B004183M70 EBOK

by Rosemary Stevens

  "Hello?"

  "Bebe?"

  "Yes."

  "It's Louis; are you ready to go?"

  "I'll be right down, Louis."

  Throwing a soft, short silk cape in merging shades of blue around my shoulders, I grabbed the clutch Darlene had loaned me and headed down the stairs, carefully avoiding trash that could make me slip, and toys I could trip over.

  Once outside, I smiled at Louis. "Hello."

  "Wow!" he exclaimed. "You look beautiful."

  "Thank you." He didn't look bad himself. Dressed in a navy dinner suit, with a white shirt, white pocket handkerchief, and a navy-and-red striped tie, Louis looked every inch the model he was. My anticipation for the evening grew.

  "Here, I have a cab waiting for us," he said, and I followed him to the curb. He gestured for me to get in, saying, "I already wiped the seat with my spare handkerchief."

  Using tricks Darlene had taught me about entering and exiting a cab while wearing a dress, I managed to keep my modesty.

  Louis followed, gave the cabbie an address, and turned to me. "That's a nice perfume you're wearing. It smells good on you."

  The back of the cab suddenly felt like an intimate setting. I felt myself getting nervous. I didn't want to tell him the name of the scent, so I mumbled my thanks, thinking this would never do. Once again, Mama came to my rescue. She always said to get the gentleman talking about himself. That way he'd find you interesting.

  "Louis, how long have you been modeling?" Just as the words came out of my mouth, I realized I still had the key to the personnel file and could have investigated him. Darn!

  "My mother kind of pushed it on me when I was young. I was in ads for cereal, bicycles, a macaroni-and-cheese recipe, and my career grew from there. I have Mother to thank for any success I've had."

  "Was it hard making the transition from doing kids' ads to landing the Burma-Shave account?"

  "No, actually it wasn't. Mother had built contacts over the years, and I kept doing ads through my teenage years. I did a portfolio a year ago with a great photographer, Scott Roberts, and— Oh, we're here."

  While Louis paid the driver, my mind began spinning. Was Scott Roberts the same Roberts who'd taken Suzie's initial photos? How many photographers named Roberts were in New York City? Could I get information out of Louis regarding the guy?

  I slid out of the seat, knees together, and smiled at Louis when he offered his hand to help me out. His hand felt soft and warm. He probably had to take really good care of his face and body. I tried to concentrate on him and our surroundings, but my brain was like a broken record saying, Scott Roberts, over and over. I'd wait until we were seated and had ordered food before I began the third degfee.

  Inside the Phone Booth, a full band, dressed in tuxedos, played the current favorites. A talented young man belted out "Hello, Dolly!" while Louis gave his name to the maitre d'. On the dance floor lots of couples dressed in cocktail attire were gyrating to the music. We had to wait only a minute before we were shown to a white linen-covered table.

  "Is this all right, Bebe?" Louis asked me.

  "Oh, yes, of course."

  We were seated and presented with the wine list, but my attention was caught by the fancy phone positioned to one side. It was black and ivory with faux gold trim, and a "hold" button. What was the polite etiquette if someone called to dance with me ... or Louis?

  Louis took charge. "Would you like me to make a suggestion about the wine?"

  I leaned forward. His green eyes were almost hypnotic, and his black hair shone. "To tell the truth— like the TV show says—I'm not a big drinker."

  "Perhaps it wouldn't be wise to order a whole bottle of wine then?"

  "Gosh, no, not for me. I like champagne, can't stand beer, and tried whiskey once or twice. I'm not a highball girl."

  Louis smiled. "I find your freshness charming, Bebe. How does this sound: I'll order a champagne cocktail for you, and I'll have a vodka tonic. We'll have water with dinner, unless you prefer a soda."

  "I approve your plan, sir," I said cheerfully. "Thank you, Louis."

  The room became smoke-filled as more couples crowded into the restaurant. It occurred to me that Louis was not a smoker, which pleased me. Bradley didn't smoke either— Stop! No thoughts of Bradley.

  When the menus came, I immediately noted that mine did not have the prices listed. I didn't know Louis's financial situation, so I thought I'd play it safe and order a chicken entree. Our drinks had arrived, and I'd already had a third of my champagne cocktail. Giggles tried to force themselves out of my mouth, but I kept them in, fearing an all-out gigglefest. I grooved a little in my seat when the band broke into "Love Me Do."

