Chapter 5

 

"Daphne, telephone!" Elaine shouted to make herself heard across the length of the busy workroom. "Line two," she added, carelessly dropping the receiver back onto the cradle of the phone as she punched the hold button.

Daphne looked up from her drawing board, her stomach clenching in anticipation. "Who is it?"

"Clare." Elaine made a face as she got up from her desk. "From the Dragon Lady Boutique. Again."

Daphne's stomach unclenched. She placed the violet pencil she had been using in the shallow trough at the bottom of her slanted drawing table. Pushing up the sleeves of her silk knit sweater with a resigned gesture, she reached for the wall phone that hung to the left of her cluttered work space.

"She says we positively, absolutely did not include the beaded belts with that last shipment of dresses," Elaine began to explain before Daphne had a chance to lift the receiver. "I told her they were packed separately so as not to snag the dresses, but does she listen to me? No-o-o, of course not. She wants to talk to you. I told her you were too busy but—"

Daphne shook her head at her assistant, silencing her tirade, and put the receiver to her ear. "Clare, how nice to hear from you," she said, lying through her teeth as she proceeded to verbally pour liberal amounts of oil—or something—over troubled waters.

Strictly speaking, this sort of thing was Elaine's job, Daphne thought with a flash of irritation as she listened to the complaining voice on the other end of the phone. Elaine was supposed to handle orders and back-orders, invoices and bills, shipments and slip-ups, and she had her own perky little nineteen-year-old intern to help her.

So why, thought Daphne, am I talking to the Dragon Lady? As if I don't have enough to do.

She was up to her ears in the final designs for next fall's collection, up to her ears in plans for an upcoming charity benefit, up to her ears in New York's slushy lionlike March weather, up to her ears period.

"Damn it, Elaine." She began chastising the young woman as soon as she hung up. "I can't be interrupted every ten minutes with a call that you could have handled perfectly well by yourself. What's the matter with you lat—" She stopped abruptly, suddenly realizing that every head in the room had snapped to attention at the sound of her voice.

There was a tiny millisecond of silence and nervous glances were exchanged as everyone reassured themselves they were not her intended target. A few wry, long-suffering smiles were traded. A few shoulders lifted in a "who knows?" sort of shrug. And then heads bent back over worktables, or lengths of fabric draped on long elegant bodies, and the hum of voices resumed as if nothing had happened. Except that Daphne realized she had nearly been shouting—again.

With a sigh, she propped both elbows on the drawing board and dropped her forehead into her cupped hands. "Damn," she swore softly.

She seemed to have been doing a lot of shouting in the past week. The volatile temper she had learned to control so well, losing it only when it would do her some good, seemed to be going off every twenty minutes. And it took embarrassingly little to light the fuse: models who were three minutes late for a fitting; the delivery boy from the deli downstairs bringing her tuna salad on white instead of whole wheat; Federal Express stopping by for a pickup five minutes later than they said they would; someone asking a simple question; the telephone. Especially the telephone. She kept hoping—and dreading—it was Adam.

It was all his fault, damn him, she thought savagely. Good manners, if nothing else, should have prompted him to call by now. It wasn't as if she was expecting declarations of love, or even an invitation to dinner the next time she was in town, but he could at least have called to make sure she had got back to New York all right. That would have been the gentlemanly thing to do. And even if he didn't want to talk to her, he could have written a polite little note saying that he had enjoyed seeing her again, couldn't he? He could have sent her flowers. Something. Anything. This deafening silence from the West Coast was making her feel like a one-night stand.

You didn't interrupt anything important.

A man could hardly get any clearer than that.

Oh, well, chalk one up to experience, she told herself. Blame it on human nature and the law of averages. Because, according to all the current experts, having a fling with one's ex-husband was almost boringly predictable. For some probably deep-seated masochistic reason, women seemed to do it all the time.

"Damn," she said again, more forcefully this time.

