September 2002

MIRANDA

I adore Terry. I only wish I had met him at some other time in my life. Earlier when I hadn't worked so hard to get to where I am; I have so much farther to go, and I can see that I can get there. Or later when I have gone as far as I can. When I am ready to hang up the career and live my life. Instead I met him at mid-stride in my career when I am unwilling to focus on anything or anyone other than it. I stay so busy working that there is not much room in my life for anything or anyone else. Men who have attained a vice presidency at major American insurance companies are expected to be married; women cannot be married to attain the same status. At least I can't. A full fledged relationship does not work for me.

I must admit I was miffed when I found out about the bet Terry had won the night we met. But not enough to do anything about it. It is not easy to find someone as good looking, charming, accomplished and male as Terry. I could only hope that he would stick around for a while. For me, at this point, 'a while' meant longer than six months.

After all, he did admit the circumstances of our meeting sheepishly and pretty quickly. At dinner at St. Martin's the night we met, we covered a wide-ranging set of topics, nothing too personal, but he seemed as eager to learn more about me as I was about him. I found he had a wicked sense of humor often directed at himself, ambition enough for two men, a firm grasp on world politics and its effect on our shared endeavor. With our last cup of coffee, he looked like he had something to say but was weighing his options on how to present it.

“Miranda, I am not good about talking about myself at all. It makes me terribly uncomfortable. I don't want to start this relationship with you under false pretenses, though. In my professional life, I often have to leave out important information in my dealings with other people.”

He used the word “relationship” in conjunction with me. We will have to have a conversation about my career commitment, but I do not want to do that tonight and scare him off before we can set some parameters.

“Terry, sometimes having deep, personal conversations are better left for second or third dates. That is assuming you would be interested in seeing me again.”

“The question will be whether you will still want to see me when I tell you about how we met.”

Not want to see him again? He is an answer to my prayer. Well, my most immediate prayer.

“I do know I want to see you again. No matter what you have to tell me. Next week, I have an official company cocktail party to attend. Some of the big guys from Chicago corporate are coming to town, and I have to go meet and greet. Would you mind escorting me?”

“I wouldn't mind escorting you at all. Providing I am in town. I think I will be, but I can't guarantee it.” He looked relieved that whatever he was going to tell me was delayed.

I reached across the table to take his hand. He watched my hand move towards his but made no move to intercept mine. Once I was toying with his fingers I asked, “Now what was this you were reluctant to tell me about our meeting?”

Gotcha. He swallowed hard and began haltingly, still watching my fingers rubbing on his. My thumb swirled the hair above his knuckle. “I, uh, ought to tell you, um, that I had an ulterior motive in offering you a drink.” The last shift in his chair seem to have made him more comfortable in continuing. He was now able to string together ten words without stammering.

I moved my thumb one knuckle closer to his hand and began my caress again. “What was your ulterior motive?”

The admission came out in a tumble of words. “My mates and I were having a bit of a lark. And I won. We described a woman that we would meet, and the bloke who left first with his dream woman would win the bet.”

I stopped my finger massage on his hand to consider his words. Benign on the surface, flattering even. “The girls I ran around with before my promotions started coming and I did that as well.” He looked relieved. “However, our descriptions were categorized. Our first category was the well hung stud who is probably good for a one-nighter.” He began looking slightly chagrined. “The second was the obviously newly divorced who needed a sympathy fuck. The third, a single guy out with his friends who probably had the same bet going. The fourth group we identified also was in a social group of guys, but he was married.” Mr. Thorne was looking astonished. “The trick was to get dibs on which type you were going after called first. I haven't done that in years.” And I started to laugh, surprising him into laughter himself.

“Were your categories tonight the same?” I asked.

“Close enough. I am glad you are taking this with such graciousness.”

“Why wouldn't I when I have done the same thing myself? Granted I have grown out of it. How much did you win?”

“Please, leave me some dignity,” he said still laughing softly to himself.

“Maybe I can get you to tell me over a night cap. By the way, my drink of choice is Campari and soda. Not gin and tonic.” I patted his hand indicating that the hand torture was over. “Shall we?”