  Louis looked at me over his menu. "Like the Beatles, do you?"

  I grinned. "I looooove the Beatles, especially John. Which reminds me: Your hair is fab, long that way."

  "I have to keep up with current styles as part of my reputation as a model. I'd much prefer to wear it short. What do you say we order the beef Wellington for two?"

  "That sounds delicious!" Apparently Louis was willing to spend his money on a girl, which was swell. He avoided saying anything about the Beatles, though. If he didn't like them, that would be the end of it. I couldn't bear to be with someone who would frown at me for listening to my favorite band.

  I took another sip of champagne. "Louis, tell me more about Scott Roberts, the photographer you said did a good job on your portfolio."

  Louis drank some of his vodka tonic. "Not much to say. At the time his rates were low and he did a great job. Scott's reputation grew after he claimed he was Suzie Wexford's first photographer."

  "Oh, was he?"

  "Apparently so. The story he told me was that Suzie sent him her senior high school picture, along with a few candid shots. He was so impressed, he encouraged her to come to New York from Oklahoma—"

  "Omaha," I corrected.

  He peered at me, then shrugged. "I try to retain only important information. Scott got Suzie right off the bus, and took her to his studio apartment. She, uh, stayed with him for a while, until she caught the attention of Pierre. Just like a woman, Suzie dumped poor Scott for a bigger name, but I think he has some early photos of her. Er, many female models pose for pictures they later regret."

  The waiter arrived and Louis took care of everything, stopping only to ask if well-done was okay for our beef. I would have preferred medium, but my mind was on other things, so I nodded absently.

  First, I hadn't liked Louis saying, "just like a woman." And was he putting me down when he said, "I try to retain only important information"? I told myself that I had gotten something out of him: that Scott Roberts might have naughty pictures of Suzie. Was Roberts blackmailing her? Did Suzie refuse to pay? When was the last time Roberts had seen Suzie? Was it a volatile relationship? Could he have killed her?

  "Where's his studio now, Louis?"

  His green eyes met my brown ones. He said, "Scott's moved since I saw him last."

  At that moment the phone at our table rang, startling me. Louis picked up the receiver. I tried to signal him that I didn't want to dance with anyone, but then

  I heard him say, "Yes, Mr. Williams. I'm sure she'll be happy to. We didn't see you when we arrived. Yes, I'd be happy to dance with Miss Miller. Okay."

  No! No! Bradley couldn't be here with Evelyn Miller. It would be too much of a coincidence. I tried to keep my composure, but mentally, my mouth hung open and my eyes popped out of my head.

  "I accepted for you because he's your boss," Louis said, downing the rest of his vodka tonic. "And he could get work for me. I'll put the phone on hold now, so we won't be disturbed again."

  "It's all right," I replied, a sneaking suspicion coming into my mind. I removed the cape I still wore, causing Louis's gaze to drop to my chest.

  Bradley and Evelyn walked up to our table. Louis stood, and the two men shook hands. Bradley wore another somber suit, dark gray with a dreary tie. His "mourning for Suzie" look
. As usual, my heart jumped when I saw him. Without question, he was the most handsome man in the room. Not that I'd looked at every man, but I didn't have to.

  Evelyn Miller's blond hair was in a short bob, one side tucked under, a low side part sweeping the rest over, ending in a flip. She had on a shimmering, cream floral brocade cocktail dress with gold and pale green flowers. Cut low, the front of the dress was finished off by a matching cream brocade bow, trimmed with sequins, directly under her ample bust.

  She held on to Bradley's arm, bringing out the green-eyed monster in me.

  Introductions were made, and Evelyn shook my hand, saying, "So you're Bradley's secretary. I didn't realize he was helping the area high schools."

  Bradley coughed.

  I made myself laugh. "Oh, my, what a sense of humor you have, Evelyn. Why, I'll bet you know all the latest bon mots."

  She narrowed her eyes at me.

  The band tuned up, and Bradley held out his arm. "Shall we dance, Miss Bennett?"

  "That was the purpose of your call, wasn't it, Mr. Williams?"

  "It was indeed."

