Free Calculated Risk by Elaine Raco Chase Page A

as you did in silk,” he added, viewing with
appreciation the floor-length gray sweatshirt lounger that draped
her well-curved figure in soft sweater like folds.
    “My, my, but you are in good humor!”
Stevie found it impossible to halt the smile that curved her lips.
She motioned him inside. “Are things that much improved between you
and Rob?”
    “Let’s just say that I felt confident
enough that when he said he was going to the movies with a few
buddies and then stopping at the video arcade, I believed him.” He
followed her into the living room. “Yesterday, I would have
suspected him of planning to run away.” Quintin tried to sound
offhanded with his next question. “I called you a couple of times
yesterday but kept getting your answering machine.”
    “Were you the seven clicks?” She
relocated the red amaryllis dish garden from the massive cocktail
table to a corner and took possession of the aromatic carton. “I
was at the studio, monitoring a music video taping that lasted well
into this morning.” Her auburn hair swung toward the plum lacquered
wall unit where the television was broadcasting video but not
audio. “There’s the finished product.”
    Quintin squinted at the five musicians
who gyrated amid spectacular lighting and fireworks displays. “I
love the lack of sound, but I think your color is slightly
off.”
    “No, the Pit Stops do have green
hair.”
    He sighed and pulled a wad of napkins
from the pocket of his leather coat, before tossing the jacket on
the ottoman. “Isn’t there a group that looks perfectly
normal?”
    “I do have more than a few,” she said,
laughing as they settle cross-legged on the carpet, the low glass
table adding Chinese ambience to their Italian meal. “The Pit Stops
are a very talented group. Their first single went platinum and
their new album gold after thirty days. The green-striped hair is
their new punk look.” She handed Quintin a slice of pizza. “They’re
a young group, the oldest is twenty-two, and they are very
impatient. They want to have a record in all categories at the same
time. So yesterday they made their first sojourn into heavy
metal.”
    His long denim-clad legs stretched out
more comfortably beneath the table. “You sound as though you
disagreed with that decision.”
    Stevie picked at a slice of pepperoni
that was caught in a cloak of creamy mozzarella cheese. “Let’s just
say I wasn’t thrilled. The Pit Stops’ original sound was a mix of
rock and blues that went over big. They did a concert tour last
month that got rave reviews, fabulous ticket sales and was recorded
for HBO.
    “We had a strategy meeting Friday
morning to show them that the change would be more con than pro.
The more we resisted, the more the group insisted. I don’t know.
The record industry is so changeable; what’s ‘in’ today is ‘out’ by
tomorrow. So I guess we’ll wait and see.” Her teeth sank into the
thick crust, the rich tomato sauce exciting her taste
buds.
    Quintin looked triumphant. “You just
proved my point,” he told her. “You said no and they said yes. Same
with Rob. Once I approved his interest in you, he just sat their
speechless and blinking.”
    Her nose wrinkled. “I hope you’re
right. Forfeiting a few bucks on a record is quite different from
losing the trust of your son. I don’t want anything to jeopardize
your relationship with Rob.”
    “Your saying that means a lot. Don’t
worry, nothing is going to happen.” Quintin smiled and reached for
another slice of pizza. “My plan is brilliant!”
    “Famous last words!” Stevie plucked the
string of mozzarella that looped from his mouth to the pizza. “I
have some wine in the fridge.” Her finger pointed into the box.
“Don’t touch that piece right there.”
    “Have you thought about your plan of
attack for tomorrow?” He called, pilfering an extra pepperoni off
her chosen slice and trying to rearrange the others so she wouldn’t
notice the indentation