He descended the porch steps, hands on hips. “You’re late!”
Mandy eyed him over her sunglasses. “For what?”
“Tess’s dental appointment ended three hours ago. I called and checked.”
Mandy still seemed perplexed. “The appointment went fine.”
Brett clenched his fists at his sides. “But where have you been since?”
“I needed new shoes.”
“That couldn’t have taken very long.”
“It didn’t,” Tess confirmed happily. “After we got sandals we got ice cream and a hamburger and clothes and sunglasses. Oh, and Mandy got a speeding ticket!”
“You what?” Brett’s voice thundered.
“I did not get a ticket,” she replied blithely. “I have a superb driving record. There’s no cop on earth I can’t talk out of a ticket.”
“How fast were you going?”
“Not very fast. Just seven miles over the limit, on County 6 near the dental office.”
“Ah.” He was momentarily distracted. “There is always a speed trap there. I should’ve warned you. Just the same—”
“Do you know that red cars are pulled over more than any other color car? So in a way, you’re calling attention to yourself.”
“Something you’d know nothing about.”
“Well…” She twirled her purse.
“Just the same,” he repeated, “you should have called, Mandy. I’ve been very worried.”
Her face fell. “Oh. I didn’t realize.”
“So, Daddy, do you like my new shoes?”
He felt his expression tightening further as he inspected the little red nails jammed inside the open-toed sandals. “Exactly where did you have your nails done?” he asked.
“At Lindy’s Salon,” Mandy replied.
“The hair place?” He frowned again as Tess grew nervous. Then he reached out for her. Tess tried to wiggle away but there was no use. Off came her hat and short dark curls sprang free.
“Tess Hanson!” He knew his tone was harsh, but this, of all things.
“Don’t be mad, Daddy,” she begged in a frightened squeak. “I love my hair short.”
“You aren’t that little girl anymore. We have an agreement.”
Tears welled in the child’s eyes. “It’s for fun. Mandy likes fun—not like you!”
“Della is waiting inside for you,” he said tightly. “With dinner.”
“I already ate great stuff!” With that she tore past him with her packages and dashed up the porch steps and into the house.
Stiffly, Brett hovered over Mandy. She shuffled her sandal in a crack in the sidewalk.
“What’s the matter with you, Brett?”
“You went too far, that’s all.”
“But it’s the haircut that’s really set you off. Why?”
He was stunned. “How can you ask me that after this stunt?”
“Your anger seems way out of line and I think—”
“What you think doesn’t matter! This is between Tess and me.”
“Well, excuse me for trying to be a friend to that sweet little girl!”
“Real friends know when to back off.” Shoving his hands in his pockets, he charged down the walk toward the street.
THE BOARDING HOUSE’S living room was like the scene of a wake that evening. Amanda sat glumly in an overstuffed chair while tenants skittered around her. Everyone knew of her adventure with Tess and no one approved any more than Brett did.
She couldn’t help but complain to no one in particular. “Two perfectly fine feet and nowhere to take them—on a Friday night!”
“Perhaps this would be a chance to get started on that novel of yours,” Beatrice suggested kindly. “It would be an awful shame if you were to abandon that project just because you’re working at the clinic.”
Amanda was in no mood to pretend that she was a budding novelist. She was tired and edgy and annoyed that Brett was being such a big baby over a small beauty makeover for his kid. All she wanted was to be left to stew.
But when she gazed over at Beatrice, situated on the sofa in her usual evening outfit of lavender lounge pajamas, Amanda felt a rush of sympathy for the plump librarian who feared taking risks, who settled for living through others. She offered a polite reply with her last reserve of patience. “I don’t know if I have the ambition for the project anymore.”
“But you traveled all this way and you haven’t even tried,” Beatrice objected. “I’ve been so looking forward to watching you make the creative journey. Told all the library patrons about you.”
Amanda had a sudden inspiration. “Ivy tells me you’re interested in writing yourself.”
