Julie Michele Gettys

1

 

Jack Davis was forcing her hand. She had to decide if the spoils were worth the risk.

Della took great pains to look her best today. She picked a tight-fitting green suit and a rust-colored blouse to show off her curves and shoulder-length auburn hair. Her makeup highlighted her pale complexion and green eyes. With a quick turn in front of the mirror, she approved her appearance and left early for work.

Except for the muffled sounds of burgeoning early morning traffic on Lankershim Boulevard, the office was quiet. The Universal City Globe Travel branch was bright and cheerful, with colorful posters of exotic places hanging on the walls–places she rarely had time to visit with her busy schedule. Ten metal desks filled the room. From ten a.m. to six p.m., the office was busier than an anthill. Old Davis was making a fortune. He had ten offices and a new one nearly completed, due to open in two months.

Her office, dammit!

Della sat behind her desk, her back erect, her words poised, a letter of resignation in her desk, waiting for The Man. She wasn’t trying to be difficult, she was just tired of being pushed around.

Jack Davis, a skinny, forty-five-year-old bachelor with a ridiculous, oversized handlebar mustache and a balding pate, breezed past her to his office. “In early, I see. Coffee made?” he said without stopping to say good morning.

“No, but all it needs is some water over the grounds.” Where was it written she had to make the coffee?

He froze in his tracks, turned back to her. “My, my, we’re plucky this morning. Rough night last night?”

She stood, mustering courage. “As a matter of fact, I’ve had a few lately.”

“Wanna talk about it?”

“I do.”

“Come in.” Strutting to his office, he said over his shoulder, “Pour that water and bring us both a cupper.”

Cupper, indeed. She mocked his strut to the back room, poured the water in the tank. Over the heady aroma of fresh-ground Starbuck’s, she organized her thoughts until enough coffee for two cups had dripped through the spigot. Leaving home, living on a tight budget, and no job experience had been far more intimidating than bluffing her boss to get the job she wanted more than anything in the world. Besides, Jack would never let her go. She was too valuable an employee.

She waltzed into his office with two mugs of coffee, feeling brassy outside and antsy inside. She sat in front of his oversized oak desk and ran her fingers over the smooth, polished wood. A lot better than her gunmetal, she thought.

He leaned back in his big winged chair with a smug smile on his long, narrow face. Why had her respect and admiration for this man turned sour over the past year? He had seen her through the misery of her divorce-had been almost like a father to her. She, in turn, shared all her secrets with him. But lately, since Gary came on board, Jack had pulled away. They weren’t going out for drinks on Friday nights anymore. He treated her like she was just another employee in the office, not someone he had plans for in the near future. Being a glorified clerk, with a few travel perks she didn’t have time to use, wasn’t her idea of success.

She had bigger dreams.

“Well,” he said, as if he were ready for her and knew the agenda.

She cleared her throat, straightened. “You promised me the next office. Rumor has it, Gary’s getting it. Is that true?” The hard edge in her voice shocked her. Shocked him, too. He stiffened.

“You’re good at what you do, Della. You got the Gates account. Worth a lot of money to us. I want you here, working with me. I’ve raised your salary.” He paused, obviously choosing his words carefully. “Gary handles the girls better. I don’t think they’d respond to you in the same way.”

She broke into an indignant laugh. “I guess not. I don’t handle the ‘girls.’ Now, if you’re inferring I can’t manage them, maybe we should take a poll. Polls are in these days, aren’t they?”

Jack rose, walked around his desk and sat on the corner. “I’m going to make you assistant manager of this office. See here?” He picked up a small box. “These are your new business cards.”

He handed them to her, smiling proudly. She opened the box, pulled out a card and stared at it.

Stunned, she said, “You’re kidding, of course. You really think embossed business cards and a title will make up for my own agency? I’ve been the assistant manager for the past year and a half. Really, Jack. You can do better than that.” They had jostled like this since they first met.

“The next office will be yours.”

“Two years from now?”

“When I think you’re ready.”

She rose, her heart hammering, her eyes blurring. God, she was going to cry in front of the boss. No, not now. But her disappointment and anger were so out of control, she couldn’t help herself. “What is this, when I’m ready? I’m ready now. I work twelve-hour days. I nurture my clients, follow up, bring in new business. I snagged the Gates account. What exactly do I have to do to get ready?”

“There’s more to running your own office than being a good worker.” He walked behind his seat and leaned against it. “Honey, you’re a baby. You’re only twenty-five. For chrissake, don’t rush everything.” He sighed. “You need some polish. Talking to you about how you dress and act is not my forte. That was your mother’s job. Have you ever thought of taking a--” He slid into his seat. “Oh, hell, I’m no good at this. You’re just not ready.”

“So, tell me, what’s polish got to do with my doing a good job? Have you had any complaints?”

“No, but I know what I want for a manager in one of my offices.”

“So, I don’t wear Donna Karan. I try to dress as nicely as I can.”

“You overdress. You try to look too sexy.” He shook his head, buried his face in his palms. “Jeez, I told you I was no good at this stuff.”

Jack had done it this time, insulting her like this. He was just looking for a reason to give the new office to Gary. If he did, she had no choice but to quit. But this had been her only job–she’d never done any other kind of work. The travel business was all she knew. Fear overtook her. She clamped her mouth shut, turned to leave.

“If you’re thinking about quitting, don’t be hasty. It’s a tight market right now. You might have a hard time finding another job making the kind of money you earn here. I’ll send you to some classes.”

“For my degree?”

He shrugged. “No. Classes to help you look and feel better about yourself.”

With her back to him, her knuckles whitened on the doorknob. Cleaning toilets, selling burgers, even doing dishes sounded better than selling herself short.

Tears streamed down her cheeks. She opened the door and left without giving him the satisfaction of seeing how distraught she was.

Back at her desk, phones jangled, the staff was hard at it, and Iris Hartman from Gates office waited for her. With a stack of folders three inches thick tucked under her arm, the woman was ready to dig in and work for the next two hours. All Della wanted to do was slap her resignation letter on Jack’s desk. Maybe spending time with Iris was what Della needed to cool her heels, force herself to think things through. She had to control her impulsive behavior.

