The Bridal Suite. Sandra Marton

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СКАЧАТЬ going too far,” Jeannie leaned closer to the mirror, eyes narrowed, and peered at her chin. “Wonderful. I’m getting a zit, and tonight I’m seeing that guy I met at that singles dance. What do you think, huh? Should I try popping it?”

      “I’m not talking about Arthur. I’m talking about McKenna. Who does the man think be is? Who in hell does he think he is?”

      “A hunk. That’s who.”

      “A jerk. That’s who. The smug, miserable, rotten—”

      “My grandma always said that repetition was the product of a non-creative mind.”

      “Your grandma never met Mr. I-Am-God McKenna. Jeannie, what are you doing?”

      “Squeezing this zit. I cannot possibly go out tonight with a zit the size of Rhode Island on my chin. It’s gross.”

      Dana sighed. “No, it isn’t.”

      “Yes, it is. I look like the poster child for leprosy.”

      “Do you have any concealer with you?”

      “Does an elephant have a trunk?”

      “Well, give it to me. And your compact. I’ll fix it so your zit will disappear. I just wish somebody could do the same to His Majesty McKenna.”

      “Now, Dana.” Obediently, Jeannie let her face be tilted up toward the light. “Wanting to fix McKenna isn’t nice.”

      “Why not? Fixing that man’s butt would be doing the world a favor.”

      Jeannie grinned. “Ah. Well, fixing his butt is okay, I guess, but fixing him, as in the way a vet fixes a randy tomcat, would make legions of damsels weep.”

      “Frankly,” Dana said coldly, “I don’t give a hoot about his personal life, though the way he goes through women, he might just deserve it.”

      “I take it you’re not one of his fans,” Jeannie said cheerfully.

      “If you mean that I’m not taken in by his press, his money or his looks, you’re right.”

      “There’s no sense in arguing over his looks. Only a troglodyte wouldn’t find the guy hunky. As for his press... according to what I’ve heard, Griffin McKenna bought up and turned around a lot of troubled companies last year.”

      “Great. First Arthur and now you, giving me the same speech.”

      “Please! Don’t put me in the same sentence with Arthur. I’m liable to fall asleep from boredom.”

      “It’s garbage and you know it,” Dana said, ignoring the gibe. “McKenna is a pirate.”

      “Does he still insist on wearing bow ties?”

      “McKenna?” Dana said, staring at Jeannie.

      “Arthur. Somebody ought to tell him, guys just don’t wear those things anymore.”

      “I think his bow ties make him look distinguished,” Dana said loyally. “Besides, I was talking about McKenna, and please don’t bother telling me how many jobs he’s saved because that’s all secondary to his real purpose in life, which is to make himself as disgustingly rich as possible.”

      “My, oh, my, is that right? He should be taken out and shot.”

      “And to accumulate as many female scalps as he can manage in his spare time. Turn toward me a little, please.”

      “I thought you just said you don’t care about his personal life.”

      “I don’t. It’s just that his attitude toward women spills over into his work.”

      “Whoa.” Jeannie drew in her breath. “Don’t tell me,” she said in an excited whisper. “He made a pass?”

      “Ha!”

      “Ha, as in yes?”

      “Ha, as in I almost wish he had.” Dana’s eyes glittered. “Then, at least, I could nail him with the charges he deserves. The man is a sexist pig. He sees women only as objects.”

      “I thought you said he didn’t make a pass,” Jeannie said in bewilderment.

      “He didn’t,” Dana stepped back, cocked her head and studied Jeannie’s face. “There. If you keep your hands away from your chin, nobody’ll notice a thing.”

      Jeannie swung toward the mirror. “Terrific! I’m almost human again.”

      “Which is more than we can say of Mister McKenna.” Dana curved her hands around the rim of the sink and glared into the mirror. “Tell me the truth, please. Do I sound like an idiot?”

      Jeannie looked at her friend and sighed. “Your trouble isn’t what you sound like, my friend. It’s what you look like. People who design complicated computer programs aren’t supposed to look like Michelle Pfeiffer stand-ins. Well, except for the hair. If you’d just go blonder, leave it loose...”

      “Forget about the way I look,” Dana said sharply, “although that, clearly, is part of the problem as far as McKenna’s concerned. He looks at me, all he can see is a female.”

      “How peculiar,” Jeannie said sweetly.

      “Sitting there, like an emperor on his throne, giving me these solemn looks, nodding wisely as if he were really listening to what I was saying, when he’d already decided I had nothing worth listening to, thanks to my chromosomes. Oh, it was as plain as the nose on your face.”

      “Or the Mount Vesuvius on my chin,” Jeannie swung toward the mirror and frowned. “When did this happen? When did McKenna decide you had terminal PMS?”

      “Last week. Well, and again just a few minutes ago. I met with him twice, and each time was a disaster.” Dana paced across the room. “He didn’t listen to me, Jeannie, he patronized me. And when that didn’t work, he told me that I could look for another job, if I didn’t like this one.”

      “Uh-oh. That sounds ominous.”

      “And why?”

      “Well,” Jeannie said, “I guess because—”

      “Because I stood up to him, that’s why. Because I turned out not to be the ladylike little puppet he thought I was, one that would let him pull my strings.”

      “I don’t think puppets have strings,” Jeannie said carefully. “I mean, it’s marionettes that—”

      “It was just a figure of speech,” Dana said angrily. “Oh, that man. How can he be so blind?”

      “Dana, look, I think maybe you’re going overboard, you know?”

      “Well, you think wrong. There’s a serious problem with the new code, thanks to my boss. Dave’s screwing up, big time.”

      “Are you sure?”

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