“Me? Well, I’ve done some poetry, a few short stories.” She waved a hand. “Nothing like a novel.”
“Maybe we could work on a story together.”
“Oh, no. Not really.” She paused shyly. “You mean it?”
“Sure, why not?”
Beatrice beamed. “How exciting. I’ll go get pens, paper.” She popped up off the sofa. “Must locate a dictionary, too. I just bought a new one with all sorts of new words. You’re going to love it.” With that she trotted out of the living room.
Della looked up over her magazine. “That was very nice of you, Mandy.”
“Not at all. I can use a friend right now.”
“You have plenty of friends under this roof.”
“Then why is everyone scowling at me tonight? Frank and Colonel Geoff can’t even bear to be in the same room with me.”
“Because we’re so protective of Doc.”
“Care to explain just what I’ve done that’s so wrong?”
“Don’t you think it’s a little extraordinary to keep a child you barely know out for an extra three hours? To solicit her a haircut? Have her nails painted?”
“Listen, Della, nobody ever gave a damn about me at any age. I thought I was doing the kid—and the doc—a real favor.”
Della sighed. “You’re naiveté is incredible, but still, I know in my heart you’re sincere.”
“So will you stop frowning at me over the tops of your reading glasses?”
With sudden realization, Della whisked the wire rims off her nose. “I don’t need these for reading. I’m only forty-five. No, these specs are strictly for threading needles.” She leaned forward. “And if you’re serious about wanting friends, you won’t ask me where my needle is!”
Beatrice appeared in the doorway minutes later with armloads of office supplies. There was a new sparkle in her eye and a confident lilt in her tone. “If you don’t mind, Della, we’ll just take over the dining room table for the remainder of the evening.”
Della smiled broadly. “That is perfectly fine.”
“On the condition that we will clear up after ourselves, naturally.”
“Naturally.”
A satisfied Beatrice marched off. When Amanda was slow on the uptake, Della whispered, “C’mon, Svengali, get cracking.”
“Me and my big mouth.”
“But it’s a wonderful cause. In all my life I’ve never seen Beatrice so excited. She never moves from the sofa after seven unless she needs a Pepsi or a book.”
“Yes, I know. Didn’t expect her to move on my little polite idea so fast, either.”
“Oh, c’mon, the last thing I need around here is a windbag full of unfulfilled ideas.”
“All right.” Amanda slowly rose from her chair. “I guess it’ll take my mind off my problems.”
“Brett is bound to come around,” Della consoled, slipping her glasses back on.
“Tonight?”
“He won’t be moving as fast as Beatrice on this one I’m afraid.”
“Care to tell me why?”
“No.” With a faint, dismissive smile, Della glanced down at her magazine and Amanda knew the conversation was over.
TESS HAD BEEN IN the kitchen having a glass of milk with Frank when Beatrice had come in to look for pencils in the junk drawer. She sa
id that she and Mandy were going to write a book together. A real book with no pictures. In the dining room, if it was all right with Della.
After giving Frank a good-night kiss, Tess scooted up the stairs on her own. She would color some pictures for their book tomorrow. In kindergarten. With Ivy’s markers and crayons.
Marching by Mandy’s room, she remembered that Frank had changed a light bulb in her closet a little while ago. Tess couldn’t help but wonder if that old light bulb was working right. Maybe she should make sure. Mandy was so sad because Daddy yelled at her. She might be scared if her closet was all dark inside.
She would go inside and make sure everything was A-OK.
The overhead light winked on brightly. So did the closet light. Tess touched a finger to her mouth. Oh, my, Mandy had a lot of shoes on her closet floor. She’d bought four new pairs today. It would be fun to try on all the open-toed ones to watch her red toenails wiggle. Tess dropped to her knees in front of the shoes and began to rummage through them.
The buzz was a little louder tonight than usual. Tess followed the sound to the bed. Mandy’s phone was lying on the floor under the bed, attached to a wire plugged into the wall. Gingerly, she picked up the instrument, wire and all, pushed the same button as the last time, and held it to her ear. “Hello?”
