The Rana Look

Four

“I can’t, Morey. Not now.”

“Then, when?”

“I don’t know. Maybe never.”

“Rana, Rana.” He spoke her name with a heavy sigh. “Haven’t you proved your point yet?”

“You make my leaving sound like a child’s pouting spell. I assure you my reasons for giving it all up went much deeper than that.”

“I didn’t mean to make light of it. Living with your mother would be like sharing a den with a barracuda.” Rana was fully aware that there had never been any love lost between her mother and Morey. Susan had always held the agent in contempt, but had viewed him as a necessary evil she must tolerate for the furtherance of Rana’s career. “What did she do that finally sent you over the edge? It must have been a dilly of a stunt.”

Morey couldn’t know what a painful, shameful memory he had evoked.

“All I’m asking is that you be nice to him, Rana. You’re such a strange girl,” Susan Ramsey had said in exasperation. “Any other girl would be beside herself if Mr. Alexander paid some attention to her.”

“Then let ‘any other girl’ marry him.”

“Who said anything about marriage?”

“I know you, Mother. You wouldn’t be foisting Mr. Alexander off on me if matrimony hadn’t entered your mind. And it doesn’t have anything to do with morality. You’re just too good a bargain hunter to settle for less.”

“Would marriage to the owner of one of the largest cosmetics empires in the world be so terrible?” she asked sarcastically. “Think of what such an alliance would mean to your future.”

“And to yours, Mother.”

“I’ll take none of your sass! Now, Mr. Alexander called, and his car is picking you up at eight. He sent this lovely diamond bracelet for you to wear tonight. Please go get dressed.”

The bracelet had been the last straw, the final insult. “I’m not a prostitute,” Rana had informed her mother calmly, but coldly. “Mr. Alexander can keep his diamond bracelet and I’ll keep my self-respect.”

Instead of getting dressed to go out with a man old enough to be her grandfather, she had packed a few meager belongings and left the Manhattan penthouse without another word.

During the lengthy bus trip south, she had tried to recall her mother’s thousand and one machinations, but that was a futile exercise. For as long as Rana could remember, Susan Ramsey had had a hand in the small of her daughter’s back, pushing Rana into things she didn’t want any part of. How she had hated those beauty pageants for children, the modeling classes, the photography sessions, the endless rounds of interviews that always left her feeling embarrassed for both of them.

Susan had been tireless in her efforts to turn Rana into the perfect little girl, then into the perfect ingenue, then into the perfect woman… the woman Susan had always wanted to be herself. Psychologists would have had a field day with their relationship. If ever there was a case of a parent living vicariously through a child, this was it.

Rana was a hapless victim of Susan’s ambition. Her father had been killed in an accident when she was an infant. There was no system of checks and balances within the family. Rana was forced to go along with Susan’s plans. Rebellious outbursts had been few and far between. Patrick, the courageous sweetheart she had coerced into marrying her, had been one. That act of defiance had ended in heartbreak of such proportions that Rana hadn’t risked another.

Susan had proved to her daughter just how ruthless she could be, and resignedly Rana had followed wherever Susan led. Until Mr. Alexander. Would her mother actually consider selling her into a marriage of convenience? The idea had jarred Rana into taking stock of her life. She had reached the conclusion that Susan wasn’t ever going to change. If Rana wanted to alter her life, the change had to come from within herself. Leaving her mother and her career in New York had been the healthiest decision she’d ever made.

“It wasn’t only Mother. It was me,” she explained to her agent now. “I’m sorry that you had to be involved, too, Morey. Please understand. I had to get away from all that. And I’m having a wonderful time. I went jogging on the beach this morning. You should have seen me. Baseball cap, sweat suit. I look wretched, but I feel wonderful about myself. I’m peaceful. I’m free. For the first time in my life, I’m doing what I want to do.”

“But does it have to be so drastic, sweetheart? Couldn’t you just tell Susan to butt out once and for all?”

“Do you honestly think she would?”

He evaded that question and asked another. “Have you seen the undies ad?”

“By accident. I nearly died of shock.”

