by Nan Ryan
He said, loudly enough for half the room to hear, “Sorry I’m late, dear. Forgive me?”
He pulled out a chair, sat down opposite the surprised Lucy, shook out a white dinner napkin, and draped it across his knee while flabbergasted guests stared and whispered and Lucy Hart turned crimson.
Blackie leaned up close to the table, grasped Lucy’s icy hand, and favored her with a smile, which was full of confident charm.
A raffish glint in his night-black eyes, he said in a low, warm whisper, “What do you say we do the town after dinner?”
Aware that many of the diners, especially the ladies, were staring at the two of them, Lucy disengaged her hand from his as unobtrusively as possible, forced herself to smile for the benefit of their audience, and said so softly only he could hear, “Is there no end to your brashness and bad manners? It’s obvious that you are not aware of even the most rudimentary arts of social intercourse.”
Blackie shrugged wide shoulders and grinned. “Is that anything like sexual intercourse?”
Lucy’s breath came out in a rush as if someone at socked her in the stomach. Her green eyes widened with shock, then narrowed with anger. She longed to shout her outrage at him, but knew she couldn’t without making a spectacle of herself.
She said through clenched teeth, “I do not have to tolerate the company of a man whose primary characteristic is coarseness.”
“No, you don’t,” he said, leaning back in his chair in an attitude of total relaxation. “Leave if you like. I’m staying.” He raised a long arm in the air, motioned a waiter over while saying to Lucy, “You don’t really dislike me, do you, Lucy?”
“If I gave you any thought I’m sure I would.”
He laughed. “Well, now that the unpleasantries have been exchanged, tell me what’s good this evening. The roast beef? The halibut? I’m famished.”
Lucy didn’t know quite what to do. She had never dealt with a man like Blackie LaDuke. She had made it clear she did not want his company, but he refused to behave the gentleman and leave. If she got up and stalked out, she would draw even more attention to herself and that was the last thing she wanted.
As if he had read her thoughts, the devilish Blackie winked at her and said, “Face it, you’re trapped. Might as well relax and enjoy yourself.”
Glancing furtively about, Lucy leaned across the table, and whispered, “What is it with you, Mr. LaDuke? What do you want with me?”
“I don’t know yet, Lucy,” Blackie replied, his black eyes twinkling, “what have you got?”
Lucy expelled an exasperated breath. “What I don’t have is the time or the patience to endure any more of your vulgar nonsense!” She tossed her napkin down on the table.
“Stay right where you are or I’ll make an awful scene,” he warned, all the while wearing a wide, charming smile.
Lucy sighed and her slender shoulders slumped. “Why are you doing this to me, Mr. LaDuke?”
“Because, Lucy,” Blackie leaned back up to the table, again reached for her hand, “you need a little fun in your life whether you want it or not.”
Innate pride made her instantly defensive. “I’ll have you know that I don’t need you to teach me how to have fun. I have plenty of fun.”
Blackie arrogantly predicted, “You’re going to have even more with me.”
Lucy shook her head and gave him a withering look. “Forgive me for saying this, but you, LaDuke, are a conceited ass.”
“You’re forgiven.”
Chapter Ten
Lucy Hart had scrimped and saved and treated herself to this trip and to an extended stay at the Atlantic Grand, one of the most regal hotels in country. It was out of character, but she deserved it.
Or so she had told herself.
Now she was here and Theodore D. Mooney wasn’t and there seemed to be no point in her staying. She would have to pack up and go right back home where she belonged. Where she should have stayed in the first place.
Tomorrow morning, soon as she got up, she would go down to the depot and see about purchasing a rail ticket. Hopefully she could get booked on an afternoon or evening train and get out of here.
Lucy inwardly cringed.
It was going to be terribly embarrassing to return to Colonias early. While no one knew where she was, quite a number knew that she was gone and was supposed to stay gone for two whole weeks. She wasn’t due back until after Labor Day. What would they think, what would they say when she showed up at home after only a few days. Well, nothing could be as bad as staying on here alone.
