The Rana Look Read online

  He had told Rana when he left New York that if she ever needed anything, she should let him know. She had taken him up on that offer six months ago. If it was blind luck that had brought her to the Galveston boardinghouse, it was Barry who had brought her to the Houston area originally.

  Her idea of hand-painting articles of clothing had captured his imagination, and he had enthusiastically agreed to put some of her designs in his store on consignment. They had sold immediately, and his clientele began clamoring for more. She now worked almost solely on commission.

  “Your designs are the hottest thing since tamales,” Barry told her.

  Smiling, she could just imagine him drawing deeply on one of the thin black cigarettes he chain-smoked. He was irascible, brutally frank, and often downright rude. But his rudeness was in direct proportion to his affection for the person to whom he directed it. The more outrageous he was, the better his customers liked him.

  Beneath Barry’s abrasive veneer, Rana had detected a caring human being whose affectations were a defense mechanism. She thought he was probably fulfilling everyone’s expectations of him, just as she had done until six months ago.

  “Was Mrs. Tupplewhite happy with her hostess gown?”

  “My darling, when she saw it, she almost burst the seams of this really tacky dress she was wearing. It was the most hideous plaid I’ve ever seen.”

  “Did you sell it to her?”

  “But of course.” He cackled. “Some of my customers may have no taste, but I’m not stupid.”

  “Is that why you agreed to feature my designs in your

  “You are an exception to every rule I know, love. You were the first model I’d ever met who wasn’t obsessed by her own image in the mirror. You were a doll to work with during those fashion shows I organized. You weren’t pushy.”

  “My mother did all the pushing for me. ”

  “Don’t get me started on her, or I’ll keep you all day. Suffice it to say that I adore you and your work. I feel almost guilty about selling these works of art commercially.”

  “I’ll bet,” Rana said drolly.

  He sighed theatrically. “Ahh, my, you know me too well. Now, enough of this,” he said, switching moods abruptly. “When are you coming into Houston? When will the wrap skirt be finished for Mrs. Rutherford? She’s making a nuisance of herself, calling three times a day.”

  “By the end of the week.”

  “Good. I’ve got four more orders for you.”

  “Four?”

  “Yes, four, and I’ve raised your price.”

  “Barry! Again? I’m not doing this for money. I can still support myself on my residuals.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous. In our society we do everything for money. And these rich broads don’t quibble about price. The more something costs their husbands, the better they like it. Now, be a good child and shut up about the price tags I place on your designs. Are you still holding to that ridiculous rule that you refuse to meet with the customers personally?”

  “Yes.”

  “For the same reason?”

  “Yes. There’s an outside chance one of them might recognize me. ”

  “So what? I’d be delighted. You know how I feel about that absurd disguise.”

  “I’m happier than I’ve been in years, Barry,” she said softly.

  “Very well. I won’t nag. But I do have something different and exciting to discuss with you when I see you.”

  “What is it?”

  “Never mind now. Just go back to work on Mrs. Rutherford’s skirt.”

  “Okay. I’ll-Hold on a sec. Ruby’s at my door.” Rana laid down the receiver and scrambled to the door. But it wasn’t Ruby who stood on the threshold. It was Trent. He was leaning lazily against the jamb.

  “Got a Band-Aid?”

  “I’m on the phone,” she replied shortly. He looked positively mouth-watering, and she was irritated with herself for noticing.

  “I don’t mind waiting.”

  He pushed past her, so she had no choice but to let him come in. She certainly couldn’t remove him physically from her apartment. Giving him a dirty look, she went back to the telephone.

  “Barry, I’m sorry. I’ve got to go.”

  “So do I. I’ll see you later in the week, love.”

  “Yes, Friday. Good-bye.”

  “Who’s Barry?” Trent asked baldly the moment she hung up the phone.

  “None of your business. What was it you wanted?”

  “A boyfriend?”

  She stared at him angrily through the tinted lenses of her glasses and mentally counted to ten. “Yes, Barry is a man and yes, he’s a friend, but no, he’s not a boyfriend in the way you suggest. It was a Band-Aid you interrupted me for, wasn’t it?”

