by Amber Brock
She felt a flicker of frustration at having to offer this piece of the puzzle, but she was so close to her goal. “I’ve got Hen here.”
Her father threw up a hand in triumph. “She ought to go with you. You girls can have our suite. I’ll find another room for Andre. There’s no way Hen’s going to say no to a Miami vacation, is there?”
Kitty brightened. “I suppose I could ask her what she thinks.”
Her father reached a hand across the table, and she gripped it. “There, doesn’t your papa take good care of you? You didn’t think Andre was right for you, but I knew.”
Kitty’s stomach knotted as a serious concern she hadn’t thought of before occurred to her. “Wait. That means we’d be apart at Christmas.”
Her father pressed his lips together for a moment. “Maybe I could make it down there. We’ll see. But you should go. Have a good time.” He grinned. “Get away from the snow.”
She couldn’t return his happy expression. Small family though they were, they had a few traditions, and opening presents on Christmas morning was the one Kitty treasured most. When she’d been too young to go shopping on her own, her nanny had taken her out to the stores. She’d always get him a tie and tie clip, because he trusted only Kitty to help him accessorize.
Kitty was grateful for the arrival of the waiter with their dinners. She swallowed down the lump in her throat. She shook off the last of her sentiment and refocused her energy on the rewards the trip would bring. After all, one Christmas in the grand scheme of things was nothing. “Ooh, that reminds me. I’ll need a ticket, won’t I? Isn’t Andre flying down?”
“Of course. My daughter’s not riding on the bus with the band.” Her father took a bite of his steak. “Perfection, as always. How’s the lamb?”
“Divine.” Kitty took a bite and followed it with a gulp of her drink, to wash away the last lingering doubts about the timing of her Miami trip.
* * *
Kitty’s father assured her that his travel agent would arrange everything, so all she had to do was confirm that Hen would be able to go. She called Hen the morning after dinner with her father.
“You’re really and truly going to Miami?” Hen squealed across the phone line. “Wait…does this mean you’ve changed your mind about Andre?”
“Don’t be silly.” Kitty sprawled on her bed, Loco snoozing in the curve of her hip. “If Daddy’s paying for a Miami trip, why would I miss it? Andre will be working all the time. I’ll get to have some fun. But you have to come.”
“I don’t think I could. We’ve got Mother’s holiday party, and Charles won’t want to go to the New Year’s Ball alone.”
“He’ll survive. You’ve gone to a million events with him. Come with me.”
“I’ll have to ask Mother.”
Kitty sat up. Damn that woman. “You don’t need to do that. Just tell her you’re going. You’re an adult, for God’s sake.”
“Kitty. You know Mother. She’s not going to let me jaunt off for a month without some say in it.”
“Well, ask her then.” Kitty flopped back down, and Loco grunted in protest at the shifting. “I want to get everything settled. Besides, don’t you want to go?”
“Oh, yes. It sounds like a dream. And I wouldn’t mind putting the winter coats away for a while.”
Mrs. Bancroft’s words in the hotel the other evening sounded in Kitty’s head. I keep hoping her fashion sense will rub off on Hen. “Look, if you want to go, tell her it’s a shopping trip, okay? Tell her I’m helping you buy a summer wardrobe. Or a wedding trousseau. Miami is one of the most fashionable places in the country.”
“So is New York,” Hen said.
“Yes, but you’ve seen everything here. The Miami winter lines inspire everyone else’s summer lines,” Kitty said, all patience. Hen must be throwing away those Vogue magazines Kitty passed along.
“If you say so. I’ll talk to Mother today.”
“Good. Why don’t you come over tonight? Hopefully your mother will say yes, and we can plan.”
“Charles wants to go out to dinner. Mind if he comes?”
“Sure. Don’t forget: shopping trip.” Kitty’s mind raced as she hung up the phone. If Hen got permission, Kitty could use the evening to get her scheme under way.
