Fancy Pants (42 page)
So she started kissing him instead, because she absolutely couldn't
stand to talk anymore.
This kiss was even better than the one by the side of the road. Their
verbal foreplay had put them both on edge and there was a roughness
about their caresses that seemed exactly right for an encounter that
was absurdly foolish for both of them. As their mouths pressed together
and their tongues touched, Francesca once again had the sensation that
the rest of the world had drifted away.
She pushed her hands beneath his shirt. Within seconds, her sweater was
off and the buttons on the front of her silk blouse opened. Her
lingerie was beautiful—lace shells of oyster silk cupping her breasts.
He peeled back one of the shells to find her creamy nipple and suckle
it.
When she couldn't stand it anymore, she pulled his head up and began a
relentless attack on his bottom lip, tracing the curve with her tongue,
gently teasing it with her teeth. Finally she slipped her fingers along
his spine and pushed them inside the waistband of his jeans. He groaned
and pulled her to her feet, then stripped down her slacks and slipped
off her shoes and stockings. "I want to see you," he said huskily,
freeing the silk blouse from her shoulders. The fabric felt like a
caress as it slid down over her arms.
Dallie caught his breath. "Does all your underwear look like it belongs
in a high-class strip show?"
"Every bit of it." She rose up on tiptoe to take a nip at his ear. His
fingers toyed with the two little strings on her hip that held the tiny
silk triangle of her panties in place, leaving the curve of her thigh
bare. Goose bumps slithered over her skin. "Carry me upstairs," she
whispered.
He slipped his arm under her knees, lifted her, and held her close to
his chest. "You don't weigh as much as a full bag of clubs, honey."
His bedroom was large and comfortable, with a fireplace at one end and
a bed tucked beneath a sloping ceiling. He laid her gently down on the
spread and then reached toward the delicate ties at her hips. "No, no."
She pushed his hand away and pointed toward the center of the room.
"Take it off first, soldier."
He looked at her suspiciously. "Take what off?"
"Your clothes. Entertain the troops."
"My clothes?" He frowned. "I was sort of thinking you might want to do
that for me."
She shook her head and leaned back on one elbow, giving him her
witchiest, bitchiest smile. "Strip."
"Now, listen here, Francie—"
Lifting a languid hand, she once again pointed toward the center of the
room. "Do it real slow, good-looking," she purred. "I want to enjoy
every minute."
"Aw, Francie . . ." He looked longingly toward the twin shells over her
breasts and then lower to the
small silk triangle. She moved her legs
slightly apart to inspire him.
"I feel stupid making a big show out of taking off my clothes," he
grumbled as he moved toward the center of the room.
She let her fingers trail delicately over the triangle of silk. "That's
just too bad. As far as I'm concerned, men like you were put on this
world to entertain women like me."
His eyes followed her fingers. "Now, is that so?"
She toyed with the little string. "All brawn, no brain, what else are
you good for?"
Lifting his gaze, he gave her a lazy grin and slowly began unbuttoning
his cuffs. "Well, now, I guess you're about to find out."
Francesca felt a surge of heat flow through her blood. The simple act
of unfastening a shirt cuff suddenly struck her as the most erotic
thing she had ever seen. Dallie must have noticed her
breath quicken, because a smile flickered at the corner of his mouth
and then disappeared as he began to play her in earnest. He took his
time unfastening the rest of his shirt buttons and then let the garment
hang open for
a moment before he took it off. Her lips parted slightly.
She studied the play of muscles in his chest as
he reached down to pull
off his boots and his socks. Dressed only in jeans and a wide leather
belt, he straightened up and linked one thumb in his waistband.
"Slip down that bra," he said. "Nothing more comes off here until I see
something good."
She pretended to think it over and then slowly reached behind her back
to open the small clasp. The straps drifted down along her shoulders,
but she held the shells in place over her breasts. "Take off your belt
first," she said, her voice deep and throaty. "And then unzip."
He pulled the belt from the denim loops. For a moment, he let it hang
at his side, the buckle curling from his fist. Then he surprised her by
tossing it over to the bed, where it fell across her ankles. "In case I
need to use it on you," he said, his voice full of sexy menace.
She swallowed hard. He pulled open the top snap on his jeans and pushed
the zipper down a scant few inches, revealing his flat abdomen. And
then he rested his hand lightly on the slide, waiting for her. She
eased the silky shells off her breasts, delicately arching her back so
he could look his fill. Now he was the one who swallowed hard.
"The jeans, soldier boy," she whispered.
He pulled the zipper down the rest of the way, then tucked both his
thumbs inside the waistband, snagging the jeans and his briefs
together, and slid them off. He finally stood naked before her.
