B004183M70 EBOK (7 page)

"That's very kind of you. I have to be
upstairs soon, but I do want to wait. Here, okay?"

Well mannered, charming, good-looking. I
slanted a quick look at his left hand: free of any ring. Hmmm. "Please do.
May I get you some coffee?"

"No, thanks. I'm not much of a coffee
drinker. And don't let me keep you from your lunch."

I smiled. "Okay." I settled in my
chair and took a bite of my hot dog. Then I looked up and saw that he had moved
one of the metal-legged, light brown chairs from the waiting area over to my
desk. I took a swallow of Coke and used my napkin, suddenly wishing for my
lip gloss.

"You're a very pretty girl, Miss
Bennett, but I'm sure you're told that often. Do you model?"

Was he flirting with me? "Thank you,
and no, I don't model. In fact, I know only a couple of the models here. And
please call me Bebe."

"I'm Louis. I understand Mr. Williams
took over this week. I landed a print campaign for Burma-Shave shave cream. I'm
hoping to do well enough for them that they'll give me TV ads too."

"I've never heard of Burma-Shave, not
that I keep up with men's shave cream."

He chuckled. "The company was
established in the 1920s, but over the years sales haven't been increasing.
Last year Philip Morris bought them out and is hoping to attract a younger
crowd. They're starting a whole new advertising campaign."

"Philip Morris? Out of Richmond,
Virginia?"

"Yes, I believe so."

"I worked for them for a while before
moving to New York."

He smiled and lounged in his chair.
"Really? So that explains your sweet accent."

Here came the heat to my face. "You
have a bit of an accent yourself."

"My dad's from Scotland and my mom's
Swiss, but I was born on American soil. They live in Rochester now."

"Your parents have the same ancestry
as James Bond!"

He laughed. "I like James Bond
movies."

"Me too."

Just as I was about to ask him how he got
started in the modeling business, Gina, the agency's scheduler, came striding
from the elevators. An ex-model, she was tall, still trim, and in her late
forties. She wore her blond hair in a tight chignon. She nodded at me, then
pinned her gaze on Louis. "You must be Mr. Kinnaird."

He stood. "Yes."

"Come along then, and let's get you
into makeup," she said in a brisk tone.

"I'll be right there," he told
her. She stood to one side, tapping her foot. To me, Louis said, "Will you
still be here when I'm finished?"

A little flutter went through me.
"I'll be here until five."

"Good." He smiled and then
allowed himself to be whisked away by Gina.

I stared off into the distance. Slowly I
picked up my hot dog and resumed eating. Louis was an attractive man. Did he
have a girlfriend, or was he potential dating material? My hand reached for the
cold Coke bottle, and I took a long swallow. Would I really be able to go out
with someone other than Bradley?

"Dreaming, Miss Bennett?" Debbie
Ann asked, bringing me back to reality. She removed a pair of large shades,
reached for the clipboard that held the sign-in sheet, and used the pen tied to
it with bright orange ribbon (my choice) to sign her name. Today she had on
a red plaid cotton shirtwaist dress. Her brown hair was immaculate. Her face,
almost bare of cosmetics now that she wasn't on air, appeared very pale and
lined against the red lipstick she wore.

I smiled at her, determined to treat her
with kindness because of her tragic past. "What's on the menu today,
Debbie Ann?"

"Vegetable juice, breaded fish
fillets, tartar sauce, parsley potatoes, Harvard beets, coleslaw, and raisin
rice pudding," she replied. "A much healthier meal than hot dogs, I
might add. In fact, I never recommend serving hot dogs. Do you know what they
are made from?"

"Uh, no, but they're very
American," I said, borrowing a line from Daddy. "And I'm sure you
know Coke was provided free to American soldiers during World War Two." I
almost clapped my hand over my mouth. Her son had died in the Korean War.

