by Anne Stuart
He didn’t bother to hide the contempt in those winter-blue eyes. “You know as well as I do that it’s boring as crap. There are plenty of other windows to push products—that window should be something more.”
“There are some beautiful windows,” Rosa protested. “The woodland scene we did a couple of days ago was perfect.”
“Not with Victrolas under the lights,” he grumbled.
“So why don’t you tear out the window and do what you want?” Madison said in a practical voice.
“Ratchett.” The word was clearly more of an obscenity than her occasional “shits” that always threw him for a loop, and she most desperately wanted to say “fuck Ratchett,” but she didn’t think Rosa would survive the shock.
Before her lips could form the words, the door opened, and she breathed a sigh of relief that she hadn’t actually said it. Irene Davis stood in the door, looking like the wrath of Joan Crawford, all arched eyebrows and shoulder pads. She glared at Madison, ignored Rosa, and focused on Johnny, who made no effort to move from his position on the floor. “Could I speak to you a moment, John?” she said, voice syrupy sweet.
“Certainly.” He still didn’t move.
Her heavily lipsticked mouth tightened slightly. “In private?”
He glanced up at Irene. “The girls can stay.”
Madison couldn’t decide whether she wanted to throw something at him for calling her a goddamned girl again, or be pleased that he told them to stay. She settled for watchful.
Irene was not happy, but she wasn’t going to be deterred. “I wanted to remind you about the party on Christmas Eve.”
“I’m not really big on parties, Irene.”
“Go figure,” Madison said under her breath, but he heard her, throwing her a warning look.
“I know.” Irene was trying to amenable but not quite carrying it off. “But you did promise, and Mummy’s counting on you.”
That was enough to startle Madison into a worse indiscretion. “Mummy?” She would have thought Irene was hatched by a sour-tempered peacock.
“I don’t believe this concerns you,” Irene said icily and spoke pointedly to Johnny. “My mother is on the board of a great many institutions in this town, not to mention Macy’s Board of Directors, and it makes sense to win her favor if you want to succeed. You said you were going.”
Johnny shifted. “I didn’t say I wouldn’t,” he replied reluctantly. “Arthur Ambrose will be there, won’t he?”
“Who’s Arthur Ambrose?” Rosa piped up, but Irene didn’t even deign to glare at her.
“He’s a furniture maker,” Johnny said.
“Not a furniture maker—he’s a sculptor, not a manufacturer,” Irene corrected him, still ignoring the women in the room. “And a great many important people will be there.” Irene tried for a winning smile that almost worked. “It’s all about the people you know.”
She wants something, Madison thought. And Johnny was going to give it to her, the rat bastard. She felt her opinion of him begin to sink.
Johnny made a noncommittal noise that could have been agreement. “I said I’d be there, didn’t I?” he said in a less than promising voice. “I wouldn’t miss it.”
Irene’s predatory smile broadened. “So I was thinking you might be my companion for the evening. It would make things so much simpler, don’t you think, if we didn’t have to bother with bringing outsiders as our dates?”
“That’s a great idea, Irene,” he said smoothly. “You should have said something earlier. I’m afraid I’m already bringing a date.”
Irene stiffened. “Who?”
“Mollie.”
It took Madison a moment to realize what he’d said, another minute to control her choking fit. Rosa was thumping her on the back, cheerfully crowing about “Mollie’s date” while dead silence and steely rage emanated from Joan Crawford.
“You can’t,” she said flatly as Madison finally stopped coughing. “You wouldn’t!”
“Of course I can. Your mother and Mr. Macy commanded my presence and I have no intention of ignoring my commitments. The invitation said plus one and Mollie agreed. Didn’t you?” He turned his icy blue gaze on her, his expression bland.
She could tell the truth, of course. That she wouldn’t go anywhere with him even if Manhattan were overrun by zombies, that she literally couldn’t go anywhere with him because she was trapped in this Twilight Zone existence. Irene Davis was staring at her with murder in her slightly protruding eyes, something Madison found oddly cheering, and she opened her mouth to set everyone straight.
