Kate clutched his hand. “Oh no. You don’t get to pour on the charm with all the Betty White types here. Fess up and tell me who has caught your fancy.”
Quinn arched his brow. “Fancy? Really? You’ve only been in England for six months.”
“Don’t try to get out of it. Who is she and why isn’t she here with you? I might have enjoyed a night on the couch with some ice cream and catching up on Grey’s Anatomy.” Kate adjusted her silver dress under her arms. “And in yoga pants.”
“I appreciate your sacrifice. But I needed to go it alone. All this social pompousness is unnerving Sadie.” He stared at Kate. “Her name is Sadie Maxon. If tonight goes the way I want, I’ll be out of here by ten o’clock. At her place by ten-thirty. And at a Foo Fighters’ concert with Sadie by midnight. A surprise.”
Jake whistled lowly. “He’s whipped.”
Kate and Suze laughed. “About time.”
There was a break in their camaraderie. The mayor and Lizanne joined them and sat at their table. As Quinn made introductions, he spied Suze discreetly put her feet on the floor.
“So…” Lizanne stared at Quinn from across the table. “…When will you be seeing that beautiful refrigerator?”
Quinn glanced sideways at Jake. “Within the next week or two.”
Next to him, Kate gave him a questioning look.
“Later,” he mouthed.
Two more couples sat down. Quinn introduced the head curator of the Streets exhibit, the director of the Field Museum, and their spouses to the rest of table.
The museum director took hold of the table’s conversation. She bubbled over with chitchat about the fashion exhibit as well as the Streets of Old Chicago.
Quinn wondered what Sadie was doing, if she had worked on her thesis today. He’d bring her back to the museum tomorrow. Maybe arrange a private tour of the exhibit from the curator. He poured the guests a glass of wine and checked the time. The servers began to hand out salads. Finally.
He got up to finish the social rounds before food hit the tables.
Quinn spotted the bar on the other side of the hall and recognized one of his mother’s cronies. A wave caught his eye and he re-routed between tables to say hello to the common council leader. The new owners of the Wrigley Building wrapped him into a conversation about preserving the building’s foundation. He made nice and set up a meeting to discuss the renovation project. Thirsty, he set out to get back to the bar, for a real drink.
He spied the young bartender and sought him out like a water fountain in a desert. “Finally. I need two fingers full of Glenlivet and another tumbler of ice.”
“Yes. Sir.” The bartender shook his hand. “I’m honored to meet you, Mr. Laughton. I’m Dylan Sullivan. Part owner of Shelly’s Catering. I hope you’re enjoying the evening. Is there anything else I can get for you?”
“Bottle of water would be great.”
“My assistant just ran back into the kitchen to get more Perrier. As soon as she gets back, I’ll send it over to your table.”
“Great.” Quinn picked up his glass of whiskey and drank it all down. Then he took the glass of ice. “Thanks.”
“Wait,” Dylan said. “I think that water’s on its way. Hold up.”
Quinn followed his gaze. And through the back door, which led, presumably, to the kitchen, a door opened and then closed. “That’s okay. Another Glenlivet would do the trick.”
“Not. A. Problem. Sir.” Dylan poured him another glass of whiskey.
Quinn drank the warm booze as he zigzagged back to his seat. His salad had been served. “Looks delicious.”
“Should be,” Kate said. “If I sold all the pine nuts on this arugula I would probably have enough money to buy a house.”
Except for the mayor, everyone at the table laughed.
Lizanne said, “When I was in Italy, pine nuts were scattered about in the backyard in one of the villas I stayed in.”
“Did you bring them home?” Suze asked. “You could have sold them for extra income.”
“As if Lizanne needs money from nuts.” Quinn bit into his salad.
“Who are you calling a nut?” Mayor Barrett asked.
Quinn laughed. The peppery salad caught in the back of his throat and he started to cough. He cased his table for a liquid.
“I think this is for you, sir?”
An open bottle of Perrier was set down in front of him. He punched his chest with his fist. And guzzled down the water. “Good timing. Thank you.”
“No problem.”
