Gayle Roper - Caught In A Bind

“Come on, Lacey, Jess.” Tina’s mother took a small hand in each of hers. “I bet I can find some ice cream in the freezer.”

“Don’t let them eat all mine,” their grandfather said in an attempt to lighten the moment.

“It’s okay, Grandpop.” Lacey stopped in the doorway, trying to swallow her disappointment. “We don’t have to have any.”

With a sad smile, Grandpop said, “Honey, I was teasing. You eat as much as you want.”

Lacey looked at him hesitantly. “I mean it,” he said. “It’s all yours.”

“It’s okay, Lacey,” Jess said. “Isn’t it, Mommy? It’s okay here.”

“It’s okay here,” Tina repeated and began to weep.

Tonight’s black-tie reception was important for my career as I’d be meeting my new superboss for the first time, and I wanted to impress him. I was going to wear one of those rare, it’s-exactly-right dresses that made me feel like a million dollars but which I bought for thirty bucks in a secondhand clothes store. It had a fitted sapphire blue silk top covered with so many sequins that I shimmered like the Caribbean Sea awash in sun jewels. Its soft silk skirt fell in a graceful column.

But it was Curt I really wanted to impress. I wanted to knock his socks off, make him drool, froth at the mouth and go weak at the knees. I grinned at the absurd thoughts. I’d be happy if I could make him whistle.

I was standing in front of the bathroom mirror in my underwear, one eye made up, my hair in hot rollers, when I realized that my dress, fresh from the cleaners, was still hanging in the car. I shuddered when I thought of its condition after sharing a backseat with Lacey and Jess, but it was the only truly fancy dress I owned—unless you counted four frou-frou bridesmaid dresses, including one from Jolene and Reilly’s wedding. Of course I wouldn’t be caught dead in any of them outside a church.

I glanced at the clock. Ten minutes before Curt arrived. I grabbed my new red coat and threw it on over my undies. I ran out the front door. I was halfway across the porch when I heard the door not only slam closed but snap in the way that meant only one thing: locked. And the key was in my purse on the sofa.

I stared at my front door. A couple of months ago someone had broken into my apartment by shattering one of the small panes of glass in the door. After that I’d lobbied my landlord for a new, all-wooden door. He hadn’t been happy with the idea, but when I offered to share the cost with him, he’d agreed. My new, solid door with the peephole was impregnable, unless you happened to be carrying an axe in your coat pocket.

I had ten minutes—no, probably about eight by now—to get back inside before Curt arrived and found me in my rollers, underwear, half-made-up face and slippers with the Winnie the Pooh heads on them. I began a frantic search for a secret way into the apartment.

I was behind the yew hedge by the front window, trying in vain to open it, when I heard a deep voice say, “It’s a cinch that no one at the reception will hold a candle to you tonight.”

For once the voice didn’t thrill me to my toes.

I turned to face him. He looked absolutely gorgeous with his black curly hair and dark eyes behind his new brown wire-rimmed glasses. He was wearing a tux. A tux! And I was wearing a coat and underwear!

He studied me closely, looking from one eye to the other. He was trying rather unsuccessfully not to laugh.

I stalked out from behind the bushes, clutching my coat to me. “I’m locked out.”

“Ah.” Then he saw my feet. “Hey! Maybe I can get a pair of Tiggers!”

“Very funny. Go away. Come back in twenty minutes.”

Instead he leaned over and kissed my cheek, getting poked in the temple with a roller in the process.

“Sorry.” I rubbed the little red marks left by the roller’s teeth.

He looked at the front door. “You’re sure it’s locked?”

I just looked at him.

“All right then.” He retraced the route I had just taken, trying all the windows I had just tried. Whiskers followed his progress from window to window, meowing encouragement from inside. I was perversely pleased to see that he had no more luck than I.

“So you really are out in the cold,” he said.

“And it’s getting colder. It’s breezy under here.”

“What?”

“Nothing,” I said quickly. “Just break a window and get me in!”

“I guess there’s no alternative. But let’s make certain it’s absolutely necessary first.” And so saying, he pulled open the storm door of my apartment and tried the front door.

It opened obediently.

I stared at the open door, feeling betrayed. “But it clicked!”

“Yeah. That was probably the storm door.”

I wanted to gnash my teeth.

I had finished my second eye when I realized that my dress was still in the car. I grabbed my red coat out from under Whiskers, who had decided that if it was dumped on my bed, it could be his bed. He glared at me and I glared back. I went once again to my traitorous front door.

“Well, your eyes match,” Curt said as he looked up from the magazine he was reading. Today’s Christian Woman. I bet he was enjoying that. “But something tells me you’re not quite ready yet.”

“My dress is still in the car.”

“I’ll get it. At least I’m decent.” And he grinned.

I looked down and saw that while I clutched my coat closed above the waist, below the waist the left side had caught behind me when I swung it on. The only thing I can say is that it wasn’t quite as bad as if I’d caught my skirt in my panty hose.

When I finally got myself together and emerged from the bedroom in one piece, Curt let out a low wolf whistle.

Suddenly the evening looked enchanted.

I chatted happily as we drove across town, telling Curt all about Edie’s troubles. “And Tom’s still missing,” I concluded.

Curt raised an eyebrow. “Missing?”

I nodded, grinning at him.

“I can tell by your smile that you’re very concerned.”

I blinked. “Of course I’m concerned.” I leaned toward him and smiled again, full wattage. “I’m smiling because I’m with you,” I all but purred.

This time he blinked.

City Hall was a beautiful old stone mansion. I loved the grounds with the gracious beech whose branches swept the ground like the skirts of a great lady, the towering oak that stood like a sentinel watching over the lady and the glorious magnolias whose waxen, white petals even now promised spring as they dared a frost to wither their beauty.

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