*

I thought I had heard Terry on his phone too early the next morning; he had to be on his as I was on my phone calling work to check my day. I thought he was checking his schedule or rearranging it. I was thinking about doing that very thing myself. That man had me close to exhausted, but happily so. I chose to go in and fight the good fight.

Everything took longer to do at work. By the time I got home at 7, I was dragging. When the concierge stopped me at the lobby, I was not terribly happy at the interruption. All I wanted was a hot bath and some sleep.

“Miss Lewis, this arrived for you at 9 AM.” He had a gift basket waiting for me.

“Thanks, Phil. My, it is a big thing. Let me go drop my laptop and change. I'll be right back to get it.”

“Won't be necessary, Miss Lewis. The gentleman asked me to take it up for you.” So Terry had delivered it himself, no doubt on his way home to get a nap. “It took up most of the Jag's front seat. With everything else in there, it was the only place for it.”

I nodded, hoping my complete incomprehension of his last statement didn't show. What would Terry be carting around in a Jaguar? Electronics? Presentation materials? Men who drive Jags have that sort of thing delivered. I hadn't a clue until I opened the door. My designer loft had three lovely arrangements placed around the room. On the bar was a dozen roses, by the window, a very architectural tropical, in the corner, a big bushy Peace lily. My, my. I think I was a hit with Mr. Thorne.

Phil interrupted my thoughts with, “You are supposed to start with the roses, then go to the window, then the plant. The basket is last.” He had been rehearsed very well. I tried to get my wallet from my briefcase, but Phil beat me to it. “Not necessary, Miss Lewis. The gentleman took care of that as well,” closing the door as he left. I bet the gentleman did. Phil is not normally this helpful.

Doing as instructed I pulled the card from the roses. “Thank you for a lovely evening.” These alone would have been plenty, but I had three more stops to make.

“The bloke checking in” reads the architectural card. Surely it is fatigue causing that double entendre. Surely he doesn't mean he is checking into my life. Cherry red antheriums, birds of paradise with eucalyptus branches. I began to have an image of Terry charming the designers into letting him into the back room to watch these being put together.

On to the Peace lily. “I have it on good authority that these are hard to kill. Don't over water; with your travel schedule over watering should not be a problem.” I have heard that killing a Peace lily is difficult. Well, here is the first one to die. It will cost me a fortune to keep replacing it, but I will replace it every time it dies as long as Terry is around. I try to put my arms around the black iridescent pot; I can't.

I sat down on the sofa to check the gift basket. I started looking through the shrink-wrap counting three bottles of Campari and a bottle of club soda, croissants, cheese and oranges. The plain white note card was right in the middle. Yes, Terry had charmed the designers into precisely what he wanted. Otherwise, his note would have been pinned to the outside of the basket. More impressive was the personal delivery. A florist giving up a delivery fee? Will not happen.

I had to use the scissors to get through to the note. “Miranda, I suppose I was lucky last night that you didn't throw the G&T on me. I am sorry for the way we met but not sorry that we did. Call me when you get in. T”

I hadn't programmed his number into my phone yet, but I had transferred his information into my address book on my laptop at what had passed as lunch for me. By the time I got back down from the bedroom, it had finally booted up. I dialed his home number first, thinking I would get his wake up voice again. Answering machine. I hung up before I had listened to all the message. It was not his wake up voice; I didn't want to hear it.

I dialed Thorne, Espan and O'Reilly inwardly cursing I had not gotten his direct line from him but the main office number. I can always call his cell if no one is there.

A rushed female voice answered. Sounds like the troops are busy tonight. That there was still someone there at 7:30 was not a good sign.

“May I speak to Mr. Thorne, please. Miranda Lewis calling.” If he was too busy to talk, I would give him an out.

I could hear the rushed female voice calling, “Ter..” before the hold feature activated.

“Thorne here.”

She hadn't even announced me! “It's Miranda.”

“Hold on a tic.” His hand must have covered the phone. I could hear a muffled, “I need to take this. Pull the door to on your way out. I'll meet you in the conference room.”

“Oh, luv. Not the way I had imagined hearing from you. I had intended to take you to dinner tonight. And eating croissants with you in the morning.”