"Daphne?" Elaine's voice was hesitant. "Look, I'm sorry, okay? I should have handled the Dragon Lady myself. I—"

"It's not your fault," Daphne said from behind her hands. "I shouldn't have yelled at you."

Elaine reached out, putting a tentative hand on Daphne's shoulder. "Hey, are you all right?"

Daphne sighed and lifted her head. "I'm fine," she said, a smile of apology on her lips. She reached up and patted the hand on her shoulder. "Just fine, really," she added, and then grimaced. "Except for the fact that I've been acting like a raging bitch, that is. I'm really sorry." She gave Elaine's hand a light, affectionate squeeze before she released it. "Forgive me?" she said, reaching for the violet drawing pencil as she spoke.

"Oh, don't worry about it. I understand completely." Elaine shook her head, setting the glossy brown hair to bobbing around her chin. "Men."

Daphne smiled, amused in spite of herself. Elaine thought men, individually or as a group, were the root of every woman's problems. "What makes you think it's a man? Haven't you ever heard of premenstrual tension? The rising incidence of stress among working women?"

"Oh, come on, Daphne. Be serious. You've never succumbed to premenstrual tension in your life. At least," she amended, "not since I've known you. And you love this business, stress and all. Besides—"

"Maybe I'm just hungry," Daphne suggested. "You know how cranky I get when I'm hungry."

Elaine shook her head, dismissing that argument. "Besides," she said again, hooking a sheaf of hair behind her ear with the tip of one finger. "I'm not blind, you know. I saw that big juicy kiss he planted on you backstage."

"He?" Daphne tried, knowing it wouldn't work.

Elaine gave her a disgusted look.

"Okay, so my ex-husband kissed me. Big deal. One little kiss. A simple greeting between old—" she paused briefly, twisting the violet pencil between her fingers as she sifted through her mind for an appropriate word; there wasn't one—friends," she decided. "But, contrary to what you're obviously thinking, that kiss has nothing to do with my bad temper lately. That probably is just due to premenstrual tension. I do occasionally suffer from it, you know. Just like a normal woman."

"Uh-huh," Elaine grunted inelegantly. "Maybe. Except I also saw you leave the ballroom together." She paused significantly. "The second time."

"So?" Daphne's eyes narrowed in a not-so-subtle hint to drop the subject.

Elaine paid no heed. "So it didn't take a genius to see what the two of you were up to. It was as obvious as the nose on your face that—"

Daphne interrupted her before she could say another word. "What do you think of this new design?" she said very casually, gesturing toward the drawing on her worktable.

"Great." Elaine didn't even glance down at the sketches and, oblivious to the hint that had become a full-fledged warning, she plunged recklessly ahead. "Personally, I think it's always a mistake to—"

Daphne interrupted her again. "Elaine, dear," she said patiently, pleasantly, her husky voice as quietly deadly as a knife blade. "You like your job, don't you?"

Elaine, finally recognizing the tone, not to mention the look in her employer's eyes, merely nodded.

"Well, then, what do you think of this new design?" She tapped twice on the drawing with the tip of one mocha-colored fingernail.

"It's, uh, great," Elaine said, and then looked down at the drawing for the first time.

Sketched in violet were two views, front and back, of an utterly simple, scandalously sexy little camisole and tap pants set. The camisole had tiny spaghetti straps holding up a low V-neck. The matching tap pants were bias cut with a lettuce-edge hem that gave them a fluttery, feminine look without detracting from the simple lines.

"Hey, it really is great," Elaine said again after ten seconds careful study. She slanted a quick look at her employer. "When did you decide to branch out into lingerie?"

Daphne shrugged. "A couple of days ago, I guess. All those evening clothes were beginning to look the same to me so I started doodling around with a few new ideas and came up with this. You know how it goes." She lifted the top drawing, laying it aside to reveal other sketches of her proposed line of lingerie. There were sexy little teddies cut high on the leg, utterly simple silk chemises with a bit of delicate embroidery on the bodice, slinky bias cut nightgowns with softly draped fronts and thigh-high side slits, short man-tailored nightshirts and figure-flattering wrap-front robes. They were all done in her own signature style; completely feminine and totally sexy without relying on the excessive use of ruffles and lace.

