Сандра Браун: Fanta C

"So why don't you invite him over for dinner some evening?"

"Why don't you mind your own business?"

"Or wear something absolutely scandalous the next time you mow the grass. Sunbathe topless."

"Lilah, really! Besides, summer's over. It's too cold to sunbathe."

Lilah winked licentiously. "That'll make your nipples hard."

"I'm not listening to this."

"If that's too much, then do something traditional. Ask him to repair your toaster."

"It's not broken."

"So break it!" Lilah came off the stool and faced her sister with obvious aggravation. "At a time when he's bound to see you, look a little helpless and distraught."

"You wouldn't."

"Hell no, I wouldn't. But, as we've already established, I'm not you. I was never the damsel in distress in those fantasies you dreamed up."

By an act of will, Elizabeth got a grip on her temper. "It's odd that you poke fun at my fantasies. Wasn't it your idea for me to name my shop Fantasy?"

"I don't poke fun at your fantasies. They're as much a part of you as your fingerprints. Would I have given you that car tag if I didn't think it fit your character?"

The car tag Lilah had given her last Christmas read FANTA C. She had been appalled at the gag gift but Lilah had had it registered with the state bureau. Without going through miles of red tape and all the rigmarole of having it changed, she was stuck with it for at least a year.

"That license plate is a constant source of embarrassment to me," she told her sister now. "Every time someone pulls up beside me, I can tell he's wondering what's going on inside my dirty mind."

Lilah laughed. "Good. Why don't you roll down the window and tell him? Or better yet, act it out."

Lilah's laughter was infectious. Before she realized it, Elizabeth was laughing with her. "You're incorrigible."

"Yes I am," Lilah admitted without a shred of remorse.

"And I know you have my best interest at heart."

"I do. You'll be thirty soon. I don't want you to wake up ten years from now and still be alone. Your kids won't even be around by then. You could get committed waiting to get committed. Prince Charming is not going to come beating down your door, Lizzie. He won't step out of your fantasies and take you in his arms. You might have to seize the initiative."

Elizabeth, knowing that her sister was unfortunately right, looked away. As she did, she spied the morning newspaper she hadn't gotten around to reading yet. "Maybe I'll set my cap for him." She pointed down at the picture of the man on the front page.

"Adam Cavanaugh," Lilah read. "Owner of the chain, I suppose?"

"Yes. He's going to be here this week on an inspection tour. The hotel management and all the lessees have been put on the alert."

"He's good-looking," Lilah remarked matter-of-factly. "But face it, he's superrich, super-handsome, and more than likely a superjerk. An international playboy. He's still a fantasy character, Lizzie. If I were you, I'd look for a bedmate who's a little more accessible."

Elizabeth made a face at her. "Before you run off all my customers with your filthy language, will you please get out of here?"

"I was going anyway," Lilah said loftily. "If I don't, I'll be late for my four-thirty appointment. Toodle-doo." She waggled her fingers airily as she sailed out, slipping between the two men who sidestepped for her. Lilah winked at both of them. They paused to watch her retreating form appreciatively before they entered Fantasy.

One had Elizabeth gift wrap a slender silver bracelet for "my wife," he said. Elizabeth wondered, then chided herself for letting Lilah rouse her suspicions.

The second man took more time deliberating before buying a basket of chocolates wrapped in pink cellophane and tied with a pink bow and silk orchid. As she rang up the sale Elizabeth assessed his merits. Nice chin. Nice hands. But he parted his hair funny. The sleeves of his jacket were a trifle too long. The seat of his trousers was baggy.

Good Lord, she thought as the man left the shop with his purchase. Was she actually beginning to listen to Lilah? Heaven forbid that she ever take her sister's advice.

On an evening when she most wanted peace and quiet, she should have known that it would be too much to ask for. When she arrived home, she found chaos.

Her eight-year-old daughter, Megan, and six-year-old son, Matt, were in the backyard with their babysitter, Mrs Alder. All three were nearly hysterical. Elizabeth cut the motor of her car, pushed open the door, and hit the ground running, certain that the house must be on fire.

"What is it? What's going on? Is someone hurt?"

"Baby!" Megan wailed. "She's in the tree."

"We called her and called her, but she can't get down."

"She's stuck up there and it's getting dark."

"Get her down, Mom. Please."

"I couldn't, Mrs Burke, or I would have," a breathless Mrs Alder said above the children's crying voices.

Elizabeth, thinking that something dreadful had happened, was relieved to learn that the tumult was over nothing more than the new kitten. The cat was stranded in the sycamore tree, all right, but no one was choking, or bleeding, or had a broken bone, or any of the other disasters that their weeping and wailing had warranted.

"All right, everybody calm down," she shouted. When the crying subsided to a few juicy sobs, she said, "You're raising a big ruckus over nothing."

"But she's just a baby kitten."

"And she's scared. Listen to her crying." Matt's lower lip began to wobble again.

"We'll get Baby down and well before dark," Elizabeth said. "Mrs Alder, if you'd — "

"I'd like to help you, Mrs Burke, but if I don't leave right away I'll be late for my evening job and I've got to stop at home first."

"Oh." Elizabeth glanced up at the stranded kitten, which was mewing pitiably. "You'd better get going then, Mrs Alder. I'll take it from here."

"I'd sure help you if I could. I hate to leave you, knowing that — "

"I understand. Don't worry about it. I'll see you tomorrow."

The babysitter left. Elizabeth watched her go with regret. A helping hand wouldn't have hurt even if it was the hand of an elderly lady.

Widowhood had its psychological and social detriments, but sometimes not having a man around the house was simply a pain. At times like this she got angry with John for getting killed and leaving her alone with all the responsibilities that come with having a family.

But, as in similar situations, Elizabeth gritted her teeth and approached the problem pragmatically and with a "what choice do I have?" spirit of determination. It was apparent that the damn cat wasn't going to fly out of the tree on command like a pet canary.

She and her children stood beneath the tree, analyzing the problem.

"How are you going to get up there, Mom?"

"I don't think she can," Matt said dismally in response to his sister's worried question.

"Of course I can." Elizabeth gave them a falsely confident smile. "Lilah and I used to climb trees all the time."

"Aunt Lilah said you were always a 'fraidy cat.'"

"Well, I'm not. And I wasn't. And that just shows how much Aunt Lilah knows." Elizabeth had an ax to grind with her sister the next time she saw her.

"Maybe we should call the fire apartment," Matt suggested.

"Department, stupid," Megan corrected him.

For once Elizabeth let Megan's slur pass and said sharply, "Matthew, bring me the stepladder from the garage." She didn't want her children to think she was a coward. The boy ran to do her bidding. "I'd better change before — "

"Oh, Mom, please don't," Megan said, catching her mother's sleeve as she headed for the house. "Just seeing you has already calmed Baby down. If you go inside she might start crying again and I can't stand it. I really can't." Cloudy tears welled up in Megan's eyes. Elizabeth couldn't resist their appeal. Besides, just then Matt came huffing up carrying the stepladder.