The Memoir of Johnny Devine (7 page)

As the five o’clock hour drew near, Eliza
tidied her desk for the weekend and prepared her weekly timesheet
for the employment agency, then took it to John for his
signature.

He leaned on the mantelpiece and studied the
sheet.

Turning, he looked into her eyes.

Her breath caught.

Eliza had been extra careful to keep a good
distance from him. But in that moment, standing closer than she’d
meant to, she was keenly aware of two things. The first was how
unbelievably attractive a man he was. He even smelled good, like
warm cedar and leather with a hint of spice. And the second was a
reminder to keep her guard up. Now that they were working together,
there would be more opportunities for him to beguile her with his
infamous charms. Though his behavior toward her so far had been
nothing but professional, she knew not to trust a charming,
handsome man. Ralph’s romantic conquests hadn’t ended at the altar,
and she’d be a pure fool to let herself get close to a man like
that again.

Especially one with the reputation of Johnny
Devine.

“
Does this include the
extra fee for collaboration?” he asked, holding up her time sheet.
His intent look and the depth of his voice sent a current thrumming
through her.

Eliza took a half step back. Those kinds of
sensations would be dangerous for any girl—even one on high alert.
“This is only my hours for this week. I still have to tell the
payroll department about the new billing rate.”

“
Excuse me, I’ll be right
back.” John reached for his cane and left.

Eliza waited, confused. If she hadn’t seen
him on film, she would have a hard time believing the man was
capable of being good-humored or sociable.

Not that she had any intentions of
socializing with him.

She collected her purse and hat, and as she
reached the front door, John met her there.

He held out an envelope. “Good night, Mrs.
Saunderson. We’ll see you Monday, Lord willing.”

Frowning, Eliza took the envelope. “What is
this?” When he didn’t answer, she looked inside.

The envelope contained a ten-dollar bill.
Ten dollars was food and bus fare for a week, plus payback of Ivy’s
loan, plus some to spare.

“
What is it
for?”

He opened the front door. “It’s the
difference you’re earning now. Twenty five cents per hour for a
week. Sounds like you won’t get a paycheck right away, and I wanted
to be sure you were paid now. For … all your extra work.”

Eliza calculated the increased difference,
and he was correct. “But I haven’t worked a full week yet. This is
too much.” She tried to give it back, but John shook his head.

“
Please take it. You’ve
earned it.”

“
But … I haven’t, really.”
Her confusion shifted into unease. Her pulse sped. She tried again
to hand it back. “I can just have the billing department collect it
from you, like usual.”
Because I’m
wondering if there’s something else you’re expecting to collect
from me …

“
Consider it a bonus,
then.” Even his faint smile produced dimples, the same ones that
had earned him the title “Dreamiest Man Alive
”
by all the girls in
school.

Her pulse drummed in her
ears. “But employers don’t usually pay for this kind of work in
advance.”
Especially not in cash.
“So …” Eliza mustered every bit of boldness she
had. “So this
off-the-books
cash is only for my collaboration work and
nothing more?” The truth was, it wasn’t romantic advances from him
that Eliza would find so unwelcome. It was the lying attentions of
a flattering cheat. She wasn’t stupid. She may not have love, but
at least she had her dignity.

John studied his feet, jaw tightly set.
“This is simply for your hard work, Mrs. Saunderson, nothing more.”
With a sigh, he looked outside. “James one, twenty-seven.”

“
What?”

“
It’s from the
Bible,” he said.

By the time
Eliza arrived home, the sky was growing
dark.

Someone had tacked two notes to her door.
One said a man called but left no name and said he would call
again.

That was odd. A man who had any legitimate
business with her would leave a name.

The other note said that Betty had
called.

Still frowning at the first one, Eliza took
down the notes and opened her door. Hot, thick air rushed at her,
making her cough. She went to the sliding glass door that led onto
her tiny balcony, opened it, and turned on the ancient fan. The
annoying sound it made, like the chiming of a hundred tiny bells,
meant she couldn’t leave it on at night unless she wanted to endure
broom handle thumps from below all night and get an earful about it
from the other girls in the morning.

Today was a feast day, thanks to her good
fortune. She opened the jar of Skippy she’d bought on the way home,
took out a slice of Wonder Bread, smeared peanut butter on it,
folded it in half, and took a large bite. As she chewed, she made a
second one and took her dinner to the tiny table. The beginnings of
an article on ethnic injustice waited in the typewriter. She took
another bite and leaned closer to read what she had written.

Japanese families, sent to internment camps,
had been not only forced to leave their homes, but forced to sell
them far below market value, or in some cases, to simply give them
up. How could people have turned a blind eye to such injustice? Why
is such oppression accepted in society simply as—

Something furry tickled her shins.

Eliza screamed and nearly fell off her
chair.

A skinny, black cat with a white chin
sauntered out from beneath the table.

The stray tom must have come in from the
balcony. She had seen him out there a few times in recent days, but
he’d never ventured inside before.

Chuckling at losing her
wits over a cat,
she
crouched down to pet him, but the cat shied away. She coaxed
him closer with a piece of her sandwich, then scratched him between
the ears.

There was a pronounced kink near the white
tip of his tail, a nick in one ear, and the outline of ribs showing
through his fur.

