“Does that matter?” I shrugged and then glanced down at the brown hotel carpet below my feet. “After everything I learned today, I would have wanted to be involved somehow.”
Without looking back, I walked straight into the bathroom, shut the door behind me, and locked it. Then I sat down on the tile floor, holding my white fluffy hotel robe to my chest, and fought back the urge to cry.
Chapter 5
The next morning bright and early, Dora knocked on my hotel door. Dallas answered dressed in a towel and still dripping from his shower.
“I’m sorry,” she blurted out, turning three shades of red in the process. “I must have the wrong room.”
Dallas smiled at her. “No, you don’t.” He turned to me, sitting on the bed behind him. “Darling, your friend is here.”
I noticed he accentuated the word “darling” when he spoke. I shot him a dirty look as I rose from the bed and went to the door.
“Good morning, Dora, ready for another lucrative book signing?” I quipped, completely ignoring the half-naked man standing beside me.
Dora said nothing. Her eyes traveled warily from me to Dallas.
Dallas was the first to break the long silence. “Go on, and I’ll meet you back here for lunch,” he said, and then kissed my lips.
As I stepped toward the door, he patted me on the behind. “Have a nice book signing,” he teased, and then darted back into the bathroom.
Out in the hallway, I could feel Dora’s dark eyes glaring at me. I adjusted the straps to my purse and laptop over my shoulder before I turned to her.
“What?” I asked casually.
She scowled at me. “That’s the guy from the party last night.”
“Yeah, his name is Dallas August.”
“At least you know his name.” Dora walked on ahead of me toward the elevator.
I followed behind her in silence until we came to the elevator doors.
“He’s a great guy,” I said to her back.
“Yeah, I saw his great body.” Dora angrily pushed the call button several times and then turned to me. “I have to admit, I never thought of you as a one-night stand kind of girl.”
I laughed, avoiding her eyes. “It’s not a one-night stand.”
“Then it’s a weekend fling?”
I gave her my best southern smirk. “Oh, no. It’s going to be much more than that.”
She shook her head as the elevator doors opened. “Why don’t I believe you?”
I followed behind her into the elevator and watched as she pressed the lobby button on the panel several times. She turned her eyes to me and frowned.
“What do you know about the guy?”
I avoided her inquisitive gaze, suddenly feeling nervous about the direction her interrogation was taking. “It’s called getting to know each other, isn’t it?”
Dora leaned over and put her face in front of mine. “So in other words, you didn’t get around to too much talking last night.”
I just smiled sarcastically at her.
“Great.” She leaned back and looked away from me. “Please tell me you used protection.”
“Gee, Dora, I didn’t know you cared.”
She kept her eyes on the elevator doors ahead of us as the car descended to the lobby level. “I don’t care. I just don’t want you catching anything that can make your tits fall off before you finish this book tour.”
* * *
During the course of that morning, women came and went from my assigned table at the bookstore where Dora had arranged for me to appear. And as the readers of Painting Jenny asked me this or that about David, I found my mind not completely occupied by David. My thoughts kept creeping back to the elusive man whom I had left dripping wet in my hotel room.
“Was he as kind and genteel as you say?” one very round, older woman asked me as she grabbed the autographed novel from my hands.
“What?” I asked, not sure to whom she was referring.
I felt a friendly stomp on my foot from Dora sitting next to me.
“She was asking about David,” Dora murmured as she leaned over my shoulder.
“Oh,” I smiled at the woman, “yes, he was. Absolutely wonderful.”
The older woman sighed, cleaved the book to her bosom, and walked away from my table.
“You need to focus, kiddo,” Dora scolded next to me. “Stop thinking about the Teutonic knight you left behind in your room this morning and start thinking about the dead guy in your book.”
I frowned at Dora. “You have such a way with words.” I turned my attention back to our table as another copy of my book was placed before me. “Amazing you didn’t become a writer yourself.”
“Didn’t have the talent, just the desire.”
“It’s never too late,” I said, raising my eyebrows encouragingly at her.
She shook her head. “No. I’ve got a much better deal doing what I do.” She paused and turned her attention to the small line of people waiting in front of our table. “Writing is something that can never be predicted or counted on.”
“But it cannot be ignored either, Dora. No matter how hard you fight it, the creativity in you will come through.” I paused, struck by a memory of David. “Shining like a new copper penny,” I whispered.
She knitted her dark brows together. “Didn’t you use that in your book?”
“Yes,” I nodded. “Well, actually it was something David once said to me. He told me never to stop writing.”
“And what does the Adonis tell you?” Dora’s voice was cold. “Or can he even read?” She held up her hand to stifle the chastising I was about to give her. “I just hope you’re not using him to fill the gap that David left in your life. Moving on with your life, Nicci, does not mean moving away from your past.”
“I’m not moving away. Dallas and I are just…” I laughed, trying to conceal the tension Dora’s stern gaze was creating inside of me.
“Just what?” Dora asked as she leaned in closer. “Do you even know what this guy does for a living, Nicci? Where is he from? Where did he go to college?”
I stared into Dora’s small, round face. “You don’t like him? Do you?”