"I thought I'd do everything in two color families," she told Elaine, her voice tinged with the excitement she always felt about new designs. "Violet, lilac and a pale silvery gray for the cool colors. Bronze, peach and a creamy ivory for the warm spectrum. All solids so that they can be mixed and matched within their color families. And everything in silk or silk blends. I definitely want to use a silk jacquard for some of the camisole and pant sets. Maybe some of the chemises, too. And, I think, a really rich panne velvet in the two darkest colors for the robes since it'll be for the fall season." She looked up at Elaine. "What do you think?"

"I think you've been doing more than just doodling around with a few new ideas. These are really great, Daphne." Elaine picked up a couple of sketches to study them more closely. "They'll give a whole new meaning to the name Night Lights, won't they?"

Daphne grinned. "That's the idea."

"A whole new line, then, huh?" Elaine said, beginning to get excited about the possibilities.

"Maybe." Daphne had learned to be a tiny bit more cautious over the years. "We'll see how this first collection goes over before we make any long-range plans for expansion."

"Oh, it'll be wonderful," Elaine stated emphatically. "Elegant, feminine, sexy. The collection has Daphne Granger written all over it."

"Yes, but will it sell?"

"How can you ask that? I can hardly wait to have one of everything in the violet and lilac myself."

"Maybe so," Daphne teased, "but you're not exactly a paying cust—"

"Mrs. Granger, you have a call on line one," Elaine's eighteen-year-old assistant interrupted diffidently.

Daphne's head snapped up at the words, a half panicked, half inquiring look skittering over her face.

"It's Mrs. McCorkle," the girl added.

The panic receded instantly, replaced by righteous indignation. Ah-ha, Daphne thought, practically pouncing on the phone in her eagerness to express the feelings that had been bottled up for the past week. And who better to express them to than the very person—the rat—who was responsible for the emotional turmoil she found herself in.

"Sunny, you traitor," Daphne said without preamble. "I ought to strangle you. If you were here right now I would strangle you. That was the lowest—"

"It's nice to hear from you, too," Sunny said cheerfully.

"—sneakiest trick you've ever pulled," Daphne accused. "You're responsible for this... this mess. You engineered the whole thing. I know you did."

"Engineered what mess?"

"Don't give me that Miss Innocence routine. I know you, remember? You knew Adam was at Children's Hospital. You knew he was going to be at that charity benefit. You engineered it so he'd be there. Why didn't you tell me?"

"Oh, is that what this is all about?" Sunny's voice was innocence itself. Daphne could practically see her waving one hand in an airily dismissive gesture, her nails gleaming blood red—or whatever the color of the week was—as she did so. "I didn't think you were interested in what Adam was doing these days." She paused for just a beat. "Or are you?" she inquired silkily.

"No, I'm not," Daphne lied. "But I would have at least liked to have been warned that he was going to be there, you know."

"Why? I mean, if you don't care about him, what difference does it make?"

"Well, it was a bit of a shock, that's all." Daphne glanced sideways, realizing that Elaine was still standing next to her worktable, eyes wide as she blatantly listened to every word. She lowered her voice and turned more toward the wall. "I didn't expect to see him and it, uh, threw me off balance. A little," she amended quickly.

"In a pig's eye," Elaine mumbled from behind her.

Daphne hunched her shoulder, pointedly ignoring her assistant's commentary.

"Well, gee-whiz," Sunny was saying. "If I'd had any idea that just seeing him again was going to upset you this much I would have said something."

"I am not upset."

"You two seemed to be getting along just fine when I saw you standing in the doorway to the ballroom. Quite chummy, actually. I remember telling Brian how friendly you two looked and—Hey," she interrupted herself, "where did you guys disappear to anyway?"

