Tell Me More. Janet Mullany

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СКАЧАТЬ She tugged me across the foyer, filled at intermission with well-heeled, mostly middle-aged patrons, mixed in with a few Birkenstocked old hippies, and some younger people in jeans and hiking boots and down vests. The symphony was nothing if not diverse.

      We approached a group of people with champagne glasses; our station manager, Bill, was among them and the administrative director of the symphony. Kimberly made introductions, her mane of blond hair tossing, and I got to meet Willis Scott III.

      He was the sort of man Kimberly would go for—I preferred them in faded blue jeans or baggy khaki shorts—dark with a bit of gray, handsome; expensive haircut, suit, cologne.

      “I’m surprised you enjoy the symphony,” he said.

      “Why?”

      “You listen to music all day.”

      “I don’t listen to it a whole lot. There’s quite a lot to do in the studio while the music’s playing.” Phone sex, for example.

      “Sounds interesting.”

      I nodded, searching for something to say. “Tell me about what you do.”

      He was only too happy to, running off at the mouth about prime interest rates and equity, and how this was a great time to buy up.

      I drank champagne and tried to look intelligent.

      “I’ve got a new development just north of town,” he said. “Great architecture, real exclusive, beautiful setting. We’ve preserved the environmental integrity, lots of trees and stuff, and we’re keeping it upscale, you know what I mean? Second homes, mostly—”

      “If you’re that concerned with environmental integrity, why develop it? It’s not as though you’re providing housing for people who really need it.”

      He frowned, his handsome brow wrinkling. “There’s a demand, you wouldn’t believe it. But Jo, you know, if you’re in the market—”

      I guess that was what happened when you wore designer clothes or possibly gave off some sort of involuntary slutty radar. “I don’t have any plans to—”

      “Call me.” He produced a business card.

      “Okay.”

      Like a gentleman he held my champagne glass while I opened my purse and tucked his card away.

      He moved a little closer to me and tugged my shawl back on to my shoulder. His manicured fingers rested on my bare skin a little too long. “You’re a very attractive woman, Jo. Maybe we could have dinner sometime?”

      I stepped back. “I work most evenings, Willis.”

      “Lunch, then. And we could drive out to the development after. Commune with nature. How about it?”

      “I’ll let you know.” I couldn’t wait to throw away—in the recycling bin, of course—his business card.

      “Great shoes.”

      That was all I needed, a shoe fetishist. Maybe it was an attempt at empathy.

      To my great relief the chimes sounded for the second half of the concert. As we walked back into the concert hall, one of the group—a fortysomething fair-haired woman—walked beside me.

      “I wanted to tell you how much I enjoy your show.”

      “Thanks.”

      “You always sound so approachable. I think a lot of people get intimidate by classical music. It’s a shame.”

      “It is. I’m sorry, I didn’t catch your name.”

      “I’m Liz Ferrar.” She smiled and touched my arm. She whispered, “If Kimberly thinks Willis is a hot prospect for the station, she’s wasting her time. He’s a real tightwad. The whole family is. And he’s a jerk.”

      “Fuck, yes. He hit on me so hard, I couldn’t believe it. Liz, don’t you run the women’s center in town?” She was the reference Patrick had given, the one I claimed to know. “I guess you know Patrick Delaney.”

      “Oh, yes. He’s a sweet guy. He designed our site for free. How do you know him?”

      “He applied to be my tenant.”

      “Good. I’m glad he’s leaving Elise—I mean, you hate to see a couple break up, but when they’re both so unhappy …” She shrugged.

      “Come visit us—me, I mean, and Patrick, too. Call me at the station.” We exchanged cards.

      Happy that I’d made a new friend, I shushed Kimberly so I could listen to the music.

      I arrived at the radio station by cab shortly after the concert ended, and settled myself in for a quiet evening. Time to get caught up on paperwork. I had an article to write for the newsletter, programming to select for the next couple of months.

      I jumped every time the phone rang.

      At two in the morning I shut down, tidied up the console and reached for the phone to call a cab home.

       It rang. No data.

      I stared at the ringing phone. I had no obligation to answer—we were off air. After seven rings the caller would be transferred to the station’s voice mail.

      But I answered anyway.

      “I’ve missed you,” he said.

      “I’ve missed you, too.”

      “I’m sorry, Jo. I pushed you too hard.”

      “It’s okay.”

      He sighed. “I want honesty between us. It’s been two nights and I’ve had time to think and …”

      “And?”

      “We don’t need this sort of relationship. We have plenty of other things to talk about. We don’t have to continue in this way. Unless you want to.”

      “What do you want?”

      He laughed again. “Whatever you’re willing to give. Darling, it was plenty of fun for me but I love to talk to you. It’s up to you how we proceed now. By the way, you looked ravishing at the symphony tonight.”

      My voice shot up an octave. “Oh, my God. Please don’t tell me you’re that creepy Realtor. Or that you even know him. No, of course you’re not. Your voice is different … sorry, I’m rambling. You were there?”

      “I have my sources.” He paused. “What I’m saying, Jo, is that you should be in a real relationship. I’d be jealous, of course. But I don’t want you to feel … obligated to me in any way.”

      “You’re trying to drop me, aren’t you?”

      “In a way, yes. I don’t want to lose you. I hope СКАЧАТЬ