B004183M70 EBOK (17 page)

Gathering my strength, I started the
attack. "What a coincidence that you're here tonight, Mr. Williams."

"Are you wearing My Sin?"

"Yes, I am. How predictable that you
should be familiar with women's perfumes. Danielle, the girl from the typing
pool, told you I would be here tonight with Louis, didn't she?"

Bradley raised his eyebrows. "You're a
good guesser, but I can't applaud your taste in fragrances. My Sin is for a
more . . . er, worldly sort of woman."

"What makes you think I'm not worldly?
And, in my opinion, you were overbearing, drilling that poor girl from the
typing pool. She was frightened—" Oops. I hadn't meant to say that.

Bradley chuckled. "Yes, she was. I'm a
monster, you know. Killing young girls. You shouldn't be dancing with me, but
you see, that only goes to show how unworldly you are."

I looked up into his blue eyes, and the
haunted look I saw there almost made me back down. Almost. Darn if I was going
to show him how I felt. "On the contrary. You followed me here. You
phoned my table. How could I refuse a request from my boss? That would have
been foolish. I have my job to consider."

A muscle worked in his jaw. "What's
foolish is you here with that preening model Louis."

Was he jealous? Was he?

I feigned surprise. "Surely you aren't
going to tell me that it's against office policy for employees to date
models."

"That wasn't fair," Bradley said.
"Besides, I am the head of the company, not an employee."

"A fine distinction, don't you think,
Mr. Williams? So you followed me here to keep an eye on me and my date?"

He dodged the question. "That lipstick
you're wearing is not your style, Miss Bennett. It's too . . . too disturbing
for someone your age."

I felt my temper rise. "I am a woman,
Mr. Williams. What is supposed to be my style? Ankle socks with lace trim and
patent-leather shoes? Little white dresses with smocking and rosebuds—"

"You've made your point," he said
through gritted teeth.

Was it my imagination, or had he pulled me
closer, just short of up against his chest? Something was making it difficult
to breathe.

"You still haven't explained why you
followed me here," I said, moving my left hand from his shoulder to the
back of his neck. I guess I kind of stroked him.

Without warning, he put a bit of distance
between us. A sheen of perspiration appeared on his forehead. Got to him,
didn't I?

"I don't understand it myself, kid. I
guess I feel a need to protect you."

"That's funny," I said, softening
my voice and looking up at him, happy I had applied an extra set of false
eyelashes. "I have that same feeling about you. Now that you understand
what it's like, perhaps you'll tell me what Mr. Pickering's investigator has uncovered."

"I don't think Pickering has hired a
PI yet. Uncle Herman has given me ten days—" He broke off. "I
shouldn't have said that."

"Your uncle is going to make you leave
the company in ten days if we don't find out who killed Suzie? And Pickering
hasn't hired a PI yet?"

"Lower your voice. Miss Bennett; we
don't want people here thinking I'm strangling you."

I complied, but held back from revealing
what I'd learned in my own investigation so far. "I didn't know your uncle
could be so cruel. You must tell your lawyer to get busy. What's he waiting
for anyway? Money? A sign from above? A message on his bathroom mirror written
in shaving cream?"

Bradley laughed. "We're not going to
discuss this, Miss Bennett, remember? And speaking of shaving cream, I think
your date wants you back."

The music had ended without my noticing. I
could have screamed, so great was my frustration at being shut out of the
formal investigation . . . and Bradley's arms.

Before I turned to Louis, I whispered
furiously at Bradley, "Just make sure Pickering does his job and gets you
cleared, or else I'll—"

The angry look that flared on Bradley's
face stopped me.

He grabbed me by the arm and leaned close
to my right ear, growling, "Or else you'll do nothing. Am I understood?
And don't ever wear that damn perfume again."

Mentally I vowed to buy the biggest bottle
of My Sin I could afford. "Bully," I hissed at him, and pulled myself
away. "Louis, I'm hungry. I hope our dinner is ready."

Transferring Evelyn back to Bradley, Louis
said, "If it's not, would you like another glass of champagne, Bebe?"

In a voice I knew would carry, I said,
"I'd adore one! Oh, and I have something I want you to do for me, if
you're willing."

"I am at your service," he said.

It took every ounce of restraint I had not
to turn around and see what effect these words had on Bradley. As it was, I
struggled to regain my composure, and vowed not to look at him for the rest of
the night, a vow I kept. Unfortunately, that didn't prevent the place on my arm
where Bradley had grabbed me from tingling all evening.

Dinner proved to be delicious. The beef was
too well-done for my taste, but I didn't mind. Louis was not pleased with a
spot he found on his fork, which he promptly sent back to the kitchen, or our
cherries jubilee, which he didn't think flamed long enough.

I found myself nervous around him. He just
wasn't the sort a girl could feel comfortable being with. I told myself the
uneasiness stemmed from the fact that I hardly knew him. On the cab ride home,
while the radio played Dionne Warwick's "Walk on By," I thought of
how Louis hadn't liked the towels or the soap at Ryan. He made me feel like I
should check my makeup or look down at my dress to be sure I hadn't spilled
anything.

Even so, he had been truly delighted when I
offered him the B. Altman's shoot. His size even matched that of the model we
were to use before he called in "sick." Louis thanked me profusely.

When we reached my building, he said,
"I'd like to take you out again, Bebe. Would you say yes if I asked?"

Again I felt nervous. How could I rudely
say no? "Sure, Louis, and we'll see each other tomorrow at the shoot.
Thank you for the lovely dinner."

Just when I was about to go up the steps,
Louis leaned down and brushed a light kiss across my lips. I didn't have time
to react, because he didn't want to keep the cab waiting. He entered it and the
cab took off, the breeze moving my layered chiffon skirt.