“Hello. Is this the little girl?”
“Who is this?”
“This is Lowell.”
“Yes, this is the little girl.”
“What’s the matter? You sound funny, sniffling.”
“I had to cry a little bit. Daddy yelled at me and Mandy.”
“Oh, so she is in trouble again. Might have figured.”
“Just a little trouble. Daddy never stays mad.”
“Lucky him.”
“You stay mad, Lowell?”
“Sometimes I do.”
“That’s mean. Daddies are supposed to be huggy and happy to their little girls.”
“I’m a great dad.”
“You sound mean.”
“I’m not. Really…”
“I heard Daddy tell Della that Mandy was a depraved little girl. Whatever that means.”
“What? Oh, maybe you mean deprived.”
“I don’t know what that means, either. But my daddy said so and he knows everything.”
“Mandy says that about me, too. Or used to.”
“Little girls need lots of love.”
“I bet your daddy said that, too.”
“Colonel Geoff said that.”
“Oh, yes, the one with the freckles.”
Tess giggled.
“May I please speak to Mandy?”
“She’s writing a book.”
“A book?”
“Yes, and I am going to color pictures for it.”
“I see.”
“What was your name again?”
“I didn’t tell you my name, remember, Lowell?”
“Yes, yes. I suppose I forgot.”
“What’s the book about?”
Tess paused, her face scrunched in thought. “It’s about the big city. And a poor girl.”
“Do you live in the big city?”
“I don’t know.”
“Are there very tall buildings near you?”
“No.”
“Are there many cars driving around?”
“How many is many?”
“Oh, never mind.”
“Okay. Bye.”
“Wait! I didn’t mean—”
Tess cut him off in mid-sentence with a jab to the off button. She placed the phone back under the bed and returned to the closet. The buzz soon started up again but she ignored it. Lowell wasn’t half as much fun as her shoe game.
Chapter Ten
Amanda showed up at the Blink and Click Photography Studio on Saturday morning around ten. Oliver Pratt was just opening for business and let her inside through the shop entrance. Unlike her first encounter with Ivy’s landlord, when he had been hiding behind a camera at the foot of the apartment stairs, Amanda was close enough to get a good look at him. His face had a milky tinge and his goatee needed a trim. Skintight black pants and a faded red T-shirt revealed a compact but wiry body.
“What a nice surprise to see you again so soon,” he greeted her slyly. “Free of your bonds.”
“Have you seen Ivy yet this morning?”
“It’s her habit to hit the Laundromat down the street at this time. She’s due back soon. Why not wait here with me?” He moved to turn the Closed sign hanging from the door to read Open.
“Tough night?” she asked as he stifled a yawn.
“Very restless. Ivy’s invitation to imagine her nude was most distracting. Especially when I invited you into the picture.”
Amanda knew many men like Oliver back in Manhattan. Egotistical artists with a petty streak and a wicked sense of humor, who experimented in any number of activities. “Somehow, Oliver, I have trouble believing that fantasy would hold your interest long.”
“Don’t listen to town gossip about my orientation. Fact is, I’m equally friendly to both camps.”
Amanda strolled around the studio, taking in the framed shots adorning the walls. Oliver liked variety in his work, as well. He was adept at portraits, action shots, still life. A vase of fire-and-ice roses took on amazing fragile life through his lens.
“You really are a puzzle,” he said suddenly, tapping a finger to his mouth.
“How so?” Amanda turned on her heel with grace, as she’d done on Parisian runways more than once on a lark for the fashion industry’s hottest designers. Confronted with this social scorpion every bit as out of place as she, she felt it necessary to exert sophisticated nerve.
“It’s the hair for starters. Auburn isn’t your shade. You seem more suited to being a blonde.”
“I’ve colored my hair a rainbow of shades over time.”
“Well, ditch the dark hues. Do nothing for you.”
