“Will you at least try to like Norah?”
“If she tries to compare our feet—”
“She won’t. Please try and find the good in her? It would make me very happy if we could all get along.” He skimmed her cheek with a finger. “We’re halfway there, really. I like you, you like me, I like Norah, Norah likes me.”
The very idea that he wanted her to share his feelings for another person brought them into new personal territory, more intimate than physical contact. And made her heart skip in delight. “I’ll give it a shot,” she promised softly. “Maybe in return, you can relax, have more faith in me.”
“I am trying. But your signals are at best, mixed.”
She rolled her eyes. “I think it’s time to say good-night, Doughman.”
“Good night to you, Simona.”
She couldn’t help but be surprised at how interesting this trip was turning out to be. The convention was full of intrigue and challenge. As Michael purported, there were measurable gains to be made on-site for an ambitious DD shop owner. How quickly she, the cautious career woman, had been pulled into his world, a part of his schemes. How very much she was enjoying it all.
Chapter Eight
Krista was lingering over coffee in the suite late the following morning, when there was a knock on the door. A look through the peephole confirmed that it was Norah Larkin. She was early. By a whole half hour.
Why do people do that? Krista wondered. Remembering how much her cooperation meant to Michael, she invited Norah inside with a broad smile.
Norah breezed past her with a “Good morning, Krissy.”
Krista had never been addressed by that particular nickname. It didn’t suit her at all. But then, in her opinion, Mikey didn’t suit Michael, either. So no matter how good their intentions, apparently the Larkins didn’t have a knack for nicks.
“I wasn’t expecting you until eleven-thirty.”
“That’s the peril of making plans through a man. All the DD wives are meeting me in the lobby then. But it’s different for us, of course.”
“Because of the shoes?” she guessed.
Norah erupted in laughter. “I would like you to point out the shop that carries them. But you are our Mikey’s fiancée. You’ll be getting very special treatment from me always.”
Krista allowed her reserve to melt a bit. “I’ll just go get my purse.”
Norah made a sound that made Krista pause in the bedroom doorway. “You aren’t wearing that outfit, are you?”
Krista gazed down at her red shorts and striped knit top. “You said casual.”
“Again, the male translation is at work here. I said informal.”
“Oh?”
Norah gestured to her own outfit of lavender slacks and shirt. “All the women will be in slacks and a higher end blouse.”
Krista wasn’t into polyester in particular, but had a full appreciation for her message. “I’ll find something else.”
The change was quick. She’d done some ironing this morning and had her navy pants and white cotton shirt within reach.
Krista returned to the living area with a word of thanks on her lips. She paused in midsentence, however, when she came upon Norah at the writing desk, her hands on Michael’s briefcase.
“We gave Michael this case for his birthday years back,” Norah explained. “Always kept his important possessions in it. I’m glad to see he’s taking good care of it.”
“It is a nice one,” Krista agreed.
“Allan prefers this key model over the combination style. He’s always been more apt to forget his combination than lose a key.”
It seemed unnecessary to explain why they’d chosen the key model versus combination model. A cynic might wonder if the Larkins had kept a key to the case. It was a trick worthy of a snoop of a parent.
But it wouldn’t do to be so suspicious, not if she was going to please Michael by bonding with Norah. She would try hard, beginning with a trip down to the shoe store.
A small group of women, four in number, awaited them in the lobby. To Krista’s pleasure, Beth Norquist was among them. Norah, high on her shoe purchase, introduced Krista to the others. Norah had indeed steered Krista correctly on fashion. The group as a whole, despite their range in age and body type, they were all dressed well enough for a luncheon in any better restaurant.
Norah’s prized pale-pink Cadillac awaited them on the hotel’s circular drive—most likely thanks to a handsome tip Norah passed along to the valet. The ladies squeezed inside, allowing Norah her bragging rights on the vehicle, but teasing her about how well their Vegas franchise must be doing.