As she was trudging down the sidewalk behind Loco that afternoon, Kitty realized she could get more than one chess piece in motion at the club that night. She needed to draw Max’s attention, however reluctant he might be to like her. A night at the club would be the perfect time to play the vixen for his benefit. Then, once he was on the hook, she could keep him from interfering with Hen and Sebastian. Little did Hen know the sacrifices Kitty made for her.
Kitty selected her favorite dress, the sapphire satin with a low-cut back and full, swishing skirt. Accented with flashing diamond studs, her silver heels, and just a dab of Femme de Rochas perfume, she went down to the club like a knight in armor.
Even Charles and Hen, who were as used to seeing Kitty as their own reflections in the mirror, did double takes when she walked into the lobby.
“Seen a ghost?” she asked, kissing Hen on the cheek.
“You look gorgeous,” Hen said. “Who’s all that for?”
“Me,” Kitty said with a sidelong smile. “So, what did your mother say about Miami?”
“Miami?” Charles looked from Hen to Kitty.
Hen shuffled her feet. “Oh, yes, well. Kitty’s going to Miami, and she’s invited me along. I didn’t get a chance to talk to Mother yet, though. She was out all day.”
Charles smiled. “Sounds like a fine idea to me.”
I just bet it does, Kitty thought. No telling what he’d get up to with Hen away for a month.
“Really? You don’t mind?” Hen asked him.
“Sure. So long as you girls behave yourselves.” He wrapped an arm around Hen’s shoulder.
“What kind of trouble could we get up to?” Kitty asked, all sweetness. “Let’s go in.”
The three entered the club and the maître d’ led them to a front booth. Charles and Hen ordered meals, but Kitty demurred, saying she’d already eaten. The truth was if she wanted to look sharp, she couldn’t wolf down a cheeseburger in front of everyone. Instead, she contented herself with a cocktail.
Thanks to some supply order mix-up in the kitchen, Andre only had time to come over to say a quick hello, but he made a point to say he hadn’t wanted to miss them. He seemed unusually glad to see them. Kitty began to worry that maybe work had been responsible for his distractedness with her, and maybe he really did have a crush on her. If so, that was something she’d have to address. She couldn’t let him think he had a real chance, and the trip might only give him hope.
After they ate, Charles and Hen moved to the dance floor. Kitty had to wait through two songs before getting her own invitation. She accepted, glad for an opportunity to get in front of Max. She might have preferred a more suave partner, though. The man standing in front of the booth, who introduced himself as Ed, had a gut, a plaid jacket, and a bald spot. But Kitty was not one to waste an opportunity, especially not as the band struck up the opening notes to “Kiss of Fire.”
Sadly, Ed did not know how to tango. Not that Kitty was an expert in that type of dance, but she might have opted for less of the shuffling Ed was inclined to. She angled herself so that she was in the halo of light at the edge of the stage and threw as much style as she could into her own steps. She knew she’d made an impression even before she glanced up, when she heard Sebastian’s smooth voice stumble on the word burning. When she looked up, her suspicions were confirmed. Sebastian had his eyes locked on her, a slight grin on his face.
Max, however, didn’t seem to notice Kitty’s hard work. He glanced at her once, then closed his eyes as he worked the stops on the trumpet. She worked Ed’s less-than-confident lead to her advantage and maneuvered
closer to where Max stood. When he opened his eyes again, however, he looked past her into the darkness of the club. The song ended with a flourish. Kitty thanked Ed glumly and declined the offer of a second dance. She had to let her back dry after being pawed by his sweaty palms. She walked back over toward the booth. At the corner of the stage, she paused and turned slowly. Max was watching her, his gaze moving up her exposed back. A tingle followed the line of his eyes up her spine. At last, when their eyes met, she flashed him the hint of a smile, and he looked away.
A giddy, bubbly feeling flooded her head. The familiar feeling of a win. But she couldn’t let it distract her from the second part of what she hoped to accomplish that evening. Her chance came when the band took a short break and Hen returned to the booth with Charles for fresh drinks. While they waited for the waiter to return, Kitty excused herself to ask Sebastian something about Miami.