“I gather I caught you at a bad time. Will it be a late night? You could always come over then.”

“We are doing some quick planning. Yes, probably a very late night. And then I am on a plane. Miranda, I am sorry. I was hoping this wouldn't happen until you had known me longer. This is my life.”

“I might have done the same to you.” I had genuine regret in my voice because that statement was true. “Do you have long enough for me to tell you how lovely everything is? Extravagant enough to make me feel wanted but not so much to scare me off. Not even with last minute departures. We can make dinner anytime; it can wait until you get back. How long a trip will it be?”

“I really don't have the time to hear you say it, but I am so glad that you did. I am also quite happy to hear that I still have a chance at another dinner. That you are not ready to give me the flic. I promise I will make it up to you. I can't say how long I will be gone, but I should be back to escort you. I will know more in a few hours.”

“You don't have to promise to do anything. The flowers today already made that promise.” I decided not to say more as I could hear his keyboard clicking while I was still on the phone. Another woman might have found that rude; I was glad I now had the right to multi-task when talking to him. “Go do what you need to do. Call when you get in. The corporate guys are in next Wednesday.”

“Thank you for understanding. I will call as soon as I get in. Don't forget me before Wednesday.”

“Take care, Terry.”

Forget Terry Thorne? Not bloody likely. I can always learn a foreign language while he's gone. ‘Strine.

I added romantic, thoughtful, sexy, meticulous, and adventuresome to my Terry Thorne inventory.

June 2005

TERRY

This trip is different. These days I do the meet and greets, the corporate briefings, the social networking and the contract signings along with the occasional field assignment; I need those field assignments. It would not do for the CEO to be seen as only a figurehead. Also, I have to keep my skills and instincts up. After all, my initial is the first letter of the company.

Thorne, Espan, and O'Reilly. Christ, we sound like a law firm or accountants. Nice and low keyed. TEO. I was so glad when I found Maximus; Dino and I never figured out how we wanted to pronounce the former acronym, TO. We spent many a wet evening arguing whether it was pronounced “to” or “toe.” Once Max came on board, that argument was settled. TEO like Dino's nickname for me, Tio. I'm not sure Irish will ever get over that. Not only my initial first, but now the company sounds like it is named after me.

I cannot begin to tell you the satisfaction I have being out of someone else's corporate rat race; now, it is MY corporate rat race. With Dino and Maximus, we pretty well speak our minds; we only have to deal with client politics. There is one drawback to being CEO. I never knew there was so much paperwork and so much shit to sign in running a company. I now understand the fuss about my expense reports back when I was with Luthan. At least I can give my guys good euphamisms for brothel and bar visits, let alone the weapons purchases. Can't be presenting the auditors with the actual names for the line items, now can we?

This trip had been a field assignment to the Mideast. What was different on this trip was Maximus had let me down. His head was not in the game, and I suspected he was having troubles with a woman. Maximus had not even let us know that he was seeing someone -- not that he needed to; Maximus is a more private man than even me, and I thought I held the trophy for secrecy.

That he was seeing someone wasn't that unusual; Maximus had to have had some women here or there. What was unusual was that she, whoever the hell “she” was, had gotten to him. I need to have a bit of a fatherly talk with Maximus when I get back. That sounds silly even to me. I hadn't even had a fatherly talk with Henry; now I would have one with a man ages older than I and a general to boot.

I knew as much about Dino's women as he did. His standard reply when asked about his latest conquest was, “I didn't see her face. Buddy, did she have a rack on her.” No one gets close to Dino.

Dino, of course, gigs me about having a steady woman and all the headaches that go with that. Sometimes I think he is right; he gets laid more often than I do. The lovely, career driven, sexy Miranda. We started out well; I don't know when the spark went out of my eye. It probably was on the fifth time she had to cancel a date at the last minute because of some work related crisis.

I do know we are now conveniences for each other. Board dinners, client parties and the like. That was part of the deal. I am her arm candy, and she is mine. We have never fallen into couple actions. I still buy presents on my own for birthdays and weddings. She has never taken me to get my car when it is in for service. Grocery shopping is done separately.

