Bachelor on the Prowl

“I admire a woman who can still accept money from a man, even while she’s ordering him around.” Colin fished in his front pocket, pulled out a twenty. “Hamburger, fries, ice water and no onions. Just ketchup and mustard. I’m hoping to get lucky later, maybe steal a kiss from a lovely lady.”

Holly took the twenty carefully, using only the tips of her fingers to touch a corner of the bill. “Yeah, well, good for you. Me, I’m having onions.”

Colin opened his mouth to say something, he wasn’t sure what, but Holly was already gone, running to get to the counter before a group of six men who had just come in behind them. That left Colin to locate and commandeer the last free table in the restaurant.

He sat down, used a paper napkin to wipe crumbs from the cracked and scarred wooden surface of the table, then propped his elbows on the wood, rested his chin in one hand.

What in hell was he doing here? Hell, what the hell was he doing, period?

Colin hadn’t been back to the States for more than a quick visit in nearly three years, enjoying his job setting up one of his second cousin Max Rafferty’s overseas holdings, sticking with it until it was up and running properly. Since that holding was in Paris, being overseas hadn’t been much of a sacrifice, although he did miss Max’s second wedding to Julia, and had only met her later, when she and Max had flown to Paris for a belated honeymoon.

He’d liked Julia immediately, as anyone who could keep Maximillian Rafferty in line had to be one very terrific lady, and his first stop after going through customs at JFK had been to drop in at the Rafferty condo on Park Avenue. Max had already left the building, and the housekeeper had told Colin that Julia wasn’t home, either, so he’d gone off to his hotel, unpacked…and saw the notice for the Sutherland showing in the main ballroom of that same hotel.

A few smiles, a few General U.S. Grant’s greasing the right palms, and Colin had been directed to the staging area, where he’d hoped to surprise Julia.

Okay, so that’s how he’d gotten there. Now he had to figure out how he’d gotten from there to here, here being sitting in a dingy dive, waiting for his first uniquely American hamburger in too many months.

He was also sitting here waiting for Ms. Holly Hollis, just about the least likely woman he’d ever thought he’d be attracted to, even notice.

But there was something about her. Maybe he’d always harbored a secret fantasy for being bossed around by a pint-size female dictator. Maybe it was the way she’d looked as she stood on a stool to tie his tie, that crazy pink boa wrapped around her neck as she blew at the feathers to keep them out of her mouth, her eyes crossing slightly as she tried to get the knot set correctly.

Or maybe he just wanted to get a little of his own back because she’d mistaken him for some no-show boob named Harry Hampshire. A male model? Did she really think he was a male model?

Good old Harry was in for a surprise, when he got his paycheck for a day’s work he didn’t do. That was rather amusing. What wasn’t amusing was that someone might see him on that television show next week, going by the name of Harry Hampshire, parading around a runway in a tux, kissing women.

He’d have to tell everyone he’d lost a bet. Or won it.

Colin half stood up as Holly approached, balancing a full tray holding several paper-wrapped hamburgers, two bags of French fries and a pair of plastic bottles of spring water.

“Here, let me help you,” he said, taking the tray, placing it on the tabletop. Then he held out his hand. “My change?”

“Change? I had to kick in five bucks. What do you mean, change. We’re in Manhattan, Harry. The lousy water cost three bucks a bottle.”

“Sorry,” Colin said, fishing into his pocket for another bill. “I guess I lost my head.”

“Along with your watch,” Holly said as she unwrapped a hamburger, lifted the top of the bun to check for onions, then passed the thing over to him. “I’m waiting, you know. What excuse are you going to give me for almost not making the showing?”

Colin shrugged. Keeping as close as possible to the truth would probably be best. “I’m sorry about that, Holly. I just got in from Paris this morning. There was a slight holdup in Customs.”

Holly sat back in her chair and glared at him. “You just got back from Paris? And your agent accepted a booking for the same day? What is he, nuts?”

Colin considered launching into a long story about having been bumped from one plane only to have the second develop engine trouble before they took off, but decided he’d like to get the whole subject gone as quickly as possible, before he slipped up. “Yeah, that’s my agent. Nuts. So, do you live here in Manhattan?”

Holly held up her index finger as she finished chewing, swallowing, her first huge bite of her hamburger. “Um…no, I don’t. I’d go nuts myself, if I had to live in Manhattan.”

“You don’t like big cities?”

“Oh, I love them. I love Manhattan. I’d just go nuts here. Visiting museums, taking in all the Broadway and off-Broadway and off-off Broadway shows. Shopping, lots of shopping. Vintage clothing, old books, and we won’t even talk about the diamond district. I’d end up being as late for work as you were today, and get myself fired in a month. I mean, a person could make a career out of seeing big cities. Like Paris. I’ll bet you did as much sight-seeing as you could?”

