over a year ago. She had a vast bedroom with a wonderful
view of Washington Square Park, and the smallest bedroom she used as her
study. It was light and airy, and
an excellent size for an office. The second bedroom was fitted with a double
bed and its own bathroom, but she had no one to invite to stay. Most of her friends had deserted her as
soon as they had heard about Jonathan's criminal activities.
Zaira went into her little study
last. She had made huge amounts of
progress with the screenplay, thanks to the fact that she had the book on
computer disc, and so could alter the text to suit the new format. She flicked a few buttons and soon she
had her new file printed out to show Brad when he arrived. She would try to keep their dinner as
businesslike as possible. After her experience with him today, she knew she
could not let him even begin to guess how she felt.
Zaira fluffed up the cushions on
the sofa, and was just about to set the table when the bell rang. Her palms sweating, her heart aflutter,
she moved slowly towards the door.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Brad entered the apartment,
looking spectacularly handsome in a bottle green sports coat which set his eyes
off to perfection, with his black polo neck sweater and black trousers. He was carrying a huge bouquet of red
roses, and a couple of bottles of champagne, as well as a cake and a box of
chocolates.
“Here you are, darling, a token of
my appreciation for taking pity on me, a lonely Californian lost in the East,”
he said with a smile, as he stooped to peck her on the cheek.
Zaira blushed furiously, and tried
to cover her confusion by exclaiming, “How lovely, thanks so much.”
Zaira busied herself with looking
for a vase, but her hands shook and she made rather a bad job of arranging the
flowers. She put them on the dining table and caught Brad looking around the
apartment. It was pretty impersonal as homes went, for most of the things in it
had been there already when she had arrived. He could not find anything incriminating about her lying
around, she hoped. He admired
the view out the window, and then asked to see the rest of the place. She conducted the brief little tour,
and ended up in the small study.
“Here you are,” she said, handing
him the sheaf of papers she had prepared. “That’s what I’ve managed to come up with so far.”
He weighed the papers in his hand,
and whistled. “Well, someone has
been burning the midnight oil. But
I’ll save these until after dinner, otherwise we’ll talk about nothing else all
night.”
He admired the small office, and
indeed the whole apartment, and then they went back into the living room, where
she sat him down and poured him a gin and tonic.
“I’ll put the champagne in the
fridge, and maybe it will be cold enough for after the meal. It’s nothing fancy, just Italian food,”
she said rather self-consciously.
“Which is my favorite,” he said,
“and smells fantastic. Don’t tell
me you’ve done sausage and peppers, because that’s my absolute favorite.”
She nodded and he laughed. “Then I
hope you have lots of bread to sop up the sauce with.”
Zaira replied, “Of course,” and
smiled herself. “And for garlic
bread if you like, but I didn’t know how you felt about strong flavors.”
“The more the better,” he
answered, and followed her into the kitchen to help her butter the bread and
crush the garlic.
“Clarke’s revenge,” Brad
laughed. “If I ever come across
any snotty actress, I dazzle her with my looks and then breathe fire all over
her, sometimes in words, and deliberately in garlic. It won’t waste my breath, or my breath mints, on people who
think they know everything, like your friend Peter Duffy the other day.”
Zaira giggled. “He’d certainly had it coming to him
for a long time, so I wouldn’t worry too much. We’ve been rehearsing for ages, and he's lurched
view of Washington Square Park, and the smallest bedroom she used as her
study. It was light and airy, and
an excellent size for an office. The second bedroom was fitted with a double
bed and its own bathroom, but she had no one to invite to stay. Most of her friends had deserted her as
soon as they had heard about Jonathan's criminal activities.
Zaira went into her little study
last. She had made huge amounts of
progress with the screenplay, thanks to the fact that she had the book on
computer disc, and so could alter the text to suit the new format. She flicked a few buttons and soon she
had her new file printed out to show Brad when he arrived. She would try to keep their dinner as
businesslike as possible. After her experience with him today, she knew she
could not let him even begin to guess how she felt.
Zaira fluffed up the cushions on
the sofa, and was just about to set the table when the bell rang. Her palms sweating, her heart aflutter,
she moved slowly towards the door.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Brad entered the apartment,
looking spectacularly handsome in a bottle green sports coat which set his eyes
off to perfection, with his black polo neck sweater and black trousers. He was carrying a huge bouquet of red
roses, and a couple of bottles of champagne, as well as a cake and a box of
chocolates.
“Here you are, darling, a token of
my appreciation for taking pity on me, a lonely Californian lost in the East,”
he said with a smile, as he stooped to peck her on the cheek.
Zaira blushed furiously, and tried
to cover her confusion by exclaiming, “How lovely, thanks so much.”
Zaira busied herself with looking
for a vase, but her hands shook and she made rather a bad job of arranging the
flowers. She put them on the dining table and caught Brad looking around the
apartment. It was pretty impersonal as homes went, for most of the things in it
had been there already when she had arrived. He could not find anything incriminating about her lying
around, she hoped. He admired
the view out the window, and then asked to see the rest of the place. She conducted the brief little tour,
and ended up in the small study.
“Here you are,” she said, handing
him the sheaf of papers she had prepared. “That’s what I’ve managed to come up with so far.”
He weighed the papers in his hand,
and whistled. “Well, someone has
been burning the midnight oil. But
I’ll save these until after dinner, otherwise we’ll talk about nothing else all
night.”
He admired the small office, and
indeed the whole apartment, and then they went back into the living room, where
she sat him down and poured him a gin and tonic.
“I’ll put the champagne in the
fridge, and maybe it will be cold enough for after the meal. It’s nothing fancy, just Italian food,”
she said rather self-consciously.
“Which is my favorite,” he said,
“and smells fantastic. Don’t tell
me you’ve done sausage and peppers, because that’s my absolute favorite.”
She nodded and he laughed. “Then I
hope you have lots of bread to sop up the sauce with.”
Zaira replied, “Of course,” and
smiled herself. “And for garlic
bread if you like, but I didn’t know how you felt about strong flavors.”
“The more the better,” he
answered, and followed her into the kitchen to help her butter the bread and
crush the garlic.
“Clarke’s revenge,” Brad
laughed. “If I ever come across
any snotty actress, I dazzle her with my looks and then breathe fire all over
her, sometimes in words, and deliberately in garlic. It won’t waste my breath, or my breath mints, on people who
think they know everything, like your friend Peter Duffy the other day.”
Zaira giggled. “He’d certainly had it coming to him
for a long time, so I wouldn’t worry too much. We’ve been rehearsing for ages, and he's lurched
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