Dear Diary, I'm In Love Page 14

  The alacrity with which Evalie accepted a dinner invitation for the one time a week when they shared a day off did little to allay his suspicions. Stopping by her apartment, which was even tinier than his, he found her particularly attractive. The drab waitress uniform had been replaced with an inexpensive but tasteful dress that nicely complimented her figure. For a moment, as he opened the door of the beat up Datsun for her, he remembered and wished for the souped-up Lamborghini convertible Barry Gordon drove so ostentatiously.

  At first, dinner seemed to be off to a bad start. Richard had purposely chosen one of the city’s finest restaurants. The vague notion behind the choice was that, if Evalie took it in stride, it would be some evidence she knew he could well afford the outrageous prices charged by the Chicoutimi. On the other hand, remarking about the extravagance would be a mark in her favor. He hadn’t anticipated that his choice would actually make her angry.

  “You can’t afford to pay for a meal at this place, Dick,” she said, not trying to hide the recrimination in her voice. There was almost a confrontation in the parking lot as she balked at the idea of going in.

  It took some fast thinking and talking on his part to deal with the sudden crisis. “It’s my mad money. Uncle Sam came through with a refund, and I’m not about to put it in the bank. I decided long ago to spend it on something extravagant, so why not this?” The explanation mollified her sufficiently to allow him to induce her to follow him into the restaurant. And, since his attorneys and accountants had many times managed to obtain refunds from the IRS, he felt he hadn’t drifted far from the truth.

  The lips were still thin, the eyes were still flashing when the maitre d’ led them to their reserved table. For a moment, Richard wondered what had happened to the shy, diffident woman he’d first encountered a few weeks back. Evalie was not someone he would want to cross with impunity.

  Fortunately, the anger abated somewhat as they both turned down before-dinner drinks and moved on to the menu cards—the typical ones of exclusive restaurants—one with prices for Richard, one without for his companion. For a moment, he was almost certain she was going to demand to see his card, then she seemed to think better of it.

  To their waiter’s obvious dismay, they passed on his wine suggestions and moved immediately to what they soon admitted was a marked contrast to the offerings at the Steak House. Small talk and comments on the meal made for a pleasant evening. Richard decided to probe, but wasn’t sure where to start. “Evalie is a rather unusual name. I’ve only run into it once before.”

  Evalie was amused. “I’m surprised you ever ran into it before. My dad was a big fan of fantasy and sci-fi when he was a kid. He named me after a character in one of his favorite stories out of a pulp magazine.”

  “Dwellers in the Mirage,” exclaimed Richard.

  “How did you know? You’ve read it.”

  “I sure did. Your dad and I have something in common, we both liked that story.”

  Evalie’s eyes rolled upwards. “That’s probably all you two have in common.”

  Richard didn’t know how to respond to that cryptic remark and decided to fine-tune his probe instead of trying to reply to what she’d said. “Do you do much with computers?”

  “Word processing. It would be pretty tough to get through college these days without having that skill. Beyond that and email, I don’t have much to do with the machines—or know much about them. With your background, you’d probably consider me a dunce.”

  “My background?” Richard became immediately alert.

  “Why, of course. Didn’t you say you worked for Microsoft?”

  “Oh, yeah. I’d forgotten I’d mentioned it.”

  The probe went into time-out. The conversation moved on to mutual interests, of which there seemed to be many—computers not being one of them. Other than her viewing them as a utility machine, there was almost hostility on her part toward what Richard had always considered his stock in trade. He purposely avoided asking any more about her family or home, hoping the avoidance would keep Evalie from inquiring any further into his own. The evening passed pleasantly, except for the moment he signed off on the charge card slip. The early anger resurfaced in Evalie’s eyes, but she made no attempt to see what the total came to. Richard was amused to think how horrified she would have been at the size of the tip he’d added on.

  The weather was mild. Richard once more thought longingly of his ex-partner’s convertible, but the open windows of the increasingly decrepit Datsun did give its occupants a taste of the pleasant night.

