Guys & Dogs
Page 18
“I know it’s going to go great. I just feel it,” she added. “This is going to be your Waterloo!”
Sutter halted in the doorway and looked back at her. “My Waterloo?”
“Yes, sir!” She beamed.
“Arnetta, you realize that Waterloo was Napoleon’s greatest defeat, do you not?”
He didn’t have time to quibble about it, but his Waterloo was seeming all too close at hand to let the remark go.
Arnetta looked consternated. “His defeat? Oh, uh, well somebody won, right?”
“Wellington.”
She brightened. “Right, then. That’s what I meant!”
“Darling, that’s Fred Carson,” Briana leaned toward Sutter and breathed her low words into his ear, “he writes for InStyle magazine. Let’s invite him over, shall we?”
Sutter sighed. “You know how I feel about that, Bri. And don’t you think we owe it to your other guests to maintain some privacy?”
He nodded toward her friends across and down the table, a group of six he’d met a couple of times before who appeared regularly in New York’s society pages. He had little hope of gaining support from them in this matter but it was worth a try.
Briana gave him an arch look. “You know they won’t mind. Besides, InStyle isn’t like that rag that’s been after you and your little flirtation.”
Her words were pointed and it was the first inkling Sutter had gotten that Briana had seen the Tattler article. He’d debated telling her about it, but as they were not even sleeping together these days—and she’d been rumored to have been tete-a-teting with a famous real estate mogul in New York last month anyway; a man he knew she liked to socialize with mostly because of the press he garnered—he decided the conversation would be inappropriate. Not to mention that he did not want to start explaining himself at every cock of the shutter.
He lifted one eyebrow at her.
She shifted her gaze, uncomfortable. “Besides, they are very respectful,” she continued. “Every time I’ve appeared in their mag they’ve made me look my very best.”
Sutter shook his head. “Briana, I don’t want them here. It’s bad enough they’re even in this restaurant. In this town. They’re only here to intrude.”
“They won’t be intruding if we invite them over,” she hissed, her glance darting back to Carson, obviously hoping to catch his eye. “It’s been weeks since anyone’s reported on the two of us, Sutter. They virtually ignored my move to Fredericksburg.”
Sutter sat back and gazed at her. “What of it? Do you want your new address nationally known?”
“Darling, I’m only thinking of you,” she crooned. “This kind of publicity can help your business. As a stockholder, I can tell you I don’t think you use your celebrity nearly enough for the good of the company.” She sat up straighter and looked across the fancy dining room toward the press. “Look, I think he’s dining with Maria Sandoval. She’s that divine photographer who covered my beach party last year.”
“Bri, honey,” her friend Bibi called less than discreetly across the table, “isn’t that InStyle mag sitting over there? Let’s invite them over.”
“Well, I thought we should,” she said, sliding a hurt look toward Sutter. “What do the rest of you think?”
Below the chorus of “why not” and “sure” from the inebriated group, Sutter leaned toward her and said, “Briana, if you invite them over here I’m leaving. I’ve had enough of the media in all forms for one month.”
Briana held out a hand toward the rest of the group. “But they want—Oh, Fred!” she called suddenly, her hand darting into the air in a fluttery wave, as the man in question rose from his table.
He glanced over and gave a wide smile, for all the world as if he hadn’t realized they were here. “Briana, hello!”
Sutter shook his head.
“And is that Maria with you?” Briana asked, her own smile muted and pretty, the way it usually was in photos. “Why don’t you two join us?”
Fred and Maria made the move as quickly as two people could possibly switch tables, leaving behind drinks, napkins, appetizers—but not note-pad and camera.
“And Sutter Foley too,” Fred said jovially. “Looks like we’ve hit the jackpot tonight. Bibi, Tom…” He nodded to the two others he recognized.
While they were looking for a second chair for Fred, Sutter rose from his own.
“Take my seat, Fred, I’ve got to leave early this evening anyway.” He answered Briana’s brittle smile with a cool kiss on the cheek. “Goodnight, darling,” he said, his tone icy. “I’ll ring you sometime.”
