Chapter 13
STEVE sat tiredly at his desk, loosened his necktie, amazed at how fast the week had slipped by. He glanced at the compact, leather-encased clock on his desk, placed there by his private secretary, Nina Caldwell. It was a few minutes after five. The Friday exodus to Matty's Bar and Grill was most likely in full swing.
It surprised him to feel nostalgic about the damned hangout and he was tempted to clean up his desk and drop in for a drink. But he knew it wouldn't be the same as when he had been a part of the sales crew and did the bulk of his female-hunting at Matty's. Now that he was a bona fide executive, most of the salesmen and office workers approached him in a stand-offish manner which, in a sense, excluded him from the Matty's Bar and Grill clique. After all, as he clearly recalled, at Matty's, over a drink, 50 per cent of the conversation was about the opposite sex and the remaining 50 per cent was well-spent complain-mg about "those damned executives."
Steve relaxed, accepting the fact fully that he was now "one of those damned executives." And he had a dandy of a migraine headache as a credential. He glanced quickly at the scattering of files and documents littering the top of his desk. It had been a hectic week of planning and organizing. He had spent hours talking individually with the five salesmen he had picked to start his new sales crew, countless more hours interviewing new applicants. Finding salesmen with the necessary class for the new line was a problem, he was forced to admit. And then, keeping his eyes on Sheldon and Mildred, and yet avoiding making any direct commitments to either one, had been quite time-consuming.
He thought back pleasurably to Tuesday morning, Mildred Whitney and his favorite bath towel- especially to the moment he had peeled it off her throbbing, love-starved body. Sheer willpower had kept him from getting involved with her again throughout the week as he confined his possible scheming with her to the office and an out-of-the-way cocktail lounge. And yet, regardless of what she wore—sheaths or tailored suits—he imagined her nude, fresh out of his shower.
He grinned, laughed aloud, as he toyed with the almost-empty bottle of cough medicine Nina Caldwell had picked up for him to combat the cold. Mildred still had a beaut of a cold, constantly coughing and dabbing her dainty hanky to her inflamed nose. And no one, especially not Sheldon, had tied the two colds together.
"This is the time of year to be careful," everyone cautioned, all too late.
The buzz of the intercom removed the smug smile from his face. He leaned forward and pressed the button. "Yes, Nina?"
"Mister Sheldon's on the phone; he's at his club."
"Make some excuse for me, Nina, I don't feel like talking to him." Steve knew Sheldon was trying desperately to get him alone long enough to swing him over to his camp.
"All right, Steve," Nina's voice came clearly.
"And, Nina, it's after five—you can leave now."
"I thought I'd straighten out your desk first," she replied before Steve heard the cut-off click.
Steve swayed his head back and forth, amazed and gratified by Nina's efficient handling of his affairs, the smooth manner in which she had set him on a concrete time pattern, weeding out all the details and quickly attending to them herself, leaving him free more important matters. He conceded that she was rapidly becoming indispensable to him. And even though she wasn't fully aware of all the behindthe-scenes activities, he found himself confiding in her more and more, steadily asking for her opinion on a number of matters.
Steve tightened, still puzzled by the way he had noticed her earlier that afternoon as she took dictation. She had started to read back a paragraph when she suddenly crossed her legs and Steve was aware of a newness, a certain trimness about her. And each day a new outfit; today a striking aqua sheath. And her hair! He creased his brow in concentration. She's done something new to her hair.
The intercom buzzed again and he flipped the switch down. "Yes, Nina?"
"Will you talk to Mister Moore?"
"Is he at his club?" Steve asked, somewhat sarcastically, still awed by the executive's need to belong to an exclusive club.
"He didn't say," Nina replied. "But he sounds sober."
. Sober, Steve thought, suddenly realizing Moore had seemed sober to him every time he had seen him since Tuesday. But then, he hadn't encountered him too often, and each time only briefly. Steve was still curious to know how old Dan Moore had made out With Dolly Monday night. All he had managed to get out of Moore was, "a truly delightful child . . . "
"Steve?" Nina's voice came through to him. "Are you there?"
"I'll talk to him, Nina." Steve picked up the re. ceiver and waited for Nina to connect them.
"Steve?" Moore started anxiously. "You've got to do me a favor."
"Name it, Dan."
"Cover for me tonight with Adele."
"Tonight?" Steve started lethargically, and then it all crystalized for him. That damned exclusive supper party he was to attend to celebrate Tommy's return from Australia.
"The party for our boy in short white pants," Moore sarcastically explained. "I called Adele earlier and told her that I've a cold coming on and wouldn't be able to make it. She didn't believe me, but Steve-boy, if you were to tell her that you actually saw me hovering near death, pale with fever—"
"All right, Dan, all right, I'll give my finest performance."
"Thanks, Steve!" he shouted over the wire. "I'll do you a favor one of these days. Be seeing you—"
Steve heard the click on the other end before he had an opportunity to ask Moore why he wanted the raincheck from Adele's party and all that easy-flowing liquor, certain the old goat was up to something evil for the night.
"That damned party," he muttered, realizing he had purposely pushed it to the back of his mind the past few days. Now he wouldn't be able to postpone meeting the "aging boy-wonder tennis star" any longer. And this would only be the start of many parties—given for one lame excuse or another—to bring together the right possible investors now that the new stock issue had been okayed by the proper authorities and would actually be on sale within ten days.
