Jan Freed - My Fair Gentleman

“You called me, remember? You were the one who made plans to move into an apartment without seeing it first. I’ve been standing out here without the benefit of air-conditioning for fifteen minutes—ten minutes past my previous record—and I have nothing to show for it but sunburn and your verbal abuse.” She lifted her stinging nose high enough to do her Hamilton ancestors proud. “Considering you have the manners of a mongrel, a doghouse is exactly what you deserve. However, I’m offering you a charming efficiency apartment any number of people would be thrilled to lease. I decorated it myself. Now, do you want it or not?”

Joe looked as if he were choking on his answer.

“No?” Catherine inclined her head regally. “Well, then, perhaps I’ll call Norman when he arrives and see if he’s interested. Can you give me the telephone number, Allie?”

The wide-eyed girl nodded.

“Leave my daughter out of this,” Joe practically snarled. “Show me the damn apartment.” Spinning around, he glared ahead.

Catherine almost felt sorry for him. Almost.

“How can I refuse such a gracious request?” Pulling the keys from her skirt pocket, she brushed by Joe and mouthed “ego management” to his daughter in passing. After a startled second, Allie’s brown eyes sparked with feminine comprehension and amusement.

A warm glow spread through Catherine as she headed for the stairs leading up to the efficiency. Hearing footsteps behind her, she grinned in triumph.

“What are you smiling at?” Joe snapped.

Catherine started to turn.

“Would you chill?” Allie said to her dad, sounding thoroughly exasperated. “First you want me to be happy about moving. Now you don’t want me to smile. Make up your mind.”

His grumbled “Sorry” restored Catherine’s grin. She’d felt an instant rapport with Allie and looked forward to gaining the girl’s friendship.

Reaching the unshaded staircase, Catherine began climbing the steps, the biting smell of hot cedar reminding her not to touch the railing. At the small landing she stopped and inserted her key into the cherry red door.

“Well, here we are,” she stated the obvious, turning the knob and pushing forward with a sudden feeling of doom.

Maybe she’d been a wee bit hasty not telling Joe about his roommates.

HALFWAY UP THE STEPS Joe paused to rest. He’d come a long way since his surgery two months ago, but climbing reminded him why his contract hadn’t been renewed. Rubbing his left knee, he watched Allie tentatively follow their new landlord into the apartment. He should take his daughter’s advice and “chill.” But it was damn hard to do with Catherine’s little speech ringing in his ears.

The nerve of her, implying he’d been gullible, or worse—foolish—to act decisively and quickly. How many opportunities, how many good times would’ve passed him by in the past year alone if he’d waited to plan every detail in advance? More than she’d experienced in her entire uptight life, he’d be willing to bet.

His mosquito of a conscience buzzed out of nowhere and bit deep.

If he’d planned the off-season vacation his daughter”d begged him for, instead of flying off to Vail on impulse, maybe he’d still be on the Astros roster. Maybe Allie wouldn’t have cried her heart out when his mother left. Maybe—

“C’mon, poky,” Allie called down from the doorway,

Joe straightened and blinked. She had the filled-to-bursting look of someone hiding a good secret. Thank God. The apartment must meet with her approval. He waved and she ducked back inside.

Climbing the remaining steps without much enthusiasm, he reached the landing. The place would be sophisticated of course. And probably as sterile as the woman who’d decorated it. He hoped like hell the carpet wasn’t white. Assuming a carefully bland expression, he drew in a breath and crossed the threshold.

A riot of colors assaulted him.

Green. Purple. Red. Orange. Some others he’d seen on paint chips that never got taken home. Closing his eyes, he gave his pupils a minute to adjust from sunlight to lamplight, then risked another peek. He hadn’t hallucinated.

Lord have mercy, he’d just committed to living in a crayon box for a month.

“So what d’ya think?” His daughter’s eyes, soothing pools of familiar brown, had never seemed more beautiful. She gestured widely and grinned. “Does this place rule or what?”

Rule? It conquered. Overwhelmed.

“Catherine did everything herself. The kitchen curtains. The wallpaper. Even that painting over the sofa. Can you believe it?”

He turned and studied the rectangular canvas of purple and orange flowers, saved from dime-a-dozen blandness by rich texture and disturbing boldness. His mind stumbled. The artist of this painting was no uptight sterile woman. Even his untrained eye detected passion in the vibrant brush strokes.

Catherine laughed uneasily from somewhere behind him. “I’m sure your father’s more interested in the practical features of the apartment. For example, the sofa folds out to a bed.”

He heard the swish of her long denim skirt. Felt the fabric brush the back of his slacks. Inhaled the scent of lush summer blooms and heated female skin. She smells like the painting looks, he thought, spinning around to confront this unforeseen threat to his plans.

She took half a step back. “It’s…it’s a brand-new mattress. Top of the line.”

Noting Allie had wandered to the kitchen, he gave Catherine a thorough inspection. Mascara smudged her left eyelid. Her nose glowed with sunburn. A tight low ponytail did nothing to flatter her narrow face. Hardly a femme fatale. Hardly a threat.

Relaxing, he slid one hand into his pocket. “Where’s Allie going to sleep?”

“There’s a roll-away bed in the closet. I’m told it’s fairly comfortable.”

“What about this thing?” He measured the sofa with a doubtful eye. “I’m not exactly petite.”

“Oh, that mattress is big enough for two and quite comfortable—” She broke off with a frown and glanced away.

Oh-ho! So that’s how it is! He jiggled his pocket change irritably. “Big enough for two, is it?” he said for her ears alone.

Her cheeks pinkened to match her lifting nose. “Three, if everyone cooperates.” She held his gaze long enough for him to feel like a fool, then walked toward the kitchen. “There’s a trick to unfolding the roll-away bed, Allie. And the pilot light sometimes goes out on the stove. How about taking the ten-cent guided tour?”

Allie’s enthusiastic nod made Joe stare. Whatever happened to “This sucks big-time“?

Ignoring him completely, Catherine glided around the apartment touching features with the grace of Vanna White turning letters of the alphabet. He’d never seen a woman move like that. So erect, yet so fluid a book on her head wouldn’t have wobbled.

They spent a long time in the walk-in closet talking about bed latches, linens and storage space. The bathroom tour drew Allie’s appreciative, “Cool.” After that Joe quit paying attention and sat on the sofa with a sigh.

For a man who supposedly understood women, he couldn’t seem to get a handle on Catherine. Take this apartment, for instance.

In his living-room experience acceptable colors ranged from beige to dark brown. Fabrics matched. Walls were covered with family photographs or framed prints. The only purple in sight was grapejuice stains on the carpet. But this …

He stretched out his legs and gazed around. This place was as foreign to him as a subtitled movie.

Now that the shock had worn off, he could tell there was a weird sort of order to everything. Somehow the green-checked sofa blended with the floralpatterned armchair. The glossy green patio table and chairs looked good against the purple back wall. Even the Mardi Gras masks hanging like pictures didn’t spook him the way they had at first. The black iron doorstop, though, would definitely have to go.