  “Are you sure he’s not a boyfriend? Aren’t you seeing him on Friday? Sounds like a date to me. ”

  “Do you want a Band-Aid or not?”

  She tossed her hair back angrily, and belligerently planted her fists on her hips. Trent was delighted to see the soft, round evidence of breasts beneath her shabby shirt. Nice breasts. Very nice breasts. He smiled. “Please.”

  She went into her bathroom and found a tin of Band- Aids in the medicine cabinet over her sink. She fumbled with the lid, finally got the thing open, took out one of the bandages, and pivoted on her heel. Trent was standing behind her. She ran right into him.

  It all happened in a moment’s time, but it seemed to Rana that it lasted forever.

  Automatically her hands came up and flattened against the wall of his chest. His hands clasped her upper arms in an effort to steady her. For a split second, their bodies touched. Everywhere. Chests, tummies, thighs, and everything in between came together with a soft, solid impact that had drastic repercussions.

  Electrical circuits connected. Heat was generated. Invisible sparks flew.

  Rana ground the heels of her hands against his chest to push herself away from him. He, too, fell back a step. He felt as dazed as he’d been the last time Mean Joe Greene slammed into him behind the line of scrimmage.

  Two sets of lungs were suddenly starved for air, and the only sound in the room was their struggle for oxygen.

  “Here’s… here’s the Band-Aid.” A tremulous hand extended the bandage toward him.

  He took it. “Thanks.” Yes, she definitely had breasts. And firm thighs.

  He turned away, and she breathed a vast sigh of relief. But he didn’t head for the door. Instead, he sat down on the edge of her sofa and propped one foot over the opposite knee. He grappled with the stubborn cellophane wrapper and after a few seconds gave up. “Can you open this for me, please?”

  “Certainly.” She lunged forward to take the Band-Aid from him once again. She just wanted him to go quickly. To leave her hermit’s cave. This was her refuge, her safety, and he was an unwanted intruder. “I’m sure Ruby has some Band-Aids,” she said, hoping he would hear the unspoken reprimand in her voice.

  “I’m sure she does, too, but she still isn’t home. I’m sorry if I’m disturbing you.”

  He was disturbing her, all right. She hadn’t been involved with a man since her marriage, seven years ago. Men were off-limits. Men were unnecessary risks. Friends like Barry and Morey were fine. Business associates were fine as long as they kept to business. But never, never would she allow herself to love a man again. That was her creed. She had sworn never to get so sexually stirred up that her hand trembled as it was trembling now. One disaster was enough. “I have work to do, and I’m not getting much done today.” And you are the reason, she added silently.

  Frowning slightly, he took the bandage from her and carefully wrapped it around his little toe. “There. That should keep it from getting any worse.” He stood up. “You do good work, Ana.”

  “What?” What had he called her? He had even pronounced it with a soft “a,” to rhyme with her real name.

  “I noticed as soon as I came in. Very interesting.”

  He motioned his head to
ward her work area, where garments in various stages of completion were spread out. He walked toward them and studied her current project, Mrs. Rutherford’s skirt. It sported a cluster of tiger lilies extending from the hem to the waistband on the left side. And there, crawling up one spotted petal, was her discreet cursive signature, “Ana R.” She and Barry had agreed on the backward spelling of her name as a trademark.

  “My dear, it will add to the value of the garments if they’re signed. All original works of art must be signed,” Barry had said. Labeling them with “Rana” would have been like having a banner headline in the Houston Chronicle announcing where she was.

  “I’ve been wondering what your first name is,” Trent said.

  He had very good eyes to have spotted that name. Naturally, he assumed that the capital “r” stood for Ramsey. This nephew of Ruby’s was no cerebral slouch. Rana must be very careful. At least she had leased the apartment under that name as well, so there would be no discrepancy should he and Ruby start comparing notes.

  When he turned to face her again, it took a tremendous amount of willpower on her part not to flinch. “It’s a very pretty name,” he said.

