by Amber Brock
“Look,” Max said, “I know this isn’t your type of place. But maybe you’ll like it. The fried chicken is tops. The best is dipping it in honey—they bring some on the side.”
Kitty looked out the window at the busy street. “Honey. Gotcha.” She jumped as Max reached across the table to touch one of the curls at her temple.
“I bet you rushed right out the minute you saw Roman Holiday and asked them to cut your hair just like Hepburn’s, didn’t you?” he said.
At last, an opportunity to be flirtatious. “Who wouldn’t want to look like a princess?”
“Did you go to school? College, I mean?”
Damn. He wouldn’t be distracted. “Nope,” she replied.
“Where’d you get all those books?”
“The usual places. I know where to find books, Max. You sure have a lot of questions.”
“I want to know more about you. Do you travel much?”
Kitty stifled the urge to point out that he’d asked another frigging question. Instead, she replied with a query of her own. “Why should I?” She smiled. “Everything I need is in New York.”
He sat back against the booth. “You’re living in a small world if all you need is New York.”
“It’s true. New York has it all.”
“It can’t be true.”
“How come?”
He grinned at her. “Because you’re not in New York right now. Must be something you need here.”
Kitty fiddled with the corner of her place mat. The urge to speak honestly bubbled up. Maybe it was his demeanor, or his suggestive smile. He could see that there was more to her. Hadn’t he said that? She thought of Harry, who had droned on about portfolios or something all evening before trying to grope her in the cab afterward. Max wanted her to talk about herself. She knew better than to do that, but the words came anyway.
“New York may be a small world, but I’m going to be at the top of it one day.”
He pointed at her. “There it is. A genuine answer. That’s what I wanted.”
Kitty was spared from responding to that by the arrival of their food. Max, who seemed to be placated, did not press further on the topic. He turned the conversation to his other favorite restaurants in South Beach, and she mentioned a few spots he might like in New York. The feeling that she’d said more than she ought to weighed on Kitty, but she brushed it away. She hadn’t said anything of substance. After a couple of weeks, she’d never see him again. As long as she didn’t tell him too much, she didn’t need to worry.
The messy chicken was followed by bowls of warm water and lemon, so Kitty was able to clean her hands before they left the restaurant. She slid her sunglasses back on as they walked out into the parking lot.
“I have to admit, that was delicious,” she said.
“Thought you’d enjoy it,” he said. “Maybe we can go again before you leave.”
“Maybe.” She glanced at him out of the corner of her eye. It was only a half invitation, and she still couldn’t get a read on how he actually felt about her. One moment he would tease, the next he would probe, and in another he would pull back. She had to make sure the hook was in deep before she tried to reel him in, or she might find herself without a necessary element of her plan. Fortunately, Kitty knew the best way to loosen a guy up. To get into his head. To entice him to romance.
Just add booze, she thought.
That night at dinner, Hen and Andre chatted while Kitty quietly plotted. She could get Max drunk enough to loosen his tongue if she invited him up to the penthouse one night when the band wasn’t playing, but she ideally needed him to be alone when she invited him. A group gathering would offer him too many places to hide. Getting rid of Hen would be easy enough, since Hen thought she was wise to a budding romance between Max and Kitty.
As for extending the invitation, an opportunity produced itself more easily than she’d anticipated. On one of the band’s breaks, Max came over to their table.
“Hey, Andre. Is there anything going on at the club tomorrow afternoon?” he asked, after greeting the girls.
“Nope. It’s all yours,” Andre replied.
“Swell. Thanks.” Max started back for the stage, turning one last time to wink at Kitty. Her face burned, but Andre had been absorbed in the last bites of his steak and had missed the wink.
“What does he need the club for?” Kitty asked.
“He likes to play new songs here alone,” Andre said. “Something about testing the song in the acoustics of the space.”
“So he doesn’t bring the band?”
“He really doesn’t like any employees here while he’s testing—wants the club empty, if he can get it. Sunday afternoon is usually perfect.”
Kitty nodded. That is perfect, she thought. She could stop by tomorrow afternoon and catch him on his own. She’d fill Hen in before he came up and encourage her to go for a walk on the beach with Sebastian if he happened to tag along with Max. Two birds, one stone.
“Did you girls go shopping again today?” Andre continued. “You’re going to break the hinges on those suitcases if you’re not careful.”
“No shopping today,” Kitty said. “We’ve nearly run out of places to go, and Hen still has half an empty suitcase.”
“I’ve got good news, then.” He pulled out a brochure and set it on the table by Kitty’s plate. “Some company is hosting a big fashion show here at the Imperium. It’s not for a few weeks, but I thought you might be interested. I can get you invitations.”
Kitty inspected the brochure. “Thanks, Andre. That would be swell.”
“And I have an idea for tomorrow, if you don’t have plans,” he said. “First, I have to say I’m sorry that I’ve been so busy.”
“Oh, we understand,” Kitty said quickly. “This place doesn’t run itself.”
“They’ll have to manage without me for a couple hours. I’ve taken the whole afternoon off. I mean to make good on my promise to show you Miami.” He beamed. “We’re going to Parrot Jungle. The birds do tricks, and you can even hold them and get your picture made. You’ll love it.”
