Coming Up Roses (10 page)

“
It must be wonderful during the
daytime, too.”

“
It is.” He was delighted to note that
she seemed to have forgotten she was angry at him. He was also
pleased to note that her blue eyes were as bright as
stars.

Rose insisted H.L. walk them back to the Wild
West encampment after they alighted from the Ferris Wheel,
maintaining that it was late, and she and her companion needed
their rest. She was polite about it, but H.L. sensed he’d better
not press his luck with her tonight if he wanted to continue
interviewing her for his articles. He was so exhilarated about
writing those articles, he fairly tingled with it, and he hated the
notion of parting with Rose so soon.

He had his hands stuffed into the pockets of
his seersucker suit when he delivered Little Elk to the Indian
compound.

“
Good night,” Little Elk said in a way
that conveyed to H.L. that he was expressing gratitude for the
evening’s entertainment.

“
Thanks for coming,” H.L. said back,
and the two men parted company.

H.L. got the feeling he’d passed whatever
test Little Elk required of a white man before he deigned to
approve of him. “See you later,” he added to the Indian’s back as
Little Elk strolled off.

Little Elk didn’t turn around, but only
lifted a hand in a gesture of dismissal. H.L. would have liked to
interview him, too, but decided he’d best not press his luck right
now. If all went well, he could conduct interviews later with
Little Elk and perhaps some of the other Sioux traveling with the
wild West. He and Rose walked on to the tent village occupied by
the white members of the Wild West’s cast and crew. Rose led the
way to her tent, where she turned and stuck out her hand.

“
Thank you very much, Mr. May. The fair
is a wondrous place, and I loved riding on the Ferris
Wheel.”

H.L. looked for a couple of seconds at her
hand before he sighed and took it in his much larger one. It had,
of course, not escaped his attention that Rose had donned a little
hat and prim gloves before she’d set out with him to see the fair.
From this he deduced that, while she might earn a living as an
entertainer, at heart she was pure middle-class American morality.
He guessed that was interesting, although it pretty much put the
kibosh on any sexual fantasies he might think about harboring in
her direction.

As if thought had anything to do with it. He
sighed again.

“
Say, Miss Gilhooley, I know you have
to practice a lot and need to get plenty of rest and all that, but
I’d really love to show you Chicago from the Ferris Wheel in the
daylight. It will be a good use of time, too, because, as I already
said, I’ll be able to interview you as you see the city.” He gave
her one of his most winning smiles; the smile he most often
reserved for ministers and politicians from whom he was trying to
pry information without their awareness.

Rose gave him an uncertain look. “Yes, you
said that before, Mr. May.

And I have already agreed to be interviewed.
Did you forget?”

She was so damned cute, H.L. couldn’t contain
his grin. “Nope.” He tapped his forehead. “I’ve got a great memory.
Just wanted to make sure you did, too.”

“
I see,” Rose said
repressively.

Undaunted, H.L. only grinned more widely and
said, “So, how about tomorrow?”

Her mouth pursed into a moue of uncertainty
that made H.L. want to kiss it soft again. Good God.

“
Well . . .”

“
It’s publicity, Miss Gilhooley. Free
publicity,” he reminded her, aiming for a funning, friendly tone of
voice. Deciding it wouldn’t hurt to drag Buffalo Bill into the
conversation, he added, “Colonel Cody will be pleased.”

This time it was she who sighed. “I suppose
you’re right.” She hesitated another moment, fiddling with those
prim white gloves of hers. Then, as if she didn’t want to say it
but couldn’t help herself, she added, “And I really would like to
go up on the Ferris Wheel again.”

“
You bet!” H.L. never let an
interesting opportunity pass by without leaping at it. “And then we
can visit some of the other exhibits. I want to get your
impressions of all the modern inventions being shown here at the
fair. In the Machinery Hall, there’s a printing press that’s a
hundred and fifty years old, and there are all sorts of brand-new
inventions being shown here, too. You can see everything from
moving pictures to horseless carriages to new foods—well, you had
some of the new food tonight. It’s great stuff, all of
it.”

“
I did enjoy the hamburger,” she
admitted.

