Lady Be Good (18 page)

“She wanted to humiliate you.”

“It worked,” Grace admitted.

“You must keep your chin up in the face of adversity. Come to think of it, Pamela
has
the face of adversity. She should have embraced Botox the minute it was invented.”

Grace laughed unsteadily, suddenly very glad to have her mother’s support.

Mama looked triumphant. “That’s my girl. Laugh it off.”

“I’m trying.”

“You couldn’t have done that a few weeks ago.” Caroline gaze sharpened. “What’s changed?”

“I’m gaining my confidence,” Grace said. “Look, you’re very kind to claim the review was part of some ancient vendetta with you. But I sold very few copies yesterday. Your sworn enemy might have an impact on national sales.”

“Let’s not use that word
ancient
too freely, please,” Mama regained her poise. “That’s why I’m here. To strike a blow against Pamela before her review goes viral and does you any serious damage.”

“Strike a blow? Mama, that doesn’t sound good.”

Emmanuel emerged from the dining room and murmured, “Brunch is served, miss.”

“Thank you, Emmanuel.”

Mama had already leaped to her feet and was chugging toward the dining room. “In the knick of time! I’m famished. Hello, Emmanuel. We haven’t been properly introduced. I’m Grace’s—well, I’m Caroline Vanderbine. Some people say we look like sisters.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, ma’am.”

Caroline brushed past him and arrived at the table, her dogs dashing feverishly around her ankles. “My goodness, this is quite a spread. Who are we feeding here, a starving horde?”

Eggs in a warming tray, scones and muffins on a tiered cake stand, bacon and ham steaming on a hot plate. It looked like a breakfast fit for a football team. Mama plucked a fork from the table and began to sample the fare.

Grace thanked Emmanuel and saw him to the door. When she returned, she took a bowl and filled it with fruit salad for herself, thinking of poor Luke missing out on the food he’d ordered. “What kind of blow were you thinking of striking, Mama?”

Her mother was already sitting at the head of the table, dropping tidbits to her alert little dogs. “It’s simple, dear. You have to out-perform Pamela on the field of battle.”

“Out-perform her?”

“Sit down, and I’ll outline my plan.”

Grace sat at the other end of the table. “Should I take notes?”

“No need.” Mama waved her fork. “I already have the gears in motion.”

“Should I be worried?”

“Only if you haven’t packed an evening gown. Here’s what we’re going to do. You have next Monday night free, am I right?”

“Next Monday?” Grace paged through the schedule in her head and tried to remember what the following week looked like. “That’s the night I’m supposed to go home to rest before going on the second half of the tour.”

“Who needs rest? You’re coming back to Philadelphia, dear, and we’re going to attend a ball. That night, there’s a black tie gala being held at a nearby hotel. It’s a shame we can’t re-book into this one, because it’s a lovely establishment, impeccable service, but those plans have already been made, deposits paid, and deposits are hell to get back these days. It’s a fundraiser for some charity or other—I forget exactly, but it doesn’t matter, because it’s definitely small potatoes if Pamela is in charge. But we’re going to turn it into the social event of the season! And show Pamela Waldrop-Hicks exactly how it’s done.”

Grace added up the clues, and reality dawned. “Mama, are you staging a publicity stunt?”

“Of course I am! We’re going to make sure this shindig is a blowout that will attract major press for the book--definitely the New York newspapers, maybe even the television networks. I’m working on the guest list now.”

“How will people feel about you bursting on the scene and taking over like this? Hasn’t the guest list already been created by the charity?”

“Yes, but it’s beyond dreary. We have to beef it up a little, Grace. Add some sparkle and sex appeal.”

A second later, Mama took a deep breath and said in a completely different tone, “Speaking of sex appeal.”

Humper and Puffy barked. Grace glanced up and saw Luke standing in the doorway. He was dressed, shaved, and looking almost calm. At the back of his eyes, however, Grace thought she could detect early signs of panic.

“Oh,” Grace tried to sound composed. “Mama, this is Luke Lazurnovich, who drove me from Pittsburgh. Luke, this is my mother, Caroline Vanderbine.”

Humper and Puffy were already barking up a storm and leaping at Luke’s legs. Mama scrambled to her feet and approached Luke as if creeping up on an exotic animal that might take flight at any moment. “What a pleasure,” Mama said, extending her hand, palm down, as if expecting him to kiss the back of it. “Mr. Laz—Mr. Luzern—May I call you Luke?”