Without any pretense of shyness, she looked her fill. He was hard and
proud, sleek and shiny and beautiful. She let her head drift back on
the pillows, her hair spilling out in a corona around her, and watched
him as he walked to the side of the bed. Reaching down with his index
finger, he stroked a long line from her throat to the top of the
triangle of her panties. "Open the ties," he ordered.
"You do it," she replied.
He sat down on the edge of the bed and reached toward one of the satin
ribbons. She stilled his hand. "With your mouth."
He chuckled, then leaned over and did as she had ordered. As he pulled
the silky triangle from between her legs, he kissed her and then began
stroking the insides of her thighs. She took off on an exploratory
mission of her own, her hand greedy to touch him. After a few minutes,
he groaned and broke away to reach into the drawer of the bedside
table. When he turned his back to her, she laughed and lifted herself
up on her knees to nuzzle his neck. "Never send a man to do a woman's
job," she whispered. Reaching around him, she took over his task,
dallying and teasing until his skin was damp with perspiration.
"Damn, Francie," he said huskily, "you keep on like that and you're not
going to get anything out of this encounter but a boring memory."
She smiled and slipped back onto the pillows, parting her legs for him.
"Somehow I doubt that."
He took advantage of what she was offering him, tormenting her with
expert caresses until she begged him to stop, and then kissing her
breathless. When he finally entered her, she dug her hands into his
hips and cried out. He reared up, driving himself deeper. They began
talking in breathless little words.
"Please .. ."
"So good ..."
"Yes . . . hard . .."
"Sweet. . ."
Each was accustomed to being a cool lover—considerate, giving, but
always in control. Now they were hot and wet, strung out on passion,
oblivious to everything but the mad cry of one beautiful body
reaching
out for the other. They came, seconds apart, spilling open in gushing,
noisy abandonment,
filling the air with cries, moans, and breathless
obscenities.
Afterward, neither could have said who was the more embarrassed.
all that funny. Then they went
back to bed and made love again. With
their mouths glued together and their bodies joined, they couldn't
talk, but talking was something neither of them wanted to do much of.
They slept restlessly, waking in
the wee hours to find that they still
hadn't gotten enough of each other.
"How many times was that?" Dallie groaned after they were finished.
She nuzzled closer under his chin. "Uh—four, I think."
He kissed the top of her head and muttered, "Francie, I don't think
this fire burning between us is going
to be as easy to put out as we
figured."
It was past eight the next morning before either of them stirred.
Francesca stretched lazily and Dallie pulled her close for a cuddle.
They were just beginning to fool around a little when they heard
footsteps coming up the stairs. Dallie cussed under his breath.
Francesca jerked her head toward the door and then watched in alarm as
the knob began to turn. An ugly vision flashed through her mind of an
army of Dallie's old girlfriends stalking in, each with a house key
dangling from her fingers. "Oh, God . . ." She couldn't help it. She
slid down beneath the covers and pulled the sheet over her head. At
that exact moment, she heard the door open.
Dallie sounded mildly exasperated. "For Pete's sake, couldn't you even
knock?"
"I was afraid I'd spill my coffee. I hope that's Francie under there or
I'm going to be embarrassed."
"As a matter of fact, it's not Francie," Dallie said. "And you should
be embarrassed."
The mattress sagged as Holly Grace settled down on the side of the bed,
her hips brushing against Francesca's calves. The faint fragrance of
coffee penetrated the sheet.
"The least you could do was bring me a cup, too," Dallie complained.
Holly Grace apologized. "I wasn't thinking; I've got a lot on my mind.
You were kidding, weren't you, about that not being Francie under
there?"
Dallie patted Francesca's hip through the covers. "You stay right
there, Rosalita honey. This crazy person'll be gone in a few minutes."
Holly Grace tugged on the top of the sheet. "Francie, I need to talk to
both of you."
Francesca clutched the sheet tighter and muttered something in Spanish
about turning left at the corner
to get to the post office. Dallie
chuckled.
"Come on, Francie, I know it's you," Holly Grace said. "Your
underwear's all over the floor—what there is of it."
Francesca saw no graceful way out. With as much dignity as possible,
she lowered the sheet to her chin and glared at Holly Grace, who sat on
the edge of the bed wearing old jeans and a Cowboys sweat shirt. "What
do you want?" she demanded. "For three days you've refused to talk to
me. Why did you have to pick this morning to get chatty?"
"I needed some time to think."
