Best Laid Plans (4 page)

"Lucas, I am glad you're
here," Amanda finally admitted. Her smooth cheek rubbed against his. The
masculine stubble and the warm, spicy scent of Cardin proved an instant balm.
"If I were to tell you what's been on my mind lately, you'd have arrived
with a straitjacket."

"Never! As I recall you look
ghastly in white, and those back closures are definitely last year - very
gauche. Why, my dear…"

Her laughter interrupted his
effeminate, nasal affectation. "How long can you stay?"

"I'm booked on the noon plane on
Sunday." Lucas rested his chin on her shoulder. The butter-soft suede
nuzzled his skin. "Come on, stop hedging." A pair of well-muscled
arms wrapped around Amanda like the aforementioned straitjacket. "What's
the problem?"

"That is the problem. My days
are wine and roses and I'm wishing for thorns." At his insistent squeeze,
she sighed and became more specific. "Most women hit thirty and try to
'find themselves,' always searching," Amanda continued after a moment's
hesitation. "I've known what I wanted since I was sixteen. I followed the
direct course and now…" her lips twisted into a rueful smile, "now
I've got it, got it all."

"Aren't you happy?"

"Yes, Lucas, I am happy."
She took a deep, reflective breath. "I own my own business, which despite the
economy is doing so well it scares me. I have an excellent manager, the sales
staff loves their jobs, the customers are faithful and my ego wallows in all
the local publicity."

"I'm hearing a
but
…"

She shrugged, wincing when she bumped
his chin. "B-u-t. Three little letters that mean so much more."
Amanda pulled free of his embrace. "It was turning the big three-oh. I
grew up early. Maybe that's why I feel so over-the-hill."

Lucas sat back in the gold
upholstered dining chair. "If you feel middle-aged, what about me? I've
got five years on you."

"But your career commitment is
growing stronger." She pulled out the chair next to him, her palms flat
against his knees. "You've just embarked on another challenge, opening
your own law practice. Don't tell me that a heady mixture of fear and
excitement isn't flowing through your veins! That's the best high. An
unbelievable high."

He gave her a wide smile. "You
hit that right. Fear and excitement are a most provocative pair."

Amanda exhaled a sigh. "That's
my problem. Lack of provocation." She raised a defensive palm. "Don't
say it. I know I'm acting like a selfish, spoiled only child. I should be happy
and content with what I have. And it makes me angry that I'm not." She
leaned against the chair, exhaustion and relief making her groggy. "I'm
already at my peak. I've accomplished my goals. What else is there?"

"What about the fashion
shows?"

Her hand pushed away the thought.
"They were a challenge at first, but. . ." Her voice drifted off.

"Burnout."

Amanda shook her head.
"Boredom," she corrected. "I'm like a hamster on a treadmill.
Running, running, but only my body gets exercised. Not my mind, not my
creativity, not my talent."

"When was the last time you had
a vacation?"

"I just got back from
Paris."

He gave her a knowing look.
"Since when is a buying trip a vacation?"

"Actually it's a
transformation," she returned with a grimace. "You're reshaped into a
very delicious, very expensive bonbon. Served at all the parties, wedged into
the showings, sprinkled with sugary gifts." Her eyes closed. "You're
right, it's no vacation. You're always on guard, trying to get the jump on
another buyer. Fashion retail is a glamorous profession, one that gives moments
of vitality, but lately it's just a job."

One gray eye opened and peered at
him. "If I tell you another secret, will you promise not to laugh?"
At Lucas' affirmative nod, Amanda reclosed her eyes. "For the past twelve
years my main commitment has been to my job. It's been my first love. But
lately," her voice grew slightly melancholy, "I feel the urge to
settle down. The old nesting instinct. I want to have the two point five
children, the station wagon and the flea-ridden dog."

"Does this have anything to do
with Brian Neuman?"

"Brian?" Her eyelids opened,
astonished that he would remember a name he'd heard just once. "Brian and
I were in 'heavy like' but. . ." She sighed again. "You explain it to
me, Lucas. Why is it when two people are nice, eligible and bright, the pieces
just don't fit. Not for happily ever after."

