An Indian Affair (12 page)

“Dying of curiosity, aren’t you?” Fox asked, shooting her a sidelong glance.

“Yes,” she admitted, and he laughed, throwing his head back in a boyish gesture that made her want to kiss him.

“I’ll tell you,” he replied, pointing to his door as they got off the elevator. “About nine months ago I got a call from an oil company representative. The suite in this building was being used by one of their vice presidents, who had just absconded with one-and-a-half million of the company’s funds. They were understandably anxious to locate him, and they offered me a percentage of that figure if I could bring him back.”

He shrugged as he unlocked the door. “It wasn’t my usual thing, more a missing persons case than anything else. The guy hadn’t jumped bail; he’d just left. But I was intrigued and went after him. I finally found him a few months later in Rio, with a phony name, a phony passport, and a Brazilian mistress. When I turned him in the company offered me this place in lieu of the fee. The crook wasn’t going to be using it anymore, and it was worth about what they owed me, give or take a few grand. At first I thought I’d sell it, but I decided to stay when—”

“When you saw the effect your presence was having on the uptight tenants,” Cindy finished for him, and he smiled at her.

“Smart girl,” he said, and bowed her inside.

The apartment ran from front to back, with the entry hall leading straight ahead into the living room, and the kitchen and dining area on the left. To the right, off the living room, were the two bedrooms. The kitchen was galley-style, gleaming with space-age appliances, and had a counter that bordered the dining room directly next to it. The living room featured polished hardwood floors and a brick fireplace with an oak mantel. Through the sheer drapes Cindy could see a balcony that ran along one end of the suite, with access from both the living room and the master bedroom.

Fox was standing next to her, waiting for her reaction.

“What can I say, Drew? It’s spectacular.”

“Notice anything unusual?” he asked, teasing.

“You mean the unusual lack of furniture?” she answered, and he nodded.

Aside from a metal card table in the dining area and a mattress visible through the door of the master bedroom, there wasn’t a stick of furniture in the whole place.

“Looks like a bus stop, doesn’t it?” he said cheerfully, waving her toward the single folding chair.

Cindy sat in it and looked around. “Why don’t you have any furniture?”

He went to the refrigerator and got himself a beer, holding one up for her. She shook her head.

“Didn’t think so,” he said, smiling, and then answered her question. “My stuff from the old place was too worn out and beat up to bring here, so I decided I would get some new furniture. I gave the old junk away, except for what you see, but so far I haven’t gotten around to buying anything.” He saluted her with his can of beer. “Think how disappointed any potential burglar would be, going through all the trouble of breaking in just to find this ghost town.” He grinned hugely, savoring the image.

“What’s that?” Cindy asked, as a switch was thrown somewhere in the apartment, followed by a low, steady hum.

He shrugged. “Beats me. It’s either the air conditioning, the air purification system, or the humidifier. This place has them all, not to mention a dozen switches on the stove that defy explanation. You need a pilot’s license to operate it. You should see the owner’s manual; it looks like the Manhattan phone directory.”

Cindy laughed. She loved him in this mood: open, expansive, amusing. She watched as he took a deep swallow of his drink and then turned to look at her, his expression brightening.

“Hey, I have an idea. Why don’t you help me buy some stuff for this place? We could shop for it together; it would be a kick.”

“Me?” Cindy said.

“Sure, why not. You’re a classy lady; you’ve got a lot of style. I’m sure you could pick out things that would fit. There’s a place over on Del Rey Avenue that carries everything.”

“Drew, Paula ordered her bed from there; it’s very expensive.”

“I’ve got money. It’s taste I haven’t got.”
 

“Oh, Drew, don’t be ridiculous,” she said, shaking her head.

“I mean it. I’m no interior decorator; I have no idea what to buy. What do you say, will you help me?”
 

“Now?”

“No time like the present. Are you through for the day at the library?”

“Yes.”

“Then let’s go.” He crushed the empty can and threw it in the trash as he headed for the door. Cindy had no choice but to follow. He locked the door after them and put his arm around her, hugging her to his side. It was the first time since he’d been back that he had touched her, and she felt a thrill of warmth from the contact.

“Do you charge a commission for your services?” he asked softly, as they headed for the elevator.

“My services are always free to a friend,” she replied simply.

“Am I your friend?” he asked, looking down at her.

“I hope so.”

“Count on it,” he said firmly, and punched the button for the elevator.

* * * *

Furniture Gallery was the sort of place where hordes of anxious clerks hovered over every customer, eager to boost their sales commissions. Cindy quickly saw that they would not be able to browse undisturbed, and so enlisted the aid of an elderly lady who didn’t look too aggressive.

“What did you have in mind?” the clerk asked, looking from one to the other expectantly.

“Well, we’re furnishing an oceanfront condo,” Cindy explained.

“I have just the thing,” the lady answered, leading them to a set of flowered chintz sofas with a matching armchair. “Perfect for a vacation home.”

Cindy glanced at Fox, who rolled his eyes. In an undertone he said, “That stuff would be okay if I were planning on giving a lot of pajama parties.”

Trying to keep a straight face, Cindy said, “Maybe we’d better be more specific. It’s not a vacation place; it’s a year-round home that happens to be on the water. And it’s for him,” she added, nodding at Fox.

“Oh, for the gentleman,” the clerk said, beaming. “Something a little more masculine.”

“That might help,” Fox said evenly, and Cindy stepped on his foot. Hard.

The saleslady led them through a morass of various styles, trying to get a feel for what he liked. He seemed to express a preference for plain, functional furniture in quality woods, and they settled on a modern looking dining room set in bleached oak, with twin leather sofas and glass topped tables for the living room. When the clerk began to wander aimlessly through the aisles, obviously exhausted, they decided to leave the bedroom set for another day. Fox went with her to the office to arrange a delivery date, and Cindy saw him slip her a folded bill when he thought no one was looking.

