Kathleen left the main dining room and went into the hall that led toward the telephones, the rest rooms, and the two private dining rooms that De Luca's offered for special parties.
He liked the feel of her hand in his. He liked the scent of her perfume. She smelled like Ireland. Her reddish gold hair had been swept up off her face and knotted with a gold band at the top of her head, revealing the slender curve of her neck, the fineness of her bones, the tiny earlobes, the long, dangly earrings. He'd always been a sucker for long, sexy earrings.
In fact, there wasn't much about Kathleen Shannon that he didn't like, except maybe her personality. But that didn't matter. If she wanted to take him into the back room and fool around, who was he to say no? Helen certainly wouldn't care.
Kathleen stopped in front of the door leading into the larger of the two private dining rooms. Tony knew the rooms were empty, because they rarely used them during the week, and if there had been a party, the doors would have been open and extra waiters on duty.
He put his hands on her shoulders and smiled at her, "How long until you have to pick up your next table?"
"Five minutes," she said with a wicked grin. "Is that enough time for you? Or is it too long?"
"I guess you'll just have to find out." He lowered his head to kiss her, but she slipped away with a laugh.
"In your dreams," Kathleen said, opening the door. "He's all yours."
She pushed Tony into the room. Great, he'd been expecting secret sex in a back room, and all he got was Frank and Linda. As Kathleen left he could swear he heard her laughing. One of these days he would turn the tables on her.
"Oh, good, you're here," Linda said. "I asked Kathleen to keep an eye out for you."
The door closed behind him. "What's up?"
"We need to talk to you about the party, but quickly, because Vincent and Sophia will be done with dinner soon and we don't want them to see us here together."
"You're always here together."
"Not hiding in the back room," Linda said logically.
"That's true." He stopped, suddenly struck by something. "Linda, are you wearing the same dress as my mother? I could have sworn I just saw her in the dining room ..."
"No, this one is navy. Hers is black," Linda said, smoothing down the short-sleeved, Empire-waisted cotton dress. "Do you like it?"
He'd liked it on his mother. It made Linda look as old and matronly as Sophia. He didn't understand why she insisted on molding herself after a woman so many years her senior.
"Tony?" Linda looked at him somewhat anxiously.
"It's -- it's ..," He shrugged.
"You don't like it."
"It's fine, but you have a good figure, Linda. You ought to show it off."
Linda blushed. "You think so?"
"Yeah. Don't you think Linda ought to wear something sleek and sexy, Frank?"
His brother didn't respond, his attention focused solely on the adding machine in front of him. He punched the keys with a ruthless, determined speed that would absolutely crunch the numbers to the point where he wanted them.
"Frank bought me this dress," Linda said after a moment. "He thinks Sophia dresses with class and I should, too. Anyway, we're planning to hold a private dinner in here for the family on Saturday night beginning at seven. At nine o'clock we'll spill into the main dining room for a big party with all of their friends. Marlena is going to take fake reservations for anything after seven-thirty just to make sure we can clear the dining room of strangers. And we've booked this room in the name of another party so Vincent won't question the additional waiters."
"How are you going to prevent Vincent from wondering why all his friends are sneaking into the back room?"
"Aunt Elena and Uncle Charles are taking Sophia and Vincent out to dinner somewhere else. Frank is going to call them just before they leave and say there's a big problem at the restaurant and ask them to stop by on their way."
"Not that they'll believe I can't deal with any problem that comes up," Frank grumbled. "I don't like this idea at all. It makes me look like a stupid kid who can't handle his job."
"Oh, stop thinking about your ego. It's a party," Linda snapped.
He raised an eyebrow in surprise, although he was pleased to see Linda stand up for herself. "Sounds like you've got everything covered."
"Almost everything," Frank replied. "This party will cost money. We can't ask Papa to absorb the cost through the restaurant. So, little brother, time to ante up." Frank smiled for the first time since Tony had come home. "Unless you're short of cash -- again." He laughed.
Linda frowned at her husband. "Frank, you promised to be nice to Tony."
Promised to be nice. That would be the day, Tony thought. He and Frank hadn't agreed on anything in their entire lives. The four-year age difference between them had always given Frank far too much power, and he'd used it. But Frank didn't put himself in situations where he couldn't control the outcome.
"Why don't you have the party somewhere else?" he asked. "Someplace they don't see every day."
"I thought about that, too," Linda said with a sigh in Frank's direction.
Frank shook his head, and Tony realized with pleasure that his brother had lost more of his hair. In fact, he was looking pretty damn middle-aged. For some reason that made Tony feel better. Maybe because Frank didn't seem to have everything anymore.
"This is where Papa would want the party," Frank said simply. "Here with his friends and his family. He doesn't like to eat anywhere else. He only agreed to try a new place on their anniversary because Elena insisted on it. You know how he hates change." Frank twirled a pencil between his fingers. "Or maybe you don't, since you're never here."
"Sophia likes to try other restaurants," Linda pointed out. "It seems a shame that Vincent always gets his way."
Frank scowled at her. "We've been through this before. The party is in three days. You want to change everything now?"
"No, of course not." Linda sat back in her chair with a defeated look.
