The Hellion (11 page)

"My daddy. He's taking me to dinner in Florence."

"Oh." He scowled, glanced toward the bank and thrust his lips out in a peculiarly attractive fashion.

"Yes. Oh. I can hardly tell him I'm sorry but I'm breaking our date to go out with Tommy Lee Gentry, can I?"

"What about tomorrow? The water's up enough that we could go out on the boat."

It sounded absolutely wonderful.
    
123 "Tomorrow I'm working. I gave Verda the day off."

"Sunday, then."

"Sunday I'm going to church. You remember church, don't you, Tommy Lee? That big red-brick building down there on the corner where you used to go?" It was as close to snide as Rachel had ever come as she pointed to the First Baptist, several blocks away. But the more she was exposed to him, the harder she had to fight to remind herself that he wasn't exactly parlor fare anymore.

"Sunday afternoon?"

She sighed heavily and looked slightly crestfallen. "I'm sorry, Tommy Lee. I can't see you. Please don't ask me again."

Their eyes locked for several electric seconds; then Rachel resolutely turned and continued down the street.

That night over supper she was distracted and forlorn. Everett and Marshall carried on a dull conversation about how investment institutions were slowly usurping the bank's role as chief money holder for many private individuals. While Everett expounded on the droll subject, Rachel tried to keep her mind off Tommy

Lee, but he slipped into her thoughts time and again. I could have been with him at this very moment. She wondered what his house was like, and if he'd invited someone else to go boating and, if so, who she was. She recalled the sun sparkling off the dark hair on his arms below his rolled-up sleeves, and the inviting shadow cast on his throat by the loosened collar and tie. She imagined another woman enjoying his company and shivered with a sudden inexplicable wave of jealousy.

Later that evening when Marshall saw her home he seemed worried about her.

"You seem rather blue tonight, Rachel," he noted as they stood in the entry, preparatory to his leaving.

"Blue?" She tried to put on a gay expression, but failed. "No, just tired. It's been a long week."

There came into Marshall's eyes a look she'd never seen there before, and as he took her gently into his arms she sensed a difference in the pressure of his hands on her back.

No, not Marshall, she thought in a panic.

But as he leaned back to look into her face, she saw a flicker of emotion that went beyond

fraternal care. "You've been doing
     
125 great. Pushing ahead, getting on with life. I'm very proud of you, you know." He touched her cheek and she wanted to shrink back, wary of allowing him to think for a moment that she wanted any kind of relationship with him other than the one she had. He bent his head to touch his lips to her cheek. She was already searching for the proper words to fend him off when he straightened, gave her arms a platonic squeeze, and said good night.

For some reason the experience with Marshall made her wonder how she would have reacted had it been Tommy Lee who'd given her such ardent glances and pulled her into his arms that way.

Dangerous thought! She promised herself she'd stop dwelling on Tommy Lee this way, and the next time she saw him, she'd walk straight on by with nothing more than a polite hello.

But the next time she saw him she couldn't walk away. It was the following Friday at four-thirty. Verda was running the vacuum cleaner over the carpet prior to closing, and Rachel was seated at her desk, putting away the empty bank pouch.

The door opened, Rachel looked up and

froze.

He was dressed in an open-collared black sport shirt topped by a gray sports coat a shade lighter than his trousers. His hair was tousled by the wind, and as he closed the door his eyes were already seeking her out.

Her stomach went fluttery and she felt fifteen again. This time I'll end up saying yes.

The vacuum cleaner wheezed into silence and Verda greeted him. "Well, howdy, Tommy Lee. Now, what in the world are you doing in a place like this?"

He carefully avoided glancing Rachel's way and sauntered farther into the store with a charming smile for Verda. "I need to buy a present for someone."

"Well, now, I'm sure as eternity not going to ask who it's for. I might not like the answer."

He laughed and looked down at the rectangular glass showcase in the center of the store, studying the accessories arranged there, fingering silk scarves, poring over a basket of earrings. Rachel sat watching him, her pulse hammering out a warning in her throat, but he

scarcely gave her a glance.
          
127 Momentarily, Verda spoke up again. "Y'all just take your time looking while I finish up this floor. If there's anything you like, maybe Rachel can help you."

He looked up as if only now realizing Rachel was there. "Oh, hello, Mrs. Hollis. Never been in your store before." He glanced around, drummed four fingertips on top of the glass cabinet. "It's very nice. Classy." His eyes returned to her and he flashed a quick smile. "Smells good, too."

It smelled of Rachel. It was no particular scent and all scents lingering together in a potent mixture that spoke of things delicate and feminine. Her eyes dropped to the desktop and she busied herself writing something, sitting at a chair almost as delicate as she, her legs crossed and the hem of a melon-colored skirt riding just above the knee. In the cleft of her white embroidered collar lay a collection of chunky coral and brown beads.

Her eyes met his again as the vacuum cleaner cut off the possibility of further talk, but he noted the quick rise and fall of her breasts and the

tendons of her right wrist standing out boldly as she clutched the fountain pen. Who but Rachel still used a fountain pen? he wondered. Then he dropped his eyes again to the jewelry counter and she turned away. Covertly he glanced up from time to time to see if the pen moved over the paper, but it was held poised while Rachel's back remained stiff, her head dropped forward.

It struck Verda then who belonged to the voice on the phone, and the vacuum stopped moving, though the brushes still whirred against the carpet. She glanced up sharply at Tommy Lee Gentry, then at Rachel. But Tommy Lee was flicking through the earrings, and Rachel wasn't paying him the least attention.

Rachel wasn't paying him the least attention?

Since when did Rachel ignore a customer? But Verda turned back to her task, deciding to stretch it out as long as possible, to see what Rachel would do.

