Bedroom Eyes by Hailey North Read Free Book Online

she’d worked so many hours at her new job she’d only had time for one visit to a cook’s dream, the Crescent City Farmers’ Market. And that took place down the street from her apartment building. As for discovering the mysteries of a roux or an étouffée she’d had not a minute. But, as Mrs. Merlin had asked her, where was her sense of adventure?
    “Jambalaya, absolutely,” she said, feeling as much a phony as she had when she’d shoplifted Mrs. Merlin from Pottery DeLite. With a straight face she added, “But I gave away my last batch to the maid. How about some Lean Cuisine?”
    Mrs. Merlin made a face, an expression of opinion Penelope had to agree with, but sad to say there were many nights she made do with a frozen entrée. Life as a lawyer didn’t lend itself to early evenings with time for leisurely gourmet cooking. Penelope had often wondered how the men and women she worked with professionally managed to maintain any vestige of a personal life. She’d grown used to and sometimes semi-thankful for her state of singledom. At least she didn’t have to juggle the impossible with the unattainable.
    She plucked two boxes from the freezer, then halted in mid-turn toward the microwave.
    David.
    She’d completely forgotten about him, about the dinner she’d promised to create. A quick glance at the kitchen clock informed her she had less than two hours before he’d be ringing her intercom buzzer.
    “Fritos and frogs,” she said, and slapped the Lean Cuisines back into the freezer.
    “Does that mean I’m going to bed hungry?” Mrs. Merlin vaulted from the counter to the butcher-block worktable.
    “It’s all that man’s fault.” Penelope paced the floor from kitchen to living area and back, thankful for the open layout of her apartment. One of the appeals of the converted warehouse had been the lofty ceilings and the feeling she couldn’t be confined or captured under the weight of a room with walls that crowded and closed in.
    “Man?” Mrs. Merlin said, sounding as if she’d far rather talk about food than the masculine gender.
    If her eyes had glinted, or if she’d sounded like a neighborhood gossip settling down for a newsy talk session, Penelope might have kept her mouth shut. But there didn’t seem any harm in telling her woes to someone who had no connection to Penelope’s day-to-day reality.
    “Yes, man, as in m-a-n.” Suddenly Penelope paused and stared at the tiny woman. “It’s very odd,” she said, “but I’m talking to you as if you’re real and it’s hard to realize you’re so. . . so. . .”
    “Six and one-quarter inches?” Mrs. Merlin didn’t sound caustic, but Penelope thought she might have a hard time accepting such a fact.
    “That’s precise.”
    Mrs. Merlin sighed. “Well, it just so happens that Ramona’s property tax liability was six hundred twenty-five dollars.”
    “Yes?” Penelope worried her lip and wondered why she’d ever invited David Hinson for dinner.
    “Don’t you see? Six hundred twenty-five somehow became all mixed up as six and a quarter in height.” Penelope didn’t see at all. And Penelope hadn’t made it to the top of her class in law school by accepting the illogical without argument. “I fail to comprehend how this woman’s tax deficit has anything to do with your height.”
    Off came the spectacles. Lifting an edge of the vivid caftan, Mrs. Merlin began a vigorous polishing job. After a long moment, she looked up. “My dear, how old are you?”
    Penelope pulled her pasta machine from a cupboard. “Why?”
    “Why?” She popped the glasses back onto the tip of her nose. “Because you’ve lived long enough to begin learning a few lessons about life.”
    My, but wasn’t Mrs. Merlin bossy! Penelope turned her back and began rooting in her refrigerator. Caesar salad, with her own signature dressing. She’d have to keep the entrée simple or she wouldn’t have time to shower and change out of her sticky clothing. David