“Thanks for the tip.” Lifting her chin a bit higher, she coolly turned away from him. Fact was, she couldn’t agree more with his observation. The minute she could return to her natural blond shade, she would.
“Ivy’s never had a visitor before.” There was a noticeable challenge in his tone.
“Your no-guest policy hardly encourages it.”
“Or maybe this place is just too damn boring to encourage out-of-towners.”
“But you’re here, Oliver. A full-fledged resident, living the slow-and-easy Fairlane life.”
“True.” He’d moved to the counter that held the cash register and was thumbing through an appointment book. She folded her arms and sauntered over.
“So what gives?”
“I was born here, dear. Naturally I couldn’t wait to break away to seek my fortune—and so I did at age eighteen. But eventually, after studying with the best photographers, snapping just about everyone and everything, I found myself back here where I started. Guess you could say I simply got bored.” He shrugged. “Thirty-nine years old and I’ve seen it all. Doesn’t it break your little heart?”
“Still, I see you better suited to Soho.”
“Ah, but I didn’t inherit a building there. Granny Pratt left me this place four years ago. I admit I returned for her funeral with the intention of selling her assets and jetting off again. But I was tired and decided to rest. Then days turned into weeks, weeks into months. Mind you, I’m always primed to leave again, given the right incentive.” He lifted a brow invitingly.
“Don’t look to me for encouragement.”
“But we could have such fun together.” He reached over the counter and clasped his hands to her cheeks. “You have exquisite bone structure. I could never weary of photographing you.”
“Bet that’s a tired line around town.”
He appeared injured. “It works more often than you might imagine. Even when I’m less sincere.”
Oliver’s intrusiveness was throwing Amanda an unexpected curve. She sought to sever their lively conn
ection. “If I ever need a tour guide for a trip around the world, I’ll keep you in mind.”
“I suspect you’ve already been around the world, maybe twice.”
“Knowing where Soho is hardly means anything.”
“No. But I know you went to school in California and word is you now reside in New York City.”
“So?”
He smiled at her distress. “Look, don’t try and kid a kidder. You’ve got that certain high-end quality and something else quite familiar that I can’t put my finger on.” He touched her face again. “The bone structure, I think. You can’t disguise bone structure.”
Despite her bravado, Amanda’s pulse gave a nervous jump. The very idea of being unmasked by this vain know-it-all upset her. Insightful worldly people like Pratt weren’t supposed to be nestled in peaceful boring towns like Fairlane. They belonged in the hardened city with their own kind.
“Hello, hello!” Ivy bounced through the door with her laundry basket. A sharp look to Oliver had him removing his hand from Amanda’s face.
“We were just getting acquainted,” Oliver said, stepping behind his cash register.
“I know you weren’t expecting me…” Amanda began.
“It’s fine,” Ivy assured her. “Care to come up for some coffee?”
“I thought maybe we could go for a nice long walk.” She lifted her freshly mended ankle. “I’ve missed zipping around.”
“You’re on. Let me drop off this laundry upstairs.”
When they left, Oliver was on hand to open his shop door for them with a flourish. “Hope to see you again soon,” he intoned. “Like tonight, for instance. At the Blue Parrot Lounge, where Ivy does a mean karaoke rendition of ‘I’m Too Sexy For My Hat.”’
“I don’t!” With a huff of disgust, Ivy pushed Amanda outside.
Amanda was accustomed to walking in Manhattan on sidewalks teeming with people who had their own agendas and avoided eye contact. But as the women made their way along Main Street, they were assailed by cheery greetings and short attempts at conversation. By the time they reached Fairlane’s modest central park, they’d heard several jokes, answered inquiries about Amanda’s leg and learned some very intriguing gossip about people Amanda had yet to meet.
They settled on a green-painted bench near the park’s fountain with ice cream cones purchased from a nearby vendor. “So is it true that Donald Price’s dog was found eight hundred miles away?” Amanda asked her friend.
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