“Let’s go into the conference room.” She dabbed the tears under her eyes with her finger.

Iris Hartman, a woman in her fifties, probably looked the way Jack expected Della to look--decked out in suits, silk scarves, and expensive perfume–all out of Della’s reach financially, of course. Jack didn’t pay her that well.

In spite of the superficial stuff, Iris wasn’t very attractive. Known to keep a low profile, she worked quietly in Wesley Gates’s shadow. It was said she knew all his secrets, and spoke for him in his absence. Probably had the brains of a scientist or, as rumor had it, Gates’s wife preferred someone “safe” working at her husband’s side.

“What’s the matter?” Iris laid her folders on the conference table, then put a compassionate hand on Della’s arm.

“Oh, just a little disagreement with Jack.”

“He’s a pistol. I don’t think I’d like working for him.”

“Would you like coffee?”

“No, thanks. I’ve had my quota today.”

Whenever Iris came to Globe, she spent time telling Della about her exciting work life. Iris trusted her, and enjoyed sharing little secrets about the Gates empire. Gates was into the most interesting businesses:  an entrepreneur who owned a management firm that handled rock stars, clothing manufacturing with a famous designer who dressed the stars, and many other interests that fascinated her. Today she needed an ear, to see if she was doing the right thing. Who better to ask than Iris, a woman Della admired and respected? She was the perfect person to hash it over with.

Iris looked at her Rolex, a man’s watch that she wore under her wrist instead of on top, which intrigued Della. Once in a while, after Iris left, she slid her watch under her wrist, pretending to be more like Iris. She liked the way she merely lifted her arm to see the time. The Rolex turned her on, too, but she wanted a classy lady’s watch with a few tiny diamonds. Anyone who made really good money could afford to look classy. Why did Jack expect her to on the salary he paid her?

Iris laid a hand on hers. “Wes is being a tyrant. If I don’t get back early, I’ll be working until all hours. Good thing I’m single. No man would put up with my schedule.” Iris’s smile lit up her face, erasing the wrinkles and sagging jowls.

“Suits me, too,” she said. “I don’t mind working all hours. If I ever find another husband, I’ll scale back.”

“You never told me you were married before.”

“I don’t talk about it.” She glanced down. “It wasn’t a pretty picture.” She rarely talked about her past. Catching her husband in bed with another woman had done nothing for her fragile ego. She was ashamed of having a father she didn’t know, a man who paid to have her aborted. And why tell people her mother was a drunk and a prostitute, and that she had even done it herself a few times, to make money when there were no legitimate jobs after school? She hadn’t seen through an undercover cop on her second time out, and she got busted. The thought of anyone finding out she had a police record for prostitution horrified her, and she never engaged in prostitution again.

Iris leaned in. “My marriage wasn’t a pretty picture, either. But I did end up with a career out of it.” She leaned back. “Maybe I’ll have that coffee after all.”

Della returned to her desk, took out her resignation letter, then poured Iris a coffee. Back in the conference room, she handed them both to Iris.

“What’s this?” Iris eyed the letter.

“My shaky future.”

Iris read intently, set it down and frowned. “Are you sure you want to do this?”

“If I don’t, it means I sit back and wait for opportunity to come to me. That doesn’t work.” She knew; she had watched her mother wait for nothing all her life.

Iris raised an eyebrow.

“And I have bigger plans for myself,” Della went on. “What would you do in my place?”

Iris sipped her coffee, pondering. “Make sure I had another job lined up. Mean it, don’t bluff. I don’t know much about Jack Davis, but if it were Wes Gates...he’d let me go. He’d consider himself blackmailed.”

“I think Gates and Davis are two different animals. From what you’ve told me, you’d probably never have to do this with Gates.”

“You’re right.”

“Thanks, Iris. I’ll sleep on it.” She grinned.

“Jack does have a lot of respect for you. Don’t act out of anger,” Iris advised.

Courage failed her when it came to telling Iris what Jack had said about her lack of style. With their strong professional relationship, surely Iris would have said something if it were true.

Della fumed. Nearly three, and Jack was still out; or, more likely, soaking up those martinis he reeked of most afternoons.

On impulse, she ignored Iris’s advice, took her letter into Jack’s office and laid it on his desk, just to shake him up a bit. A little something to greet him when he was feeling mellow. She smiled to herself and rubbed her hands together in a self-satisfied gesture. Jack loved Della. Della loved Jack. He bent when the wind blew. And she was a blowin’.

An hour later, Jack thundered out of his office in a huff and ended their love-hate relationship by dropping the resignation on her desk. “You don’t have to give notice,” he said in an indignant tone. “You can take your things and leave now.”

The shock of his calling her bluff hit her full force. She had counted on his folding.

Absolutely folding!

When push came to shove, she imagined Jack giving in to her. She had lost count of the times he’d told her she was his most valuable employee. “You serious?” Confused and upset, her eyes blurred–not from tears, but from fear. Jack was yanking her security blanket out from under her. Globe Travel was her home. Her life revolved around her job.

He glared at her, held his ground, didn’t say another word. With his arms akimbo, he waited for her to make a move. She swallowed over the lump in her throat, stared at Jack while opening the bottom drawer of her desk, took out her purse and stood, faking enough strength to walk out of the office with her head up. “I’ll collect the rest of my things later.”

A silence fell over the office. Everyone stared at her. Diane, Jack’s secretary, a young woman she admired, swung her chair around to avoid eye contact. Della was humiliated.

“No. I’ll have them sent to your apartment by messenger. You may leave the keys on your desk.”

He wasn’t bluffing. She fumbled with her key ring. A broken nail later, she removed the front and back door keys, laid them in front of him on the desk, and left.

She drove down Lankershim Boulevard in a daze, too numb to cry. That sinking feeling she thought she’d never have to endure again was tugging at her gut. Cars honked when she sat too long at a light.

What had she done?

Why hadn’t she listened to Iris?

As of this moment, she had no career. She had placed herself in the ranks of the unemployed, wasn’t even qualified for unemployment insurance. She had voluntarily quit her job.

At her apartment, she wandered from room to room, admiring the nice furnishings and china she’d managed to keep from her divorce. Here she was, out of work, with less than a thousand dollars in the bank to carry her for God knows how long. Surely, there was a job at another travel agency. She might not make the same money Jack paid her, but she’d survive.