“I’m looking forward to it.” Where the hell had those words come from? Rosa clapped her hands together in delight, and Irene’s cold eyes narrowed, her bright red lips grim.
“Well,” Irene said. “Well.” She managed to pull the merest semblance of a polite expression onto her furious face. “My mother will be disappointed, but it’s only a small setback.” Her eyes bored into Madison’s, and the message was clear. He’s mine.
“A setback?” Madison said innocently, knowing she should shut her mouth, or say she’d been kidding, or get up and run screaming through the store. Don’t tug the tiger’s tail, she reminded herself.
But Irene was back in control. “Never mind,” she cooed. “I’ll look forward to seeing you better dressed, Mollie.”
Madison gritted her teeth, repressing the urge to inform Irene that the mauve color she was wearing made her skin look green, and smiled. “So kind,” she murmured dulcetly, but the acid tone went directly over Irene’s head.
But the woman wasn’t giving up without a fight. Clearly dismissing Rosa and Madison as unworthy of her notice, she turned back to Johnny, who’d been watching the tension with a mildly disinterested expression. “I do still need to talk to you, John,” she said, her voice tight. “Mr. Ratchett is up in arms about your plans to redo the front window. I think it’s very effective marketing, nothing even marginally offensive. But now you’re wanting to tear it apart. Do you have some problem with a sweet, old-fashioned Christmas? Or was it you?” She tossed a menacing glare at Madison.
He finally rose, unfolding his lanky body until he seemed to dwarf the window. “I’ll deal with it.”
Rosa had perked up. “Which windows, Johnny? The corny ones?” That earned her a glare form Irene.
“They’re boring and derivative. I’m taking them down.”
“Mr. Ratchet says absolutely not,” Irene said primly.
He arched his eyebrow, and Madison sighed. Apart from the fact that it reminded her of her beloved Colbert, eyebrow-raising appeared to have been a fine art seventy years ago. “I don’t think so,” he said in his deep, admittedly sexy voice. “I’ll explain things to him.” There was just the faintest menace in his voice, and Madison felt a trace of pity for the man. There wasn’t much that could stand up to Johnny Larsen. Without another word, he followed Irene down out of the window, closing the small door firmly behind him.
Chapter 11
Rosa burst into excited chatter once they’d left. “You didn’t tell me you were going on a date with Johnny!”
“I’m not!” Madison said uneasily.
“You just said you were,” Rosa argued. “I don’t think I ever saw Bette so angry. She’s really got a thing for Johnny, and you’re getting in her way. You’d better watch out.”
“Or what? She already dislikes me—I don’t think there’s much more she can do.”
“She could try to get you fired. She’s hand-in-hand with Ratchett, and she wants Johnny all to herself. It doesn’t seem to matter that Johnny treats her like the snake she is.”
“Good luck with that. If she can kick me out of Macy’s, then more power to her.”
“Good point—she hasn’t been able to get rid of me no matter how hard she’s tried.”
“What she got against you?”
“As far as she’s concerned I’m colored.”
Madison winced at the archaic word. “You’ve got to be kidding!�
� She looked at Rosa’s lovely olive complexion, confused. “I thought that meant you were black?”
It was Rosa’s turn to wince. “You don’t call colored people black, Mollie. That sounds prejudiced. You say colored or Negro. And no, I’m not a Negro. But a lot of people think that anyone who has darker skin is colored, whether you’re Spanish, Italian, or even Irish.”
Madison had to control her instinctive shudder at the casual racism in the words, if not in Rosa’s generous heart. “The Irish don’t have darker skin,” she pointed out.
“They might as well have, given the way they’re treated. We’re the newcomers—we probably built the Mayflower in the first place. I guess most folks seem to think we need to earn our place here.” She sighed. “I guess they never read what’s on the Statue of Liberty. They forget they were immigrants once too.”
