B004183M70 EBOK (30 page)

"Fine. I'll get my purse, and you'll
never see me again. You can put that recommendation in the mail," I told
him.

Head held high, I stormed out of his
office, grabbed my purse, and walked past Drew to the elevator.

Mercifully, it came immediately.

In the lobby there was a ladies' room. I
dashed in there, sat on a squarish green chair, and began to cry.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

When I returned to my apartment, I had to hurry and get ready
to meet my parents at six. Darlene wasn't home, so I couldn't cry on her
shoulder.

I had to wash off what was left of my
makeup, then reapply it. My lips were swollen, and my chin sported a dark pink
color. With heavy makeup on my chin, I put on a bright, floral sheath dress to
distract attention from my lips. My hand trembled when I touched the garter
snap that Bradley's fingers had been about to undo.

Like a chant going through my head, I kept
thinking, You've lost him forever. You won't even get to see him at the office.
Nothing would stop me from finishing the investigation, though. That night at
dinner, sharp-eyed Daddy said, "Bebe, what's wrong with your lips?"

Mama chimed in, "Oh, dear, Bebe. Your
father is right. Your lips are puffy."

I tried to laugh, but a squeaky sound came
out. "It was warm in the office, so I went out and bought a snow
cone."

Unable to eat, I pushed food around my
plate, and struggled to chitchat with Mama and Daddy so they'd be reassured.

Once home, I sobbed my heart out.

Sunday wasn't any better. I'd slept about
three hours the night before, and had to be up for the early Mass at St. Patrick's. In church, I felt guilty for my
actions the day before, but I didn't regret them. Then there was Mother's Day
brunch at the Legends. Mama loved her pin and put it on immediately. The whole
time, part of my brain kept replaying the scene on Bradley's sofa.

Upstairs in my parents' hotel room, while
Daddy watched a baseball game on TV, Mama and I sat on the other bed. We
chatted about hometown people, but she knew something was wrong. Thank God she
didn't pry, because I would have broken down and told her everything, ensuring
her horror and disapproval.

After dinner—another meal wasted on me—I
hugged them each hard and said good-bye. I was even able to reassure Daddy that
I no longer worked for Bradley Williams.

Entering my apartment, I was confronted
with Stu and Darlene making out on the sectional. I ran into my room, flinging
the door shut, and bent double on the side of the bed. Racking sobs overtook me.

Darlene came in and closed the door.
"You look like hell."

I told her everything, down to the last
detail, ending with, "And what must he think about me, behaving like a . .
. like a—"

"Passionate woman?" Darlene
supplied. "I'll bet you drove him out of his mind with desire."

I considered this. "He was ... um,
well, never mind. But he fired me. I'll never see him again. And he didn't take
responsibility for being attracted to me."

"He's fighting it, I keep telling you.
He'll call you, Bebe. Wait and see. Bradley won't be able to stand not having
you in the office."

I wiped my eyes with a balled-up,
mascara-blotted tissue. "He was able to stand it yesterday."

Darlene put her arm around me. "Just
how far were you prepared to go, honey?"

I closed my eyes as a fresh wave of pain
came over me. "I don't know. The way I felt at the time, I think I
would have done whatever Bradley wanted," I whispered, and felt heat come
into my cheeks.

Darlene moved to the floor, crouching in front of me.
"And Bradley knew that. He also knew he wasn't able to stop. He knows what
would have happened if Drew hadn't walked in on you. That's why Bradley's
mad."

"I'm not getting your drift," I said.

"Bradley is mad at himself, not you. He violated his
male moral code against seducing virgins. When you think about it, Bradley's
tipped his hand. He cares deeply about you, and he wants you in every meaning
of the word."

"Do you think he loves me?"

Darlene paused, then said, "I think he's battling his
own feelings. He's been a swinging bachelor for a long time."

I shredded the tissue. "He told me at the memorial
service that he'd been lied to a lot by women. He said 'someday' he might get
married."

"Wow. I'm surprised he opened up to you that much. The
man is in torment, I tell you."

The phone rang.

Darlene grinned and got to her feet.

I grabbed her arm. "If it's him, tell him I'm unable to
come to the phone and take a message."

"Why?"

I shook my head, tears falling again. "It's probably not
him anyway."

"The phone's ringing!" Stu yelled.

Darlene ran into the kitchen. I looked for a clean nightgown.

A minute later, Darlene returned. "Guess who that
was?"

Despite myself, I smiled. "Really?"

"Oh, yeah. Sounded like a wounded puppy. Wants you to
call him back," Darlene said, waving a piece of paper with Bradley's phone
number on it in front of my face.

I shifted my ivory cotton nightgown to my left hand

and took the paper. "He probably just has a question
about the photo shoot. I'm not calling him back. He fired me. Let him figure it
out."

"You're just as stubborn as he is." Darlene bit her
lower hp. "Though, that might be the way to play it. Let him call again.
Let him go into the office tomorrow and see your empty chair. Let him learn a
lesson."

Bradley called again an hour later.

Darlene came to my door, grinning. "Oh, the poor baby.
He asked if you had received his message, and I told him you had."

I sat in my nightgown on the floor next to my record player,
listening to John Lennon singing about money on The Beatles Second Album.
"What did he say then?"

"At first he was speechless. Then he said, 'Please ask
her to call me; it's important.' "

I frowned. "I told you it's about the photo shoot."

Darlene slapped her hand on her thigh and laughed. "No,
it isn't."

"Yes, it is."

"Okay, honey. Stu's going home now. He has an important
business meeting in the morning; then he wants to take both of us out for an
early lunch tomorrow."