“I hope it wasn’t something we said,” Fred laughed, shaking Sutter’s hand goodnight.
In truth, Fred Carson wasn’t bad as journalists went, but Sutter had had enough of the limelight, and was especially annoyed that Briana couldn’t keep herself out of it for once at his request. Usually he indulged her in her desire for coverage, knowing she usually managed to keep it tasteful. But tonight he’d just wanted to relax.
He bid the rest of the group goodnight and made his exit.
Outside, he decided to walk. It was late, the restaurant they were in about the only one in town that stayed open long enough to accommodate Briana’s continental dining demands, and there were few people out. But it was warm and Sutter needed to calm down. He decided to walk home and send someone for the car in the morning.
He was about to pass La Petite when two men stumbled out the front door in front of him. One was white-haired and slightly overweight, the other was younger and slim.
“Easy, there, doc,” the younger one laughed, holding up the other. “I thought you said you were going to have another drink.”
“Well, I was, ’till that overgrown gorilla in there told me I had enough,” the older man slurred.
“I guess as a vet you’d know an overgrown gorilla when you saw one,” the first man said.
At that, Sutter slowed just enough to keep the two men within earshot. They hadn’t noticed him yet, even though the younger man seemed considerably more sober than the other.
“Damn straight I know ’em,” the white-haired man said. “He’s kicked me outta there before, the bastard. But it ain’t like I was buying the drinks this time, thank you very much.”
He nodded at the other man, then shook his head, making himself dizzy enough to stumble. The other man held him up.
“That sonofabitch,” he continued. “He oughta start treatin’ me better, and he will, goddamnit. He will when he realizes who I am.”
“Will he?” the young man said. “Why’s that, doc?”
“Ah, ah, ah,” the older man said, wagging a finger at his companion. “You been tryin’ to get stuff outta me all night long but I’m too smart for that. Who my daughter’s dating ain’t no business of yours, mister.”
“You mean Sutter Foley?”
The older man stopped at the mouth of an alley between two buildings. “Hang on, hang on,” he said, belching a little. He pointed into the alley. “I gotta see a man about a dog,” he added and began laughing, fumbling at his belt buckle and moving into the darkened space.
The younger man waited a moment before pulling a slim camera out of his front pocket and training on the man in the alley.
“Smile, doc!” he laughed. “You’re next month’s cover model!”
Sutter reached him in four strides, knocking the camera out of his hands and pushing him up against the brick wall.
“You bloody tosser,” he growled, gripping the man’s shirt so tightly he gave a little cough. “I know who you work for. Do they actually pay you to get your subjects pissed before you humiliate them with photos?”
“Well, if it isn’t the man himself,” the reporter choked over the hold Sutter had on him. “Care to comment on Doc Rose’s assertion that you’re dating his daughter? Or maybe I should just say shagging.”
Sutter dragged the man off the wall and threw him to the ground. Then he turned and picked the camera up off the f
loor of the alley.
“Hey, what’s going on?” Doc Rose said, zipping up and looking at the man on the ground.
“I’ll tell you what I’ll comment on,” Sutter said. “I’ll comment on the fact that if I see one word printed about this evening or this gentleman I’m going to buy your bleeding paper and the first person I’m going to fire is you, Tanner Pierce.”
“Hey, you two know each other!” Doc Rose crowed. “You wouldn’t be Sutter Foley, would you now?” he asked, giving Sutter a delighted look. “My daughter speaks real high of you, you know.” He held out a hand to Sutter and swayed on his feet.
Sutter popped the memory card out of the small digital camera and put it in his pocket. Then, after double-checking the internal memory, he handed the camera to the man picking himself up off the ground.
He turned to the older man and shook his hand, pulling him gently toward the mouth of the alley.
“Come with me now, Dr. Rose,” he said quietly, eyeing the reporter to make sure he didn’t follow. “And let me get you a cab home.”