"Just because hot dogs are popular
does not mean they are good for you. And that soda you're drinking is unhealthy
as well, regardless of its history," she lectured without losing her
smile. "A homemade tuna-salad sandwich, an apple, and a Thermos of milk
would be a better choice, and less fattening. I must go upstairs. Think about
what I said, won't you, dear? I'm only thinking of what's best for you. You'll
never catch a husband if you put on weight."

She smiled back at me from the elevators,
and I managed a weak smile and a thank-you in return. The elevator didn't dare
keep her waiting, though, so I was saved from further dietary advice. Debbie
Ann was the bossy type, but I could not find it in my heart to dislike her.

I looked at the hot dog in my hand. My mind
formed a mental image of my waistline expanding, of my wearing housecoats—like
Mama—at home, while I slowly became known as a spinster with a penchant for hot
dogs, eating six of them at a time.

That would never do. Mama and Daddy wanted grandchildren. I suspected Daddy, a gun collector, was dying
for a little boy whom he could show his fallout shelter to, tell all his
military stories, and give his first Red Ryder BB gun.

Telling myself my hot dog was cold, I threw
the remains in the trash. I kept my Coke, though. Darlene had started drinking
Tab, which was Coke without the calories. Maybe I'd try it.

The phone rang, interrupting my thoughts.

"Ryan Modeling Agency, Miss Bennett
speaking."

"Are you that Southern girl who sits
outside Bradley's office?" a female voice demanded.

"Yes, I am. How may I help you?"
I tried to keep the irritation from my voice. At Charlotte Marie's Secretarial
School in Richmond, we were taught to be polite to callers, no matter how rude
they were.

"This is Suzie Wexford. Put me through
to Bradley."

With evil pleasure, I said, "I'm
terribly sorry, Miss Wexford, but Mr. Williams is out to lunch."

"How inconvenient," she barked.
"Have him call me immediately when he returns. I can't see him tonight
after all. I feel a case of the sniffles coming on and need to rest. I know
he'll be devastated."

She hung up before I could say a word.

What a shame they wouldn't be getting
together tonight, I thought, then grinned.

I hummed "My Guy" by Mary Wells
while typing a letter Bradley had dictated, fielded phone calls, and made
another pot of coffee (Bradley usually liked a cup when he returned from
lunch).

My timing was perfect, as the elevator
pinged, announcing his return. He looked as if he had just stepped out of the
pages of a magazine himself, not a blond hair out of place, carrying a bag from
B. Altman's, the department store for which we were scheduled to do a photo
shoot next week.

"Everything in order, Miss
Bennett?"

"Oh, yes, Mr. Williams. I put your
phone messages on your desk."

"Excellent," he said, and flashed
me a blinding smile.

I smiled back with equal enthusiasm,
knowing he wouldn't be seeing Suzie that night.

He put the bag from B. Altman's on my desk.
"I've purchased this Pucci scarf for Suzie," he said, pulling a
stunning pink-lavender-yellow-and-white confection from the bag. "But I
didn't have time to have it wrapped. The clerk gave me a box and some gift
paper." He piled those on my desk as well. "Would you be so kind as
to wrap it for me?"

"Why, of course I will!" Darned
if I would let him know how I felt, which was jealous. "Shall I have it
sent over to Miss Wexford?"

Bradley turned to enter his office,
speaking to me over his shoulder. "Don't bother, kid; I'll be seeing her
tonight."

Oh, no, you won't, I thought happily. I
counted the seconds until I figured he'd read the phone message from her.

"Dammit!" he exclaimed, then got
up from his desk and closed his door.

His phone line lit up. A measure of
satisfaction carried me through wrapping the scarf—not before I tried it on
and looked at myself in the mirror that hung above my credenza.

Just as I finished wrapping the scarf,
Louis returned wearing pancake makeup, and stood in front of my desk.

"Had your picture taken?" I
asked.

"Yes, many times. I can't wait to go
back to my studio apartment and wash my face. I don't like the soap they have
here, or the towels," he replied. He leaned closer. "Bebe, could I
persuade you to have dinner with me tomorrow night? I know it's short notice,
but I'm hoping you might be free."