She furrowed her brow and waited a few seconds before responding. “No,” she finally stated.
“Why?”
“He’s dangerous. I saw the scars on his body when he paraded naked around your hotel room. You don’t get scars like that from living a life on the right side of the law.” She paused and looked around the bookstore. “Why do you like him?”
I shrugged, trying to think of something reasonable to say. “He has a certain charm,” I finally offered.
“Just watch your back, kiddo,” she warned, leaning back in her chair. “Men like that never feel guilt or remorse when they walk away from someone.”
“You’ve had some experience with that kind of man?”
“Experience with men in general. There is no happily ever after with a man like that. Why do you think all fairy tales end that way? Fantasy gives us hope. Reality only gives us heartache.”
I eagerly wanted to get off the subject of heartache since mine still seemed so fresh. I turned away from Dora and reached for another copy of Painting Jenny, offered by a blonde woman with brightly painted red lips.
“I just loved your book,” the blonde gushed.
“I’m so glad,” I stated as I signed my name inside the front cover.
“Did David really die?” the blonde asked as her big blue eyes scanned mine. “I mean,” she went on, “I thought you just wrote it that way for the ending. Perhaps he could come back in a sequel.”
“A sequel?” I laughed as I handed the woman her book. “I never thought of writing–”
“The next Nicci Beauvoir novel is on the way,” Dora quickly interrupted me. “The sequel to Painting Jenny.”
The woman smiled gleefully. “Oh, I just knew he wasn’t dead,” she squealed. She clutched the book with her pudgy hands and then stepped away from the table.
I turned to Dora filled with outrage. “Sequel? Are you out of your mind? How can I possibly write a sequel when—”
“You’ll think of something,” Dora assured, cutting me off again. “And you didn’t answer my question.”
I rolled my eyes. “Which one? There have been so many.”
“All right. I’ll stop the interrogation for now.” Dora shook her head and eyed the line of waiting autograph seekers. “You know you always struck me as the more cautious type when it came to men.”
“Women are never cautious when it comes to men, Dora.”
“I always thought you were, but now…”
I opened a book laid on the table in front of me by another eager fan.
“I was cautious with David. And all I have to show for it is a broken heart and a couple of expensive paintings.” I signed my name to the book.
I heard Dora sigh beside me. “But at least you have that. Lightning does not strike twice, kiddo. No matter how many times you make yourself stand out in the rain.”
* * *
After the book signing, I returned to my hotel room to find Dallas, dressed in a tailored gray suit and black tie, playing solitaire on my bed. I noticed the minibar had been ransacked and there was an empty glass on the bedside table with two small bottles of vodka next to it.
“You didn’t have that suit on last night at the party,” I said, nodding to his outfit.
“I went back to my place and changed while you were gone.”
I placed my hands on my hips and stared at him. “Then how in the hell did you get back in my room?”
“Maid let me in.” He rose from the bed and threw the cards down on the bedside table next to him. “About time you’re back.” He walked over to me and grabbed my hand. “Come on, I’m starving,” he mumbled as he pulled me toward the door.
Ten minutes later, we were seated at a cozy spot by the street in the hotel’s restaurant. A waiter approached our table, placed a basket of bread on the clean white tablecloth, and pulled out a pad from his dark shirt pocket.
“Our lunch specials are—” the very young man began.
“I’ll have the filet, rare,” Dallas barked, interrupting the waiter. “Russian dressing on the salad and a side order of new potatoes.” He put his menu down and waved to me. “The lady will have the shrimp and pasta, ranch dressing on her salad, and a screwdriver to drink.” He nodded to the waiter. “Bring me a Stoli and soda.”
“Any wine with lunch?” the eager-faced waiter asked, leaning in closer to our table.
“No wine,” Dallas replied. “Just keep the drinks coming with the meal.”
I smiled at the waiter, handed him my menu, and then sat back in my chair. I folded my arms across my chest and waited for the two of us to be left alone.
Dallas picked up a roll from the basket and reached for the butter plate. He buttered his bread and eagerly started to devour the small roll.
“Why did you order for me?” I asked, suppressing the urge to grab the roll out of his hand and smash it into his face.
He waited until he had finished chewing before he spoke.
“You like shrimp and pasta. You also prefer ranch dressing to any other, except for a Remoulade dressing, which you would not like since it is made in New York. You always prefer seafood to chicken. You don’t like meat and you never eat veal.”
I raised my eyebrows at him. “Where did you learn all that?”
“David told me.” He shrugged. “As for the wine, I’m not a wine connoisseur like David. I never really cared for the stuff.”
“Tell me, is the condescending male chauvinist attitude part of your cover or is this the real you?”
“No need to get testy, darling.” He smiled sweetly, but his eyes held their usual chill. “I’m just making it look like we’re a doting couple.”
“Next time ask.” I lowered my voice. “And don’t call me darling. Coming from you, it’s disturbing.”
“Then what should I call you?”
I frowned. “Just stick with Nicci.”
“That’s not endearing enough to be convincing.” He stared into my eyes for a moment. “How about cupcake, my little blossom, petunia, sweetheart, dear one. Any of those strike your fancy?”
