A Gentleman’s Offer (2 page)

“Runt loves turkey. Thank you.”

She nodded, then returned back to her table.

Lewis frowned at her. “Happy now?”

“Very.”

“How much did you give him?”

“A few slices.”

“How much money did you put with those slices?”

“None of your business.”

“You don’t like people, but you feed your lunch to a dog and give money to a guy who doesn’t work.”

“I like anyone who cares about animals. Besides, Runt is his friend.”

He bit into a french fry. “I doubt that girl back at the mansion has any friends,” Lewis said. “Hell, she can’t even pet her own dog. You wasted a bunch of business cards.”

“No I didn’t and it doesn’t hurt to ask. She might know someone who could use us.” Yvette sipped her drink, unaware of the admiring glances cast in her direction. It wasn’t that she was oblivious of her looks and how they affected others; she was just disinterested, which only added an air of mystery. She was a natural beauty with defined facial features, smoky gray-brown eyes and long dark hair, which she had highlighted with bold blond streaks. Her jeans and T-shirt emphasized her slender build while three studs dotted one ear and four pierced the other. Her French-Canadian mother liked to hold claim to her walnut skin and elegant features, while her Jamaican father said that her inner spirit was from him.

“So what are we going to do about it?” Lewis asked.

“About what?”

“Our pathetic lives.”

“I wish you’d stop including me in your equation.”

“We’re friends. We share everything, even misery.”

“I’m not miserable.”

He crumbled up his hamburger wrapper. “I saw you looking at Cathleen. Different parents and that could have been you.”

“I don’t think so. I felt sorry for her. Could you imagine having a mother like that?”

Lewis sat back. “Could you imagine living in a house like that? And don’t pretend that the idea hasn’t crossed your mind. I bet you would have liked that guy to have looked at you instead of walking past.”

“What guy?” Yvette knew who he was referring to, but wanted to pretend that she didn’t. She’d already thought about him at least twenty times. Why had he listened to what she’d said, then left so quickly?

“The guy you couldn’t stop staring at. Neil.”

“His name is Nate and I wasn’t staring. I was just paying attention.”

“You never pay that much attention. If you had Cathleen’s money he would have given you a second look, but as one of the servants he didn’t even stay to say goodbye.”

“I’m not a servant. Besides, he looked like he was in a hurry.”

“Didn’t seem like he was in a hurry to me. I wonder what he does all day? Did you see the waterfall?”

“Yes. If we work hard, one day we’ll be able to live in a house like that.”

Lewis shook his head. “That’s an American myth. We couldn’t work hard enough. We’d better start playing the lottery or marry rich.”

“I could never marry for money.”

Lewis suddenly looked thoughtful. “Why not?”

“Because I’d regret it.”

“What is there to regret? Regret is for people who think too much. Imagine if you married someone with money. Right now you’d be eating lobster and caviar. You could—”

“I still wouldn’t marry for it.”

“You’ve had offers.”

“And I’ve said no.”

“If I were a woman, I would. It’s easier for women that way. Men are supposed to provide.”

“I want my own money.”

“So what if it’s his money? You’re a goody-goody, although you hate to admit it. Think of what you could do.” He glanced across the street to Corner, who was feeding Runt a slice of turkey. “He’s a drunk you know.”

“I know,” she said in a quiet voice. Her father had been one, too, for years. He’d doused that inner fire he claimed she had with beer and rum. His drinking hadn’t scared her much as a child because his disposition remained the same. It was when he couldn’t pay a bill, or when he asked her and her sister to persuade the landlord for an extension on their rent so their mother wouldn’t find out that he hadn’t paid and had spent the money instead, that frightened her.

Fortunately, he finally sobered up after her mother threatened to leave him and take her and her sister, too. From then on their lives improved and their utilities were no longer cut off and bill collectors no longer appeared on their doorstep. But as she stared at Corner, Yvette knew she would never depend on a man to take care of her. She took a final sip of her drink. “I’d hate to be bound to someone in order to get money. I don’t want to be a kept woman.”

Lewis lifted his plastic cup in a mock toast. “Suit yourself.”

Yvette looked away and caught a glimpse of something that nearly broke her heart.

T
ied to a street lamppost with a dirty piece of rope was an unkempt dog.

It looked miserable. At first Yvette couldn’t tell what breed it was supposed to be. It had the sad look of a bloodhound mixed with a boxer who had just lost a fight. Its fur was lackluster, thick and matted in places although it was a short-haired breed, and its movements were awkward and painful from nails that were obviously overgrown.

Lewis caught her glance and groaned. “Yvette, leave it,” he warned, knowing she hated seeing any animal mistreated, especially dogs. But she couldn’t. Yvette got up from the table and approached the middle-aged woman who sat near the dog drinking a cup of coffee. Thick glasses made her eyes look like pin dots and a green hat fell low over her forehead, shielding her face.

“Excuse me, my name is, Yvette.” She handed the woman her card, then looked at the dog. “I love dogs. What’s his name?”