He turned to glance at the waitress. And caught her long red hair against her stick straight back as she strode away.
Sadie?
“She does not look happy, bro,” Jake said.
Suze stared at him and whispered, “She didn’t even see us. Like we were invisible.”
Quinn pushed his chair back. He wanted to go get her.
“Wait,” Kate said quietly. “If she’s the one that all the hoopla’s about, give her a minute.” She surreptitiously glanced at the other people at the table. “Don’t chance it yet. She might be humiliated.”
The last thing he wanted was to give this table of strangers a view into their relationship. And he damn well didn’t want to make Sadie feel embarrassed or uncomfortable. Especially with Lizanne sitting across from him. He hoped her wedding and honeymoon would take her back to Italy. He sat down and ate the rest of his salad.
Vigilantly keeping an eye out for Sadie, Quinn barely noticed the conversations going on around the table.
“I haven’t seen her,” Kate whispered in his ear.
Another woman came and took away the salad plates.
Quinn watched the bar, only the same guy served. Then the kitchen door opened and a line of young waitresses filed out carrying serving trays. The last one was Sadie. She stood out with a gold scarf of sorts wrapped around her hips.
“Hungry?” Lizanne asked.
Startled, Quinn broke out of his trance and looked at her. But she was talking to the mayor.
Quinn watched as Sadie headed toward the table with a tray. She looked beautiful and was smiling. She didn’t look angry. But she did move stiffly. Maybe she was busy and didn’t have time to acknowledge him, Jake or Suze. He should have called.
When Sadie came up to their table to serve dinner, she handed everyone their plates. But she didn’t look at him. He tried to make eye contact. Her body was rigid and movements robotic. She grinned at all the others seated around the table, but ignored him. He felt like a ghost. When she set his plate in front of him, his jaw locked up, narrowly missing his tongue.
Slices of rare tenderloin swam in a plate full of red juice.
His throat tightened—but he didn’t gag.
“What are you doing here?” He reached out to grab her hand—stop her—before she walked back to the kitchen.
She tugged it away from him and faced him. “Working.”
His hand dropped to his side. “What’s the…”
“Anything else you need, Mr. Laughton? Or your date?” She glanced at Kate, then back at him. Her emerald eyes were shiny from tears.
“Oh. No. Sadie.”
She spun around on her ballerina slippers and strode away.
Chapter Twenty-One
Sadie hugged the empty tray across her chest and marched into the kitchen. She had served dinner to the last of her tables without dropping a plate.
Quinn’s table had been her first and after she’d placed the plate of raw meat in front of him, her hands and arms started to shake. It took all her energy to concentrate and control her rocking emotions, which threatened to tip her tray. She had to make sure none of the guests ended up with their laps full of tenderloin and beet salad.
Lindy was busy prepping dessert plates and hadn’t noticed when Sadie stormed in and dropped the tray on the table. She grabbed her bag and walked to the back service door. A cold breeze whipped across her face as she poked her head outside. A drizzle of rain started to come
down from a miserable gray sky. “Great.”
She turned around and looked at her bike. She ached. Her legs, arms, and heart hurt. The prospect of riding all the way to Bucktown in the rain deadened her.
Shelly commanded the wait staff to be quiet and sit down for a quick break. The speeches had begun. “We’ll serve dessert just as soon as the last speaker, Mr. Laughton, is finished with his address.”
Sadie cornered Lindy behind the wall of tall stainless storage shelves and oven racks. “I need to get out of here.”
“Oh no. Are you coming down with the flu?” Lindy took a premeditated step away from her. “I cannot afford to get ill.”
“Not exactly. I don’t think my broken heart is a communicable disease. Although I do feel like throwing up. I can’t go out there, and serve Quinn and his girlfriend dessert.”
“Okay. I’ll tell Shelly you went down. Like the others. Get out of here.”
“It’s raining.”
Lindy glanced at Shelley. “I can’t take you home, honey. She’ll get pissed. And I need the van.”