"Then why bring it up?"
"Because Tony made a good point."
"Tony? He doesn't know what he's talking about."
Tony didn't have to defend himself, because Linda did it for him.
"You know, you're not the only one who knows how to give a party," she said.
"I give all our parties."
"Only because you won't let me."
"I let you -- remember Janine's third birthday party when the clown came drunk and popped all the kids' balloons?"
"That was out of my control," she snapped.
Tony stared at them in amazement. Linda and Frank had been together forever. They'd started dating in high school, had gone together all through college, and married in their early twenties. They had four kids, for God's sake. He'd always assumed they were happy. De Luca marriages lasted a lifetime. Sophia and Vincent at forty years were just the next in a long line of couples to make it to that milestone.
He wondered if Frank and Linda were going to make it until next Christmas.
Linda stood up. "Fine. If you don't want my opinion, then I'll leave. You and Tony can make all the decisions."
"Hey, wait a second, this is your party," Tony said. There was no way he was going to get stuck with taking care of this surprise party. He had other things to do, like convince Helen to sail away with him next week.
"This is a De Luca family party, as Frank pointed out," Linda said. "You two are the blood De Lucas. I'm just an in-law, isn't that right, Frank?"
Frank tossed his pencil down on the table. "You want to go home, go home. You can get rid of that fool baby-sitter and save us ten dollars."
"I don't feel like going home. I think I'll go to the bar and have a drink." Her eyes glittered with anger. "On second thought, I'll go down the street to Finnegan's Bar and have an Irish whiskey."
"You're not going into a bar by yourself. You're a married woman."
"I'm thirty-seven years old, Frank. I may be
married, but I'm not dead, and I'm tired of living my life in two places, my house and this damn restaurant. Tony's right -- this dress makes me look like a frumpy old housewife." She stalked out of the room.
"Come back here!" Frank roared. She ignored him, and the door slammed behind her.
"Trouble in paradise?" he said with a smile.
Frank picked up the adding machine and threw it at Tony's head. He ducked, and it smashed against the wall. It was the first time he'd ever seen Frank lose control. It was also the first time he'd ever seen Linda walk out on her husband. This upcoming party might prove to be more interesting than he'd thought.
* * *
"Joanna?" Michael called as he walked through the crowded, junk-filled rooms of Ruby Mae's house. He'd spent the past fifteen minutes checking out the structure itself, looking for cracks in the foundation and problems with the framing and the roof. He'd found plenty. It was an old house.
Despite its age, he felt a tingle of excitement as he looked around. The ceilings were high, the doorways and windows curved, and the wide, winding staircase perfect for making a dramatic descent. The hardwood floors could be restored to their former glory, and he believed the crystal chandelier in the dining room would probably glitter once again with the right care.
It was a great house, but although he appreciated its charm, he wasn't sure Iris Sandbury would. She liked master bedroom suites, Jacuzzi bathtubs, and large walk-in closets, architectural designs unheard of in the late 1800's. And the small kitchen would have to be completely redone to meet her gourmet cooking standards. It would take a tremendous amount of time and money to turn this antique structure into a modern mansion. Iris might prefer to tear it down and start over. Certainly the land, with its proximity to the sea, was very valuable.
"Joanna," he called again as he mounted the stairs. He wondered where she'd disappeared to. They'd parted awhile back as she set off to discover the true identity of the house's owner.
Identity seemed to be at the front of everything he came across these days. But it was easier to worry about Ruby Mae's identity than to think about Joanna's.
"I'm upstairs," Joanna called. "In the attic."
When he reached the top of the stairs, he saw an open door at the end of the hall, with more stairs leading up to the attic. As he walked down the hall, he glanced into each room. There were four bedrooms. Two of them were empty. The third had a single bed and some boxes. The fourth, obviously the master bedroom, smelled of medicine and mildew. A wheelchair was folded up in one corner and the bed was a mess of tangled covers.
He wondered if Ruby Mae had died at home. If she had been alone or if someone had been with her at the end. The sight of the room bothered Michael, reminding him again of the transience of life. It had taken him months to get rid of Angela's clothes, to rid the bedroom and bathroom of her scents. For a while, every time he had turned a corner, he'd expected to trip over her.
"Michael, where are you?" Joanna called out again.
"I'm coming," he said, eager to get away from Ruby Mae's bedroom.
She met him on the steps to the attic. "You won't believe what's up here."
He smiled. There was a streak of dust across her cheek, and she had pulled her hair up in a ponytail, securing it haphazardly with a rubber band. She looked hot, dusty, and excited. He found the combination irresistibly appealing. "What did you find?"
"Lots of things." She tossed him a black felt cowboy hat. "Try that on for size."
He put on the hat as he climbed the stairs. In the middle of the room a single light bulb hung on a wire. With beams of sunshine spilling in through the cracked window, the attic had in a soft glow that seemed to transport them back in time.
"How do I look?" he asked, tilting the hat to one side.
"Very dangerous, cowboy."
"And ..."
"Sexy. Is that what you were looking for?" she asked with a grin.
"As a matter of fact, yes."