“So have the hotshots of the company who peddle the stuff. They can’t believe their ad people shelved the campaign for all these months. They’re head over heels, Rana. Their sales have skyrocketed just in the week the ad has been out. You’re decorating billboards all over the country. They want to do a series of television commercials.”

“Using me?”

“Sure, using you. So the commercials will tie in with the print ads. They think, and I agree, that you can do for simple cotton underwear what Brooke Shields did for blue jeans.”

“I’m glad the ad is a success, Morey, but I don’t want to go back to work.”

“Not even to the tune of four hundred thou for a two-year contract?”

“You’re kidding.” Her legs folded beneath her, and she collapsed onto the rug.

“I see I’ve finally got your attention. I didn’t say we’d accept four hundred. I’ll counter with six hundred and I think we’ll get an even half a million. How does that sound?”

“Ridiculous.”

He chuckled. “Not so ridiculous. I could use the bread.”

Her lips puckered with worry. “Have you been gambling again? Did you overextend?”

“Never mind my vices. You sound like my ex-wife. When are you getting your tush on a plane back to New York?”

She caught a glimpse of herself in the cheval glass in the corner. The woman sitting Indian fashion on the floor of the tidy, but modest, apartment didn’t even resemble the model in the magazine ad. She was chubby by comparison. Her dark red hair hadn’t been conditioned or trimmed in months. Her hands were a nightmare, with their square, short nails and paint-stained fingers. Her four crooked front teeth made for a less than perfect smile.

“I’m not coming back, Morey,” she said softly, hoping he could sustain the blow. “I’m in no shape to. They wouldn’t want me. I’m twenty pounds heavier than when you last saw me. I couldn’t model underwear if I wanted to.”

“So we’ll send you to a fat farm for a couple of weeks. What’il it be, the Greenhouse or the Golden Door? You’re closer to the Greenhouse. Want me to make you a reservation?”

“Morey, you’re not listening. I’m not coming back. I don’t want to.”

The following silence was long and rife with tension. “Will you at least think about it?” Morey said finally. “It’s a heck of a contract to turn down. We’ll start slow, if you like. We’ll accept no other work but this. Half a million is a helluva lot of money, Rana.”

“I realize that,” she said miserably. She didn’t want Morey to suffer any financial setbacks because of her decision. “Don’t think I’m not flattered or grateful. I am. But I have another life here. And I’m liking it.”

She glanced at the door, thinking suddenly of the man across the hail. It unnerved her that thoughts of him should come to her mind at just that moment. He certainly had no bearing on her decision to stay in Galveston.

“Well, they’re in a hurry, but I’ve stalled them. I told them you were taking an extended vacation, just as I have all our other clients. I’ll give you a few days to sleep on it and call you back Friday.”

“All right.” She shook her head dismally. Her answer would be the same in a few days, or even in a few weeks, but she supposed it would be kinder to let him down gently than to refuse outright. His references to money made her uneasy. Morey had an almost compulsive penchant for betting on the outcome of any sporting event. “How’s everything else in your life?”

“Fine, fine. Don’t worry about me. ”

“Business is good?”

“Are you kiddin’? I’ve got Rana for a client and now everybody wants me as an agent.”

She was relieved. Morey’s agency had been handling showroom and catalog models when Rana and Susan walked through his door. When Rana’s career had taken off, he had moved uptown in more ways than one. Soon he had more clients than he could handle, and had hired several assistants. Rana would always be glad that her success had contributed to his.

“Well, good-bye, then. Take care of yourself. Watch that blood pressure. Don’t forget to take your medicine.”

“Yeah, yeah. Good-bye. Think about the contract, Rana. Give it serious thought.”

“I will. Promise.”

She replaced the receiver thoughtfully. Something wasn’t right. She could sense it. Was Morey taking care of his health? She was afraid he wasn’t, now that she wasn’t there to nag him about smoking too much and eating properly. She hoped he wasn’t too affected by her decision to leave the business.

Her musings disturbed her, and she welcomed the interruption of a knock on her door. She leaped up to answer it, swearing to herself that her heart hadn’t accelerated with the hope that it might be Trent. She had almost reached the door when she realized she wasn’t wearing her glasses, and hurriedly put them on before opening it.

