Chapter 12

Without opening his eyes, Stan smiled and pulled Eileen's naked body a little tighter up against his own. He knew she'd dozed, right after their lovemaking, but he didn't mind. Even in sleep, she remained close to him, her soft arm resting on his chest, her leg wrapped possessively around his own. A cool wave of crisp autumn air drifted in through the window. Stan took a deep breath and tucked the rumpled sheet up below Eileen's chin. Again, that persistent nagging voice inside him said that this was wrong-that the woman beside him in bed should be his wife. He rejected this thought and glanced at the luminous dial on his watch. Morality wasn't important anymore, he decided. For once, he was completely happy. Well, almost completely.

Five forty-five. Time to get going.

As gently as he could, Stan rolled his body away from hers and kissed her cheek. A lock of red hair clung to her damp forehead. Stan knew she was exhausted, but he also knew she'd be furious if he left without saying goodbye.

"What time is it?" Eileen's voice was thick with sleep.

"A quarter to six," Stan whispered. "We've got to get up."

Eileen nodded in the darkness and curled herself around him. "Five more minutes."

"Oh, no you don't." Stan patted her smooth shoulder and pushed Eileen onto her back. "Five more minutes and we'll both be out cold."

Eileen came suddenly to life and sat straight up in the bed. Stan lay on his back. In fascinated silence, he studied the part of her body that was revealed above the sheet. The cleft chin ... the straight neck ... the tilted breasts that always quivered to life beneath his touch. All the things he'd grown to know and love. Things that were his on borrowed time only.

"Stop thinking so much. It's bad for you." Eileen leaned over and rumpled Stan's hair. She always knew when he was getting depressed.

Stan grabbed for Eileen's shoulders and pulled her face down to his. Her soft, delicious mouth yielded willingly. The tip of her tongue darted out to meet his. Stan slid his hands over her sleep-warmed flesh until his fingers found the rigid points of her breasts. Slowly, he caressed the shadowed flesh to life.

"You'd better get out of here, Mister." Eileen's voice was husky with new desire.

Without thinking why, Stan reached around and imprisoned Eileen within his trembling embrace. He didn't want to let her go. For some reason, tonight seemed more important than any other time they'd shared.

"You have to be at that television studio in an hour, remember?" Eileen sounded like she was trying to convince herself, as well as Stan.

"Talk to me for a few more minutes." Stan kissed the damp hair at her temple and closed his eyes again. If only he could forget the other things he had to do. If only he could hide here, in her bed, with her love, always.

"What's to talk about?" Eileen relaxed against him.

"Us," Stan answered simply, directly.

"Come on, Stan. We'll only ruin the evening."

"Yeah, I know." Stan sighed and glanced up through the darkness to the ceiling. What was there to say? How could he find an answer that would satisfy everybody?

"You sure you don't want something to eat?" Eileen was obviously changing the subject on purpose. "We never got around to supper."

"No, thanks." Stan felt the gloom approaching and decided that he had to talk. He knew there was no solution, but he still wanted Eileen to know that he was aware-that he wasn't just taking from her, without any thought to the future, and its consequences.

"I tried to talk to Toni last night," he began softly, "but she was too tired to listen."

"I told you that wasn't necessary."

Stan heard a tone of tired resignation enter Eileen's voice. If only he could do something to lift that sadness from her shoulders. "You don't think we can just go on like this indefinitely, do you?" he asked, reaching over to turn on the lamp and get a cigarette.

"You know you're not going to divorce her," Eileen stated simply. "And I wouldn't ask you to."

Stan handed her a cigarette and looked away. She knew him so well. And sometimes, the mirror that she held up to him was frightening.

"Don't worry about it. I'm a big girl." Eileen kissed Stan's shoulder and moved to the edge of the bed. "Now hurry up and get dressed before you lose your job."

Her words made him feel like hitting ... like striking out. But he didn't move. How could he strike out when he didn't know who the enemy was?

"Let me heat up some coffee before you go." Eileen pulled a robe out of the closet and slipped into it as she walked to the stove. "It'll only take a minute."

