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LONG BEFORE THE banquet was over, Kurt was feeling restless. Why couldn't people just say thank you and leave it at that? If he hadn't wanted to donate all that equipment he wouldn't have done it. So why should he be required to sit at a head table and smile for what seemed hours while everyone from the university's president on down expressed their appreciation?
As if she'd read his mind, his grandmother leaned toward him and whispered, "Most people who donate things enjoy the public recognition.You look as if you have a toothache." She gave an approving nod toward the podium and applauded politely.
Kurt hadn't noticed until then that yet another speaker had finally wound to his interminable conclusion. He rose, made the obligatory half-bow toward the speaker, gave the audience another self-deprecating smile, and hoped to high heaven that they were done.
Apparently they were — or else the audience had finally had enough too, for most of them were on their feet. "At last," he said under his breath. "It's only been an hour," his grandmother said.
"You really must learn some patience."
Now that it was almost finished he could begin to see some humor in the situation. "I didn't hear you saying anything about the need to be patient while I was getting myself established in business, Gran. In fact, I seem to remember you egging me on by saying you wanted me to hurry up and get rich enough to buy you a mink coat."
"What I said," she reminded him crisply, "was that I wanted a mink coat and a great-grandchild before I died, and since I was perfectly able to buy my own mink coat you should concentrate on the great-grandchild."
He suppressed a grin at how easily she'd stepped into the trap. "Well, these people have been telling you all evening how great your grandchild is. So the way I see it, now that you know I'm perfect you have nothing left to complain about."
She smiled. "And here I thought you brought me tonight only because you couldn't decide which of the young women on your list deserved the laurels."
She wasn't far wrong about that, Kurt admitted. He could think of half a dozen women who would have been pleased to attend this event with him — unexciting as it had turned out to be. But that was part of the problem, of course. Invite a woman to a party and she understands it's just a date. Invite her to a boring banquet in your honor and she starts thinking you must be serious.
His grandmother was looking beyond him. "Don't look now, but here comes another one."
And if you take your grandmother to the banquet instead, he thought, the hopefuls start coming out of the walls.
From the corner of his eye, he spotted a woman coming toward them. This one was blond — but only the hair color seemed to change; they were all young, sleek, improbably curvy, with perfect pert noses. It was as if someone had put a Barbie doll on the copy machine and hit the enlarge button.
There had been two of them before they'd even sat down to dinner — fluttering over to enthuse about how wonderful he was to make such a huge contribution, obviously thinking that the way to any man's heart was through his ego. If Kurt had started the evening with any inclination to think himself special — which he hadn't — that would have been enough to cure him.
"Time to get out of here." He offered his arm to his grandmother.
Outside the banquet room, a few people were milling about, buttoning winter coats and wrapping scarves before leaving the warm student union for the wintry outdoors.
"There's a chair," Kurt said. "And isn't that your friend Marian? You can talk to her while I get your coat."
The cloakroom counter was busy, and only one attendant was on duty. When they'd arrived the crowd had been trickling in and there had been two people manning the cloakroom. Now that everyone wanted to leave at once there was just one. Bad planning, Kurt thought.
Several young men were clustered at one end of the counter. Kurt recognized some of them as the athletes who had helped to demonstrate the equipment he had donated for the student union's new gym before all the dignitaries had trooped up to the banquet room to start the congratulations. Kurt looked past them and saw why they were hanging around — the attendant on duty was female, young, and not at all hard on the eyes.
He fidgeted with his claim ticket as he waited his turn, and he watched the young woman. She wasn't conventionally pretty at all. She was far too thin for her height, he thought. Her eyes were much too big for her face, and her auburn hair was cropped shorter than many men's. And the anonymous uniform of a server — black trousers, boxy white tuxedo shirt, bow tie — did little for her slim figure. But she was stunning, nevertheless, the sort of woman who drew gazes, and attention, and interest.
The athletes were certainly interested. Every time she came back to the counter with a coat, one or more of them had a comment. Some of the remarks she ignored, some she smiled at, some brought a quip in return.
