by Amber Brock
“I’m taking the evening off tomorrow night, and I’d like to take you girls out.” He sat down, clearly thrilled with himself. “I want you two to meet some friends of mine, real good folks. Got a beautiful place in Coral Gables. We always get a bridge game going when I come into town. I thought it would be nice to socialize a bit. And this time they won’t have to find me a partner.”
Kitty swallowed a groan. After Andre’s big talk about hosting them in Miami, his offers consisted of being climbed on by birds and visiting some bridge-playing couple’s kitchen. She should have known. Kitty noticed that, once again, Hen didn’t share her reaction. Her friend was already nodding.
“That sounds swell, doesn’t it?” Hen asked. “We’d love to go, thank you.”
The waiter came over to take their drink orders, giving Kitty a moment to deliberate. She hadn’t told Hen about inviting Max over yet, since she wanted Hen to think it was a more spontaneous plan. Sending Hen off with Andre again did remove one obstacle. Still, it meant she wouldn’t have anyone to distract Sebastian if Max did extend the invitation to him. After all, she’d said he was invited, too. Maybe having his friend around will get him talking quicker, she reasoned, without much hope.
There was still the small matter of the fact that she’d already sent Hen and Andre off alone together yesterday. Much more of this, and they’d definitely start to get suspicious. She might have worried that Hen would forget about Sebastian, but that handsome distraction seemed to be falling through anyway. How could Hen flirt with a guy who was always working somewhere else? No matter—Kitty could adjust that piece of the plan. Any guy would do, even a fictional one, and Charles was already suspicious. Plus Hen had already said she’d go play bridge; Kitty couldn’t rescind her acceptance for her. Kitty would have to find a good enough reason to stay behind a second time, and the next time Andre invited them somewhere, she’d have to go, no matter what. As increasingly boring as Andre’s offers were, she wondered if that next outing might be to the cemetery.
“Gee. That does sound like fun,” she said at last. “But, you know, Papa is calling me tomorrow evening. We keep missing each other, and I would hate to miss him again. Why don’t you two go?”
“We couldn’t leave you again,” Andre said.
“But you can’t have a five-person bridge game anyway,” Kitty said.
“Sure you can—” Hen began, and then thought better of it. She turned to Andre. “I’d like to go. And Kitty has barely gotten to talk to her father.”
“I don’t mind. At all,” Kitty said, thanking heaven Hen knew her as well as she did.
“If you’re sure.” Andre glanced between the two girls, hesitating. Kitty worried for a flash that he might think she was trying to get rid of him. Fortunately, Andre confirmed once more that Kitty didn’t mind staying behind at the hotel, then dropped the issue.
A few men in dark suits began setting up on the stage, grabbing Kitty’s attention. For a split second, she thought one of them was Max, and her heart began to pound, but she recognized that it was the band that played on the nights the Zillionaires had off. She swallowed hard and turned back to Hen and Andre, who were already deep in a lively discussion about bridge. Kitty graciously put on an interested face. No sense in sulking when they’d let her off the hook.
The next day, Kitty and Hen went out on the beach. A staff member from the hotel followed them down lugging two huge umbrellas with Imperium on each in blue letters. He set them up in the sand and assured the girls someone would come along in the evening to pick up the umbrellas, so they could leave them when they were done. The girls spent the day wading into the water, then drying off in the sun, with a quick trip for ice cream from a stand near the shore. Kitty tried to let her giggles with Hen divert her from thoughts of her impending evening with Max. After all, she could handle him.
They went back to the suite so Hen could shower and dress for her evening. Kitty showered but put on a dressing gown so Hen wouldn’t suspect her plans. Hen came out of her room in one of her new rompers, her hair pinned in a pretty little twist. Kitty raised an eyebrow.
“Seems like all my years of work are finally having an impact,” she said. “You look positively adorable.”
“And you want all the credit, huh?” Hen put her hand on her hip.
“I think I get some, at least. Here, let me get you that lipstick that looks so good on you.” She stood to go to her room.
“Are you sure it’s all right if I go? I know you said it was, and I definitely know you don’t want to play bridge. But you invited me on this trip, not Andre. I don’t want you to be bored.”
“Please don’t worry,” Kitty said over her shoulder. “It’s only one night, and I’m looking forward to talking to Papa.” She dug through her makeup case, found the lipstick, and returned to drop it in Hen’s hand. “If bridge is what you call fun, well…enjoy.”
“We will, thank you very much.”
Hen applied a layer of lipstick and left. Since Andre’s friends were cooking, Kitty was on her own for dinner. She changed into an emerald-green dress, put on makeup, and ordered room service. A glance at the bar in the room prompted her to call down to the club next. She spoke to Sonny, one of the bartenders Andre had introduced them to, and he promised to send up a couple of bottles of a regional treat.
The food and liquor had just been delivered when the phone rang. She looked longingly at the steaming shrimp on the plate, but picked up the phone. What if it really was Papa?
“Hello?” she said.
“Kitty?” Charles said.
“Yes, how are you?”
“A little worried, but I’m glad I caught you.”
“Worried? Why?”