After some minutes he signaled and she rose to help him. Verda turned off the machine, fussed around putting away things left in the fitting room, and listened.

"Those little red ones," he was saying.
    
129

"These?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"These are for pierced ears. Does she have pierced ears?"

"Well, now, I'm not sure I ever noticed," he drawled.

"Most women do these days."

"If she doesn't, could I bring them back?"

"I'm sorry, pierced aren't returnable. State law."

"Oh. Well, it's only nine dollars. If hers aren't pierced, maybe she'll have a friend."

Rachel was incensed, and having a hard time hiding it. How dare he come in here and buy baubles for his tootsies! The shop had grown incredibly quiet. Rachel was aware of it, and of Verda coiling up the vacuum cord and of Tommy Lee studying her own trembling hands as they removed the red button earrings from the case and began scraping the gummed label from the back of the card with a perfect long peach-painted nail.

"Do you want them wrapped?" Rachel asked, braving a glance at his face to throw Verda off

balance. See how unaffected I am by him? But the moment she raised her eyes, she realized her mistake. Once their gazes met she felt heated and uncomfortable and angry all over again.

"You do that here?"

"Yes. It's a customer service. No charge." The words were difficult for Rachel to say, given the fact that she wanted to sling the red earrings in his face. It angered her further to realize that she couldn't help wondering who they were for. But then, according to the gossips, he had innumerable female friends to whom he might offer such a gift. Rachel's fingers were still shaking as she placed the jewelry in a small apple-green box, wrapped it in green paper, and placed a pink lace bow on the cover.

Tommy Lee had wandered to the armoire and stood studying a midnight-blue slip displayed there with matching bikini panties and a scanty brassiere. He reached out to finger the lace edging at the hem of the slip, and as he moved, his face became visible in the mirror. He looked up, caught Rachel studying him, and had the audacity to smile! She waggled the box in the air.

Immediately he turned. "All wrapped?"

"Yes. That'll be nine dollars and
    
131 sixty-three cents."

"Do you take Visa?"

"Yes, Visa will be fine."

The two of them moved toward the end of the glass case, where an enormous brass cash register reared its curlicued head. Tommy Lee extracted a card from his wallet and she dropped her eyes; there was something masculinely attractive about a man pushing back his jacket to reach for a wallet. Throughout the exchanging of the card and while she ran it through the imprinter and he signed it, Rachel searched her mind for one of the countless inanities she usually exchanged with a customer at a time like this, but came up with none. She watched his dark hand scrawl a signature while the expensive diamond ring flashed, and again she wondered who the woman was, and damned him for coming here and putting her through this.

"There you go." Smiling, he handed her the pen.

Verda pushed the vacuum cleaner off into the back room just then, and the moment she disappeared through the doorway, Tommy Lee bent across the counter and whispered, "Do you work tomorrow?"

"No ..." Then, realizing her mistake,

Rachel amended, "Yes."

"Want to go water ski--was The ping of the ancient cash register bell cut off the rest of his question and the drawer sprang out at the same moment Tommy Lee reached across the counter and grabbed Rachel's wrist.

"Rachel, come out to the house, please." His mouth looked intense and sincere.

How dare he come here and do this to her! Verify the fact that there were other women in his life while inviting her to become one of them!

"No!" Her eyes veered toward the back room. "Please, Tommy Lee ..."

From the rear of the building came the scrape and thump of Verda putting away the machine. Rachel's wrist strained against his hold.

"Sunday?" he asked quickly, his fingers tightening.

Her startled eyes held both anger and an undeniably tempted look, so he hurried on. "Beth will be there, so we wouldn't be alone. I want you to meet her."

Verda's footsteps were coming back and he was forced to drop Rachel's wrist. When the clerk emerged from the doorway Tommy Lee was putting

his credit card away and Rachel was
      
133 dropping the gift into a tiny floral paper sack.

"Thank you for stopping in," she said cheerfully, handing him his purchase. "And have a nice weekend."

Tommy Lee carefully wiped his feelings from his face and brought forth a lazy smile. "Y'all do the same, Mrs. Hollis, and you, too, Verda."

He nodded to the clerk, who called out the customary "Y'all come back." Then he strolled from the store without a backward glance.

The moment the door closed behind him, Verda propped a hand on her hip, raised one eyebrow, and said, "Mrs. Hollis?" Her shrewd eyes homed in on Rachel. "What's going on?"

"Going on?" Rachel busied herself arranging the scarves on top of the showcase. "Nothing's going on, Verda. Whatever in the world do you mean?"

"I suddenly put a name with the voice on the phone. It's his. Tommy Lee Gentry." She peered closely at Rachel. "He been pestering you?"

"Oh, for heaven's sake, Verda, don't be silly. What would Tommy Lee Gentry be doing pestering me?"

"What does Tommy Lee Gentry do pestering half the women of this town?" She glanced toward the door. "Which one of his doxies do you reckon those earrings were for?"

The question shot a flash of cold through Rachel. She wanted to cringe and defend him simultaneously. Why should she care about his indiscretions or what the town thought of him because of them? Yet the fact remained that she did. She always had.

"Do you want to stand there wondering about it all weekend, or would you rather lock up and go home?" Rachel forced an amused smile to her lips, as if she, too, were curious about the woman whose ears would be decorated with the red beads.

"You sure it wasn't him?" Verda couldn't resist asking one more time, scrunching up her eyes and studying Rachel closely.

"Tommy Lee Gentry?" Rachel turned away casually, heading for the light switch by the armoire. "I swear, Verda, if I have to put up with any more ridiculous questions from you I'll begin

to wonder if I've given you enough time off
   
135 lately." Rachel's low laugh followed, and Verda gave up.