At the wet bar, she poured herself a scotch and swallowed it neat. The burning down her throat soothed her shattered nerves. This was how Lillian handled her problems.

What now? She took the bottle and a glass to her bedroom. With a hefty swig of scotch, she was feeling no pain. What did Jack Davis know about women’s clothes and style? She swished her skirt with her free hand. What the hey, she looked good. Phooey on him. His thinking of her as a slut was just a phoney-baloney excuse not to promote her.

The bed and her teddy bear, Arnie, looked more than inviting. She poured herself another drink, guzzled it, then lay down and cuddled her childhood companion. At the rate she was going, there was no way she’d prove to her mother she had what it takes to succeed. “Well, ol’ buddy,” she said, holding the bear above her glassy eyes, “guess I’m repeatin’ history.” Her words slurred. A wave of nostalgia swept through her.

Looking at her teddy bear, she remembered when she was five and Lillian took her to Disneyland. It was one of the few times in her life when she and Lillian did anything special together. It was a day filled with fun. Even after all these years, she still remembered it. Lillian had bought her the bear on the way out. She named him Arnie, and they had spent many lonely hours together over the years.

She squeezed the bear, and let the tears roll uncontrollably down her cheeks. All she wanted was to fall into her mother’s arms.

2

 

On Saturday, a perfect Southern California day, Della decided to visit her girlfriend, Celia, in Newport and spend the weekend with a shoulder to cry on. An extended family was, many times, better than the real thing. Monday morning she’d hit the pavement, find a job, and get her life back in order.

The uncrowded 405 was an easy drive, allowing her time to do a little forensic thinking, dissect what got her in this crappy position. Analyzing her weaknesses was a bad habit, causing lost sleep on many a night, and what the hell good did it do her? It didn’t change her. She still put her foot in it all the time, and she was out of a job, wasn’t she?

Since being out on her own, she’d lost a husband, a job, and now she stood to lose her furniture, car, and those beautiful dishes she treasured, all the necessities of life that meant so much to her. She wasn’t materialistic, but until she married Kent, she had nothing, nada, because of Lillian. Lillian chose welfare over work and men over man, which kept Della in a state of zero possessions. Her life had been a series of hand-me-downs.

One of her most embarrassing moments happened the first day of high school. Lillian had purchased a secondhand dress for $3.50. It was a beautiful dress, and Della preened in it all morning before school. Then she found out through the in-crowd’s snickers and whispers during lunch in the cafeteria that it had belonged to none other than April Jensen, cheerleader, the most popular girl in school. Buying clothes from a thrift shop wasn’t a bad thing, if you had money and came from a respectable family. Kids did it all the time. But when you’re on welfare and second-hand clothes were all you ever had, forget it. Della vowed from that day forward to wear only new clothes, even if it meant she had only one or two outfits.

While most of the kids had two parents, new or used, she just had her mother, and Lillian didn’t relish having a daughter hanging around, getting in the way of her business. Lillian had told her that her father knew who she was, but wanted nothing to do with her. He was one of many men who’d crossed Lillian’s doorstep. When Lillian conceived Della, he said he was too young, didn’t want to be strapped down with a wife he didn’t love and a kid he couldn’t afford. So, he paid Lillian to abort. Instead, she took a vacation, bought herself a few snappy outfits, then sat back and waited for the birth of her daughter and for the welfare checks to start rolling in.

Oh, God, why dredge up all these atrocious memories? When Lillian sent her out on her own, she made it perfectly clear she wasn’t going to tell her who her father was. That meant Della had only herself to rely on. Feeling sorry for herself wasn’t the way to get what she wanted most. And she’d never understood why it was so important that she impress Lillian. She needed a psychiatrist to tap into that one.

“Hey, girl,” she said aloud. “The weather’s perfect. It’s one of those grand Los Angeles days when the smog is hurling its way out to sea, and the humidity is low. You’re alive. Get a life.”

She rolled down the window, turned on the radio and sang along with Celine Dion, faking the words, and off-key, of course.

Traffic was light. Up ahead was an out-of-the-way golf course. Since she and Celia hadn’t set any particular time for Della’s arrival, and golf being one of her passions, she decided to squeeze in nine holes.

Kent, her ex-husband, had warned her if she didn’t learn the game, she’d end up a “grass widow.” She had learned, and learned well. She played such a fine game, other players walked up and told her what a beautiful swing she had. That pissed Kent off royally, particularly if he’d been playing badly.

Since it was afternoon and the morning players had abandoned the place, she had no trouble getting on. She could play alone.

As she teed up, the starter announced over the loudspeaker, “Miss Garland, this gentleman would like to join you.” Damn! She didn't want to play with anyone.

A strikingly good looking man ambled up to her side. “My name's Rick. Mind if I join you?”

Yes, I do, she thought. You can't. I'm in no mood to play with anyone right now. I came here to be alone. Just because you’re an Adonis with all those muscles rippling under your T-shirt, a gorgeous head of thick black hair, and a set of warm cobalt eyes filled with expectation doesn't mean I'm going to be alone with you in this beautiful sunshine for the next two hours. “Great,” tumbled out of her mouth, “but I hope I don't slow you down.”

He shot her a devastating grin. “Ladies first.”

She stood over the ball and trembled.

“Don't you think you should go up to the ladies's tee?” he said in a superior tone.

“No, I like to hit from back here.” Why the hell was she so nervous? After all, he was only a man. She concentrated, drew her club back slowly over her shoulder, held perfectly still for a split-second, then threw her whole body into her downswing and sent the ball soaring more than two hundred yards down the center of the narrow fairway.      

“Holy shit,” Rick sputtered. “Excuse the French, but you can’t be more than five-foot-two, and you hit that ball like a man.”

She looked up at him and smiled demurely. “Haven’t you heard that dynamite comes in small packages?” Della released a long grateful sigh. She would never have recovered if she’d duffed her first shot.

Before finishing three holes, he carried her bag on one shoulder and his on the other. She felt comfortable with him. He was easy to talk to, and his gentle grin left an indelible impression on her. By the ninth hole, she had decided to take him up on his offer to play the back nine. Newport and Celia, ta-ta.