She gave him a shy smile, and he had to fight
the urge to pounce on her like a wolf on its prey. Hell’s bells, he
wasn’t normally a predatory sort of fellow; he guessed her
innocence brought out the worst in him or something. To guard
against further sudden impulses, he jammed his hands into his
pockets once more. “So, what time would you like to do these things
tomorrow, Miss Gilhooley?”

“
Tomorrow?”

She sounded doubtful, which irked H.L. a bit.
“Sure. Tomorrow. Newspapers in Chicago are printed every day, Miss
Gilhooley. I’ve got to write a whole series of articles, don’t
forget.”

“
Oh.” She appeared slightly perplexed.
“I guess I didn’t think about that part.”

H.L. didn’t roll his eyes because he was
certain she’d not appreciate it. “Yes, well, that’s the way
newspapers around here work. Now, for example, while you get your
rest, I’ve got to go back to the office and write up my first
impressions of the Exposition. I’d like to get started on the
articles about you and the Wild West tomorrow.”

“
I see.” She licked her lips. It was a
simple gesture, borne most likely from rattled nerves, but it made
H.L.’s insides clench and a wave of lust spike through him. “All
right, then. I have to take care of my horses in the morning. I’m
usually finished by noon or one o’clock. Will that be all
right?”

He smiled at her, having managed to subdue
all improper impulses, although he had a feeling they might pop up
again later. “That would be super. I’ll come by here at noon and
take you to lunch. Say, I’ll bet you haven’t sampled half the food
they’re selling here. You’ve got to try a baklava at the Middle
Eastern place. It’s great stuff.”

“
A what?”

He gently flicked a finger against her cheek.
“I’ll teach you the word tomorrow, sweetie.” He knew instantly that
he’d made a grave mistake and hurried to correct it. “I mean, Miss
Gilhooley. Sorry. Didn’t mean to take liberties.”

She’d stiffened up like a frozen fish, lifted
her chin, and glared at him with eyes as icy as Lake Michigan in
January. “I should say not!”

“
Right.” H.L. removed his hat, thinking
a bit of formal politeness would be in order at the moment. “See
you at noon tomorrow, then, Miss Gilhooley.”

She remained mute for a couple of moments,
then said icily, “Good night, Mr. May.”

H.L. strolled away thinking,
Miss Gilhooley
.
Mr. May. I haven’t been this formal since I took first
communion
.

That was all right, though. He’d break down
her defenses one of these days. And then it would be every man for
himself. Or, in this case, woman.

H.L. took a street car back to
the
Globe
’s office and wrote
his first article about the Columbian Exposition feeling better
about things in general than he had for months.

# # #

The next day dawned clear as a bell, warm as
toast, and only slightly breezy, and Rose got up feeling fine,
which surprised her a bit. When she’d turned in the night before,
she sort of expected she’d arise feeling as if she’d made a fool of
herself. Evidently, either the gods were smiling down on her, or
she hadn’t come across as stupid as she felt as she enjoyed the
evening with Little Elk and H.L. May.

H.L. May. Fiddlesticks. Rose wished she could
stop thinking about him. She knew he was exactly the wrong sort of
fellow to take up with, even if he’d ever want to take up with her,
which was so unlikely as to be off the scale of
improbabilities.

Nevertheless, she felt good as she ate her
breakfast with Annie and

Frank, greeted those of her fellow Wild West
companions who were up and about before noon, and walked to the
stables. She liked the smell of the fair; it was dusty and rather
windy, and a slight taint of swamp and stockyard lingered in the
air, but the overall aroma of the Wild West was one Rose imagined
she’d remember until the day she died. Horses, buffaloes, leather,
dust, the unique smell of the food cooked by the Sioux in the
neighboring tent city; it was meat and drink to her, and she loved
it.

She didn’t expect H.L. May to arrive at her
tent at twelve noon. She expected him to keep her waiting. After
all, he was a sophisticated, big-city newspaper reporter, and she
was a hick.

Instantly, Annie rose up in her mind and
started to chide her.

Exactly what do you mean by that, Rose
Gilhooley? You’re no hick! You’re a star with Buffalo Bill’s Wild
West.