Norah merged onto the strip, plowing through the congestion of both car and pedestrian traffic. Krista was positioned at the front passenger door and gazed out the window at the dazzle of hotels with their statues and fountains, one building grander than the next. Krista had always sought quieter spots for the brief vacations she allowed herself. Now she felt she’d been missing out on a fascinating getaway.
The road trip proved a verbal free-for-all. As Krista expected, these women knew each other rather well and played catch-up with a sense of humor. This crowd was quite separate from the more guarded executive lot at last night’s cocktail party. Their husbands were on Michael’s level, owners of Decadent Delights shops. Krista noted with interest that Norah fit in with their league as comfortably as she had with the executives. But she definitely had a different face on today, far less refined in manner and dress—even her grammar slipped as it would among casual friends. Without doubt, she knew how to cover her bases with skill.
Before long the Cadillac was rolling along I–15, into a world far from the glitz of the Strip, a residential area of well-kept houses. The Larkin house, like many others on the block, was a sprawling ranch-style structure with a high fence enclosing the backyard. Unlike Minnesota, which was currently enjoying crisp September weather, Vegas, with its flat sandy landscape, was simmering in the sunshine like a huge sizzling griddle. It was no wonder air conditioners whirred in a constant hum.
The interior of the home proved breathtakingly beautiful. The floor plan was an open style with cream-colored plastered walls, honey-toned wood, beamed ceilings and tiled floors scattered with rugs. The living room was especially spectacular with a stone fireplace and a variety of southwestern art pieces on the walls and various stands.
Through glass doors overlooking the fenced-in backyard Krista found a huge stone patio with outdoor furniture and a swimming pool with two small cabanas.
The Larkins clearly were making money.
The crowd was starting down a hallway beyond the living room, so Krista quickly fell into line. They ended up in what Norah referred to as the library. True, many shelves boasted many books. But it was more of a shrine. To the Decadent Delights empire.
The women sauntered around the room, making appropriate noises about Allan’s achievements. The walls were covered with frames of every conceivable size and kind, their contents pressed under polished glass: certificates linking Allan to a number of organizations, from the boosters to the Red Cross to the fire department; notes of gratitude from patrons; honorary diplomas from a number of Chicago schools. There was also an extensive display of photographs chronicling the Larkins and their shop over the years, too dense to absorb with a single glance. All in all, a very impressive collage.
But nowhere did Krista glimpse Norah the woman. Not one certificate or photo or note had her separate stamp on it. Furthermore, there wasn’t a trace of a personal project in sight. No needlepoint in progress, no half-solved puzzle, no abandoned gardening glove, no stray golf tee.
Krista’s earlier fears were confirmed. Michael had chosen the most narrow-minded model for his dream wife.
“So what do you think?” Norah asked, jolting Krista from her thoughts.
“Very nice.”
“This is my whole life,” she announced proudly with wide-spread arms. “Making a go of the shop, encouraging Allan to be
his very best.”
“I believe you’ve succeeded,” Krista said honestly.
“Have you seen the photos of Michael?”
Suddenly Norah had Krista’s interest. She led her back to one of the larger photo displays and pointed to the grainiest of the bunch, a small square one showing a gangly teenage Michael standing outside a Decadent Delights shop, wearing a bright-red DD polo shirt. His shoulders were sturdy and straight, but he had a spindly look about him, as if he needed a decent meal. By the cock of his chin, Krista guessed his body weight matched his pride.
“That’s his first day of work with us.”
“And you thought to take a picture?”
“Oh, my no. He was just another kid, then. His mother took that shot with a crummy little camera. The most attention she ever paid him, is my guess. She was thrilled he was going to be bringing home an income.”
Krista’s face fell.
“Surely you know about her.”
“Not much,” Krista said vaguely.