The warm afternoon sun, Adonis, and playing a spectacular game helped her shed the weight of the past few days from her shoulders. Momentarily, she felt no pain or remorse.

At the end of the game, he escorted her into the snack bar and they laughed and talked nonstop through a hot dog and two beers each. She found herself struck with a calamitous case of love at first sight, which she had sworn off the day she left her husband.

“Would you like to play next week?”

“Love it. But let's play a more challenging course.”

“I'll make reservations and call you...if you'll give me your number.”

Della hesitated. She remembered the day Kent walked into her office to make plane reservations for Las Vegas. She’d felt the same instant attraction, had dated him for four months, and married him. He nearly ruined her life. No seconds for her; at least, not unless she was sure to succeed.

“Here,” he pulled a card from his wallet, “you call me and tell me where we play.”

Her feelings for this stranger had struck her so hard, she was stunned. Instead of continuing her journey to Newport, she called her friend, canceled, turned around in a daze and headed home. Why was this happening again? Where was the armor she had placed around her heart? Why now? Why did Rick Courtney make her heart flutter and give her a case of the jelly legs? And why was she thinking of calling him the minute she got home and asking him to her place for dinner? Once again, she dropped her life in her purse like a tube of lipstick, and did not give a rat’s ass about her painstaking plans not to act like her mother.

Despite the warning signals running rampant in her brain, she felt a new energy, a zest for life. Funny, how a man could have this effect on her. She poured the remaining scotch and gin down the drain, sat at the dining room table and went through the list of travel agencies where she had connections. By God, one of these agencies had a job for her. Next time, if she ran into a wall too high to climb, she’d find another job first, then leave with dignity. You can sit on it, Jack Davis. You’ll regret your hasty action.

 

Monday morning burst through the half-closed blinds like a bolt of lightning. Della jumped from her bed, took a cold shower, and dressed in her finest. She decided to take half of her nest egg and shop for clothes. Not ordinary clothes--power clothes. If she must throw herself on the mercy of a new boss, she might as well take some of Jack’s advice and try to look her best. A new ‘do, new clothes, a new attitude, and maybe even a new dude. She quivered at the thought.

In front of the mirror, she approved her reflection. Della does LaLa Land. She must start over and not look back. No toilets, no burgers, no welfare. After all, she had two years of college, six years’s experience working for Jack in the travel business, and a good head for figures. She could do anything she set her mind to, even if it meant building up her qualifications a little to get a job. Whatever it took!

In Studio City, The Working Woman, a dress shop she never felt was within her reach, awaited her. She bought herself two new suits, with blouses and accessories to match. These would be her uniforms until she got her first paycheck. Once she had fifteen interchangeable outfits, enough to look different every day for three or four weeks, she might start saving for a new car. Something with pizzazz. Thank you, Jack Davis, and I don’t need any bleeping Barbizon, either.

Decked out in one of her new outfits, she pounded the pavement, calling on old friends in the business to see if they had anything now, or coming up in the near future. Over the next three days, at each office she visited, it was like a veil had been dropped around her.

Had Jack blackballed her?

She shook her head. She wouldn’t put it past him; Jack didn’t like being crossed. But this wasn’t funny. With her new clothes, the rent due, and her cupboards looking emptier every day, she was on the brink of deep doo-doo.

By Wednesday, she was freaking out. In the back of her mind, she had believed finding a new job would be a snap. She was well-known and respected in this business. Why, even old Gates thought she was great.

Thank God, she dumped her booze. No more drinks for her–a good motto to remember on the down days when drowning in the stuff felt so good. The chicken way out; Lillian’s way out.

Finally, her quiet phone rang for the first time since she’d been fired. She thought of all the offices she’d been to over the past few days and wondered if maybe, just maybe, one of those folks out there had come up with her dream job. Before she reached the phone, it stopped ringing. Her heart sank. Damn, her answering machine was off; must have done that in a stupor.

The time had come to get out of her cocoon and take life seriously--if she wanted to eat and have a roof over her head, that is. The phone didn’t ring again the rest of the day.

That night, she lay in bed and thought about Rick. She hadn’t made a tee time for this week as she’d promised, nor had she called him. With time to think and her feet planted firmly on the ground, she decided she was in no position to get involved with a man, even Adonis. She had to find a job. The zestful feeling was gone, and so was the fear of falling into the same old mantrap.

 

* * *

 

Jack Davis sat behind his big oak desk. His office was like a tomb. Without Della flitting about, the place felt like somebody had pulled the plug. But no woman was going to pin him against the wall and tell him what to do. His mother had done enough of that to last him a lifetime. It was she who, after years of making every decision for him, telling him when and where to get on and off, finally made him turn his back on the family travel business and set up shop for himself. In ten years, he was on the move, surpassing his parents’s business.

Della bursting in, holding him up for the new office when he had already settled on Gary Evans, made him snap. People thought of Jack as wishy-washy, but that was just a facade. Nice guy outside, man of steel inside.

Over the years, he’d learned to put a lid on his emotions, which to some represented weakness. But he was far from weak. He puffed up his chest. He guarded himself and rarely made snap decisions, like he had with Della. No woman had the right to tell him what to do, especially when it came to his business. And that’s how he handled his personal life, too. Maybe that’s why he’d never held onto a woman. From his perspective, controlling him was all most of them wanted to do.

Della had a long way to go before she was ready to run one of his offices. She didn’t know how to dress; she was crude in many ways. With her background, it was understandable. She was lucky to have come as far as she had. Too bad he hadn’t drummed up the nerve to talk to her earlier, help her get her act together. Lord knows, he had many opportunities to do so; they had spent countless evenings on bar stools, drinking after work. She’d told him plenty about her past; how angry she was with her father–maybe as angry as Jack was with his mother, and Della didn’t even know the man. God help the poor sucker if she ever found him.

Granted, Jack had hinted at giving her an office after she snagged the Gates account, but that was a fluke. Gates had gotten Della on the phone because she answered first. She put together a great trip for him and his family. Hell, Gary, Amy, or any of the staff could have done the same thing. So, why sit here and rehash the past?