Rose decided that, while Annie might be right
about her, technically, Rose didn’t feel like a star. She felt like
a hick.

H.L. May doesn’t have to know what you think
of yourself, for heaven’s sake!

Rose, who had been practicing bows with
Fairy’s stable mate, Betsy, another small white mare, gasped when
understanding smote her, hard, in the brain. By heavens, Annie was
right! Rather, Rose’s mental image of Annie was right, which
amounted to the same thing.

H.L. May
didn’t
have to know that Rose considered herself
a hick if Rose didn’t choose to let him in on her inner
insecurities. Even if she didn’t feel confident and secure on the
inside, she could act as if she did outwardly while in his company,
and he wouldn’t ever know the difference. Why would he?

She felt pretty good after she’d come to this
conclusion. The prospect of seeing H.L. again dimmed her pleasure
slightly, but not enough to interfere with her lesson. Anyhow,
another part of her could hardly wait to be in his company today.
Rose considered that part of her slightly traitorous.

“
You look beautiful, Miss Gilhooley!” a
cheery voice called from the grandstand.

Surprised, Rose glanced up from the bare back
of the horse she was training—and saw none other than H.L. May.
Jehosephat! She’d been correct about him, all right: He wasn’t on
time. Only instead of being late as she’d expected him to be, he
was early.

Totally discomposed at this further
illustration of the many ways in which H.L. May was not what she
needed in her life, Rose glowered at him. “I thought you were
coming at noon!” She didn’t dare speak loudly or unpleasantly,
because that would have upset Betsy. Rose knew horses. She knew
horses a whole lot better than she knew men, for sure.

H.L. hauled his watch out of the pocket in
his vest and held it up so that its gold chain glinted in the
sunlight. “It’s almost noon. I’m glad I came early so I can watch
you work!”

Rose wasn’t glad about it. She’d like to conk
him on the head, actually. And now that she knew he was watching
her, she was too flustered to work because she’d transmit her
anxiety to Betsy, sure as anything. Upsetting a horse was a certain
way to undo any bowing lessons she’d been able to impart. She
called out in a sweet voice,

“
Wait there for a minute. I’ll just
stable Betsy and tidy up.”

“
Sure thing!”

If it was such a sure thing, why didn’t he
sit down again, blast him?

Rose watched in mounting trepidation as H.L.
bounded down from his seat in the grandstand and came to tarry in
the ring, waiting, she was sure, to see which way she went so he
could tag along.

Piffle. Rose was beginning to feel haunted,
harassed, and beleaguered by this nosy parker of a reporter. If she
didn’t find him so impossibly attractive, she might just up and
tell him to take a hike.

Good Lord! She hadn’t meant that—the
attractive part, not the taking-a-hike part. Surely, she
hadn’t.

She feared she had. Bother.

Fortunately for her, she saw Little Elk
walking around the perimeter of the arena, scanning the ground. He
sometimes went hunting for coins lost by careless audience members.
Rose thought that seizing such an unusual business opportunity was
quite enterprising of him. She called out, “Little Elk.”

He glanced up and raised his hand in
greeting. Rose squinted at him hard. What was he holding? It was
small. It was wrapped in what looked like brown butcher paper. As
he began to walk in Rose’s direction, he lifted it to his mouth,
took a bite, and Rose understood. He’d gone out and bought himself
a hamburger.

With a deep sigh, wishing her good friend
hadn’t demonstrated so quite palpably his approval of something
H.L. May had done in front of H.L. May, Rose asked, “Can you please
take care of Betsy for me? I have an appointment with Mr. May.”

Little Elk nodded, glanced at H.L., and
grinned. He held up his hamburger for H.L. to see. The reporter
waved and grinned back. Now Rose wished she could conk both of
them.

Nevertheless, recalling her new-found
realization regarding her feelings of inferiority and hick-hood,
she opted not to throw a tantrum. It was just as well, since she
didn’t think she could throw one if she tried, having had no
practice. In an effort to appear unperturbed by H.L. May’s early
arrival, she smiled at him with what she hoped looked like serenity
when he walked up to her as she was handing Betsy over to Little
Elk.