  Louis led Evelyn away.

  Bradley smiled at me, making me dizzy. He pulled my arm through his and walked with me to the dance floor. When we turned to each other, he looked me up and down and said, "Your dress is very flattering. That shade of blue is my favorite color."

  "Thank you." I would not melt, I would not faint, I would not tell him my favorite shade of blue was the color of his eyes; I would stand my ground.

  The band played the opening notes of Peter and Gordon's new song, "A World Without Love," a slow number. Bradley held me closer than was proper. I loved every second, but blinked a few times to overcome the hazy cloud that threatened to turn me into a gooey marshmallow at a campfire.

  Gathering my strength, I started the attack. "What a coincidence that you're here tonight, Mr. Williams."

  "Are you wearing My Sin?"

  "Yes, I am. How predictable that you should be familiar with women's perfumes. Danielle, the girl from the typing pool, told you I would be here tonight with Louis, didn't she?"

  Bradley raised his eyebrows. "You're a good guesser, but I can't applaud your taste in fragrances. My Sin is for a more . . . er, worldly sort of woman."

  "What makes you think I'm not worldly? And, in my opinion, you were overbearing, drilling that poor girl from the typing pool. She was frightened—" Oops. I hadn't meant to say that.

  Bradley chuckled. "Yes, she was. I'm a monster, you know. Killing young girls. You shouldn't be dancing with me, but you see, that only goes to show how unworldly you are."

  I looked up into his blue eyes, and the haunted look I saw there almost made me back down. Almost. Darn if I was going to show him how I felt. "On the contrary. You followed me here. You phoned my table. How could I refuse a request from my boss? That would have been foolish. I have my job to consider."

  A muscle worked in his jaw. "What's foolish is you here with that preening model Louis."

  Was he jealous? Was he?

  I feigned surprise. "Surely you aren't going to tell me that it's against office policy for employees to date models."

  "That wasn't fair," Bradley said. "Besides, I am the head of the company, not an employee."

  "A fine distinction, don't you think, Mr. Williams? So you followed me here to keep an eye on me and my date?"

  He dodged the question. "That lipstick you're wearing is not your style, Miss Bennett. It's too . . . too disturbing for someone your age."

  I felt my temper rise. "I am a woman, Mr. Williams. What is supposed to be my style? Ankle socks with lace trim and patent-leather shoes? Little white dresses with smocking and rosebuds—"

  "You've made your point," he said through gritted teeth.

  Was it my imagination, or had he pulled me closer, just short of up against his chest? Something was making it difficult to breathe.

  "You still haven't explained why you followed me here," I said, moving my left hand from his shoulder to the back of his neck. I guess I kind of stroked him.

  Without warning, he put a bit of distance between us. A sheen of perspiration appeared on his forehead. Got to him, didn't I?

  "I don't understand it myself, kid. I guess I feel a need to protect you."

  "That's funny," I said, softening my voice and looking up at him, happy I had applied an extra set of false eyelashes. "I have that same feeling about you. Now that you understand what it's like, perhaps you'll tell me what Mr. Pickering's investigator has uncovered."

  "I don't think Pickering has hired a PI yet. Uncle Herman has given me ten days—" He broke off. "I shouldn't have said that."

  "Your uncle is going to make you leave the company in ten days if we don't find out who killed Suzie? And Pickering hasn't hired a PI yet?"

  "Lower your voice. Miss Bennett; we don't want people here thinking I'm strangling you."

  I complied, but held back from revealing what I'd learned in my own investigation so far. "I didn't know your uncle could be so cruel. You must tell your lawyer to get busy. What's he waiting for anyway? Money? A sign from above? A message on his bathroom mirror written in shaving cream?"

  Bradley laughed. "We're not going to discuss this, Miss Bennett, remember? And speaking of shaving cream, I think your date wants you back."

  The music had ended without my noticing. I could have screamed, so great was my frustration at being shut out of the formal investigation . . . and Bradley's arms.

  Before I turned to Louis, I whispered furiously at Bradley, "Just make sure Pickering does his job and gets you cleared, or else I'll—"

  The angry look that flared on Bradley's face stopped me.

  He grabbed me by the arm and leaned close to my right ear, growling, "Or else you'll do nothing. Am I understood? And don't ever wear that damn perfume again."

