that look that said he thought she, along with most English, should be locked up somewhere for her own safety.
As their guide was hustling everyone back to the bus, Ginny had asked him if he were going to look for her rescuer. He had given one sharp shake of his head and Ginny had seen the one thing she had expected all along on this tour - fear. It shone clearly in his dark eyes. No, he was definitely not going any farther down those stairs than he had ventured to find her.
She had protested, wanting desperately to find her would-be lover, but the others on the tour were becoming a little perturbed with all the delay. Ginny had had no choice but to get on the bus, leave Dracula's castle and spend the rest of her tour waiting for the touch on her shoulder that would put a face on the phantom. It never came. She supposed someday she would stop waiting. Someday.
The blare of her telephone rudely shook her from her musings. The LED display on the top of the phone read "Mr Abraham." Ginny's throat tightened. What had she done? What had she gotten caught doing? Her hand reached out and jerked the receiver from its cradle, but took its time getting it to her ear. She cleared her throat and answered in her best professional voice.
"Ginny Parker."
"Ms. Parker?"
Oh, yuck! It was Lois, Mr. Abraham's secretary. She was the type that called everyone `Ms.' because it was her life's work to be politically correct. For the most part, Ginny hated politically correct.
"Yes?"
"Mr. Abraham would like to see you in his office at 10:45 this morning. Does that suit your calendar?"
"Just a minute, let me check."
Ginny pushed the `hold' button, looked at her desk clock and quietly seethed. 10:30. This was just like Lois. She had probably known about this meeting since 9 o'clock this morning, if not yesterday, but she loved to throw around her power, making it clear that her boss, and, therefore, she, to a certain extent, controlled everybody. What was Ginny supposed to say: `Sorry, I can't see the big boss this morning, I have an appointment to get my dog clipped'? Still, she would let Lois sweat on hold for a minute, thinking she might have miscalculated this time. Examining her not-very- long-but-well-manicured fingernails as she slowly lifted the phone back to her ear, Ginny pushed the button, freeing Lois from Muzak limbo.
"Nothing I can't reschedule, Lois. Please tell Mr. Abraham I'll be there."
She swore she could hear the sigh of relief.
"Very well, Ms. Parker," Ginny ground her teeth and imagined Lois in her underwear, something her mother had told her to do if someone she couldn't tell off ever annoyed her. The picture was so funny, she had to stifle a giggle. "We will see you at 10:45 sharp."
Click.
Ginny nearly ran to the bathroom. Dark red business suit trimmed in black. Check. White blouse, collar demurely buttoned with just the slightest hint of white lace chemise showing. Check. Skirt short enough to let them know you're under 30, long enough to say you're a serious businesswoman. Check. Nylons tight, no runs. Please, God, no runs! Check. Black shoes shiny, no scuffs, two-inch heels. Check. Whip the brush out of her purse, run it through her long auburn hair, making sure it framed her face to perfection, a plump curl resting over one breast, the rest of the mass behind her shoulders falling to the middle of her back. Check. Brush back in purse, make-up bag out. Carefully reapply deep-red lipstick to emphasize the full lips with which God had blessed her. Check.
Arching her brows at her reflection, Ginny decided she looked fine.
Besides, rumor had it that old Mr. Abraham couldn't see beyond his nose without his glasses and was usually too vain to wear them! She dropped off her purse back at her office, picked up her briefcase - all the best- dressed business women wore them - and arrived at Mr. Abraham's office at 10:43.
Lois looked at her wristwatch disapprovingly. Ginny wondered if she were supposed to walk through the door at exactly 10:45.
Probably.
Lois pushed her librarianish glasses up the bridge of her nose and picked up her phone.
"Mr. Abraham, Ms. Parker is here for your appointment."
With an imperious nod, Lois returned the receiver to its cradle, stood and opened one of the double doors that right-angled her desk. She waited as Ginny passed through the door, then pulled it closed behind her. Ginny wondered if that was what the slamming of the coffin sounded like.
"Parker, come in, sit down."
Ginny quickly occupied one of the three overstuffed chairs that sat, uncrowded, in front of Mr. Abraham's huge mahogany desk. This office screamed executive. The entire wall behind the desk was window, the plush carpet a deep chocolate brown. And the bookcases! How would it be to have eight-foot-tall mahogany bookcases in your office?
