go."
He sighed. "Maybe I wish that's what Nancy would say."
"Do you?" she asked quietly. A man with your life-style--her expression seemed to say--what would you do with a fourteen-year-old daughter?
"That house is so big and so damn empty it echoes."
She assessed him silently for several seconds before adding softly, "When you're in it alone."
Surprisingly enough, Tommy Lee had the grace to blush. His relationship with Liz was unlike any he shared with any other women. They were aware of each other's availability, and a fine sexual tension hummed between them at moments like this. Yet they both understood that if it ever snapped, she'd lose the best job she'd ever had--and the friendship of a man whose life-style she should abhor, but for whom she instead felt a great deal of pity, because she could see beyond the ceaseless chasing to the
loneliness it masked. 47
Liz pulled away from the door frame. "You wanted me to remind you that you were going to meet at eleven this morning with the people from the city about the zoning regulations on that apartment complex." The tension eased and they became merely boss and employee again.
"Thanks, Liz."
He watched her pink dress disappear around the corner and wondered what he lacked that he couldn't marry some nice woman like her and settle down companionably and work toward building a home with some permanent love in it, and think about approaching old age. Wasn't one woman enough for him?
His eyes swayed back to the window. Across the street and half a block away he could see the corner of the First State Bank of Russellville, the one Rachel's daddy ran, the one Tommy Lee shunned in favor of taking his business to the town of Florence, twenty-three miles away. He lit a cigarette without even realizing he was doing it, then sat mulling.
Staring at the bank, he thought, One woman would have been enough for me. But only one.
On his way to the eleven o'clock meeting at City Hall, Tommy Lee slowed the Cadillac to a crawl as he passed Panache, but nobody was about. When he emerged from the meeting with the assurance that the zoning restrictions had been lifted and the plans for the new apartment complex could go forward undeterred, he paused at the curb beside his car to light a cigarette and glance southward along the street. From here he could see the sign above the door of her store. A woman came out. Tommy Lee squinted, but from this distance couldn't tell if it was she or not. He sprinted around the car, hurriedly backed out, and made an illegal U-turn in the middle of Jackson Avenue, keeping his eyes riveted on the figure walking along the sidewalk ahead of him. He slowed as he pulled abreast, but even before he passed the woman, he realized it wasn't Rachel.
You damn fool, Gentry, you're acting the age of your own daughter! But the disappointment left him feeling deflated.
Back at the office, when he'd exchanged necessary messages with Liz, he went inside,
flung the building-code regulations on 49 his desk, then moved to the window behind it.
Again he studied the bank, a burning cigarette hooked in the curve of a finger, forgotten. The smoke curled up and he took a deep drag while his eyes remained fixed on the building a half-block away. Then he anchored the cigarette between his teeth, crossed to the door, and closed it.
Liz looked up in surprise, frowned, but decided it was none of her business.
Tommy Lee reached for a ballpoint pen and wrote the telephone number on a yellow legal pad--he knew it by heart. He stared at it through the smoke that drifted up past his nostrils. His heart seemed to have dropped into his guts. His palms were sweaty and his spine hurt. After a full minute, he thrust the pen onto the desktop and wilted back into his chair, trying to calm his breathing. Come on, Gentry, what're you scared of? How many women have you called in your life? How many have refused you?
He
He sighed. "Maybe I wish that's what Nancy would say."
"Do you?" she asked quietly. A man with your life-style--her expression seemed to say--what would you do with a fourteen-year-old daughter?
"That house is so big and so damn empty it echoes."
She assessed him silently for several seconds before adding softly, "When you're in it alone."
Surprisingly enough, Tommy Lee had the grace to blush. His relationship with Liz was unlike any he shared with any other women. They were aware of each other's availability, and a fine sexual tension hummed between them at moments like this. Yet they both understood that if it ever snapped, she'd lose the best job she'd ever had--and the friendship of a man whose life-style she should abhor, but for whom she instead felt a great deal of pity, because she could see beyond the ceaseless chasing to the
loneliness it masked. 47
Liz pulled away from the door frame. "You wanted me to remind you that you were going to meet at eleven this morning with the people from the city about the zoning regulations on that apartment complex." The tension eased and they became merely boss and employee again.
"Thanks, Liz."
He watched her pink dress disappear around the corner and wondered what he lacked that he couldn't marry some nice woman like her and settle down companionably and work toward building a home with some permanent love in it, and think about approaching old age. Wasn't one woman enough for him?
His eyes swayed back to the window. Across the street and half a block away he could see the corner of the First State Bank of Russellville, the one Rachel's daddy ran, the one Tommy Lee shunned in favor of taking his business to the town of Florence, twenty-three miles away. He lit a cigarette without even realizing he was doing it, then sat mulling.
Staring at the bank, he thought, One woman would have been enough for me. But only one.
On his way to the eleven o'clock meeting at City Hall, Tommy Lee slowed the Cadillac to a crawl as he passed Panache, but nobody was about. When he emerged from the meeting with the assurance that the zoning restrictions had been lifted and the plans for the new apartment complex could go forward undeterred, he paused at the curb beside his car to light a cigarette and glance southward along the street. From here he could see the sign above the door of her store. A woman came out. Tommy Lee squinted, but from this distance couldn't tell if it was she or not. He sprinted around the car, hurriedly backed out, and made an illegal U-turn in the middle of Jackson Avenue, keeping his eyes riveted on the figure walking along the sidewalk ahead of him. He slowed as he pulled abreast, but even before he passed the woman, he realized it wasn't Rachel.
You damn fool, Gentry, you're acting the age of your own daughter! But the disappointment left him feeling deflated.
Back at the office, when he'd exchanged necessary messages with Liz, he went inside,
flung the building-code regulations on 49 his desk, then moved to the window behind it.
Again he studied the bank, a burning cigarette hooked in the curve of a finger, forgotten. The smoke curled up and he took a deep drag while his eyes remained fixed on the building a half-block away. Then he anchored the cigarette between his teeth, crossed to the door, and closed it.
Liz looked up in surprise, frowned, but decided it was none of her business.
Tommy Lee reached for a ballpoint pen and wrote the telephone number on a yellow legal pad--he knew it by heart. He stared at it through the smoke that drifted up past his nostrils. His heart seemed to have dropped into his guts. His palms were sweaty and his spine hurt. After a full minute, he thrust the pen onto the desktop and wilted back into his chair, trying to calm his breathing. Come on, Gentry, what're you scared of? How many women have you called in your life? How many have refused you?
He