  “Thank you.” Was he trying to see behind her glasses? His eyes seemed unusually perceptive and probing. They wandered toward her mouth again, and, as before, she felt light-headed. “If you’ll excuse me, Mr. Gamblin-”

  “Call me Trent now. I intend to call you Ana. After all, we’re neighbors.” His smile was slanted, a little higher on the right side, and entirely too appealing. Or maybe his appeal was due to the way his hair fell boyishly over his forehead.

  “As I was saying, Mr. Gamblin”-she stressed his last name-”I’m busy.”

  “You know what they say about all work and no play.” He hitched his thumbs into the belt loops of his cutoffs. “I was thinking about taking in a matinee this afternoon. Why don’t you come along?”

  Her mouth fell open. “I can’t go to-”

  “Clint Eastwood. You think he’s sexy, don’t you?”

  “Yes, he is, but I-”

  “I’ll buy the popcorn.”

  “No-”

  “Double butter. I like it real buttery, don’t you?”

  “Yes, but-”

  “Do you mind if I lick my fingers?”

  “No, I-”

  “Good. If you say please, I’ll lick yours too.”

  “Mr. Gamblin!” she cried in a desperate attempt to stop his flow of flirtatious chatter. She drew in a deep breath. “You may be idle and have the time to joke the day away, but I’m busy. Will you please leave?”

  His smile collapsed, his easygoing posture became rigid, and his lips drew into a thin line of vexation. “Well, pardon me. I won’t keep you from your work a moment longer.” He stamped toward the door, and nearly tore it from its hinges when he opened it. “Thanks again for the Band- Aid,” he said over his shoulder before he slammed the door behind him.

  “Uptight biddy,” he muttered as he made his way into his own apartment, which still looked as if a hurricane had been through it. “Prissy, prickly, prudish.” He slammed his door behind him, hoping the reverberation overturned one of her paint bottles. “Who needs you, lady?”

  Just who did she think she was, ordering him around as if he were an ill-behaved child? No woman had ever had the gall to speak to him like that. He chose the time he left a woman’s company, not the other way around.

  “Mr. Gamblin, Mr. Gamblin,” he repeated in a nasty, mocking voice.

  Damn! As if the next few weeks of exile weren’t going to be punishment enough, he was living across the hall from a nun!

  “Bet she nearly fainted when I mentioned licking her fingers. Bet she-”

  That was it! he realized. She was a plain woman. There had been little or no excitement in her sorrowful existence, especially of a sexual nature. No doubt there was a giant void in the romance department of her life. In walked a man. “Reasonably good-looking,” he mumbled immodestly. She didn’t know how to act, so she was putting up barriers.

  Sure. Why hadn’t he seen it before? She wouldn’t be so defensive if he left her cold, would she?

  A gleam sparkled in his eyes as he formulated a plan that would tear down her defenses. It would be fun. It would be a challenge. It would be something to occupy his mind while he was here. He couldn’t study his playbook all the time.

  He didn’t consider the real reason he wanted to pursue her. For just a moment, when her slight body had come in contact with his, he had responded with heat and hardness. Unthinkable as it was, he, the prince of singles bars and boudoirs, had been fully aroused by Miss Ana Ramsey.

  Three

  “I’m going to treat you ladies to a movie tonight.”

  Trent made the announcement as Ruby was ladling raspberry sauce over the cheesecake. “A movie! You dear boy, what fun!”

  “I thought it would be,” Trent said. “Clint Eastwood.”

  “Oooh,” Ruby said. “He’s so sexy, he makes me shiver.”

  “Better take an I.D. along, Auntie. It’s rated ‘R,’ and they might not let you in.”

  “Oh, you!”

  Trent leaned back in his chair and flashed his aunt a huge smile. But he kept a surreptitious eye on Ana Ramsey. Just as he’d expected, her cheeks were turning red with anger.

  “Thank you just the same, Mr. Gamblin, but you’ll have to excuse me,” she said tightly.

  “You’re not going?” Ruby asked, evidently aghast. “How could you turn down an invitation to go to a Clint Eastwood movie?”

  “I have work to do. I didn’t get much accomplished today.” Rana shot Trent a fulminating look, which he missed, because he had devoted himself entirely to eating his cheesecake.

