Love Bats Last (The Heart of the Game) (20 page)

Then it dawned on her—she’d meant to ask him questions about the vineyards along the river. Likely he’d know the habits of some of them.
And
she hadn’t thanked him for the floor, hadn’t properly thanked him for his help when he’d volunteered. He must think her an ingrate. She considered calling back, but the jitters she was fighting to ignore made that option unappealing. She’d send a note and have the board members do the same. She pulled up her calendar. September 14 was only two weeks away.

She went into her bedroom, pawed through her closet and pulled out a rumpled evening gown she’d shoved to the back. She’d worn it to the past three galas. Eyeing the wrinkles across the bodice, she tossed it on her bed and headed for the freezer. Empty. She’d finished the last of the ice cream.

No dress and no ice cream. In Alex’s vernacular, she was about to strike out.

A muffled scraping sounded along the west wall of her house. She froze. Swallowing down her nerves, she tiptoed to the living room window. All she saw was the wind swaying the clumped grasses between the oak trees. She was jumpy, being ridiculous for no reason.

She returned to her bedroom and pulled the gown from her bed. She held it up against her and pivoted to peer at her reflection in the tiny mirror across the room. Even she could see the gown had seen better days.

It was time for something new.

She stared into her reflection, at her wide eyes and the hands holding tight to the gown.

Something new
. If the jitter of nerves flooding her chest was any indication, she wasn’t ready for what the feeling heralded. But deep in her heart she wished she was.

Chapter Fifteen

Bev and Jackie stepped out of a cab and into Neiman Marcus. It was the week before the gala, and Union Square glittered with the heat of an Indian summer afternoon.

“You are going to
love
this,” Bev assured her.

“Don’t count on it,” Jackie said, shaking her head. “I am perhaps the world’s worst shopper.”

“Then since
I
am a practiced devotee,” Bev said, her eyes twinkling, “we stand a chance.”

Bev had insisted that Neiman’s was absolutely the best place to buy an evening gown. And, she’d added, they were having their annual sale. Somehow she’d also managed to talk Jackie into inviting her along.

Jackie flipped through the racks of exquisite gowns and pulled out three that caught her eye. When she saw the original prices, she found herself calculating how much seal food the same money would buy or how many samples she could send out for testing.

“No, no and no,” Bev said, pulling the gowns from her hands. “Those are definitely not your colors. Way too drab.” She lifted out a copper silk dress and a gold one, and hung the darker gowns Jackie had chosen back on the rack.

“May I take those to a dressing room for you?” asked a well-dressed woman around Bev’s age. Bev handed her the two gowns. “I’m Lauren.” The woman smiled. “I’ll be your stylist. Follow me, please.”

“Stylist?” Jackie mouthed to Bev as they tromped off behind Lauren.

“Trust me,” Bev whispered.

Moments later, Jackie stood in an elegant dressing room, eyeing herself in the floor-to-ceiling three-way mirror. After she’d told her about the gala, her mother had wired  money, delighted that Jackie was finally going to dress like a lady. As Jackie fingered the price tags, she remembered the Thoreau quote warning one to be wary of any occasion that required new clothes. She was beginning to think he was right.

But as she surveyed her faded jeans and oversize sweatshirt, she realized that it had been a very, very long time since she’d fussed over her appearance. Except the day she’d dressed for the ball game.
For him
, a little voice niggled. She’d felt uncomfortable that day too.

“Let’s start with this one, shall we?” Lauren said, dragging Jackie back from her thoughts.

Lauren helped her slip the copper silk dress over her head, then motioned for Jackie to step up onto the pedestal in front of the mirror.

“It’s perfect,” Bev announced from her perch near the door.

Jackie pivoted on the pedestal. She looked into the mirror and saw her reflection framed by the soft light filtering down from the chandelier. Her stomach tightened. In her work clothes she felt safe, in control of her world and most everything in it.

But as she pivoted again and watched the graceful lines of the silk follow the contours of her body, she felt...
vulnerable
.