"Couldn't you have chosen a more appropriate place to meet?" Francesca
asked. Next to her, Dallie leaned up against the headboard, sipping
Holly Grace's coffee and looking as relaxed as ever. As the only person
lying down, Francesca suddenly realized she had put herself at a
disadvantage. Anchoring the sheet under her arms, she swallowed her
embarrassment and pushed herself up until she was sitting, too.
"Want a sip?" Dallie asked, holding out the coffee mug.
She pushed her hair out of her face and thanked him with exaggerated
politeness, determined to out-casual them both. As she took the mug,
Holly Grace stood and walked toward the window, her
hands jumping from
her front pockets to her rear pockets. Watching the gesture, Francesca
realized that her friend was a lot more nervous than she pretended. As
she looked more closely, she saw telltale signs of tension in the set
of Holly Grace's shoulders.
Holly Grace played with the edge of the drapery. "See, the thing of it
is—this situation that's happened between the two of you has sort of
gotten in the way of some plans I made."
"What situation?" Francesca inquired defensively.
"What plans?" Dallie asked.
Holly Grace turned. "Francie, you've got to understand that none of
this has anything to do with disapproval. I've been telling you for
years that you missed out on one of life's great opportunities by not
spending more time in bed with Dallas Beaudine."
"Holly Grace!" Francesca protested.
"Thanks, honey," Dallie said.
Francesca realized they were starting to get the best of her again, and
she took a slow, calming sip of coffee. Holly Grace wandered to the
foot of the bed and gazed at her ex-husband. "Dallie, my biological
clock is about to hit midnight. I kept thinking that sooner or iater
I'd find somebody I wanted to marry. For a while I even hoped Gerry and
I— Anyway, I planned to settle down and let the 'China Colt' producers
shoot me from the chest up every few seasons while I had a couple of
babies. But lately I've realized that's a fantasy and the thing of it
is ... I've got an ache inside me." She walked around to Francesca's
side of the bed, hugging herself as if she were cold.
Francesca saw the sadness in her friend's beautiful, proud features,
and she could guess what it had cost Holly Grace to be so open about
her need for a child. She passed the coffee mug off to Dallie and
patted the bed beside her. "Sit down, Holly Grace, and tell me what's
wrong."
Holly Grace sat, her blue eyes locking with Francesca's green ones.
"You know how much I want to
have a baby, Francie, and I guess everything that's happened with Teddy
has made me
think about it even more. I'm tired of only being able to love other
people's kids; I want my own. Dallie's been telling me for years not to
wrap all my happiness up in a dollar bill, and I guess I've finally
realized that he's right."
Francesca reached out and touched her arm sympathetically. She wished
Gerry hadn't flown home yesterday, although after three days of trying
unsuccessfully to get Holly Grace to talk to him, she didn't blame him.
"When you get back to New York, you and Gerry need to get together. I
know you love
him, and he loves you, and—"
"Forget about Gerry!" she retorted. "He's Peter Pan. He won't ever grow
up. Gerry's made it perfectly clear that he wants to marry me. But he's
also made it clear that he won't give me any children."
"You never told me anything about that," Dallie said, obviously
surprised at this revelation.
"You and Gerry have to start being open with each other," Francesca
insisted.
"I won't beg." Holly Grace straightened, trying to keep her dignity.
"I'm financially independent, I'm at least semi-mature, and I don't see
any reason in the world why I have to shackle myself in marriage just
to have a child. Only I need your help."
"I'll do anything I can, you know that. After the way you helped me
when—"
"Will you lend me Dallie?" Holly Grace asked abruptly.
Dallie shot up in bed. "Now, wait a minute here!"
"Dallie's not mine to lend," Francesca replied slowly.
Holly Grace ignored Dallie's indignation. Without taking her eyes off
Francesca, she said, "I know there are dozens of men I could ask, but
it's not in my nature to have just anybody's baby. I love Dallie, and
we still have Danny between us. Right now he's the only man I trust."
She looked at Francesca with gentle reprimand. "He knows I wouldn't try
to cut him out like you did. I understand how important family is to
him, and the baby would be his just as much as mine."
"This is between the two of you," Francesca said firmly.
Holly Grace looked back and forth between Francesca and Dallie. "I
don't think so." She turned her attention to Dallie. "I
realize it would be a little creepy getting back into bed with you
after all this time—sort of like sleeping with my brother. But I figure
if I had a few drinks and made up a fantasy about me and Tom Cruise . .
."
Her weak attempt at humor fell flat. Dallie looked as if she'd just
punched him in the stomach. "That
does it!" He reached down and
snatched up a towel that was lying on the carpet next to the bed.
Holly Grace looked pleadingly at him. "I know you have something to say
about all this, but just for
a few minutes, do you think you could let
Francie and me talk?"