“That’s okay. Can I just stash my bike in the van? I’ll walk up to the Art Institute and catch a cab. If I can get one in the rain.” Sadie shook her head. “I’ll hunt for dry spaces and hang out on Michigan Avenue. It might be better than being alone. I’ll make it home sometime.”
“Okay. Call me when you do make it to your place. And I think there’s an umbrella in the van.” Lindy gave her a hug. “Talk later?”
“Sure.” Sadie slung her bike and bag over her shoulder. Before she exited, she glanced back.
Shelly had her ear at the door. “Dessert time. Hang in there, ladies. One more hour before tours begin, then we can clean up and let guests serve themselves at the cupcake table. We can do it!” she cheered, but it fell flat.
Sadie paused. She felt guilty. The least she could do was help Shelly. Three other waitresses had come down with the flu and taken off. Sadie suspected that by the end of tomorrow, most of the guests, possibly Quinn and his date, would be vomiting or running to the nearest toilet.
A roar of clapping and applause filtered through to the service area. Sadie slammed open the service doors and escaped the museum without being noticed.
After she had thrown her bike in Lindy’s van, she half-walked and half-jogged away from the Field Museum. When she made it to the lion statues that guarded the Art Institute on Michigan Avenue, it started to drizzle. She popped up Lindy’s cheery yellow umbrella.
It was around nine, Sadie surmised. The nightlife on Michigan Avenue was just beginning, yet there were no cabs in sight. Sadie trudged north. As she closed in on the River, passing the Wrigley Building, she gaped at the beautiful white brick building against the cold gray sky.
The raindrops multiplied. She shook off her umbrella, continued her search for a cab and walked on toward Water Tower Place. As she crossed the bridge the rain came down heavier and her cell rang. She scooted into the stairwell of the Billy Goat Tavern.
“Where the hell are you?” Ellen’s voice vibrated in her ear.
“Away from Quinn and his date. I needed to go. Don’t hate me.”
“Oh,” Ellen said with dead calm. “I was wondering who she was. I thought, kind of hoped, the babe in silver was Quinn’s sister.”
“Did you talk to him?” Sadie bit her lower lip.
“No. I’ve been giving tours of the exhibit to all these old folks. They move slowly. This party is supposed to end at ten. I don’t see it happening. Every one of these folks wants a guided tour and normally it takes twenty minutes. My throat is dry like the Mojave. They keep asking me to speak up. My last tour took forty-five minutes. Jeez. The Street is only five blocks long.”
“Thanks, you just made me smile,” Sadie said.
“I caught a glimpse of Quinn. With that woman. But they were with another guide. Actually, the curator took his party through the exhibit.”
“Asshat. Figures.”
“I have to go. Look on the bright side babe, you can get over to Wrigleyville and see if the Foo Fighters are really playing.”
“Good idea. If I can get a cab I might try.”
“I’ll catch up with you later. Take care. Quinn’s one fish in a big sea; remember that, even if it is lame. I’ll pick up some Ben and Jerry’s on the way home.”
Sadie shook off the pooled water from the top of the sagging umbrella and walked north toward Oak Street. She waved at an oncoming cab heading her direction with unoccupied flashing on its rooftop. The first one she’d seen since the Wrigley Building. It sped past her and the light changed to red, occupied.
She dodged traffic and jaywalked to the other side of Michigan Avenue. There were more bars, more people, and, she prayed, more cabs. As she turned the corner, a cab came up and stopped in front of her.
“Which way are you going?” a man asked from the open window. “Want to share?”
Sadie glanced around. No other cabs in sight. “Uh.” She bent over to get a better look at the passenger. She wasn’t fond of sharing cabs, but in this rainstorm it might have to be done. “I’m going to Bucktown. If that’s too far north, I can hop out early.”
“Not a prob.” He opened the door. “I’m going to Addison.”
Sadie hopped in and her wet thighs slid and squeaked against the plastic seat. “Thanks.” She peered into the front seat to get the driver’s name. It was Alan Vest, most likely a shortened version of his Indian name. Smiling at his kind-looking face, she prayed she could call him as a witness if anything happened in the back seat of the cab with this stranger.
“I’m going up to the bars on Addison. There’s a rumor that the Foo Fighters are playing.”