  Mentally I vowed to buy the biggest bottle of My Sin I could afford. "Bully," I hissed at him, and pulled myself away. "Louis, I'm hungry. I hope our dinner is ready."

  Transferring Evelyn back to Bradley, Louis said, "If it's not, would you like another glass of champagne, Bebe?"

  In a voice I knew would carry, I said, "I'd adore one! Oh, and I have something I want you to do for me, if you're willing."

  "I am at your service," he said.

  It took every ounce of restraint I had not to turn around and see what effect these words had on Bradley. As it was, I struggled to regain my composure, and vowed not to look at him for the rest of the night, a vow I kept. Unfortunately, that didn't prevent the place on my arm where Bradley had grabbed me from tingling all evening.

  Dinner proved to be delicious. The beef was too well-done for my taste, but I didn't mind. Louis was not pleased with a spot he found on his fork, which he promptly sent back to the kitchen, or our cherries jubilee, which he didn't think flamed long enough.

  I found myself nervous around him. He just wasn't the sort a girl could feel comfortable being with. I told myself the uneasiness stemmed from the fact that I hardly knew him. On the cab ride home, while the radio played Dionne Warwick's "Walk on By," I thought of how Louis hadn't liked the towels or the soap at Ryan. He made me feel like I should check my makeup or look down at my dress to be sure I hadn't spilled anything.

  Even so, he had been truly delighted when I offered him the B. Altman's shoot. His size even matched that of the model we were to use before he called in "sick." Louis thanked me profusely.

  When we reached my building, he said, "I'd like to take you out again, Bebe. Would you say yes if I asked?"

  Again I felt nervous. How could I rudely say no? "Sure, Louis, and we'll see each other tomorrow at the shoot. Thank you for the lovely dinner."

  Just when I was about to go up the steps, Louis leaned down and brushed a light kiss across my lips. I didn't have time to react, because he didn't want to keep the cab waiting. He entered it and the cab took off, the breeze moving my layered chiffon skirt.

  I stood there, my fingers to my
lips. I felt absolutely nothing from his kiss. Uh-oh.

  From across the street Harry the wino yelled, "Is he the one you're in love with?"

  I looked around to make sure no one was in earshot. Then I yelled back, "No. Do you need money?"

  Harry shook his gray head. I thought I heard him say, "You women, break a fella's heart every time." But he'd been stumbling down to the corner, so I couldn't be sure.

  Upstairs, I opened the door to my apartment and found Darlene on the pink sectional, crying. Nearby, a canvas showing a naked derriere in blue paint stood against the white brick wall.

  I sighed and went to fetch the whiskey.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  Darlene, clad in her purple lounging pajamas, was curled up on the sofa, arms hugging a lime-green pillow to her face. Her sobs were muffled.

  I sat down next to her on the floor, my dress pooling around me. "Darlene, what's wrong?"

  More sobs.

  "Darlene, have some whiskey."

  Sniffles. A sneeze.

  "Come on now, talk to me. What happened? Did you go out with Cole tonight?"

  She brought out a tissue she'd been clutching in her right hand, moved her hair out of her eyes, and blew her nose.

  "Here, swallow a bit of this whiskey, for medicinal purposes," I said in a nurselike voice.

  She managed a tiny smile and followed my instructions. "Bebe, I'm in a terrible mess."

  "I'm here for you," I said, unstrapping my silver sandals and kicking them away. "Where did the, um, painting come from?"

  "I took Cole down to the Village. There's a super-groovy place there called Patty's. You know they do bottom paintings because there's a discreet black-and-white-sign with a lady's legs and—"

  "Okay, I get it. So you went, and that canvas propped up over there is your . . . behind."

  "Uh-huh. I thought it was fun!"

  "Let me guess: Cole didn't." I tried not to imagine what Cole's painting would look like, but thank the Lord, he wouldn't have done one.

  "Yeah, and we got into a fight. Well, it really wasn't a fight; more like he gave me a stern talk. He practically frog-marched me out of Patty's, once I'd gotten my clothes back on. He acted like an overbearing father, telling me I would tarnish my reputation doing things like that. He said I was a mature woman, not a youngster like . . ." She flashed me a look.