“Mikey’s not one to complain, that’s so. But you have a right to know things, now that you’re engaged to him. Barb Collins was a real piece of work. An alcoholic uncertain of who she slept with at times. Never even knew for sure who fathered Mikey. She clung to him when sober and berated him when drunk. Came into the shop on occasion looking for Mikey. Made a stinkin’ fool of herself every time. Mikey took to hiding at the sight of her. To this day he doesn’t know how many times I slipped her a twenty and a sack of Lemon Glaze Ices just to get rid of her.”
“You speak of her in the past tense.”
“Oh, she’s dead all right,” Norah confirmed. “Her liver finally gave out. Drank like a fish until the end, hoping for a liver transplant. But they don’t keep you on the list if you continue to booze it up. So in a way, she never even gave herself a break.”
Krista suspected that Michael knew full well about the cash and doughnut bribes supplied by Norah, and probably many other small kindnesses. It went far in explaining his devotion to the Larkins.
The photos bearing Michael’s image were arranged neatly, highlighting events in his life in relation to the Larkins. Norah confirmed that he quickly became part of the family, as close to a son as they’d ever had. “Yapped on Allan’s heels like a desperate puppy, taking the business straight to heart.”
It was no wonder Michael was so anxious to be a part of their world, with a dysfunctional mother and no clue to his father’s identity. Krista’s heart ached for him as she imagined the needy child he must have been, and as she thought of her safe childhood in the hands of her father and aunts. Making an effort to control her emotions, she gestured to the other pictures of the shop. “I’ve noticed Randy Norquist in a lot of these shots, as well.”
“Oh, yes. Our Randy. He had a fine stable family, so there was a difference in how much time he spent around us. Still, a credit to the business and our DD brood.”
Krista pointed to a photo of Michael that was perhaps five years old. “Here’s one with the briefcase you gave him.”
“Ah, the briefcase,” Beth Norquist remarked, sidling up to them. “Randy still has the one you gave him, too, the day he quit to go away to college. Still hoards all his stuff in it. I imagine Michael still keeps treasures inside his, as well.”
“I’m sure he does,” Norah said proudly. “Saw it just this morning in his suite. Quality will tell. The case looks brand-new even now.”
“So does Randy’s,” Beth said. “Though I can’t tell you how many keys he’s lost,” she confided to Krista, who smiled in understanding.
“I’ve been known to misplace a thing or two myself.”
“Dear, do you want yet another of Allan’s keys?” Norah chortled.
Beth bit her lip as if summoning tolerance. “No, Norah. I actually keep one on my key chain now. He is better, since Katy was born. Now he knows I have another baby to look after.”
“We tried to keep him straight.” Norah rolled her eyes. “Though the gloves he lost during many a long Chicago winter would’ve supplied a small school! Not that we haven’t always been proud of Randy,” Norah added. “Just as proud as we are of Mikey.”
Beth appeared amused. “With all of your phone calls and e-mails full of questions and advice, we’ve never felt neglected.”
“How time flies—both boys have their own shops now. Must say, the fellows are more successful than we ever expected.”
“Between their shops, they do have downtown Chicago covered,” Beth said, then added abruptly, “Not that there wasn’t always room for Allan’s shop, as well.”
Norah’s smile was frozen. “Of course there was room! We were doing just fine with our customers. If not for Al’s arthritis…”
Krista moved swiftly to calm the rough waters. “Michael’s and Randy’s success makes you the biggest kind of success.”
The older woman glowed at the thought. “We did teach them the value of hard work. Neither Randy nor Mikey ever let us down in that regard. Still, I miss the old days when they were young and eager and reliant on us.” She took a gallant breath. “But we must carry on. Michael will, at last, have a suitable wife in you, as Randy has in Beth, a wife who fully understands her role in the Decadent Delights operation.”
The woman was nothing less than a steamroller in her opinions. Krista struggled to be discreet. “I can see how valuable you’ve been to Allan.”
“I could have had a job in promotions like you, maybe—if I had wanted to.”
“I’m sure—”
“But it isn’t a good idea. Our men need our wholehearted support.” With that said, Norah was on the march, beckoning the group through the door, announcing it was lunchtime.
