Double Jeopardy (9 page)

He frowned at her, still playing it up. “What
is
taupe exactly? I’ve been at cocktail parties with taupe, but I swear we’ve never been introduced.”

He wondered if she had a man in her life and concluded there had to be one around somewhere. When she relaxed like this and laughed and waved those expressive hands around, she was irresistible.

“You know what taupe is. Stop teasing. This is serious business. Your entire reputation is at stake. A man is judged by his environment, and it has to be the right color. Now, on this window you need roman blinds, which roll up and down, again to control the light. In an abstract print, brown and white and green. And some industrial wall sconces along here, ” she gestured, “just at eye level. On this wall, closest to the kitchen, a huge mirror, to reflect and make the best use of the softer light you’ll get with the walls painted. It’ll also reflect the mountains.”

She might have been speaking a foreign language. And anyway, he was watching the way her mouth looked instead of listening.

“That’s it? That’s all? Well, hey, that’s not as bad as I anticipated. No worse than a root canal.” He heaved a gigantic sigh of mock relief and took another drink of his wine. “Come sit down in my living room and take a break now that the painful part is over. I’ll put some music on and we can rest. What kind of music do you like?”

“Almost anything except jazz.”

“Country-and-western okay? Grendel prefers it.” Ben chose a Willy Nelson CD and turned the volume to low. He flopped into a lawn chair beside her.

“Brace yourself. We’re not quite done yet,” she said firmly once they were settled.

He groaned and tipped his head back.

“I’d paint everything but the bathrooms the same color, then use a blue-gray on them for contrast.”

She was enjoying this. It showed in her voice.

“Oh, and in the upstairs bathroom you need some of those vertical blinds, the kind that allow you to see out without anyone being able to see in.”

“Now, there’s a unique concept. I could use some of those in the OR when the gallery’s full and things aren’t going as planned.”

She shook her head at his nonsense. “In your bedroom, two big armoires would work well as closets, and a couple of antique trunks could store linen and towels. And a big old dresser would be nice. Oh, and rugs. This place is screaming for huge, colorful dhurrie rugs on these rough wood floors.”

“I must be going deaf. I’ve never heard even a murmur.”

“You just don’t speak the language.” She grinned at him, that impish grin that he wanted to see again.

“Neither do I have a clue where to begin to get the stuff you’ve just talked about.” He hoped she’d fall into the trap he was setting. “I don’t even know a wall painter—they mustn’t be big on nose jobs.” He gave her a supplicating look. “Do you have time to do this for me? Not the painting, just the supervising and stuff. Making the decisions. I’d pay you, of course. Just decide on a fee. Any fee, within reason, as long as I don’t have to be involved in what’s going on. And I wouldn’t have to move out while it’s happening, would I?”

“Of course not. It would probably help if you could stay out a lot for a day or two while the painters are working, but it’s not essential.”

“So you think maybe you could mastermind this transformation for me?”

She hesitated, and he realized that he really wanted to see more of her. He absolutely didn’t care about the apartment. His mother had offered more than once to do something about it, but he knew she tended toward fragile furniture and pastel colors, so he’d managed to put her off. It truly wasn’t a problem for him to live this way; he liked the starkness and he suspected Grendel did, as well. But if Sera agreed, it meant he’d get to know her better, and that appealed to him.

It was also easier than immediately asking her out on a date, he reasoned. He’d have to give her his dating manifesto if he did that, explain that he was looking for a good time and nothing more, and he had a gut feeling that might not work with her.

“As long as you’re not in any hurry, I guess I could probably do it,” she finally said. “Some days I have to work on the set till late, but on others I’m done early. What sort of budget are we talking about?”

“Certainly not more than this place cost me,” he stipulated, tongue in cheek. “And you’ve guessed I’m not into collecting antiques or making the sort of decorating statement here that would get me interviewed by what’s-her-name...Martha Stewart.”

“I can’t believe you even know who Martha Stewart is.”

“My mother’s a big fan of hers. She has her books and watches her shows on television.”

Sera nodded but didn’t comment. “Well, I’m used to doing sets that appear spectacular without my spending much money. This sitcom is the first thing I’ve worked on that actually has a decent budget.”

“How about if I give you a figure and then whatever you don’t spend is yours? Let’s see. That decorator we had cost us...” He did a silent accounting and then named an amount that he felt was acceptable.

Her face mirrored her astonishment, and she burst out laughing. “Ben, that’s ridiculous. I could redecorate my mother’s entire house for that.”

He shrugged. “This might cost more than you think. Why not go with that figure and we’ll negotiate later?”

She gave him a look. “Okay, if you insist. This is exciting. You rich guys really think big.”

It was his turn to laugh. “I knew this luxurious loft would give you the wrong impression. I cannot tell a lie, Ms. Cardano. I hate to admit it, but I’m not rich. To make really big money I’d have to move to Beverly Hills and get myself some high profile clients, excuse the pun. And that’s not my idea of a good time.”

“What do you want to do?” She was serious, and he thought about how long it had been since anyone had asked that and hoped for an honest answer.

“Exactly what I’m doing.” But even that wasn’t the whole truth, and he needed to be honest with her. It was suddenly easy to tell her his dreams. “I’d love to head up the new burn unit at St. Joe’s.”

“That’s part of the construction work my dad’s company is doing, isn’t it?”

“Yeah. I can’t wait to see it finished and in operation. The treatment of burn wounds has always been of great interest to me.”