There was no other word for the ripple of tension that swept her. And the awed look on Bev’s face did nothing to make her any more comfortable. The last time she’d fussed over a gown, it had been her wedding dress. She stared into the mirror and wasn’t sure the person staring back was as ready to step into life as she’d hoped.

“Nice shoes,” the stylist said.

Jackie admired the woman’s tact. They were her
good
shoes, thick-strapped sandals with a bit of a heel that she wore only for special occasions, but they looked tawdry in this setting.

“But I believe we have just the shoes for that gown,” Lauren said with a practiced smile.

Before Jackie could protest, Lauren picked up the phone near the door and instructed someone to bring up the “evening flight” in size nine. The description sounded like something out of a fairy tale.

“I’ll be right back,” Lauren said and scooted out the heavy door. A moment later she came in with a tray that held a half bottle of champagne and two glasses. She handed one to Bev and one to Jackie.

“You’ll have to have your hair done,” Bev said, tapping her manicured nails against her glass. How the woman managed to feed whole fish to elephant seals and sea lions, perform intricate surgeries and maintain a manicure was beyond Jackie.

“No way,” she protested. There were limits to what one could bear. She took a sip of the champagne. It was crisp and cold, but it didn’t loosen the grip of the odd anxiety drumming in her chest.

“And I have a very good hairdresser,” Bev persisted, sipping her champagne. “I promise it’ll be painless.” She put her glass on a small table, then stepped around Jackie and lifted her hair up off her neck. With her other hand she pulled the clip from her own chignon and clipped Jackie’s hair into a graceful swirl atop her head.

Jackie studied herself in the mirror. The style made her neck look graceful, made her look taller and sleeker. When Lauren nodded her approval, the vulnerable feeling wound its way a little deeper into her body.

A quiet knock called Lauren to the door. She took a stack of shoeboxes from an assistant and clicked the door shut once again. Jackie watched as she opened first one box, then another. With a little shake of her head she replaced the lids then opened the third box and smiled.

“These,” she said with an approving nod, “these are the ones. Perfect.” She pulled out a pair of heeled gold sandals with thin, jeweled straps. “The gown is so simple, these accent it perfectly. Of course you’ll need a shrug.”

“She’ll need more than a shrug.” Bev laughed. “A Kevlar cape is more like it.” She turned to Jackie. “You look stunning. Donors had better check their wallets at the door.”

Jackie couldn’t laugh. She took a breath and balanced as Lauren strapped on the jeweled sandals. Then she turned to the mirror. The woman who smiled back did indeed look like a creature from a fairy tale. She moved her hand just to make sure the image was really her, that she wasn’t hallucinating under some spell induced by champagne and soft lighting. She turned away from the mirror and back to the two women watching her.

“Do they spray some sort of pheromone in here that makes people go mush-brained and lose their sense of reality?” she asked with a tentative smile.

“I detect a sense of humor, Dr. Brandon.” Bev grinned. She took hold of Jackie’s wrist and pretended to check her pulse. “Your vitals are returning to normal—a very good sign. Whew”—she swiped the back of her hand across her forehead in mock alarm—“I thought we’d lost you.”

Jackie stepped through the security line and into the rotunda of City Hall in San Francisco. And then she stopped, stunned. The marbled walls and columns danced with images of whales and seals and dolphins. She turned slowly, so very slowly, knowing she was gawking. The effect from the dozen or more projectors was magical. Simply breathtaking. She advanced into the room.

The space was already crowded with guests in gowns and tuxes. Michael’s publicity team had spread the word that Alex would be there, and the gala had sold out in the last few days. The Giants had pulled ten games out in front of every team in the division, securing their spot in the playoffs, and the city buzzed with excitement.

Michael saw her and strode across the floor.

“To say you clean up well would be an understatement,” he said with an approving nod.

“I had an immense amount of help,” she confessed as the shaky feeling slithered up her spine. This was not her arena, never would be. “Has Alex arrived?”