Sadie sat back and combed through her soggy wet mess of hair. “Yeah, I heard that too.” She glanced at the guy and had to admit he was pretty nice-looking. Not exactly her type, dark wavy hair and big brown eyes with a lot of lashes. “This is great. I was close to taking the bus.”
“I splurged. Gave my bus pass a rest.”
“A busser? Do you work in the city?” Sadie covered the parts of her legs showing with her messenger bag. She knew Chicago well enough. Her self-preservation instinct kicked in fast in the city.
“I’m Mike. Mike Kochan.”
Nice, normal name. “Sadie. Are you from Chicago?”
“I grew up in Greek Town on the south side.” He adjusted his shoulders. “Just finished rehab for a bad rotator cuff.”
“Oh.” She watched out the window. As they headed north on Lake Shore Drive, they passed Lincoln Park Zoo. It was lit up like Christmas. “Must be something going on at the zoo.”
“Really.” He shifted closed to her to look out the window. She caught a whiff of stale tobacco and beer on his breath.
“Where do you work, Mike?” She sat close to her door and looked into Alan’s rearview mirror to catch his eye.
Staying beside her, like white on rice, he said low, “At the Board of Trade.”
“Are you a broker?”
“A lawyer. For Oppenheimer.”
The cabbie jerked into the exit lane and barreled off the highway onto Fullerton. Mike slid to his side of the back seat. “Hey, asshole, watch your driving. Want to lose your license? I can make it happen.”
Sadie bit her tongue so hard she tasted iron.
“Yes. That’s what many people say,” Alan said.
Mike turned toward her. His jaw clenched. “At least bus drivers don’t talk back.”
Sadie gave him her best fake smile and then tapped the bench to get Alan’s attention. “Excuse me. Do you think you could drop me off on Clark Street?”
He nodded.
“Hey, hon. I thought you were going to stick with me. Go catch the Foo?”
The cab pulled over to let her out.
“No.” She handed Alan a twenty-dollar bill. “Does this cover it?”
He gave her a friendly wink. “Plenty.”
“Thanks.” Sadie bolted out of the cab. “Interesting meeti
ng you, Mike.”
“Whatever. Good thing you had cash. I didn’t have enough for the two of us.”
The cabbie looked back at him. “You still owe. The nice young lady didn’t pay for you.”
The cab’s tires squealed as the cab took off. Sadie waved at the man looking at her through the rear window. “Goodbye, jerk.”
Sadie unpinned the broach that held the velvet scarf on her hips and threw it in her bag. Freezing, she wrapped the scarf around her shoulders and clung tight to it with both hands, to stop shivering. The rain had died down, but the wind kicked up. She headed west. She could make it back to her place in an hour and she felt much safer, on foot, than in that cab with Mike.
Creepy snob.
So much for finding the Foo Fighters. She wasn’t about to head to the Wrigley Club to find out if they were playing in concert. Knowing her luck, she’d run into Mike.
Sadie’s cell rang. She didn’t want to stop walking to get her phone, so she dug to the bottom of her leather messenger bag as it bounced against her hip. She was so cold her hand trembled. It stopped ringing before she could answer it.
Quinn’s name lit up the screen.
She threw the phone back in her bag and kept trudging down Fullerton Avenue. She was soaked and freezing and didn’t need to compound the situation with tears. She just wanted a long hot shower. At that thought, her eyes welled up and she couldn’t contain them. She started to cry.
When she made it to her street, she jogged the last block. Out of the rain and in the vestibule, she searched for her keys on the bottom of her messenger bag. What the hell?
She dumped out the contents of her bag onto the floor. The stuff swam around in the puddle at her feet from her wet ballerina slippers and the dripping umbrella. Her apartment keys were missing.
She shoved it all back in the bag and pushed the intercom button to buzz the guys who lived across the hall. It was Saturday night; they had to be there. No response. She pounded on the door and yelled. “Eric? Rob?”
The entryway’s outer door opened. Her heart skipped. She clutched onto her umbrella and slowly turned around.
Just Desserts Page 15