Jack remembered the first day at the job fair on the City College campus when Della said she thought the travel business sounded interesting, and didn’t mind starting at the bottom just to learn. In spite of her tacky appearance, he had been impressed with her enthusiasm and hired her on the spot. She reminded him of a young Bette Midler, only prettier. He thought time and a little experience would help her bloom. Well, she bloomed all right. She worked her tail off, handled clients with aplomb, kept the office humming–but running her own office, uh-uh. With another year’s experience and a makeover, maybe. “Della, Della, Della, you little twit. Why couldn’t you have trusted me?”

His private line rang.

“Mr. Davis, this is Iris Hartman.”

“Hi, Iris. To what do I owe the privilege?”

“Mr. Gates would like to speak with you.”

Jack hated it when secretaries and assistants placed puffed-up executives’s calls for them. He’d been to parties with Gates, talked with him from time to time. The least he could do was call him directly.

“Hi, Jack,” came Gates’s booming voice. “I won’t waste your time, but I understand Della Garland has left your employ.”

Jack was on alert. He stammered. “She turned in her resignation.”

“What are her plans? Is she moving to another agency?”

“Wait a minute. Nothing’s final.”

“We’ll be moving our business to wherever she goes. I thought I’d let you know. Until further notice, we’ll be doing our own travel arrangements. Thank you for past service. You’ll surely miss Della. She was an asset to your firm.”

“We’re having a cooling-down period,” he lied, then brazenly went on, “We should be making the final decision this week.” God, he prayed Della hadn’t found another job. Fortunately, he put out the word on her.

He had to get her back.

Losing the Gates account would delay the opening of his new office. As a matter of fact, without the Gates account, he couldn’t open the new office. Jack didn’t run a tight fiscal company.

Gates said, “Sorry, old buddy. It was Della I wanted to handle my account.” Wes hung up without a good-bye, which also irritated the hell out of Jack. He thought they only did that in movies.

Jack slammed down the receiver, then shook for a solid five minutes.

That bitch had him by the gonads.

 

* * *

 

The next morning, the phone rang before Della’s coffee had finished dripping. This time, she grabbed the receiver on the second ring.

“Della,” came Iris’s familiar voice. “I heard the news.”

“Look, Iris, I feel like a fool. I asked for your advice, then didn’t take it.” She paused. “How’d you find out?”

“One of the girls from the office told me. I think you did the right thing. I told Wes about it. He asked me to call you to see if you’d like to come in Monday and meet with him.”

“You’re kidding! He wants to see me personally?”

“He does, indeed. When I complained about doing the travel again, he said we’ll work it out. So, I guess he has something in mind for you. Are you interested?”

“Iris, you’re making me the happiest girl in the world!”

“Be here at ten sharp. Wes is very punctual.”

She hung up the phone and jumped in the air, her knuckles in her mouth to break the scream in her throat. She grabbed her teddy bear and danced around the room, singing, “We’re in the money, honey.”

A loud knock came at the door. Della froze. She wasn’t expecting anyone. “Who is it?” she said through the closed door.

“Your boss, Jack.”

3

 

Della yanked open the door. “Well, as I live and breathe, if it isn’t my old boss, Jack Davis.” Had she forgotten something in her desk he thought important enough to drop off? Sure, as if old Jack would inconvenience himself. Sending a messenger was more his style, just like he’d done a few days ago. She had sobbed as she unpacked her daily planner, her special pens, even those dumb business cards, and a bag containing her set of cosmetics for freshening up at the office, her toothbrush and toothpaste.

“What’s up?” She pretended to be casual, leaning against the door. He wore his usual spiffy gray suit, the narrow, old-fashioned tie, and a starched white shirt. He shot his cuffs and cleared his throat.

“I came to apologize.”

She remembered how callously he slammed that resignation letter on her desk, without even thinking she might be bluffing; he made her turn in her keys, as if she’d sneak in after hours and steal something. Hadn’t she worked for him six years, lived in that office night and day?

Stepping back, she allowed Jack into the apartment. “Why apologize?”

“Because I acted as hastily as you did. I want you back. It isn’t the same without you.” He turned around and looked her in the eye. “Ever see a great big tank filled with water, greenery, a filter bubbling away and no fish? It’s pitiful. That’s the way the office feels.”

For one brief moment, she forgave him. “Thanks, I needed that.” Then she walked past him to the kitchen, laughing. He followed. “So, you’re one of those men who think of women as fish?”

He flushed and cleared his throat. “You get the next office.” His right eyebrow arched. She thought of Wes Gates and her Monday appointment. The potential at Gates was far more exciting than returning to her gunmetal desk at Jack’s.     

“Even if I don’t have any class?” She shook her head. “Want anything to drink?”

“No, thanks.”

She moved to the living room and sat, trying to get her bearings. Jack joined her on the couch. What a shock. He was the last person she expected at her doorstep. For a moment, she thought it might be Rick Courtney, that he had put out his feelers and found her. How romantic! Here she sat, depressed one minute, and the next feeling as though she were floating on air with two giant businessmen chasing her down, and a sexy man hot for her bod. What was a girl to do with all this attention? As soon as Jack left, she’d call Rick and invite him for an early round of golf and breakfast at her place afterward. She might even try to impress him with her cooking.

“Jack, you came at a bad time. I can’t decide right away.”

“You have another job?” Fear crept across his face.

“No,” she stated flatly, still wondering if Jack had had anything to do with her icy reception from her so-called friends in the travel business.

“Then, what’s your problem? I’m offering you what you wanted.”

“I have to think about it, that’s all. I’d gotten used to the idea of finding a new job.” Liar, liar, pants on fire. She was so happy at this moment; she wanted to laugh out loud at the irony of it all. She loved seeing Jack grovel, something he rarely did. “Let me call you Monday afternoon.”

Jack went to the door. “Now or never,” he threatened.

She wanted to ask him who was bluffing now. But the meeting with Wes Gates may just turn out to be a talk. He might have nothing, and Jack could become a stinker again, and she’d be right back where she was twenty minutes ago–out on a limb, scared shitless.

A streak of honesty swept through her. “Jack, I do have an interview on Monday. I’d like to see if it’s interesting. We both need time to cool down. If I do come back, I want it to be right for both of us. No more lies or games.”