“I managed to see a little of the city,” Colin answered, reaching for a French fry. “But I sure missed these. How come Americans make better French fries?”

“We use older cooking oil, and more of it,” Holly supplied, smiling. “Seriously, you missed American food?”

“Seriously, I did. So, where do you live if it’s not in Manhattan?”

“Pennsylvania,” Holly said, unscrewing the cap on her bottled water. “Allentown, to be precise. Did you know that the lead actress in 42nd Street was supposedly from Allentown? The city’s used in a lot of songs, books, TV shows. I don’t have the faintest idea why. It’s just a town. My town, but just a town. Still, with all the new highways, I can be in Manhattan in two hours, so it’s still convenient for Julia to check on the plant, or for me to come up here to visit her.”

“Julia? That would be Julia Sutherland?”

“Mm-hmm,” Holly said, nodding, as her mouth was full once more. For a little person, she sure could eat, and didn’t seem to mind letting him know she had a healthy appetite. He bet that Jackie, the model, hadn’t eaten an entire hamburger in years, and Holly was already unwrapping her second.

Colin picked up a paper napkin, reached across the table to wipe some ketchup off Holly’s chin. “Irene says you’re Julia’s second in command.”

“Irene says a lot, doesn’t she?” Holly said, clearly bristling. “What is this? A couple of hamburgers in exchange for whispering in Julia’s ear that you want to be headlined in her next showing? Maybe do some print ads in her catalog, even on her Web site?”

Colin sat back, scratched the side of his nose. “What kind of question is that? Do you have that low an opinion of me, or of yourself? Why couldn’t I have asked you to dinner because I thought we might enjoy each other’s company?”

“Yeah, right,” Holly said, poking through the French fries on the hunt for a dark one. “So what’s next? You want to take a walk in the park, hold hands, maybe catch a movie?”

“Okay,” Colin heard himself say as he crumpled the hamburger wrappings into a ball and stood up, picked up the tray. “The park first, while it’s still got people other than muggers walking the paths.”

Holly tipped back her head, looking up at him. He smiled down at her, liking the way she looked at him as if he’d suddenly grown another head. “You really want to make this a real date? Why? I’ve been rude, obnoxious…”

“Don’t forget bossy. Although I have to admit it, I really liked it when you told me to take off my pants.”

Holly stood up, shrugged into her coat, then grabbed one last French fry from the tray. “I didn’t say that.”

“Yes, you did,” Colin corrected her. “And you were on your knees when you said it.”

“Well, I didn’t mean it,” Holly told him quickly, following him back out onto the pavement. “I mean, I didn’t mean it that way.”

Colin stopped, turned around, put his hands on her shoulders. “I know,” he said, then leaned down, kissed the tip of her nose. “Besides, it was the pink boa that got to me. You looked like you were playing dress-up, a little kid in a land of giant dolls.”

“I can’t help being short,” Holly told him as he took her hand, led her across the street and into Central Park. “All us Hollises are short. Mom, Dad, my sister, Helen, my brothers Herb and Harry.”

“You’ve got a brother named Harry? That’s a coincidence, isn’t it?”

“No, it’s just another H. We’re all H’s. Hillary, Howard, Herb, Harry, Helen and Holly Hollis. Looked great on Christmas cards, but that’s about it. I swear Helen married John Barker just to get rid of the H. I mean, why else would anyone marry a guy who bowls every Thursday night, wearing a shirt that says Bow-wow Barker on the back?”

Colin stopped at the entrance to the Park, threw back his head and laughed. “I can’t believe it. Your family almost makes mine sound normal.”

“And it’s not?” Holly asked, pulling him over to a street vendor selling ice-cream sandwiches. “Dessert, and this time it’s my treat,” she said, reaching into her purse and pulling out her wallet.

“My family? Well, no, it’s not. Not in the usual sense, anyway. Mom’s an archeologist, and Dad’s a professional fisherman. No kidding, there are professional fishermen. I’m their only child, probably because they haven’t really lived together very much for thirty years, although they’re still married. Dad’s in Alaska somewhere right now, fishing, and Mom’s in Egypt, digging somewhere near the pyramids.”

“Who raised you?” Holly asked, handing him a rather limp ice-cream sandwich.

“My great-aunt and uncle,” Colin said, then quickly changed the subject again, because Max’s parents had taken care of him when he wasn’t in some boarding school. He didn’t know how much Holly knew about Max’s home life, and didn’t want to take a chance on giving her clues she might follow.