“Haven’t seen him.” He glanced at his watch. “It’s still early.” He offered his arm. “I have someone I want you to meet.”

They approached a group of men near the center of the room. With the exception of Mark Volkov, she knew none of them. Volkov glanced up and stared. The look he gave her sent prickles of warning through her chest. Already she was wishing she was back in her home, or her lab, or in a seal pen, anywhere but where she was. But she had a job to do tonight and she would do it with a smile.

“Dr. Brandon,” Volkov said, offering his hand. She took it and then wriggled her fingers away when he didn’t let go.

“Mr. Volkov,” she said coolly. “How good of you to come.”

He pointed to a man standing at the bar. “Your benefactor.”

The man raised his glass. Jackie had no idea who he was.

“He printed the membership brochures. For free.”

“As well as the gala invitations,” Michael added.

The crawling feeling in her gut told her that a dear price had been paid, and she wasn’t sure she wanted to know what it was. “That was generous of him.”

“A small matter.” Volkov’s eyes roved her body. “This is my colleague, Darron Bennett.” He turned to a man, about six foot seven, who made even Michael appear diminutive.

“I study your work very closely, Dr. Brandon,” Mr. Bennett said. “It’s of great interest to all of us.”

A scar ran along the side of his face. It hadn’t been well stitched, had healed poorly, and Jackie tried not to let it color her impression of the man. But his odd monotone and the way he slid his eyes to stare at her breasts made it hard to believe he was sincere.

Michael stood smiling, apparently oblivious to the men’s leering gazes. She had the sudden thought that Alex wouldn’t be fooled by the men’s faux manners.

The musicians began playing a jazz piece, and the conversations of the crowd buzzed with its rhythm. She sighed with relief when Michael excused them from the group and guided her to a clutch of colorfully gowned ladies gathered near the wine bar.

“I’ll leave you to it,” he whispered. “Alice Ellsworth is the lady in green. She likes your work. As in fifty thousand dollars’ worth of like.” He glanced at his watch again. “Speeches in twenty minutes. You’re up first, then Alex. I’ll wrap up.”

Talking to the women was easier. Though it was evident they assessed her—in a way she remembered quite well from her mother’s society friends—their questions were politely confined to queries about the Center. The little muscles in her neck relaxed as she told them about the rescue centers along the coast and about the educational efforts to see the animals as sentinels of ocean health.

At one point she shot a quick glance toward Volkov's group. To her dismay, he left them and joined her.

“A word, Dr. Brandon,” he said, taking her by the arm. At his touch, her body stiffened. Flight was impossible, so she’d have to stay and deal. He flashed a well-practiced smile at the ladies. “Please excuse us.”

Once again she tugged her arm free of his hold, and she walked with him to the near side of the rotunda.

“I’ve been thinking about the research you’ve been doing,” he said. “I’d like to fund the lab.” He slipped an envelope into her hand. “And I’m thinking that those North Bay strandings are being caused by river dredging, not fertilizer. After all, there aren’t any vineyards close by, are there? Dredging always stirs things up. And there’s probably radon in all of those hills; they
were
volcanic. It’ll settle down once they stop.” He tapped the check in her hand. “Wouldn’t the Center be better served if its finances were put to use directly on the animals rather than spent on chasing down some baseless theory?”

She bristled at his coercive tone. He could’ve heard about the radon in the water samples—thanks to Michael’s loose lips it had been all over the press. But he couldn’t have known about the connection between fertilizer and the radon. Questions shot through her as she fingered the envelope. Why would a man like Volkov even care about her samples or about the bay?

She batted down the frisson of warning. It was ridiculous. She was truly being paranoid now. Michael had undoubtedly told Volkov more than he should have, forgetting yet again that the initial reports weren’t to be shared with the public. And surely she’d misread the man’s tone; he was relaxed and smiling and polite. Likely she was just off balance in this setting and nervous because Alex had yet to show up. Volkov was a scientist; of course he’d be interested and curious. Though she realized, as she watched him watching her, that she’d never made time to check the man’s credentials as she’d intended.