I leaned in to the table. “I can see you are going to be a real pain in the ass about all of this.”
“Sweet cheeks it is.” He laughed jubilantly. “Oh yes, that one definitely works for me.”
“And what am I to call you? My little man, my wee wonder, peanut…”
“I get the picture,” he snapped as he bit into his roll.
I turned my attention to the bustling restaurant around us. An older couple smiled at us as their eyes casually traveled in our direction. At another table, a trio of businessmen glanced over at our table and then I heard their laughter. Either I was becoming paranoid or perhaps we were not as convincing as we needed to be. The waiter returned with our drinks, and Dallas eagerly grabbed for his. He took a long sip, nearly draining his glass.
“My associate from the publisher’s,” I hesitated as I picked up my screwdriver, “started asking a lot of questions about us this morning.”
Dallas stared into his drink. “And what did you tell her?”
“That we didn’t get a whole lot of talking done last night.” I took a sip from my drink. The vodka burned as it slid down my throat.
“Good answer.” He nodded as he looked around the restaurant. “Perhaps we had better come up with some particulars. You know the intimate details lovers share.”
I put my drink down. “I can’t wait to hear this.”
He focused his disconcerting eyes on me, making my stomach do a few uneasy leaps.
“All right,” he said as he put his drink down on the table. “I’m thirty-eight and live alone in an apartment on the Upper East Side. I drink my coffee black and can’t stand tea. My favorite color is blue and my birthday is November fifteenth. I hate onions, not crazy about chicken, but I like all forms of red meat. And I prefer the right side of the bed.”
“Oh please,” I scoffed.
Dallas went on, “I’ve never been married, have no children, and my parents died when I was twenty in a boating accident.”
I raised my eyebrows skeptically. “Boating accident?”
“My father built yachts. He and my mother were avid sailors.” Dallas looked down at the table. “Their boat capsized in a storm when I was away at college.”
“I’m sorry.” I paused as I tried to think of something else to say. “Are you an avid sailor?” I finally asked.
He picked up his half-eaten dinner roll. “I would love to spend the rest of my life sailing around the world.” He cocked his head to the side. “What about you?” he inquired, then took another bite from his roll.
I ignored his question. “You said you went to college? Is that true or part of the cover?”
“True,” he nodded. “Went to Brown. I studied ancient history with a concentration in ancient maritime history, but as far as our story is concerned, I am an architect and work for Lewis, Schribbner, and Libby here in New York.”
“An architect?”
“Lewis, Schribbner, and Libby is Simon’s idea, as is being an architect. A very rich architect, I might add, from a wealthy New England family.”
“Why a rich architect?” I asked, raising my voice slightly.
Dallas leaned over and placed his arms on the table before him. “To fit in better with your crowd back in New Orleans. And to appear as a more serious threat.”
“That’s it?” I shook my head. “Simon doesn’t think someone would believe I was interested in an architect from a poor family. Does he think I’m that shallow?” I paused as I looked into his eyes. “Do you think I’m that shallow?”
He sighed. “Nicci, I need you to remove your ego from this situation. Detach yourself from the job ahead and then you will be—”
“What?” I questioned, cutting him off. “Be more like yo
u?”
I felt a rush of regret race through me. He was doing this for David. “Sorry,” I quickly added.
“Apology accepted.” He smiled slightly. “All right, it’s your turn, Nicci. Tell me about yourself.” He waved his hand at me. “But I already know you like coffee and chicory only and take it black. You drink screwdrivers but prefer champagne. Your birthday is April seventh and you don’t have any friends and you don’t trust anyone.”
“David told you a lot.” I fell back in my seat as I scrutinized the man across from me. He was so different from David. Where David had been warm and thoughtful, Dallas appeared cold and distant. David could charm anyone with his gregarious nature. I doubted at times if Dallas even possessed a pulse beneath his perpetual scowl. “I still don’t see what you and David had in common,” I added.
“David liked the water, must have gotten it from his old man being a merchant seaman and all. I took him out a few times on my boat. We would drink, fish, and talk.”
“You have a boat?”
He nodded. “I like to go out on the water to get away.” He shook his head and sighed. “Which I never get to do very much of these days.”
I smiled playfully. “Hectic work schedule, eh?”
He picked up his drink. “Simon and I have been investigating David’s death for almost two years now. We’ve been working on an angle to get me back to New Orleans for some time. Then when Simon told me he had arranged for you to come to New York—”
“Simon?” I interrupted, raising my voice. “What do you mean Simon arranged for me to come to New York?”
“Simon had Hamper plan your little book signing tour. He wanted to meet you. Feel you out. See if you were up to this challenge.” He took another long swallow from his glass.
I wrapped my arms about myself, feeling the sour regret of someone who had been deceived. “And I thought I was coming here because of the success of my book.”
“Simon plans for every contingency, Nicci. You should know that by now.”
I wondered if he was right. But ever since my meeting with Simon yesterday, I had been filled with doubt about the sanity of this entire affair.
“I think Simon has overlooked a few things in this case,” I stated.
The Nicci Beauvoir Collection: The Complete Nicci Beauvoir Series Page 36