"We went to the cocktail lounge for a drink." Daphne cast a quick look over her shoulder to see if Elaine was still standing by the drawing board. She was. "Don't you have anything better to do?" Daphne said irritably. "No, not you, Sunny. I was talking to Elaine." She pinned her assistant with a look. "Well?"

"Okay, okay. I'm going." Elaine moved a few feet away, one of Daphne's sketches still clasped in her hands. She lifted it to the light as if to examine it. "I'm gone."

Daphne turned back toward the wall.

"And, well, Brian and I wondered where you'd got to." Sunny was rattling on in her usual cheerful manner unaware, or unconcerned, that Daphne hadn't been listening to her. "Brian was right, as usual. He said you'd probably gone off by yourselves to catch up on old times."

"We didn't go off by ourselves," Daphne said, when Sunny finally paused for breath. "We went to the cocktail lounge."

"Whatever," Sunny agreed absently. "So, listen—as Brian is always reminding me, this is long distance—the reason I called is to invite you to a party next week. Now before you say no, Daphne," she hurried on before Daphne could say anything, "remember you did tell me you'd be back in town then because of the meeting with what's-her-name over at I. Magnin. And as long as you're going to be here anyway I thought, well, hell, why not come to our party? It'll be a real hoot! All the old gang's coming. Kathy and John Martinelli. Remember them? Still married and still fighting like cats and dogs," Sunny informed her gleefully. "Pippa Eaton, too. Only I think it's Pippa Gerard now. Or is it Germain? She's married so many times that I can't keep track. And Gail Scott. And Carl Ferguson. Remember him? The one with the—"

"And Adam, too, I suppose?" Daphne interrupted.

"Well, of course, Adam, too. It's his party."

"I thought it was your party."

"Well, I'm giving it," Sunny said patiently, as if explaining something to a particularly backward child. "But it's for Adam. His thirty-seventh birthday, remember? It's sort of a welcome home, too, of course. We're all glad to see him back in San Francisco where he belongs. Brian thought—"

"You mean you're throwing a birthday party for Adam? And you expect me to come to it?" Daphne could hardly believe her ears.

"Well, yes. That's exactly what I expect." Sunny paused and a huge sigh wound its way through the telephone wires. "I mean, all the old gang's going to be there and you're part of the old gang," she continued. "You wouldn't want to spoil my party, would you?" she asked tremulously, sounding like a small hurt child on the verge of tears.

"I hardly think my not coming is going to spoil your party," Daphne said dryly, knowing quite well that Sunny was doing her level best to manipulate her into going.

"It will," Sunny insisted. Daphne could almost see her bottom lip stuck out in a pout. "I've already told everyone you'll be there. And they're all looking forward to seeing you again."

"Well, I'm sorry but you're just going to have to untell them because I'll be too busy to come."

"Oh, come on, Daphne, don't say a definite 'no,' okay? I know you're terribly busy and everything, and this trip to San Francisco is supposed to be business, but it would be so much fun if you could make it. Say you'll at least try to make it, okay? Please?" she wheedled. "Just try to stop by?"

Daphne, realizing that she had been manipulated by a master, said she'd try. "But don't count on it," she warned, knowing it would do no good.

"Terrific!" Sunny squealed, taking Daphne's partial concession as a total capitulation. "See you on the twenty-eighth. And wear something drop-dead sexy," she ordered, hanging up before Daphne could remind her that she'd only said she'd try to make it, not that she'd actually be there.

She reached out to put the phone back in its cradle, shaking her head as she did so. That Sunny, she thought, give her an inch and she'll run away with it.

Well, despite what she'd said to Sunny, she had no intention of going to Adam's birthday party. Why ask for trouble? Because that's what it would be, she told herself, trouble. That night with Adam had been a mistake from the get-go. But with him right there in the flesh, looking at her with that burning heat in his eyes, she hadn't really cared.