  There was no invitation up to her apartment, and he had expected none. She thanked him for the evening. He debated with himself. A handshake was too formal. He settled for a kiss on the cheek, which seemed to be well received.

  On the way back to his own apartment, he decided his companion of the evening was either a remarkably good actress or had really not recognized him as Richard Smith, multi-billionaire software-company executive. If anything, she had an antipathy to computers and certainly not enough interest to recognize the big names in the industry. Name recognition might apply to minor movie stars, but the general public would know about only the more outlandish and spectacular business moguls. Donald Trump and Bill Gates immediately came to mind.

  After turning out the lights, Richard thought fondly of Evalie. As he drifted off to sleep, the thoughts about her began to take more serious form.

  The next evening, at work, he wondered how amenable Evalie would be to another night on the town. He needn’t have wondered. A theater engagement, in addition to dinner at a more reasonable restaurant were quickly agreed upon, and Richard found himself counting the days until that evening.

  By the time they left the performance, he had abandoned all of his doubts, having also abandoned himself to the comfortable feeling of companionship Evalie evoked in him. On a whim, he decided to prolong the evening by suggesting a nightclub—for a brief time only. The good feeling that now prevailed between them overcame whatever reservations she might have had.

  The burly gatekeeper greeted them with what supposedly passed for a grin, but he asked Evalie unapologetically for ID. Richard was amused, since he had forgotten how young she had seemed to him when he had first met her. Evalie wasn’t amused. She seemed unhappy about producing the required item, and was even more evidently disturbed when the doorman took the driver’s license, turned it a couple of ways, finally grunted and gave it back to her. She quickly stuffed it back into her bag.

  The nightclub was a disappointment. Since Evian drinkers weren’t really suited for the atmosphere, and because the floorshow—as much as they saw of it—was mediocre, their stay was even shorter than Richard had anticipated. Even so, Evalie readily accepted an invitation to an afternoon of leisure, perhaps at a local museum, certainly to include a stroll through the gardens which were part of a nearby civic park. And it was a genuine goodnight kiss this time. Perhaps it didn’t linger as long as he would have liked, but it was sweet.

  Later, when Richard looked back at that afternoon of leisure, he was sure the weather had had a great deal to do with what happened. It was one of those gorgeous, unbelievable days that happen so infrequently anyplace in the world. Comfortably warm in the sun, pleasantly cool in the shade—the sky was a blue, blue, blue, accentuated by the scattered cottony puffs of clouds. But, of course, it hadn’t been only the weather. Evalie, in a white blouse, grey skirt and tiny, dangling earrings of spun gold was the major factor. They walked, they held hands, they stopped by the park pond where children pushed slivers of wood equipped with tiny paper sails occasionally capturing the hint of a breeze.

  It was while they sat on one of the benches, and a pair of pigeons came by—one the female practicing unconcern, the other the male, bowing and scraping to make her notice him—that Richard came to his final decision. He had already weighed the pros and cons. She was intelligent, shared his values, and was just generally fun to be with. Even her antipathy to computers was no real drawba
ck, since he had no intention of doing anything but dabble with programming again. After going through the list, he admitted to himself that all the careful weighing of factors meant nothing. The only one of consequence was one that couldn’t be factored in, and that was that he’d fallen in love.

  “Evalie?” He needed her full attention.

  She turned. Grey eye focused on his. The now familiar smile which did so much to enhance her appearance lit up her face. This was the time. No need for preliminaries. He asked, “Will you marry me?”

  To say that her response was unexpected was to grossly underestimate Richard’s reaction to it. Beyond sheer astonishment, there was no way he could describe his feelings at that moment. He had hoped for a “yes,” was prepared for a “no,” and really expected something in between—perhaps, “This is so sudden. I’ll have to think about it.”

