Текст книги "Native Affairs"
Автор книги: Doreen Malek Owens
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Текущая страница: 19 (всего у книги 37 страниц)
That suggestion had little to recommend it The truck wasn’t in much better shape than its driver, and an excursion in the country with this lecherous adolescent wasn’t exactly what Jennifer had in mind. She was hesitating, trying to decide what to do, when she heard voices behind her.
The practice had broken up, and the players were heading out to their cars. She saw Lee, walking in a group of three, talking to a husky guy at his side who was gesturing in the air, obviously delivering a punch line. Lee laughed, and turned his head, catching sight of Jennifer. He stopped, and she saw him say something to his companions, who then followed his progress towards Jennifer with their eyes.
Lee took in the scene at a glance. “Hi, Jen,” he said. “What’s going on?”
Jennifer was ashamed of how glad she was to see him. She had thought she was long past the point where she had to depend on a man to solve her problems, but Lee as an alternative to Greasy George was a no-choice situation. Lee would help her.
“My car broke down, and the garage sent this man to take a look at it.”
Lee took his wallet out of his pocket and handed the boy a folded bill before Jennifer could protest “Thanks for coming out,” he said. “I’ll take care of this now.”
The boy shrugged and shambled off toward his truck. Lee turned his attention to Jennifer.
“How’ve you been, paleface?” he asked, slamming the hood of her car. “Aside from this encounter with Tony’s Garage, that is.”
“I wonder if that was Tony,” Jennifer said. “He doesn’t look old enough to drive.”
“Or clean enough,” Lee added, and Jennifer smiled.
“That’s better,” Lee said. “Now let’s see what we can do about this car.”
He was pulling his own keys from his pocket when a black Corvette cruised past with two of Lee’s teammates in the front seat.
“Look out, Chief,” one of them yelled.
The other whistled shrilly and gave Lee the high sign, cackling madly. Then the driver honked the horn and the car sped away on screeching tires.
Lee shook his head, and Jennifer could have sworn there was a faint tinge of red sweeping up his neck under that dusky skin. “Those guys,” he said. “I keep hoping they’ll grow up, but they keep disappointing me.”
“Why do they call you ‘Chief’?”
He looked at her as if she’d lost her mind. “Because I’m Norwegian, Jennifer.”
Jennifer swallowed and tried again. It had come out wrong, the way everything always seemed to when she tried to talk to him.
“I meant, why do you let them call you that? I would have thought you wouldn’t like it.”
He glanced at her curiously. “Why wouldn’t I like it? They’re my friends. I’m not some hypersensitive loony with a chip on my shoulder, Jennifer. It only bothers me when I think somebody is trying to put me down because I’m an Indian.”
“The way you thought I was when we first met,” Jennifer said, before she considered it Then she bit her lip. She hadn’t wanted to remind him of that.
But he only smiled slightly. “That’s right.” He lounged back against the door of her car and folded his arms. “But now you can call me Chingachgook or Running Water for all I care.”
Jennifer laughed, and he leaned forward to tilt her chin up with a long, brown forefinger. “Just as long as you call me.”
She sobered and stared into his searching, depthless eyes. The shouting and horseplay of the departing players faded into the background, and it was as if they were alone in the parking lot She wanted to kiss him, had to restrain herself from doing so then and there, with all of his teammates milling around them. And he knew it His eyes became heavy lidded, slumberous, and his lips parted, as if in anticipation of a caress.
“Hey, Chief, you posin’ for a statue?”
The voice rang out behind them, and they sprang apart guiltily, as if caught in some misdeed. The Freedom’s quarterback sauntered up to them, grinning widely.
“Jennifer, I’d like you to meet Joe Thornridge, my bodyguard,” Lee said sarcastically. “He substitutes for my mother when she isn’t available to keep an eye on me. Joe, Jennifer Gardiner.”
Joe stuck his hand out to Jennifer, whose small one was lost in his huge, meaty palm. “How do, ma’am?” Joe said in a thick Southern accent. “I’ve seen you at the offices. Pretty hard to miss, I’d say. And I met your secretary, Dolores.”
I’ll bet you did, Jennifer thought with amusement.
“You better watch out for the Chief, here, little lady,” Joe said warningly. “He’s got all those fancy moves, ya know? If you need anybody to take over for him, somebody a little safer, say a Southern gentleman, you just let me know.”
Jennifer smiled. “I’ll keep it in mind.”
“I think your wife is calling you, Joe,” Lee said.
