Audra Adams - The Bachelor's Bride

“Don’t move,” Trudy said. “I’ll be right over.”

A half hour later Rachel’s buzzer sounded. She pressed the button and leaned into it, then waited at the door until she heard the elevator ping. Opening the door, she rested against the jamb and watched her best friend in the entire world walk toward her.

A tall, slim, gorgeous redhead, Trudy Levin was a walking neurosis—ambitious, hyper, driven to succeed in the high-powered world of the cosmetics industry.

When Rachel had first arrived in the city two years ago, she had “hick” written all over her. They’d met on the subway when Rachel had gotten hopelessly lost going crosstown. Trudy, a rare Manhattan native, had rescued her, yapping on her heels like a mother hen. They’d been fast friends ever since.

“I don’t believe this,” Trudy said, brushing past Rachel as she hurried into the apartment. But then, Trudy didn’t walk, she hurried—everywhere.

Rachel made a slow turn and shut the door behind her.

“Lock it,” Trudy said, dropping her oversize bag onto a kitchen chair.

Rachel smiled and obeyed. Trudy was always ordering her around, mostly with warnings on how to survive in the big, bad city. Rachel knew she did it out of love, and found it no chore to deal with her friend’s paranoia.

“Now, tell me what happened.”

Rachel lifted the wand off the counter with more aplomb than she felt and held it out for Trudy’s inspection. “Blue.”

“I don’t believe it,” Trudy repeated.

“How do you think I feel?” Rachel said.

To cover her agitation, Rachel busied herself at the sink. She filled the teakettle with water, then placed it on the front burner. With a flick of her wrist, the flame erupted underneath.

“I’m hurt. Didn’t I tell you all about Jake when I met him? Didn’t I fill you in on every dirty detail of every date? Why didn’t you tell me you were seeing someone?” Trudy asked, a puzzled, pained expression on her face.

“Because I’m not.”

“Then who...”

Rachel shook her head. “I don’t know.”

“That’s impossible.”

“No, it’s true. I have no idea who the father is.”

Trudy walked over to Rachel. She gripped Rachel’s shoulders in her hands and turned her around so that they faced each other.

“Look at me.” Rachel complied, and Trudy’s voice softened when she noticed the tears threatening. “Honey, I know you’re a country girl and all that, but even you know that this isn’t something you pick up from a toilet seat at a department store.”

Rachel attempted a smile. “I know...”

“Then who—”

The teakettle began to whistle and Rachel lifted it off the burner and extinguished the flame. She held the steaming pot aloft as she looked up at Trudy. “It must have been the dream.”

“Dream?”

“You remember, the one I told you about. The one I had when I was sick with the flu.”

“The White Dream?”

Rachel gave her a wry grin. “Yes. The White Dream.”

Trudy dropped into the chair. “Okay. Let’s figure this out.”

“Would you like a cup of tea?” Rachel asked.

“Yeah. Lemon and a half—”

“I know. A half packet of sweetener.”

Rachel set the small, two-seater table with napkins and spoons and prepared the mugs of tea. She looked up at Trudy, feeling herself steady a bit now that her friend was here, now that she had someone to share this with.

Once they were seated opposite each other and the first sip had been taken, Trudy leaned forward and patted her hand. “Now, tell me from the beginning.”

“I don’t remember the beginning. Just the end.”

“Then tell me the end.”

Rachel took a second small sip of the hot liquid. “It must have happened the night I got sick. Remember that?”

“Yeah,” Trudy said. “You came with me to the launch party for the new perfume. You had a bad cold.”

“And I was on antibiotics. I shouldn’t have gone out, but you insisted.”

“So it’s my fault.”

Rachel shook her head. “No, of course not. I just remember you insisting that I go. You wanted me to get out, meet people, maybe make a contact for a job.”

“Right. We stayed at the party until late. We were almost the last to leave. I remember it was so crowded at the armory I couldn’t find you. I walked the hall a hundred times, but you were nowhere to be found. It was like you disappeared.”

“I don’t remember any of that.”

“I found you out front, sitting on a stoop, with your head against the railing. You’d fallen asleep. When I woke you up, you were white as a ghost and felt sick to your stomach. We left right then. I hailed a cab and brought you up here and put you to bed. Do you remember any of this?”

“No. I just remember going with you to the party. I remember walking into the hall, having something to drink...some kind of punch—”

“The punch was spiked.”

Rachel stared into space. “I don’t know about that, either. The rest of the night is a blank.”

Trudy took her hand. Rachel noticed the concern in her face.

“Tell me about the dream,” Trudy said.

“It’s hard. It’s so jumbled.”

“Try.”

She took a breath and let it out slowly. “There was a man, and we...we were...”

“Having sex.”

“Yes.” Rachel blushed.

“In the white room?”

“Yes.”

“And when did you first have this dream?” Trudy asked.

“The first time was when I had the flu. I was sick for two weeks, and I just kept having the dream over and over again. Then it stopped.”

“And that was how long ago?”

“Six weeks.”

“How late are you?” Trudy asked.

“Six weeks.”

“Mystery solved.”

“Oh, Trudy. It can’t be true!”

“Honey, you disappeared for at least an hour that I know of, probably more. You must have left with someone. Now all we have to do is figure out who.” She tapped her finger to her lips. “Describe him to me. Maybe I can help.”

“He was dressed in white.”

“Great help,” Trudy said. “It was mid-June. All the men there were dressed in white.”

“He was tall. Blond.” She paused. “And he had green eyes.”

“Now we’re getting somewhere.”

Rachel shut her eyes, allowing the dream to swirl around inside her head, pulling it back from her memory. She felt a shiver inside. “He smoked. And had a great smile. His eyes crinkled—” she opened her eyes and pointed to the corners “—right here. He had a low voice, kind of Rod Stewart-ish.” She looked at Trudy. “Well? Anything?”

“I don’t know. Maybe. What else?”

“His mouth. He had the greatest mouth.”

“In what way?” Trudy asked.

Rachel looked away. “I don’t know how to describe it.” She stared at her friend and felt the heat of embarrassment rise to her face.

Trudy ignored it. “This is no time to be shy, Rachel. Try.”

“Hot.”

“Hot?”

“Yes, his mouth was...hot.”

Trudy tilted her head and pursed her lips. “You seem to be remembering more than you thought.”

Rachel studied her hands. “I guess I am.”

“Anything else?”

“Not that I can think of.” She bit her lip. “Wait, there is one more thing. He had a slight accent. Very slight. I couldn’t tell exactly what. English. Maybe French—”

“French Canadian.”

“What? You know who he is?” Rachel asked, excited.

“I’m not sure. But he sounds like someone I may know.”

“Who? For heaven’s sake, Trudy, tell me, who?”

“My boss.”

“Not Reid James!”

“Yes, Reid James. The nineties answer to Robert Redford.”

Rachel put her hand to her mouth. “Oh, my God. I thought it was a dream.”