by Nancy Martin
“Are you two listening to me?” Mama demanded. She had been watching the exchange with keen attention. Humper jumped down from her lap and rushed over to Luke.
Grace’s snapped her attention back to the present. “Mama, you haven’t baked a pie since … well, not in your entire life.”
Mama frowned suspiciously at Grace, then at Luke, and back again. Testily, she began, “May I ask exactly what is going on between the two of--”
“No, you may not ask. You say I need an evening gown? Since I won’t have time to go home for one, do you know the best place to shop in Philadelphia?”
“Of course. There’s a woman who has a private studio in Gladwyne. Very exclusive, but I think I can get you an appointment for this afternoon. I’m sorry I won’t be able to take you there myself, but I have a million details to attend to.”
“I’ll take you,” Luke said, picking up Humper and subduing him in one arm. Humper wriggled with pleasure.
“Perfect,” Mama said, then gave Luke an inspection laced with growing d oubt. “At least, I hope so.”
11.
The dress shop had a good selection of evening clothes, and Luke sat appreciatively in the sugar daddy chair while Grace tried on three attractive gowns.
“Why’s this called the sugar daddy chair?” he whispered to Grace when she finished twirling a black chiffon number in front of him.
She patted his arm. “Never mind. It’s actually endearing that you don’t know.”
He caught her hand and kissed her fingers while the proprietor was busy elsewhere. “Do you really have to go to Baltimore?”
“Yes, tonight, after my interview. I’m so sorry.”
“You sure you won’t let me drive you?”
On the way to the dress shop, Grace had explained the necessity of concentrating on her book tour from now on, and Luke had reluctantly accepted her decision.
“I’m sure. I’ll never sell a single book with you around. What do you think of this dress?” she asked, trying to distract him. Without her mother around, it seemed important to regain the bond they had forged the night before.
His gaze glowed on her. “I like you better when you aren’t wearing anything at all.”
“Yes, I know, but for a party?”
“The other one,” he said. “It makes me think about how your skin feels when I touch you.”
Grace wanted to slide into his lap and kiss the stuffing out of him, but she settled for squeezing his hand. “I’ll call you every day.”
“I’ll meet you wherever you are.” His voice was husky. “You just have to whistle, and I’ll come.”
They left the dress at the shop for minor alterations, charged to Mama’s credit card, as instructed.
The longest week of Grace’s life might have started the moment Luke said good-bye to her at the train station. He kissed her like he meant it, and she savored that kiss the whole way to Baltimore. She stayed in that city for a whirlwind of book promotion events, then hustled on to Washington for more.
Everywhere she went, though, bookstore personnel reminded her of the Pamela Waldrop-Hicks review. Grace reacted to each dig as she thought Luke might—being witty and gracious to everyone she met, and signing books until her hand ached.
She never imagined a book tour could be so frenetic. She felt busy all the time and wished she had several more hours in every day. If she wasn’t giving an interview or speaking to a ladies luncheon, she was tweeting or making calls or jumping into a cab for the next event. Travel arrangements changed on a moment’s notice. Meals were skipped. Hotels blew by in a blur. She gave the tour everything she had. But the books didn’t seem to sell very fast.
Every night after Grace climbed into bed, she turned out the light and dialed Luke’s cell phone.
“Hey,” he said the first night, his voice sounding almost as close as the next pillow. “How’d it go today?”
She told him, and he listened. He laughed when she related the funny stuff, and he sounded sympathetic when she fussed about failing. He was upbeat, that was the main thing, and she appreciated his support. In Washington, she met two senators, and it turned out one of them knew Luke—or so he claimed. Luke laughed and said, yeah, he’d met some senators, but none of them could exactly be called friends.
When she asked about his day, though, Luke turned evasive. He had gone home to Pittsburgh, where Grace hoped he was safe from dangerous thugs.
“Don’t worry about the Abruzzos,” Luke said. “We’ll never hear from them again.”
Grace called Nora every day, too.