He tossed her the hat. She caught it and set it on the ground, then held up a ruby red spangled dress that was cut low in the front and back.
"How do you think I would look in this?" she asked.
"Very expensive."
Joanna hugged the dress to her. "Ruby Mae was only sixteen years old when she started dancing at Barney's Saloon. I wonder how she felt looking down on all those men who wanted her more than they wanted their next beer. I wonder if she loved any of them, or if any of them loved her," she said with a sigh.
"I'm sure they all loved her for a while."
She made a face and tossed the dress at him. "I wasn't talking about sex."
He caught it before it hit the floor. "This was made for sex, Joanna. Ruby Mae was a prostitute. She ran a whorehouse. Her whole life was about sex."
"She was a woman living in a rough western town. Her mother died when she was eight years old. She didn't have any female influences. She used to sit on her father's lap when he played poker."
"Where did you learn all that?"
Joanna waved her hand toward a box on the floor. "Journals. There are dozens of them. She wrote everything down. I've just begun to look through them. This is a gold mine, Michael. I hope Mr. Gladstone is willing to turn her journals over to the historical society. It could change the history of San Francisco as we know it."
"One tainted woman change the city's history?" he asked with a skeptical tilt to his head. "Aren't you romanticizing Ruby Mae?"
"Just because she lived what some considered to be a sinful life doesn't make her existence any less important," Joanna replied. "And don't forget, a man died in the fire that destroyed her whorehouse. Wouldn't you like to know if he was murdered or if he set the fire and couldn't get out in time? Aren't you the one who wanted to be a detective?"
"That's when I was a boy. What else is up here?"
"I don't know. I didn't get past the journals and the trunks of costumes. I'd love to keep going through it. Do you think I can come back?"
"Sure. We have the key until Mr. Gladstone returns."
Joanna sat down on top of an old steamer trunk. "How does the house look to you in terms of remodeling?"
"Like a very expensive job."
"Michael, you wouldn't recommend that your client tear this place down, would you?"
"Now. It would be a shame to lose a house with so much historic charm," he said.
Her smile blossomed. "I knew it. I knew you wouldn't want to destroy this house." She got up from the trunk and hugged him.
She meant it to be a brief and friendly hug. He knew that. But once she was in his arms, he couldn't let her go. She was glorious, passionate; and when she looked at him he saw desire in her eyes. Want, need, everything he felt. He had to kiss her. He had to taste her lips.
Her mouth opened shyly under his, as if she wasn't quite certain of where they were going. But as his lips moved against hers, as he fit his arms around her and pulled her closer against his chest, he felt the last of her resistance slide away.
He deepened the kiss, pushing past her lips, letting his tongue tease the corners of her mouth until he could slip inside. It was the most incredible first kiss he had ever experienced. Their bodies seemed to mold together instinctively. She felt perfect for him.
Until she pulled away, until the desire in her eyes turned to worry. "Do you know who you're kissing?" she asked.
He felt as if she'd kicked him in the gut. "What the hell kind of question is that?"
"A logical one, I think."
"I know who you are." But did he?
He let go of Joanna. The only thing he knew for sure was that kissing her was a bad idea. Too damned confusing. And the last thing he needed in his life was more confusion. He just wished it hadn't felt so good.
"Michael, I don't want to go through life as someone's ghost."
"I don't blame you. But I wasn't thinking about Angela when I kissed you."
"I'm glad. But we can't do it again. We still don't know if there's a blood tie be
tween Angela and me. What if I turn out to be a relative?"
"I can't believe anyone in the De Luca family would have given up a child -- for any reason. It doesn't make sense to me. Sophia and Vincent are celebrating forty years of marriage this coming Saturday night. Carlotta and Steven have been married thirty-seven years. Elena and Charles have been married for the last twenty. Do they sound like the kind of people who would give away a baby?"
"What about the younger woman, Elena? I'm twenty-nine. She wouldn't have been married when I was born."
He tipped his head in acknowledgement. "I have to admit she seems the most likely candidate. Do you want me to talk to her for you?"
"Would you?"
"I'll see what I can do."
She looked down at her watch. "Oh, dear, it's past seven-thirty. I lose all track of time when it stays light this late. My mother is probably climbing the walls. I told her I'd be home around five."
"Does she worry that much about you?"
"She worries about me every second of her life. She's been a wonderful mom, but to the point of obsession some times. Especially since my dad died. Now I'm her whole life instead of just an incredibly big part of it."
"Maybe she's obsessive for a reason."
Joanna frowned. "My mother is a good person and my father was, too. I don't want to believe they lied to me, but my mother's secrecy is disturbing."
"You need to talk to her, Joanna."
"I do. But getting her to talk to me is going to be more difficult."
Chapter Thirteen
Sophia tucked Rose into bed and kissed her on the forehead. Rose's skin felt warm from her recent bath. Her hair lay damp against her forehead, and Sophia tenderly brushed it to the side. Rose and Lily both looked so much like Angela when she was this age. Sometimes the joy of being with them was tempered with pain from the loss of her daughter.
"Grandma," Rose said, "do you think there's a heaven?"
"Yes," she said, not sure where this conversation was leading or whether she wanted to go with it.
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