Looking up at Samantha’s windows, he saw that, as always, the curtains were drawn. No doubt she was sleeping again. Sleeping forever, as Daphne put it.
“You’re a poor guardian, Taggert,” he said to himself, then turned to look at Daphne.
“Want me out of here, Mike?” she asked as she picked up her purse and started to go back through the house to leave, but at the door she turned back. “You need anything, Mikey, honey, you let me know. I owe you a few favors.”
Absently, Mike nodded, but he was looking up at Samantha’s windows, and his mind was wholly on his tenant. Two minutes later he was on the phone ordering a meal to be delivered from La Côte Basque.
4
Standing outside Samantha’s door, Mike took a deep breath, then knocked. He had no idea if what he was doing was right, but he was going to give it his best shot.
She didn’t answer his knock, but then, he hadn’t actually expected her to; so, balancing the tray in one hand, he took his key out of his pocket, inserted it into the lock, opened the door a crack, and saw that all the lights in the room were out. Raising his eyes skyward, he murmured as he stepped into the room, “Please don’t let her be wearing white.”
Samantha came awake slowly, reluctantly opening her eyes against the bright light and trying to focus. For a moment, she lay in bed blinking at the light, gradually coming awake enough to realize she was seeing her landlord standing over her, a tray in his hands.
“What are you doing in here?” she asked, frowning and pulling herself into a sitting position, but there was no real fear in her voice or even much interest. The truth was, she was so tired her bones ached and nothing could make her feel very much.
“I brought you something to eat,” he answered, setting the tray down on the desk by the window. “It’s food from one of the best restaurants in New York.”
Samantha rubbed her eyes. “I don’t want anything to eat.” As she came awake more fully, she looked through the living room toward the closed door of her apartment. “How did you get in here?”
Smiling as though it were all a great joke, Mike held up his key.
Samantha pulled the covers up to her neck. With her wakefulness was coming anger. “You lied to me! You said you didn’t have a key. You said—” Her eyes widened as she pressed herself back against the headboard. “If you come any closer, I’ll scream.”
At that moment, an ambulance went down Lexington Avenue, and the ear-piercing screech through the half-open window was so loud it practically made the curtains shake. “Think anyone would hear you?” Mike asked, still smiling at her.
Samantha was now, indeed, beginning to feel, and the panic rising in her showed on her face. Trying to remain calm, she folded the blanket back and started to get out of bed, but Mike caught her arm.
“Look, Sam,” he said, his voice pleading. “I’m sorry I somehow gave you the impression that I’m a sex pervert. I’m not. I kissed you because—” With a boyish grin, he stopped speaking. “Maybe we better not go into that. What I want from you is more important than sex. Maybe not nearly as nice, but in the long run, more important. I came in here to talk to you about Tony Barrett. I want you to get me in to see him.”
Abruptly, Samantha stopped trying to pull away and looked at him as though he were crazy. “Would you get your hand off of me?”
“Oh, sure,” he said. He’d meant only to hold on to her elbow to keep her from running from the room, which she looked like she might do, but instead, he had spread his fingers and was moving his hand up her arm. She was by no means the most desirable-looking woman he had ever seen, because she looked as though she hadn’t had a bath in days, her hair was greasy and tangled, there were black circles of fatigue under her eyes, and her lovely mouth had a downward turn to it. But in spite of the look of her, Mike had never in his life wanted to climb into bed with a woman as much as he wanted to with her. Maybe spring was getting to him. Maybe he needed to spend a long weekend in bed with one of Daphne’s friends. Or maybe he needed Samantha.
Releasing her, he stepped back from the bed. “I think we need to talk.”
When Samantha looked at the bedside clock and saw that it was ten minutes after eleven at night, she took a deep breath. “The first time I met you, you nearly attacked me. Tonight you used a key that you swore you didn’t have to unlawfully, not to mention discourteously, enter my apartment in the middle of the night. Now you ask me about a man I’ve never heard of. And you ask why I should be upset. Mr. Taggert, have you ever heard the word privacy?”
“I’ve heard lots of words,” he said, dismissing her comment as though his being in her private apartment meant nothing. Instead of considering her rights, he sat down on the edge of the bed, facing her.
Samantha again started to get out of the bed. “This is intolerable.”
“I’m glad to see you’re angry. At least that’s better than sleeping your life away.”
“What I do with my life is none of your business,” she snapped as she got off the bed and grabbed her father’s robe.
Turning to the tray behind him, Mike lifted the napkin that covered the basket of bread and took out a roll. He bit into the delicious bread, then with his mouth full said, “Don’t put on that robe. It’s too big for you. Don’t you have something girly?”
Giving him a look of disbelief, she defiantly shoved her arms into the sleeves of the big flannel robe. The man really was too much to bear. “I suggest that if you want something…girly—what an old-fashioned word—you should go elsewhere.”
Her tone, her hostility, not to mention her direct request that he leave had no effect on him as he ate the rest of the roll. “I’m an old-fashioned guy. I wouldn’t do that if I were you.”
Samantha had her hand on the doorknob, and when he warned her, for the first time she felt fear. With her back to him, her hand on the verge of trembling, she didn’t turn to look at him.
“Ah, Sam,” he said, annoyance as well as exasperation in his voice, “you don’t have to be afraid of me. I wouldn’t hurt you.”
“Am I supposed to believe you?” she whispered, trying to be calm, trying to hide her fear, but failing. “You lied about the key.”