“That’s wonderful! Tell you what…if you’re both free tonight, I’ll treat us all to dinner. I saw a lovely Italian restaurant the other day that I’d love to try and you can join me. And Roger, bring Steve along if you’d like. I’d like to meet him.”
The still silence that followed seemed to swarm around them. Roger looked somewhat embarrassed, traded quick glances with Doris , then said, “ Er , no, Vicky. But thank you. I’m afraid Steve wouldn’t be able to make it tonight.”
Vicky had caught the quick exchange and wondered just what was between the two of them. Quickly, she said, “ Burton , then. Maybe he’ll be able to come. We can double date, and who gets who is up for grabs.” She chuckled, imagining the four of them groping madly for one another—well, at least she certainly would. “Now let’s go see my new room.”
Sunlight shone through the open, glassed doors, forming a brilliant red rectangle on the wine-dark carpet. The single bed to the left was draped with a beige cover, and lined along the wall with squares of teal blue pillows. It had been transformed into a sitting room, the two stuffed chairs covered in stripes of blue and tan, facing each other across a round, mahogany table before the bed.
“And now for the pièce de la résistance ,” Roger announced. He entered the bathroom and returned with a vase of red and white tulips, holding them out before him. “A gift for you, from the two of us.” He set the vase in the center of the table, the colors contrasting sharply and becomingly with the dark, highly polished wood.
Vicky noticed Doris ’s look of surprise and realized that she hadn’t known about the “final touch” at all. Roger had thoughtfully included her in his gift. Vicky crossed to each of them and kissed their cheeks. “Thank you,” she said, “for all of this. It’s all just so lovely, especially coming from two such lovely people.” She smiled broadly at Doris , an eyebrow raised. “Bet you can’t guess where I got the idea for the color combination,” she teased.
“Are you kidding?” Doris laughed. “From Mark Spitz’s swimsuit, of course.” She pointed to the poster over Vicky’s bed. “Where else?”
Vicky grinned. “I wrote to him, asking to buy it, but he never answered my letter…I wonder why not?”
Doris and Roger laughed together, heartily, her chesty soprano and his resonant baritone mingling harmoniously in the crisp, new room.
After they left, Vicky sat in one of the new chairs, beside the telephone, and dialed information. When she received the number of the restaurant, she called it.
“Villa d’Este ,” a man’s voice answered, with no trace of an accent other than, possibly, one from the Midwest . So much for ethnic authenticity . As Vicky gave him the information he requested to make the reservation, an idea came to her. She finished the call with a smile, then looked up another phone number in her address book, and dialed.
A woman answered her voice very young and business-like. “K.B. Realty,” she announced. “May I help you?”
“Keith, please,” Vicky said. “Keith Banning.”
“I’ll see if he’s in,” the woman said after a slight pause, her tone softening. Vicky had noticed the change in tone before, whenever she’d asked to speak to the head of a firm by name. It was as if secretaries immediately thought, This might be someone important, or personal; I’d better be civil. “Who is calling, please?”
“Just tell him it’s his mistress,” Vicky said pleasantly and listened to the audible intake of breath at the other end of the line, followed by a slight choking sound.
“May I have your name?” the woman asked, sounding noticeably weaker.
“Why, does he have more than one?”
“Oh, I don’t…I’m sure…one moment, please.”
Vicky held on to the phone, trying to imagine what the woman looked like, how she’d relay the message after fumbling with the buttons on her desk.
The still silence that followed seemed to swarm around them. Roger looked somewhat embarrassed, traded quick glances with Doris , then said, “ Er , no, Vicky. But thank you. I’m afraid Steve wouldn’t be able to make it tonight.”
Vicky had caught the quick exchange and wondered just what was between the two of them. Quickly, she said, “ Burton , then. Maybe he’ll be able to come. We can double date, and who gets who is up for grabs.” She chuckled, imagining the four of them groping madly for one another—well, at least she certainly would. “Now let’s go see my new room.”
Sunlight shone through the open, glassed doors, forming a brilliant red rectangle on the wine-dark carpet. The single bed to the left was draped with a beige cover, and lined along the wall with squares of teal blue pillows. It had been transformed into a sitting room, the two stuffed chairs covered in stripes of blue and tan, facing each other across a round, mahogany table before the bed.
“And now for the pièce de la résistance ,” Roger announced. He entered the bathroom and returned with a vase of red and white tulips, holding them out before him. “A gift for you, from the two of us.” He set the vase in the center of the table, the colors contrasting sharply and becomingly with the dark, highly polished wood.
Vicky noticed Doris ’s look of surprise and realized that she hadn’t known about the “final touch” at all. Roger had thoughtfully included her in his gift. Vicky crossed to each of them and kissed their cheeks. “Thank you,” she said, “for all of this. It’s all just so lovely, especially coming from two such lovely people.” She smiled broadly at Doris , an eyebrow raised. “Bet you can’t guess where I got the idea for the color combination,” she teased.
“Are you kidding?” Doris laughed. “From Mark Spitz’s swimsuit, of course.” She pointed to the poster over Vicky’s bed. “Where else?”
Vicky grinned. “I wrote to him, asking to buy it, but he never answered my letter…I wonder why not?”
Doris and Roger laughed together, heartily, her chesty soprano and his resonant baritone mingling harmoniously in the crisp, new room.
After they left, Vicky sat in one of the new chairs, beside the telephone, and dialed information. When she received the number of the restaurant, she called it.
“Villa d’Este ,” a man’s voice answered, with no trace of an accent other than, possibly, one from the Midwest . So much for ethnic authenticity . As Vicky gave him the information he requested to make the reservation, an idea came to her. She finished the call with a smile, then looked up another phone number in her address book, and dialed.
A woman answered her voice very young and business-like. “K.B. Realty,” she announced. “May I help you?”
“Keith, please,” Vicky said. “Keith Banning.”
“I’ll see if he’s in,” the woman said after a slight pause, her tone softening. Vicky had noticed the change in tone before, whenever she’d asked to speak to the head of a firm by name. It was as if secretaries immediately thought, This might be someone important, or personal; I’d better be civil. “Who is calling, please?”
“Just tell him it’s his mistress,” Vicky said pleasantly and listened to the audible intake of breath at the other end of the line, followed by a slight choking sound.
“May I have your name?” the woman asked, sounding noticeably weaker.
“Why, does he have more than one?”
“Oh, I don’t…I’m sure…one moment, please.”
Vicky held on to the phone, trying to imagine what the woman looked like, how she’d relay the message after fumbling with the buttons on her desk.
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