“I almost caught Emma last night,” Nora reported. “But she slipped through my fingers.”
“I wish I could help you!”
“Don’t worry. She can’t escape me for long.”
“Did you start your new job?”
“Yesterday. It’s fun, but hard. So far, I’m muddling through.”
Grace started to ask her more questions about her job, but Nora had to rush off. They promised to talk again soon.
From Washington, Grace took a plane to Charlotte, where the southerners enjoyed hearing about the former Dear Miss Vanderbine more than Grace’s changes to the old book. At a variety of events, she told stories about her mother, and the crowds ate it up. They bought books, too. The bad review hadn’t reached them yet.
The first night in Charlotte, though, Grace dialed Luke’s number, and he didn’t answer.
She tossed and turned in her hotel bed, wondering if he was okay. The incident with the Abruzzo knee-breakers floated up in her mind like a bad dream. Had Luke been followed back to Pittsburgh? It was the only reason Grace could think of that might keep him from answering her phone call.
Or … she thought just as she started to doze off … was everything over between them before it got started?
She’d slept with him, and maybe that was enough for Luke. Had he moved on already? Found another woman to share his bed? He was a football player accustomed to having sex with women whenever he felt the urge. He’d told her about the ones who threw themselves at him. Maybe she was just another body to him.
Had she misjudged his character after all?
But the next day he phoned her, interrupting a meeting with a book wholesaler, who graciously told Grace to take her phone call while he stepped out to make her a cup of tea.
“Sorry I missed you last night,” Luke said. “I had things to do.”
Grace didn’t want ask him to enumerate the “things.” But she said, “Have you heard from the Abruzzo family?”
Sounding surprised, he said, “Of course not. Don’t worry about those guys.”
She couldn’t ask him if he had decided pursuing her wasn’t worth the effort—not while sitting in the wholesaler’s office. So they talked for a few minutes about nothing important, listening to the sounds of each other’s voices for some nuance, maybe, that told the truth. Before Grace could say something meaningful, the book wholesaler came back with a mug of tea for her, and Grace told Luke she’d call him later.
Later, however, he didn’t answer.
In Atlanta, Grace got really busy. Every waking minute, it seemed, she was talking about Miss Vanderbine’s Modern Manners. Television interviews, a radio talk show, more radio interviews on the phone, roundtable discussions with print journalists—she did all the events she was asked to do. On a trip to a warehouse, she twisted her ankle, but she wrapped it up with a bandage and wore slacks. Library talks, bookstore appearances—Grace felt as if she covered every inch of Atlanta.
Luke called her Thursday night.
But he seemed distracted on the phone, and the conversation didn’t last long. On Friday, he left a message apologizing and making a joke about giving him a second chance. On Saturday, they played phone tag. On Sunday, Grace gave up. If he wasn’t in trouble with the Abruzzos, he’d just lost interest in her.
She had definitely misjudged the situation. She had allowed herself to trust a man she didn’t know well. She had assum
ed too much. It had been stupid to go to bed with him. She had sent the wrong message with her behavior. She’d lost his respect. And he had other women—hotter, bolder women—propositioning him wherever he went.
When she returned to Philadelphia on Monday for the party her mother had commandeered, it was Nora who met her at the station and hurried Grace to the hotel in a cab.
Nora looked flushed and harried, but happier than the previous week. Maybe work was good medicine for her. “Darling, you have just enough time to change and get to the party.”
“Was the dress delivered?”
“I picked it up myself,” Nora said promptly. “I sneaked a peek, and I think it will be perfect for tonight.”
“Luke picked it out.” Grace said the words without thinking.
“That explains a few things,” Nora said with a smile.
“Like what?” Grace demanded. She knew she was being too sensitive, but she couldn’t help herself. A raw nerve was throbbing inside.
“It has a lot of sex appeal, that’s all. Did he sit in the sugar daddy chair? Watch you try on naughty things? Did he hint he wanted to join you in the dressing room?”