We have some romantic evenings. With both of our travel schedules, it is like planning regimental movements to find time. Our planning sessions normally sound something like this.

“Miranda. Terry here.”

“Terry, I know your voice after all this time. I know all your voices.”

“Well, yes.” I am glad I am in my office with the door closed. Her voice had dropped to the 'I want you now' timbre that gets to me on the times we do have to ourselves. “Are you in town next Tuesday?”

“Let me check. Yes, I am. But I have an early flight to Chicago on Wednesday. What are you doing tonight?” In four sentences she had gone from sexpot to professional and back again. How can slacks get so uncomfortable so quickly?

“Clients in town. Not the kind of night you would enjoy.”

“Dino, you and clients at a gentleman's club. Check. You are so right. I would not enjoy that. But I would enjoy what that does to you later.”

“Stop that. III Forks steakhouse first, then the clubs. I could try to bug out early. With Dino along they will have a well skilled chaperon. After all the scrapes he gets into and out of at strip clubs, he can handle the clients. And chaperon duties would put a crimp in Irish's style.” I relished that thought. Dino and his woman of the week had seen each other last night. From the rugged look on his face this morning, they had a very good evening. It has been three weeks since I last saw Miranda, and that was for a charity function to which we had both had been invited. She did have charity on me afterwards.

“Do try to find out about their other insurance needs. Remember to slip them my card. If you would have more genteel entertainments, I could drum up my own business. Would a football game every so often be so bad?”

“I always make sure I mention this absolutely delightful insurance woman I know. TEO is world renowned for our gentility. This is Dallas, not Bangkok. I will ignore the comment about a sissy game of American football. Now, if tonight becomes impossible, next Tuesday? Or if tonight is possible, next Tuesday as well?”

“I'll reschedule my flight since my meeting isn't until late Wednesday. Randy little bastard,” she added mimicking my accent. “Aren't you, Mr. Thorne? Twice in two weeks.”

“Not randy, not little, and not a bastard. Wrong on all counts. I wanted to show my best girl a good time. You simply got lucky this time that we both have holes in our schedules.”

“I think I am lucky whenever I get to see you, Terry. My other line is ringing. Tonight. Try to make it.” She was back in business mode.

Of course, I didn't make it. We also didn't make Tuesday; the meeting got moved up.

Maybe Dino is right. Pros, good time girls and strippers. At least they don't have someone else making demands on them. It still wouldn't fill this hole right here.

*

The other thing that was different about this trip is Miranda has asked something of me.

MIRANDA

Fortunately or unfortunately, our first 24 hours together became the pattern for our relationship for the last almost three years. I was as likely to cancel our dates as he was. We both are getting what we want out of it, I suppose. I don't have to look for escorts to company functions; the company grape vine has acceptable gossip on me, and I have the man of every woman's dreams call on me. Well, every woman I know.

Our company is an email company. Even if you sit right beside the person you need to talk to, you send an email. I mark it up to leaving a paper trail to CYA; we are insurance, after all.

I can always tell when Terry is on my floor. It starts with emails dropping to a trickle. People find a reason to pop up over the top of their cubes to conference with the person on the other side, the person they have not talked to in weeks. It looks like a prairie dog colony with heads popping up. I can also tell which hallway he is using; no one looks at who they are talking to. They are looking in his direction.

For a man who earns his living noticing his surroundings, he is certainly oblivious to all of this attention. I am not sure oblivious is the right word. He may notice it but it poses no danger to him, or so he thinks, so he ignores it. I hate to think what would happen if he were to trip and fall when walking past the prairie dog colony. He would be buried under the crush of bodies trying to help him. That is one thought I will keep to myself. Donna would be the first on her knees ripping the carpet at the precise angle to trip him. We are self-insured. The payout in liability and worker's comp payments would kill our profit for a couple of quarters at least.

I know oblivious is not the right word because I have seen him work a room. He always manages to get to the trophy wife before an ugly scene can start, yet make his arrival at her side look as natural as breathing. He leaves her with the impression that she is the most important woman in the world to him for those brief moments. Then he moves on to the rest of the job at hand. He is a joy to watch.

