Somebody Wonderful (17 page)

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Authors: Kate Rothwell

BOOK: Somebody Wonderful
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“Good way to do it too,” said Mick approvingly. “Shouting your fool head off in a crowded restaurant.” He winked at the man watching at the next table.
Taylor ignored Mick. He pulled several hand-written sheets of paper from his pocket, unfolded them and tossed them onto the table.
The title caught Mick’s eye. “Traveling Heiress’s Love Nest.”
Mick dropped the indifferent act. He sat up straight and picked up the paper. “Hell,” he muttered as he read about the scandalous Miss Calverson’s shameless antics with an illiterate Irish immigrant bum, fired from the NYPD for corruption. Now where’d they get that last little tidbit of misinformation?
Mick felt as if the bottom of his heart had given way. Poor Timmy didn’t deserve this sneering piece of filth written about her. For himself, well, there must be dozens of Michael McCanns in New York City. And, come to that, he was not going to be one of them for long.
“We have paid substantial amounts to keep this from being published, Miss Calverson. The best thing we can do is get you out of here as soon as possible. And Mr. McCann, do not even consider selling your story to the paper.”
He sighed, handed her the story, and watched her attentively as she read.
Her shoulders relaxed. And she giggled. “‘Luxurious love nest.’ Ha! They haven’t seen where you live, Mick.”
Mick gave an inward sigh of relief.
A Dhia
, how wonderful Timmy was.
He took the papers from her, folded most of them meticulously into an even smaller rectangle, and handed the rectangle back to Taylor.
“Miss Calverson. You mean you don’t care?” The kindly gray one sounded truly shocked and distressed. “Your reputation. It will be in tatters. You will go from being an adored celebrity to something . . .” his voice died away.
“A wanton laughingstock,” snarled Taylor. “A harlot who ruined her reputation and exposed her family’s business to the worst sort of ridicule for the sake of a roll in the h—”
 
 
Mick blew on his already reddening knuckles and watched Taylor’s co-workers heave the man to his feet and pick up the chair that had fallen when he’d gone over backwards. He wasn’t sure Taylor was listening, but thought he’d offer the man some advice anyway.
“Mr. Taylor, if you’re going to go about picking fights with people, you’re better off sticking to gentlemen like yourself. I suggest you avoid Irish fancy men even if they are ex-cops. We aren’t civilized enough to slap you with a glove, or what have you. Well then, sir, if you wish to press charges, you know where to find me.”
A few minutes later, Mick and Timmy watched the four men leave in silence. The rest of Colsun’s patrons weren’t so quiet. All around them, people expressed sorrow that the other man didn’t punch back.
“I was hoping for better than that,” the man at the next table complained to his companion. “I want to see McCann in more of a real brawl.”
“Thanks for that, Padriag,” Mick muttered.
“Slap him with a glove?” Timmy asked Mick.
“Whatever is the proper way to challenge a man to a duel.I took Mr. Taylor out with no warning. Not sportsmanlike. Mind you, if he shows up again, I’ll let him know that I intend to beat the living crap out of him before I start.”
She sighed. “And I think of you as such a gentle man.”
Mick waved good-bye to Colsun, and escorted Timmy from the restaurant. He pulled her close as they walked down the street. “Timmy. You have to go away from me. Or . . .”
“Or what?”
“Marry me.”
“Oh, I’d pick that one. But no, I will not allow some dreadful stranger to dictate to you or me how we will lead our lives.”
“Jesus. You’re the one who asked me to marry you last, Timmy, wasn’t it? I’m saying yes. Let’s get married. Now. At once.”
“Yes, as I recall it, it was your turn to ask, and my turn to say no. And now I am saying I would rather wait and marry at our convenience, when we choose. Not because someone is holding some kind of newspaper gun to your head. Do you care that they wrote that garbage about you, though, Mick? It was awful, but I was so afraid they’d do worse.”
He shook his head. “No one knows me from Adam. ’Tis you that gets the worst
cac capaill
.”
“Cock . . . ?
“Er, horse manure.”
“I like that. You are using such interesting language today. Well. If you don’t mind, then I shall be like Wellington and say publish and be damned. And I shan’t marry you. Yet.”
He gave a yowl of despair. “Miss Calverson. For a little while I thought I understood you. A very few days, I admit. Now I can’t imagine what you’re about.”
“Good. Perhaps you were already becoming complacent. We have only known each other thirty days. I hope you have many years yet to figure me out. I don’t think this is so very complicated, though. It is simply that I do not want you to hurriedly marry me either out of a sense of guilt or fear of the penny press. Horrible yellow papers.”
“I say I will marry you. Isn’t that enough?”
She spoke almost as if to herself. “Oh Mick, I wish I believe you’re truly willing. If only those silly men hadn’t showed up. That article would haunt me forever if you gave in now. I find I am superstitious about this wedding business.”
“Crazy woman,” he grumbled.
One of the things she’d said stuck in Mick’s mind as they went up the stairs to his flat followed by a puffing Botty.
“Only thirty days together?” he asked.
She nodded and beamed at him, the other smile he liked—the one filled with glee.
“Amazing,” he breathed so softly she could not have heard. “Thirty days of heaven.”
As Mick closed the door, Timmy turned to him. “Do you suppose Mr. Taylor was about to say
roll in the hay
? I have heard that expression before. I imagine hay would be rather prickly and uncomfortable. Is that where you farm boys traditionally meet your farm girls for trysts?”
“Of course. And a roll in the hay with a good blanket underneath isn’t so bad, you know. I hope I can show you some day.”
Timmy laughed. “Bother. I can no longer make you blush, Mr. McCann. What a pity.”
He leered at her. “How ’bout you try something other than words to embarrass me, aye? Actions might do the trick.”
He was delighted to see her turn pink.
Chapter 16
 
