Phoenix Heart Read Online Free PDF Page B

“My rapid fire
intelligence, hmm?” I said as we stepped to the car.
    “Yeah,” he said. He stumbled slightly coming off the curb. “That’s
it.”
    Cheryl pulled up and I bent down and looked in. “Find a
parking place. We’re going to eat across the street.”
    Chuck’s elbow thumped my side and I reached up and grabbed
his arm and pulled him down. “Cheryl, this is Chuck. He works in the same lab I
do.”
    Cheryl smiled her slow, sexy smile and Chuck might as well
have been a candle sitting on a smelting furnace.
    “Hi, Chuck,” Cheryl said in her throaty voice.
    “Hi... uh, Cheryl,” Chuck said.
    Cheryl looked over at me. I guess she saw something in my face.
“I’ll park,” she said, and pulled back out on the street, looking for a curb
not painted red or white. She found a place about a half-block up, in front of
the Chemistry Building, and we walked up to meet her.
    “She’s married, right?” asked Chuck.
    “No.”
    “Engaged.”
    “Huh-uh.”
    “Going with someone. Hates men. Has two weeks to live.”
    “None of the above.”
    I saw a look of tentative hope, confirmed by his next
question asked in a carefully nonchalant tone. “So, what kind of guy does she like?”
    “Short, dumpy guys who aren’t too bright.”
    His head whipped around. “What?”
    “Oh, relax, Chuckles. I’ll put in a good word for you.”
    “Will you?”
    “Sure,” I said. “Glad to.”
    “You’re a pal.”
    I smiled. Oh, yeah. I’m a pal.
I’m a bud. One of the guys.
    We reached Cheryl, crossed the street, and had a very nice
lunch.
     
    * * * *
     
    I saw Caren Granzella for the first time about a week later.
When she came into the lab, I realized that next to her, maybe I was one
of the guys. She probably weighed about the same as I did, but her weight
stretched over three or four more inches than my five-foot seven, and was
concentrated in breasts that defied both gravity and credulity. It didn’t help
that she wore a black, strapless silk dress that was cut down to her navel and
up to mid-thigh. How the hell they’d engineered it, I’ll never know. Her
six-foot long legs ended in black, high-heeled sandals. Her famous,
waist-length hair was twisted and draped in a mass of flaxen tresses that
looked like one pin pulled out would release a shower of gold. Her eyes were
violet: that unreal Elizabeth Taylor shade. She was as beautiful as Taylor,
too, not in the same delicate, peaches and cream way, but more California
golden girl. No doubt about it: the woman was stunning.
    I smoothed back my hair toward the rubber band holding it and
brushed down the front of my sweatshirt as she turned in my direction.
    “Hello,” she said and smiled, and I heard a book drop with a
crash in the room behind me.
    “Hello,” I said. “Can I help you?”
    “I’m Caren Granzella. I’m looking for Dr. Richards. You must
be new here.”
    Oh, good. A flaw. Her
voice was a little off, too precise, her diction too forced as if she’d worked
long and hard to rid herself of some obnoxious accent.
    “Yes. I’m Melanie Brenner.”
    She moved toward me and we shook hands and I heard movement
behind me.
    She smiled over my head. “Hello, Lance, Chuck.”
    “Hi,” Chuck said. No sound came from Lance.
    “Dr. Richards was here a minute ago,” I said. “He may be in
his office.”
    “I’ll get him,” Chuck said quickly. I heard Lance mutter, Shit ,
as Chuck edged past me, skirted Ms. Granzella, and headed out the door. She
smiled her thanks to him and I saw his face go pink.
    “So, Lance. How is the work coming?”
    “Uh... Uh... Fine... Just fine.”
    “That’s good.”
    I backed up a step so that I wasn’t cutting off Lance, and
looked back at him. His face was even paler than usual and small beads of sweat
were forming at his hairline. His lips opened and closed until I couldn’t stand
to see him suffer any longer.
    “That’s a lovely dress,” I said.
    “Don’t speak to me, peasant,”
she says