From: “Elizabeth Powell” Bitsy@worldnet.net
To:
Date: Wed, 9 Aug 16:01:01
Subject: Re: Escapades
Darling! You’ve become international news. And I couldn’t be more shocked at the reason. Imagine my surprise at seeing you in the National Tattler. I had to laugh at the “pining for his first wife” part. But are you actually reconsidering the elegant Miss Ellis? I have to say, I think it’s a good idea. It is said in circles over here that she never met a photographer she didn’t like. Though I imagine the one who snapped that shot of you and the veterinarian is no favorite. But Sutter, two women at once! And one of them an indigent. You may not want to hang on to Briana, but the insolvent one is no doubt after your money (though darling, I don’t mean to say you wouldn’t make it fun for the poor girl). Still, where in the world are you finding the time? As I recall you barely had time for a wife, let alone a girlfriend and a tart on the side.
I suppose times change. Got to run. Have meditation at six, followed by cocktails at the embassy. And I still have to see Henri about my hair!
Ciao, darling,
Bitsy
From: “Sutter Foley”
To: “Elizabeth Powell” Bitsy@worldnet.net
Date: Thu, 10 Aug 08:37:42
Subject: Re: Escapades
Surprised you would read that rag at all. Has your gossip network deteriorated so completely that you must now rely on materials printed for the masses?
—S.
From: “Elizabeth Powell” Bitsy@worldnet.net
To: “Sutter Foley”
Date: Thu, 10 Aug 13:27:02
Subject: Re: Gossip
Sutter, when it comes to you I have always had to rely on outside sources for information. You are hopelessly uninformative. Am I to believe, then, that this isn’t true? My gossip network, as you so sensitively referred to my friends, tells me Miss Ellis is in a funk. Who is this Megan Rose person? Tell me she’s not related to that disgusting little man who used to try to pick me up at La Petite. If she is, perhaps the Tattler got it right. They seem to be an oversexed lot.
Massage at 2, must run.
Ciao,
Bitsy
From: “Sutter Foley”
To: “Elizabeth Powell” Bitsy@worldnet.net
Date: Fri, 11 Aug 08:04:12
Subject: Re: Gossip
Megan Rose is a friend. Miss Ellis is unhappy with me for other reasons.
Be honest, Bits, how bad of a husband was I?
—S.
From: “Elizabeth Powell” Bitsy@worldnet.net
To: “Sutter Foley”
Date: Fri, 11 Aug 23:44:17
Subject: Re: Marriage
You were a wonderful husband, when you wanted to be. Impenetrable when you didn’t. It was all up to you, dearest.
Why? Who are you planning to marry?
Bedtime awaits.
A bientot,
Bitsy
From: “Sutter Foley”
To: “Elizabeth Powell” Bitsy@worldnet.net
Date: Sat, 12 Aug 04:24:57
Subject: Re: Marriage
Sutter stopped typing and stared at the blinking cursor. Had he made a decision? Or was he just reacting to events of the last week?
Not that he had any doubts. No, the last week had opened his eyes considerably. He was not a fool, not if he trusted his intellect. It had never once let him down. Even when Bitsy had left him and he thought his heart would turn to stone, he’d known that it was for the best. And it had been. He couldn’t imagine being married to Bitsy now.
No, at least one path was clear. He had made his decision and it was the right one.
He put his hands on the keyboard and typed:
If I were planning to marry, don’t you think I would tell my good friends at the National Tattler first?
—S.
“We have to get out,” Penelope said on the phone, “and we need to go where the quality people are, not some bar.”
“The quality people, huh?” Megan said.
“Yes, you know, the ones who can afford to buy a cow,” Penelope said.
Megan laughed. It hadn’t taken her long to realize that Penelope had more than a little of the debutante inside her. Not that she was a snob, not at all. She just had no intention of ending up with someone unsuitable—and by unsuitable she seemed to mean “poor.” Considering that Megan had not only married, but before that, dated many an unsuitable man, it couldn’t hurt to ride along on Penelope’s coattails and see what a “quality” man might be like.