During the following week they had a hilarious time picking out the rest of the furniture, as well as pictures, lamps and knickknacks to complete the apartment. Cindy arranged her schedule to accommodate their shopping trips, and they became well known at the Gallery in short order. Cindy had to correct several people who assumed they were married or engaged, and Fox looked on solemnly as she selected items with amazing rapidity. She had always worked on a budget and it was fun to pick things just because she liked them, without worrying about the cost.

They spent a lot of time together, and by the end of it Cindy was so in love with Drew that she had forgotten what it was like not to know him. She hated to see the project end, but short of wallpapering the ceiling there was nothing left to do. And something was bothering her. Since the day he’d met her at the library, Fox hadn’t pressed her for anything more than a goodnight kiss. Although the atmosphere was rife with sexual tension, he did nothing about it, and Cindy didn’t understand his restraint. Though he was affectionate in a general sense, stroking her hair, touching her face, he avoided more intimate contact with the same deliberate concentration with which he had once sought it. Cindy was relieved in one sense but disappointed in another. She wanted Fox badly and wanted him to feel the same way. She needed his desire, and found that she missed the affirmation of it.

One night they were scheduled to go back to his apartment to accept delivery on the coffee tables. On the way Fox suggested they stop in Council Rock at a place that sponsored a happy hour every day for tired workers. It wasn’t exactly Cindy’s sort of thing, but she was willing to do anything he wanted. Once there it became clear that he had some business with the proprietor, because the man took him aside and they conducted a hushed conversation that Cindy couldn’t hear. She strongly suspected that there was something about this venture that Fox didn’t want her to know, and so she refrained from questioning him when he returned to their table with her glass of wine. He was silent as she drank it, staring into space and looking at her only when she spoke to him. She was about to ask him what was wrong when a disturbance at the bar caused them both to look up.

An Indian man was being forcibly restrained by the bartender. He was obviously drunk and quarrelsome, trying to break free and get at one of the patrons. He must have come in after them, because Cindy could see that Fox knew him and had probably been looking for him. Fox told her to wait for him and got up immediately, taking charge of the situation and helping the bartender usher the troublemaker toward the door. Cindy followed after him, worried, and as they passed her the drunk caught sight of her anxious eyes on Fox, who was dragging him toward the exit.

“Wait a minute, wait a minute,” he said, eyeing her dazedly. “Is this your shankree girlfriend, Foxman? Walter told me all about her.”

“Shut up, Evan; you’re drunk,” Fox said tightly. He turned to Cindy, his eyes furious. “I told you to stay put,” he bit off between clenched teeth. “Go back to the table.”

“This is the researcher, right?” Evan went on, ignoring Fox. He let out a loud guffaw. “I can imagine what research you’re doing with my stud cousin here.”

Fox turned pale. He took hold of Evan by the collar and hauled him through the entrance and into the street. Cindy stood rooted to the spot as the other patrons returned to their places, some of them glancing at her curiously. She was still motionless when Fox returned. He passed her and left money on their table, saying to her on his return trip,“We’re leaving.”

The owner stopped them on the way out to thank Fox for evicting Evan.

“Why didn’t you tell me he would be like that?” Fox asked him angrily. “I would never have brought the lady if I had known.”

“I didn’t know either, Drew,” the owner replied. “I just wanted you to talk to him. I thought he would be all right until closing time. But he’s just been getting worse; you saw for yourself.”

Fox nodded curtly, taking hold of Cindy’s arm and guiding her outside. Once on the street he put his hands on his hips and took a deep breath, looking at her directly.

“What happened to your cousin?” Cindy asked gently.

“I got one of the other waiters to take him home,” Fox replied. “I came here to try to save his job. The manager complained about him getting loaded at the end of the evening, before locking up the place. I thought I would be early enough to catch him sober, but I was wrong.” He tensed visibly. “There’s no excuse for what he said to you. I’m sorry.”

“It wasn’t your fault.”

“Yes, it was. I should never have taken you with me. I just didn’t want to...”

“What?”

“Leave you,” he said simply, and Cindy’s fingers closed around his arm.

“Is that Walter’s brother?” she asked quietly, treading gently on sensitive ground.

“Yeah. He’s a cliche, a drunken Indian.” He snorted bitterly. “You’re always asking me about my family. You saw a great part of it tonight, right?”

“Oh, Drew,” she said, her heart going out to him. “I don’t care about that.”

“But I do,” he said shortly.

“Drew, we’d better get back to your place,” Cindy said quickly, seeking to divert him. “It’s almost six, and the delivery is scheduled for six-fifteen—the last one of the day, remember?”

He nodded absently, going with her back to his car, but his mind was obviously still on what had happened inside. They beat the delivery van by only a few minutes, but when the things arrived he hardly looked at them, signing the receipt automatically and walking away. When the door closed behind the crew from the store he went to the balcony off the living room, opening the sliding doors and inhaling the evening breeze. Cindy watched him standing there, with her and yet alone, and she longed to make him feel better, to comfort him with her closeness. She knew that she loved him; what was she waiting for? She had waited long enough. He would be the first, and that was exactly as it should be. Emboldened by her decision, she walked over to him and stood behind him, touching his shoulder.

“Drew?” she said softly.

“Hmm?” He was looking into the distance over the water, barely listening.

She put her arms around his waist and kissed the back of his neck, moving her lips slowly and sensuously over the sensitive skin. She felt him shudder violently, and then he shrugged her off, so forcefully that she fell against the door.

“What are you doing?” he said hoarsely, whirling to face her. Then he saw that she had fallen and rushed to help her, instantly contrite.