"No, I do not," he replied coldly. "I can't believe the two of you.
This is a perfect example of how
entirely out of hand the women in this
country have gotten. You act like men aren't anything more than
extraneous amusements, little toys to keep you entertained." Under the
covers, he wrapped the towel around himself. "And no matter what
anybody says, I don't believe all this trouble started when women got
the vote. As far as I'm concerned, it goddamn well got started when you
taught each other how to read." He rose up out of bed, pulling the
towel tighter at his waist. "And another thing—I'm getting a little
tired of the two of you treating me like a walking sperm bank!" With
that, he stalked into the bathroom and slammed the door.
Unimpressed with Dallie's anger, Holly Grace looked back at Francesca.
"Assuming I could bring Dallie around to my way of thinking, what would
you have to say about that?"
The idea gave Francesca a lot more discomfort than she liked to admit.
"Holly Grace, just because Dallie and I succumbed to a night of
temporary insanity doesn't mean I have any decision to make in this.
Whatever happens is between the two of you."
Holly Grace looked at Francesca's underwear scattered over the floor.
"Hypothetically speaking, if you really were in love with Dallie, how
would you feel about it?"
There was such naked need in Holly Grace's face that Francesca decided
she had to answer honestly.
She thought for a few moments. "As much as
I love you, Holly Grace—as much as I sympathize with your desire to
have a child—if I really
loved Dallie, I wouldn't let you touch him."
Holly Grace didn't reply for a moment, and then she gave a sad sort of
smile. "That's exactly what I'd say, too. For all your flightiness,
Francie, it's moments like this that make me remember why we're best
friends."
Holly Grace squeezed her hand, and Francesca was glad to see that she
had finally been forgiven for
lying about Teddy. But as she looked at
her friend's face, she frowned. "Holly Grace, there's something about
this that doesn't ring true to me. You know very well that Dallie won't
agree. I'm not convinced
you even want him to."
"He might," Holly Grace said defensively. "Dallie's full of surprises."
But not this kind of surprise. Francesca didn't believe for a minute
that he would go along with Holly Grace's idea, and she doubted if
Holly Grace believed it either. '"Do you know what you remind me of?"
Francesca said thoughtfully. "You remind me of someone with a bad
toothache who's hitting herself in
the head with a hammer to distract
herself from the pain in her mouth."
"That's ridiculous," Holly Grace snapped, her reply coming so quickly
that Francesca knew she had struck a nerve. It occurred to her that
Holly Grace was frightened. She had begun to grab at straws, hoping to
find some distraction to ease the ache in her heart from losing Gerry.
There wasn't anything Francesca could do to help her friend except lean
forward and give her a sympathetic hug.
"Now, isn't this a sight to warm a man's heart?" Dallie drawled as he
came out of the bathroom
buttoning his shirt. He looked like a man
who'd been doing a slow burn for the past few minutes,
and it was
immediately apparent that his anger had shifted from righteous
indignation into a serious, full-fledged forest fire. "Did the two of
you decide what you're going to do with me, yet?"
"Francie says I can't have you," Holly Grace replied.
Alarmed, Francesca cried out, "Holly Grace, that's not what I—"
"Oh, does she?" Dallie shoved his shirttail inside his jeans. "Goddamn,
I hate women." He pointed his finger toward Francesca angrily. "Just
because we set off a few million
fireworks last night doesn't mean you have any right to make personal
decisions for me."
Francesca was outraged. "I didn't make any personal—"
He turned on Holly Grace. "And if you want to have yourself a baby, you
go look in somebody else's pants, because, by damn, I am not providing
you with stud service."
Francesca felt an anger toward him that she understood wasn't totally
reasonable. But couldn't he see
that Holly Grace was in real pain and
that she wasn't thinking very clearly? "Aren't you being just a little
insensitive?" she inquired quietly.
"Insensitive?" His face grew pale with anger. His hands balled into
fists, and he looked very much like
a man who wanted to destroy one of
the higher life-forms.
As he came toward them, Francesca instinctively shrank down into the
sheet, and even Holly Grace seemed to move back. His hand slashed out
toward the bottom of the bed. Francesca let out a small hiss of alarm
only to see that he had grabbed Holly Grace's purse from the place
where she'd tossed it.
Pulling it open, he dumped out the contents and
snatched up her car keys.
When he spoke, his voice was bleak. "As far as I'm concerned, the two
of you can go straight to hell." With that, he stalked from the room.
As Francesca heard the distant sound of a car driving away a few
moments later, she felt a stab of regret for the loss of a house where
no angry words had ever been spoken.
stand to talk anymore.