“Can you come out and play?”

He couldn’t have looked more adorable. His hair was still damp and tousled from his shower. He had on athletic shorts and a ratty T-shirt with holes in it. He was barefooted, and the Band-Aid was still wrapped around his little toe.

With the same kind of affection Ruby had for him, Rana wanted to pinch him on the cheeks or on the bottom. He was just so damn cute. And far too much of a temptation. He was like an ice-cream cone to a dieter. One taste, and resolve flew out the window.

“No, I can’t,” she said firmly.

“Aw, please.”

She giggled at his wheedling tone. “I can’t. I’ve got to work. Don’t you have anything constructive to do?”

“I could go to a gym and do a light workout with weights. Or I could do Ruby the favor she asked and sweep out her greenhouse. She wants to plant some flowers in there.” He winked at her. “But my arm could be twisted to goof off.”

“Well, mine couldn’t be, so good-bye.”

“Some friend you are turning out to be,” he muttered as he wheeled to go.

Rana was smiling when she closed her door. She told herself her well-being was due to an overall good feeling.

Each day of that week passed in a similar manner. It became their routine to meet and run together every morning. Ruby usually had breakfast waiting for them, which Rana ate before rushing up to her room to work while the morning light was still good.

Generally Trent made a nuisance of himself, but Rana was good-natured about it. It was almost impossible to get angry with him. During the day he did odd jobs around the house for Ruby. Their evenings were usually spent in the parlor watching television or playing board games. One evening the three of them strolled around the block. Ruby filled them in on the gossip concerning almost every family. No one had skeletons that Ruby didn’t know about.

Another night, Trent got out the ancient, hand-crank ice-cream freezer, which he fondly remembered from his youth. He cleaned it, oiled its rusty crank, and asked Ruby to whip up some vanilla ice cream. A few hours later they were enjoying the homemade confection beneath the trees in the backyard.

Rana compared that tranquil evening to many she’d spent club-hopping in New York. She wouldn’t have traded.

Trent couldn’t remember a time when he had felt so relaxed and content in the company of a woman.

On Thursday Rana noticed she was low on supplies, and went to the art store to stock up. When she returned, she was carrying a package so large and cumbersome she could barely see over it. As she set it down on her worktable, she was confronted with a startling sight.

A man was reclining on her bathroom floor. She couldn’t see his head and shoulders, because they were inside the cabinet underneath the sink. But Rana recognized the shape of those muscular legs immediately.

“If you’re a thief, I think it’s only fair to tell you that I don’t hide my precious jewels in the plumbing.”

“Smart-”

“What was that?” she asked mischievously, propping her shoulder against the bathroom door.

“Never mind.”

“I’m sure there’s a logical explanation for why you’re stretched out on my bathroom floor with your head under the sink.”

“Ruby said you’ve been complaining about a leak down here.”

“I have, but I thought she’d get a professional plumber to fix it.”

He slid out far enough to peer up at her with a perturbed expression. “You’re too picky-did anyone ever tell you that? I’m repairing your sink, all right?” He ducked his head back into the cabinet.

“Well, I should hope so. The drip ruined a bag of cotton balls.”

“Yeah, I found a few soggy refugees.”

“What’s that smell?”

“Remember the bottle of disinfectant you had stored down here?”

“You didn’t?”

“I did, but it wasn’t my fault, because the lid wasn’t screwed on tight enough. And what are you complaining about? You’re not down here breathing the stuff.”

Since he couldn’t see her, Rana treated herself to a visual feast of his body. He was wearing denim cutoffs again, which seemed to be his uniform for the summer. His shirt had once been a sport shirt, but the plaid had faded until the pattern blurred together in spots. The sleeves had been cut out long ago. Now loose threads clung to the sweat- damp, tanned skin of his biceps. He had left the shirt unbuttoned. The sides had fallen open, leaving his chest bare.

Rana swallowed with difficulty. His arms were stretched above his head. Each time he moved, the muscles of his chest plumped up. His flat stomach was concave beneath his rib cage. His navel lay within a tantalizing nest of dense, dark hair.