She tried to ignore the fact that the only man she thought of when it came to the subject of dating, not to mention “quality,” was Sutter. Talk about unsuitable. Aside from the fact that he hadn’t called her in a month, he was the type of man who was clearly unobtainable to someone like her. She was a fool to have ever entertained any kind of romantic thoughts about him.
But she had. And unfortunately even now she thought of him far more than she knew she should. Especially since that horrible article had come out in the National Tattler. She could just kill that Tanner Pierce for twisting her words so disastrously. And the way he’d written the article made it sound as if half the things he said were her thoughts too. She came across like an egomaniacal idiot. If Sutter had seen it she would just have to move, that’s all there was to it. He’d think she was a fool. Beyond that, a…a Jezebel.
“And where do the quality men hang out?” Megan asked.
“That’s just the point. They don’t “hang out.” They go to events. Benefits, fund-raisers, balls, that kind of thing.”
“Balls?” Megan repeated, picturing a bunch of animated Prince Charmings. “Do people really still have balls?”
“Of course. Charity balls and things like that. But that’s not what I have in mind.”
Megan squelched an urge to say “uh-oh.” She heard paper shifting in the background over the phone. “What do you have in mind?”
“Here it is. A chamber music concert. At St. George’s Episcopal church. Reception to follow.”
“Chamber music, huh?”
“It’s great. I went last year. The church is historic and the acoustics are lovely, and all the best people in town go.”
Megan had to smile. All the best people. “Well, okay, sure. What the heck.”
“Really?” Delight was evident in Penelope’s voice. “Oh, I’m so glad. I always had to drag Glenn out to these things, but this’ll be fun. Just you and me. I can’t wait!”
The event was the following weekend, Sunday evening, and Penelope had Megan join her for a little shopping foray the Thursday before. Megan couldn’t afford or justify buying a new dress for the occasion but she really didn’t want to show up to an event with “all the best people” wearing one of her cotton sundresses. She chalked it
up to advertising costs—an attempt to get the best people to bring the best pets to her for the best care.
She was exhausted the night they went shopping but sucked it up in the name of new friendship. Work had picked up, which was great, but as the only vet she was run ragged by the end of the day. Still, she and Penelope had a good time. And Penelope talked Megan into buying an amazing red halter dress that, according to Pen, covered all the Ss, making her look shapely, stylish, and sexy.
Megan didn’t know about any of that, but she did know when she looked in the mirror she barely recognized the girl looking back at her.
Penelope had picked out a black and white party dress for herself, spaghetti-strapped and cinched at the waist with a dancing skirt, that looked gorgeous on her. Simple yet sophisticated, a look Megan would have envied if she had not been so mesmerized by her own classic yet vampish look.
The concert was packed. They parked several blocks away and when Megan saw the crowd, she felt fatigue wash over her again. Maybe she wasn’t up for this. Maybe she was more of a “some of the pretty good people” type person. Seeing so many men in tuxes and women in little black dresses suddenly made her feel conspicuous in her candy-apple red.
“I don’t know about this, Pen,” she said, slowing her walk from the car toward the church. She knew she couldn’t back out now, but something was making her more nervous than normal. Her usual bravado was for some reason not kicking in.
Penelope slowed too and looked at her, worried. “What do you mean?”
Megan shook her head. Was this a premonition? Or was she just tired? “I don’t feel right about this. Like, I don’t know, I don’t belong. What if these people have seen that stupid article?”
“Oh please,” Penelope said, “Nobody believes anything said in those tabloids.”
“That’s because they don’t know the people involved. Gossip about people they’ve met might be different.”
“I doubt they’ve even seen it. It’s not as if it was on the front page and visible in the checkout line at Giant,” Penelope protested. “Besides, most of these people wouldn’t be caught dead reading anything that wasn’t the Wall Street Journal or Town and Country.”