Drive Me Wild

She hung up, pensive and wondering what her life would be like in a year. Would Justin Whitehead still be a part of her life and, if so, would he be her chauffeur or her lover? He’d called because he cared, and if he denied it, she wouldn’t believe him.

Justin hung up the phone and blew out a long breath. That wasn’t smart, he thought. He hadn’t had a reason for calling Gina, but he needed some contact with her. “I ought to get out of this right now,” he said to himself. He knew he could write that story from the interviews he’d collected. She was so different from all of the people he had interviewed so far. She represented an exception. If he didn’t include her, he knew his story would lose validity.

He got up from his desk and looked out toward the East River. New York is full of women, approachable women, available women. Why the hell do I want this one?

Unable to work, he got into his Jaguar and headed for the probate office. “I need to look at that will and any codicils to it,” he told his friend who worked there. “Can you give me at least ten minutes or can you read it and tell me precisely what Miles Strags’s responsibilities are as executor?”

“I just clarified it for him yesterday. The answer is none. His duties were over when he handed her the will and transferred all the property to her, including keys, stock certificates, deeds and so forth.”

“What about the stipulation that she do certain things for the first three years?”

“If she doesn’t, he can’t force her to, because the will doesn’t say what action he’s to take if she ignores the terms. If he claims any rights or responsibilities, she can sue him for harassment. I can give you ten minutes.”

Justin read as quickly as he could. Satisfied that Miles had no rights where Gina was concerned. Relief spread through him. He wouldn’t tell Gina what he learned, unless it became necessary, for he didn’t want to arouse her suspicion of him. Gina had already observed that Justin didn’t seem like a chauffeur, and around her, he didn’t feel like one.

Unless you want your plans to erupt in your face, you’d better start acting like one, his inner voice said.

Gina sat in her office with the builder, discussing the renovations. “We can do the job over the weekend,” he said, “and you won’t lose two full days from work.” He agreed to put a sink in the pantry area, and to replace the conference room with two offices, one of which would be hers. “We’ll build you a very attractive place here. That reception room could use some paint.”

“All right,” she said. “Make it a dusty-rose, not pink. I don’t like pink walls. The building superintendent will let you in Saturday and Sunday mornings,” she said. “Be sure and bring some ID.”

The man left, and she rushed to the rest room, refreshed her makeup and combed her hair. “I’m going bonkers,” she said to herself. “The man is my chauffeur, for goodness’ sake.”

She made appointments with three prospective donors to the foundation and was about to go out for a cup of coffee, when Justin burst into the office carrying a bag that she knew contained two cups of coffee, if nothing else.

“Good morning, ma’am. How’d it go? I brought you some coffee.” He opened the bag, unfolded a napkin and put a paper cup of coffee and a cranberry scone on it. “Sorry, it couldn’t be fancier.”

If life were normal, she’d hug him, but it wasn’t and she had to content herself with a smile that came from her heart. “This is as fancy as I need. It’s priceless. Thanks. As soon as I swallow some of this coffee, I’ll tell you all about it.”

“Take your time.” He sat down to drink his coffee, and she noticed that he didn’t have a scone. She broke off a piece of hers, put it on a napkin and gave it to him. “Well, it went like this. He’ll do the work according to the plan I showed you, and when we come here Monday morning, it will be ready. I hope you can tolerate dusty-rose in the reception area. I love that color.”

He seemed unusually subdued, but she decided not to dwell on it. “I didn’t want you to share your scone,” he said, “but I’m enjoying it. Thanks. Would you prefer a taxi or a one-way limousine service when we go for the car? We’re picking it up in Queens.”

“If you ask a New York City taxi driver to go farther than a mile, he gets his back up. Let’s take the limousine.” He lifted the receiver, dialed a car service and made a one-o’clock appointment. “Please be on time,” he said.

“Oh dear,” she said. “We should have gone for the Town Car after we shopped for the office furniture. As it is, you won’t be able to park, and you can’t help me choose the furniture.”

As he spoke, what remained of the scone seemed to have his undivided attention. “I’m sure you can do it without me, but if you want me to help, I’ll park in a garage or somewhere. Not to worry.”

She didn’t think his diffidence could be ascribed to modesty, and certainly not to a desire to ingratiate himself with her. He glanced up then and locked his gaze on her for a fleeting second, and she sucked in her breath. She didn’t want to believe what her eyes told her, for in the speed of the moment, she wasn’t sure that it happened at all.

“Will you be able to give me a weekly schedule?” he asked her, though she knew that the question’s purpose was to cover the awkwardness of the silence.

“Of the major things, such as out of town trips, yes, I hope so.”

He looked at his watch. “The guy will be here any second.”

And then, our relationship will change for sure with you behind the wheel and me in the back.

“Will it upset you if I sit in the front seat?” she blurted out.

A frown furrowed his brow, and his skin lost its rich, brilliant hue. “I…uh…Whatever you’re comfortable with, but that’s kind of irregular, isn’t it?”

“Justin, in time, you will learn that the only chauffeurs I’m used to are taxi drivers. If we’re going to be working together all the time, it seems silly for us to follow this ridiculous protocol.”

“It’s not silly, ma’am. It keeps everything between the lines.”

She thought about that for a moment, and it occurred to her that if she sat in the front seat, he might be uncomfortable, so she said, “All right. Forget it.” In her job at Hilliard and Noyes, she supervised half a dozen clerks of which two were men old enough to be her father, so why did she have this foolish reservation about giving Justin Whitehead orders?

“We’d better go. The car’s probably waiting downstairs,” she said.

In the car, Justin sat with the driver, and she wished she could have found a way to avoid having a chauffeur. As they took the exit from the Queensboro Bridge, she made mental comparisons between the poverty and ugliness surrounding her and the beauty and elegance observable from the window of her new Park Avenue apartment. Paper, glass, cans and debris littered the streets, and every building appeared to need attention if not repair. Living quarters shared premises with grocery stores, convenience stores and fish markets. Cars and buses wrestled for right of way and overhead trains rambled along polluting the area with their noise.

New Yorkers lived in separate worlds, and she’d wager that most of the people milling around on Queens Plaza had never set foot on Park Avenue between Forty-third and Ninety-second Streets, the province of the rich. Nor, she suspected, had her new neighbors ever walked on the pavements of Queens Plaza. Did Justin live in such a neighborhood? She didn’t think so. He looked and carried himself as if he knew nothing of poverty. But it was almost second nature to her, for she had lived next door to it most of her life, and before her mother’s death, she’d lived in the midst of it.

The car stopped, and she got out before Justin could open the door for her. He stared down at her. “Are you trying to do my job?”

“Am I…what? Of course not, but I can take just so much of this.” She smiled to take the bite out of her words. “Look.” She pointed to the silver-gray Town Car at the front of the lot. “I wonder if that’s ours.” Why did he stare at her like that?

His expression softened when he grinned. “It’s a beauty, isn’t it?” His fingers clasped her arm. “Let’s go inside.”

Fifteen minutes later, she sat in the back seat of her new luxury limousine. “Is there any place along here that we can eat? Getting lunch in Manhattan is always such a big deal.”

“There are some great Chinese and Italian restaurants a few blocks from here. Which would you prefer?”

“How about something Italian? One of these days, I’m going to Florence, Italy. I just love Italian food.”

“That makes two of us.”

Justin brought the car to a halt in front of an Italian restaurant favored by the locals and looked at Gina. “That’s the restaurant, but there’s no parking space. Perhaps you’d like to get out here. I’ll find a place to park and be back in a few minutes.”