Stan dressed slowly, still unable to mobilize himself for the task he knew lay ahead of him. Tonight was the television show that Stillwell Cosmetics was sponsoring. For weeks, practically all of his efforts and those of everybody else in his department had been concentrated on the program. Layouts. Commercials. Displays. Slogans. They'd repeated themselves in his brain until he knew the scripts and the sequences by heart. If not for Eileen, he wouldn't have survived the pressure.

"Coffee's ready." Eileen was filling the two cups on the table.

He knotted his tie and walked to the chair he always used at Eileen's place. How many dinners had they shared here, he tried to remember. How many supper breaks and hurried evenings had they stolen, only to realize that despite their feelings for each other something was missing. That something would always be missing, until the time when they didn't have to hide.

No more sentiment, he warned himself. Whether he felt up to it or not, there was a job to be done this evening. People were depending on him. Eileen was counting on him. The company big shots would be watching him. For once in his life, he must not fail-if only to prove to himself that he was capable of succeeding.

"Call me after the show?" Eileen whispered, as they lingered at the door.

Stan nodded and leaned forward to kiss her cheek. "The minute it's over. If I make it."

"Of course you'll make it."

Stan saw Eileen's eyes flash with the annoyance. "Just teasing," he said quickly. And then he turned and walked down the hall, before she had a chance to see that he was lying.

The television studio was wild with activity when Stan arrived. For a moment he felt lost among all those professionals who seemed to know exactly what they were doing. He watched them rushing around. Cameramen. Stagehands. Errand boys. From the biggest to the smallest, each man seemed to know his job. If only he could be that way, Stan wished.

But what for?

The implications of that thought were enough to foul him up for a week. Forcing himself forward, he searched the room for a glimpse of Elliot Barnes. The man was nowhere to be seen.

"Everything set?" the brisk, authoritative voice behind him asked.

Stan knew it could only be one person. "I'm all ready." He turned around to smile at Eva Stillwell "I was just looking for Elliot."

"He hasn't shown up yet." Eva seemed truly concerned. "He should have been here half an hour ago."

"Did anyone call the office? Maybe he stopped there first, on his way in?"

"No, I don't think so." Eva glanced across toward the door. "Would you do that for me, Stan?"

"Glad to." Stan nodded crisply, placed his attache case down on a table and went to hunt for a telephone.

He hadn't had much conviction about the possibility when he'd thrown out the suggestion, but Stan went through the motions by dialing anyway. When there was no answer at the office, he wasn't surprised.

It wouldn't be unlike Elliot to be out somewhere tying one on, Stan decided. Lately, the man didn't seem to give a damn about the office or the work, anyway. More often than not, he left early. It was Stan who wound up with the brunt of the job. And the word thanks didn't seem to be in Elliot's vocabulary.

There was still time, Stan told himself as he left the phone booth. The show didn't start until nine. Elliot would show up. He had to. If Elliot didn't, he would have to take over.

A growing fear stopped him in his tracks. The old urge to run and hide licked at his insides. He started to sweat. What would he do if Elliot really didn't make it, he wondered. Would he be able to handle everything on his own? Was he strong enough to make sure everything ran smoothly?

Seven-fifteen.

Stan ripped his glance from the studio door, and opened his attache case. He had a copy of everything Elliot was supposed to know. He was fully prepared to give Elliot all the assistance he needed. But if Elliot didn't show, who would assist him?

Seven-thirty.

Stan looked at Eva, and Eva looked back at Stan. They both knew. He swallowed hard. Eva raised herself up to full height and faced him. "You take over," she said, simply. That was it. Stan was on his own.

His glance darted wildly about the room. Maybe Elliot would walk in at the last moment. Maybe he'd yet be spared from running the commercials, after all.

No Elliot. Eva was looking at him ... waiting for him to do something.

Stan picked up his papers and walked passed her. He reached into his pocket and found a dime. Now there were only two things for him to do.

First, call Eileen.

And then ... march into that control room and function.