She's leading them on, Kurt thought. Not that he cared whether she flirted with the customers, as long as she continued to work efficiently through the crowd. He eyed the small glass jar which sat discreetly at one end of the counter, hinting that tips would be welcome. It was half full of bills and coins. No doubt the occasional flirtation increased the evening's take.
Before long the foyer was emptying out, but the athletes were still hanging on. "When do you get off duty?" one of them asked the attendant.
"Hard to say," the young woman said. "With all these people to take care of, it might be another hour."
"I'll hang around for a while," the athlete said.
"You'll need a ride home because it's snowing."
"No, thanks. I like snow. Besides — " She checked the number on a ticket and went to the farthest rack to get an overcoat.
By the time she came back the athlete had apparently thought it through. "I know. You've got a boyfriend to come and get you."
She flashed a smile. "What do you think?"
"I'll save him the trouble," the athlete offered. The young woman held out a hand for Kurt's claim check, but she didn't look at him because she was still studying the athlete. "Tell you what," she said. "I'll give you a phone number. Call in an hour — just in case he hasn't shown up."
The athlete was practically salivating. He grabbed for a discarded napkin that lay on the counter and thrust it at her. She scribbled something and pushed it back.
"Is this your cell phone?" the athlete asked. "Where are you from, anyway? This isn't a local number."
She didn't seem to hear. She looked up from the ticket she held and smiled at Kurt. "Be right back."
Now he understood what had drawn the athletes. She might be skinny and big-eyed and boyish, but when she smiled — even that polite, almost meaningless smile of acknowledgment — the room instantly grew ten degrees warmer. Or maybe it wasn't the entire room which heated up but just the men in her general vicinity. That would certainly explain why the athletes' tongues were all hanging out.
There was something almost familiar about that smile….
But then, practically everything Kurt had seen in the last few days had given him a sensation of déjà vu. It was because he was back on campus, that was all. It had been a long time since graduation. And there were a lot of memories — good and bad — to dredge up…
She was gone for quite a while, and he started to wonder if she was ever coming back. Kurt leaned against the counter and crossed his arms, and the young men, after a few wary glances in his direction, moved away.
She returned with his grandmother's mink and his own dark gray cashmere overcoat. "Sorry to take so long. I had the mink tucked away clear in the back, where it would be safer. It's too beautiful to risk." She ran a hand over the fur before she passed it across the counter.
Kurt laid the mink down and put on his own coat. "I seem to have driven away your admirers."
"Oh, that's all right," she said lightly. "If they'd hung around here much longer they'd have gotten me in trouble with the boss."
"I hope I didn't discourage the young man from calling."
"Probably not." She didn't sound excited at the possibility. "I hope he likes listening to the time and temperature recording in Winnipeg."
He wasn't surprised that it hadn't really been her number she'd handed out. But why had she admitted it to him — a complete stranger?
Three guesses, Callahan, he told himself. Because she's after bigger game, so she's making sure you know the athlete's not important.
No wonder he'd had that flash of thinking she looked familiar. One predatory feminine gaze was pretty much like another in his experience.
Her fingertips went out to caress the fur, still draped across the counter. "Careful where you leave that. We get a soft drink spilled every now and then around here, and I'd hate to see that beautiful coat get sticky." She looked up at him through her lashes, with something like speculation in her gaze.
She's debating what kind of approach will be most successful, he thought. Well, maybe he'd make it easy for her.
He picked up the mink, and then turned back as if struck by an afterthought. "I wonder…." He did his best to sound naive. "If I asked for your phone number, would you pass me off with time and temperature in Winnipeg?"
She looked at him for a long moment and her eyes seemed to get even bigger.
Calculating my bank balance, no doubt. "Wouldn't dream of it." She reached for his claim ticket, which was still lying on the counter, flipped it over, pulled a felt-tipped marker from her pocket, and wrote a number on the back side. "Here you go."
It certainly wasn't the time and temperature in Winnipeg, Kurt saw, because she hadn't added an area code. Not that he'd expected anything else. Now she had connected him with the expensive coat, there was no doubt in his mind that she had given him a real number.
Still, he had to admit to a trickle of disappointment, because somehow he'd expected more subtlety from this young woman.
