Brief Encounters. Suzanne Forster

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СКАЧАТЬ owed much to her mother. It was Pat who had taught her to sew and to piece whole outfits together from whatever material was available. Swan took to it quickly, once fashioning slacks and a blazer from a corduroy bedspread. But her mother was also a cautious and fearful soul who believed that dreams were dangerous and pursuing them even more so. She’d never wanted Swan to do anything but follow safely in her footsteps. “It’s steady work,” she liked to say. “You’ll never go hungry or lack for a roof over your head.”

      Maybe that was another reason Swan felt the need to prove herself. Her doting mom was waiting for her to fail.

      Swan felt as if she were carrying Brief Encounters squarely on her shoulders right now, and everything she and Lynne had was at stake. It wasn’t just their business, it was this house, too….

      But if she didn’t stop thinking like that, she would never get out of the loo.

      She peeked up and down the hallway before letting herself out of the bathroom. Somewhere loose in this building was a dangerously attractive telephone repairman with a twitch, and she did not want to run into him again.

      SWAN HAD ALWAYS FOUND banks a bit stifling, but this morning was different. She was absolutely thrilled to be at the Manhattan Beach branch of First National Heritage. Her pulse was alive with excitement as she walked into the heart of the brick-and-marble building and looked around for the man she needed. Now, where was Arthur Long?

      She searched for a tall, lanky man with a heavily jelled crew cut and round Harry-Potter-like glasses. Swan didn’t know a whole lot about Art, except that he was a loan officer at First National and Lynne was quite taken with him. Art was cute in a bankish way, and he had a habit of looking you straight in the eyes and clasping your hand the way a minister would. Unfortunately, he reminded her more of a salesman than a minister. He talked fast and breathy, and he liked to slip your name into the conversation as often as possible, as if to cement the fact that you were friends, darnit.

      There he was, coming out of one of the bank’s offices. She waved and managed to catch his eye. He headed her way, all horn-rimmed spectacles and big wide smile. Probably a perfectly nice guy, she thought, wondering why she wasn’t lucky enough to be attracted to one of the nice guys of the world. Her first—and last—romantic disaster had been a limo driver, a bad boy down to his muscle-man T-shirts and unfiltered cigarettes. And now she was losing her mind over a telephone repairman who was too sexy for his tool kit?

      She could feel the heat rising all over again as she thought about what she’d done to him. What she didn’t understand was why she couldn’t get him out of her head. She’d even dreamed about him last night, and of course what had she done in the dream but give in to her crazy impulse and touch him. The entire vibrating length of him. What happened after that was the stuff of X-rated videos. It could probably have gotten them arrested in some states.

      “Right this way,” Art said, seemingly unaware of his client’s rocketing blood pressure as he guided her into his office. “Have a seat and we’ll have this taken care of in a couple of minutes.”

      Swan managed to sit in an overstuffed leather chair and return Art’s smile without giving away her breathy, over-heated condition. She forced herself to take in her surroundings. The size of the room and the quality of the decor were impressive. The desk looked as though it might be mahogany, and there was a matching credenza against the wall. Apparently Art was doing well. She was glad someone was. Was that gleam of gold on his wrist a Rolex watch?

      “I can’t tell you how much Lynne and I appreciate this,” she assured Art. “I just wish she could be here.”

      His nod said he did, too. “She told me about Gvon. If all goes well, and I know it will, Swan, you two could be doing your fall show in New York next year.”

      He seemed very understanding about Lynne’s sea voyage with another man, but it was widely believed that Gvon’s interest in women was solely limited to the clothes he designed for them, so perhaps Art’s masculinity wasn’t threatened.

      Art dragged a large folder of papers from the side of his desk to the center. Even though there was no one else in his office, he lowered his voice. “We just need you to sign Lynne’s name on a couple of these documents. As long as we have her permission, there’s no problem. Basically, this stuff gets filed away and no one ever looks at it again.”

      Swan shifted uneasily. She wished she could be as casual about this little bit of forgery as Art and Lynne. Still, there weren’t any other options. They needed the money now. The fate of their tour was on the line—and if the tour was on the line, so was their business.

      “Okay,” she said. “It isn’t as if I haven’t done this plenty of times—Lynne and I are always signing each other’s names to forms, but never loan documents.”

      Art pulled a Cross pen from his pocket and handed it to her. “It’ll be fine, Swan. There and there.” He pointed to the appropriate places.

      Unlike Swan’s carefully controlled signature, Lynne’s was a flamboyant scrawl that was completely illegible. It fit her carefree personality perfectly. Art slid the document that named the house as collateral over to her. Swan made a practiced twirl with her right hand and then laid pen to paper and signed her partner’s name.

      “I hope there aren’t any problems with this,” she said. “Lynne would be devastated if she lost that house. It’s been in her family for ages, you know.”

      Art just grinned and swept the papers into a neat pile. “You two are unstoppable, trust me. You have a great future ahead of you.”

      “If only you were an underwear buyer.” Swan watched as Art bundled the documents into a fan folder. From his top desk drawer he took out a check and a leather-bound book. “How’s a hundred grand sound?” he said, handing her the check.

      Swan’s hand trembled as she took the money from him. Her breath faded as she looked at it. One hundred thousand dollars.

      “I had this organizer made up especially for your whirlwind tour,” Art said, holding up the leather book. “It has your company name embossed on the pages and there’s a digital order book in the back to keep track of your skyrocketing orders.”

      Swan had a mental image of the old organizer in her bag, which was falling apart from wear. The book he handed her was beautifully crafted. The organizer section was made of high-quality paper with their company name inscribed in beautiful lettering. The other section contained several useful compartments, including the one that held a tiny computerized order book. Swan was sure the package must have cost several hundred dollars.

      “Thank you!” she exclaimed softy. “It’s beautiful. Lynne will be as thrilled as I am.”

      “Listen, when she gets back, we’ll all get together and have dinner. My treat.”

      Swan shook her head in protest. “Our treat, and we’ll wrestle you for the check. You’ve been much too good to us.”

      Despite the banker specs, Art had a dashing smile and he flashed it now. “What red-blooded guy would turn down a chance to wrestle two beautiful women?”

      Once Swan had gathered up her belongings, Art escorted her as far as the door of his office when a ringing phone stopped him. Swan quickly thanked him again and left. As she walked through the lobby, heading toward double glass doors leading to the bright sunshine outside, she had a thought that almost frightened her.

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