The stress on Jack’s face loosened. “You’re right. No more games. I want you back, on your terms.”

“That’s generous, Jack, considering this whole mess. I promise I’ll call you Monday afternoon.”

“Who’s your appointment with?” He twisted his mustache and squinted an eye.

“It’s confidential. There’s no real offer, but I want to explore other avenues. Jack, I just don’t know if the travel business is what I really want. You know I fell into your job, and sort of ran with it. I like working with figures. I have a talent for that. That’s one of the reasons I wanted my own office.”

“You ran with it, all right. I’ll wait for your call.”

“Thanks, Jack.” Then, she did something that surprised her. She walked over, put her arms around him and gave him a big hug. “We did work well together for a long time. Maybe this is the way things are supposed to be. Do you believe in fate?”

He stepped back and shook his head. “We make our own fate.” He left without looking back.

Deep in her heart, she knew she wasn’t going back to Globe Travel. She had a good feeling about Wesley Gates, and the possibility of her getting a bigger piece of the pie was more important than Jack’s offer, even if she had to start all over.

She hoped she was making the right decision. So far, she hadn’t been doing so well in that department.

Waltzing over to the phone, she memorized the number on the card and put it in her cell phone before dialing. She waited, letting it ring five, six, seven times, and all the while she chanted, “new job, new man, ho, ho, ho, and a bottle of rum.” She continued to let it ring, though she had concluded Rick might not be home. It stopped. Following a brief silence, a young woman’s voice chirped, “Hello?”

Her heart plummeted. She hadn’t expected a woman to answer, because Rick had told her he was unattached. She expected to hear his deep, sexy voice. She slammed down the receiver and tried to calm her trembling fingers. Then, she hit redial. What on earth had possessed her? If he was married or had a girlfriend, he never would have given her his number.

This time, he answered.

“Hi, Rick? This is Della Garland. We played golf last Saturday.”

“As if you need an intro. How’s the most beautiful girl in the world? I was afraid you weren’t going to call.”

She quivered at the sound of him. Slow down, girl, came the warning voice in her head. Take it nice and easy. “I’m fine. Would you like to play a round tomorrow?”

“Great. Can we play early?”

“How’s Rancho Park, and breakfast at my place after?” She twisted the phone cord around her finger, smiling coyly to herself, feeling that zest lift her up.

“You must have connections.”

“I do. Is six okay?” Her heart went into overdrive. He was free to play. God, how cool. Her voice was calm, nothing like what she felt inside.

She spent the next eighteen hours mentally preparing herself for a new man in her life. Face it, she had been man-free for two years. “If I keep this up, I might as well hit the convent. Egad!”

After all these days in the doldrums, she was getting better. How long would it take her to learn everything comes out in the wash? Wasn’t that what Lillian used to say? Or was it, out of every bad thing comes something good? Oh, well, Lillian never was a sage.

Della dressed in the sexiest golf sweater and skirt she had in her closet. Dressing for work and dressing for play were two different things, she rationalized. She tucked her loose, wavy auburn hair into a visor to shade her delicate skin from the harsh L.A. sun. She pranced around her apartment, checking herself out in every mirror. What did Jack mean, she had no class? She looked great. Every man she met thought so.

She arrived at the course early to hit a bucket of balls. Her swing felt good today, loose and fluid. Once again, she’d dazzle Rick with her game. He told her she was the finest woman golfer he’d ever had the pleasure of playing with. He wasn’t insecure like her ex. She was making strides in picking a better lover. No loop for her.

She checked her watch, glanced around for Rick. When the starter called her name, the ten minute alert, she plodded to the first tee alone. He was late. God dammit, every golfer knew he must be in place ten minutes before tee-off! Pacing around the tee, watching those ahead of her take their shots, she finally dropped her clubs and ran to the parking lot about fifty feet from the first hole. No Rick. Panicking, she pulled her phone from her skirt pocket and hit speed dial. It rang several times, as it had before; only this time, she was glad. It meant he was on his way. Then her heart plunged when she heard his sleepy voice. Oh, no! He was still in bed. She should have known. Adonis was too good to be true. “Rick, this is Della. I’m on the first tee. Where the hell are you?”

“Christ,” he yelled. “Tee off, I’ll be there before you start the second hole.”

The starter called her name again. She hung up without a good-bye, ran to the first tee, hit the ball, and shanked it. The two guys, strangers scheduled to play with her and Rick, shook their heads, acknowledging they were stuck with a duffer. She didn’t give a damn. She had just been to hell and back in fifteen bloody minutes. On the second hole, she dismissed Rick, stood at the tee and nailed the ball down the middle of the fairway. Both men she was playing with gulped in unison.

On the third hole, she spotted Rick careening up the path in a motorized cart. He wore a T-shirt and shorts, waving wildly at her. As he pulled up next to her, she saw his bloodshot eyes, his hair slicked back, obviously not washed and styled like before. He was still drop-dead gorgeous.

“Sorry, Della.” He had a hang-dog expression. “This is a helluva way to make an impression on you.”

Yeah, I’m impressed, she thought. Just love running all over the golf course like a crazy woman, hunting you down. She drummed up a bright smile. “You’re here, Rick. We’ll have a good time, won’t we?”

The other two players, both older, both overweight, both smiling, came over and shook Rick’s hand, as was customary when someone joined the group. One of them said, “This little lady is a great golfer.”

Rick nodded with a knowing smile, then proceeded to schmooze the two guys until he had them laughing, telling jokes and acting like they were old golf buddies. He even impressed her.

All the way around the course, Rick went into great detail about how he had spent most of the night on the phone and why he’d stood her up. He had been working and had fallen asleep at his desk in his home office. What he was doing on the phone all night left her wondering. But as she always did when it came to a man she liked, she overlooked the details, shrugging and saying to herself, no one’s perfect.

In the cart, approaching the eighteenth hole, curiosity got the best of her. She blocked the sun with her hand and asked in her most casual tone, “So, what do you do that keeps you up all night, working out of your home?”

“I run a small computer software company. I sell to people in other countries. Time difference, you know. Gets a little frantic.”

“Sounds interesting.”