She would go home.
“The only sensible thing to do,” Lucy assured herself as she crawled into bed that Tuesday night.
It was the sensible thing to do. She knew that, but she sighed wistfully.
She hadn’t slipped off to Atlantic City to behave sensibly. She hadn’t saved and planned and dreamed for months, only to come here and be her old sensible self. She had spent a lifetime being sensible. Surely she deserved a couple of weeks of being frivolous.
Lucy lay awake in the patterned moonlight spilling into her third floor hotel room weighing the pros and cons of leaving Atlantic City immediately. Still undecided as midnight came and went, her thoughts drifted from the train and home and the absent Mr. Mooney to her unexpected, uninvited dinner companion, the cocky Blackie LaDuke.
Lucy made a face.
Blackie LaDuke was as opposite from her as night was from day. He had probably never done anything sensible in his entire life. His kind never had to. The Blackies of this world never bothered to concern themselves with mundane little matters like earning an honest living or making a home or contributing to the good of the community.
Everything was a nonsensical game to Blackie LaDuke, including his decision to join her at dinner tonight. It did no good to point out that no invitation had been extended, that she did not wish to have him seated at her table. He just grinned and refused to leave. And he wouldn’t allow her to leave.
She was forced to sit there and smile and nod and act civil throughout the lengthy, five-course meal he ordered. LaDuke—the cruel devil—had teased her unmercifully, making her squirm and blush and threaten him under her breath.
If that was not enough, when finally the agonizingly long dinner was over, he invited her to take a stroll on the Boardwalk. She gave him quick, resounding no and hoped that would be the end of it.
“Good night, Mr. LaDuke,” she said, none too sweetly, as they exited the near empty dining hall well after ten o’clock.
“I’ll see you to your room, Lucy,” he told her and placed a proprietorial hand at the small of her back.
“That will not be necessary,” she informed him, attempting to shrug from his amazingly warm touch.
But Blackie grinned and curled his fingers around the wide, lace-trimmed belt of her green, dotted swiss dress. He pulled her close against his side and said softly into her ear, “Lucy, Lucy…isn’t it time you try something is that isn’t necessarily necessary?”
Momentarily flustered, Lucy felt a hint of a chill skip up her spine from his overwhelming nearness.
She quickly regained her equilibrium and replied in low, level tones, “Mr. LaDuke, I’m sure scores of ladies are charmed by your adolescent conduct, otherwise you surely wouldn’t continue to behave like a mentally underdeveloped delinquent.” She shook her head piteously and gave him a patronizing look. “I, however, am not one of that number. The truth is I find you and your crude childish conduct totally intolerable.”
The devilish twinkle never dimmed in Blackie’s dark eyes. “So…do you want to go for a walk or not?”
“Oh, for heaven sake!” Lucy frowned at him. “No! The answer is no. Do you understand plain English? No, definitely not!”
“Hey, I can take a hint,” Blackie said, still wearing an easy grin. “Maybe tomorrow night.” He began gently propelling her across the main lobby toward the elevator.
Lucy balked. Stopping stubbornly in the center of the lobb
y, she again said, “Goodnight, Mr. LaDuke.”
“I’ll see you up to your room,” Blackie replied. Lucy opened her mouth, but before she could speak he said, “I know, I know. It isn’t necessary. But I’m doing it just the same.”
She knew it was no use to argue.
They moved to the elevator, waited. Momentarily the elevator door opened and Davey, the young, muscular operator, greeted them with a wide grin and wider eyes. His surprise at seeing the two of them together was written all over his open, boyish face.
Lucy saw it.
So did Blackie.
And what did demonic Blackie LaDuke do? As soon as they were inside the elevator he grabbed Lucy up, drew her intimately close, and purposely said in a whisper loud enough for Davey to hear, “Sweetheart, where do want to spend tonight? Your room or my suite?”
Horrified, Lucy quickly looked from Blackie to Davey. The burly youth had turned to stare straight ahead, but his ears were a bright pink. He was, Lucy supposed, almost as embarrassed as she.
