Time Heals Everything

by Linda Swain

  “Buddy, I assume?”

  Ignoring the outstretched hand, his eyes swept over the slender body sitting on his wooden floor, noting her white shirt open at the neck to reveal creamy breasts, while tan trousers covered the slender legs stretched out in front of her.

  Reaching into his shirt pocket, he pulled out a toothpick, chewing on it as he looked over the situation. “Here, kid, hold on a sec.” Crossing swiftly across to the bar, Nick reached behind it to retrieve the remnants of his lunch. “Don’t know a mutt yet that doesn’t like steak.” Glancing over to the girl as she moved with a dancer’s grace from the floor, he looked around with some apprehension. “It doesn’t bite, does it?”

  A yelp and a flurry of gray fur answered for her as a small mongrel darted out from beneath the stage apron. Sitting in front of him, the dog’s stubby tail thumped a beat on the floor as his large brown eyes stared at his benefactor. As one hand scooped up the dog, a chuckle rumbled from Nick’s chest and then deepened as the dog ate the scrap of steak he was offered with dainty care. “It’s a great watchdog you’ve got here, Miss . . . it is Miss, isn’t it?”

  Brushing the sawdust from her trousers, the girl hitched at a brown belt that barely held the pants around her waist. His gaze barely wavered at the sight of the unusual clothing. While he knew that his contemporaries frowned on the idea of women wearing men’s clothing, it was a fashionable fad in Tinsel Town, but one to which he rarely devoted any attention. What he did notice was how the soft cloth fit so well over her hips and . . . other places. His eyes, however, gave away nothing as he returned his gaze to the woman’s face, where it probably should have been from the beginning.

  “It’s Katherine,” she answered in that same, sultry voice. “And Buddy, here, is very good at protecting me from all sorts of things.”

  “Such as?” Nick’s tanned fingers scratched at Buddy’s ears, a bemused smile playing on his lips as she answered with a bright one of her own.

  “Oh . . . dust bunnies, squirrels, and even an occasional frisky date.”

  A faint, sardonic smile crossed his lips as he continued feeding Buddy. “And do you have those often? Dust bunnies, that is.”

  Straddling a chair, she barely held back a girlish laugh, her arms folded over its rounded back. “Not too often, but my landlady is a pain in the . . .” She cleared her throat and blushed. “Well, anyway - I can’t wait to move on to my first job so I can get out of that place.”

  As he looked into those shining green eyes, Nick wondered if he had ever been that young or filled with enthusiasm. “And what kind of work were you looking for? I could always use someone to keep the books straight for me.”

  “A bookkeeper!” she squealed in disbelief before remembering to lower her voice. “Not this girl. I’m going places – straight to the top. You’ll never catch me sitting behind some desk answering phones and taking dictation. I can dance as well as sing. I’m very versatile.” As if to emphasize the point, a slender foot caught the leg of the chair and with a swift move, rose, and twirled it around before sitting once more. “See,” she grinned. “Ginger Rogers couldn’t do it any better.”

  “True,” he admitted wryly, “but Ginger has a job.” Eyeing her carefully, Nick saw the potential to make money – lots of money, if he played his cards right. If, that is, the kid really does have any talent. Well, now’s the time to show me. Nodding his head in the direction of an empty stage, Nick slowly took the toothpick from between his teeth. “There’s a stage right there. I assume that you know how to work a microphone. Let me hear you sing.”

  She blinked her lovely eyes in surprise. “Here? Now?” Slender hands fluttered to her throat even as she looked longingly at the stage. “I don’t have my arrangements and Ted . . . he’s the guy who usually plays the piano . . .”

  “You said that you were versatile,” Nick interrupted coldly as he leaned against the bar railing. “Either put up or shut up, and if you shut up, don’t let the door hit your rear on the way out.”

  He waited with uncharacteristic patience as she fiddled with the microphone stand, adjusting the height before asking for a glass of water. Somehow, Nick kept his temper, moving without a word to the ewer before crossing to the stage. Katherine dared not look at him as he approached, but she heard his low growl as the glass appeared next to her hand. She took a deep breath and closed her eyes. It was make it or break it time, and she knew it. Closing her eyes, she simply sank into her music.

  Her voice carried sweetly through the empty room and burrowed straight into Nick’s heart. He could see that she was a perfect mix of innocence and sensuality, and paired with that body and eyes of hers, he could already hear the cash register ringing. When she finished, her eyes opened, the nervousness gone as confidence shined in her face. “Well? Do I let the door hit me in the . . . rear?”