  “But you never work in the evenings,” Ruby argued. “You told me that you didn’t have enough light to work at night.”

  “Well, that’s true,” Rana said, “but tonight is an exception.”

  “Aw come on, Ana, be a sport,” Trent drawled. “You’ll mess up my plans if you don’t come with us.” He reached into the breast pocket of his shirt, took out three theater tickets, and waved them at her. “I’ve already bought your ticket.”

  “He’s already bought your ticket,” Ruby echoed.

  “I’m sorry,” Rana said ungraciously. “He shouldn’t have taken that liberty until I had consented to go. He’ll just have to return it and get his money back.”

  Trent squinted down at the small print on the ticket and read aloud, “No cash refunds.” He shrugged apologetically. “See? It says so right here.” He extended the ticket toward her. “No cash refunds.”

  “No cash refunds, Miss Ramsey,” Ruby said plaintively. She was glad that Trent had been thoughtful enough to include Miss Ramsey in their evening. The younger woman had no friends, as far as Ruby knew, except for someone named Barry, who owned the store in Houston where she sold her things. Ruby could count on one hand the times Miss Ramsey had gone out for an evening. If anyone could stand a night at the movies, it was she.

  Rana, unaware of Ruby’s musings, glared at Trent. He had put her on the spot deliberately. Well, she would turn the tables on him. “I thought you said you were going to a matinee.” Nonchalantly, he took a sip of coffee before answering her. “I changed my mind. Movies are more fun when they’re shared. Not to mention popcorn.” He winked to remind her of their earlier conversation about popcorn. Rana fumed.

  Ruby sprang to her feet with the impetus of a Jack-in- the-box. “Then it’s all settled. I’ll-”

  “I haven’t agreed to go.”

  “But you will, won’t you, dear?” Ruby’s smile was so pathetic, so pleading, that Rana couldn’t refuse.

  “I suppose I will, since he’s already bought the ticket,” she mumbled.

  “Wonderful.” Ruby clapped her hands like a young girl. “Run upstairs and freshen up. I’ll do the dishes in a jiffy and we’ll all meet at the front door.”

  Trent had the good sense not to make any teasing rem
arks. He remained silent as Rana left the room. In fifteen minutes they all gathered at the front door. Ruby, wearing red from her earrings to her sandals, was disappointed in Miss Ramsey’s appearance. Ruby had hoped she would use the outing as an excuse to dress up. Instead, she looked more dowdy than ever in a shapeless pair of army-green slacks and a loose shirt that hung almost to her knees. Didn’t the girl own anything more suited to the climate and the season, something airy and light and summery?

  Even though her hair had been brushed, it hung closer to her face than usual, hiding everything except her lips, her nose, and those damned glasses. Ruby sighed in consternation, but refused to allow Miss Ramsey’s disregard for fashion to spoil her own evening out.

  She chattered gaily as Trent escorted them to Ruby’s sedan, which they had decided to use since there wasn’t room for the three of them in his low sports car. He opened the front passenger door and indicated that Rana should get in. Instead, she nudged Ruby forward. Before Trent could assist her, she had opened the back door, slid inside, and slammed the door behind her.

  He only smiled as he walked around the back of the car and got into the driver’s seat. She was angry. Good. The thawing of Miss Ramsey was going to be great fun.

  The theater was crowded, and they were lucky to find three seats together. Rana went into the row first, knowing that Trent would allow his aunt to go before him.

  Her ploy worked, but only temporarily. He was cagey. He excused himself to get refreshments during the previews of upcoming movies. When he returned with his hands full, he asked Ruby to switch seats with him, so that the tub of popcorn he had bought would be accessible to all three of them. Ruby did as he asked without argument, and Rana found herself sitting beside him despite her earlier maneuvering.

  He distributed the drinks, handed Ruby her box of chocolate candies, and also offered her the popcorn. “No, thank you, darling. It gives me gas.”

  Rana stifled a giggle, but almost choked on it when she felt the firm pressure of Trent ’s knee against hers. He spread wide his muscular thighs and wedged the bucket of popcorn between them.