“Because of your grandfather.”

“Yeah, and because of the challenge it represents. I worked in India once, treating burn victims. I’d like to do more of it.”

“
Well, if you want it that much, you’ll get the job.” There was absolute conviction in her tone. “Obviously, you have the qualifications, and you have a great reputation. Everyone at the hospital’s told us how lucky we are that you’re treating Gemma.”

He was deeply touched by her ingenuous faith in him. The reality was that not everyone thought that way. Ben was all too aware of a powerful enemy who’d do everything to block him from getting the sessional appointment he so wanted. Ben’s former wife, Vera, had an uncle on the hospital’s administrative board. Dr. Roderick Miller made no secret of the fact that he despised Ben Halsey. Ben had no idea how much influence Miller had with the other voting members, but he did know for certain Miller wouldn’t be voting for him to head up the burn unit.

He could do nothing about it, so he did what he always did when there was no solution. He put the problem firmly out of his mind and concentrated on the pleasure of the moment.

“Tell me more about your job, Sera. How does a television sitcom get produced? Are you in on it from the beginning, or do you just look at a finished script and draw the sets?”

“I wish.” She grimaced.

He liked to hear her speak. She had a distinctive way of pronouncing her words that was pleasing and that likely stemmed from her Italian heritage.

“Set design begins with the creator of the story line,” she continued, “and after that it becomes a team effort, with the director as boss. We’re really lucky because the director of Dinah is great to work with. Then—" she paused dramatically and ticked off her fingers as she spoke “—there’s a co- producer, an assistant director, a second assistant director, a dialogue coach, a script supervisor, a technical coordinator, an art director, the director of photography, the camera crews, the carpenters, the painters, the electricians.”

“Whew.”

“Right.” She nodded and shoved her thick hair behind her ear. “As I think I said before, I work with Maisie Jones. She’s an incredible art decorator who’s done lots of sets for television.”

“Tell me more,” he urged, genuinely intrigued. “What’s the main concern for a set designer?”

“What’s called the look of the show. We want to give the illusion that the viewer is seeing real life, so details are really important. And you always have to remember the cameras, the angles they’ll be shooting from, the lighting.”

The animation in her face and voice when she talked about her job delighted him.

“So it’s not just being able to come up with the right chair or sofa, then.” He knew it wasn’t. He wanted her to go on talking.

“Nope, although that’s important.” She was suddenly shy. “You could come and visit the set sometime, if you wanted. I’d be glad to show you around.”

“You would? I’d really like that, thank you.” He was touched by the offer, and sincerely interested. “I’ll arrange for a few hours off soon, as long as nobody would get upset. Is there much temperament to deal with among the actors?”

“Not that I’ve seen, not on this set anyhow. There was more when I worked in theater. Television actors as a rule seem to focus more on the job and less on their egos.”

“I know a few doctors whose egos get in the way of their work. From what you describe, surgery and sitcoms have a lot in common. Team effort, cooperation, dedication to a fine result.”

The full moon was shining in the window. Ben hadn’t turned on any light except for the one in the kitchen, and the semidarkness and good conversation contributed to the sense of intimacy between Sera and him.

She was enchanting in the moonlight. She had a subtle air of whimsy and unspoken promise about her created by the mass of wildly curling hair, the almost lyrical way she moved her unadorned hands to make a point, the generous spirit that came across so clearly in her conversation.

He’d like to take her to bed. He’d love to take her to bed.

The languid music curled around them, and Ben had the sense, rare in his experience, that this particular moment in time was as good as it got, bed or not.

He was disappointed when she glanced at her watch and made a horrified sound in her throat. “My gosh, is that the time? I’ve gotta go. I have to be on the set at six-thirty tomorrow. And you probably have surgery or something. I’ve kept you up.” She got up and started looking around for her handbag.

Grendel woke up and staggered to his feet.

“Surgery, yeah. Keeping me up, no. I don’t go to bed early.” Ben ached to say. Can’t you stay? Will you stay? But of course he couldn’t ask that; he hardly knew her. He wanted her badly, though.

“But don’t you have to do, well, sort of homework, for the operations?” she was asking. “Work them out ahead of time?”

Her bag was just inside the kitchen, on the floor. He handed it to her, and Grendel gave a sad little whine.

Ben knew exactly how he felt. “Depends what it is. Tomorrow will be the third operation on a gentleman who had cardiac surgery some time ago, a quadruple bypass. He got infection repeatedly around the incision, and by the time I saw him, it had spread to the sternum. We had to cut away skin, remove diseased bone, use the abdominus rectus muscle—”

He stopped abruptly when she shuddered.

“Damn. I tend to forget not everybody’s fascinated by the removal and repair of body parts.”

“Oh, but I am, Ben. Who wouldn’t be? It’s just that...” Her face colored and she looked abashed. “Well, I guess I assumed you did mostly face-lifts or tummy tucks or nose jobs, that sort of thing. I mean, I know you’re Gemma’s doctor, but I just never thought much about what other surgery you do.”

He laughed. “Plenty of elective stuff, of course, but I also have a lot of patients like Gemma who need reconstruction, either from accidents or disease. The variety appeals to me.” He winked at her. “If you really are interested, I’ll go into vivid detail for you next time. I could do slides.”

“Maybe I’ll skip the slides.” She moved to the door, where she turned to look at him. “Thanks, Ben. I really had fun. And it was an honor to meet you, Grendel.” She bent to give the dog a farewell hug.