Mick lay naked on the bed, happy, hot, and sticky. The unusually hot, thick air did not stir. It weighed down on them and dried their throats.
“I shall be glad to flee the city,” Mick said. “Too bad we don’t head for the open sea.”
Timmy seemed suddenly to grow still and Mick waited, but she didn’t speak.
“Come now, Timmy. I know there’s something on your mind. Spill it,
a ghrá
.”
“Oh. Several things really. That story Taylor showed us, it occurs to me that it’s not with a publisher yet. The blackmailer going for large amounts usually shows a typeset story. More impressive than hand-written. I wonder where it came from?”
Mick yawned and stretched. “The same thought occurred to me. And how did those blessed Calverson types get hold of it?”
“I suppose it doesn’t matter. But I think I’ll talk to my pet reporter and see what I can do about my own version.”
“Your pet reporter?”
“Solly Lothman. Good old Solly. I’m quite fond of the rascal.” She stretched, then looked over at him. “Solly isn’t the only thing, I, ah, should mention. I bought a couple of extra tickets today . . .”
He pushed himself onto an elbow and looked down at her.
“And who are the tickets for?”
“The Tuckers, of course. But I thought perhaps your friends Eddy and Lex.”
“They are just boys.”
“Yes, but I have checked and they have no immediate family and their extended families seem utterly indifferent to them. I think we can find something for them in Minnesota. If they hate wide open spaces, I have other ideas.”
“Timmy, you might have said you were going to do this.” He snorted. “Runnin’ your own version of an orphan train.”
She looked surprised. “Do you mind?”
“No, no. ’Tis your money. But. I- I suppose I feel like a kept man after all. Along for the ride.”
She was silent for a moment. “I am used to making decisions on my own. I rather think the situation similar to the fire. You sometimes act without consulting me.”
“That sort of thing is an emergency, Tim-girl. If I were going to do so much as invite a friend to dinner I would let you know.”
She frowned. “Of course. You make perfect sense, as usual. You are absolutely right and I am sorry.”
“Well, now. If that is not the grandest apology I ever heard.” He moved towards her. With his knuckle, he caught a droplet of perspiration that rolled down the valley between her breasts. “I may even forgive you if—” A sudden hullabaloo started up outside. Joyous and astonished cries filled the street.
Mick looked up from Timmy’s sweet round breasts into her face. She looked suspiciously innocent. “Now what is it you have done?”
She smiled sheepishly. “I suspect it is the ice wagon. I purchased a few blocks to be delivered here and there. When I was sitting on the front stoop with Sarey and Henry, I heard the woman next door complaining that because ice was too expensive, the milk was going bad and her children were ofn sick.”
“So you bought her some ice. Does everyone know by now you’re the big benefactor of the block, Timmy?”
“No, I have a helper. Henry is very good at keeping secrets, you know. Henry walked with me to the iceman’s, and he suggested perhaps I could get some delivered to the front stoops.”
The yelps of delight increased. “I hope you haven’t caused a riot, love.”
“No, of course not. The iceman swore his assistant would help divide up the blocks. He was most obliging because I’ve put in the same order every week for the rest of the summer.”
The shouts, and the clop of the iceman’s horse’s hooves sounded very near. Timmy stretched her arms over her head. “Maybe we can get a few shards. Poor old Botty’s tongue is going to fall out of his head with all the panting he’s doing. And I would love to run an ice chip up and down my body about now.”
Mick jumped out of bed and yanked on his trousers. “Do not move. I’ll go fetch a few chips. I’ll do for you, if you do for me.”
 
