You Belong To Me, Ch. 1

         He watched her leave the building; five thirty-five – a few minutes later than usual.  She must be busy.  Of course, with such a responsible job, how could she be anything but?  He watched her walk to her car, a dark green Mercedes parked in the second row on the left of the exit, her beautiful figure hidden under a camelhair overcoat and suede knee boots, the dark blonde curls tucked neatly under a stylish crochet cap.  He knew she wouldn’t be wearing the short sleeves and A-line skirts that made up her summer uniform, but he was disappointed nonetheless.  When they were finally together, he’d take her to a place that was always warm and he’d make sure she didn’t have to wear more than a bikini if she didn’t want to – or if he didn’t want her to.  The thought of her soft, glowing skin in nothing more than a few triangles of cloth distracted him briefly.  Before he realized it she’d pulled out of the parking lot, past the guard’s shack, and was heading south on Wabash.  He considered following her but thought better of it.  He’d leave another message instead.  Besides, he’d see her tonight; and then soon – so soon he could hardly believe how close it was – they’d be together.  Forever.  Just like he’d always planned.

* * * * * * * * * *

         The ballroom of The Drake was filled to overflowing.  As usual, SourceCom spared no expense when it came to the Christmas party.  Everything, from the food to the band to the decorations – including the massive, glittering evergreen across from the double doors leading from the first floor foyer into the pale pink and gold ballroom – bespoke the best Chicago had to offer.

         Kay Stratford, a crystal champagne flute clutched in her perfectly manicured hand, hummed a few bars of I’ll Be Home for Christmas in time with the orchestra, contemplating the buffet table with what she hoped was a casual air.  She was determined to keep Daniel Carver in her sightline.  It wasn’t difficult for her to keep an eye on his movements – he was one of the tallest men in the room; positioning herself so that she could talk with him during one of the few moments he was alone – and doing so subtly –was a another matter.  After all, she kept reminding herself, brushing a dark blonde curl back from her pale face, this was a Christmas party.  If it looked as though she had an agenda, she’d draw attention to herself.  But, agenda or not, she wasn’t leaving the party until she’d spoken with him.  She knew Daniel well enough to know that it was a good plan: a public place, lots of noise, surrounded by co-workers and clients.  He wouldn’t dare make a scene.  Kay knew she had no proof but she couldn’t take it anymore; confronting Daniel here presented the least risk.  If he wouldn’t come clean – well she’d deal with that if and when the time came.

         Watching the way Daniel glad-handed the executives, his laid-back manner putting everyone at their ease, Kay found it difficult to believe, even now, that he could be so spiteful.  The candid brown eyes, the short, curly black hair with just a touch of gray at the temples, the six-foot five-inch frame draped in black Armani – he not only looked the part of the successful executive, he lived it.  For a moment she doubted herself, wondered if she’d made a mistake.  But the hatred in the well-modulated voice that had left its third message on her voicemail just under an hour ago made her shudder at the memory.  No, there was no mistake.

         Margaret Perkins, wife of Derek Perkins, one of the managing partners of SourceCom, had joined the intimate gathering near the massive, glittering Christmas tree. Daniel, making introductions all around, excused himself and headed for the bar.  Recognizing her chance, Kay brought the champagne flute to her lips, smoothed the skirt of her black silk cocktail dress and began walking in Daniel’s direction when a masculine head of wavy, light brown hair appeared on the horizon of her sightline.

         “What’s the rush, gorgeous?  I thought you were going to dance with me tonight?”  The usually smooth voice cracked a little drawing Kay’s attention away from the bar.  Stan Horton, his stocky, athletic figure just a few inches taller than Kay’s five-foot two-inch frame, was standing so close she could smell his cologne.  He looked dashing in a taupe Ralph Lauren suit that did a fair impression of bolstering his self-confidence.  Kay was tempted to make an excuse and brush past him as quickly as possible, but guiltily recalled that it was Christmas last year when Stan’s wife, Maria, had been killed in a hit and run accident.  Stan was one of the first people Kay had met at SourceCom and he had helped her out of more than one client jam in the past.  He was a great guy and, ordinarily, she enjoyed his company.  A surreptitious, gray-eyed glance at the bar showed Daniel with a brunette from the secretarial pool wearing a red dress that fit her in another life. “Damn,” Kay thought.

