Pamela Morsi (19 page)

“I may have to make an extra trip to the bank myself,” Pete Davies told them with a wink, evoking a good deal of knowing laughter all around.

“Maybe Pete won’t be the only one,” Rome said. “I’ve got some special surprises for some of you.”

The suggested mystery prompted a lot more interest and even more questions. But Rome was finished talking. He’d done about all the talking he could manage that morning at the impromptu meeting of the Circle of Benevolent Service, Miss Gussie at his side.

“We’re married women,” Lulabell Timmons informed him as if he didn’t know. “We have husbands. We can’t participate in a kissing booth.”

“That’s the beauty of it, ladies,” Rome explained.
“Your husbands can’t possibly allow other men to kiss you, so they will have to occupy your time. And they have to pay for your kisses.”

“Why should they pay for what they can get for free?” Kate Holiday asked.

“Or what they couldn’t get for love or money,” Loralene Davies put in cynically.

The married women all laughed knowingly.

Rome smiled with them and shot Miss Gussie a quick conspiratorial glance before he continued.

“I just think that a kissing booth would be more fun, and more fair to the single gentlemen like myself,” he said, “if the married men were forced to step up to the counter as well.”

“I doubt seriously if you could keep my husband away,” Loralene complained with some bitterness. “He’s got his eyes on those young girls all the livelong day.”

“Well, if you’re standing in the kissing booth,” Rome told her, “he’ll have to keep his eyes on you, or risk having half the single men in town sample a little smooch.”

Loralene’s jaw dropped in shock. All around her the other women tittered and giggled at the idea.

“All of your husbands will be standing in the front of your line, trying to keep the other men away,” he said. “And they’ll have to pay a pretty penny to do so.”

There was a good deal of scandalized mumbling and concerns about proprieties. Rome was confident. The fact that Miss Gussie was on his side and that Loralene appeared to be leaning his way suggested success. If both of the lady leaders of the community were for it, who could be against it?

“What do you think, Kate?” Vera Pearsall suddenly asked. “I’m not at all sure that the reverend would approve of such shenanigans.”

Rome looked toward the pastor’s dainty and demure young wife with concern. Reverend Holiday could be a stodgy stickler at times. He might not approve of such a scheme.

Surprisingly, Kate Holiday answered with a grin so mischievous it sparkled up her whole expression.

“I certainly hope that you will find a spot for me in that kissing booth,” she said.

There were several shocked gasps at the audacity of the pastor’s wife.

“Surely you don’t mean to participate yourself?” Vera asked.

“I can hardly wait,” Kate answered.

“But the reverend …”

“My husband is a fine, clean-living, godly man,” Mrs. Holiday stated. “But the truth is, he’s so tight his teeth don’t even chatter in a snowstorm.”

A couple of the younger women giggled. Most, more circumspect, hid a smile behind a hand.

“I’d like to see him spend a little money on me,” Kate Holiday said. “Even if all I get for it is a kiss.”

Her agreement truly broke the ice. If the pastor’s wife thought it would be a fun trick to play on her husband, then the rest of them were more than willing to do the same. And they immediately entered into a serious discussion about organizing, selling the tickets and decorating the booth.

They decided upon signs and bunting, with ladies kissing by shifts through the afternoon. It was going to be the busiest, and hopefully the most profitable, kissing booth ever. The loyal husbands at the Monday Morning Merchants Association were going to make it so.

As Rome now glanced around at those unsuspecting
merchants, so enthusiastically supporting the booth, he couldn’t help but smile.

“I can’t imagine that we’ll make enough money to completely pay for professional fireworks.”

The statement came from Amos Dewey, who had quietly walked up to Rome’s side. His was the only dissenting voice and Rome was grateful that at least he kept it quiet and private. Being a member of the committee, he might well have felt left out, not having been asked his opinion beforehand. Of course, Rome couldn’t risk his knowing of and perhaps opposing the plan before he’d assured its success. It was a perfect plan to kiss Miss Gussie in public. No man in love would ever be able to tolerate such a show.

“Don’t worry,” Rome told him. “We’ll make more money than we’ll ever need.”