Joe sent Lee a wounded look.
“Scram, kid,” Lee said.
Joe slung his duffel bag over his shoulder and ambled off, caroling, “Remember what I said,” back to Jennifer.
“I’ll remember,” she answered.
“I’d forget, if I were you,” Lee said darkly. “He’s got two kids already and a pregnant wife.”
Jennifer glanced at him, amazed. He was only half kidding. Could he possibly be jealous? Joe had only indulged in some good-natured teasing. There was no reason for Lee’s testy reaction.
They were alone in the lot now; the last of the men had left when Joe did.
“Well, I guess we’d better see about this car,” Lee announced and turned to walk around it. His legs suddenly buckled under him and Jennifer had to rush to catch him, to keep him from falling to the ground.
Despite his slim appearance, he was quite heavy, and she staggered under his weight. He clutched at her, and she eased him against the rear fender of her car.
“That’s one of my fancier moves,” he grunted. “Trick knee, it gives out on me at the damndest times.”
He was speaking directly into her ear, draped over her for support As she stepped back, he held her, pulling her into his arms.
This was their first real physical contact, and it completely unraveled Jennifer. His body was lean, hard, and totally male. He ran his hands down her arms and across her back, molding her to him. She resisted the strong impulse to cling and refused to allow herself to melt into him. When he saw that she was not going to cooperate, he released her, and she moved away from him, flustered.
“Are you all right now?” she asked faintly.
“I was better a minute ago,” he answered, referring to their impromptu embrace.
Jennifer wouldn’t discuss it. As far as she was concerned, it had been a mistake.
“What causes that to happen?” she asked, moving to lock the doors of her car.
He had no choice but to follow. “I’ve had three operations on that knee in five years,” he replied. “At this point, it’s held together with chewing gum. I just have to move the wrong way, and it collapses.”
“Does it give way during games?” she asked.
“Sure does,” he answered. “Especially since the other team knows it’s a weak point and aims straight at it That’s why there are always a lot of clipping fouls against me.”
“Clipping?”
He demonstrated. “When someone is going to tackle you, he comes in like this,” he said, lowering his head and aiming for her legs. “But if he catches you in the back of the knees, it’s a violation, called clipping.” He made a chopping motion, as she had seen referees do during games. “With me, they’re always trying to nail that bad knee, and yet keep it legal at the same time, which is very hard to do.”
Jennifer absorbed this in silence. My God, he was going into each game just waiting for a bunch of gorillas to launch themselves at him, like a human target on a firing range. Up to this point, she hadn’t thought of football players as especially courageous, but it took guts to do what he did every week of the season.
He read her expression. “Don’t worry, paleface.
You’re looking at one tough Injun. My people survived massacres, disease, westward expansion, and the reservation system. The NFL isn’t going to do me in.”
Jennifer rolled up the last window and slammed the door. “What do you suggest doing about this?” she asked, jerking her thumb at the car.
“I’ll give you a ride, and I’ll call my garage in Yardley to come and get it.”
“Will they come so far?”
He smiled grimly. “For me they will. I just spent a small fortune there on my wheels. They’d better not say no.”
He opened the passenger door of his car for Jennifer and leaned in past her to shift some papers off the seat. His nearness set her pulse racing again. She waited until he got in beside her and said, to cover her nervousness, “What type of Indian are you?”
He arched an eyebrow at her, starting the car. “Type?”
Why did she always say the wrong thing? “Tribe, clan, I guess I don’t know the right word.”
“Blackfoot,” he said. “It’s part of the Algonquian nation.”
Ah, yes. She remembered that the sportswriters sometimes referred to him as the “Blackfoot Bullet.” Also the “Cawassa Comet.” They were very fond of tag lines.
“What does Cawassa mean?” she asked.
“It’s the town in Montana where I was born, on the reservation, about three miles northwest of Browning.”
“What language is that?”
“Pikuni. It’s a dialect of Ojibwa, spoken by the Blackfeet in that region, in the Northwest, and in Canada in the area of Lake Superior.”
“Ojibwa?”
He grinned. “Are you writing a book?”
Jennifer flushed, embarrassed. “I’m sorry. I’m asking too many questions.”
He put the sports car in gear and drove out of the lot “Don’t be silly. I’ll tell you anything you want to know. I just couldn’t resist teasing you a little. You get so rattled, like a fourth-grade genius who missed the last word in the spelling bee.”
Jennifer giggled. He was right.