"I don't know, Mandy."
Lucas took possession of her right hand. "I've often asked myself that
same question." He traced her slender wrist, then each elegant polished
fingernail. "It never seems to be a physical incompatibility, just the
intangibles. That's what makes a relationship all or nothing."

"Isn't that the truth. You want
the one thing you can't put your finger on." Clearing her throat, Amanda
focused on the intimate coupling of their hands. "Are you still seeing
Kitty Byrnes?"

"We just celebrated six
weeks."

"That sounds promising."

Lucas gave a diffident shrug.
"Sometimes I think so, then again ..." His voice drifted off.
"We seem to have to work awfully hard at it. A relationship shouldn't be
like that." Hazel eyes regarded her. "You and I never had that
trouble."

"Lucas," she chastised,
"we were never after anything physical. We're Plato's ideal -nonsexual
lovers." Amanda balanced her left elbow on her knee and set her chin in
her palm. "But now you know what I'm going through both personally and
professionally. So positive one minute, so confused the next. It's a
merry-go-round I'd like to get off."

A pair of masculine hands gently
patted her cheeks, bringing a soft flush to her pale complexion. "That's
why I'm here, kid. I've got a proposition for you."

"Proposition?" she returned
archly. "As I recall you once accused me of not knowing the difference
between a proposition and a preposition!"

"Listen, any girl who would go
out with a guy nicknamed 'Cherry Picker' deserved to be ridiculed."

"Charlie was a perfect
gentleman."

"Don't sound so damn
disappointed." Lucas gave her his most charming smile. "My
proposition is on the up and up."

Amanda's lips twisted.
"Hmmm..." Her suspicions grew as his smile broadened, even white
teeth giving a wolfish grin. "Come on, Lucas, give. What is…" The
footlights began to flicker, a sinuous electric glow arched and twisted to the
rhythmic taped piano intro.

She let out a groan. "Look what
you've done, Lucas Crosse! I've forgotten all about the show!" Her gaze
swung to the wall clock. "Damn! Look at the time."

Grabbing his hand, she yanked Lucas'
six-foot frame off the chair. "Come on, boy, I've got a
proposition
for you. Just stand at the end of the runway and let the models get a look at
that handsome face. The sight of a man like you should put some fire into their
steps."

Lucas contemplated a willowy redhead
in a snowy silk Charmeuse gown. "I think I'm the one on fire," his
deep voice rumbled in Amanda's ear. He zeroed in on Lizette's entrance. The
narrow gold halter and sheer metallic-veined harem pants she was wearing sent
an erotic message of delights in a sordid sand epic. "Is there a theme to
this lascivious madness?"

"'A Taste of Elegance.'"
Amanda balanced an elbow on his shoulder; her two-inch heels put them on equal
footing. "The fashions are as piquant and varied as tonight's Creole
cuisine."

Lucas' eyes widened to scrutinize
every sassy inch of the red silk and black lace teddy that wriggled toward him.
"You mean I'm getting more than chicken a la king?"

"Perish the thought." A
gentle elbow registered her objection to his statement. "Chef Jean-Claude
is preparing the favorite specialties of our leading restaurants while I serve
more visual fare.

"Swimsuits and sportswear
accompany the chicken and okra gumbo; daytime and evening fashions help you
digest red snapper and oyster and shrimp jambalaya, and these confections will
put an extra dollop of crème on the brûlée." Amanda smiled at his
hypnotized countenance. "What do you think? Tres chic?"

A powder-pink, diagonally puffed
teddy displayed an ample portion of Felicia's rounded derriere. "Tres
cheeky," Lucas concluded, eyebrows rising in salute.

"A little too . . ." Amanda
made a mental note to have Bianca adjust another of Felicia's garments.

"Is that Duke Ellington I
hear?"

"Hmm, I was a little hesitant
about using tapes, but it makes the blending easier, and the engineering
student who's been helping out matched the music to the lights. We're having a
dance band after dinner."