"That would be nice," I said.

I waited until I heard the apartment door close before I
came out of my room. All my crying had made me thirsty. I had grabbed a Tab
when the buzzer from downstairs went off. The bottle almost slipped from my
hand.

I rushed into the living room in time to hear Darlene speak
into the intercom. "Yes, Stu, what did you forget?"

"Is this Darlene?"

Bradley's voice. He was downstairs! I couldn't see him like
this: in my nightgown, my hair a mess, my nose and eyes red from crying. Still,
a rush of elation went through me that he had actually come to see me.

I motioned frantically for Darlene not to let him in.

She nodded her agreement.

"Yes, Bradley?" she said.

"I'd like to come up and talk with Bebe."

"Oh, geez, I'm sorry, but she's asleep," Darlene
said.

"Please go wake her up and get her to either see me or
talk to me over this damned intercom," Bradley demanded.

"I'll see what I can do," Darlene promised.

I let a full five minutes go by before I took over at the
intercom. "Yes, Bradley?"

"Let me come up, Bebe. I want to see you," he said,
his voice somber.

"That's impossible. It's very late, I'm not properly
dressed, and I do have my reputation to maintain."

Darlene buried her face in the gold sofa cushion, she was
laughing so hard. I was not ready to find the situation funny.

Neither was Bradley. "Bebe, we need to talk."

"We already talked. I have no intention of listening to
you make excuses about what happened between us on your sofa. I'll mail you a
report on the Saint Thomas shoot, even though I'm no longer employed by Ryan
Modeling. Pierre Benoit has offered me a job twice. I assume the offer is still
open. I'm going to see him in the morning."

Darlene fell to the floor laughing, both hands over her
mouth.

"Bebe, don't do this," Bradley said. "Let me
come up."

Darlene ran the first finger of her right hand around the
pinkie of her left, meaning I had Bradley wrapped around my little finger. She
scooted off to her room.

That ache started again, hearing the vulnerable tone of his
voice. Vulnerable? Cool man-about-town Bradley? I softened my voice. "No.
You're not coming up here. And you are the one who fired me."

"You can't go to work for Pierre, that lecher."

"I need a job," I said.

"You have a job, Bebe," he said. "You're my
executive secretary."

Tears came to my eyes. I could tell he was very

close to his end of the intercom. It was as if he were
whispering in my ear again. And, oh, dear God, he wanted me back. Kept calling
me Bebe. Was on my doorstep despite its being almost midnight.

Bradley said, "You aren't fired."

I let a long minute go by. "I'll come in tomorrow
morning, and we'll see how it goes on a trial basis," I told him.

"Thank you," he said.

"Hey, mister, are you talkin' to Miss Sweet Face?"
Harry's drunken voice met my ears.

Uh-oh. Harry had better not say anything about how I loved
one man. Bradley would know for sure it was him. "Bradley!" I said
urgently.

"Yes?"

"Give Harry some money."

"This wino?"

"Miss Sweet Face has a lot of boyfriends. You one of
them? Had a fella come get her a couple of nights ago. She had on the prettiest
blue dress. She didn't see me, only had eyes for him."

Lord have mercy! Harry was talking about Louis.

"Bebe?" Bradley said.

"Yes."

"I gave the bum five dollars, okay? He's gone now. We'll
talk about your association with this person in the morning."

"Good night, Bradley."

I drifted into Darlene's room. "I'm not fired, Bradley
says."

Darlene grinned. "Told ya. Now, we have to plot your
next step."

"What next step?"

"What you're going to wear tomorrow."

In unison we said, "The white go-go boots!"

I made Bradley wait Monday morning, arriving at the office at
quarter after nine. Sauntering off the elevator, I lingered on the opposite
side of my desk, pretending to read phone messages.

The truth was, I wanted Bradley to have a good
look at me. I was wearing a pale pink sleeveless mini-dress that Darlene had
brought back from London. The dress had tiny white fuzzy dots all over it, and
featured a scooped neck with a white bow at the bosom. On my legs were white
tights and those precious white go-go boots.

I'm not positive he saw me, though I heard
him choke on his coffee.

It was Drew who spoke to me first. Coming
around the corner, he plunked himself down in one of the waiting-area chairs.
"Wow, great outfit. We don't have anything like that in our stores."
He lit a cigar and stared at me.

"Perhaps because your chain of
department stores hasn't caught up to the latest fashions from London," I
said.

Drew crossed his legs, showing off his
expensive leather shoes. He wore a flashy Italian suit, which didn't impress
me. His face always reminded me of a fox's, angling in as it did from his wide
forehead. His auburn hair added to the image.

"I'll have to get on that. You know,
Bebe, you could always come out to Chicago and work for me," Drew said,
his tone suggestive.

I went around my desk and sat in my chair.
"I like New York, thank you."

Drew went on. "I'd like to take you
and Debbie Ann. Man, that woman can cook. She's here working on her show—that
would go over good in Chicago— and she made me a perfect omelet."

"Debbie Ann has had a tragic
past," I informed him. "She lost both her husband and her son. Leave
her alone."

He held up his hands. "I didn't come
here to cause trouble. Uncle Herman wanted me to check things out."

I didn't answer. Instead, I remembered
Uncle Herman's deadline for Bradley. His ten days would be up on Wednesday.

Glancing up from Danielle's notes, I caught
Bradley looking at me. He wore a slate-blue suit—which brought out
the color of his eyes—with a goldish tie sporting square and circular blue
swirls. No more mourning for Suzie, I thought.

"Miss Bennett, come in here
please," he said.

Drew hollered, "Should I leave this
time?"