“I like it. Pays the rent.”

They finished their round. “How about that breakfast? I’m starving.” He loaded her clubs in the trunk of her car, then followed her in his midnight blue Carrera.

She grinned. Nice car. The computer software business must be good. He pulled up behind her, and walked with her up the stairs. Inside, she watched him check out the apartment.

“I’m impressed.”

“Thanks.” It seemed strange, having a man wandering around her apartment, acting like he belonged there. No matter how hard she tried to take life on her own, nothing felt like the feel of a pair of pants hanging around, someone to play with on those lonely days when a girl needed time away from work.

Over toast and eggs, they talked about their work and lives, catching up fast. Rick said, “I think we should celebrate your interview with Gates. If you land that job, you’ll have it made. That ought to tick Jack Davis off. He sounds like a real dick.” He paused, took her hand in his and drew tiny circles around each knuckle. “How about dinner in Paris tonight?”

“Okay. But what shall I wear?” She laughed. “Wouldn’t that be a hoot? I’ve seen that in the movies. Always thought it would be freaky-deeky to just up and split to another country for din-din.”

“I mean it,” he said.

Through a nervous second laugh, she said, “I have nothing to wear.”

“Oh.” He frowned. “How about Acapulco? Dress is casual.”

“Sounds good. I love Mexican food.”

“Good, I’ll call a friend and make reservations. Can you be ready in a couple of hours?”

“Sure,” she kidded along. “What should I take?”

“Anything cool. Gets hot there, night and day.”

“We’re joking, right?”

“Not me. I thought you were spontaneous. Isn’t that why you fried your last job in a New York minute?”

No Mexico with Rick Courtney. That’s exactly what she did with Kent Bradley, and look where it got her. This whole situation was moving too fast for her. She had to put on the brakes. Now!

“Hey, what’s the matter?” He tilted her chin up. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

“I have.” She took his hand, led him to the sofa, sat him down and looked him straight in the eye. “Three and a half years ago, a man came into the travel agency where I worked. He ordered two tickets to Vegas, insisted I go along. Like an idiot, I did. We fell in lust, and four months later, we got married.”

“So far, it doesn’t sound so bad.”

“A year after that, I caught him in bed at the Airport Marriot with a stewardess. That was the end of my fairytale romance. Shades of today?”

“No, as a matter of fact, it isn’t. We’ve golfed together twice, had hotdogs and beer, had breakfast. We’re getting to know each other quite well. Doesn’t sound like I’m walking in here from out of nowhere with two tickets to Vegas. And I’m certainly not asking you to marry me.”

“‘Fool me once, shame on you , fool me twice, shame on me.’”

“You’ve been badly bruised.” He wrapped an arm around her and pulled her to him. “Believe me, it’s just a bruise. You can’t judge all of us by one man, and you can’t shut down over a bad experience. You’re too young.”

She bit back the tears. This fairytale she couldn’t relive. “I’m sorry, Rick. It’s very romantic, but for lack of a better expression, been there, done that.”

He took her hand, squeezed, and stared down at his lap. “I’m not your ex. If it’ll make you feel any better, I’m a one-woman man.”

“Yeah, one at a time.”

They laughed. He pulled her to him and held her tightly. “Come on, take a chance. Look--” Rick oozed sympathy, “–if you want to wait and do this after we’ve known each other a while, it’s okay with me. We can go out tonight–do dinner, a movie, whatever.”

She glanced down at her feet, then slowly lifted her gaze to his. “Rick, I’m not ready. Let’s take it slow. Real slow. I’ll call you for another round of golf.”

He stood, slapped his thighs. “Guess that means I’m outta here.” He headed for the door.

That old emptiness she hated in the pit of her stomach returned. Her heart sank.

He faced her. “Thanks for the great game and the breakfast. I’ll see you later.”

She closed the door, leaned against it and let out a long, slow breath. “I don’t think so, Ricky, baby.” Right now, she didn’t need anyone in her life, especially someone as beautiful and exciting as Rick. She’d achieve her goal alone. The man comes later. Right now, she was too damned insecure to pick a man who might actually be good for her. Of course, it was in her genes. Whatever! Now she had to make some changes.

If Wes Gates hired her, it meant a fresh start. She had the beginnings of a new wardrobe, thanks to Jack Davis’s harsh assessment of her appearance. From now on, she’d pick a high caliber wardrobe; she might even take that class at Barbizon. Her old clothes were destined for the thrift shop. Let someone else have a crack at `em. Maybe they’d look better in them than she had.

Iris had class. Della fully intended to seek her advice. Come to think of it, she’d never heard Iris use a four-letter word. Maybe some of that style might rub off on her.

As soon as she had enough money, she’d move from the Valley to West Los Angeles, or maybe even a beach town, where many of the young executives lived.

If she wanted to carve out her future, she had to cut away her past. Nobody in their right mind would take a chance on a girl with her history; certainly not a high roller like Gates. Who says leopards can’t change their spots? She started creating a new past, one that spoke of better breeding. She was ashamed of not having a father, and a retired prostitute for a mother who lived on welfare, drank too much, and let men take advantage of her good nature.

Only Jack Davis knew of her roots, but if she snagged the Gates job, Jack would be history, out of her life. None of her friends knew much about her; she made sure of that. Creating a new life would be easy, and she’d feel so much better about herself. She’d have credibility.

She danced around the room, singing, “I’m just a little girl from Little Rock, who’s moving from the wrong side of the tracks.”

With a new look and a decent past, she might just crack that glass ceiling and have it all. Thank goodness she hadn’t broken down and talked about her life with Rick. He was just one less person to worry about. She laughed. At least, she hadn’t given him her phone number.

 

* * *

 

Carrie Gates, Wes’s wife, filled her day ordering the staff around with last-minute details for Wes’s seventieth birthday party. They had met and married twenty-six years ago. Whenever either of them hit a five-year-mark, birthdays or anniversaries, they threw a big party. Seventy was a milestone.

Wes was still her lover, and the best damn provider who walked the earth. She reveled in the millions of dollars they had accumulated. Of course, it was he who did the accumulating, and she who did the spending, which didn’t bother Wes one iota. She considered herself the good woman behind the successful man, even though he was filthy rich before she married him.