  Grabbing a small bowl, Nick casually filled it with water before sliding it on the floor in front of Buddy. “Nope. Hey, I guess you do have something in common with Ginger . . . you both have a job.”

  “Hey, boss, who’s the new songbird? She’s sure a looker!”

  Looking up from inspecting his white dinner jacket, Nick lifted a brow of warning as he glanced over to Tim Martin. He and Tim had known each other for longer than either would admit. A rare smile quirked the corners of Nick’s mouth. “Yeah, yeah she is. You lay one finger on her and I’ll see that you’re wearing cement galoshes. She’s off limits to you – and anyone else for that matter. Now, shut up, I want to hear her sing, not your yapping mouth.” Nick stared across the club, watching his newest employee cross to the little stage and prepare for her first set. Hey, at least she looks more relaxed now that she’s got her piano man up there tinkling the keys. Maybe he’s worth it after all.

  It had taken some wheedling on her part, but Katherine had convinced Nick that Ted Williams, a music scholar who knew her music as well as she did, gave her the confidence to forget the borrowed gown that was too tight, or the choking grasp of the rigid band of pearls about her throat. When she sang, none of that mattered, not even the sound of rowdy laughter or the rough jokes that called out at every opportunity. Glancing over at Ted, Katherine watched as he shrugged his broad shoulders, grinning as if she could read his mind. They both knew they had played rougher places.

  None of it matters because all of it means that I have a job. I have my own little place upstairs, so I’m never late, and Ted can earn enough money to do the composing that he’s always wanted to do. In fact, Mr. O’Connor has even said that I can keep Buddy with me . . . so what have I to complain about?

  After her number, she dodged a strange hand that groped her, still smiling all the while as she made her way to the safety of the bar. No matter what, she already knew that no one would bother her as long as Mr. O’Connor or Tim, the bartender, was nearby. It was nice to know that, in this strange, new world into which she had landed, that there was at least one spot that offered safety.

  Even then, however, she wasn’t completely shielded, for she knew that part of her job was to be nice to the paying customers, and nice meant not always feeling too safe. But it’s okay, Katherine thought, because Mr. O’Connor looks out for me. He’d also instructed not to be too nice. Always remember that you’re a lady, kid, he had warned her. And always keep them wanting more.

  Taking a moment to herself, she sipped on her watered-down drink while quickly tallying up her tips. A quarter for every drink someone buys me – two bits on a bottle of champagne. Gosh, I’ve made close to five dollars, and the week’s not even over!

  “You’re doing great, kid. Keep it up . . . who knows, you might be discovered right here.” Draped in the shadows of one dark corner, Nick was able to hide the grin that creased his handsome face while he watched Kat’s startled jump.

  When she turned to look at him, her eyes lit up, reminding him of Times Square at Christmas. “Do you really think so?” she asked with innocent enthusiasm.

  Wincing at her youthful naiveté, Ni
ck quietly shook his head; it was just too damned easy to fill her head with dreams while his profit margin continued to rise. “Yeah, kid, why not?” His lit cigarette glowed in the dark corner. “Wasn’t Lana Turner discovered in a drug store?” He had no idea of the rumor was even close to being true, but what did it matter? The kid was bound to find out the truth eventually. But hell, why not later rather than sooner? With a nod of his head, he indicated a private entrance leading to a small outdoors area. “You’re going to need to learn to give yourself time away from this crowd, though, or it will eat you alive.”

  Her eyes flashed while her beautiful face screwed up into a scowl. “I do wish that you would quit calling me that. I’m almost twenty-two years old. I’m nobody’s ‘kid’. My name is Katherine.”

  Looking at her diminutive size, Nick barely held back his laughter. “Yeah, that name is almost as big as you are. Okay, Katherine, but only if you call me Nick. Only my accountants call me Mister.”

  Barely containing the thrill that it gave her to be on a first-name basis with her boss, Katherine turned calmly, moving towards the latticed doors. “Okay, Nick, see you in twenty.”

  Pleased with how calmly she’d spoken, she grinned, resisting the urge to skip out to the balcony. Nick! He wants me to call him by his first name! Taking a deep breath, she slowed her walk, moving with a faint swaying of her hips, unaware of the blue eyes that watched her every step, a blue haze of cigarette smoke encircling their line of vision. Her skirt swayed softly against slender calves, and her hourglass waist was just begging for a pair of arms to wrap around it.