  Instead, Evalie jumped up. There was no mistaking the emotion. The grey eyes flashed as they never had before. Her voice was choked with anger. She turned and pointed an accusing finger at him. “You saw my name on my driver’s license. Didn’t you? Didn’t you? Don’t try to deny it!”

  Richard struggled to find words. “What driver’s license? What are you talking about?”

  “You know what I’m talking about. The other night, at the lounge, when that oaf kept flashing my ID. I thought then that you saw the name. Now I know.”

  The anger, the sudden overwhelming show of emotion contrasted sharply with the self-effacing woman he’d first encountered. Even more than her smile, there was something attractive, almost enchanting about the small, determined figure standing in front of him, hands on hips, glaring at him, ready to reject any response he was preparing to make.

  “Please, Evalie. Sit back down. Really, honestly, I don’t have the least idea what you’re talking about. I didn’t see your name on your license. About all I remember about the incident is that the doorman was unnecessarily rude.”

  There was some indication his remarks, or perhaps his genuine bewilderment, was mollifying her. She sat, keeping some distance between them, “If you didn’t see my name, why did you suddenly ask me to marry you?”

  If anything, this question was even more baffling. His answer caught even him by surprise. “Because I’ve fallen in love with you. That’s why. Isn’t that a good enough reason?”

  Suspicion still lingered in her voice. “I told you my name is Evalie Thatcher. Thatcher’s my mother’s maiden name. My real name is Evalie Miladrovich. I’m Montgomery Miladrovich’s daughter. Now, don’t try to tell me that someone who’s worked with computers never heard of Montgomery Miladrovich.”

  Richard broke into his raucous laugh. “Montgomery Miladrovich, the hardware king? Of course I’ve heard of him. Who hasn’t? What’s going on? I didn’t even know he had a daughter.” His own voice changed. “Now you owe me an explanation. What’s Miladrovich’s daughter doing masquerading as a waitress.”

  “It’s because Montgomery Miladrovich’s daughter was fed up with men who weren’t interested in her, but were interested in the fact that she was the daughter of a multi-billionaire. I know I’m not pretty, and it didn’t take long for me to find out that men weren’t much interested in me. I could see the dollar signs in their eyes when they’d cozy up to me. It was sickening. That’s when I decided to get out from under that burden. I thought… maybe I just hoped… that there was a man out there somewhere who would want me for what I am and not for my father’s money. And I also thought that, at the very least, being a waitress would help me to get over a lot of my shyness.”

  “And your folks just let you go off like that?”

  She grinned. “I’m three times seven. Besides, they’ve had problems telling me what to do since I was old enough to say ‘no.’”

  “Phew! OK. I won’t hold your family against you, but you still haven’t answered the main question. Will you marry me?”

  Evalie couldn’t repress a laugh. “Deception over, right? But it’s not all one-sided. Before I give this matter serious consideration, you are going to have to come clean.”

  Richard lifted both hands, palm outwards in protest. “I’m not married. Was, but long ago divorced. No criminal record. My father will vouch for me. I even have some friends who’ll do the same.”

  “You’re very convincing, but before I even consider saying yes, there’s something I have to know for sure.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Your real name. C’mon. What is it?”

  ____________________

  CHANGING TIMES

  It was hard to figure. Seems sometimes like the harder a man works, the less money he makes. Bill McKenzie shook his head at the thought and, as he often had before, decided that’s the way it always was with farming. Even so, as he watched his dairy herd working its way out to the new pasture he’d opened up that day, he knew he wouldn’t be happy doing anything else.

  That was when his hired hand, Baldy Watson, who was leaning on the rail next to him, said, “The problem with you, Bill, is that you love those animals out there. A good businessman would think of them just as so many dollars on the hoof.”

  McKenzie nodded, taking no offense at the comment, and no longer surprised at Baldy’s uncanny ability to read his mind every so often. “I guess you’re right, but I wouldn’t have it any other way.” Grinning, he added, “I don’t think you’re much different. You like dairy farming, and I can’t see you behind a desk pushing papers around.” He found it difficult to picture this gentle giant—with hands like hams, who could quiet down the most nervous cow—doing anything else besides working with animals.

