Eva Rutland - Almost A Wife

Ten minutes later, the door was opened by a woman in a chic tan coatdress, a smart leather purse slung over her shoulder. She shook back her sheath of smooth blond hair and stared at Lisa. “What were you doing in there?”

Lisa touched a finger to her own sleekly cropped hair, adjusted her own smart shoulder bag. “Thought I’d walk down for the exercise. A big mistake. I didn’t know they locked this door.”

“In some buildings. For security I think.”

“Funny kind of security. Anyway, thank you for letting me out. I could have been there forever,” she said, smiling as she walked away, head and shoulders high.

When she reached her apartment, and opened the door, she heard the vacuum cleaner humming.

Joline. Her weekly cleaning lady, one of the splurges that accompanied the big salary. Oh, she had felt so grand. No more scrubbing tiles, changing linens, dusting. All she had to do was water her plants, and arrange fresh flowers when the gang was coming over or she had a date.

Well, she wouldn’t be having a gang over anytime soon. Most were from work, and she had another agenda now. And Chris, the guy in accounting that she’d been dating, had transferred to Seattle three months ago. He must have seen the downsizing coming.

At any rate, she’d have to do her own cleaning now. She’d put off telling Joline because she’d been so sure she’d have another job by this time. Now…She deserved notice, too, didn’t she? Two weeks? A month?

“Come and have a cup of coffee with me, Joline,” she said when the woman had finished her chores. “I’m afraid I have a bit of bad news for you. For me, anyway.”

“Thank you. I could do with a cup of coffee, and I’m glad to take a load off my feet for a spell.” Joline, who was rather heavy, settled herself in a chair by the coffee table. “But…bad news? I don’t like the sound of that.”

“I don’t like it, either,” Lisa said, as she poured coffee. “I hate to say it, but I can’t afford you any longer.”

“Oh? I’m sorry. I like working here. You’re not as messy as most.”

She didn’t ask why, but Lisa explained anyway.

Joline was sympathetic. “That’s a shame. Goodness, I don’t know what’s happening these days. Mr. Taylor, on the fourth floor, gave me notice last month. He lost his job and had to take one in Lodi. Much less pay, he told me. Times are getting tough.”

“Yes,” Lisa said, thinking she might have to move to another area herself. She’d hate to leave the city, her nice apartment. Then another thought returned…notice. “Would two weeks notice be fair, Joline? Or would you prefer severance pay?”

“Oh, honey, you got enough problems. Don’t worry about me.”

“Are you sure?” Lisa was relieved, but she wanted to be fair.

“Sure I’m sure. I know how it is when you lose a job. And, to tell the truth, I’ve got more than I need. I turned down three jobs just last week.”

“You did?” Lisa whistled. “No downsizing in the cleaning industry, huh?”

“You can say that again. And you can set your own pace, pick and choose.”

Lisa listened with idle curiosity as Joline elaborated. “You’re your own boss, set your own wages. Like I charged old Mr. Jenkins double ’cause his place was a pigsty. And you can charge an arm and a leg out in the Heights and the Cove.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah. But you got to drive all the way out there, and you get plumb wore out climbing them stairs.”

“Stairs?”

“Oh, you know. All those Victorian houses got them winding stairs to the second floor. No. I couldn’t stand that. Even if one house do pay more than three apartments. Mrs. Smith called me yesterday, trying to get me to come back. I told her no, sirree, not me.”

Lisa stared, her interest perked. Set your own pace. Your own price. An arm and a leg in the Heights with all those stairs…Stairs.

No elevators!

Anybody could clean a house.

She calculated. Set your own price? An arm and a leg?

Just temporary…while she was looking.

“Joline,” she said. “Could you give me a reference?”

HE HADN’T seen her again. Not in the two months since he’d been at CTI.

That was strange. She got off on the same floor. Must work for the company.

Not necessarily. He’d been through every office, meeting the key people, assessing things, and he’d taken a careful, though cursory glance at every woman. He hadn’t seen her. Not once.

Heck, he probably wouldn’t recognize her. Her face had been buried in his shoulder most of the time.

If he knew her name, he’d ask…No, he wouldn’t. Too wacky for his taste.

So why did she linger in his mind? At the strangest times. Even in his dreams…that mass of freshly shampooed hair, that faint scent of perfume, that soft yielding.

The ringing intruded.

The alarm. He stretched a hand to shut it off.

The ringing continued. The phone. He picked it up.

“Tray, darling! Did I wake you?”

“And how pleasant a wake up!” he managed to say, rousing from his stupor. “How are you, Chase?”

“Missing you. And worried about you. You’re still stuck in that hotel.”

“’Fraid so.”

“Poor baby. We’ll have to do something about that.”

We? “I’m okay.” What’s with this we? Haven’t reached that stage yet!

Okay, he’d been rather flattered when Chase Smith-Lawson centered her attention upon him. Recently divorced, she had returned to her father’s palatial home, her maiden name and her role as leading hostess in New York’s social set. She was the spoiled apple of her father’s eye. She was also beautiful, glamorous, stimulating and…Face it. Officious!

“Tray, are you listening?”

“Sure. Trying to get a word in to tell you I want be here long enough to need an apartment.”

Nonsense. “I knew you’d need me. I promised Daddy I’d be there to help you find the proper place, meet the proper people. Start you off on the right foot, so to speak.”

That grated. Like his rapid rise at Lawson Enterprises wasn’t due to his business acumen, but to his relationship with Lawson’s daughter. “I think I’m getting my foot where it belongs. Into business, so to speak.”

She missed the sarcasm. “I know. As always, you’re probably working your head off in that stuffy office and still stuck in that stuffy hotel room. Don’t worry. I’ll get you out of both.”

“Listen, Chase. I’m fine. I—”

She didn’t hear him. “But not right away,” she was saying. “Page Anderson wants me here to help with the Symphony Ball.”

“Oh?” Thank God for Page Anderson.

“Can you manage without me for the next six weeks?”

“I’ll try.” He tried not to sound relieved. “I’ll try.”

Later that morning, Tray looked across his desk at Sam Fraser, who, in his two short months at CTI, had become his chief aide. “Okay, Sam, get ready. We’re making some changes.”

“What kind of changes?”

“Diversification.” Anticipated changes that had been thrashed out at the corporate board meeting last week. “You must have expected it.”

“Guess I did. Lots of relocations, huh?”

“Yes. Guess there will have to be. Each operation with its own specialty. That’s Lawson policy. Production in Denver, research and development in—”

Fraser interrupted. “What’s our role?”

Tray, noting his wary expression, smiled. “Don’t worry. You’re not moving. We’re considering this as our marketing base. East coast, Asia and the Middle East, and you’re my number one man. Quite a bit of travel, however. Is that a problem?”

“Not really. Not as big a problem as transplanting Sandy and the kids. Tim, the eldest, is at Cove High, basketball and all that stuff, and to take him away now would…Oh, you know how it is.” He spread his hands. “So what’s the procedure.”