Sebastian’s eyes lit up as she approached the stage. “Hello, Kitty. You look especially pretty tonight.”
She tilted her head. “As pretty as Loco?”
He laughed. “Prettier. You like the songs tonight?”
“Always.” She glanced over her shoulder, then leaned in to Sebastian. “So, listen. My father is sending me to Miami with Andre after all.”
He lifted his brows. “That’s great. But you won’t spend all your time with Andre, will you? Can I steal you away to go dancing?” His eyes sparkled. “I’ll make sure you have fun.”
“I don’t doubt that,” Kitty said. “I’ve invited Hen to come along, but I think she’s a little reluctant. Would you mind talking it up to her? Tell her how exciting it is, how much she’d like it, that sort of thing. She’ll listen to you.”
“Of course. Yes. I will be happy to.”
“But don’t tell her I told you to. She’ll think I’m meddling.”
Sebastian agreed. Kitty went back to the table and stood beside Hen. “Will you come with me to the powder room?”
“Sure,” Hen said. She slid out of the booth and followed Kitty across the dance floor. She offered Hen the lipstick and freshened her own. As they made their way back to Charles, Sebastian called Hen over.
“What do you think he wants?” Hen whispered.
Kitty shrugged. “Better go see. I’ll keep Charles company.”
Hen nodded and walked over to the stage. Kitty slid back into the booth just as the waiter brought their drinks. Charles didn’t acknowledge the waiter. He watched Hen with a furrowed brow.
“What’s that about?” he asked. Hen had her face just inches from Sebastian’s, and she was giggling with her hand on her lips.
“It’s nothing,” Kitty said. “He had a question about her family. Guess they’re a big deal everywhere. He sure knew the name Bancroft.”
Charles nodded and some of the tension left his face. “Right. Naturally.”
“So you think our little trip is a good idea?” she asked.
“I think it’s high time Hen got out of the city, somewhere other than Newport,” he said, though his tone was wary. “She doesn’t travel enough.”
“I agree,” Kitty said. “And don’t you worry a bit, I’ll keep her out of trouble.”
Charles chuckled, now relaxed. “I’m not worried about Hen.”
“No, why would you be?” Kitty leaned toward him and pointed. “Isn’t she the silliest thing, though? Look at how she is with him. Hen’s no flirt, but that’s about the closest I’ve seen from her.”
At this, Charles’s face tightened more than before. He took a sip of his martini and said nothing. Kitty settled back, careful to hide her smile.
Charles and Hen left the club shortly after Hen’s chat with Sebastian, with Hen far more eager to broach the subject of the trip with her mother. Kitty waited for the band to finish, then invited Sebastian to come up to the suite again. She wanted to get an idea of what was waiting for her in Miami. Max overheard and piped up.
“Rehearsal is later in the morning,” he said. “Mind if I come, too?”
Kitty raised an eyebrow. This time his self-invitation had nothing to do with playing chaperone; that much was obvious. Men were so easy. All it took was one dress and the right look, and they couldn’t help themselves. “The more the merrier,” she said.
Andre’s massive frame drooped as Kitty approached him at the bar. “Tough night, huh?”
He rubbed his eyes. “It was.”
“I’ve got some good news for you.”
“Oh, yeah?”
“Yeah. Papa’s sending me with you to Miami.”
Andre brightened. “Well, that is good news. And Hen’s coming, too, of course?”
“Sure. Couldn’t go without Hen.”
“You two will love it, I promise you that.”
“I’m sure we will. I was hoping to talk to Sebastian and Max about what Miami’s like. Get their take on things. I know you’ll do a great job showing us around, but I don’t remember anything about it. They’re coming up to the suite. Want to join?”
He sighed. “I’d love to, but this night has me beat. Don’t worry, I’ll help fill you in on the plane trip. You are flying with me, right?”
“Papa’s getting it all settled.”
“Great.” He cast an eye at the stack of papers in front of him. She patted his arm.
“Get some rest, will you?”