Before she could peruse the place further, Mr. Abraham cleared his throat and claimed her attention, getting right to business. His authoritative tone came from years of being immediately obeyed. "Mr. Tyler Alan wants Abraham, Smith and Snyder to design, and handle all construction details for, his residence at Park Lane. His budget is open. He wants a single architect to handle the whole operation. He asked for you by name, Parker."
Ginny's heart jumped into her throat, stuck there and stopped beating. Her own project? A house? She had the sudden urge to pinch herself to be certain she wasn't dreaming. Tyler Alan? Did she know him? Had she met him at some office party and forgotten? Had he seen examples of her work and decided she had the style he wanted for his home? Wow, what a responsibility! The whole project. Was she ready? She realized with a start that she wasn't listening to Mr. Abraham.
"...were ready to take on that kind of responsibility but he was quite adamant that you be the architect. The customer's always right, so they say. Unless, of course, you feel that you aren't ready to handle something this big, in which case I can tell Mr. Alan that you weren't comfortable..."
"When do I start?"
Though it might make life at good ol' A.S.S. unbearable in the future, Ginny was not going to pass up an opportunity like this. Even if it meant interrupting Mr. Abraham himself. She knew he felt she hadn't proven herself enough to run a solo project. Well, the only way she was going to prove she could swim with the sharks in the deep water of business was to jump in with both feet. She just hoped she didn't drown.
Standing up for yourself in a predominantly man's world was a touchy proposition. She didn't want to come on too strong and find herself labelled a bitch, but she refused to be the good little girl, doing everything she was told without question, or credit, in short, to be a doormat. Striking a happy medium made you a bitchy doormat. Also not a good position. Being a businesswoman was tricky business.
Mr. Abraham frowned his disapproval at her interruption, but one corner of his mouth twitched slightly as though it wanted to rebel and turn up in a smile. Ginny breathed a sigh of relief. She had done the right thing. Mr. Abraham tossed a manila folder across his desk, something akin to making a field goal. It landed directly in front of her.
"There's the basics - size and layout of the lot. A few of Mr. Alan's ideas; though, I have to admit, he doesn't seem to be too picky. Check on that before you put too much work into this thing, Parker. He might be one of those who gets all his ideas after you've worked your ass off and gotten everything under way. Then he wants to `change a few things'. Usually means redesigning the whole damn thing from the ground up. Talk him up good to begin with and you might be able to head that off at the pass. He wants to meet you for dinner at the address on the inside flap of that folder. 8 o'clock tonight. Any problems?"
Ginny had begun studying the stats, visions of Scarlett O'Hara's Tara dancing in her head. She now realized that she was being dismissed. She stood and shook Mr. Abraham's outstretched hand. The firm handshake told her all she needed to know about his confidence in her handling this project.
She was about to open the door when Mr. Abraham's quiet, for him, "Parker," made her turn back to face his desk. "I don't know why Alan asked for you specifically. I hope it's your talent, you've got plenty of it. If it's not, if he tries anything funny..."
He dropped his eyes to the ground, a man used to knowing exactly what to say at a loss for words. When he raised them again, he looked slightly angry.
"Abraham, Smith and Snyder will not pursue any project at the price of the dignity of one of our employees. And our lawyers will be happy to sue the bastard if he thinks differently!"
With that, he sat and turned to his computer, his embarrassment at the subject matter he had just addressed apparent in the dark red coloring his face and neck.
Ginny quietly said, "Thank you, Mr. Abraham," and left his office. She managed to get through Lois' office and into the hall before her maturity deserted her. As soon as the door closed she pulled her elbows into her sides and said, "Yes!" Stomping her feet, she turned in a little circle, resembling the cartoon character Snoopy.
"Yes, yes, yes!"
She sailed on air to her office where she closed the door, sat down her briefcase, then broke into a rousing chorus of James Brown's `I Feel Good'. After a couple minutes of dancing and singing, she sat behind her desk, put her feet up, leaned back and began imagining what it would be like to have a wall of glass at her back and giant mahogany bookcases at her side.