Hot Night. Shannon McKenna
gala journal to make sure no big-shot VIP donors’ names were misspelled. Make a gazillion wheedling phone calls to remind trustees and Museum Council ladies to get their RSVPs in. Meet with the artists who were helping with the gala decorations, light a fire underneath their flaky artistic butts. Organize the volunteers to assemble and stuff hundreds of goodie bags with the gifts donated by local businesses and gala sponsors. Tally the money they’d pulled in so far, calculate how many more checks had to come in to reach their funding goal. Above all, she somehow had to avoid Bridget, her scary boss, in order to get it all done. Bridget was hell to work for, threatened as she was by Abby’s talent. Bridget was also married to the executive director of the museum. Enough said.
To make things even more fun, the admin offices had moved into the new wing this week, so everything was in boxes. It was the worst possible timing, right before the gala, but one could argue that it was Abby’s fault they were moving at all, since she was partly responsible for the budget surplus. She did try to look on the bright side of things.
Abby slipped into Elaine’s office. Elaine was on the phone. “Yes, fettucine alla boscaiola, and grilled swordfish…stuffed mushrooms, and the garlic calamari. For dessert, the panna cotta. Garlic-rosemary focaccia, and Prosecco…yes, and add a twenty-five percent gratuity for the delivery person. Same address as last night, please…yes, nine o’clock is fine. Charge it to the usual account. That’s great. Thank you.”
Elaine hung up the phone and turned. Abby’s cheerful greeting stuck in her throat. Elaine was lovely as always, in her fragile blond way, but she did not have the euphoric glow of sexual fulfillment.
She looked pinched. Haunted, almost.
Abby hid her dismay and set Elaine’s coffee down, rummaging in her purse. “Here are your house keys, as promised. So how about this secret lover? Did Mystery Mark let you sleep?”
Elaine’s gaze slid away from hers. “Not much.”
“A romantic dinner for two, huh?” Abby persisted. “Good for you. Who did you order that sexy meal from?”
“Oh, that’s Café Girasole. My mother has a corporate account.” Elaine looked sheepish. “I just call up and pretend to be Gwen, Mom’s secretary, ordering dinner for Mom. No one ever calls me on it.”
Elaine’s mother, Gloria Clayborne, was by far the richest woman in town. Abby could well imagine that no one called Elaine on it. That had to be at least a four-hundred-dollar meal from Café Girasole, the trendiest restaurant in Silver Fork. “Yum. Here’s your decaf soy latte.”
“Thanks, Ab, you’re a sweetie, but Mark already made me one.”
“He made you coffee?” Abby said approvingly. “Good man. He gets points. Did he make you breakfast, too?”
“No, he made me a decaf soy latte,” Elaine said, stressing every word. “He bought decaf espresso, he foamed the soy milk, he even sprinkled it with cinnamon. He remembered how I took my espresso from the first coffee bar we went to together. Every tiny detail.”
Abby blinked. “Wow. That’s, uh…that’s really special.”
“I know.” Elaine looked nervous. “Um, I have to ask a favor, Abby. I promised Mark I wouldn’t tell anybody about us. At least not until his divorce is final. So I would appreciate it if you kept it to yourself. I shouldn’t even have told you last night. He was so mad.”
Mad? At Elaine? Who could be mad at Elaine? It was like being mad at a baby bird. “Divorce?” Abby prodded gently.
“I can’t tell you the details until he’s comfortable with it. Please don’t be mad, OK? He won’t even let me park near his house, he’s so paranoid. He makes me park in a garage five blocks away.”
“Of course not. Don’t worry,” Abby said heartily. “My interest won’t go away. But Elaine…you look kind of peaked. Are you OK?”
Elaine sank down into her chair, her translucent eyelids fluttering. “He’s, well…I’m not used to…oh, never mind.”
Abby stared at her, eyes narrowed. “What aren’t you used to?”
Elaine looked strangely lost. “I don’t know,” she murmured. “It was so perfect, the first week. Then I started feeling, um, odd. The things he likes, they’re a little, well…extreme. And then last night, after he got mad, after you called, it got really, uh, strange.”
Abby was open-minded about sex, but not when it came to the fragile Elaine. Her protective instincts bristled up like gun turrets on a tank. “Define strange,” she demanded. “Please be specific.”
Bright spots of color stained Elaine’s cheeks. “It’s hard to describe,” she said primly. “It was a mood thing. Just, ah, darker.”
“Rougher? Did he hurt you?” Abby’s belly clenched.
“Oh, no! It was more, ah, psychological than physical.”
“Head games,” Abby said grimly. “Big pig. Thumbs down.”
“You’re overreacting.” Elaine’s voice shook. “I can’t expect a guy to be perfect, right? There are always adjustments to make.”
Abby shook her head. “No, honey. Some things you should take for granted. Like him being gentle and respecting your feelings.”
Elaine would not meet her eyes. “Don’t lecture me, please.”
Abby counted to five, lips tight. “I just worry about you, honey.”
“I appreciate your concern, but a woman’s got to take chances, right?” Elaine’s smile was shaky. “Isn’t that what you always tell me?”
“Within limits,” Abby specified. “As long as you’re having fun.”
Elaine looked childlike and uncertain. “I don’t know. Fun isn’t the right word for it. It’s more like being terrified. Or jumping off a cliff.”
“Ouch,” Abby said sourly. “Woo hoo. Sounds like a real party.”
Elaine didn’t seem to register her sarcasm. “He’s so gorgeous. I never thought such a handsome guy would be interested in me.”
Abby prayed for patience. “Elaine, you are beautiful. Top ninety-ninth percentile beautiful. For God’s sake, get it through your head. Women would kill to look like you. You’re being safe, at least, right?”
“Yes, Mother,” Elaine said demurely. “Don’t worry. Things will be better tonight. We just had a weird moment. A mood thing. No biggie.”
Abby declined to comment. Weird moment, her ass. Mystery Mark was a big fat loser, her instincts screamed it, but Elaine had to find out the hard way. Like Abby had. God knows she had no right to judge.
Still, she worried. In fact, her skin was practically crawling.
“Let’s grab lunch tomorrow, at Kelly’s,” Abby said. “You don’t have to tell me details. All I’m interested in is how you feel. OK?”
“OK,” Elaine said reluctantly. “It’s not like you think, Abby. He’s so romantic. He saw the Pirates’ Hoard last year when it was in New York. You know that Flemish medallion with the gold scrollwork and the sapphire cabochons? He says they’re exactly the color of my eyes. He wants to make love to me while I wear that necklace. Isn’t that sweet?”
Abby grunted, unimpressed. “He could buy the reproduction from the museum gift shop and play out his fantasy for two hundred eighty-five bucks rather than…How much is the Pirates’ Hoard insured for?”
“Forty million dollars.” The clipped voice from the doorway made them both jump. Bridget stalked into the office. “With two weeks to uncrate this installation, you ladies have more urgent things to do than titillate each other with sexual fantasies.” She turned a fishy glare upon Abby. “I need an update of your progress on the gala today at noon.”
Abby