Amos appeared skeptical. “I think it will be successful,” he agreed. “But the young fellows who are going to be lining up couldn’t come up with enough ready cash to pay the bill if they spent everything they have on kisses.”

“I know,” Rome said. “Wait till you hear the plan.”

The meeting was breaking up. There were a couple of details to go over with the fellows who’d volunteered for the building crew. Matt Purdy stopped to tell them a ribald joke.

“Did you hear the one about the buck-toothed gal who went on her honeymoon?” he asked.

Rome and Amos listened to the whole story, laughed politely at the appropriate time and were then able to make their escape.

They walked down the long stairway into the main part of the bank, retrieving their hats from the rack near the door. Nodding cordially to Viceroy Ditham, they went out together into the street.

Still Rome didn’t speak. They crossed to the far side and up the walk. Rome waited until they were in a deserted area in front of the greengrocer’s alleyway and completely out of earshot of anyone else before he spoke.

He, of course, had no intention of revealing the personal agenda of Miss Gussie and himself. But he delightedly, even proudly, revealed the rest of the plan. Rome enjoyed it so much, he laughed out loud just telling it.

Amos didn’t laugh at all. In fact, as the explanation went on, he began to look considerably displeased. His brow was furrowed with worry.

“I picked the women carefully,” Rome said, attempting to pull a rein on his own hilarity. “I didn’t choose anyone who would create a hardship. All of the wives are married to men well heeled and perfectly able to make a fine little contribution to the fireworks fund. So we’re going to encourage them to do so.”

The expression on Amos Dewey’s face grew darker. He folded his arms across his chest and shook his head.

“The ladies will never agree to this,” he said.

“They already have,” Rome told him. “We’ve got Madge Simpson, Kate Holiday, Constance Wilhelm, Loralene Davies, Birdie Honey—even dear old Eliza Penderghast has volunteered.”

Amos looked genuinely shocked.

“Well, they are very ill-advised,” he said. “And when they speak to their husbands about it, I’m sure that they will be forbidden to participate.”

“Speak to their husbands?” Rome looked at him, puzzled. “They can’t speak to their husbands about it. That would destroy the element of surprise.”

“You expect these women to participate in such a public folly without the permission of their husbands?”

Rome put his hands upon his hips. He was becoming more than a little annoyed.

“The young girls will be expected to ask their fathers,” he said. “But these wives are full-grown women. How much permission do they need to play a joke on their husbands?”

“They might not need it, but they should have it just the same,” Amos said. “I don’t like this. I don’t like it at all.”

“Why not?” Rome asked. He was definitely put out now.

“The whole thing smacks of prostitution,” Amos declared.

“Prostitution?” Rome was incredulous.

“Paying a woman for her kisses. What else would that be?”

“They are not paying the women.” Rome’s voice held all the calmness and patience he could muster. “They are donating money for charity.”

“A negligible difference,” Amos argued. “Money is being paid for a lady’s favors and that is morally abhorrent.”

“It’s not morally anything,” Rome assured him. “It’s a fun joke the wives are going to play on their husbands to make money for the fireworks.”

“I certainly would never have allowed my wife to be involved in anything like this,” Amos stated unequivocally. “And she would never have gone behind my back to do so.”

Rome had no idea what to say. He stared at Amos in disbelief.

Dewey eyed him coldly and spoke with rapier intent.

“I think your own questionable standards are creeping into your public obligations.”

“Questionable standards?”

Rome finally understood. This was not about the kissing booth. This had nothing to do with wives or jokes or raising money for fireworks. This was about Pansy Richardson. This was about himself and Pansy Richardson.

“You know exactly my meaning,” Amos said.

Rome tried to come up with a suitable reply. He had very few choices.

He could admit it. They were both men. Men understood that illicit relationships sometimes occur. Neither he nor Pansy had a spouse to be unfaithful to, so while their actions were scandalous, they were not adulterous. Amos might not approve, but he could not have Rome either arrested or excommunicated. Rome could simply admit it and let the chips fall where they may.

Or he certainly could deny it. There was so much lying and deception going on already, one more wouldn’t amount to much. He could claim that it was over. Which was not a bad suggestion.