“You lunatic!” she said, furiously shoving the smiling Blackie away.
Anxiously she stepped up beside the burly Davey, touched his massive shoulder, and said, “Davey, I hope you don’t actually believe that…”
“Why, Lucy,” Davey interrupted, glancing at her, “I didn’t hear a thing, not a thing, so help me I didn’t.” His Adam’s apple moved up and down as he swallowed nervously. “And anyway, it’s none of my business how you and Blackie spend your evening.”
“See what you’ve done!” Lucy whirled about to glare at Blackie. “You can just explain to Davey that you were making one of your futile attempts at being amusing!”
Blackie, leaning nonchalantly against the back of the car with his arms folded over his chest, nodded his dark head. “If you say so, dearest.”
“I say so!” Lucy hissed and hastily turned back to face the closed elevator door.
Blackie’s arms came unfolded. He leisurely pushed away from the elevator wall, stepped quietly forward and, catching Lucy totally off guard, slipped his long arms around her slender waist, clasped his wrists in front of her, and drew her back against his tall frame.
He said to Davey as the car came to a jerking stop at floor three, “You won’t tell anybody about us, will you, Davey, my man?”
“No, sir, Blackie,” Davey promised and threw the heavy door open wide.
“There’s nothing to tell!” Lucy’s voice was shrill and her hands were plucking savagely at Blackie’s enfolding arms. “You tell him the truth, Blackie LaDuke!”
Blackie grinned, winked at Davey, and quickly urged the angry, mortified Lucy out into the empty third floor corridor. The elevator door closed on the smiling Davey.
“Let me go this minute!” Lucy ordered frantically. Blackie immediately released her. Furious, she spun about to face him. “Why did you do that?”
“Do what?” Blackie turned innocent dark eyes on her.
“You purposely lead Davey to believe that you and I are…are…that we…” She couldn’t finish. Her face was red, her cheeks burning hot.
“I was just having a little fun.” He shrugged. “No harm done.”
“No harm done? No harm done! You ruin my reputation and then you tell me…”
“Lucy, calm down. Please.” Blackie’s voice was almost tender when he added, “Davey knows I was joking.”
“How could he know? He couldn’t! He doesn’t and I’ll never be able to look him in the eye again or…”
“He knows because he knows me. He knows better than to pay any attention my foolishness.” Blackie’s smile changed, became the reassuring kind. “Honest, he didn’t believe me. I never meant for him to believe me.”
Still skeptical, but calming a little, hoping it was true, Lucy said, “You’re sure?”
“Absolutely positive.”
She exhaled loudly with relief and her tensed shoulders lowered. She turned away from Blackie, started down the silent corridor toward her room. Blackie looked after her, smiled, shook his dark head, then easily caught up with her.
At her door, he said casually, “You going to ask me in?”
Lucy stared at him, incredulous. “Mr. LaDuke, your refusal to take anything seriously is really tiresome. As matter of fact, you are tiresome.” She put her key in the lock, turned it, and opened the door. “And I am tired. Now goodnight!”
“You have,” he said, grinning, “managed to hurt my feelings.”
“That’s surely a first,” she replied bitingly, swept inside, and started to close the door.
Blackie’s hand shot out, flattened on the solid oak of the heavy door, and held it ajar. “So…what do you want to do tomorrow?”
Lucy glared at him for a long moment, then finally she laughed. Shaking her head, she said, “To stay as far away from you as possible.”
Then she shut the door in his face.
Thinking back on it now, as she lay sleepless in the silvery summer moonlight, Lucy smiled foolishly and felt her face suddenly grow warm.
What, she wondered idly, might have happened had she allowed the devilish Blackie LaDuke to come inside?
Lucy immediately laughed at herself, knowing the answer to her question. Nothing would have happened. Not a thing.
Blackie LaDuke had known all along that she wouldn’t allow him to come inside; therefore he was perfectly safe in suggesting she invite him in. It was presumptuous and silly of her to suppose that he would actually want to come into her room.