It'll be a regular Fourth of July slam-bang affair," He mused aloud, thinking of the inevitable explosions and repercussions once the grab for control was on. Steve was still uncertain of the outcome, but he liked the feel of his new office, the opportunity to make a name for himself in the world of selling. It was the double-dealings that didn't sit right with Steve. Undecided as he was, he was leaving all the doors open, alienating no one—not even Sheldon.
And Adele was starting to get under his skin. His mind suddenly triggered on the fact that he hadn't seen Adele since Tuesday morning, when he had blown his top over her husband's return. He'd been on the phone with her at least once a day since then, but had used his cold—thickening his voice over the wire—as an excuse for some sorely needed free time.
He suddenly slammed the flat of his hands down on his desk: "Be honest," he muttered reproachfully. "You've been avoiding the inevitable—meeting her husband."
Well, he'd meet the tennis star at Adele's damned supper party—and if he made one crack out of the way, Steve would belt him on the spot. Steve grimaced, picturing himself at the phony gathering; smiling, mingling and small-talking with Adele's well-heeled guests.
His mind moved on to End of the party, the departure of the last guest—maybe Adele would tell her husband to go take a long walk for himself? Steve smiled devilishly; this time it would be the bedroom and that throne of a canopied bed—another cold was the last thing he needed.
Steve squirmed in his thickly-padded chair; still wary of the triangle, that damned intruder—Adele's playboy husband. He swayed his head steadily, working all of the neck muscles.
"Hell!"
The door opened and Nina Caldwell edged grace-fully into sight. "Did you say something, Steve?"
He turned suddenly, smiled sheepishly. "Talking to myself—occupational hazard," he explained.
"That's not good," Nina replied, straightening the papers on his desk. She stopped long enough to check the bottle of cough medicine. "I suggested the same medicine to Mildred," Nina started, still holding the bottle. "She just can't seem to shake her cold —she even went home early today."
"It's that time of the year," Steve shrugged, struggling to remain straightfaced.
"And how about you?" she asked, somewhat sternly. "Have you been taking your medicine regularly?"
He stretched himself, leaning back precariously in the swivel chair. "Yes, dear," he intoned without thinking.
She stopped suddenly, resumed movement, quickly concealing a twinge of embarrassment. "Steve?" she finally started. "I haven't had a chance to really thank you for picking me as your private secretary.
He leaned forward again. "Nonsense, Nina, you were the most capable girl out there." He hesitated, wondering if that sounded right for her ego. At any rate, he didn't want Nina to ever discover that Adele had forced her on him, especially now that he was so thoroughly pleased with the way she ran his office. Steve loosened. "I wanted you specifically to run my office," he beamed, instantly justifying the white lie to himself. She smiled her gratitude and Steve was awed: the whimpering, pathetic indentation of her face was now missing, and in its place . . . the mechanism of Steve's mind probed for the right word . . . a newness.
Steve pushed his chair back, on his feet he leaned across the table in further exploration.
"Nina? What the hell did you do to your hair?" He saw the quick flash of hurt in her eyes and he felt like biting his tongue and kicking himself in the rear simultaneously. "What I mean is—" he started to ex-plain. "I like it! It does something great for you! It makes you look kinda " Steve didn't use the word, except to himself—sexy.
"Do you really like it, Steve?" she asked cautiously. "It's a modern variation of the Cleopatra look."
"Cleopatra," Steve echoed, wetting his lips.
"Of course, I had my hair darkened," she confessed. "Someone told me about this exclusive Fifth Avenue salon—" she stopped abruptly. "Steve, you won't laugh if I tell you what else I did?"
"Laugh?" Steve shrilled. "Of course not."
"Well, I was so excited about my new position that I celebrated by splurging at that expensive beauty salon and an even more expensive dress shop. I bought an evening dress to match my new hairdo."
Steve excitedly moved in on her, innocently crowding her against the desk. "I oughta kick myself!" he tightened. "I'm so damned thoughtless. We'll have to step out and celebrate your new position!"
Nina beamed with an evident mixture of surprise and joy. "And your new position, too," she replied.
Steve snapped his fingers, close to the firm juttings of her rather smallish, but well-rounded breasts. "A double celebration!" be exclaimed, in the excitement taking her hands warmly in his.
"That would be fun!" she sighed, caught up in the high spirit of the moment.
Steve drew back slightly, still holding her hands as he thought of a pleasant, somewhat devilish scheme. Adele's party . . . and the surest way to defeat a triangle . . . make it a foursome.
"Nina," he beamed, "how would you like to show off that new evening dress tonight?"
"Tonight?" she questioned with evident shock. "Yeah, a swank party—see how the other half live."
"Oh, I couldn't," she said fearfully.
"Why not?" he questioned. "Do you have another date?" She nodded negatively. "Then it's settled. Meet me at nine—" he stopped abruptly, thinking of the gentlemanly thing to do. "No, I'll pick you up at your home—eight-thirty."
"But, Steve, I've never been to a party like that—"
He stopped her by gently placing his fingers to her lips. "And neither have I," he confessed. "We'll have a ball and they'll just adore you!"
"You—you really think so?"
"Yeah," he started dumbly, his fingers feeling the soft touch of her lips. He slowly backed his hand away and gave in to an impulse, darting her a quick, glancing kiss.
He sidestepped nervously. "Now get a move on. Eight-thirty—and be ready."
She smiled warmly. "Yes, boss."
He shook his head again as she turned to leave. Even Nina's smile was new.