Yes, all of those things. Luke had been far more patient at the dressmaker’s shop than Grace could imagine. He watched her with pleasure—or so she thought. After buying the dress, they had gone to Grace’s events, then rushed back to the hotel for one more night of lovemaking before going their separate ways. At the memory of their heat and passion, Grace turned her face to the cab window.
Nora waited a moment, then asked, “What’s wrong?”
“You can probably guess,” Grace said reluctantly. “Things have cooled considerably since we bought the dress.”
“Oh, Grace, I’m so sorry.”
A couple of romantic days together had been just that—a couple of days.
Grace sighed. “It was an adventure while it lasted.”
“I misjudged him,” Nora said sadly.
“Me, too.”
“Well, the dress is lovely.” Nora turned brisk. “I think you’ll turn heads tonight. Grace. Of course, it will be hard to out-shine your mother.”
“Out-shining my mother is an impossible task,” Grace replied more coldly than she intended. “Once Dear Miss Vanderbine gets into the spotlight, she stays there.”
Nora said, “Grace, you are Dear Miss Vanderbine now.”
Grace released another sigh. “I don’t feel like her at the moment.”
Nora reached for her hand. “I know. And I know that important review was a blow to your ego. But--Grace, it’s a temporary setback. You’ll get into the swing. Things went well in Charlotte and Atlanta, right? So you’re on the launch pad. Are you worried about tonight’s party?”
“It feels like taking a step back, I guess.” Grace rubbed her forehead. “Maybe I shouldn’t have returned to Philadelphia.” The scene of the crime.
“Do you have a headache? Need some aspirin?”
Grace shook her head “I’m physically fine.”
Nora was silent for a long moment. “It’s not Miss Vanderbine at all, is it? It’s Luke. You’ve fallen for him, haven’t you?”
“No, of course not. In a few days?”
“A few exciting days,” Nora guessed. “Grace, did you…?”
“Take off my corset? Have a fling? Yes.”
Nora smiled, but a hint of concern shone in her eyes, too. “You weren’t supposed to come out of it looking so dejected.”
“It was supposed to be fun. It was fun. The sex was great.” But then the late-night phone calls dwindled to nothing, and Grace felt empty.
“Great sex is only sex,” Nora replied. “Fun, but fleeting. Did you think you’d get something more?”
“We didn’t make any promises to each other. We were a couple of adults having fun, that’s it. So why am I feeling bad?”
“I’m so sorry, Grace.”
“Me, too. I made my first mistake when I sat with him in the airport bar and he kept bumping me with his knee. I just got all quivery inside, like a kid. Maybe my brain went on the fritz. He made me smile and feel sexy. I liked being with him. We had fun. I met his friends, and they were nice—most of them. It felt natural to be with him.”
Slowly, Nora said, “He’s not the kind of man I imagine for you.”
“I know, I know.”
“He seemed very sweet,” Nora said weakly. “But the right partner for Dear Miss Vanderbine? Maybe not.”
“Have you been talking to my mother?” Grace meant the question to be a joke, but it came out too sharp and Nora didn’t take it that way. Grace instantly regretted her tone and pulled herself together. “Sorry. It felt good to date somebody outside my comfort zone. He made me see things differently—in a good way. Things about myself and the book and Mama and—oh, all of the stuff that’s making me feel so unsettled right now.”
“Then he had a good impact on you at the right time. That’s pretty great.”
“Yes, it was. And now it’s time to move on.” Grace gathered up her handbag.
They had arrived at a Center City hotel, and Nora whisked Grace in through a back door. As they rode the elevator up several floors, Nora talked about the coming party, but Grace wasn’t listening. It wasn’t the same hotel where Grace had enjoyed herself with Luke. This one was considerably less grand, and the room Nora unlocked was hardly a luxury suite. Grace was disappointed to see her mother’s luggage heaped on both beds and her cosmetics strewn all over the bathroom. Puffy and Humper snarled from their travel crates.