“James and I’m Margaret.” The woman placed a hand on her chest. Her skin looked clean but her nails were filthy.

“Nice to meet you both. Is he a Boston terrier?”

The woman shrugged. “I don’t know.”

“They are a very handsome breed when they’re groomed. They’re known as ‘The American Gentleman’ because of their black-and-white markings, like him.” Yvette made a sweeping motion indicating the markings. “I’m sure when he’s all cleaned up he’ll look like he’s wearing a tuxedo. I am telling you this because we’re having a grooming special at Le Chic Hounds.”

“Le Chic Hounds?” Margaret repeated, unsure.

Yvette tried not to grimace. Madlyn had decided on the name although Yvette had argued that a faux French name could be misleading. She’d been wrong, business was booming. “Yes, and we always have specials.”

Margaret glanced at the card with interest. “Really? How much?”

Yvette quoted an obscenely low price, but the woman still hesitated. “I have an opening today,” she added.

Lewis, who was behind her, groaned. Yvette ignored him and pulled out a chair, its metal legs scraping against the concrete sidewalk. She sat. “Just tell me a little bit about James. Is he neutered?”

“Yes.”

“Good.” Yvette asked a few more questions then asked, “Do you think you could come and see me today, say in an hour? I can give you the directions from here. It’s not too far.”

“Well, I suppose I can’t pass up a special.”

Yvette drew a map on a napkin then stood. “I’ll see you soon.”

“Yes.”

Yvette returned to her table to clean up.

Lewis shook his head. “Madlyn is going to kill you.”

“She’s not coming in until later. She won’t know.”

Unfortunately, the moment Yvette arrived at the store, she knew she was in trouble. The upscale dog boutique was having a slow day and looking through the large display window she could see her partner, Madlyn Garcia Tempwood, organizing the large array of pet pillows and matching outfits. Madlyn, who’d grown up privileged, owned the front of the business, which was a doggie boutique.

She and Madlyn were business partners but more acquaintances than friends. Although at times Yvette liked to provoke her by referring to Madlyn as a “you-fer” because she spent her childhood in the Upper Peninsula of Michigan, which was full of tourist areas and parks. Madlyn in turn would mention Yvette’s Lower Peninsula roots when she wanted to make a reference to anything that was lowbrow and dirty. It wasn’t a vicious rivalry, just part of their Michigan blood. Not only did their upbringings differ, so did their taste.

Madlyn had decorated the boutique after a 1930s salon with retro images and colors. Few items had price tags. Her favorite motto was that if someone had to ask how much something was, they didn’t belong there. Madlyn fit in perfectly with the décor with her dramatic eye makeup, loud jewelry and A-line polyester dress. Yvette knew she wouldn’t be able to sneak her new client into the grooming salon without being noticed.

She swore.

Lewis laughed. “Told you.”

“Don’t you have some film to develop?”

“Later. I find this more interesting.”

“You could distract her.”

“She can smell an imposter.”

“Why don’t you take her through the back door?”

“Because it’s broken. It’s being repaired tomorrow.”

“We’re here!”

They both turned and looked at the new arrivals. Margaret and James looked pathetic and out of place standing there in the elegant neighborhood, which was just a few minutes outside the city.

Yvette glanced inside again. “I can do this.”

Margaret looked worried. “Is there a problem?”

“No, just follow closely behind Lewis. Very closely.”

“Okay.”

Lewis began to protest but Yvette sent him a look and he sighed and mouthed, “This won’t work.” Yvette entered first, Lewis soon after. Madlyn was adjusting a collection of doggie bags as Lewis shuttled Margaret and James to the curtain leading to the grooming salon.

“Yvette, I need to speak with you,” Madlyn said without taking her gaze off the bags.

Yvette stopped, shrugged at Lewis and whispered, “Just meet me in the back,” then walked up to Madlyn. “Hi. What happened to your meeting?”

She lifted a bag and examined its handle. “It was canceled.” She replaced the bag on the hook. “What just followed you in here?”

“A client.”

“Then why does she look like a pet owner?”

There were two types of people Madlyn didn’t like—cheap people and pet owners. The clients she serviced didn’t consider their animals “pets.” They were part of the family. Pet owners were people who could not or would not be able to afford her exorbitant fees.

“I’ll handle her.”

Madlyn straightened. She was a foot shorter than Yvette, but held herself tall. “What homeless woman did she rob to get that coat? And did you see her hair?”

“Madlyn.”

“And that dog! I bet it has never been inside a grooming salon before. My God, there will be fleas everywhere.”

“He doesn’t have fleas.”

“I bet he does. She doesn’t look like she’s been to a groomer before, either.”

“There’s a first time for everything.”

Madlyn turned to Yvette, her pretty olive-toned skin an uncomplimentary purple. “Are you trying to make us look bad? Do you know how hard I have worked to develop our reputation?”

“Yes.”

“I hope I don’t have to remind you of how you were discovered.”

Madlyn—not one for modesty—liked to consider herself the one who had plucked Yvette out of obscurity and helped build her name. Although Madlyn had given Yvette key contacts, and had contributed more money to the business venture, while Yvette gave sweat equity, she wished she didn’t remind her of that fact every time she was annoyed with her.