  McKenzie considered himself fortunate to have found Baldy. Even though once a month or so, the hired hand disappeared for a few days, returning red-eyed, he was otherwise totally reliable. No words passed between them concerning these occasional binges, and McKenzie felt sure the lack of comment was in large measure the reason Baldy stayed on. During Mary McKenzie’s sudden illness, and when she passed away the previous spring, he had been indispensable. No disappearances then. He had simply run the farm as efficiently as his boss during the time of caring for, and later of grieving for, the wife of twenty-two years.

  Young Erik Johnson was a different breed, but McKenzie still felt that his only other full-time help had been a sound choice. While no farmer, eighteen-year-old Erik was a hard worker, and his boss had soon found out that the teenager’s first love was computers. Every moment of Erik’s spare time was spent on the household’s desktop—which McKenzie barely knew how to turn on—and the laptop he’d bought for his wife when she’d become bedridden.

  Among the three of them—who now virtually lived as a family—and a few seasonal workers, the dairy farm gave every indication of thriving. But, somehow, it didn’t. McKenzie often wondered what was going wrong. Part of it he knew was due to changing consumer habits. His Jerseys were producing rich milk that had once commanded a premium—but no longer, now that consumers had become so concerned about dieting. Today, however, he had heard of a possible answer to his financial problems. Of all people, Bernice Langley of Bernice & Daughters, Inc. had phoned him and proposed a solution.

  Probably every adult in the eastern part of the state knew about Bernice & Daughters Ice Cream, and now it was being marketed in major cities all over the country. The reason for the call had been sketchy, but Bernice was looking for special, high-butterfat milk and had heard about McKenzie’s herd. There was a deal in the offing, and she was due by that afternoon to, as she put it, “talk business.”

  Given what might be at stake, he’d decided to look his best: clean coveralls, a hair combing—though thinning made that seem superfluous. He’d toyed with the idea of shaving for the second time that day, but finally decided there were limits to what he would do to impress even a prospective exclusive buyer for his entire milk production.

  Bernice—she insisted immediately that they move to a first name basis—proved to be a surprise. McKenzie had expected a grim-f
aced, suit-clad female who over-sampled her products. On the contrary, Bernice was slender, smiling, definitely attractive, and dressed in a simple flowered skirt and white blouse. Her sole concession to the stereotype of a businesswoman was a bulky briefcase. He estimated her age as somewhere close to his own, though he had long ago recognized he was no expert in guessing women’s ages. Her handshake was firm, and it soon became obvious—after she had accepted his offer of coffee—that she knew what she was looking for and was ready to move on to a contract at the earliest possible moment.

  The offer was everything he could have asked for. Bernice & Daughters was gearing up to launch an expensive a new product—one unashamedly decadent. With an emphasis on small packaging and an advertising campaign stressing that B & D’s CreamRich was not for everyone, this was due to be a uniquely promoted ice cream indeed. With a laugh, Bernice pulled some proposed advertising copy from her briefcase to emphasize the point, and spread it across the table.

  “Buy a quart of regular ice cream and stuff yourself. Buy a pint of CreamRich and really enjoy what you’re eating,” one of the illustrated ads announced. “Premium ice cream made from premium cream, produced by premium cows.” The emphasis was humor, the message: “Small is beautiful.” McKenzie had his doubts, but then he’d shaken his head over the milk-moustache ads. Marketing was her problem, he decided, and she seemed quite capable of handling it.

  The downside came as he gave her a guided tour of the premises, and during the conversation which followed. There was no question but that she was pleased with what she saw, with the sparklingly clean, stainless-steel milking parlor, the large, immaculate loafing sheds, the peaceful setting of the brown Jerseys grazing in the distance in one of the lower pastures. But the notes she was taking and the comments she made indicated McKenzie would have to make some changes—expensive ones.