 
They said their good-byes at Colsun’s and left the street before dawn in the middle of a downpour that broke the hot spell. Timona had bought a collar and leash for Botty, who hated the things, but suffered nobly after Mick ordered him to “stop that nonsense.”
Mick felt nothing but a light heart for himself, though he worried about the street creatures, human and otherwise, left behind. He made sure that the widow downstairs wrote down the name and direction of Dr. O’Toole so if any of his “patients” showed up, she could send them somewhere. She frowned and complained about the extra work, but he noticed she carefully pinned the directions to the inside of her door.
He was surprised at how many people seemed upset at their leaving. The street had many who came and went.
Mrs. Kelly wept as she hugged Timmy.
And Jim, Mick’s neighbor, actually admitted he’d miss Mick. “You’re the closest thing we have to a leader in this neighborhood, McCann.” Jim put a meaty hand on Mick’s shoulder. “And I’d say you’ve been our fire department, police department, and hospital. Can you blame us for getting all choked up?”
Jim looked around the crowded restaurant and then nudged Mick in the ribs. “And not least, you finally added a bit of class and beauty to the place with that Cooper woman of yours. You sure you don’t want to bequeath her to me? Is it true she’s all that and plenty of money too?”
“Jim, I thought I would miss you but I have just this moment changed my mind.”
 