There was no way Rosa could assure her things would get better. Instead, she changed the subject. “So what do you think Johnny’s going to do about the windows?”
Rosa grinned. “Anything he wants—he’s too good for Macy’s to lose him, and Ratchett knows it. He’s just trying to piss him off.”
“With Johnny, that’s no great feat,” Madison drawled.
Rose laughed. “He’s just looking for trouble, and I gotta tell you, Johnny is more than capable of delivering it. If Ratchett has any sense, he’ll let Johnny do what he wants. That man has the best instincts in the world—whatever he works on will have to be beautiful.”
Much as she wanted to refute it, Madison nodded. “He’s good,” she said grudgingly.
“More than good,” Rosa corrected her. “I bet this is going to be a huge fight, and I don’t want to miss the fun. Why don’t we go outside and check the windows? I bet we’ll see Johnny ripping things out and smoke coming out of Ratchett’s ears.”
“Out?” Madison said, suddenly filled with mixed feelings. Would she be able to walk out the door with Rosa by her side?
“And we’re gonna need to find you something to wear for the big night. It’s going to be like Cinderella going to the ball.”
“I’m not really going,” Madison said firmly.
“You said you were.”
“It was a joke. I don’t even know why Johnny said he’d asked me. He hadn’t, and he wouldn’t. He dislikes me as much as I dislike him.”
Rosa snorted with laughter as she opened the hatch like door to the window. “That I can believe.” They were out in the milling crowds again as Christmas shopping had reached critical levels, and Rosa looked at her once more. “You really think he doesn’t like you?” Her voice was rich with disbelief.
If she could change the subject, Madison would have, but Rosa was tenacious. “He doesn’t act like it,” she said lamely.
“Johnny’s right. You really are an innocent.”
Madison wasn’t sure if she wanted to laugh or cry. Innocent was the very last word she would use to describe herself. She was practical, unromantic, even jaded. “I don’t think so.”
“You think I’ve got you wrong? Oh, I know you’re smart as blazes, but when it comes to love, you’re a baby.”
“Love?” Her voice came out in a small shriek, and several of the shoppers turned to look at her. “What in God’s name has this to do with love?”
“My point exactly.” Rosa took a shortcut, ducking down and moving between a couple of women in heavy fur coats. Madison went after her, but she was taller, and she knew she’d end up doing the limbo if she wanted to take that route, so she took the slide flank, feeling like Wellington commanding his troops, coming around on the other side of a relatively less crowded space.
It was no surprise that Rosa was nowhere in sight. She should have known it wouldn’t be this easy. If Rosa hadn’t been able to leave, she would have made a fuss, and something would have been done. Though what Madison wanted done was a mystery. She wanted her life back. She wanted her bland, boxlike apartment, the place she’d lived for four years and still didn’t feel like home. Didn’t she? There was no man to get back to, no family, and she’d been planning to quit her job. What would be so bad about staying here?
Because this isn’t real, you dumbass, she reminded herself. This isn’t your life and it never will be. It can’t be.
The next half hour of searching for Rosa was a waste —she really had no hope of finding her. Unfortunately, she found far worse.
“What are you doing wandering around the floors, Miss Madison?” Irene had loomed up, her mouth tight.
“Rosa and I were going to check the south windows, see if there’s anything Johnny wants us to do.”
“Never mind about that—he’ll tell you if he needs you. I don’t know what’s gotten into him—his windows have always been extremely tasteful and understated. Then he hires you and suddenly things aren’t good enough.” She let the words trail off with an irritated sniff. “You’re a bad influence on him.”
Madison shouldn’t have rolled her eyes, but she couldn’t help it. “I’m no influence at all, good or bad.”
She caste her cold eyes over Madison’s figure. “As a matter of fact, I’m glad I ran into you. As you doubtless know, my mother’s Christmas party is a very exclusive affair, not the sort of thing you’d feel at all comfortable at. You’d be much happier if you told Johnny you couldn’t make it.”