“Now, in answer to your last question, Ojibwa is the mother language of the Algonquian tribes; it’s more often called Ottawa or Chippewa.”
“Yes, I’ve heard those terms.”
“It’s rather like Castilian Spanish, with Pikuni the equivalent of an Andalusian variant They’re about as similar as modern Polish and Czech. I grew up speaking Pikuni, but I can follow a conversation in Ojibwa.”
“I see.”
“And ‘Ojibwa’ itself means ‘to roast until puckered up,’ which is a reference to the puckered seams on Blackfoot moccasins.”
“No kidding? What an odd way to get a name.”
He cast her a sidelong glance. “I hope you’re paying attention, because there’s going to be a test.”
Jennifer laughed, thinking that she had already had one test that day, when he had held her in his arms. She had passed it. This time.
He asked whether she would like to go home, or back to the office, and regretfully she told him to take her to the office. She still had to try to get in touch with the last player who hadn’t signed his papers.
Lee asked her why she had come to practice that day, and she explained the situation.
“Give that stuff to me,” he said. “I’ll see that Roger signs it and returns it to your office on Monday.”
“Would you do that? It would be a big help. Otherwise I’ll be trying to track him down for the rest of the weekend.”
“No problem. Still want to go back to the office?”
“I’m afraid so. That wasn’t the only thing I have left to do.”
He nodded and took the turnoff for Philadelphia.
They were back to the Freedom’s offices too soon. Jennifer could remember every word of their conversation in vivid detail—she felt as if it had been burned into her brain. It wasn’t particularly stimulating or witty, but she had shared it with Lee, and for that reason it was important to her.
Lee pulled to a stop outside the building. “Here you are,” he said. “Back the same day.”
“I can’t thank you enough for your help. And I owe you the money you gave that boy from Tony’s Garage.”
“Forget it. It was my pleasure. I’ll have the mechanic at my garage get in touch with you about the repairs.”
“Fine. And thanks again.”
He tossed his fingers in a tiny salute and drove off. Jennifer went into the lobby in a daze, filled with thoughts of Lee.
* * * *
The Sunday of the benefit game for the Heart Fund was clear and cooler than it had been, a precursor of fall. Jennifer arrived just as it was beginning, wearing Marilyn’s jogging suit and an apprehensive smile. She didn’t expect this to be her finest hour.
Dolores was waiting for her on the sidelines. “The first team is already in,” she said. “They’re going to start in a moment.”
“Good. I hope they never get around to me.”
“They will,” Dolores said cheerfully. “Tom said everybody will see some action, if only for a few minutes.”
“Great” Tom was an accountant in payroll, and he was managing the roster.
Jennifer shielded her eyes as she watched the action on the field. Lee and Joe Thornridge and a few others were out there, along with the cream of the Freedom’s amateur athletes. The crowd was large and vocal, screaming every time anybody made a move.
She and Dolores watched the game for a while, sipping soft drinks and surveying the onlookers wandering around Westminster’s campus.
It wasn’t long before Tom was waving at Jennifer, signaling her to join the players on the field.
“Every year I tell him I don’t know how to play this game,” she muttered.
“And every year he ignores you,” Dolores responded. “I know, I know. Go on, it can’t be any worse than last time.”
The “last time” Jennifer had crashed into the team bench while trying to catch the ball and gave Esther Lopinsky, one of the secretaries, a black eye.
Jennifer ran onto the field and watched nervously as Leo Smithers, the quarterback of the staff team, signaled her to come and talk to him.
“On the next play,” he said, “I’m going to pass the ball to you.”
“Uh, I don’t think that’s such a good idea, Leo,” she said.
“Why not?”
“Because I don’t know what to do with it once I get it, that’s why not.”
He rubbed his eyes wearily with his thumb and forefinger. “Look, Jen, all you have to do is try to catch the ball, and then run as hard as you can in that direction,” he instructed, pointing toward the goalpost at the end of the field. “Everybody else knows what they have to do. So don’t worry about it, okay? Just grab it and try to cross the line at the end.”
Leo called for a huddle, in which various team members said things Jennifer didn’t understand. But she kept Leo’s words in mind and stood where he placed her at the lineup.
She saw Lee, dressed in faded jeans and a white knit skivvy, watching her across the line of scrimmage. That didn’t make her feel any better.
Leo called out a series of numbers, and then faded back for the pass. Jennifer started to run, looking over her shoulder for the ball, hoping that Leo’s confidence in himself was justified and that he would be able to “hit her” no matter what she did.
