by Arlene James
“Well, it’s a good thing,” he told her kindly, ignoring the shove Fancy gave his shoulder. “You couldn’t have outdone Fancy here nohow. They didn’t call her the queen for nothing.”
Fancy suddenly preened. “Now, Plug, you don’t know that Laurel could be even better than me if she set her mind to it.
“Oh, no!” Laurel exclaimed. “Never!”
Edward White had given up trying to keep his mouth closed and just let it hang open. Laurel cringed inwardly, but then she stopped herself. These were her friends. No matter what else they might be, they were that, and she wasn’t at all certain that she could say it of anyone else, certainly not those snooty girls she’d gone to school with and not the debutantes and society matrons with whom her grandmother had tried to surround her. She smiled at Plug and Fancy. “Thanks for coming over, guys,” she said, “but this is a business meeting, so if you don’t mind…”
Fancy, at least, caught on. “Oh, sure! We ain’t staying or nothing. We just, you know, we can’t help wondering what he said.”
“Is he gonna get your money back?” Plug asked excitedly.
Laurel glanced at Edward, who was staring at her like he couldn’t believe his ears. “Uh, we haven’t gotten that far yet,” she muttered, wondering if they ever would now.
“This really isn’t the place for a business meeting,” Edward said brusquely. Tossing the pad and pen into his briefcase, he wrenched himself out of his seat and stood. “Why don’t we meet on your off time? We can discuss this then.”
Her off time. Laurel thought of Barry, of the long hours he spent at the sitter’s on a daily basis. How could she leave him there any longer? Mrs. Martinez wouldn’t mind, but Laurel herself couldn’t bear to be parted from the little scamp longer than absolutely necessary, and their evenings together were all too short as it was on this shift. She looked to Fancy for help and received nothing more than a shrug as Fancy beat a hasty retreat, herding Plug before her. Laurel licked her lips, thinking quickly.
“Um, I get a dinner hour on this shift. How would that be? I—I could meet you somewhere.”
He thought that over, tugging at the cuffs of his sleeves. “Okay. Where do you want to meet?”
Laurel tried to think, but not a single place came to mind. “Uh, um, w-well, I could just come to your office.”
He shook his head and slid a hand into his pants pocket to jingle his change. “That’ll take too much time. We wouldn’t have fifteen minutes to work.”
“Well, we’ll just meet here, then.”
He slid a quelling look in the direction Fancy and Plug had taken and lifted a dark brow. “I think not.”
Laurel shot an apologetic glance at the others, then hurried around the counter to seize Edward White by the arm and tug him toward the door. “Listen,” she said beneath her breath, “they don’t mean to interrupt. They’re just concerned for me.”
“That’s obvious,” he said, teeth never parting. “Nevertheless, the problem remains.” He pushed through the interior door and pulled her into the small foyer with him, crowding his big body into a corner with two newspaper vending machines and a trash can. “I have some rather sensitive questions to ask you, and I’d just as soon do it with at least a minimum of privacy.”
“I just can’t think of a private place to meet.”
“Well, I can’t talk to you with every oddball in Dallas looking on!”
“They’re not oddballs!” she said defensively, then immediately capitulated. “Oh, all right, they are, but that doesn’t keep them from being my friends.”
“Why am I not surprised?” he muttered.
Laurel knew she was blowing it. “Listen,” she said, determined to make him understand, “they care about me. Maybe that doesn’t mean anything to you because you have parents and friends who love you, but they’re all I have. Plug is crazy as a loon, and Shorty, well, he isn’t short, and Fancy…” She threw up her arms. “Fancy is just Fancy. What else can I say? But whoever and whatever they are, they think I’m fine. They don’t care if I am a Heffington or that I wait tables or if I…propose to a strange man just because I think I can trust him!” she blurted out “They care about me, and that’s worth more than I can tell you, so if that’s the excuse you need to back out of this, then you just go ahead.”
She turned away, looking out over the jumble of skyline that closed in the little diner, one hand pressed against the glass. “There’s got to be someone out there who’ll help me,” she told herself. She heard a sound like shoe leather against cement and suddenly felt Edward White at her back.