“Will do.” He turned back to his work, and she headed upstairs to get the bar set for her guests. Max and Sebastian rang the doorbell to the suite just as she was setting out the ice bucket.
“We had to help pack the equipment,” Sebastian explained. He did a poor job of concealing his drifting gaze as he looked around the living room.
“Looking for someone?” Kitty asked.
Sebastian laughed. Kitty clicked her tongue and Loco came skittering out of Kitty’s bedroom. The dog launched herself at Sebastian, who lifted her in his arms. Sebastian’s appeal to girls seemed to extend beyond his own species.
“Looks like you’ve got yourself a boyfriend, Loco.” Kitty patted the dog’s head and went to the bar. “Can I get you boys a drink?”
She poured cocktails for them as Max sat on the couch. Sebastian sat on the rug, a contented Loco on his lap. He cooed at the dog in Spanish.
“You don’t have to sit on the floor, you know,” Kitty said, handing him a glass. “She’s allowed on the furniture.”
“I don’t care,” Sebastian said. Kitty did a double take.
“Mind.” Max took the second cocktail Kitty offered. “You don’t mind.”
“I don’t mind,” Sebastian repeated. “Sorry, some expressions stay in my head better than others.”
“I wouldn’t want to try to learn English.” Kitty took her own drink and sat on the chaise. “I had a hard enough time with grammar in school.”
“You weren’t a scholar, eh?” Max studied the spread of fashion magazines on the coffee table pointedly.
Kitty kicked off her shoes. “I didn’t say that.”
“There’s no shame in it. I’m sure there’s a lot of fine journalism in…what is this?” He picked up a glossy and held it between his finger and thumb. “Mademoiselle? Ooh là là.”
“Max…” Sebastian said, his tone a warning. Max ignored it and kept his focus on Kitty.
She cocked her head. “In that one, I only look at the pictures.”
“That’s about what I expected.” Max returned the magazine to the pile.
“What does that mean?”
“I don’t mean any offense by it.” He sat back against the cushions of the couch. “You don’t strike me as a bookworm, that’s all.”
“I’m sure that Max can find another topic,” Sebastian said.
“Don’t be silly. I’m intrigued that he’s such a quick study. He’s only talked to me a couple of times, but he knows everyt
hing about me. Come on, Amazing Dunninger.” She swept a hand from her head to her shoes. “What do you observe?”
Max rubbed the back of his neck. “Look, your efforts aren’t wasted, that’s for sure. I was just curious about how a girl like you fills her day.”
“I don’t read every article in Mademoiselle, that’s true. Doesn’t mean I’m not a reader.”
“Oh yeah? So what’s the last book you read?”
She lifted her chin, in her element now. “That’s hardly fair.”
The corner of his mouth twitched. “ ’Cause you don’t read.”
“Because I reread. The last book I read is one I’ve read a million times. I like the classics.” She sat up. “Though you seem to favor dime-store detective novels, if your investigative skills are any clue.”
At this, Max sat up straighter. “The classics? Is that right?”
“You better believe it.”
Their back-and-forth had a brief pause as Sebastian stood. He held up his hands. “Sorry to interrupt. If he’s going to do this, I need a drink.” At the bar cart, he turned to Kitty with a sympathetic smile. “He always does this. Would you like to know what does the trick? How to make him be polite?”
Kitty delivered her answer with her eyes locked on Max’s. “Now why in the world would I want him to be polite? Don’t worry, Sebastian. I can handle him.”
A smile crept up Max’s face. “So, I think you were about to list your favorite classic novels?”
“I guess you don’t think Dickens is classic?”
Max snorted. “I don’t see Dickens appealing to a girl like you. All those smelly orphans…”
She stood and crossed to the coffee table, fishing the dog-eared book from under the pile of magazines. “How about Great Expectations?” She tossed it into his lap.
He turned the book over in his hands, then flipped through the pages. “This isn’t your pop’s book? I could see him reading it.”
“I like Estella. You should read it. It proves it’s entirely possible for a girl to have both style and brains.”
“And to string guys along, if I recall.”