This kiss was even better than the one by the side of the road. Their
verbal foreplay had put them both on edge and there was a roughness
about their caresses that seemed exactly right for an encounter that
was absurdly foolish for both of them. As their mouths pressed together
and their tongues touched, Francesca once again had the sensation that
the rest of the world had drifted away.
She pushed her hands beneath his shirt. Within seconds, her sweater was
off and the buttons on the front of her silk blouse opened. Her
lingerie was beautiful—lace shells of oyster silk cupping her breasts.
He peeled back one of the shells to find her creamy nipple and suckle
it.
When she couldn't stand it anymore, she pulled his head up and began a
relentless attack on his bottom lip, tracing the curve with her tongue,
gently teasing it with her teeth. Finally she slipped her fingers along
his spine and pushed them inside the waistband of his jeans. He groaned
and pulled her to her feet, then stripped down her slacks and slipped
off her shoes and stockings. "I want to see you," he said huskily,
freeing the silk blouse from her shoulders. The fabric felt like a
caress as it slid down over her arms.
Dallie caught his breath. "Does all your underwear look like it belongs
in a high-class strip show?"
"Every bit of it." She rose up on tiptoe to take a nip at his ear. His
fingers toyed with the two little strings on her hip that held the tiny
silk triangle of her panties in place, leaving the curve of her thigh
bare. Goose bumps slithered over her skin. "Carry me upstairs," she
whispered.
He slipped his arm under her knees, lifted her, and held her close to
his chest. "You don't weigh as much as a full bag of clubs, honey."
His bedroom was large and comfortable, with a fireplace at one end and
a bed tucked beneath a sloping ceiling. He laid her gently down on the
spread and then reached toward the delicate ties at her hips. "No, no."
She pushed his hand away and pointed toward the center of the room.
"Take it off first, soldier."
He looked at her suspiciously. "Take what off?"
"Your clothes. Entertain the troops."
"My clothes?" He frowned. "I was sort of thinking you might want to do
that for me."
She shook her head and leaned back on one elbow, giving him her
witchiest, bitchiest smile. "Strip."
"Now, listen here, Francie—"
Lifting a languid hand, she once again pointed toward the center of the
room. "Do it real slow, good-looking," she purred. "I want to enjoy
every minute."
"Aw, Francie . . ." He looked longingly toward the twin shells over her
breasts and then lower to the
small silk triangle. She moved her legs
slightly apart to inspire him.
"I feel stupid making a big show out of taking off my clothes," he
grumbled as he moved toward the center of the room.
She let her fingers trail delicately over the triangle of silk. "That's
just too bad. As far as I'm concerned, men like you were put on this
world to entertain women like me."
His eyes followed her fingers. "Now, is that so?"
She toyed with the little string. "All brawn, no brain, what else are
you good for?"
Lifting his gaze, he gave her a lazy grin and slowly began unbuttoning
his cuffs. "Well, now, I guess you're about to find out."
Francesca felt a surge of heat flow through her blood. The simple act
of unfastening a shirt cuff suddenly struck her as the most erotic
thing she had ever seen. Dallie must have noticed her
breath quicken, because a smile flickered at the corner of his mouth
and then disappeared as he began to play her in earnest. He took his
time unfastening the rest of his shirt buttons and then let the garment
hang open for
a moment before he took it off. Her lips parted slightly.
She studied the play of muscles in his chest as
he reached down to pull
off his boots and his socks. Dressed only in jeans and a wide leather
belt, he straightened up and linked one thumb in his waistband.
"Slip down that bra," he said. "Nothing more comes off here until I see
something good."
She pretended to think it over and then slowly reached behind her back
to open the small clasp. The straps drifted down along her shoulders,
but she held the shells in place over her breasts. "Take off your belt
first," she said, her voice deep and throaty. "And then unzip."
He pulled the belt from the denim loops. For a moment, he let it hang
at his side, the buckle curling from his fist. Then he surprised her by
tossing it over to the bed, where it fell across her ankles. "In case I
need to use it on you," he said, his voice full of sexy menace.
She swallowed hard. He pulled open the top snap on his jeans and pushed
the zipper down a scant few inches, revealing his flat abdomen. And
then he rested his hand lightly on the slide, waiting for her. She
eased the silky shells off her breasts, delicately arching her back so
he could look his fill. Now he was the one who swallowed hard.
"The jeans, soldier boy," she whispered.
He pulled the zipper down the rest of the way, then tucked both his
thumbs inside the waistband, snagging the jeans and his briefs
together, and slid them off. He finally stood naked before her.
