Elizabeth Maynor - Never Love a Naked P.I.

She felt her cheeks flush at her obvious hint for another meeting with the handsome model. She couldn’t be much more straightforward than that, she thought. Well, she could, but she didn’t have the experience to fling herself at him more forcefully than she already was doing.

She held out her hand for a proper introduction. “I’m Amanda Catherine Emerson and you can…”

“ACE! What a great set of initials. I’ll bet everyone’s called you that since you were a kid. May I, too, or are you sick of it?”

No, no one has ever called me that. Except me. Her heart skipped a beat. “That would be great. Most people just call me Amanda, but Ace would be…fine. Uh, Antonio?”

For an instant he looked blank, then suddenly brightened, “Yeah, sure…Antonio. If It’s not too much of a mouthful. Most of the time I’m, uh, just called Tony.”

“Antonio seems to suit you. Like Anthony or Angelo. You seem to require multi syllables.”

Multi syllables! Poetic…to a man she barely knew. Oh, please.

Of course, bare was what she did know of him.

“Antonio never sounded so right.” He continued to look into her eyes until Amanda felt as naked as he had been posing in front of the class.

But, amazingly she felt no unease. She was as comfortable and contented in Antonio’s gaze as if the two of them were alone on a secluded postcard-perfect beach of a warm tropic isle or in an ancient Grecian courtyard.

Toward the center of the car, hidden behind people getting up to get off at the next stop, their watcher frowned at their intimacy.

The subway car’s brakes squealed, the doors whooshed open and Amanda and the model scrambled out onto the platform, Amanda clutching her portfolio, Antonio clutching Amanda. Taken by surprise, their observer leapt off the train by another door and followed from a distance, keeping the crowd between them.

Antonio led Amanda upstairs as a train going in the opposite direction pulled into the station. He put his arm around Amanda’s waist and guided her into the car.

The great-coated figure following them slipped into the next car and watched the couple through the glass of the connecting doors.

“The good, old, New York subway system, sometimes it works like a charm.” The young man’s dark eyes danced over Amanda. “And tonight things seem to be working really well.”

With a deep electric hum, the train moved forward. Antonio settled comfortably next to Amanda, stretching his arm to rest behind her shoulder.

“In a few minutes we’ll be back in the Village. I know a terrific little place…”

He chatted casually about his favorite Village restaurants. People in New York always seemed to be concerned about where to eat, Amanda dreamily thought. What a perfect night.

What a disaster! Face glowering under the concealing hat brim, hands clenched in leather-clad fists in the pockets of the great coat, the grim observer of the happy couple contemplated the next move.

WITH A firm hand at her waist, the handsome young man guided Amanda off the train at the Christopher Street stop, up the stairs and into the night-time Village crowd.

“The famous Circle in the Square theater used to be right there.” He indicated a grocery store on the ground floor of a high rise. “And the Theater of the Ridiculous was over there. You ever seen ‘em? Nutty. C’mon, we’ll start at the center of things.”

They walked east, her guide pointing out various shops and favorite places to eat, and entered Washington Square Park, its tree-lined walkways converging on a large circular fountain, not yet filled. Further, at the northern entrance to the park, a large triumphal arch marked the beginning of Fifth Avenue.

“Reminds me a little of Paris,” he explained, “with the arch lit up at night. Do you know Paris?”

Amanda shook her head no.

“A beautiful city.” His dark eyes looked deep into hers with the implication that Paris would be even more beautiful shared with her.

Amanda looked away, trying to ignore her heightened pulse, admonishing herself to keep her mind on the immediate tour at hand and stop making up romantic scenarios.

“The city’s cleaned up the park here a lot, but I still wouldn’t suggest touring the place alone at night. Better be safe…” His voice trailed off. Amanda glanced at him and caught a moment of introspection before his handsome face turned a mischievous smile on her. “But then, I don’t usually go for safe myself.”

Pools of light and shadow dappled strolling couples and quiet groups of the night inhabitants of the park. Pairs of foot patrolmen were in evidence to see that things remained peaceful.

“NYU’s almost taken over this part of town buying up buildings and putting up university high rises,” her guide ruefully remarked. “I like the little streets. Okay?”

He guided her south. What an amazing collection of contrasts, Amanda thought. Huge avenues filled with thundering traffic slashing through neighborhoods of barely navigable, narrow side streets spider-webbing in all directions. Small, dark brownstones nestled low, elbowed by glass and steel structures rising high into the air. And everywhere, busy, purposeful people.

On Sullivan Street he indicated a small theater in the basement of a brownstone, “The Fantastics. It’s been running since the beginning of time but it’s still one of the sweetest shows in town. They’re talking about finally closing it. Of course,” he said, and laughed, “they talk about closing it every ten years or so and it’s still running. It’s charming and romantic and I betcha you’d like it.”

“I’ve seen Fantastics. It’s a favorite with amateur groups. I saw it at Carnegie-Mellon, I think. It was terrific.”

“Pittsburgh.”

“Yes. Formerly of.”

“And like the hero in the play, you’re seeking greener pastures elsewhere.”

He seemed less and less Amanda’s conception of a man making his living as a nude male model. She chided herself for having such a narrow view of the profession. How hard it had been for her to break through the constrictors she had faced as a female executive, a daughter, a sister, a fiancée.

Perhaps he’s a writer gathering material; an adventurer on a lark; maybe a handsome fugitive on the run, hiding from his former life and striking out for a new one. She chuckled to herself at the fantasy. Hiding in plain sight.

“The hero in The Fantastics,” she answered, “discovered the grass was anything but greener on the other side, as I recall. So far, the grass in New York has proven to be remarkably healthy under my somewhat tentative feet.”

“Oh, right. David says you’re a rising executive in the corporate world.”

“I don’t know that I’d put it that way. But, so far, so good. Have you known David long?”

“Yes.” He didn’t elaborate.

As they walked back toward the West Village, he pointed out current favorite shops and former haunts now gone.

“That was a great bookstore; now it’s a not-so-great restaurant. Remember midnight movies? The Rocky Horror Picture Show ran at the 8th Street movie house forever. What great times. I thought it was amazing. My buddies even dragged me up on stage once. Now, no more movie house.” And no more buddies, his darkened faraway look seemed to indicate. “But the movie runs all the time and the stage show is making the rounds again.” His face brightened.

Amanda’s brothers had taken her to see Rocky Horror and she had insisted on being taken back two or three times. “I could imagine you as the blond Adonis created by the mad Dr. Frankenfurter.”