“I never said I wouldn’t help you. I just said this wasn’t the place to talk.”
Laurel closed her eyes, unaware that her face was reflected clearly in the thick glass enclosing them. “Where would you like to meet?”
“How about this,” Edward said, looking out over the same skyline that held her. “Say you work through your dinner hour, then take off an hour early, go home and change, and meet me at…oh, how about The Blue Plate? You know that place?”
She frowned. “Yes.” She knew the exclusive dinner club in the West End of downtown Dallas only too well. It was one of Bryce’s favorite places. He had, in fact, taken her there on their very first date, and it hadn’t bothered him at all that she had had to pay the tab. Yes, she knew The Blue Plate, and she’d as soon set foot in there again as in a snake pit, but she wasn’t going to tell Edward White that any more than she was going to work through her dinner hour so she could spend two hours getting through an overpriced meal she couldn’t begin to afford anymore, while the baby-sitter was wracking up overtime.
He seemed to take her simple affirmative answer as agreement to his plan. “Shall I pick you up, or would you prefer to meet there?”
“Oh, definitely meet there,” she told him, turning away.
“What time should I expect you?”
She answered carefully. “I couldn’t possibly get there before eight”
“Eight it is.”
“I may not be able to get away,” she hedged.
“All right, we’ll make it eight-thirty,” he said, “but I warn you, if I don’t eat by nine I turn into a bear.”
“Well, I’ll see that you eat before nine, then,” she returned lightly, fully meaning it.
He nodded as if uncommonly pleased with himself and moved to the outer door, where he paused and asked, “Do you suppose she knew from the beginning that the note was a phony?”
Surprised that he even cared to know but not doubting of whom or what he spoke, she took a deep breath. “I don’t know for sure. I asked her once. She said that anyone who knew anything about the Heffingtons would have asked for a great deal more money than the imaginary kidnappers had—and anyone who knew anything about me wouldn’t have bothered to ask at all.”
Edward cast her a look over his shoulder. It said everything and nothing at all, that look. After a moment, he turned away. “I’ll see you at The Blue Plate.”
She said nothing, did nothing until he had pushed out into the parking lot and gotten into his car. Only then did she turn and go back inside, regretting what she must do but understanding that she had no choice. She had a previous commitment, and she couldn’t very well ask an eleven-month-old to understand why he had been supplanted by an older man.
Edward sucked the last of his Scotch from the ice cube, then shifted it with his tongue to the side of his mouth and bit through it. The cold pierced his mouth. He wondered if he ought to order another drink, decided against it and glanced once more at his wristwatch. Eight thirty-five. So she was five minutes late. Why did he have this uncanny feeling that she wasn’t going to show? He shook his head, telling himself that he was being silly. It was to her benefit to show. She needed his help. She wouldn’t miss a business meeting. So why did he feel as if he’d coerced her? And why did this feel like a date? Why did he feel as though he was being stood up? He shook his head, and the flip phone in his breast pocket trilled.
Glowering, he plucked it out and shook it open. The press of a button sent a short, thin, metal antennae up from one corner of the black plastic case. Another turned on the speaker.
“Edward White.”
“It’s me.”
Yes, of course it was. He congratulated himself on intuition. “What’s going on, Laurel?” He could hear her nervousness in her voice.
“Um, I must have missed the bus,” she said. Street noises and some sort of low pattering punctuated by a baby’s whiny cry filled the background.
“Where are you calling from?”
“The pay phone at the bus stop.”
“What’s that noise?”
After a long silence, she said, “It’s raining.”
He flashed on a sudden picture of her standing wet and bedraggled, alone in the night. “I’ll come get you. What’s the address?”
“There’s no shelter here,” she said into the phone. “I can’t stand around, I’ll be drenched. We’ll just have to reschedule.”
“I’ll meet you at your apartment.”
“No! I—I mean, I wouldn’t want to inconvenience you. You’re probably starved by now.”
He looked ruefully at the basket of pretzels he’d just decimated and said into the phone, “I’ll hold a while longer.”