Without any pretense of shyness, she looked her fill. He was hard and
proud, sleek and shiny and beautiful. She let her head drift back on
the pillows, her hair spilling out in a corona around her, and watched
him as he walked to the side of the bed. Reaching down with his index
finger, he stroked a long line from her throat to the top of the
triangle of her panties. "Open the ties," he ordered.
"You do it," she replied.
He sat down on the edge of the bed and reached toward one of the satin
ribbons. She stilled his hand. "With your mouth."
He chuckled, then leaned over and did as she had ordered. As he pulled
the silky triangle from between her legs, he kissed her and then began
stroking the insides of her thighs. She took off on an exploratory
mission of her own, her hand greedy to touch him. After a few minutes,
he groaned and broke away to reach into the drawer of the bedside
table. When he turned his back to her, she laughed and lifted herself
up on her knees to nuzzle his neck. "Never send a man to do a woman's
job," she whispered. Reaching around him, she took over his task,
dallying and teasing until his skin was damp with perspiration.
"Damn, Francie," he said huskily, "you keep on like that and you're not
going to get anything out of this encounter but a boring memory."
She smiled and slipped back onto the pillows, parting her legs for him.
"Somehow I doubt that."
He took advantage of what she was offering him, tormenting her with
expert caresses until she begged him to stop, and then kissing her
breathless. When he finally entered her, she dug her hands into his
hips and cried out. He reared up, driving himself deeper. They began
talking in breathless little words.
"Please .. ."
"So good ..."
"Yes . . . hard . .."
"Sweet. . ."
Each was accustomed to being a cool lover—considerate, giving, but
always in control. Now they were hot and wet, strung out on passion,
oblivious to everything but the mad cry of one beautiful body
reaching
out for the other. They came, seconds apart, spilling open in gushing,
noisy abandonment,
filling the air with cries, moans, and breathless
obscenities.
Afterward, neither could have said who was the more embarrassed.
Chapter
29
They ate a tense meal, with both of them cracking jokes that weren't29
all that funny. Then they went
back to bed and made love again. With
their mouths glued together and their bodies joined, they couldn't
talk, but talking was something neither of them wanted to do much of.
They slept restlessly, waking in
the wee hours to find that they still
hadn't gotten enough of each other.
"How many times was that?" Dallie groaned after they were finished.
She nuzzled closer under his chin. "Uh—four, I think."
He kissed the top of her head and muttered, "Francie, I don't think
this fire burning between us is going
to be as easy to put out as we
figured."
It was past eight the next morning before either of them stirred.
Francesca stretched lazily and Dallie pulled her close for a cuddle.
They were just beginning to fool around a little when they heard
footsteps coming up the stairs. Dallie cussed under his breath.
Francesca jerked her head toward the door and then watched in alarm as
the knob began to turn. An ugly vision flashed through her mind of an
army of Dallie's old girlfriends stalking in, each with a house key
dangling from her fingers. "Oh, God . . ." She couldn't help it. She
slid down beneath the covers and pulled the sheet over her head. At
that exact moment, she heard the door open.
Dallie sounded mildly exasperated. "For Pete's sake, couldn't you even
knock?"
"I was afraid I'd spill my coffee. I hope that's Francie under there or
I'm going to be embarrassed."
"As a matter of fact, it's not Francie," Dallie said. "And you should
be embarrassed."
The mattress sagged as Holly Grace settled down on the side of the bed,
her hips brushing against Francesca's calves. The faint fragrance of
coffee penetrated the sheet.
"The least you could do was bring me a cup, too," Dallie complained.
Holly Grace apologized. "I wasn't thinking; I've got a lot on my mind.
You were kidding, weren't you, about that not being Francie under
there?"
Dallie patted Francesca's hip through the covers. "You stay right
there, Rosalita honey. This crazy person'll be gone in a few minutes."
Holly Grace tugged on the top of the sheet. "Francie, I need to talk to
both of you."
Francesca clutched the sheet tighter and muttered something in Spanish
about turning left at the corner
to get to the post office. Dallie
chuckled.
"Come on, Francie, I know it's you," Holly Grace said. "Your
underwear's all over the floor—what there is of it."
Francesca saw no graceful way out. With as much dignity as possible,
she lowered the sheet to her chin and glared at Holly Grace, who sat on
the edge of the bed wearing old jeans and a Cowboys sweat shirt. "What
do you want?" she demanded. "For three days you've refused to talk to
me. Why did you have to pick this morning to get chatty?"
"I needed some time to think."