Yvette envied Madlyn’s status. She mingled easily with the upper classes and her name meant something. Yvette’s name meant a good dog cut and nothing more. No matter what she did, no one really noticed Yvette the way they did Madlyn.

Yvette switched her bag to her other arm. “I’ll hurry her out once I’m done. No one will notice.”

Madlyn smoothed out a crease on Yvette’s sleeve. “Fine, but I warn you. Stop picking up strays.” She raised a brow. “You don’t make money by always offering discounts to people who can’t pay.”

Yvette left Madlyn and the quiet elegance of the boutique and entered the noisy chaos of the grooming salon where her assistants were busy at work. There was a cacophony of sounds: running water, blow-dryers, electric shavers and barking dogs. Light shone through the large windows, polishing the steel tables and sinks.

“Short scissors!” she told one inexperienced young man as he prepared to trim a poodle. “Mind the quick,” she told another groomer, cutting the toenails of a Great Dane. “I don’t want you cutting through the blood supply.” She finally looked at Margaret, who sat in the corner scribbling something down in a black book. James, the Boston terrier, looked even more miserable, sitting beside her.

“Your friend left.”

Yvette clapped her hands together in a cheerful manner. “That’s okay. I don’t need him.” She pulled out a chair from behind her desk, which looked very worn, but comfortable, and sat. “He doesn’t appreciate my office.” Yvette gestured to the noisy room. “Now, I can get to work.”

“She doesn’t want me here,” Margaret said, referring to Madlyn.

Yvette waved her hand in a dismissive gesture. “Don’t worry about her.” She knelt down in front of James. “Now I’m going to make you into the handsome little Boston terrier you’re supposed to be.” She glanced at the small notebook on Margaret’s lap. “I thought only men carried little black books,” she teased.

Margaret suddenly looked sly. “Little black books are powerful things. I keep lots of notes. Are you married?”

Yvette considered lying. She didn’t want to be set up with anyone. “I’m married to my work.”

“So you like what you do?”

Yvette nodded. “Very much.”

“And do you want to get married?”

Yvette picked up a pen. “I’d rather be rich.”

“Money can be cold comfort.”

She began filling out a form with James’s information. “Money can buy you comfort.”

Margaret frowned. “You really believe that?”

Yvette placed her pen down. “Yes. I don’t mean to sound shallow, but money gives you privileges that ordinary people don’t have. A man may give you status, but money gives you power.”

“What about love?”

“My family loves me. That’s enough.”

Margaret looked thoughtful, then nodded and wrote some more notes in her book before tucking it away in her purse. “I have to be somewhere in a few minutes. Can I pick James up later?”

“Yes, or we can have him delivered.”

“No, that won’t be necessary. I trust you with him.”

After Margaret left, Greg, Yvette’s main assistant, looked at James with pity. “Want me to do him?”

“No, he gets the special treatment.” Yvette immediately went about doing what she did best—washing, trimming and hand blow-drying James. At the end he looked like a new dog. His black-and-white coat gleamed.

“A true gentleman,” she proudly announced as she placed him in a cage nearby. All of a sudden she found herself thinking about Nate standing in the doorway, the commanding way he spoke and moved. He’d look devastating in a tuxedo. She brushed the thought aside. She didn’t think about men, didn’t have time for them. Besides, he hadn’t shown any interest in her. She was used to men looking at her, and giving the once-over, but he hadn’t done that. Unlike so many of the handsome, rich men who couldn’t take their eyes off her, he didn’t seem to notice that she existed. She patted James on the head. “Just wait until Margaret sees you.”

Unfortunately, Margaret hadn’t returned by the close of business, so Yvette left herself a note to call the next day. She took a moment to make sure James was comfortable by putting a soft blanket and some doggie toys in his cage. She didn’t have to worry; he was fast asleep. She turned off the lights and left. Yvette lived in an old two-story brownstone with three other tenants. The moment she entered the foyer she saw that the landlady, Mrs. Cantrell, had her apartment door open. Yvette groaned. Rarely could she pass by undetected. She raced up the stairs, but stepped on a board that creaked and Mrs. Cantrell—a woman with a small mouth and a loud voice—appeared in the doorway.

“There you are! I was hoping to see you.”

“Really?” Yvette said without surprise.

“It’s my poor Lancelot. I think he has an eye infection.”

“Then you should take him to a vet.”

“I’d rather you see him first.”

“I’m not a vet.”

“But you know a lot about dogs.”

Yvette glanced longingly up the stairs. “I really have to—”

“Just one look. I saw some clear liquid coming out of his eye.”

Yvette sighed.
They were probably tears,
because the poor creature knew there was no escape.
She turned around, started back down the stairs, and followed Mrs. Cantrell into the apartment. Knickknacks and pictures choked the apartment from the living room to the kitchen. Then she saw a man sitting on the couch. The moment Mrs. Cantrell closed the door Yvette knew she’d fallen into a trap.