She had taken leave of her senses if she for one moment imagined that such an impressively handsome man as Blackie LaDuke, sophisticated in the ways of the world and sought after by scores of eligible women, could be the least bit interested in a stuffy, straight-laced, less-than-beautiful old maid postmistress.
Thank the good Lord.
Chapter Eleven
In her lavish South tower penthouse suite on that warm Tuesday evening, the one hundred ninety-five pound Lady Strange waited impatiently for a late night visitor.
Lady Strange was dressed for the occasion in a lush, loose fitting robe of vivid, ruby red velvet. On her small feet were satin bedroom slippers trimmed with ostrich feathers. In her carefully coiffured dark hair a wide ruby velvet band was decorated with luminous pearls and on both plump wrists pearl and diamond bracelets flashed. Diamond rings graced her short fingers.
At exactly five feet in height, Lady Strange was as broad as she was tall. Her unfettered breasts were enormous; her short arms like small hams. Belly like a dome, thighs that quivered and danced and were continuously chapped from rubbing together when she walked.
Her face, as round and unlined as a baby’s, was freshly powdered and painted; the small mouth stained a ruby red to match her velvet dressing gown. Her hair was a dark, lustrous mahogany with not one single strand of gray. Her crowning glory, the thick luxuriant locks fell to her waist when unrestrained.
The obese Lady Strange sat sprawled in her favorite easy chair in the antique- and art-filled penthouse parlor. With legs far too short and fat to cross, she sat with her dimpled knees wide apart while her plump, velvet, covered buttocks—like fattening shoats—overflowed the chair.
On her ample lap, watching every move she made, lay the corpulent, black, long-haired cat she had named Precious. Sensually the cat arched its back and its sharp claws appeared on the ruby velvet of Lady Strange’s robe. Lady Strange cooed and giggled and caressed the cat, but the cat was having none of it. He turned cold, slitted golden eyes on her and made low demanding moans in the back of his throat.
“You lazy boy,” scolded Lady Strange. “You just get it yourself.”
The black cat fixed her with a chilly stare.
She giggled.
“Oh, very well, Precious. If you insist. Mama will feed her bad boy.”
Lady Strange reached short, diamond-bedecked fingers out to the small silver platter. With thumb and forefinger she picked up a chunk of fresh salmon and presented it to the cat. The greedy cat
snatched the dripping salmon from her, choked it hurriedly down, licked her fat fingers clean, and promptly made the same demanding sound in his throat.
Precious wanted more.
Lady Strange smiled and wagged her painted face back and forth and shook her short, fat finger at the cat. “You’ll just have to wait your turn. Mama’s hungry too.”
And ignoring the snarls of the impatient Persian, Lady Strange reached the same fingers with which she had fed him into a nearly empty box of clotted cream candies, chose a piece, picked it up, and popped it into her red mouth while the cat watched.
Rolling her blue eyes with relish, she immediately reached for another chunk of salmon, fed the fussy feline who was so impossibly spoiled he refused to eat if his fat mistress did not hand-feed him.
She always did.
Eccentric and almost as spoiled as the jewel-collared cat, Lady Strange led a secure, pampered existence. A nocturnal creature by nature, she spent most of her waking hours in this elegant penthouse parlor with its priceless paintings and antique furniture and cherished photos and mementoes of her glorious youth.
Lady Strange was not unhappy, nor was she lonely. An interesting conversationalist and an attentive listener who was always ready to hear a good story, she welcomed a steady stream of visitors into her parlor.
A celebrated reader of tea leaves, she vowed she could look into the future and many an eager believer sought her fortune telling services.
Besides the many patrons and a wide circle of casual acquaintances from around the globe, Lady Strange had a handful of very dear friends of whom she was especially fond.
One of those was the quintessential southern gentleman, Colonel Cort Mitchell, who lived, as she did, in the Atlantic Grand. The two of them had been close since the first week the Colonel had moved into the Atlantic Grand some eight years ago. A gentle, intelligent man, Cort Mitchell rarely allowed a day to go by without calling on her.