Kitty couldn’t think of anything she’d rather do less than go stare at birds, especially if the trip kept her from getting Max on his own. She flicked her eyes at Hen, who was already glowing.
“My grandmother used to keep parrots. I loved holding them. They’re so beautiful. I can’t wait,” Hen said. Her lips tightened when she saw Kitty’s expression. “I don’t know if that’s Kitty’s cup of tea, though.”
Even if Kitty was no bird enthusiast, the attraction did sound like something Hen would enjoy. She couldn’t very well deprive Hen of some fun, then turn around and ask her to sit alone in the hotel room while she went downstairs to talk to Max. She’d have to make declining sound altruistic. Hen might be hesitant about being squired around by Andre without Kitty, even if Andre was as harmless as a monk.
“Why don’t the two of you go?” Kitty said, putting on her best concerned face. “Hen’s right, I don’t much care for birds, but it’s so sweet of you to offer. I hate to be the reason you two don’t get to do what you’d like. I’m happy sitting by the pool.”
Thankfully, Hen didn’t look uncomfortable at all with the suggestion. “Are you sure? Wait. What am I asking? Of course you’re sure.” She poked Kitty. “Every time you see a bird on the street, you jump.”
Kitty poked her back. “I’ll lend you my umbrella. With all those birds flying over you, you might want to protect your head.”
* * *
The next day, after Hen had left to meet Andre, Kitty took the elevator to the lobby. She breezed through and headed down the short hallway to the right of the reception desk, hoping the busy desk clerk wouldn’t pay too much attention to her. Before she went to see Max, she had two stops to make.
At the end of the hallway were three do
ors, each with a brass nameplate. The one at the far end was labeled NICOLAS TESSLER. Satisfied, she headed back toward the lobby. She took a left out of the main entrance and cut through a break in a line of hedges to circle around to the side of the building where the offices’ windows would be. She found herself at a small concrete patio, with an awning and a few chairs. As she suspected, the manager’s office had a window that looked out over the patio. Otherwise, the area was secluded, sheltered by a ring of short, scrubby trees on one side and the hedges on the other.
“Perfect,” she said, walking back through the hedges to reenter the hotel. What better place to stage a romantic interlude for Andre to stumble on than right by the office that he must use when he was in town? He’d have a view perfectly framed by the window. All Kitty had to do was get Max out there at the appropriate time, and she’d have her opportunity. Of course, first she had to make sure he would be feeling romantic. She passed back through the lobby to go down the long hallway toward the club to find Max and issue her invitation.
Through the circular window in the door to the club, she could see Max sitting at the piano on the stage. She pushed on the door, which let out a loud squeak but didn’t open. Still, the noise was enough to get Max’s attention. He looked up, and Kitty waved through the window. The dim light kept her from seeing his expression as he made his way to let her in. The lock clicked, and he swung the door open. His tense face gave her pause. Her prepared speech went right out of her head.
“I’m sorry to interrupt,” she said.
“No, it’s fine.” He rubbed his forehead and his brow smoothed. “I was in my own world. Plus I didn’t expect to see you.”
“I gathered that.” She peeked around him. “Were you playing piano?”
He stepped aside and waved her in. “One of my many talents. Come on in, I’ll show you.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yep.” He led the way to the stage, where he sat on the edge of the piano bench. He patted the space beside him, and Kitty sat.
“Andre said you like to test out songs,” she said, uncomfortably aware of how close his arm was.
“Yeah, I play the new pieces I’m thinking of adding so I can see how they sound in the space. If they don’t work—not big enough, or something—I don’t bother the band with them.”
“But it must sound different with the full band and people in the club.”
He placed his fingers on the keys and plunked out a few soft notes. “I can hear all of that in my mind once I’ve tested a few parts. Years of experience.”
“So, trumpet and piano. Any other instruments?”
“And the congas.” He gestured to a pair of standing drums near the back of the stage.
“My, my. You really are a man of many talents.”
“You don’t know the half of it, sister.” He played a final chord with a flourish and turned to her. “Do you play?”
Kitty laughed. “My father would have loved that. He paid enough for lessons when I was younger for me to have made it to Carnegie Hall by now.” She placed a tentative finger on middle C. “Sadly, I didn’t practice as much as I should have. I think Papa gave up on me shortly after he heard me butcher Beethoven. He finally moved the piano out of the living room at that point. I think it’s the one in our club at the Vanguard, actually.”
“It’s a fine instrument.” He nodded. “Your pop does know music. He’s one of the few club owners I know who actually care about the set list. First thing he asked me when I met him.” Max stood. “Let’s switch places. I’ll teach you something. You can make him proud.”
Kitty scooted to the left side of the bench, and Max sat on her right. “This is your part.” He tapped out a dum-dah-dum-dum-dum a couple of times, then reached over her for her left hand. A little jolt went up her arm. She pulled her hand away.
“Oh, I’m afraid it’s hopeless,” she said airily.