After a long silence, she reluctantly capitulated. “A-all right. Give me a few minutes.”
“See you soon,” he promised, his spirits unaccountably lighter. Folding up the phone, he tucked it away and slid off the bar stool, flipping bills onto the counter. The bartender thanked him with a small salute, and Edward turned to make his way out the door.
Precisely eighteen minutes later, he eased the sedan into a narrow parking space between a flatbed truck loaded with construction equipment and a low-rider with a fringe-embellished interior, not exactly run-of-the-mill transportation. Getting out of the car, he turned up his collar and took stock of the buildings in the quadrangle that surrounded the crowded parking area. Though three decades old or more, they seemed well maintained. Still, the aging autos parked at curbside and the bare dirt where grass should have been marked the place as lower-income housing. Quite a comedown for a Heffington.
Popping open an umbrella, he located the correct building and strode swiftly toward it, avoiding the puddles that collected in depressions in the paving. Determining the correct entrance, he climbed the exposed stairs in the open center of a triple quad of apartments. It was quite a climb to the third floor, and his footsteps rang loudly against the steel-encased concrete steps. Given that fact and the movement of curtains and shutters, a man didn’t have to be too observant to realize that his presence was being noted by the occupants of every apartment. Upon attaining the upper deck, he shook out the umbrella and closed it before following the landing around to the correct apartment.
The umbrella fitted beneath one arm, he rapped sharply on the metal, hollow core door. The sound echoed down the stairwell and bounced off the metal doors of the other apartments opening onto it. Hearing a baby cry, Edward wondered how anyone got any sleep around here, not to mention maintained a bit of privacy. Several long minutes passed before a bathrobed Laurel opened the door and almost instantly disappeared again, allowing him entrance into a dark, claustrophobically small area about a yard square in size.
“Come on in,” she called as she moved into a dimly lit room. “I’m sorry I don’t have anything for you to sit on, but we’ll be on our way as soon as Fancy gets here.”
He closed the door and followed her into the half-light of what was apparently the only actual room of an extremely small efficiency apartment. The kitchen consisted of a two-burner stove, a sink and a tiny refrigerator built into about five feet of cabinet in one corner. A metal percolator coffeepot sat on one burner of the stove and a single cup and saucer on the cabinet top. Clothing hung all around him from hangers hooked over the end edge of the wall cabinet and the open door of what was obviously the bathroom—from which the majority of the light came;—and the door of a closet so full that it could not be closed, and the drapery rod over the window. Folded clothing was piled in neat stacks inside clearly labeled cardboard boxes against one wall, and shoes were lined up side by side along another. A small air mattress and a pillow covered with a single folded blanket lay on the bare floor. But none of this was what caught his attention.
What caught and held his attention was the small crib parked beneath the lip of the counter that separated the supposed living area from the tiny kitchen—and the red-haired imp that stared at him from enormous golden brown eyes, a plastic pacifier bobbing busily in a plump, pink mouth. The imp shook the side of the crib, rattling it much like a monkey would rattle the bars of its cage. Edward cocked his head, trying to make sense of this engaging little creature. Vibrant hair standing practically on end, puggish nose wrinkling in curiosity, fat, minuscule fists gripping the edge of the crib, the little person launched into a series of rattling, deep knee bends, spat the pacifier on the floor and emitted a stream of shrill gibberish that ended with short arms being thrust demandingly into the air. Soberly, Laurel plucked him out of the enclosed bed and swung him up onto her hip, hitching up the hem of her white terry-cloth robe to expose a length of black tights encasing a slender thigh.
“This is Barry,” she said. The baby got a more thorough introduction. “Barry, this is Mr. White. He’s a very nice man, so you be good and impress him.”
Barry responded by pursing his lips and blowing spit into the air. Laurel immediately clamped a hand over his mouth, which reduced Barry to the kind of infectious giggles only very young children can produce. Edward suddenly flashed on a vision of Darla Sugarman throwing her little self backward in her father’s arms, confident that he would not let her hit the floor and laughing with toddler glee. He saw most clearly the look of utter adoration that had softened Parker’s lady-killer face. He looked at Laurel Miller, and a shiver snaked up his spine. Before he could make sense of that or even follow it to a sensible, coherent thought, the door burst open at his back and Fancy blew into the room in a whirl of uniform, hair net and pungent perfume.