Mildred Tapp, Carrie’s longtime devoted personal maid, handed over the guest list. “We’re all set,” she said, self-consciously brushing her berry-stained white apron.

Mildred, a small, bone-thin woman in her sixties with frizzy grayish hair, had been in Carrie’s service for the majority of their married life. She insisted on baking Wes’s favorite berry pies for his birthday, as she always did for special events, even though the party was being catered by the Lassen Brothers, the finest catering company in Beverly Hills.

“You’re a mess, Mildred, but I love you for it.” She hugged Mildred and kissed the air next to her cheek. Later, after the party, Carrie and Wes would retreat to the solarium for Mildred’s famous pie, topped with her homemade ice cream.

“I need a little nap before the party,” she said. “Will you be all right to handle everything?”

“Yes, ma’am.” Mildred disappeared into the kitchen, where the smell of pies baking nearly put five extra pounds on Carrie’s slender body.

Carrie glanced down at the guest list. Everyone invited had affirmed by RSVP. Of course, no one refused an invitation to a Gates party. The L.A. nouveau rich always lavished Wes with gifts from all over the world, which he didn’t give a damn about. He wasn’t materialistic. That was her bag. Hell, someone had to spend all that money. Wes cared first about his business. That didn’t bother her one little bit; she liked the good life.

She climbed the winding staircase, passed the full-length mirror, stopped and gazed at her elegant reflection. She was still beautiful at forty-nine, a tall bottle-blonde with hazel eyes, and skin as smooth and flawless as exquisitely polished ivory. It hadn’t come cheap. Her personal trainer was also her beauty advisor, who made sure she did everything within her power to stay looking young and feeling vital. When the time came for plastic surgery, she would fix what needed fixing. She’d do whatever it took to stay young and fit.

As a young girl, she struggled to make it as a singer. Her parents disapproved of her career choice. She went from one man to another. She always ended up getting dumped because of her possessiveness and jealousy, traits over which she had no control. She hadn’t always been totally honest with her shrinks. As a child, she had everything a girl could want, even if she had to stamp her foot once in a while to get it.

Her last relationship had taken its toll on her. Then she met Helga, a German beauty she had worked with whose last name escaped her, who told Carrie to play with young men but marry an older man. Preferably, one with money. She said older men put younger women on a pedestal; younger men are on their own pedestal. When Carrie met Wes Gates that lucky night in Chicago at the Gilded Cage, where she sang, she decided he fit her criteria just fine. She immediately went about setting the trap.

After she snagged him, she dallied around in the beginning of their marriage. She missed those young, strong bodies. But motherhood changed her for the better. She actually fell in love with Wes, and wanted to be a proper wife and mother. And Wes adored his son.

As the years passed, she enjoyed his attentiveness, the gifts he gave her. She even enjoyed his sexual prowess, which surprised her since he was forty-three when they married. In the beginning, she thought of him as a father figure. Over time, with all the attention and the power his name gave her, she was proud to be Mrs. Wesley Gates. L.A. society bowed to her.

From time to time, Wes permitted her to help him select his closest associates, the ones who worked side by side with him. He trusted her judgment, he had said. In reality, it was her jealousy of younger, prettier women that drove her to that practice. The only part of the business she took interest in was protecting her turf.

Wes hated jealousy, believed there was no reason for it, but appeased her pleading by allowing her to look over those who would work closest with him. She wasn’t proud of this weakness, but she felt better when the people who sat around his conference table were people with whom she felt comfortable. And these associates attended many meetings in her home.

In her room, she lay on her bed, closed her eyes and listened to the workers below, setting up the bandstand and the buffet tables. Preparing for opening night was like the circus coming to town. The thrumming activity lulled her into a light sleep.

The next thing she knew, Wes stood over her, shaking her arm gently. “Hi. The place looks like a big shindig is coming down.”

She squinted up at him. He was still in his gray three-piece suit that hid his recently acquired thickened middle. The wrinkles, the wavy gray hair, the sagging jowls were all badges of honor to him. All he wanted was a few more decades to finish what he had started. To her, he was the handsomest man in the world.

He sat on the edge of the bed. “Time to get ready. You must have slept away the afternoon.” He stroked her thigh, sending a quiver through her. Power was a lusty thing.

She sat up, stretched and yawned. “I feel refreshed. I’m ready to party. How was your day?”

“Good.” He stood up, removed his jacket and loosened his tie. “I did have a little setback, or Iris did. Globe travel fired the woman who was taking care of our account. Iris is worried that no one can handle our business like she did. You might remember her–she set up our trip to Europe a few years back. Didn’t you meet with her briefly?”

“No. Everything was delivered by messenger.”

“Well, with all the travel we do, she never made a mistake, always fixed everyone up when their accommodations went wrong.”

“So, hire her. Let her do it within the company.”

“I’ve thought of that. She’s a whip. She’s young and has potential.”

Young and has potential were the wrong words for Wes to use. “Why don’t we do an interview? Want my input?” This was a younger woman he was talking about, which accounted for the niggling sensation revving up in her stomach. She felt an immediate need to check her out.

Wes hung his jacket in the closet, took off his pants and hung them up, and put on a bathrobe. All the while, she stayed on the bed, watching his every move.

“I don’t think you need to be involved. She’s only going to be doing a menial job. You don’t help with the secretaries. This gal will be working with Iris most of the time. You have better things to do with your time. Let Iris make the decision.”

Arms outstretched, she beckoned him to her bed. There was always one way to get him to do what she wanted. “Honey?” her tone dulcet. “It’s time for a little birthday present from baby.”

“Not now.”

His tone flattened her, as though he knew what she was up to.

“I’m pooped, and this big party you’re planning is going to take a lot of energy.”

“You’re showing your age, Wesley Gates.”

“Seventy deserves some respect.” He pulled her up and slapped her fanny, laughing. “Now, you show it.” He winked. “Later, after Mildred’s pie.”

Carrie scurried to her private bathroom, turned on the water and climbed in fast to hide her resentment from Wes. She had a funny feeling about this woman Wes wanted to hire. Why, she didn’t know, but something wasn’t right. The party tonight wasn’t going to be as much fun as Carrie had planned.