         Stan was rubbing the fingers of his left hand together, his trademark nervous habit.  When someone once pointed out to him that it looked like the “lots-a money” gesture, he’d taken it well: “What do you expect from an accountant?”

         “So how about it, Kay?  How about a turn around the floor?”

* * * * * * * * * *

         “Gin and tonic.”

         Daniel Carver ordered his drink from a kid that didn’t look old enough to serve it to him.  It had been a long night, but he resisted the urge to rest his russet-colored eyes for even a minute – clients, executives, and all levels of SourceCom employees from mail room clerks to middle managers were partying the night away.  With the economy still down, many of their competitors had done away with the lavish employee parties that had marked the hey-day of the dot-com and technology boom – including Christmas parties.  And though Daniel and his partners had had to make some tough decisions after the terrorist attacks two years ago and the accompanying collapse in the demand for technology consultants in the Chicago area, he’d be damned if he’d rob the people who worked their asses off three-hundred and fifty-nine days a year of the traditional year-end blowout.  And it wasn’t as if he didn’t enjoy these parties – it was just difficult to be “on” all the time.  What he really wanted was another drink and a hot shower.

         Taking a sip of the gin-heavy libation, he turned his back to the bar making an effort to look as though he were casually surveying the landscape of dancing couples and glittering decorations, all the while surreptitiously scanning the crowd for a glimpse of curls the color of butterscotch.  Kay had been avoiding him all week; they had agreed from the beginning that, under the circumstances, the only logical thing was to keep their relationship quiet – at least for now.  The senior partners’ puritanical philosophies might be ridiculous, but neither Daniel nor Kay was willing to challenge them.  Cecil and Derek Perkins were the driving force behind SourceCom.  If they believed that the only way to preserve order in the ranks was to forbid employee romances, that was their prerogative – even if the rule didn’t apply to them.  But Kay’s odd, almost nervous behavior over the last few days seemed to have less to do with keeping their affair from everyone else than it did with keeping Daniel at arm’s length.

         He spotted her, standing with her back to him, graceful and lovely in a black silk cocktail dress cut in the simple, deliberate lines that bespoke the quality of a couture garment.  As he watched her he almost believed he could smell her perfume: a mix of bergamot, honeysuckle and jasmine that drove him wild.  He had noticed her hovering near the buffet, trying too hard not to draw his attention, as he’d introduced Margaret Perkins to a group of clients.  He’d hoped that by making a quick exit she might follow him to the bar and they could exchange at least a few, quick words.

         “Champagne, please.”

         A voluptuous brunette, every curve highlighted in a vibrant red dress reminiscent of the ruffled, low-necked gowns of flamenco dancers, lit a slim black cigarette, pursing her lips into a delicate O.  A stream of exhaled smoke curled up and around her head like a ribbon dancing towards the ceiling.

         “Mr. Carver, I know we haven’t met personally, but I wanted to tell you what a wonderful time I’m having.  Why, at my last company, they did away with the Christmas party two years ago.”

         Young, Daniel thought.  She’d be a better match for the bartender.

         “I’m Stephanie Peterson,” she said, “from Human Resources.  I’ve only been here for two weeks but I can already tell I’m really going to like it here.”

         “Oh,” Daniel replied.  ‘You’re working with Trevor Klein, then.”

         “Oh, no,” she laughed; a flirty, juvenile giggle that would have embarrassed Daniel had there been any chance that anyone other than the boy behind the bar could hear it.  “I’m Janet Reeve’s Administrative Assistant.”

         Daniel must have hidden his shock well; Janet Reeves had been with SourceCom for seven years.  She was single and in her sixties and her idea of a good time was organizing the coffee supplies in the employee break room.  Daniel made a mental note to stop by her office next week and see how she and Stephanie were getting along.