A good two inches beneath it was the snap of his cutoffs. They were faded and threadbare and conformed softly to the shape of his lower body. Rana couldn’t draw her eyes away from the spot where his thighs came together. His knees were raised. In the narrow strip of his lap, there lay a wrench.

“Ana?”

She jumped guiltily and yanked her eyes back to the opening beneath the sink.

“Yes?”

“What’s the matter?”

“Nothing.”

Could he detect her breathlessness? Why was she breathless in the first place? She had seen men, models, wearing next to nothing. Remember that swimsuit layout in Bazaar, the one that was photographed in Jamaica? her rational self asked her. Yes, she remembered those long-limbed, teak- colored, gorgeous male models with whom she had assumed such intimate-looking poses. But none of them, no male body, had ever stirred her senses the way Trent Gamblin did.

“Hand me that wrench, will you, please?”

“The wrench?”

“Yeah, both my hands are occupied. See it there?”

She saw it, all right, resting right against the fly of his cutoffs.

“Ana?”

“What?”

“Did you succumb to the fumes of the disinfectant?”

“No, I… uh…“ She dropped to her knees beside him and extended her hand. It was shaking. She clenched her fist. Just pick up the damn wrench, pass it to him, and stop being such a ninny, she admonished herself. She thrust her hand forward, but a second before she grasped the wrench, she closed her eyes.

That proved to be a mistake. She miscalculated her reach, overshot her mark, touched the bare skin of his belly, and missed the wrench. A certain amount of desperate groping was required before she located it.

Trent became perfectly still, but a tremor shimmied through his body. Rana clutched the wrench and poked it into the cabinet.

“Here.”

Clumsily he took the wrench from her. She withdrew her hand so quickly, it might have just escaped the jaws of a man-eating lion.

“Thanks.” His voice was husky.

“You’re welcome.” Her voice was husky too.

“I’ll be finished here in a sec.”

“No hurry.” Blindly she scrambled to her feet. “I have some… uh… things to… I went… the art store.” Before she could make an even greater fool of herself, she fled the bathroom.

She was all thumbs as she unloaded the sack of art supplies. He would think… he would think… heaven only knew what he would think.

He’s so…full.

Would he think she had touched him on purpose?

Maybe you touched something else.

It had been an accident.

No, that couldn’t have been anything else. You touched… Oh, Lord.

It could have happened to anybody.

about her life. But she wasn’t convinced that Trent Gamblin didn’t have something to do with it.

Even when she heard him enter the room, she kept her back turned.

“All done,” he said.

“Good. Thank you.”

“Ana?”

“What?”

She felt him move up behind her. She closed her eyes, not wanting his smell to be so achingly familiar, not wanting to feel the warmth emanating from him. She felt his hand on her shoulder, tentative at first, then firmer.

“Ana” he whispered softly, his breath moving her hair.

It would be so easy. So easy to comply with the urging of his hand and lean back against him. So easy to lay her head on his hard chest. So easy to turn to him and run her hands down his arms, to lift her lips to meet his.

So easy… and so foolhardy.

She immediately squelched the desire rising within her and turned around. “I appreciate your help, Trent,” she said curtly, “but as you can see, I’m awfully busy.”

He stared at her, stunned by her formal tone and frigid expression. How could she not… His whole body was on fire. And she was pretending it hadn’t happened. What the hell was this He had a good imagination, but it wasn’t that vivid, dammit.

He’d felt that fragile hand of hers touching him and he’d almost exploded. He wanted her. Bad. But if she could act as if nothing had happened, then he damn sure could!

“So sorry to have bothered you, Miss Ramsey. The next time I spend almost an entire afternoon repairing your sink, I’ll try to be done with it and out of your way by the time you get home.”

He reached the door in three angry strides and slammed it shut behind him.

Dinner that night was a tedious affair. Trent had dreaded it, and had almost informed his aunt that he would be going out. He was tired of this self-imposed exile. He longed for one of his raunchy and raucous Houston haunts. A good meal. A good deal to drink. A good and sexy female into whom to empty his frustration.

He needed a woman in the most elemental way. One who didn’t make him think. One who cooed over him, laid her hands on him, and didn’t pretend later that she hadn’t. One who flattered him and whispered outrageously suggestive things in his ear. He didn’t want intellect or companionship or-heaven forbid-friendship. He wanted sex. Period.