Luke took her hand and shook it. “Sure. Hey. Nice meeting you.”

Mama looked Luke up and down, absorbing his height, his body, the way his sweater clung to his shoulders. She made a careful inspection of the fit of his jeans. “The pleasure is mine, of course. You were very kind to bring my daughter out of that blizzard. You’re a chauffeur?”

“Mama,” Grace said sternly. “Before you start the Inquisition, let’s give him some breakfast.”

“Oh, you haven’t eaten yet? It’s nearly noon! What on earth have you been doing all morning? Humper, stop that! He’s confused sometimes, but always excited. I should have him neutered, but that seems so unkind, don’t you think?” Mama snatched Humper into her arms, but continued to measure Luke with avid eyes. “My dear boy, you have the same sort of wound my daughter seems to have suffered. Is there something wrong with your ear? It looks as if--”

“It’s nothing.” Luke rubbed the spot just behind his jaw where Grace might have been too exuberant during the night. “I nicked myself with the razor.”

“Maybe we could call a doctor,” Mama said. “I’m sure this fine establishment keeps a professional on call for little emergencies--”

“The only emergency,” Grace said, “is getting him a cup of coffee. Mama, will you pour?”

“Of course, dear. Luke? Sugar? Cream?”

“Just black, thanks.”

Mama resumed her seat at the head of the table, petting Humper into silence, and Grace eased into the chair at the other end. Luke took a seat halfway between them and accepted a cup of coffee from Grace’s mother. He sipped it uneasily while Grace prepared him a plate with eggs and a muffin and slices of fruit. She passed it to him with a fork balanced on the edge of the plate. Puffy took up a sentry position at Luke’s feet, whining.

“Now then,” Mama said, grip firm on Humper. “We were just discussing an event that’s going to save Grace’s reputation in time to get her book on the bestseller lists. It’s a gala—although how they have the chutzpah to call it a gala, I don’t know. As planned, it sounds perfectly dreadful to me. They should be delighted I’m here to make a few changes. We’ll have it spiffed up in no time. It’s a dinner dance—cocktails, music, fine dining and afterwards---dancing!” Mama snapped her fingers. “Now I remember. It’s a gala to raise money for a ballet company. Are you a ballet aficionado, by any chance, Luke?”

“Ballet?” he repeated, saying the word as if it came from another language.

“Luke is a sports aficionado, Mama.”

“Sports,” she said blankly. “What a shame. Of course, you should have seen Grace when she was a little girl, taking ballet classes. I thought she might have become a dancer, but no. She was adorable in her little pink slippers. Nobody looked sweeter in a tutu either.”

Luke smiled. “I believe it.”

Before the meal deteriorated into a walk down memory lane--which would most certainly include a trap to ensnare Luke along the way--Grace said, “Are you sure Pamela Waldrop-Hicks is going to appreciate any changes? Maybe she has everything already planned the way she wants it.”

Another wave of her hand. “She won’t like it, but then, the blind don’t know what they can’t see, am I right, Luke?”

“Uh …”

“Anyway, I know a florist who is delighted to be able to do me a favor—especially if we get the kind of publicity I’m in the process of attracting. He’s a genius with moss. As for musicians—well, I have fired the hopeless amateurs Pamela hired and invited my jazz-playing friend from New York to come. He’s agreed to bring his entire ensemble as long as I land the local music critic as a guest. Which shouldn’t be too much of a trick for me. And the food definitely needs an upgrade, which I will see to myself, even if it means rolling up my sleeves and rolling out the pie dough with my own two hands.”

During Mama’s recitation of her plan, Luke had poured a cup of tea from the teapot and he passed it silently to Grace, who accepted it gratefully. He must have seen how desperately she longed for caffeine. He sent her a look that said he’d add a shot of whisky if he could manage it, but she shook her head. He picked up his fork and ate a bite of melon. He let it melt on his tongue for a second, and Grace found herself remembering his tongue and how it felt. He gave her a smile, too—his mind clearly traveling in the same direction.

“Are you two listening to me?” Mama demanded. She had been watching the exchange with keen attention. Humper jumped down from her lap and rushed over to Luke.

Grace’s snapped her attention back to the present. “Mama, you haven’t baked a pie since … well, not in your entire life.”

