GNELFS (4 page)

He adjusted some books under one arm and checked his watch. He certainly is tall, Gab thought, and his dress is a little more casual than that of the others. He wore jeans, tennis shoes, and a leather jacket that hung open to reveal a stylish shirt.

"I'm on time," he said. "I guess she's late."

Realization began to sink into Gabrielle's brain. "You're the writer?"

"Uh, yeah. I'm Jake."

"Jake Tanner."

He's just a writer, she reminded herself. No big deal. That is just what he does for a living. He's human, just like anybody at the office or the grocery store. It's not every day you meet a writer, though. Books are found in stores or libraries, but the people who write them live far away somewhere. You don't meet them.

"So you're reading this morning," she said, almost wincing at the inadequacy.

One corner of his mouth twitched, and it was a bit of a relief to realize he was nervous too. "Yeah. I don't know what the people here are going to think of it. I've always thought they were geared more toward literary things."

He held up a copy of
Ellery Queen's Mystery Magazine
. "I guess I'll give them a try," he said. "I finally sold something to EQMM, so maybe it's worthy."

"I'm sorry I haven't read your books yet. But I've heard they're very clever."

"They sell well here since I'm local," he said. "And I guess they move in other places. I'm getting ready to start a series."

"Really."

"My agent has an editor interested. I've been doing paperbacks, but these will be hardbacks."

"That's wonderful." She was trying not to seem phony in her admiration. He couldn't be more than thirty. He must be very determined.

"Uh, I don't, uh, know your name," he said.

She was about to answer him when someone rushed past her.

"There he is. There's our author."

The woman was heavy, and her wavy hairdo would have been at home on a sixteen-year-
old's
head. On hers it looked out of place. Though past fifty, she did some clever things with makeup that were almost effective.

"Mr. Tanner, I'm Delilah Webster."

"My strength is in my hair," he said.

She guffawed and took his arm. "Come this way."

He cast a fleeting glance at Gabrielle before he was dragged into the crowd. People quickly converged around him.

It happens every time, Gab thought. Just when they're breaking ground. Feeling defeated, she took a seat near the back of the room. At least she'd hear him read. That was what she'd come for anyway, not to make any connections. Besides, she'd probably misinterpreted his interest. If she hadn't been rescued she might have embarrassed herself.

There it was again, that feeling of inferiority. No matter how many times she was assured she was pretty, she couldn't shake her insecurities. Nervously, she smoothed her skirt, wondering if its cut made her look overweight.

After a few more minutes of milling around, they introduced Tanner, and he took his place at the podium. He seemed more at ease at the speaker's stand than he had in conversation. Though she would have died at being in front of a group, for him it seemed natural.

He made brief remarks that drew laughs before launching into the story. It was more involved than she had expected, not a straightforward mystery. It was told in the first person, that being a young man who encounters a friend and slowly finds out the friend has just murdered his lover.

The ending was chilling, and she found herself literally on the edge of her seat, leaning forward as he read the final words in a quivering voice. The emotion of the story was catching him too. He closed the cover of the small magazine softly and bowed his head slightly as people in the room began to clap. A slight smile crossed his face now, a sign of the nervousness returning. He was unsure of how to accept the crowd's reaction.

After a few moments, he began to answer questions, queries about publishing, the writing process and the plotting of mystery stories. These he fielded without discomfort, walking around the side of the podium to lean against it.

Finally the session drew to a close, and a few people tugged out paperback copies of his novels for him to sign.

Gabrielle slipped from her chair and eased out the back door of the meeting room, feeling lost as the crowd formed again. She was about to climb into her car when she heard his voice again. He was calling out to her.

"I still didn't get your name."

Her palms tingled, and a nervous lump formed in her stomach. Why were these things so difficult?

He walked toward her nervously, his tennis shoes squeaking as they struck the surface of the parking lot.

She introduced herself. "I thought you did a very good job in there," she said.

"They seemed to like it. Maybe I'll sell a few books. At least it gives me a chance to get out a bit. Writers spend a lot of time hovering over their computer terminals. It's a bit monastic."

"The way accountants hover over their ledgers?"

"I guess. You're an accountant?"

She nodded.

"Does your time budget include lunch today?"

The clever approach made her cautious. "I would've thought you'd want to linger in there awhile, basking in admiration."

He laughed. "Not really. They have other business to discuss."

Should she tell him about Heaven? That might immediately scare him off. Which was actually better, she decided. Let him run now if he had a problem.

"I was supposed to pick up my daughter. I guess I could call my friend who's keeping her and let her stay a little longer."

He grinned. "You aren't married, are you? Did I just walk out on another limb?"

"Do authors have problems with lunching with married women?"

"I write stories about murder. I don't want some jealous husband coming after me with a gun."

"My husband's in California, and he's an ex." Gabrielle held up her left hand and wiggled the appropriate finger. "You were right when you checked it."

He grinned, flustered a bit at being caught. Still, she figured it couldn't hurt to let him know she could be clever too.

~*~

He was waiting in his car, an ancient blue Cutlass convertible. Since the sun was high he'd rolled the top back.

She tossed her purse onto the seat and climbed in beside him, maintaining her cool act for the time being. No need to let all of her secrets be known. They could lower their shields over lunch. For the moment the war was still on. He was a man after all, and she was a woman. They were natural enemies.