Krista began to follow, only to feel a tug on her arm. Beth Norquist was detaining her with a whisper.
“Hey, just want to make sure you aren’t shell-shocked. You know, by the Larkin sanctuary here.”
Krista betrayed her gratitude with a smile. “It is sort of suffocating.”
“So is Norah’s spiel. We girls all have heard it as we prepared to walk down the aisle. At the first scent of an engagement, Norah was right at it, trying to convert the bride into a mini version of herself. No one’s really ever taken her obsessive dedication to heart. We love the business, it’s true. But we all have outside interests to balance our lives.”
“Anyone with a separate career?”
“Not anymore. Between raising children and helping at the shop, there isn’t time or inclination to branch out. I was Randy’s bookkeeper when we first began to date, so I’m a natural around the shop. Even now I enjoy the job, and it saves money. Our daughter Katy has developed a breathing disorder and our insurance doesn’t cover all the drugs and doctors’ visits.”
“I had no idea.”
“We’d rather the crowd doesn’t know things are tight. We have our pride. I only mention it now because I figured Michael had already given you an inkling as to how things are, being he’s Katy’s godfather.”
Krista was sure he would’ve gotten around to mentioning the Norquist’s child, in time. To compensate, she asked to see a photo of Katy.
“I have some at the hotel. I’ll show you later.”
“If there is anything I can do to help you…”
“We get by. And who knows, maybe we’ll win this year’s contest. Or at least come in as a runner-up.”
Krista couldn’t resist offering her a confidence in return. “My biggest worry of the moment is that Norah is the kind of woman Michael wants.”
“We’ve noticed, Randy and I especially, being right in town with him. We’ve done as much as possible to set him straight, setting him up with all sorts of women. But in his defense, it’s hard to find true love when you’re working 24/7 to keep your shop afloat. And he’s more vulnerable to Norah than the rest were. Her being his mother figure.”
Beth gave Krista’s arm a squeeze. “You won’t regret hitching up with Michael. You will soon be part of the DD world. It’
s really very exciting. If you really love him, you can work this two-career thing out, convince him that Norah’s thinking is horse-and-buggy out of date.”
If she loved him. Darn if Krista wasn’t beginning to think she might.
There was some commotion in the dining room as the women began to seat themselves at the large mission table. Accustomed to playing the name game in her business, Krista had them all down pat by now with her own identification system. There was Beth, of course. Also young Lucy from Florida, married to an older divorcee with teenagers. Laurie from California attended Berkeley. Amanda with the soft drawl hailed from North Carolina.
As they dined on Waldorf salad and iced tea, topics of discussion varied from cold medicine to television’s Frasier. As Beth had intimated, interests were diverse, apart from the shop; bowling, skiing, church work, jogging, dancing and swimming were among the activities mentioned.
Krista’s own meager hobbies of scrapbooking and softball were delved into with a smattering of questions. Polite queries about her job followed. She tried to keep her answers brief, so Michael wouldn’t find himself too deeply trapped at a later point.
The Decadent Delights empire was not mentioned once. As Michael had cautioned her, there appeared to be an unspoken agreement on the subject.
No sooner had Krista recalled this than a dessert platter arrived via Norah’s uniformed server. Under a napkin that Norah whisked away with a flourish sat a pyramid of sugar-coated orange doughnuts.
Doughnuts for dessert? Murmurs of surprise, along with groans, filled the air.
“This isn’t just any doughnut,” Norah was swift to explain.
“Is it your entry?” Laurie asked eagerly.
Krista noted a change in the atmosphere. The subject of doughnuts was suddenly fair game. A bright eager energy took over the table.
“Of course it isn’t our entry,” Norah brayed. “This is Gerald Stewart’s first doughnut. The doughnut that started the whole empire. The flavor’s been retired for years. But Gerald was kind enough to give me the recipe for Christmas last year. I thought you might enjoy tasting it.”
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