He is also a joy to hear afterwards. If it is one of my functions, his bawdy, razor sharp observations are so accurate that it is frightening. He feels free to speak about my company and clients. He would never dream of mocking one of his own clients; that is my job. I am delighted to hear his giggle when I have accurately debunked one of his more pompous clients. I know after his first giggle, I will see his shoulders begin to relax downwards; shortly after that I will feel his muscled back unknot. Our shared clients are never discussed in the after party he and I have; neither one of us can mock them. I have one more Campari, and he has another scotch before bed.

We sound like an old established couple, but we are not except when we are in public, performance mode which has been far too often. He romances me several weeks before one of his formal functions; I romance him before one of mine. Neither of us has time to be a couple. I don't kid myself; Terry wants more but not from me. I know one day I will see the spark in his eye come back again for someone else. But until then, it is one hell of a ride.

I know that I am a convenience for him. A steady, reliable woman who looks good. What every CEO needs. I am nominally the hostess for official TEO social functions though all I have to do is show up. I am never involved in any preparation. I wouldn't have time, and Terry seems to prefer it that way. Terry has been kind enough to invite my bosses to several parties. Kind as well as capitalistic. Our companies have a symbiotic relationship. We send business to TEO; they make sure we get business from their clients. Much like Terry and I.

Symbiosis is not a bad thing.  The most beautiful Hawaiian flowers require a symbiotic relationship with a bird to bloom.  I certainly have bloomed with Terry.  I do believe my last promotion was due in large part to some business Terry sent our way.


I can still surprise him even after all this time.  I surprised myself as well when he called from his Middle Eastern trip.

“Miranda, I should be back in Dallas on Friday.”

“Who is this? It can't be Terry; he never gives me this much notice. Maybe Phil. No, Phil is always there, at his post, eager to carry packages for me.”

“Cut the crap,” he laughed. “This is costing me a bloody fortune to give you some warning. I was going to ask you out on a proper date on a date night. Some dinner out just the two of us. A bit of a pash before jet lag kicks in.”

“You romantic devil. Let me check my calendar. You are on the level. Neither one of us has a social engagement for the next month and a half. Are you going soft on me? Are you trying to make us into a couple?”

His silence, on his own nickel, told me that my flipness was not what he wanted to hear. “Tough trip?”

“A bit. I must be suffering from adrenaline let down. Even in this hell-hole, all I see are couples in love. I think I am ....”

“Let me make this homecoming special. For both of us. I'll meet you at your place after work on Friday. I'll cook and you can... do whatever you do at home. You know, I have never spent an evening at your place. We are normally going out, or you are here.”

“You haven't?” He sounded surprised.

“I always assumed you wanted to be able to get out when you wanted. It never bothered me, but it may be time to change that.”

“After three years, it is past time. It never dawned on me. Will I need flowers to apologize again?”

“There really is no need Terry. We are what we are. But you and I are due for some unnecessary romance. Now, this is costing you a bloody fortune so ring off, and I will see you Friday at six.”

He sighed through the phone lines.  "In all the year I've known you, your mimicry skills have not improved.  Friday it is.  And Saturday is romance night.  Two in a row.  Dinner and a pash."


His place.  A full night at his place.  I knew he stayed in one of the high rises on the Tollway.  Whether he lived there or considered it his home, I couldn't say.  After Friday I would be able to make an assessment.

My mind went into overdrive. How could I make this homecoming special for him? I could buy a cookbook and learn a new recipe. That could be difficult at his place as I haven't a clue if he even has a full cookware set. An Australian cookbook. Could I get kangaroo in Dallas? This approach is getting too complicated. For food, Eatzi's can do nicely.

Now for the special part. He did say that it was past time for us to spend time at his place. I would overstep my bounds and surprise him. This would be risky but might pay off in big gains. I might actually see that sparkle in his eye just for me that left such a very long time ago.

My first phone call was to Dino. I would need his help to pull this off.

“Dino, Miranda Lewis here.”

“Lovely Miranda, good to hear from you. To what do I owe this pleasure?”

“I want to do something for Terry, and I need your help.”

