God, are you going to make me beg? Do I have to get down on my knees?”
Dallas sighed, knowing she was going to regret this. “Okay,” she said slowly. “How long do I have to pose and what do I have to wear?”
Trudie’s smile faltered. “Come on, let’s go have a drink or two first.”
“Trudie…”
Her friend got up from her desk, grabbed her purse and headed out the door. “I’m buying.”
Dallas followed. She was not going to like this. Not one bit.
ERIC HARMON PAID THE cabdriver and got out near Sixth and Lexington. No sign of Tom. He checked his watch. Traffic had been surprisingly cooperative, and he’d apparently beaten his friend to the rendezvous point a block from their office where they both worked for Webber and Thornton Advertising.
He squinted up at the twentieth floor and counted four windows from the corner, which was Tom’s office. The light was still on. But of course, so was the light in Eric’s office, two over from Tom’s, and Eric had no intention of returning to work. Not today. He was too beat.
They really should’ve met at Pete’s Grille, he realized. After the meeting he had just left, he could really use a double scotch about now. He checked his watch again, moved out of the way as a horde of pedestrians left the crosswalk and headed for him, then withdrew his cell phone from his suit jacket pocket.
“Put that away. I’m right behind you.”
He turned toward Tom’s voice and slid the phone back into his pocket. “I need a drink.”
“Me, too.”
Eric looked down at the briefcase his friend was holding. “Since when do you take work home?”
Tom shook his head, his expression grim. “I don’t care how bad your meeting went, be damn glad you weren’t in the office this afternoon.”
“Great. Tell me it doesn’t have to do with the Mercer account.” The advertising business could be a bitch. When you bonded with the client, you were on top of the world. But then there were those times when you thought about ordering a one-way ticket to Siberia.
“I’m not talking work until after I have a scotch.” Tom stepped back, accidentally bumping into a short blonde in a khaki suit. “Excuse me.”
At his dimpled smile, her irritation promptly vanished. “No problem.” She returned the smile, laced with a brief but obvious invitation.
Eric sighed. “Come on, Romeo. Let’s get to Pete’s before your wife calls and tells you to get your ass home.”
Tom gave the blonde’s swaying rear end a final appreciative look before turning toward Fourth Avenue. “Speaking of wives, since you don’t have one—” Tom said as if it were a crime “—who are you taking to Webber’s annual thanks-for-the-job-well-done-but-you’re-not-getting-a-bonus party?”
“Who says I have to take anyone?”
“Unspoken rule, my friend. You always show up and you don’t show up alone. The guy’s old school. He thinks everyone should be married and settled by the time they’re thirty. A mark you’ve already bypassed. Besides, didn’t you get the picture after the Christmas party? He didn’t like it that you were the only one flying solo.”
Eric scoffed. “That attitude’s not only ridiculously antiquated, it’s illegal.”
“Tell him that.” Tom’s head swung around after a redheaded jogger in a skintight green tank and running shorts who’d passed them.
“And then there are some guys who just shouldn’t be married.”
“What?” Tom glanced at him and laughed. “Only looking, pal. Only looking. Something you should be doing more of.”
Frankly he didn’t know how Tom did it. Juggle a wife, a successful but demanding career and an active and strategic social life. Of course, Tom’s first putt in life came with a handicap. Prominent Westchester family. Ivy League education. No student loans to repay. A wife with an impressive social pedigree.
Must be nice. Eric wouldn’t know. His background was Pittsburgh blue-collar all the way. Of his entire extended family, he’d been the first to graduate from college and escape a life sweating in the steel mills.
“Seriously, Eric,” he continued, “when was the last time you brought someone to a company function?”
“Why are we discussing this?”
“Tell me when and I’ll drop it.”
“Why would I subject a date to one of Webber’s boring parties?” He was about to cross the street when the light turned red. Normally that wouldn’t stop him, except a stretch limo came barreling around the corner from Lexington.
“See? Good reason to get married. Then the girl’s gotta go and be bored.”
“Right.”
Tom elbowed him. “Check out the blonde at three o’clock. The one in the red stiletto heels.”
Eric casually glanced in that direction. “Not bad.”
“Not bad? Are you nuts? That one could put you in intensive care for a month.”
Eric started to cross the street as soon as the light changed. Two cabs ran the red light and honked at the pedestrians who’d entered the crosswalk. Across the street several other cabs blasted their horns for no apparent reason. You’d never know the city imposed a three-hundred-fifty-dollar fine for unnecessary honking.
They’d barely made it across Fifth Avenue when Tom started in again. “Okay, I want you to point out your idea of the perfect woman.” He gestured toward the mass of people, mostly women in suits and running shoes, coming toward them. “You have a wide variety right here.”
“What is with you today?”
“Humor me.”
Eric shook his head in disgust, at the same time catching sight of a department store window display, taken aback by the realistic beach scene. Sand, sun, a threatening wave that looked as if it were about to crash over two incredibly lifelike mannequins and then right through the window onto the sidewalk. Computer generated, obviously, but realistic enough to earn some gasps from the crowd of onlookers and send an older couple back several steps.
Remarkable as the special effects were, what caught his attention was the blond mannequin in the red bikini. She looked so damn real. And perfect. Long honey-blond hair, sexy blue eyes, full lips that formed a tempting bow. And man did she have legs….
“Are you listening?” Tom got in his face.
“What?” Eric hadn’t realized he’d stopped. Right in the middle of the sidewalk, blocking everyone’s way. People muttered curses and stepped around him. “No.”
He looked back at the window. At the mannequin. She was amazing. Incredible. Too bad that kind of perfection could only be synthetic.
Tom