Mama frowned suspiciously at Grace, then at Luke, and back again. Testily, she began, “May I ask exactly what is going on between the two of--”

“No, you may not ask. You say I need an evening gown? Since I won’t have time to go home for one, do you know the best place to shop in Philadelphia?”

“Of course. There’s a woman who has a private studio in Gladwyne. Very exclusive, but I think I can get you an appointment for this afternoon. I’m sorry I won’t be able to take you there myself, but I have a million details to attend to.”

“I’ll take you,” Luke said, picking up Humper and subduing him in one arm. Humper wriggled with pleasure.

“Perfect,” Mama said, then gave Luke an inspection laced with growing d oubt. “At least, I hope so.”

11.

The dress shop had a good selection of evening clothes, and Luke sat appreciatively in the sugar daddy chair while Grace tried on three attractive gowns.

“Why’s this called the sugar daddy chair?” he whispered to Grace when she finished twirling a black chiffon number in front of him.

She patted his arm. “Never mind. It’s actually endearing that you don’t know.”

He caught her hand and kissed her fingers while the proprietor was busy elsewhere. “Do you really have to go to Baltimore?”

“Yes, tonight, after my interview. I’m so sorry.”

“You sure you won’t let me drive you?”

On the way to the dress shop, Grace had explained the necessity of concentrating on her book tour from now on, and Luke had reluctantly accepted her decision.

“I’m sure. I’ll never sell a single book with you around. What do you think of this dress?” she asked, trying to distract him. Without her mother around, it seemed important to regain the bond they had forged the night before.

His gaze glowed on her. “I like you better when you aren’t wearing anything at all.”

“Yes, I know, but for a party?”

“The other one,” he said. “It makes me think about how your skin feels when I touch you.”

Grace wanted to slide into his lap and kiss the stuffing out of him, but she settled for squeezing his hand. “I’ll call you every day.”

“I’ll meet you wherever you are.” His voice was husky. “You just have to whistle, and I’ll come.”

They left the dress at the shop for minor alterations, charged to Mama’s credit card, as instructed.

The longest week of Grace’s life might have started the moment Luke said good-bye to her at the train station. He kissed her like he meant it, and she savored that kiss the whole way to Baltimore. She stayed in that city for a whirlwind of book promotion events, then hustled on to Washington for more.

Everywhere she went, though, bookstore personnel reminded her of the Pamela Waldrop-Hicks review. Grace reacted to each dig as she thought Luke might—being witty and gracious to everyone she met, and signing books until her hand ached.

She never imagined a book tour could be so frenetic. She felt busy all the time and wished she had several more hours in every day. If she wasn’t giving an interview or speaking to a ladies luncheon, she was tweeting or making calls or jumping into a cab for the next event. Travel arrangements changed on a moment’s notice. Meals were skipped. Hotels blew by in a blur. She gave the tour everything she had. But the books didn’t seem to sell very fast.

Every night after Grace climbed into bed, she turned out the light and dialed Luke’s cell phone.

“Hey,” he said the first night, his voice sounding almost as close as the next pillow. “How’d it go today?”

She told him, and he listened. He laughed when she related the funny stuff, and he sounded sympathetic when she fussed about failing. He was upbeat, that was the main thing, and she appreciated his support. In Washington, she met two senators, and it turned out one of them knew Luke—or so he claimed. Luke laughed and said, yeah, he’d met some senators, but none of them could exactly be called friends.

When she asked about his day, though, Luke turned evasive. He had gone home to Pittsburgh, where Grace hoped he was safe from dangerous thugs.

“Don’t worry about the Abruzzos,” Luke said. “We’ll never hear from them again.”

Grace called Nora every day, too.

“I almost caught Emma last night,” Nora reported. “But she slipped through my fingers.”

“I wish I could help you!”

“Don’t worry. She can’t escape me for long.”

“Did you start your new job?”

“Yesterday. It’s fun, but hard. So far, I’m muddling through.”

Grace started to ask her more questions about her job, but Nora had to rush off. They promised to talk again soon.

From Washington, Grace took a plane to Charlotte, where the southerners enjoyed hearing about the former Dear Miss Vanderbine more than Grace’s changes to the old book. At a variety of events, she told stories about her mother, and the crowds ate it up. They bought books, too. The bad review hadn’t reached them yet.