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 floundered. “But…but I already have a noon meeting with the volunteers who are putting together the goodie bags, and then I—”
“Rearrange your schedule. I’m meeting with an important donor at one.” She swept out, leaving a suffocating cloud of Joy in her wake.
Great. Now she had to make another ten frantic phone calls to schedule another time for the volunteers’ meeting. A typical day on Planet Bridget. Abby took a desperate swig of espresso and hustled into her office. The phone was blinking. She grabbed the receiver. “Yes?”
“Abby? Dovey’s holding for you on line two,” the receptionist said.
God forbid he had another blind date. Dovey was determined to find her Mr. Right, and much as she appreciated his efforts, today was not the day. “Put him through,” she said. “Dovey? Are you there?”
“I am! And how is my lovely Abby today?”
“Not so lovely, I’m afraid. I’m swamped, and Bridget’s cracking the whip big time. Where are you? Can I call you back later?”
“This will take just a minute. How was your date with Edgar?”
“Train wreck,” Abby said, shuddering. “Bloodbath. Total carnage.”
Dovey clucked his tongue. “This may seem strange, but I’m glad to hear it, because I’ve found a much better candidate! Hetero, forty-three, handsome, intelligent, single—that is to say, divorced—”
“Divorced?” It made her think, uneasily, of Mysterious Mark. Brrr.
“Three times. The wives’ fault. Bitches, all three. Apart from that, he fits every requirement on the List, right down to liking cats!”
Abby took a gulp of coffee. “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves.” Dovey was so excited, she hated to tell him how unenthusiastic she felt. No matter how Listworthy this guy was, he wouldn’t have anything on a hunkadelic locksmith. “What does he do?” she asked dutifully.
“He’s a psychotherapist,” Dovey said. “I can personally vouch for his financial solvency, love. You could balance the budget of a small country with the money that I’ve paid him in the last few years.”
Abby stared out the window as she doodled on her desk calendar. “You’re sweet to think of me, Dovey, but can’t we give it some—”
“Just give me permission to give him your number,” Dovey pleaded. “Then just lie back and let destiny take its course.”
“That sounds alarming.” Abby fidgeted, fishing for an excuse.
“Pretty please?” Dovey wheedled. “He could be your date to the gala. I’ve already sold him a ticket. And he’ll look great in a tux.”
She doodled some more, stalling. “What’s his name?”
“That means yes, right? His name is Reginald Blake. You’ll love him. He’s perfect. I’ll call him up right away. Ciao!”
Abby hung up, and noticed that the locksmith’s number was still on her thumb. Her shower had faded it. Before she knew what she was doing, she had rewritten it on her thumb in fresh, wet black ink.
Yikes. She watched the ink dry, alarmed at herself.
It was normal to have fixated on Zan. He’d saved her from an awful fate. He was also drop-dead gorgeous. There was probably a name for this in the psych manuals; the Something-or-Other Syndrome.
A List-approved date was the perfect way to distract herself from this silly infatuation. Tonight, even. Why not? She ran her love life. She did not let it run her. And having a date for the gala would be nice.
Her eyes wandered to her desk calendar. Her doodles practically leaped out at her. Zan Duncan. Zan Duncan. Zan Duncan.
His name was emblazoned all over the month of June.
The chocolate-covered coffee beans Nanette had given her caught her eye, still wedged into the recesses of the plastic coffee lid. She pried them out, popped them into her mouth and crunched them up.
One had to take life’s little comforts wherever one found them.
Chapter
4
It was cold in Mark’s bedroom.
Elaine shivered, struggling against the strips of the silk scarf that bound her wrists and ankles to Mark’s bed. That scarf had been one of her favorites. A gift from Abby. She hadn’t wanted it ruined, but Mark hadn’t listened once he’d started to rend. Mark didn’t listen very well.
Hah. Was that ever a stunning understatement.
The coverlet was wadded into a scratchy bulge beneath the small of her back. Mark had left her there and