         “Well, welcome to SourceCom; I hope you’ll like it here as much once the holidays are over and we all get back to work.”

         She favored him with another giggle, placing her red-manicured hand on his arm.  “Mr. Carver – you don’t really believe that I think of being part of SourceCom as just one party after another.  I may be an Administrative Assistant, but I’m not naïve.”

         You can say that again, Daniel thought.  Too bad you went after me; if you’d gone for Derek you might have had a chance.  He glanced out over the groups of swaying couples and saw, to his disappointment, Kay dancing with Stan Horton from Accounting.

         “Well, if you’ll excuse me there are still a few people I haven’t wished happy holidays yet,” he said, depositing the empty glass on the bar.  “Enjoy the rest of the party.”

         Daniel wandered towards the dance floor.  He had to hand it to the girl – she didn’t let the disappointment in her eyes reach the rest of her face.  He supposed he ought to be flattered; maybe he would have been if she hadn’t been so obvious.  But she was a poor substitute for Kay.  He half considered cutting in on Stan but based on Kay’s behavior over the past few days, he wasn’t as sure of his welcome as he would have been a week ago.  With a last glance in her direction, he made up his mind and instead joined a group from Marketing arguing the merits of demographic research.

* * * * * * * * *

         Only a few stragglers remained; the 2003 SourceCom Christmas party was officially winding down and, somehow, Kay had spent nearly the entire evening with Stan Horton.  Between mingling and joining some small groups throughout the evening, she’d danced with Stan six times and had even ended up eating dinner with him.  Under normal circumstances, she wouldn’t have minded – Stan was making a valiant effort to move on with his life and she admired him immensely for it. She was flattered that he had enough confidence in their friendship to know that she understood how difficult tonight had been for him.  But tonight’s circumstances were anything but normal – her plan to approach Daniel in a public place had failed.  She’d promised herself she wasn’t leaving the party until she’d spoken to him; otherwise she’d have left hours ago, despite Stan’s fragile emotions.  If she didn’t do something about those messages – and soon – Stan wouldn’t be the only one in a fragile emotional state.

         It had started to snow about an hour ago.  Enormous wet flakes that plopped on the ground by the millions covered Lake Shore Drive in a layer of frosty, slippery white that seemed more dangerous than magical to those who had to drive home in it.  Stan, in a rare moment of un-self-directed clarity, noticed Kay staring at the black satin heels she’d worn to the party and gallantly offered to deal with the parking valet on her behalf.

         Kay couldn’t believe her luck; Daniel was standing ten feet away, handing his ticket to the girl in coat check, laughing the polite laugh he reserved for Cecil Perkins.  Normally she’d be sympathetic to his plight but tonight she didn’t care if Daniel had to laugh at a hundred of Cecil’s awful jokes as long as she got to talk to him before he did so.  Kay thanked Stan for his concern but sent him on his way, assuring him she’d stay inside until the valet brought her car around.

         Cecil began rummaging in his wallet for his coat-check ticket; when the girl behind the counter told him it wasn’t necessary – there were only three coats left – Cecil replied with his usual fondness for following the rules.  Taking advantage of the situation, Kay took a deep breath, gathered the collar of her coat around her throat and called to Daniel.

         The smile that lit Daniel’s face as he realized she was calling to him nearly unnerved her.  Was he actually going to pretend that he didn’t know why she wanted to talk to him?  Any nervousness Kay might have felt melted away in a rush of anger.

         “Kay,” he said, slipping from Cecil’s side to join her in the corner by the double doors leading to the street.  “I was hoping we’d get a chance to speak tonight.”  She could see the gladness at her signal to him disappear as he looked in her eyes.

         “Will you please keep your voice down,” Kay said, every word dropping like an icicle plummeting off the side of a building.

         “What is it?” he said.  “What’s wrong?”

         “You’re really going to stand there and ask me that?” she hissed, eyes blazing.  “When we first started this I told you in no uncertain terms that I wasn’t about to risk my career on an office romance.  I don’t know what kind of women you’re used to dating, but I will not be forced into a relationship with a man whose idea of going public is to send invitations to my parents for dinner at “our place” a week from Friday!”