She found herself quivering inside at the thought of even casual involvement. I should have run to my car, she thought. I could have avoided this.

Things were stable in her life. Except for the attention Heaven required, and the occasional anxiety over Heaven's well-being—
was she selfish in that?
—she was comfortable and reluctant to jeopardize her peace by introducing another variable.

Yet as Tanner backed the convertible from the parking slot and pulled onto the street, she made no effort to escape. She'd already proven to herself that men could not control her or destroy her.

~*~

Heaven consumed her hot dog without showing any signs of mental confusion or fear. In fact, she performed the task with single-minded determination. The food disappeared into her mouth in almost magical fashion.

"It was just a remnant of the dream," Harris said. He was standing by Katrina in the kitchen, looking through the opening over the stove. It was a good vantage for observing the children at the dining table.

"Sure hasn't affected her appetite," Katrina agreed.

She walked back to the sink to finish washing the dishes. "Guess that settles it. Gab is having lunch with a nice gentleman, which is the first sign of life she's shown in a while. We definitely don't tell her about the tantrum."

"Agreed," Harris said. "Heaven will probably figure out soon enough that the
Gnelfs
are harmless."

Gabrielle enjoyed lunch, pizza, but was reluctant to accept Tanner's offer of a movie that evening. He was pleasant and clever, but there were other things to consider.

For one, she didn't feel right asking Katrina to keep Heaven all day, even though Katrina would be quick to insist. Also she didn't want Heaven to feel deserted.

One of the things she'd read about the children of divorced parents was that they developed a fear of being left by the remaining parent. She tried not to stay away from Heaven for too long a time in an attempt to alleviate some of that fear, even if it was subconscious, despite Katrina's telling her that she read too many books and magazine articles about psychology.

"Why don't you bring her along with us?" Tanner suggested in a too-good-to-be-true offer that made her entertain for a moment the notion that he might be a pedophile. She knew from her reading that such men often preyed on women who had young children.

That was just one of the ironies to contend with in dating. If you found someone who didn't get scared off by your little one, you had to worry over whether he was interested in her instead.

She dismissed that notion, for Tanner had approached her before knowing she had children.

"What could we do?" she asked. "Movies are pretty much out for a five-year-old."

"She's five?"

"Almost."

"Does she like Chinese food?"

"I don't think she's had it enough times to form an opinion."

"Well, why don't I fix some tonight, and she can decide."

"You cook Chinese food?"

"My mother gave me a wok for Christmas, and I'm learning."

"I don't know. Heaven is going to be tired. We usually stay in on Saturdays. Coming to your reading was an extravagance."

"Look, I'll rent some movies for her."

The car turned into the library lot, and he eased the Cutlass in beside her heap. He didn't kill the motor.

"What do you think?" he asked.

"Persistent, aren't you?"

"Writing is the loneliest profession. When something gets me out into the world I have to make the most of it."

"Is that a line?"

"No. You're the prettiest girl who ever came to hear me read. That's a line."

"That might work if you keep it up. What time?”

“Seven-thirty?"

"That'll do. Heaven will have time for a nap. Where do you live?"

He gave her a few brief directions, mentioning landmarks, and she nodded. "Seven-thirty, then," she said. "I'll see you."

"I'll have the stir-fry sizzling," he returned.

She slid from his car and was already in the driver's seat of her own vehicle as he pulled away. Sitting with her hands on the steering wheel, she couldn't keep a smile from her face. If he was a playa, he was a sly one.

But she didn't think he was a mover. There was a chance, perhaps ever so remote, that by some fluke she'd found a nice guy. At least he was cute and close to her age. If nothing else, he'd made it more than a typical Saturday.

~*~

"I send you out to get a little culture, and you come back lookin' like a schoolgirl," Katrina said.

She'd been waiting in ambush when Gab hit the front door. The questions which had been building since Gab had called to say she'd be a little late all flowed out.

While Harris played with the kids in the back yard, Katrina sat Gab down at the kitchen table for coffee and began to pelt her with questions.

"What's he like?"

"Cute. Pleasant."

"Cute?"

"Yes, cute." She wrinkled her brow. "I guess he's safe."

"Don't go
worryin
'. I've heard about him around town. If word was out he was an ax murderer or anything I
woulda
known it. Just 'cause he writes about murderers doesn't mean he is one."

"I just don't know if I want a man in my life right now," Gabrielle confessed. "In some ways I do, but, my God, relationships are complicated these days. I mean I wonder is he going to be nice or is he going to take me for granted? Is he going to be considerate, or is he going to be possessive like Martin?"

"Martin was older, and he had fifties attitudes about women. This guy is young. He's a sensitive artist.”

“That's another thing. Aren't writers strange?”

“How would I know? I live with Arnold the Accountant. Harris can be so normal it's annoying."

Gab smiled. She knew how hard Harris had worked to bring himself out of near poverty, and she knew Katrina respected him for that. She wondered if she would ever find something like what they had.

For some reason, romance had always eluded her. She always wound up with the wrong people, from high school onward. Maybe it was the passive nature she had toward dating. She'd never been given to pursuing men the way her friends had.