When it became obvious that he was throwing to her, players from the pro club materialized from nowhere, heading in her direction. Terrified, she looked up to see the ball hurtling through the air toward her.
How did anybody ever catch these things? They were an impossible shape. She grabbed for it, got her fingers on the edge, and then it squirted out of her hands. She leaped after it and managed to catch it. At that moment Lee caught her about the knees and tumbled her gently to the ground.
Jennifer landed on her dignity, and then was up in a flash, yelling at the top of her lungs.
“Wait a minute! This is supposed to be touch football. That’s illegal, you can’t tackle anybody in this game!”
The onlookers were delighted. They stamped their feet and clapped, roaring their approval. Lee stood by, looking mysteriously smug, and hung his head when the referee came over to give him a tongue lashing. Jennifer told Tom to replace her and walked off the field.
The nerve of him, pouncing on her like that. She retied her sneakers, sitting on the staff bench, yanking at the laces viciously. When she raised her head again, Lee was standing in front of her.
“They threw me out of the game,” he said happily.
Jennifer stared at him, the light beginning to dawn. “You did that deliberately,” she said.
“Pure reflex. Couldn’t help myself.”
“I’ll bet.”
“However, since we both seem to be at liberty, why don’t we take a stroll around the grounds?”
“Stroll alone. After that little stunt I wouldn’t go around this bench with you.”
His face changed. “What’s the matter? You’re not hurt, are you?”
“Only my pride.”
He smiled engagingly, and she could feel her resistance melting away under the force of his charm. “Come on. This thing is going to be breaking up in another half an hour or so, and then they’re having a picnic. We’ll come back and get something to eat later.”
The desire to be with him overrode her previous annoyance. “I’m doing this against my better judgment,” she warned him. “The minute I lower my guard you’ll probably blindside me again.”
“Sounds tempting,” he said, motioning with his head toward the grassy copse beyond the playing field. “Let’s go. I’ll tell you about my great-grandfather, the shaman. That should interest a student of Indian folklore like yourself.”
It did. “What’s a shaman?”
“A medicine man, a caster of spells and a weaver of charms. Combination faith healer, herbalist, and grass-roots psychologist.”
They were walking away from the crowd, and the game noises faded in the distance. The sun was warm, and Lee pulled his shirt over his head to reveal a sleeveless tank top underneath. He spread the skivvy on the ground and gestured for her to sit on it She did, and he sprawled full-length beside her. A screen of trees blocked them from view.
“What kind of charms did your great-grandfather weave?”
“All kinds. Love charms, hate charms, charms to make you sick, charms to make you well. His specialty was healing, though. He would put on his saamis, the medicine hat, with feathers and magical bones, and cure anything that ailed you. He died when I was twelve.”
Too bad he’s not around today, Jennifer thought I could use a little help in curing myself of my growing infatuation with you. She stretched out on the grass and sighed.
Lee rolled over on his stomach and the sun glinted off his shining, coal-black hair, making it glow with highlights.
“That old man, he knew something, something that’s been lost forever now,” Lee said softly. “And I don’t think it’s possible to get it back.”
“I understand what you mean,” Jennifer replied. “That knowledge the old people had, I think we traded it for jet planes and microwave ovens and potato chips in a tennis ball can. And I’m not sure we’re better off now. The problems aren’t solved; they’re only different.”
Lee pushed himself up on his forearms and gazed down into her face. “I think you’re a very smart lady,” he said.
“Thank you, kind sir,” she answered, smiling. Her smile faded slowly as she met his gaze and awareness grew between them. Jennifer was very conscious of his almost naked torso above her, the proximity of that powerful, agile body. She tried to sit up, and he pinned her, holding her arms and leaning into her. Prone, submissive, she could feel the warmth of his skin against hers, his breath fanning her cheek. The black eyes seared hers. Then his lashes obscured them as his face came closer and he lowered his mouth to hers.
The kiss began tentatively, as all first kisses do, but it was only seconds before Jennifer was kissing him back passionately. She had known all along that she desired him, but the abstract idea was nothing compared with burning reality. His mouth was wonderful, drugging, sensitive and mobile, and a treasure of delights to explore. His tongue probed hers, and she yearned against him, eager for more.
“I’ve wanted to do that since the moment I met you,” he murmured, moving his mouth to her ear, and then back to her lips. He adjusted his position to lie more fully against her, and she gasped as she felt him, ready, against her thigh. His hands slid underneath her to press her to him, and she clasped her arms around his neck.