He was far more focused on the idea of her playing than her reaction. “It’s never hopeless.” He played the five-note sequence again then held out a hand for hers. She lifted her hand, and he arranged his hand under hers, so that hers was resting on top. He moved their hands together to the keys and began playing the sequence. She could feel the muscles moving under his skin but tried to focus on the notes.
“I think I’ve got it,” she said. He took his hand away, and she tapped the keys. The rhythm was slightly off, but at last she was concentrating on the sound enough to recognize the tune. Her guess was confirmed when Max began to play with his right hand.
“ ‘Habanera,’ right?” she asked.
“Just don’t ask me to sing it in French,” he said.
She stood and pretended to clear her throat ceremoniously. He smiled and took over both parts of the piano melody.
“Si tu ne m’aimes pas, si tu ne m’aimes pas, je t’aime. Mais si je t’aime, si je t’aime; Prends garde à toi!” she sang. He finished the tune with a flourish, then clapped as she bowed and sat back down beside him. “Papa loves opera,” she explained. “I’ve been hearing that one since before I could walk.”
“Turns out you have some talents of your own,” Max said.
“Not an operatic voice,” she said. “But close enough to the notes, I guess.”
“Do you know what it means?”
Kitty glanced at the floor. She knew exactly what it meant—if I love you, take guard yourself. “Oh…no. I took Latin in school,” she lied.
He looked at her for a moment, then seemed to catch himself. His fingers returned to the keys. “So what did you need to talk to me about?”
“Wh-what?”
“I’m guessing that’s why you came down here. Unless you were looking for a music lesson.”
“Oh. Right. That’s right.” Damn it. He’d knocked her off guard again when she was the one who needed the upper hand. And how could she invite him upstairs now? He’d assume she was interested in him…which was, of course, the impression she was hoping to give him. So why was she so flustered? Why couldn’t she make her mind work around him?
“I wanted to invite you upstairs for a cocktail. The band doesn’t play on Mondays, right?” she finally managed.
“Tomorrow night?” he asked.
“Yes.” She tried to recover her coquettish demeanor. “I thought a drink would be a nice way to thank you for lunch. Don’t go getting any ideas. Hen will be there. Why don’t you bring Sebastian, too?”
He leaned in, grinning. “But Sebastian didn’t buy you lunch.”
She stood with a huff. “Forget I said anything. You’re impossible.”
He stood, too, stepping in close. “Nothing’s impossible.”
“Maybe not for you. For silly rich girls—”
“Maybe for them, sure. But they aren’t you.” He took another step toward her, but just before they touched, he moved past her and headed for the drums. “I’ve got plans tomorrow night. How about Tuesday? Want to say eight?” When she hesitated, he raised his eyebrows. “Wouldn’t be polite to take back an invitation.”
“Tuesday at eight,” she agreed.
Kitty fumed all the way back upstairs. She had done it again, had spoken about herself without him saying anything at all. Having him interested was good, having him think she was interested was fine, but…the way her head was swimming? Not fine. Not good. True, she hadn’t given away much. Her father’s interest in opera was hardly a well-guarded secret. But something about the tone of her encounter with Max was different. Too intimate. He was getting to her, and she suspected he knew it.
She calmed herself as she settled on the couch in the suite’s living room. Getting him talking about himself would be the objective of the drunken evening she was planning for him, and she had arranged that. She hadn’t really lost any ground, she reminded herself. Still, what irritated her most was that she couldn’t stop wondering wh
o he had plans with on Monday.
Hen came back from her trip to Parrot Jungle chattering away. She shoved a photo of herself, her arms covered with birds, into Kitty’s hand. Kitty pretended to admire it before dropping it onto the coffee table. The sight of all those birds on her friend’s arms gave her the willies.
“They were gorgeous, you wouldn’t believe it. There was a little yellow one that fell in love with Andre. Ate right out of his hand and sat on his shoulder nearly the whole time we were there.” Hen sat beside Kitty on the couch.
“Honestly, I don’t understand the fascination,” Kitty said. “Parrots are just pigeons with a better color palette. At least none of them hit you with a…souvenir.”
Hen rolled her eyes. “Well, we sure had fun. Andre is a great guide. You might need to spend more time with him. He could be more interesting to you than you think.”
“I doubt that very much, but I’m glad you enjoyed yourself. And promise me that if you have the urge to do something like that again while we’re here, you’ll drag Andre instead of me.”
“Promise.” Hen stood and stretched. “Andre has some work to catch up on tonight, so you and I are on our own for dinner. Where would you like to go?”
Kitty nearly said Pickin’ Chicken, then wanted to bite her tongue off. She cursed Max for taking her there; she’d been craving that chicken and honey every minute since. She offered a classier option, and Hen agreed, then went to her room to change.
Andre was able to meet the girls for dinner in the hotel the next night, and he joined them downstairs with more enthusiasm than usual. “Great news, ladies,” he said, pulling out their chairs.
“Marlon Brando is coming to visit?” Kitty asked.
Andre jerked his head back. “What, did you hear something?”
“You said it was great news. That qualifies as great to me.”
“Don’t be silly,” Hen said to Kitty. She looked up at Andre. “What’s your news?”