“Is it immoral, illegal, or fattening? If so, I'm your man. How can I help?”

“What flight is Terry coming in on?” I asked not really expecting an answer.

“I'm not sure." The answer I was expecting. Getting information from these guys is always hard, even information the average person would consider normal. I was surprised when Dino continued talking. He had only stopped talking to think through the mental flight schedules he kept in his head. "The earliest he could get in would be about 4. If he gets in on Friday. He might show up on Thursday, but I doubt it if he told you Friday. Where you are concerned, he cuts his trips as close as he can.”

If we weren't talking on the phone, Dino would see my brows wrinkling in confusion. “I'm not sure I understand that.”

“He has been known to type up his part of the closure briefing, toss the disc to me and leave me to the details with clients. He leaves me with clients. Just so he can catch an earlier flight to get back to Dallas." I believe Dino implied that Terry hurried home to me.

“I didn't know that. Well, I really do need your help then. He's invited me to his place on Friday. I want to be waiting for him when he gets there.”

Dino drew in a sharp intake of air. I don't think I will like what he says next. “I'm not sure that is such a good idea. He hates surprises at his expense. You know that. They screw up his plans. He hates when that happens. Besides, inside his place? Isn't that a bit intrusive?”

“Yes, but I think he will like the intrusion once he gets there and gets over the shock.”

“If he doesn't shoot you first. This is not a good idea; this is a really bad idea.”

“Please, Dino. I promise, your name will never come into the picture if do this for me. He will never know you helped me get in. If you won't help, I will be forced into becoming his cleaning woman or some other ruse to get in. But I will get in. He practically invited me.”

“I believe his invitation meant while he was there. Can't do it, Miranda. That is too illegal even for me.”

I don't even know who else might have a key to Terry's. It may be time to rethink this plan. “Dino, how can I surprise him? Since you won't help getting me into the apartment, what's the next best thing I can do?”

“I will talk to him and get a more precise time for his arrival than 'Friday'. I will tell you that. Meet him at the airport.”

TERRY

Airports. The bane of my existence and a necessary part of the job.

Often these days I don't even notice which airport I am transiting. The jetways all have the same cream, coated walls. The same uncomfortable bucket seats in the departure lounges. I am glad TEO has a membership in the upgraded lounges. Even when I take the time to look out the window, the motorized donkeys moving the airplanes and the jitneys moving the baggage can't give me a clue what part of the world I am in.

Get in line moving down the plane aisle to the door. Thank the flight crew if they managed a smooth landing. Thank the flight attendants; they may have one of the most thankless tasks in the world, yet they always have a smile or a kind word if you are halfway decent to them.

Down the jetway and look for the transportation signs. Even those don't tell me where I am. Before the tightened security, I looked at the signs to avoid seeing the reunions that remind me I really have no one anxious to see me. Now, unless it has been a long negotiation, I don't have to go to baggage claim to see the embracing couples. I have gotten very good at getting everything I need into a carryon so I don't have to go to the carousel. I don't have anyone to fill that hole right there.

Now I look at the transportation signs to see if I need to head to the taxi stand or the car rental. I pat my coat pocket and drag out the ticket folder to see if I have anything left in there or if I am in Dallas.

I can't really call Dallas home. It seems a far cry from either Oz or England. Oz was home so long ago that it seems foolish to be homesick for it. England was where I was stationed for a while; it never felt like home. It, too, was a long time ago.

Nothing in the folder. Must be Dallas. Right then. Pat my pants pockets for my keys and try to remember if I found a parking place on the airport grounds this time or if I need to call for a pick up to the off property parking. No keys. I need my phone to get a pick up.

As I am hitting the speed dial number for parking, I think I hear Miranda calling my name. Couldn't be; my phone tells me it is only 4:12. She will still be at the office. Miranda's hand flips my phone shut, and I have to look up to verify I am not having some weird hallucination from the hours flying. I am not.

It really is Miranda, standing in front of me carrying a bouquet of yellow roses. I crush her to me, and she steps in to put her feet between mine, wrapping her arms around my shoulders so that the rose petals tickle my left ear. 

"Welcome home."