I stood there, my fingers to my lips. I
felt absolutely nothing from his kiss. Uh-oh.

From across the street Harry the wino
yelled, "Is he the one you're in love with?"

I looked around to make sure no one was in
earshot. Then I yelled back, "No. Do you need money?"

Harry shook his gray head. I thought I
heard him say, "You women, break a fella's heart every time." But
he'd been stumbling down to the corner, so I couldn't be sure.

Upstairs, I opened the door to my apartment
and found Darlene on the pink sectional, crying. Nearby, a canvas showing a naked
derriere in blue paint stood against the white brick wall.

I sighed and went to fetch the whiskey.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Darlene, clad in her purple lounging pajamas, was curled up
on the sofa, arms hugging a lime-green pillow to her face. Her sobs were
muffled.

I sat down next to her on the floor, my dress pooling around
me. "Darlene, what's wrong?"

More sobs.

"Darlene, have some whiskey."

Sniffles. A sneeze.

"Come on now, talk to me. What happened? Did you go out
with Cole tonight?"

She brought out a tissue she'd been clutching in her right
hand, moved her hair out of her eyes, and blew her nose.

"Here, swallow a bit of this whiskey, for medicinal
purposes," I said in a nurselike voice.

She managed a tiny smile and followed my instructions.
"Bebe, I'm in a terrible mess."

"I'm here for you," I said, unstrapping my silver
sandals and kicking them away. "Where did the, um, painting come
from?"

"I took Cole down to the Village. There's a super-groovy place there called Patty's. You know they do bottom paintings because
there's a discreet black-and-white-sign with a lady's legs and—"

"Okay, I get it. So you went, and that canvas propped up
over there is your . . . behind."

"Uh-huh. I thought it was fun!"

"Let me guess: Cole didn't." I tried not to imagine what Cole's painting would look like, but thank the Lord, he
wouldn't have done one.

"Yeah, and we got into a fight. Well,
it really wasn't a fight; more like he gave me a stern talk. He practically
frog-marched me out of Patty's, once I'd gotten my clothes back on. He acted
like an overbearing father, telling me I would tarnish my reputation doing
things like that. He said I was a mature woman, not a youngster like . .
." She flashed me a look.

"Like me. That's okay, Darlene. I know
Cole wouldn't cross the street to talk to me." The thought occurred to me
that one day, when I was much older, I'd be grateful that people mistook me for
being younger. "What did you say to Cole?" I asked, wondering how
often the oil man had called Darlene lambkin.

"I figured he was probably
right," Darlene mumbled.

Right! This was tricky. While I didn't
approve of this bottom painting, I didn't want Darlene's lively, fun
personality squashed. Especially by stuffy Cole. "Do you think Cole will
continue to act like a father during your relationship?"

"Maybe not," she said slowly.
"On the other hand, maybe that's what I need to be happy."

"I don't think that's true at
all," I said. "Darlene, you need a guy whose personality complements
yours."

She just shook her red curls.

"We talked about this before,
remember? Are you really going to continue dating a guy who's more than old
enough to be your father, to let him be a father figure for you?"

"I guess so," Darlene said. She
sat up on the sectional.

"But you were happy with Stu. The two
of you had all kinds of fun together. I thought you loved him, and I know he
loves you."

"Look where it got me! He cheated on
me," she cried.

"You don't know that for sure,
Darlene, because you never would talk to him about it. All you're going on is
gossip. Why don't you listen to Stu's side of the story?"

Darlene's eyes filled with tears. Her voice
wobbled. "Honey, I can't. I can't talk to Stu about it now. I miss him,
but in time I'll have to get over him."

"Why on earth can't you talk to
Stu?" I asked. I got up off the floor and sat next to Darlene. I put my
arm around her and squeezed.

"B-because of this," Darlene said
and broke into fresh tears. She held out her left hand.

My jaw dropped. On the fourth finger of her
left hand, Darlene wore a huge round diamond solitaire.

"Oh, my God," I muttered, as she
wept. "Darlene, get ahold of yourself. Drink the rest of this whiskey, and
tell me this isn't an engagement ring."

She used the tissue again, then took the
glass and flung her head back, polishing off the whiskey. She looked away
before speaking, as if she were remembering the evening. "Cole took me
out to dinner first, a beautiful, romantic place, Valerie's, that served French
cuisine. After we ate, he told me how much he loved me, how he wanted me to be
his companion in life more than anything in the world. He said that I was
special, and more beautiful than a perfect diamond. Then he slid a black
velvet box across the table to me, and got down on one knee."

"Oh, my, Darlene," I said,
mentally wondering how the bowlegged old coot got back up.

She continued the story, her attention on
me. "When Cole asked me to marry him, I felt like a princess. The one
thing that ran through my mind was that he represented security and a place in Texas
society."

Darlene was going to leave New York City,
the place she loved? What evil spell had Cole cast over her?

Darlene took up her story. "When I
have to retire from Skyway in a few years, I won't have to work.

Cole wouldn't cheat on me. I don't really want children,"
she added, then paused, as if she were considering that last statement.
"Anyway, I said yes, and the people in the restaurant cheered when Cole
kissed me."

"Gosh," I said. "But now
you've had second thoughts, right? Isn't that why you're crying your eyes
out?"

"All I can think of is Stu," she
confided. "If only I knew he hadn't cheated on me . . . but it's too late
now."

I thought fast. "What are you doing
tomorrow?"

"Cole's taking me shopping for new
clothes. He wants to honeymoon in Paris, and he thinks I need some different
outfits to wear, more conservative pieces."

"What honeymoon? You have to plan a
wedding first."

Darlene looked down at the turquoise fur
rug. "Cole said that since Mama doesn't talk to me, and all his family are
gone except for a sister in Oregon he hasn't seen in years, we might as well
just get married at City Hall."