“
Poor old tom, looks like
you’re hungry too. Guess you’d better stick around, because we’ve
got pennies from heaven today. Although you never know how long the
bread’s going to last around here, you’re welcome to share what
I’ve got.”

The cat rubbed alongside her leg and bumped
her with his bent tail.

She stroked his head.

The cat lifted his chin
for an under-the-jaw scratch.
The
coloring on his neck and chest looked like a
tuxedo.

“
Well, aren’t you the
gentleman now,” she said with a laugh. “So, all this sudden
attention has nothing to do with my groceries, huh?”

The cat sniffed her fingers.

“
All right, here you go.
I’m a pushover, I know.” She fed him a few more pieces and stroked
his fur. Pets weren’t allowed in the building, but maybe if she fed
him and put him out during the day, he would come back when she
returned home at night.

“
If you’re going to hang
around, I guess you need a name. How about Mortimer?”

With a yawn, the cat stretched.

“
No, too stuffy. Truman?
Eisenhower?”

The cat stepped around the chairs and stared
suspiciously at the closed lavatory door.

“
Not much of a politician,
hmm? No, I think you have more of a bookish look about you.
Whitman? Burns? Scott? No. I don’t see you as the poetic type
either. Maybe a literary hero. Mr. Darcy? Now there’s an aloof chap
who’s impossible to read.”

Speaking of hard to read, what made John
Vincent/Johnny Devine so aloof?

But then, shouldn’t
she
prefer him aloof to
the alternative?

She gave the cat a light stroke, forcing her
employer out of her mind.

The cat shied just out of her reach, but
continued to purr. Contradictory little fella.

Eliza smiled. “Yes, Darcy suits you
perfectly.” She broke the rest of her sandwich into pieces and set
them down for the cat, then went downstairs to wait for the
phone.

It seemed Joan was rescheduling her card
party due to a last minute date. As soon as Joan finished her call,
Eliza gave Betty’s telephone number to the operator.

Sue Ellen answered.

“
Hiya, doll,” Eliza said
with a smile. “How are you? How’s school?”

“
Oh, Auntie Liza! I’m
swell. But I hate sixth grade! The boys are such drips!”

Eliza heard some muffled
talk, then Sue Ellen huffed into the phone. “Eddie Jr. has a friend
over to watch
The Lone
Ranger
. His family doesn’t even have a
television. What a square. Just a minute, Auntie Liza, I’ll get
Mother for you, hold the phone. Mother! It’s Auntie
Liza!”

Eliza waited several long seconds as the
eleven-year-old got a gentle scolding that shouting wasn’t
ladylike, similar to the ones Eliza and Betty’s mama had given them
as girls.

At least
someone
was carrying on
Mama’s legacy.

“
Eliza?” Betty sounded
relieved. “Darling, I’ve been so worried. Why didn’t you return my
call?”

“
I’m sorry, I got in late.
I work across town, and it takes three buses to get
home.”

Betty sniffed. “Oh. Well, I’m glad to hear
you’re alive, anyway. But why do you have to ride so many buses?
What sort of job is it?”

Eliza described the editing and typing part
of the job, but left out the part about whom for and where—for the
time being. What Betty didn’t know, she couldn’t fuss about.

“
I don’t understand why
you put yourself through all that for a temporary job, I really
don’t.”

“
It’s a long-term,
freelance job. And it pays very well.” In cash sometimes, it
seemed.

“
Long-term?” A huff
reached across the miles as if Betty were standing beside Eliza.
“Really, how long-term could it be?”

“
A few months, probably.
It’s hard to say at this point. If the publishing house sends it
back for revisions, it could be even longer.”

“
But, darling, you know
that won’t do. It might put some food on the table—such as it
is—but it’s not a permanent plan. It’s just not … responsible. Or
proper. A respectable woman’s place is in the home, making sure her
husband succeeds. You understand, don’t you?”

Yes, Mother.
Eliza winced and quickly shook off her attitude.
Betty was all she had left, and her sister really did care, in her
own way.

“
And since you brought it
up, I have to say I really worry about you. About your future, I
mean.
Someone
has
to think about it. Now what about that nice man, Stanley, that Ed
invited over last time you were here? He owns two appliance stores.
In fact, he sold us my new Hotpoint Automatic Laundry Pair. Stanley
does
very
well,
Eliza. Did he ever call?”

Eliza grimaced. It wasn’t that she was
opposed to dating a pudgy bald man who sweated more than he talked
about himself—which was a lot. It was the idea of marrying someone
simply for security and identity while pretending to the poor man
and everyone else that she was happy.

“
Well, I suppose you
didn’t really encourage him, did you.”

Why would Eliza encourage a man to call her
if she wasn’t interested in marriage?

And why
wasn’t
she interested in
marriage?

For three very good reasons: cooking,
cleaning, and smiling. Smiling while listening to complaints and
demeaning insults. Smiling while cleaning a shattered dinner plate
and tomato sauce from the wall where Ralph had thrown it. Smiling
while eating her dinner alone because Ralph had gone over to
Bruno’s for something that didn’t “taste like dog food.”

Smiling while pretending she wasn’t dying on
the inside.

“
Eliza? Did you hear what
I said?” Betty’s voice had risen half an octave.

“
Sorry, what?”

“
I said you can’t do this
forever, darling. You’re thirty-three. You
have
to think about your future.
I’ll have Ed talk to Stanley again.”