But Ruby had told him that she was making his favorite meal, stuffed pork chops, and he would have been a real heel to run out on her after that. So here he was, sitting in the shuttered, candlelit dining room, staring across the table at Ana, who looked as coolly remote as he was hotly sullen.

Ruby sensed the hostile undercurrents, though she couldn’t imagine what had happened between the two young people. By the time dinner was over, she was distressed, and badly wanted a cup of her “herbal” tea. To keep Miss Ramsey from retreating upstairs, she asked her to brew the tea for her. And to keep Trent from doing the same, she complained about the thermostat on the air-conditioner and asked him to check it.

The three of them met in the parlor and settled down to watch a movie on television. Trent saw little of it. His eyes kept straying toward the woman curled up in the easy chair, watching the television screen through blue-tinted glasses that aggravated the hell out of him. Why couldn’t she wear clear eyeglasses, like any normal woman? Or, better yet, contact lenses?

But then, he doubted that Ana Ramsey did anything conventional. She seemed determined to pick the garments that would flatter her tall frame the least. Baggy slacks, loose shirts, shapeless skirts. Her attitude annoyed him because she could be a presentable package if she’d only try fixing herself up a little. Why didn’t she do something with her hair? He wanted to brush it away from her face so he’d have an unrestricted view of her face for once.

“My tea needs sweetening,” Ruby muttered, and left her seat on the sofa to make a trip into the kitchen.

Trent didn’t move, but stared broodingly at Rana as he slouched in the chair opposite hers. His eyes were hooded by glowering brows, but he could tell she knew he was staring at her. Occasionally, she would glance at him. He was glad she was uncomfortable. Served her right. Hadn’t he been uncomfortable all afternoon because of her?

Ruby returned, bringing the unmistakable bouquet of Tennessee sour mash with her. The pendulum clock on the mantel ticked rhythmically. The canned laughter of a banal comedy intruded on the thick silence blanketing the three viewers.

Trent barely noticed any of it. He was trying to understand how he could have been so turned on by Ana. The women he knew fell into one of two groups-those he wanted to go to bed with and those he’d been to bed with, because all those in the former group eventually graduated to the latter.

His attentions weren’t often spurned. If anyone called it quits, it was he. Tall or short, blond or brunette, rich or poor, no woman was spared rejection when he tired of her. Often she was left mystified as to the reason for the sudden breakup.

Ana Ramsey was unlike any other woman he’d ever met. And for the life of him he couldn’t figure out why he was stewing over her. Her caress that afternoon had been accidental. He was certain of that. But it had happened. So, okay, she was embarrassed by it. Why be so defensive? Why not just go with the flow?

If any woman ever needed a good, rowdy tumbling, it was Ana Ramsey. And from the top of his head to the tip of his toes, his body was telling him he’d been far too long without a female beneath him. To his way of thinking, they were prime candidates for hours of uninterrupted bedroom frolic.

At least now he knew something about himself that he’d always suspected. He couldn’t be friends with a woman. To hell with being a chum. That stank. He’d tried it, and it hadn’t worked. Because all he could think about tonight while he sat staring at the aloof Miss Ramsey was what she would look like naked.

“Do you think she’s all right?”

“What?” At the unexpected sound of Ana’s voice, he roused himself. Had his sulkiness been rewarded? Finally she had deigned to look directly at him and speak, something she had avoided doing all evening.

“Do you think Ruby’s all right?” she repeated, indicating the older woman with a nod of her head.

Trent looked at his aunt. How long had her head been bent over her chest like that? And why hadn’t he noticed her loud snoring before now? Because his mind had been too preoccupied with Ana, that’s why.

He smiled. “I think she had one too many cups of tea.” Rana smiled back. It was a pretty smile, despite her overlapping front teeth. He barely even noticed that flaw now.

“Should we waken her?” she asked him.

“That might embarrass her.”

“You’re right.” She stood up and switched off the television. The absence of the blue-white light made the room much darker. Through the heavy shadows, Rana moved toward the sofa where Ruby sat sleeping. Trent got to his feet.