Madison had little doubt that that was the truth, but she wasn’t about to let Joan Crawford boss her around. “I’m looking forward to it,” she replied, giving her a smile full of teeth.
“It’s not really your kind of people.”
“Who are my kind of people, Irene? If you know, then I’d appreciate you telling me all about it.” She meant the words, of course, even knowing Irene would do no such thing.
Irene smiled tightly. “If you’re determined to push yourself into a world where you don’t belong, then feel free. I just don’t want you to embarrass John. After all, he’s an up-and-coming businessman. You wouldn’t want to do anything to derail his career. He has a great future.”
Madison kept her face blank. For some reason, Johnny had always seemed like a bad fit for this safe, conventional world. If he were real, and that was definitely a question, then he’d probably end up marrying someone like Irene, or maybe a sweet girl-next-door type, and they’d have a big house in Scarsdale and he’d have martini lunches and screw his secretaries and...
But not the bad-tempered, surprisingly protective Johnny she knew. Irene had let her voice trail off, clearly aware that she’d lost her audience. She smiled a little more broadly, showing very small, very sharp white teeth. “But that’s clearly none of my business. And as a gesture of goodwill, you must allow me to arrange for a visit to our Macy’s salons, on the house, of course, so you’ll be primped and perfect for the evening. And allow me to find you something to wear—I know the evening gowns around here better than anyone.”
“It’s very kind of you, but Rosa said she’d help me.”
If Irene were the spitting kind, she would have done so at that moment. “You don’t want to be looking like her, do you? I presume she was going to steal a dress for you to wear that night? Of course she was. Well, I happened to have access to a much wider range of gowns, and my taste is impeccable. I’ll make certain you turn out just right.”
“I couldn’t...”
“I insist.” There were daggers in Irene’s voice. Why in God’s name had she ever said yes to the non-invitation? Irene already disliked her, she disliked Johnny, Johnny didn’t give a rat’s ass about anyone. She should tell the woman that she’d just remembered she had an earlier commitment. After all, most people weren’t available for socializing on Christmas Eve; it was more a time for family. It would only take a word or two to end this farce.
“That’s very kind of you, but I can’t ask you to do that.”
“But you aren’t, Miss Madison!” Irene’s smile was quite broad by now, her expression a cross between Ming the Merciless and the Dragon Lady.
Ming the Merc
iless and the Dragon Lady? She’d never seen a Saturday serial in her life, and yet she could picture them perfectly. Before Madison could finish her demurral, Irene swanned on. “In fact, there’s no way you could stop me. My little Christmas present to you.”
Madison looked at her warily. “You’re very kind,” she said again. She’d figure out a way out of this mess when she was alone.
“No,” said Irene with a spiteful smile, “I’m not.”
Madison sighed as Irene strode away from her, all purposeful in her muddy maroon suit, her hair upswept, the perfect 1940s lady. Whereas Mollie was a lost soul, a creature out of time, and no matter what she did to try to escape, or even try to ground herself, the worse it got. In fact, the only time she felt centered was when she was around Johnny and Rosa. Around Johnny. Which was absurd, given that he was the most difficult, annoying man, full of prehistoric caveman opinions and so much testosterone she was afraid she’d start growing a beard just by being exposed to him.
A small laugh escaped her as she made her way toward the service elevators, and several people turned to look at her oddly. They probably thought she was a nutcase, which would be strictly accurate. Something was out of whack and it was definitely her.
When the doors to the elevator opened on the eighth floor, Rosa was waiting for her, looking flustered. “Where were you? We got separated in the crowds and I looked all over for you. I even thought you’d gone outside on your own, but you weren’t out there either.” She looked more worried than annoyed.
“I ran into Irene,” she said glumly.
“Enough said. You wanna go now?”
She should keep trying, she knew she should. Sooner or later, a door would open and she would walk through, back into the twenty-first century, but right then she was feeling defeated. “I don’t think so. Did you see anything?”