Mama was nowhere to be seen, thank heaven. If she had been in the room, Grace feared she might have burst into tears.
Nora bustled around the room, pulling the protective bag off the dress that hung on the back of the door. “Your mother has been marvelous—a tower of strength. She’s risen to a new height in my esteem. Grace. She didn’t bully people, but she made things happen. You’re going to be proud to be her daughter before this is over.”
Grace sat on the bed, feeling inexplicably glum to find herself sharing a hotel room with her mother. “She pulled it off? Are the networks beating down the hotel doors?”
“The lobby is mobbed with press,” Nora said. “Which is why I smuggled you in the back way. This party is going to be a triumph, darling. That syndicated evening entertainment program is here, cameras ready. All you have to do is make yourself the center of attention. It was a brilliant idea to turn this gala into a kind of etiquette party. Pamela Waldrop-Hicks is either going to be furious or grateful. Now, put on your pretty dress. See, isn’t it lovely? I hope it fits as well as I imagine. Cocktails start in a few minutes. I have to run downstairs and check on your mom.”
Nora stripped off her coat and revealed a trim black dress. It had a bow at the waist and a simple neckline that bespoke good taste and expensive dressmaking. Nora had cleverly added a pair of stockings with seams, probably from the French lingerie shop, and a pair of kitten heels. She looked ladylike, as always, but with a hint of naughty.
“Wow,” Grace said. “Nice duds.”
Nora twirled. “Armani. I found it among my grandmother’s things. It’s probably forty years old, but a few nips and tucks and the old rag looks pretty good, doesn’t it?”
“Marvelous. Does your grandma have enough clothes to get your through your new job as a society columnist?”
“I hope so. I certainly can’t afford a new wardrobe. This is my first night, did I tell you? I’m officially on the job. I’ve been working in the office, but tonight I’m officially reporting on the gala.”
“Wonderful!” Grace meant it. Nora deserved good things, and the job definitely sounded good.
“Thanks. Now, you. Can I help you get into the dress?”
The possibility that her own dress could rival Nora’s understated elegance seemed very distant.
“No, I’ll manage by myself. I need a few minutes to get my bearings. Run along.”
Nora straightened her hair at the mirror. “Okay,
I’m off.”
Grace hurriedly got up from the bed. “Nora, I’ve been a jerk not to say how grateful I am that you’re here. Thank you for everything. I didn’t even ask about Emma. Did you find her? How is she?”
“You’ll see for yourself.” Nora gave Grace a hasty hug. “She’s downstairs. Probably on her second cocktail by now.”
“Oh, no.”
“She’s semi under control. I just don’t want her sneaking off with an inappropriate man.”
Grace almost winced. She knew what Nora considered an inappropriate man. But she managed to return Nora’s hug. “Good luck.”
“Thanks, darling. Come down as soon as you can. Main ballroom on the mezzanine floor. You can’t miss it.”
Nora was gone in a flash.
Grace sat back down on the bed, dispirited. It was no use. She didn’t feel the least bit like making herself the center of attention at a gala. Mama would undoubtedly do a better job.
But she had to try. Grace headed for the bathroom to check her makeup.
Someone knocked on the door of the room. Probably Nora.
Grace opened the door, expecting Nora to say she’d forgotten her handbag.
But it wasn’t Nora.
It was Emma Blackbird—instantly recognizable to Grace. She had Nora’s fair skin and auburn hair, but Emma’s was haphazardly cut short and standing out from her head in tufts. She wore jeans and a short leather jacket, but her lanky body managed to look chic without Armani’s help. She carried a squashed pack of cigarettes in a tight fist.
“Hey,” Emma said, startled to see who had opened the door. “Grace, right? We met at Nora’s wedding. And Todd’s funeral.”
“Yes, of course. Hi, Emma. Come in.”
“Is Nora here?”
“She just left.”
Emma hesitated in the hallway. She fingered her cigarettes, as if longing for a smoke. She looked sober to Grace, though—perhaps a good sign.