She scooted right by him and snatched Barry from Laurel’s arms. “Hello, little darlin’. I’m here!” She spun an ingratiating smile on Edward. “I’m so sorry I held y’all up, but you can go on now!” She flitted about the room, gathering baby goods and flashing Laurel meaningful glances.
Laurel swept a hand through her damp hair and smiled wanly, her face set in an oddly blank expression. Loaded with gear and baby, Fancy blew kisses and flew from the room. Barry for his part looked thoroughly confused, two fingers thrust into his furiously working mouth. The door closed behind them, leaving an unnatural silence in their wake.
“I’ll only be a minute,” Laurel promised lightly and disappeared into the bathroom. Edward found a bare spot along the wall and leaned against it, arms folded across his middle. A hair dryer whirred beyond the bathroom door. Edward rubbed his mustache and wondered how often Laurel baby-sat for Fancy. Often enough, apparently, to warrant leaving the crib in place and a few baby things in the way. Strange, he’d been under the impression that the two women usually worked together on the same shift. And come to think of it, Fancy was awfully old to have a kid that young. Maybe it was her grandchild.
Edward’s eyes narrowed. He framed a question in his mind, nothing too probing or obvious. When the hair dryer cut off, he asked it. “Who’s Barry’s regular baby-sitter?” It seemed to him that she hesitated, but he couldn’t be sure without seeing her face.
“Her name is Libby Martinez. She lives in this building, number 117. The apartment opens onto a fenced play area, not that Barry goes out much yet, but the Martinez children enjoy it”.
Well, that explained a good deal. He started to ask if she often stopped by and picked up the baby early for Fancy, but the next instant she opened the door and walked out of the bathroom. Edward’s mouth went dry, and every thought in his head disappeared.
Nearly
every square inch of her was covered and yet nearly every square inch was exposed by the tights and the little black dress that she wore—emphasis on the word little. Beginning well above mid-thigh and made of some sort of weighty black knit, it was every bit as form hugging as the opaque hose encasing her long, slender legs. And though the dress included long, tight sleeves and a wide collar banding her throat, the square cutouts at the shoulders and across the chest and back exposed plenty of pale, smooth skin. Her hair had been slicked straight back except for a few individual locks of hair framing a face almost devoid of makeup, and yet what she wore added drama and depth to an already arresting face—a sweep of violet in the creases of her eyelids, dark cherry pink on those wide, full lips, maybe a touch of smoky gray brow pencil. He wasn’t quite sure. He only knew that she was breathtaking.
Smiling, she walked to the wall and stuck her feet into black leather shoes with long, squared-off toes and big gold buckles, the medium-high heels shaped like flanges. They were perhaps the ugliest shoes he’d ever seen, and come to think of it, he’d seen a lot of ugly shoes lately. Yet, on her they looked right. It all did—the tiny black and gold balls nestled against her earlobes, the shiny gold, hooded raincoat that she belted at the waist and the small, round, black suede handbag that hung from her shoulder by a long gold chain.
“Ready.”
He had to clear his throat before he could find his voice and even then it was gravelly and thick. “Great” He faked a cough. “Let’s go. I’m starving.”
She followed him out the door and locked it with her key, then led the way down the stairs. At the top of the stairwell, he opened the umbrella and afterward kept close, sheltering them both from the rain that dwindled to a steady mist, telling himself that her raincoat was too pretty to get wet.
“I hope I don’t ruin my shoes,” she said above the sounds of their footsteps, obviously trying to make conversation. He didn’t reply simply because he couldn’t seem to wrap his mind around any words. “I have a thing about shoes,” she went on. “Used to, when I found the perfect shoes for a certain ensemble, I just had to have them. Now I can’t afford them, so I try to take especially good care of what I already have.”