“Hen never called. Did you give her the message?”
“Of course I did. I thought she called this morning.” In reality, Kitty hadn’t said a word to Hen. The fact that Hen neglected to call was an unexpected bonus.
“Doesn’t matter,” he said. “At least I caught you on a night in. May I speak to Hen?”
“I’m sure she meant to call…we’re staying so busy, you see.” Kitty lolled on the couch, more comfortable than her tone suggested.
“Isn’t she there?” Now he sounded really agitated.
“She…she’s out.”
“Who on earth would she be out with if not you?”
“Oh, I’m going later. I’m going to catch up with them. I was just waiting on a call from my father, that’s why I stayed behind—”
“Kitty.” Charles’s voice grew stern. “Who is she out with?”
“Oh, you know them, it’s no one to worry about. It’s only Andre…and some—some friends.”
There was a long pause on the other end of the line. “I see.”
“Now, Charles. I’ll have Hen call you tomorrow first thing. Then you’ll hear her voice, and everything will be fine,” Kitty said.
“Yes. Good night,” he said.
Kitty hung up, delighting in making Charles just a bit unhappier. After all the times he’d run around on Hen, he deserved to be the one sitting at home worrying. And now that Charles believed Hen was gallivanting around Miami, the innocent bridge game would sound like a ridiculous cover-up.
An hour or so later, a knock announced Max’s arrival. Loco raced to the entryway, tail wagging. Kitty followed after to open the door.
Max stepped in, rubbing the back of his neck. “Thanks for inviting me up.”
“Glad you could come.” She moved aside so he could enter.
“Sebastian did say I had to be sure to pet Loco for him.” He bent down to scratch the dog’s ears.
“Oh, he’s not coming?” she asked.
“Like I said, he didn’t buy you lunch. No drink for him.” Max kept his eyes on the dog, so he missed Kitty’s quick, triumphant smile.
“Where’s Hen?�
� He straightened up and smoothed his shirt.
“Andre invited us to play bridge with some friends of his, and she took him up on it.”
“Let me guess. Kitty Tessler doesn’t play bridge.”
“No. She does not.” Kitty led the way to the living room. “I hope you’re ready for a drink. I’m experimenting with rum tonight. The boys at the bar downstairs sent me a bottle. They said this is the Miami way to drink it, with lime juice and sugar. But you would know.” She held out the cocktail she’d poured for him, which she’d made sure was heavier on the rum than hers was. Not enough to notice, but enough to make a difference. They sat on the couch, and he tasted his drink.
“Good,” he said. “Very Miami.”
Kitty had prepared her questions, so that they wouldn’t have to sit in awkward silence. “So how is it? Being back on stage here, I mean?”
“Like being home. Something about it does feel different. Not that I don’t like New York.”
“You sound wonderful in either place, truly.” Though Kitty’s tone was practiced flattery, she wasn’t lying. She’d judged from his reaction at lunch that a touch of sincerity on her part might get his words flowing. “I had never thought of the trumpet as a particularly moving instrument. You know,” she added, “you think of violin, piano—those are the emotional instruments. And you do play piano too, after all. I don’t think I’m explaining myself very well. But you play beautifully. You surprised me.”
He laughed. “I know what you mean. And thank you.”
“What made you choose the trumpet to play on stage?”
“Instead of a prettier instrument?” He held up a hand to stop her protest. “You’re right, people don’t normally think of trumpet music as soothing.” He paused, then took another drink of rum. “I didn’t want soothing, I guess. I wanted something that could be loud. Energetic. Angry. And something that could be spontaneous. The piano can do that, but not in the same way. A piano moans. A trumpet screams.”
Kitty realized she was leaning in, fascinated. She relaxed her shoulders and sat back against the cushions. “How old were you when you started playing?”
“Ten. Which is pretty late. A lot of the guys in the band were playing since they could hold their instruments.”
“Did you want to play before then?”
He scratched his temple. “You’re the one full of questions tonight.”
“You said you want to know more about me. Why shouldn’t I want to know about you?” She looked up at him through lowered lids with a soft smile that was all pretense, finally feeling she was back in her element.
“Yeah, but I don’t know more about you. Except now I know that you want to be at the top of…something. And you sing in French, but you don’t speak it.” He polished off his rum and set down his glass. “Can we drop the flirty routine and just talk to each other?”
She pressed her lips together. “I don’t know what you mean.”
“Sure you do.”
She waited for him to say more. After a brief stalemate, Kitty stood and held out a hand. “I might as well freshen your drink.”
“Thanks.” He handed over the glass.
“I was telling the truth. I do think you’re good.”
“I believed you. I believed you meant that.” He sighed. “I liked you when we met, and I couldn’t figure out why. It bugged me, honestly, until you started talking about books. Once I realized what’s going on under all that makeup and goo-goo eyes, I felt a little better about it. And then every time we talk, I get a little better view.”
Kitty returned his glass, now full. “I’m so glad you were able to come to terms with the idea of me, I really am.”
“Be honest. You like this better, don’t you? When we’re being genuine with each other?”