"Couldn't you have chosen a more appropriate place to meet?" Francesca
asked. Next to her, Dallie leaned up against the headboard, sipping
Holly Grace's coffee and looking as relaxed as ever. As the only person
lying down, Francesca suddenly realized she had put herself at a
disadvantage. Anchoring the sheet under her arms, she swallowed her
embarrassment and pushed herself up until she was sitting, too.
"Want a sip?" Dallie asked, holding out the coffee mug.
She pushed her hair out of her face and thanked him with exaggerated
politeness, determined to out-casual them both. As she took the mug,
Holly Grace stood and walked toward the window, her
hands jumping from
her front pockets to her rear pockets. Watching the gesture, Francesca
realized that her friend was a lot more nervous than she pretended. As
she looked more closely, she saw telltale signs of tension in the set
of Holly Grace's shoulders.
Holly Grace played with the edge of the drapery. "See, the thing of it
is—this situation that's happened between the two of you has sort of
gotten in the way of some plans I made."
"What situation?" Francesca inquired defensively.
"What plans?" Dallie asked.
Holly Grace turned. "Francie, you've got to understand that none of
this has anything to do with disapproval. I've been telling you for
years that you missed out on one of life's great opportunities by not
spending more time in bed with Dallas Beaudine."
"Holly Grace!" Francesca protested.
"Thanks, honey," Dallie said.
Francesca realized they were starting to get the best of her again, and
she took a slow, calming sip of coffee. Holly Grace wandered to the
foot of the bed and gazed at her ex-husband. "Dallie, my biological
clock is about to hit midnight. I kept thinking that sooner or iater
I'd find somebody I wanted to marry. For a while I even hoped Gerry and
I— Anyway, I planned to settle down and let the 'China Colt' producers
shoot me from the chest up every few seasons while I had a couple of
babies. But lately I've realized that's a fantasy and the thing of it
is ... I've got an ache inside me." She walked around to Francesca's
side of the bed, hugging herself as if she were cold.
Francesca saw the sadness in her friend's beautiful, proud features,
and she could guess what it had cost Holly Grace to be so open about
her need for a child. She passed the coffee mug off to Dallie and
patted the bed beside her. "Sit down, Holly Grace, and tell me what's
wrong."
Holly Grace sat, her blue eyes locking with Francesca's green ones.
"You know how much I want to
have a baby, Francie, and I guess everything that's happened with Teddy
has made me
think about it even more. I'm tired of only being able to love other
people's kids; I want my own. Dallie's been telling me for years not to
wrap all my happiness up in a dollar bill, and I guess I've finally
realized that he's right."
Francesca reached out and touched her arm sympathetically. She wished
Gerry hadn't flown home yesterday, although after three days of trying
unsuccessfully to get Holly Grace to talk to him, she didn't blame him.
"When you get back to New York, you and Gerry need to get together. I
know you love
him, and he loves you, and—"
"Forget about Gerry!" she retorted. "He's Peter Pan. He won't ever grow
up. Gerry's made it perfectly clear that he wants to marry me. But he's
also made it clear that he won't give me any children."
"You never told me anything about that," Dallie said, obviously
surprised at this revelation.
"You and Gerry have to start being open with each other," Francesca
insisted.
"I won't beg." Holly Grace straightened, trying to keep her dignity.
"I'm financially independent, I'm at least semi-mature, and I don't see
any reason in the world why I have to shackle myself in marriage just
to have a child. Only I need your help."
"I'll do anything I can, you know that. After the way you helped me
when—"
"Will you lend me Dallie?" Holly Grace asked abruptly.
Dallie shot up in bed. "Now, wait a minute here!"
"Dallie's not mine to lend," Francesca replied slowly.
Holly Grace ignored Dallie's indignation. Without taking her eyes off
Francesca, she said, "I know there are dozens of men I could ask, but
it's not in my nature to have just anybody's baby. I love Dallie, and
we still have Danny between us. Right now he's the only man I trust."
She looked at Francesca with gentle reprimand. "He knows I wouldn't try
to cut him out like you did. I understand how important family is to
him, and the baby would be his just as much as mine."
"This is between the two of you," Francesca said firmly.
Holly Grace looked back and forth between Francesca and Dallie. "I
don't think so." She turned her attention to Dallie. "I
realize it would be a little creepy getting back into bed with you
after all this time—sort of like sleeping with my brother. But I figure
if I had a few drinks and made up a fantasy about me and Tom Cruise . .
."
Her weak attempt at humor fell flat. Dallie looked as if she'd just
punched him in the stomach. "That
does it!" He reached down and
snatched up a towel that was lying on the carpet next to the bed.
Holly Grace looked pleadingly at him. "I know you have something to say
about all this, but just for
a few minutes, do you think you could let
Francie and me talk?"