He raised his head and looked around, and Jennifer realized with alarm that he was checking to see if anyone was watching them, if it was safe to make love to her there, hidden in the small, enclosed wood.
Jennifer began to struggle. The man was mad. If he thought she would be a partner to an outdoor romp in the middle of a park, he was in for a rude awakening.
“Let me go,” she demanded, and he released her instantly, rolling off her. She struggled to her feet, brushing bits of leaves and grass and other debris from her clothes. She felt ridiculous, ashamed.
He stood also, with his hands jammed in his pockets, his hair falling forward over one eye.
“What are you so upset about?” he asked. “I kissed you. You kissed me back.”
Of course, Jennifer thought. He did this sort of tiling all the time.
“Why did you push me away?” he wanted to know.
“You may be in the habit of casual rolls in the hay during coffee breaks, but I certainly am not,” Jennifer said.
His eyes narrowed. “Is that what you think?” he asked. “That I was promoting a pleasant interlude until it’s time to dish up the potato salad? Grab you, and then grab a hamburger?”
Jennifer’s silence was his answer.
He was starting to look very upset. His eyes were flashing sparks, and she could see that the hands in his pockets were balled into fists.
“I seem to have misjudged the situation here,” he said softly.
“That makes two of us,” Jennifer replied nastily.
“Always the smart comeback,” he said. “You’d better watch out, counselor; if you’re that sharp, you’ll cut yourself.”
Jennifer stared at him, then opened her mouth to speak, but nothing happened.
He held up a hand. “Let me say it for you,” he intoned. “You think I’m a lowlife and a user, and the sight of me makes you sick. That about cover it?”
She dropped her eyes. The sight of him could never make her sick.
“I’ll see you later, Jennifer. I think I’d better exit before I say something I’ll regret.”
Jennifer didn’t look up until he was gone.
* * * *
She spent the weeks following the picnic in a state of suspended animation, hoping for a glimpse of Lee and dreading it at the same time. Her fears were groundless. She never saw him and finally concluded that he was avoiding the Freedom’s offices. She knew she was right when she learned that he had had several things delivered there by messenger. He was taking no chances of running into her.
It was amazing how dull everything seemed now, without him. Events that once would have delighted her provoked little reaction. She had lunch with Harold Salamone, the owner of the Freedom, to discuss some business, which was unprecedented, and it did nothing to lift her spirits. At any other time such recognition would have left her elated.
But the time came when she had to contact Lee about the Labor Day parade and the visit to the children’s hospital which was scheduled for the same day. She worked herself into a nervous state over calling him, but when she finally did, she was surprised at her reception. He was pleasant and professional, acting as if nothing had happened between them. She felt as if she were in a time warp, and had somehow been transported back to the days of their initial acquaintance. She was relieved, and yet perversely disappointed, that he’d apparently forgotten the incident.
However, when Lee’s schedule arrived in her office and Mr. Salamone called her and asked her to deliver it personally to Lee that day, her newly restored calm disappeared.
Chapter 4
The ride to Lee’s house was a stressful one for Jennifer. She did not like the idea of going to his home. It was somehow too intimate for the distance she was trying to maintain between them. But he had to have the material that day. There was no help for it. The guard at the security station recognized her and waved her on.
She pulled into the lot behind his condominium and got out of the car, scanning the numbers as she walked. Each had a fenced yard, and she found Lee outside his house, in the middle of a workout.
He was so absorbed that he did not see her. She stopped, fascinated. She couldn’t tear her eyes away from the sight of him, naked to the waist, clad only in brief cut-off denims and sneakers, going through his exercises. The sun gleamed on his bronze skin, giving it a soft luster, and his jet hair, mussed from exertion, clung to his head with dampness.
He paused for a moment, hands on hips, to catch his breath, still unaware of her presence. Jennifer stood behind the fence, knowing that she should speak and let him see that she was there, but spellbound by this glimpse of his dedication to his craft. He always acted as if his lightning speed and miraculous coordination were gifts of nature, which to a great extent they were, but this punishing daily routine was part of the package, too. He had to work hard to stay in the peak of physical condition, and she felt foolish for not realizing it before this. Perhaps it was because of her experience with Bob, who should have had Lee’s dedication but never did and, consequently, was plagued by injuries and illness.
Lee bent to wipe his face with a towel draped over the handlebars of an exercise bike standing nearby. Perspiration ran in rivulets on his arms and streamed down his chest and heavily muscled abdomen. The waistband of his shorts was soaked.