 
The Tuckers and Eddy settled into the train carriage’s red velvet seats giggling with excitement. Even Jenny managed a ghost of a smile at her children’s joy. Lex, whom Mick guessed was fifteen or sixteen, tried to act nonchalant. But he couldn’t stop himself from looking around with avid interest. Everyone jumped and laughed when the train let off a howling shriek and jerked to life.
Mick followed Timona to their seats. She shook her head.
“We can’t settle here yet. Solly’ll go up in the next car, a Pullman Palace car. He was so pitiful I bought him a ticket too, and he talked me into first class, as usual. You can help us work out a story. It might counter the nonsenseaylor showed us, that is, in the event the—oh, what is it you called it?—
cac capaill
shows up in our lives again.”
She pulled the leash out of her pocket and Botty growled. But he sat down at once, so she could attach it. He already seemed to understand that if he didn’t wear the leash, he got left behind or stuffed into a basket.
They made their way to the front of their own car. An angular young man with wiry black hair sprawled on a seat, one leg lolling over the polished wooden arm rest. He jabbered at a pretty young blonde.
The man got to his feet and bade the woman a reluctant goodbye.
Timona introduced Solly to Mick. Solly stuck out a boney hand. “S’apleasureameetcha.” He spoke faster than anyone Mick had ever met.
As they moved toward, Solly chattered. “Now I wish I could remain back here with you hoi polloi. Isn’t that blonde tasty? Hey, food. I’m hungry, Timona! Feed me!” The man made every statement sound stop-the-presses important, Mick noticed. A hazard of his work, perhaps.
Solly caught sight of the dog. He stopped dead and gawked at Botty. “What the hell is that?” For the first time his words came out slowly.
“It’s a, um, fighting Bortic terrier,” said Timona. “Very special breed. This one is a champion.”
“Looks like it’s lost more than a few of its fights!” Solly snickered. “No, don’t tell me. I should have seen the other dogs!”
“Absolutely,” Timona agreed.
At the door of the next car, the conductor rushed towards them ready to send them back to their proper place in the second-class car.
Timona smiled placatingly. She slipped some folded bills to the frowning man and leaned towards him to utter a few words. The man turned and showed them to a table tucked into a corner of the luxurious car.
Mick had to admire the way Timona dealt with the walls erected to keep out riffraff; she slipped through them as if they were made of mist. Of course, she was helped by the fact that the walls weren’t built to keep her out.
They sat at a table that was covered with crisp white linen and set with a porcelain vase of fresh, pale pink roses. Mick gently nudged the growling Botty under the table with his foot. “G’wan, be quiet, you hell hound,” he muttered.
A porter handed them menus and Mick was amused to see how it described a hot turkey sandwich as if it were fabulous culinary treat.
Solly ate the way he talked, quickly and with enthusiasm. He also put away an enormous amount of food.
“Timona! I must’ve gotten all the way to Columbus before I figured out you were left back in New York! Your father didn’t know where you were, and Mr. Blenheim was fit to be tied. I had to pay my own train fare! Back to New York, too. And I listened to droning about fossils for six solid hours before I gave Pops the slip. I’ve been forced to write horrible dull pieces about some dusty political scandal. Ugh. What in God’s name have you been up to?”
Timona gave him some details of New York. Mick was interested in how much she left out, though she was careful to mention the Tuckers. She also mentioned the Graves and other respectable folk she met up with.
After she finished, she turned to Mick and said, “Solly here is extremely clever. He’s a stringer, a freelance reporter. But he’s a smart boy who makes his money coming and going.”
She took a spoonful of soup, and thenent on. “I pay him to put in and take out particular fragments of his stories. Solly acts as something like a public relations man, but not as falsely hearty, or constantly in one’s hair, which my father does not tolerate. And once Solly does a version of a story for me, and I pay him, the editors turn around and pay him again to publish it.”
Solly, working his way through his third sandwich, smirked as if he were getting credit for a particularly clever invention. “Don’t forget, part of the deal is I get first crack at the Calverson story of the week, Timona!” Solly reminded her. “Speaking of which, down to business! I want to file a story by Thursday so I get my rent taken care of. Here’s the idea! You’re helping these poor people flee the unhealthy air of the city at a—”
Timona groaned. ”Oh no, Solly. How sick-making. No. I know you think you have to include me. But I should be secondary.”
“Timona, you always say that and then the editors chop off every word that isn’t related to you. All my fine work wasted!”
She thought as she sipped her wine. “All right. It’s strictly in New York. I was, er, coshed on the head. And the people came to help me in my time of need. Does that ring true enough, Mick?”
“Coshed on the head? Honest? Timona my fine friend, you never fail to deliver!” Solly practically drooled in delight as he frantically searched his pockets for a better pencil.
Mick finally had to ask. “Do you mean all the stories about you are lies?”
“Of course not. Simply, er, edited. In this case, we’ll just leave out the bordello, and the boy’s clothes, and the single man’s flat. Solly will put in people like the Tuckers and the Kellys, though I think it best if we change names. ”
“Oh, Timona.” Solly groaned. “Don’t! Please do not say words like ‘bordello’ and ‘boy’s clothes’ in my presence! McCann is the lucky man with the flat, I take it?”
Mick felt himself blush.
Timona nodded. “But Mick must be left out entirely, Solly. I mean it.”
Solly exploded. “I can’t bear it! Yes, yes, creating a Calverson fiction is not in the league of fudging an exposure of corruption in government, but it still hurts my newsman’s soul to know you’re tossing out the meat of the story and leaving me thin broth. A bordello! I know you are!”
Timona blew a genteel raspberry. “Solly, don’t you preach to me of your pure journalist’s soul.”
She turned to Mick as she waved a fork at Solly. “We struck our first deal a few years ago. Sol approached me one night in a Parisian restaurant to say he had written a story about the drug-deal my father mistakenly made. Papa thought the items in question were bones . . . well, let’s never mind that misunderstanding. Anyway, Solly was going to turn in his story no matter what I said, but he offered to change details. Very apologetic and friendly. Not at all threatening or unpleasant like the usual blackmailer. And the story he finally wrote was really very good.”
Solly the blackmailer beamed at Timona.
She smiled back and said, “Our Solly can turn a word. After that first story I developed the idea that he could do more of the same writing for us. He tends to stick close. Don’t you, Sol.”
Solly nodded. He tucked a wad of his sandwich into his cheek and said, “When the editors stop clamoring for news about you and yours, Timona, I’ll hold a wake! You shall be invited of course. I will send the very finest engraved black-edged invitaon.”

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