Well, now she cared. Because now it hurt. And now she missed him as sharply, as deeply, as she had eleven years ago when the wounds were fresh and new. For the past week, she had been weaving crazy, impossible dreams about happily-ever-afters that had ceased to be possible the day he filed for divorce.

No, she told herself, firmly pushing away the thought of seeing him again. No, I'm not going to that party.

"I think you should go." Elaine's words, so in tune with what she had just been thinking, made Daphne start with surprise.

She turned to look over her shoulder, the surprise fading as she realized that Elaine was only responding to the conversation she had overheard and not answering Daphne's unspoken comment. "Oh, you do, do you?" she said, a warning light in her eyes.

"Yes, I do," Elaine stated emphatically. She put Daphne's sketch on the drawing board and wiped her hands nervously down the front of her neon-green miniskirt. "And if you'll promise not to bite my head off, I'll tell you why I think you should."

"I have a feeling I'm not going to like this," Daphne said, her voice resigned. "But go ahead, anyway." She cocked her head invitingly, her forearm resting against the edge of the drawing board. "Why do you think I should go to this party?"

"Because," Elaine wiped her hands on her skirt again, pausing at the look in Daphne's eyes, and then rushed ahead. "Because, ever since he kissed you," she said, "you've been moping around like some lovesick prom queen with a crush on the quarterback, that's why."

Daphne snapped upright. "Some lovesick prom—" she began indignantly, then stopped, knowing all too well how true the accusation was.

"You practically jump out of your skin every time the phone rings," Elaine went on as if Daphne hadn't opened her mouth. "You're irritable and cranky. You snap at people for no reason." Elaine fixed her with an accusing stare when Daphne opened her mouth to refute it. "Don't try to deny it, Daphne. You know you have."

"I wasn't going to deny it," Daphne pointed out calmly.

"You weren't?" Elaine looked skeptical, and totally surprised that Daphne hadn't bitten her head off.

"I know I haven't been a joy to be around lately," she admitted with a small smile of self-deprecation. "But what I don't know is how you think my going to Adam's birthday party is going to change things. The way I see it, it will only make it worse." She sighed and shook her head, firmly pushing the idea away. "No, the best thing for me to do is stay as far away from Adam as possible. I'll get over it, just like I did the last time," she murmured, lying to herself as well as Elaine.

"Oh, no, that's the worst thing you could do."

Daphne raised her eyebrows in silent query.

"No, really, it is. Just think about it a minute," Elaine urged. "If you stay away from him you'll think about him all the more. You'll wonder what it would be like if you got back together again and you'll remember how it was when you were together. Only you'll remember it better than it really was. Then you'll start to miss him so bad that you ache inside and you'll begin to dream about all the good times you had and forget all the bad ones. And there must have been some bad times," she pointed out reasonably, "or your marriage wouldn't have ended the way it did."

Daphne's mouth dropped open slightly as Elaine described her feelings to a T. Every word the younger woman said made perfect sense. It was exactly, exactly, what Daphne had been thinking and feeling for the past week.

"But," Elaine continued, warming to the subject, "if you go out to California, see him again, even have an affair, maybe... Well—" she shrugged philosophically "—it'll give you a chance to get him out of your system. See? And you'll probably realize that your relationship wasn't as good as you remembered."

"My God, Elaine," Daphne said, awed at her uncannily accurate reading of the situation. "How do you know so much?"

"Well, Suzie told me what you'd told her," she admitted reluctantly. "About how you got married so young and the divorce and everything."

"No, I didn't mean that," Daphne murmured absently, too bemused by the good sense of what Elaine had said to be bothered by the fact that her friends had been gossiping about her. "I meant how did you know..." Her voice trailed off and she stared at Elaine for a moment without seeing her, her golden-brown eyes focused inward.

"How did I know what?" Elaine prodded.

"What? Oh, nothing. It wasn't important." She shook her head as if to clear it, and then smiled. "Do you think you could stand taking care of my cats for a couple of days?" she asked.

"You're going, then?"

"Yes," Daphne said decisively. "Yes, I'm going."