What he chose to do was neither of those alternatives, and the best course in his estimation. He did not deign to reply. His life was in no way the concern of Amos Dewey.

Rome turned and walked away without a word. He crossed the street and kept moving. Head high, shoulders back, angry inside as well as concerned. A jumble of thoughts seething in his brain. It took a concerted effort to sort them out. Once he did, he felt somewhat better.

If it had been Dewey’s intent to expose him, he would simply have done so. Instead he had spoken to him face-to-face. That was a good sign. It was a warning. Amos was telling him that he had the power to expose him. He would do so if Rome didn’t …

Rome smiled. This was not about the kissing booth. This was about Miss Gussie. Dewey was warning him away from Miss Gussie. It was working. The fellow was jealous. He was as ripe and ready as a blackberry drooping on the stem. Miss Gussie could pluck him off and make him into a pie at her leisure.

It was going to work. It was all going to work. Rome was going to get his partnership. Miss Gussie was going to get her perfect wedding. And Amos Dewey … Amos Dewey was going to get more than he’d bargained for.

I certainly would never have allowed my wife to be involved. And she would never have gone behind my back to do so
, Amos had said, giving a lot of insight into his marriage. Being wed to a woman like Miss Gussie was going to be a good deal different.

Suddenly it seemed to Rome that the two were not particularly well matched at all.

He reached for the latch on the gate and hesitated, realizing where he was and what he’d done. He’d left Amos heading for home. But he was not standing in front of McCade’s Boardinghouse. It was Miss Gussie’s gate and garden that he’d come to.

P
ANSY HEARD ABOUT THE KISSING BOOTH WHEN
R
OME
came to make his regular ice delivery. She met him at the back door with a big smile. She was, however, fully dressed, which seemed fine with him. He kissed her and hugged her close, but there was something distant in his touch. She could probably have convinced herself that it didn’t mean anything, but she was hoping that it did.

He was extremely pleased with the whole idea of the kissing booth. Pansy laughed with him at the plan to make the married men cough up money to kiss their own wives. And she listened intently to his special bonus strategy with Gussie Mudd. Rome was convinced that Dewey was writhing with jealousy and this one small gesture would put him over the edge. Pansy wasn’t at all certain that would happen, but the possibility deserved consideration.

“So by next week at this time, your life ought to be pretty much back to the way that it used to be,” she said. “You and Gussie will once more be to each other what you always were.”

He looked a little surprised at her words.

“It will never really be what it used to be,” he said. “I’ll be a partner and have a lot more say in the running of the business. And Miss Gussie and I know each other a good deal better now than we ever have. That changes things.”

Pansy smiled. “Yes, of course it does,” she said.

She watched him stow the ice in the lower drawer of the icebox and she felt an overwhelming sense of sadness. She had not loved him. She did not love him. But she would miss him just the same.

“Are you all right?” he asked her.

“Oh, yes, I’m fine,” she assured him. “It’s … it’s just the heat. Summer must really be upon us.”

“Uh-huh,” he said, not quite believing the excuse. “I was going to tell you that I couldn’t see you for a while. That I felt like we need not take any risks to visit until all of this is over with. But if it’s over by Sunday, as I think it might be, then I can still show up here late Sunday night.”

“No, you needn’t come here on Sunday,” she said. “I … I’ve just been so busy, as I’m sure you have too. I’m just going to rest, I think.”

That surprised him.

“Well, all right, then,” he said. “I’ll wait until the next week, but we will have to celebrate my success: Rome Akers, a partner in Mudd Manufactured Ice.”

“You seem pretty sure about what you want,” she said.

“Shouldn’t I be?”

“Do you know the story about the peddler who prayed for a mule?” she asked.

Rome shook his head negatively.

“There was this peddler man whose old horse died,”
she said. “He needed an animal to pull his wagon, but he had no money to buy one.”

Rome leaned against the icebox, folding his arms across his chest, listening.

“He saw this ancient toothless mule that had been put out to pasture as far too old to work,” she continued. “And the peddler thought it might be able to pull the wagon for a few months at least. But the peddler couldn’t afford to buy even him. So he began to pray.”