“Do you think you could carry her to her room?” She tilted her head back to look up at him.

“I think I can manage that.”

For a moment neither moved. They just stood there, staring at each other through the darkness. Ruby’s soft snores kept time with the clacking pendulum of the clock. The room closed in around them. It was difficult to breathe.

They were hot all over.

Rana was the first to move and break the spell. “Can you lift her up?”

“Sure.”

Trent was glad for a chance to expend energy. If he didn’t find an outlet for it soon, he’d explode. He bent down and slid one arm beneath his aunt’s knees, the other behind her back. Seemingly without any effort, he lifted her up. He grimaced.

Rana laid her hand on his upper arm. “Does that hurt your shoulder?”

“It’s all right.” He glanced down at her hand.

She removed it. “I didn’t think about your shoulder, or I never would have suggested that you carry her.”

“Why don’t you go ahead and turn down her bed?”

Hurriedly Rana did as he asked. Ruby’s apartment was located down the central hail, past the staircase, at the back of the house. It was cluttered with a lifetime of memorabilia. The bedroom had a small bath adjoining it. Her living quarters were actually smaller than those of her tenants. Rana peeled back the crocheted bedspread and the sheets. Trent laid his aunt gently on her bed. She hadn’t awakened.

“Thank you. I’ll undress her,” Rana offered.

He was surprised. He couldn’t imagine any of the women he knew doing such a thankless task. He felt immediately ashamed of himself. All afternoon and evening he’d been harboring a grudge against this woman, mentally accusing her of being everything from a dried-up old prude to a heartlessly fickle tease.

If he had reacted so violently to her accidental touch this afternoon, what must she have felt? Mortification, to say the least. Now, here she was, offering to undress a tipsy old lady out of sheer kindness.

A strong new emotion welled inside him. It was so powerful he couldn’t allow himself to speak. He merely nodded and left the room.

When Rana followed him several minutes later, she was surprised to find him waiting in the hall. “Everything okay?”

“Yes. She didn’t miss a snore.”

They walked through the house. He switched off lights as they went. His footsteps fell close behind hers on the stairs. When they reached the doors of their respective rooms, they faced each other awkwardly. A faint light was cast by one small bulb at the end of the hall.

He wanted to touch her. God, he wanted to. He wanted to lay his palm against her cheek just to see if it was as soft as it looked. He wanted to thread his fingers through the thick mane of hair hanging down her back, to sweep it away from her face so he wouldn’t feel as though he was looking at her through a screen. He wanted to take off her eyeglasses and look into her eyes, to see their color, to solve the mystery of them. He wanted to explore beneath her bulky clothing with his hands, to find the breasts that haunted his imagination. He wanted to run his tongue along those beguiling front teeth.

And his body was informing him that he wanted to be much more intimate with her than he was allowing himself to contemplate.

“Good night, Ana,” he said thickly.

“Good night, Trent.”

In her room, Rana walked immediately to her bed and lay down. Her whole body was trembling. She had wanted so badly for him to touch her. Touch me, she had all but cried out.

But Ana Ramsey wasn’t beautiful, and Trent Gamblin was accustomed to making love to beautiful women.

Making love? She scolded herself. She was the one who had wanted friendship. Now that she had that, did she want something more?

Honestly she had to admit that she didn’t know. When he was around Trent she felt either miserable or wonderful. Why? Her knees went weak at the sight of him. The sound of his voice elicited almost uncontainable excitement within her.

The worst of it was, she spent far too many hours each day thinking about him. That was dangerous and just plain stupid. One day soon he’d be leaving for his summer training camp. Then what? Then he’d get caught up again in his celebrity lifestyle. He would forget about her.

And it wasn’t as if she didn’t have enough problems of her own to occupy her. Tomorrow Morey would call, expecting her response to the contract they had been offered. Did she want to return to her life in New York? Did she want to become the Rana again? Wouldn’t that be safer than falling in love with Trent? Was it wise to trade one set of problems for another? How many ways could a heart be broken?

No matter what her final decision, one thing remained certain: She must stay away from Trent. Starting tomorrow.