Drive Me Wild. Gwynne Forster
by her first name. He needed all the help he could get if he was going to keep his mind on his two jobs—his work as a journalist and his job as her chauffeur.
“Maybe not,” he said to himself, “but if I don’t watch it, we’ll both think it fell.”
“What? What did you say?”
“Nothing. Looks like I was thinking out loud, ma’am. Did you make arrangements for a mover to pack your things?”
“Yes, and I thank you for the suggestion. How long do you think I’ll have to wait for my car?”
“Not long. I’ll speak with the dealer and let him know this is an emergency.” He finished eating, pushed his plate aside and showed her the chart he’d made comparing the ratings of the two cars. “There’s not much of a basis for choosing between them. On the matters that count, they’re both boss cars.” He handed her the chart.
She studied it for a few minutes, waved the waitress over and said, “Miss, could we please have some more coffee? You’re right. They’re fairly equal, and that’s comforting. Which do you like to drive?”
“I like the Town Car. I’ve driven it a lot, and I enjoy riding in it.” She didn’t have to know that his parents always drove one. “If you do much traveling, you’ll appreciate its roomy trunk, too,” he added.
She sipped coffee, thoughtfully it seemed to him. “Okay. We’ll get the Lincoln.” She folded the papers and handed them to him. After he drained his cup, she rose. “Ready to go?”
He stood at once. Didn’t she know that a rich New York woman wouldn’t ask her chauffeur if he was ready to do anything, and she certainly wouldn’t have waited while he took his time drinking coffee.
He stood. “After you, ma’am.”
She gave him an outraged look, and he couldn’t help laughing as he walked behind her. But his mood immediately switched to serious as the view of her perfectly shaped tush wiggling in front of him heated his groin. He’d never been so relieved as when he stepped outside into the cool of April, and his gaze could fix itself on something other than her mobile behind.
She looked up at him. “Do you think we should have brought our driver a cup of coffee?”
He needed no more evidence of her humble background than that question. “I’m sure he’d appreciate it,” he said, mainly to avoid making her feel bad, “but his company probably has rules against his drinking or eating anything while on the job.”
They returned to the dealer where she wrote the salesman a check for half the price of the Town Car. “I want a silver-gray one,” she said. “These big black cars make me think of funerals.” She looked at him with what he thought was a silent appeal for approval.
“Ladies tend not to like black cars,” he said, based on his experience with his mother and sister. “Silver-gray is elegant.”
“When will I get it?” she asked the manager of the dealership who had joined his salesman.
“I can have it here for you Wednesday afternoon.”
“How’ll he manage that?” she asked him as they headed for her apartment. “It usually takes weeks to get a new car.”
“You didn’t ask him to give up any of his commission. If you had, you’d have had to wait at least six weeks. He’ll call around, find out which dealer has a gray car coming in, give him a few hundred bucks, and you’ll get your car.”
“Are you serious?”
“In deals this big, Gina, money talks.”
“I thought it always talked,” she said.
“There are some mountains that money won’t move, and I’m sure you’ve encountered one or two of them.” The car stopped, and he got out and opened the door for her.
She stood between him and the open car door. “Yes, Justin, and that’s a good thing.” She stared up at him as if searching for something, then shook her head from side to side. “Life is strange,” she murmured, almost inaudibly. “You never know what will happen next.”
Chapter 2
Once inside her apartment, Gina kicked off her shoes, walked into her living room and looked around. What on earth did she need a big expensive car and a chauffeur for? She could drive as well as anybody, provided she had something to drive, and her need of a man like Justin Whitehead definitely had nothing to do with automobiles, large or small. She didn’t have to pack, she didn’t have to clean because she was moving in less than a week, so what could she do? The phone rang and she raced to answer it.
“Well, how’re we coming?” Miles asked.
“I don’t know what you mean,” she replied, aware that her tolerance for Miles lessened each time she saw him or spoke with him.
“Well, we ought to be getting on with the terms of the will.”
“We? You mean, there’s something in the will that applies to you? I read it carefully, and that is not the impression I got.”
“Well, you know what I mean. As executor of the will, it’s my duty to see that it is carried out to the letter.”
“Miles, I appreciate help when I need it, but if you lean on me too heavily, I may make you very uncomfortable. Goodbye.” She suspected that Miles Strags would one day be her enemy, but knowing it didn’t mean she’d kowtow to him.
Later that day, Gina went furniture shopping for her new place. Being wealthy certainly had its perks, she thought. Her first stop was Bloomingdale’s furniture department to choose the furnishings for her bedroom and guest bedroom. She didn’t like what she saw, called a car service and visited the big furniture-store showrooms in the borough Queens. Two months earlier, if she had needed furniture, she would have gone directly to the Lower East Side. Within two hours, she found what she wanted. After releasing the car, she stopped by her favorite Italian restaurant and ate dinner. It wasn’t the haunt of the hoity-toity, but it suited her. Veal scallopini with spaghetti and broccoli, a salad and a glass of pinot grigio, all for under thirty dollars, was as much class as she needed. She felt as if she’d just splurged. As she walked out of the restaurant, she wondered what Justin would have thought of her having dinner in the same suit she’d worn all day. She did that regularly when she dined out, but she’d bet his previous employers wouldn’t have done it.
I wish I’d met him under different circumstances. I wonder what he did before he decided he had to work as a chauffeur. He’s nice and all, but somehow, it doesn’t suit him.
Sunday, after church, Gina went to Heddy’s apartment for one last visit. While there she saw a vase that reminded her of Heddy and decided to take it. She telephoned Miles. “People from the charity will be here tomorrow to take the things from Heddy’s apartment. Would you like to come and see if there’s something here you’d like to have, perhaps as a memento of Heddy?”
“Uh…well, now…that’s very nice of you. I think I would. Are you there now?” She told him she was. “If you can wait about twenty minutes, I’ll be there.”
Hmm. Interesting. The man was too proud to ask for a souvenir of someone he’d known, by her calculation, approximately thirty-five years. When he arrived, he went directly to a hutch in the dining room, lifted a pair of blue porcelain lions and caressed them.
“These are very old. I believe Heddy said they were Ming Dynasty or something like that. I’m not sure, but I’ve always loved them. Thank you so much. I…uh…Would you care to join me for supper?”
She caught herself just before her bottom lip dropped. “Thank you, Miles, but I already have plans,” she said.
“Some other time?” he asked, leaving no doubt about his purely male interest in her.
“Perhaps, but I’m so busy, I can’t say when.”