The blond businessman opened his mouth to speak.
“I don’t even want to begin to think about what stupid game you might be playing.” Her heels clunked sharply as she went to the door and grabbed the doorknob. She could hardly believe it. This… man… was the model. “But I’ve a very important business meeting right now, whoever the hell you are, and I would appreciate it if you would never darken my doorway again with your absurd play-acting. I’ll find my own damn tour guide, thanks a bunch. And from now on if I need naked, I’ll check
She swung open the door and faced a severe-looking, heavy-set businessman carrying a briefcase.
The blond man reached over and closed his hand around the edge of the door. “Not quite, yet,” he said grimly to the man and shut the door in his face.
Amanda’s mouth dropped. “How dare you? Who the hell are you!”
“My name is Marc Parkerson. David, your art instructor, is my older brother. I’m a private investigator and I have no intention of letting you turn me out of this room until I’ve had a chance to clear up some stuff.”
“Stuff!” Amanda’s voice choked on the understatement of the year. “Look. Here, Mr… Parkerson,” she said evenly. “I’ve got a business to run, a very important meeting to take right now… very important, and…”
“Money man?”
“What?”
“Is the guy outside a money man?”
“Well, yes, but…”
Marc opened the door. “It’s taking a little longer to make my proposal clear to Ms. Emerson than I had expected.” His voice was tight. “If you’d rather not wait…”
Amanda stepped forward quickly. “Mr. Untermeyer, I do apologize. I expected to have… finished with this meeting by now.” She glowered at the determined man standing next to her and glanced past the startled Untermeyer to the professor and Jimmy hovering nearby.
“Professor Angeli and my personal assistant will be happy to show you around our den of inequity. The efficiency of our production team should be of great interest to you and your business associates.” She turned sharply to Marc. “Five minutes,” she snapped and marched smartly back to her desk leaving him to give the slack- jawed businessman a baleful look and close the door as the fawning professor and Jimmy quickly descended.
“Let’s get out of here.”
Amanda looked at him blankly.
“I noticed a coffee shop downstairs. I shouldn’t have come here in the first place. Stupid. I’m really losing it. Now’s a good time to sneak out while the old guy’s busy with Mr. Money Bags.” He eased the door open to survey the outer room. “Where’s the pseudo young Brando?”
Amanda looked toward Nathan’s cubicle and saw he was intent on distracting the young woman who worked in an adjacent cubicle.
“Five minutes,” Marc said. “You gave me five minutes.” He grabbed her hand and tugged. She felt his firm hand at her waist.
“What is this place?” he asked, looking around at the large, violent drawings depicting dramatically-posed muscular heroes and heroines adorning the walls as Amanda allowed herself to be guided hurriedly through the room full of artist’s cubicles.
“You can read,” she muttered. She informed Mindy, the receptionist, where she would be, and gave firm instructions to be paged in five minutes.
“Yeah, I see the name: Ahn-sel of the 21st Century. What’s that? Some kind of comic book?”
“Illustrated novels. Philosophical, angst-ridden, super-hero and requisite attendant super-heroine. Started about ten years ago by a kid drawing in the basement of his farm house in Minnesota. Guess it was the long, hard winters.” She stepped smartly into the elevator.
“The kid was eventually discovered by mega-publisher AA Communications and was swept off to the Big Apple, or at least this Park Avenue South slice of it, to do battle against the likes of Marvel and DC Comics.”
He was giving her his undivided attention. As if he cared a whit about what she did with her corporate life.
“His hero was re-named Ahn-sel and, unlike the Edsel, of which the kid had never heard, limped along for a number of years and then suddenly for no discernible reason exploded into ‘overnight’ success.”
They entered the restaurant and were ushered to a back booth. Another secluded booth.
She ordered tea with lemon and a bagel with light cream cheese from the waitress. He ordered tea with milk. Somehow, with his outfit, she had expected him to order a martini or something equally sleek.
His eyes weren’t the deep, lush, dark chocolate she had found so inviting, but they were a decent blue behind the horn rims. Horn rims. She didn’t know anyone wore horn rims anymore. He reminded her of Clark Kent. Another fake.
Amanda continued the story of her corporate life. “I came along about the time they needed a good office manager, got pretty much involved in running the place, and a few months ago was promoted to Executive Producer in Charge of the Series. Which basically means, my ass is on the line if we don’t pull a profit. The guy upstairs is a ‘money man’ who hopes he and his associates are going to be buying into another Batman franchise.”
“The kid doesn’t happen to be Nathan, does he?” Marc’s attitude was less grim now that the tenseness between them had eased a bit.
“Lord, no. Nathan’s the chief illustrator of the series. The kid, who has returned to and now owns the lower half of Minnesota, doesn’t even draw anymore. He approves everything and makes lots of suggestions via faxes and email. Lots of suggestions. Meaningful ones.” She chuckled and took a healthy bite of bagel. The scent of the fresh, meaty bread combined with the slightly pungent cheese gave her a sense of security. Home and hearth, again.
“I’m surprised Mr. Parkerson didn’t know Professor Angeli and Nathan and I work together.” Though, not really. Parkerson was a good instructor, but he always seemed distracted, as if the class were a bit beneath him. “The professor and Nathan talked me into taking his classes at the League, saying it would help me communicate better with the artists here, and because I once used to draw a little,” she added modestly.
“The professor draws moody super-heroes, too?” His clear blue eyes, bulls-eyed by the dark frames, peered over his cup of tea.
“No,” she said, with a smile. “He’s a colorist. Absolute genius. Amazing eye. I had no idea he was also a brilliant artist until I saw his work.” She munched on her bagel, scooping up crumbs on the tip of her finger. “Okay, now it’s your turn.” Her eyes narrowed and her voice hardened. “As I recall, my exact words were: Where are the curls?”
After a moment’s confused hesitation, Marc smiled. The same gleaming white flash, if not set off quite so dramatically by his now only lightly-tanned skin.
“A wig.”
“Obviously. And the eyes?”
He spread his hands and shrugged.
“Contacts.” They answered in unison, both nodding.
“Well,” Amanda shook off her incredulity at their similar reactions. “At least I know the rest of you is real. Or is it… foam rubber? Or surgery?”
Marc laughed, his powerful body shifting into a more comfortable position in the booth.
“I wish to God it were. If you knew the hours I spend in the gym… the months… and the sun tanning. Only my dermatologist knows what I’m doing to my skin. There wasn’t time to get it dark enough, so I’m using some body stuff. I even wear mascara.” His handsome face soured. “Do you know what it’s like for a guy to figure out how to use mascara just because David said Italians all have thick black lashes? Jeez.” He chuckled and took a healthy swallow of his tea. “What an asshole I must seem.”
Well, Amanda thought, whoever he is-
“This disguise…” His strong hands curled around the mug of tea. “It seemed to make sense under the circumstances. I just didn’t think the caper would get so complicated. I didn’t expect to…” His eyes locked on hers.