         If Kay hadn’t been so furious, she might have found his expression humorous.  His well-shaped mouth hung open in disbelief and, even in the dim lights of the hotel lobby, she was certain she saw him blanch.  He closed his mouth, opened it, then closed it again, wiping away any final doubts on her part.  Surely if she was mistaken he’d at least try to defend himself.

         Passing his tongue over dry, trembling lips, he said, “Kay, I . . . I don’t know what’s going on here but. . . “

         “Don’t try to deny it, Daniel – I recognized your voice.  If you leave one more message like the one you left this afternoon, I’ll instruct my lawyer to send the copies of your messages to the senior partners.  Do you understand?”  God, she prayed, please let him believe that I’ve already sent my lawyer the tape and that I’m not carrying it in my purse!

         Now that she’d said it, Kay could hardly keep herself from shaking.  She wasn’t sure how she’d expected him to respond, but by the expression on his face it was obvious that she’d caught him off-guard.  He dropped his gaze, reached into the pockets of his dark gray overcoat, and slipped the expensive leather gloves he extracted on his hands.  When he finally spoke, his voice was so intense Kay was certain he was going to issue another threat – this time in person.

         “All right, Kay,” he said, almost gently.  “I wish you’d believe that I honestly have no idea what you’re talking about.”  He held up his hand as she began to speak again; “I promise I won’t try to speak with you outside of work.  I hope that will be sufficient.”

         Kay realized she wasn’t the only one trying to keep from shaking.  He raised his eyes to hers as though trying to convince himself he must be going crazy.  Then, without another word, he walked past her out onto the snow-covered streets of Chicago, leaving Cecil Perkins to deal with his lost coat-check ticket.

* * * * * * * * * *

         Kay exhaled a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding.  She’d done it – she’d actually confronted him and said what she intended to say.  But instead of the intense feeling of relief she’d expected, she felt as though she’d been run over by a snow-plow.  Waiting only a minute before going outside herself, she raised her face to the sky, letting the snowflakes cool her flushed skin before stepping over to the valet.  She handed him the claim check for her dark green Mercedes then watched the traffic while she waited.  Even at two-thirty in the morning, the streets in downtown Chicago were lined with cars belonging to club-hoppers, other late night revelers and apartment dwellers who weren’t lucky enough or well-off enough to have garage parking.  As if in a daze, she thought of her condo in Evanston.  The architecture of the 1910 building was quaint and charming but she wondered, not for the first time, if she’d have bought it if garage parking hadn’t been included.  Thinking of all the cars that would be towed due to their owners’ failure to heed the “No Snow Parking” signs posted up and down the streets – even if that snow fell in the middle of the night when most people were sleeping, blissfully unaware of the additional traffic jams that would begin their day – Kay had to admit that she probably would have passed on the condo.

         The valet pulled up in front of The Drake and handed her the keys.  Leaving him a generous tip, Kay slid into the driver’s side, checked her mirrors and pulled into traffic, heading east on Randolph before turning north onto Lake Shore Drive towards Evanston and home.  She wondered how she could be so calm.  The whole week, culminating in the scene with Daniel, had a nightmarish quality; only she knew that it had been real.  And if the look on his face was any indication, she could believe the nightmare might be over.

         The valet had thoughtfully turned on the heat when he pulled the car around and Kay was glad she’d given him such a generous tip.  She was less than twenty minutes from home but that would give her plenty of time to listen to most of the first half of a tape of her nephews singing in their school Christmas pageant.  At least, she thought, it might bring me back to some sense of normalcy.  Reaching for the radio, she pushed the tape into the deck, anticipating the warbling voices of two-dozen grade-schoolers.  Instead, the soft, sinister tones of the well-modulated voice that filtered through the speakers nearly sent Kay headlong into oncoming traffic.

         “I saw you with him tonight, Kay.  I don’t know what kind of game you think you’re playing - you belong to me.”