Jennifer took the opportunity to knock. She rapped on the gate, calling, “Lee. It’s Jennifer. I have the itinerary for the parade.”
He looked up, pushing back his hair, and took a gray T-shirt from the seat of the bike, pulling it over his head as he came toward her. She felt a little better with him covered up, but not much. His physical presence was still overwhelming.
“Hi,” he said, unlatching the gate and stepping aside to let her pass. “Come on inside. It’s broiling out here.”
Jennifer followed him gratefully through the sliding glass doors by the patio into air-conditioned coolness. The interior was furnished as a bachelor pad, with lots of deep, leather furniture and rustic wood. A sleek ultramodern galley kitchen of copper and stainless steel opened into a large dining area fronting the patio. Beyond, there was a sunken living room with a huge fieldstone fireplace, twin loveseats in taupe suede flanking it, and a floor to ceiling, well-stocked bar. Above she could see an overhanging balcony and loft, which obviously led to the bedrooms. The floor in the kitchen and hall was of brick-red quarry tiles. The rest of the rooms were carpeted in eggshell wool, thick, luxurious. The total effect was chic, tasteful, and expensive.
“This is very nice,” she said coolly, trying not to show how impressed she was.
He looked around. “Thanks,” he said vaguely. “I bought it for when I’m in town, but I won’t be using it much. I’m on the road with the team most of the season.”
Quite an elaborate arrangement for a place he would hardly use. Well, he had the money to throw around if he wanted to buy a home in every major city.
“I was working out when you arrived,” he said, “and I’m afraid I’m not fit company for a lady right now. Would you mind if I took a quick shower?”
That conjured up mental images Jennifer did not wish to consider. “Of course not. Go ahead.”
“May I get you anything before I go? A drink? Iced tea?”
Such exaggerated politeness, coming from him, almost struck her funny. He was going out of his way to be deferential, and she found herself wondering why. Then she dismissed it. There was no reason to be suspicious.
“No, thank you. I’m fine.”
“I’ll be back shortly,” he said and vanished up the stairs.
Jennifer occupied herself in his absence by examining the knickknacks and photos in the room. There were several framed shots of Youngson receiving awards and a group portrait of what was obviously his family. Lee resembled his father, a handsome, middle-aged man who wore the same speculative expression she had often seen on Lee’s face.
Two studies on the polished oak mantel of the fireplace particularly caught her eye. One was an 8 x 10 glossy of a younger, more innocent Lee, grinning openly into the camera, holding a trophy and standing next to a man in a business suit who was shaking his hand.
The other was of Lee and a beautiful young girl with long black hair and a proud, unflinching gaze. He had his arm around her possessively. They were both in fancy dress, Lee in a tuxedo, the girl in a gown of a style popular ten or twelve years ago.
Jennifer was examining the second picture when she heard Lee behind her on the stairs. She moved away guiltily.
Lee had changed into white duck pants with a narrow belt and a short-sleeved sport shirt of crisp, light cotton. The outfit was oddly 1920s, like something out of The Great Gatsby. His primitive good looks meshed effectively with the WASPish clothes.
He had hurried to return: his hair was still wet, and damp patches on his skin made the thin material of his shirt cling to his body. There was a faint splotch of white powder on the side of his throat.
Jennifer looked away.
Lee came and sat beside her, and the clean scent of soap wafted from him as he did so. She moved back, very slightly. He noticed it and glanced at her. She could not tell what he was thinking.
Jennifer carefully went over the schedule of events in which he was to participate. He listened attentively, asked pertinent questions, and their business was accomplished in less than an hour.
Jennifer gathered her notes and rose. He stood, too, seemingly reluctant to end the interview.
“Thanks for coming out here,” he said. “It was kind of you to let me know the rundown as soon as you got it.”
Jennifer moved to leave and was startled when he detained her with his hand on her arm.
She looked up at him. He remained with his fingers clasping her wrist.
“Will you have dinner with me Saturday night?” he said suddenly.
Jennifer stared at him, stunned. She had not expected this, after their last encounter.
He waited, his face impassive.
Jennifer didn’t know what to say. Did she want to go? Was the sky blue? But this man unsettled her; he was so out of the common way, so new to her experience, that he was at once fascinating and unnerving. She had no idea what to expect from a social evening with him. Except that it wouldn’t be dull.
“I...I think I’d like that,” she heard herself say. Lee’s expression softened.
“Great. I’ll call you, then?”