"No, I do not," he replied coldly. "I can't believe the two of you.
This is a perfect example of how
entirely out of hand the women in this
country have gotten. You act like men aren't anything more than
extraneous amusements, little toys to keep you entertained." Under the
covers, he wrapped the towel around himself. "And no matter what
anybody says, I don't believe all this trouble started when women got
the vote. As far as I'm concerned, it goddamn well got started when you
taught each other how to read." He rose up out of bed, pulling the
towel tighter at his waist. "And another thing—I'm getting a little
tired of the two of you treating me like a walking sperm bank!" With
that, he stalked into the bathroom and slammed the door.
Unimpressed with Dallie's anger, Holly Grace looked back at Francesca.
"Assuming I could bring Dallie around to my way of thinking, what would
you have to say about that?"
The idea gave Francesca a lot more discomfort than she liked to admit.
"Holly Grace, just because Dallie and I succumbed to a night of
temporary insanity doesn't mean I have any decision to make in this.
Whatever happens is between the two of you."
Holly Grace looked at Francesca's underwear scattered over the floor.
"Hypothetically speaking, if you really were in love with Dallie, how
would you feel about it?"
There was such naked need in Holly Grace's face that Francesca decided
she had to answer honestly.
She thought for a few moments. "As much as
I love you, Holly Grace—as much as I sympathize with your desire to
have a child—if I really
loved Dallie, I wouldn't let you touch him."
Holly Grace didn't reply for a moment, and then she gave a sad sort of
smile. "That's exactly what I'd say, too. For all your flightiness,
Francie, it's moments like this that make me remember why we're best
friends."
Holly Grace squeezed her hand, and Francesca was glad to see that she
had finally been forgiven for
lying about Teddy. But as she looked at
her friend's face, she frowned. "Holly Grace, there's something about
this that doesn't ring true to me. You know very well that Dallie won't
agree. I'm not convinced
you even want him to."
"He might," Holly Grace said defensively. "Dallie's full of surprises."
But not this kind of surprise. Francesca didn't believe for a minute
that he would go along with Holly Grace's idea, and she doubted if
Holly Grace believed it either. '"Do you know what you remind me of?"
Francesca said thoughtfully. "You remind me of someone with a bad
toothache who's hitting herself in
the head with a hammer to distract
herself from the pain in her mouth."
"That's ridiculous," Holly Grace snapped, her reply coming so quickly
that Francesca knew she had struck a nerve. It occurred to her that
Holly Grace was frightened. She had begun to grab at straws, hoping to
find some distraction to ease the ache in her heart from losing Gerry.
There wasn't anything Francesca could do to help her friend except lean
forward and give her a sympathetic hug.
"Now, isn't this a sight to warm a man's heart?" Dallie drawled as he
came out of the bathroom
buttoning his shirt. He looked like a man
who'd been doing a slow burn for the past few minutes,
and it was
immediately apparent that his anger had shifted from righteous
indignation into a serious, full-fledged forest fire. "Did the two of
you decide what you're going to do with me, yet?"
"Francie says I can't have you," Holly Grace replied.
Alarmed, Francesca cried out, "Holly Grace, that's not what I—"
"Oh, does she?" Dallie shoved his shirttail inside his jeans. "Goddamn,
I hate women." He pointed his finger toward Francesca angrily. "Just
because we set off a few million
fireworks last night doesn't mean you have any right to make personal
decisions for me."
Francesca was outraged. "I didn't make any personal—"
He turned on Holly Grace. "And if you want to have yourself a baby, you
go look in somebody else's pants, because, by damn, I am not providing
you with stud service."
Francesca felt an anger toward him that she understood wasn't totally
reasonable. But couldn't he see
that Holly Grace was in real pain and
that she wasn't thinking very clearly? "Aren't you being just a little
insensitive?" she inquired quietly.
"Insensitive?" His face grew pale with anger. His hands balled into
fists, and he looked very much like
a man who wanted to destroy one of
the higher life-forms.
As he came toward them, Francesca instinctively shrank down into the
sheet, and even Holly Grace seemed to move back. His hand slashed out
toward the bottom of the bed. Francesca let out a small hiss of alarm
only to see that he had grabbed Holly Grace's purse from the place
where she'd tossed it.
Pulling it open, he dumped out the contents and
snatched up her car keys.
When he spoke, his voice was bleak. "As far as I'm concerned, the two
of you can go straight to hell." With that, he stalked from the room.
As Francesca heard the distant sound of a car driving away a few
moments later, she felt a stab of regret for the loss of a house where
no angry words had ever been spoken.
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