My heart jumped in my chest. A handsome man
was asking me for a date! I had told myself I would date, and now opportunity
was not only knocking at my door, it was standing right in front of me.

I looked at the wrapped box containing the
expensive scarf Bradley had bought for Suzie. I remembered them
cuddling at Pierre Benoit's gala. I thought about the times Suzie had been in
Bradley's office with the door closed.

Then I turned back to Louis. Not only was
he asking for a date, but a Saturday-night date, the most important date night
of the week! On the heels of this came Mama's voice in my head, telling me a
girl should never be too available.

I crossed the fingers of my left hand
behind my back. "I'd like to, Louis, but I'm afraid I already have plans
for Saturday night." I said it with just the right encouraging note so
that he might ask for another night.

"How about Monday night?" he
persisted, as I'd hoped.

I spared a thought for Bradley's rule of no
office dating, but quickly decided that models obviously didn't count in his
book.

"That would be lovely."

"Do you like to dance, Bebe? I was
thinking we could go to the Phone Booth. They have great food and an
orchestra."

I repressed a gasp. The Phone Booth was one
of the cool places to be seen in New York City. It was also expensive and
dressy. "I'd love to go there, Louis. What a good idea."

He beamed. "Great! I'll pick you up at
seven Monday night."

I wrote down my address, and he was
pocketing it when Bradley's door flew open. The annoyed look on his face told
me his conversation with Suzie had not gone his way. And I thought he'd seen
Louis pocket that piece of paper with my address on it.

Too bad, I thought, and stifled a giggle.

He sauntered over and took Louis's measure.
"Have we met?"

Louis held out his hand. "No, Mr.
Williams, but I was hoping for a chance to introduce myself. I'm Louis
Kinnaird, the new Burma-Shave guy."

"Yes, Gina told me about you. You were
hired before I came on board," Bradley replied while he shook Louis's
hand, looking from him to me.

I had on my most innocent expression.

Bradley looked fierce. I guess Louis picked
up on it too, because he did not press him for a meeting. He said, "I'd
better go. It was good to meet you, Mr. Williams. I plan to do the best job I
can with the print ads, so that maybe the execs at Burma-Shave will want a TV
spot. I also wanted to let you know that Burma-Shave doesn't have an exclusive
on me. So I can do other assignments for you."

"I'll keep it in mind, Kinnaird,"
Bradley said.

Louis knew a dismissal when he heard it,
and made for the elevators, turning once to wink at me. I smiled.

I turned back to Bradley and saw that he
was eyeing me with an expression I couldn't read. He picked up the neatly
wrapped gift for Suzie.

"Would you like a cup of coffee, Mr.
Williams?" I asked, my tone professional.

"Sure, kid, bring it in."

When I did so, he said, "Thanks. Got
any big plans for the weekend?"

I set the coffee cup down carefully, my
fingers shaking. Was he finally going to . . . going to . . . ask me out? Or
was he fishing about Louis and me? "I'm going to the World's Fair
tomorrow," I managed.

He took a sip of coffee. "Be sure to
come by and see Suzie's introduction of the Mustang. I'll be there. Oh, and
thanks for wrapping the scarf. I'll give it to her tomorrow night."

So the two were going to be at the fair
together; then they had a date for Saturday night. I needed chocolate.
"I'll see if I can work the Mustang display into my schedule. There are so
many things to do and see at the fair, you know."

"True, but I hope you come by, kid.
Tomorrow night will be a celebration for Suzie. She landed the Breck Girl
contract."

My feelings deflated even more. "Does
Lola know?"

"Yes, I called her after I returned
Suzie's phone call. I don't know what I'm going to do about Lola. She's under
contract with us, but she cursed at me when she heard the news, and I won't
have that."

"I'm sure she was upset," I said,
thinking back to Lola's drunken prediction that she would lose the contract
and that she'd kill Suzie if she did.