"The food, the fashions and the
music are sure to excite even the most finicky." Lucas slid an arm around
her shoulders. "If the appetizers and entrees look like the desert, you'll
have a gastronomical delight on your hands."

"Thank you, kind sir."
Amanda turned her attention to Isaac Bevans. "It looked and sounded just
perfect." She complimented with a smile. "Why don't you head for home
and take a break. We've got ninety minutes before show time." Then she
added, "Please tell Bianca and Felicia I'd like to see them."

"Lucas," she whispered as
her black lashes fluttered like lace butterflies, "when are you going to
tell me about this proposition?"

He smiled at her mock-coquettishness
and shook his head. "I'm allying myself with your production ideas and letting
you stew." Lucas pushed his tongue against his cheek, laughing when her
tongue wagged at him.

"Come on, please," she
cajoled in her best little-girl voice, fingers walking a few provocative steps
along his lapels. "I could be really nasty and stop sending you these nice
designer samples."

"Feminine wiles will not work on
me, Amanda." He slapped her hands playfully. "I could be really nasty
and start billing you for legal services." His lips curved upward despite
his brusque declaration. "I'll tell you all about it tonight while we
celebrate your triumph."

She exhaled in frustration. "All
right, be mysterious." Her pert nose wrinkled in disgust. "Do you
remember how to get to my duplex?" Amanda reached into her skirt pocket,
then tossed him a set of house keys.

"Who could forget the beautiful
view of Lake Pontchartrain?" Lucas nodded toward the two women walking on
stage. "I'm going to let you get back to work. I'll see you tonight."
Lifting her chin, he planted a light kiss on her slightly shining nose.

With an exasperated sigh at Lucas'
departing figure, Amanda went back to work. "The finale went very well,
Bianca. Did you have any problems?"

Mme. Duprée nodded toward the
gum-chewing model. "Only with this little one," she returned on a
high sarcastic note.

Felicia pursed her lips, and the gum
formed a large pink bubble. She back-popped it and grinned at Amanda. "It
was all the goodies from Easter." Her brown eyes slanted toward the
ballroom. "Who was that? He's cute."

"I'll tell him you said
that." Amanda untied the pink, coral and beige bow that circled her waist.
"Can this be lowered a bit in the back?"

Bianca shrugged. Her blue gaze was
more interested in assessing Amanda's glowing features than the fit of the
powder-puffed teddy. "You are looking much better since he arrived. That
man, he is special, yes?"

"Very." She held her breath
for the upcoming barrage. "Your lover, yes?" Bianca pulled at the
nylon mitered lace at Felicia's hips.

"No." Amanda turned the
model around, pointedly ignoring Felicia's giggles. "À Amite en
rose," she explained to the gray-haired couturiers. "We have a very
special, very old friendship."

"I'd want more than
friendship." The model popped another bubble. "Unless," she
twisted her neck around. "He's gay, right?"

"No."

"Then he can't get it on with a
woman?"

"No!" Amanda gave an
exasperated snort. "Honestly, Felicia, don't you have any men who are just
friends?"

"Uh-uh." The pink gum made
a series of popping noises. "It's against nature. You two have to be
having an affair."

"An affair of the heart,"
agreed Bianca, favoring Amanda with a knowing wink. "He is good for you.
It shows already."

"Lucas is like the brother I
never had," Amanda repeated with unnecessary force. "There is nothing
romantic between us."

"Brother, huh." Felicia
pushed at the sensuous blond curls that haphazardly tumbled around her neck.
"If I were you, I'd think about incest."

"If I were you," Amanda
returned in a cool voice, her fingers pressing against a mound of cellulite,
"I'd think about
Weight Watchers
."

Two

The chicken and okra gumbo was rich,
succulent and hot. The wailing trumpet backed by saxophone and piano was fluid,
smooth and cool. As the houselights dimmed, blanketing the ballroom in
candle-flickering darkness, Lucas Crosse and the five hundred other dinner
patrons savored spoonful's of the pungent, condiment-laden soup.