For the first time in her life, Kitty was at a loss for words. Not because she didn’t have a quick answer prepared. She had a cutting negative response she would have preferred to use, along with a positive response that might get the conversation back under her control. The problem wasn’t what to say, but what was right to say. Unfortunately, she couldn’t read Max that way. She didn’t know how to get him to bend. She aimed for neutrality.
“Don’t they say honesty is the best policy?” she said at last.
“I bet you don’t say that.”
“Why would you think so?”
“Because you just took a full ten seconds to figure out how to answer me.”
“You count too fast.”
He took a swig of his drink. “Cute.”
She lit a cigarette. “Here’s a thought. How about you be honest with me for a little while, and I’ll tell you how I like it.”
“What do you want to know?”
“Whatever you want to tell me.”
He slid closer to her on the couch. A tickle ran under her skin as he looked at her, a sly smile spreading on his face. “I want to tell you how good it felt to dance with you. I want to tell you how crazy you make me. I want to tell you that I haven’t stopped thinking about you since I first heard you talk, really talk. Just being you, when you’re not trying to be anyone else.” He leaned in until only a few inches separated them. “How’s that for honest?”
She lifted her drink between them. “It’s a good start.”
He sank back with a groan. “You think you’re so smart.”
“Helps that I am smart.”
“Yeah, you are smart. But I don’t know what kind of smart yet. And that is what’s got me worried.”
“What does it matter what kind, so long as I am?”
He shook his head. “And you saying that makes me worry you’re the wrong kind of smart.”
His answer struck her. What did he mean, the wrong kind of smart? She felt cornered, like she had all those years ago at Alastair Prep or when she’d overheard Hen’s mother talking about her. All those times they’d reminded her how inferior she was. She couldn’t help the words that came out next. “Aren’t all of us the wrong kind of something? One way or another?”
He nodded, his eyes on the drink in his hand. “And you saying that makes me think you’re the right kind of smart.”
They both sat silent. Kitty cast about for some reply that would redirect the conversation. “You know, you’re not really telling me about yourself.”
“I asked you what you wanted to know. Go on, ask me something.”
“What’s your favorite food?” she asked.
“Come on, you’re more creative than that.”
“Too personal? You sure are giving up easily.”
“Roast beef. My mom’s roast beef, to be exact.” He held a hand out to her. “It wouldn’t be fair for you not to play along. What’s yours?”
“Lobster.”
“I was going to guess fried chicken from the way you were chowing down at lunch.”
“Very funny.”
“Now I’ve got a question for you.”
She took a sip of her drink to stall but concluded that if she didn’t like what he asked, she could give a non-answer. “All right.”
“Where do you go to have fun? Besides Bloomingdale’s, I mean. Where’s your good time?”
“It’s Macy’s, if you must know. And my good time is the club, of course. You’ve seen how often I go.”
He thought for a moment. “I don’t know if I believe that.”
“You should. I said it. Why wouldn’t you think so?”
“Because you’re always somewhere else when you’re at the club. You’re staring out, thinking. Where do you wish you were?”
“I don’t know where you get these ideas, I really don’t. And didn’t your beef-roasting mother tell you it’s rude to stare?” she said wryly.
“I thought that’s what this whole thing was about,” he said, gesturing at her dress and
makeup. “Getting people to stare. Anyway, I’ve got one more question for you.”
“I can’t say I’m shocked.”
“What does that mean, ‘the top’? I’m being serious now. You said you want to be at the top—that was the first sincere thing you said to me. What did you mean?”
“You heard me when I said it. The top of society.”
“But, look, you’re already rich, right? Don’t make that face, that’s a fact. So what else do you want?”
“I want to be in that place where no one can question you. Where no one can hurt you. That’s real. I’ve seen it. I know those people. Oh, sure, people can say anything they want behind their back, but it bounces right off. That’s power.”
“So you’ve been hurt.”
Kitty stood and walked to the window. Frankly, she wanted to hurl herself out of it. He’d gotten her to do exactly what she didn’t want, and he’d done it by turning her own silly interrogation against her. The worst part was, she recognized she didn’t have to hide from him. The goal was to entice him, and it was clear the real Kitty was what interested him. Why play a game when she could have him much more easily by being herself? She only needed him to get rid of Andre, and for that, she only needed him to be comfortable kissing her.
She knew why. She couldn’t be open with him because it might mean really liking him. She risked losing something, and risks were not what this plan was about. Security and a lifetime of happiness awaited her if she could pull off her scheme. To say nothing of Hen. If Kitty chickened out, Hen was stuck with a sister-humping bastard for as long as they both shall live. Kitty wasn’t going to let that happen, not for a few days with some broke musician. But, she reminded herself, romance was okay. As long as she could still see herself ditching Max at the end, she would be fine.
Max placed a hand on her shoulder, and she jumped. She hadn’t even noticed him get up.
“I think I’d better go,” he said. He set his empty glass on the bar cart. “Early rehearsal tomorrow. Thanks for the drinks. Sorry if I said something I shouldn’t have.”
Kitty grasped for something flirty, something clever that would prove she was fine. Nothing came. “You didn’t. Thank you for coming.”