  Nick shook his head at the thoughts that had entered his head. Yeah, right, he thought as he exhaled deeply. Just what you need is a lovesick kid. That’s exactly what you’d have on your hands if you make those kinds of moves on her. He knew that getting a woman had never been a problem for him, and it would take little effort to have Kat hanging all over him within a few days. Wait . . . Kat? He turned his head slightly and gazed at her shadowed form, nodding to himself. You know that kind of suits her. Like those damn cat eyes of hers. Smiling faintly, his expression was blurred by an explosion of blue smoke as he exhaled into the night. Okay, kid, I’ll call you Kat.

  Locking the door behind the last patron, Nick leaned heavily against the metal door. The nights passed quickly now, each more lucrative than the night before. The word of his new singer had spread like wildfire, until not only the college crowd but also those with real spending cash were eager to hear her sing.

  Nick shook his head as he watched Tim counting out the till. It was quickly becoming apparent that before long, Nick was going to have to give Kat a raise – and probably more accompaniment than a single piano. Running a hand through his damp hair, he scanned the room, noticing for the first time that Kat was not at her usual spot at the far end of the bar. A whiff of fresh air adorned with the scent of lilacs drew him to the open doors that led outside. Following the fragrance, he watched Kat as she stood in the early morning light, her eyes closed as she danced to the tune that still played on the Wurlitzer. She moved in time with the music as if she were in the arms of some imaginary lover, her arms wrapped around some broad non-existent back. Humming softly, she didn’t hear his quiet footsteps, her eyes opening wide as he slipped his arms around her.

  “May I have this dance?” he murmured, the combination of his cologne and the scent of his cigarettes as intoxicating as any scent she had ever known.

  She looked up into his cool blue eyes, feeling her heart leap and then begin to race. There was something compelling about this man, as though his cool and distant demeanor drew her in and she was helpless to stop it. She had been grateful, in the beginning, for the break that he had given her, but there was something magnetic about the way he looked at her. The way he made her feel. It was something she had never known before. As he drew her closer to him, she realized he was treating her like a woman, not some kid that he had pulled from the streets.

  It was so easy to fall into the familiar rhythm of the dance, to the magic in the music that still floated in the soft morning air. They moved together effortlessly, his hand falling gently on her waist, pulling her just close enough to see the pulse that raced at her delicate throat. Lifting her face as the music ended, her lips were soft and moist, waiting for the kiss that never came.

  He was the first to admit how badly he wanted to taste those lips of hers, that in fact; it was more than just her mouth that he wanted. But then common sense, better sense, he told himself, reasserted itself. With a shake of his head, Nick gently touched her face. “Go to bed, ki-Kat. It’s been a long week and you need your sleep.” It was difficult to ignore the disappointment on her face, but he drew in a deep breath before lighting a cigarette, his eyes focused on the rising sun.

  As her footsteps slowly faded into the dusky darkness of the club, he scrubbed at his eyes, trying to tell himself he had only allowed that slip because he was tired. Don’t break your first rule, O’Connor, he reminded himself. Never mix business with pleasure, and that’s all she is: business.

  * * * *

  “Ya know, Nick, it’s a good think that you’ve got me to look over these books. You were being robbed blind.” Squinting at him from behind her papers, Kat gave Nick a frown. “And you need to tell the bartenders to quit free pouring. They have shot glasses for a reason.”

  Amused, he looked up from his paper, carefully folding it as he chose his words. “People don’t like to see their drinks measured ki- Kat. They like the idea of thinking that they are getting more than what they paid for. Why do you think you’re getting such big tips?”

  Jerking her eyes from the books, Kat shot a scathing gaze in Nick’s direction. “I get those big tips because people like my voice, and the fact that I schmooze your customers into buying me those watered down drinks Tim makes. Hell, Nick, if I had as many solid drinks as people buy me, I’d be plastered by the end of the first set.”

  Nick scowled furiously. “Hey, watch that mouth of yours! You’re supposed to be a lady!” Tossing aside his paper, he jerked to his feet, towering over Kat. “You, my fine miss, are getting too big for your britches – which I thought you promised you were going to stop wearing! And . . .” he stammered, hating that he suddenly sounded more like her father than her employer, “just where are your shoes?”

  Kicking back, Kat propped her feet onto an adjoining chair. “My shoes are exactly where they are supposed to be, on the floor. As for wearing trousers, you try a day in this heat with a dress and hose and . . .” She paused and then, before she could stop them, hot words came out of her mouth. “You know Nick, sometimes, you piss me off!”

  Nick’s jaw clenched as he resisted the urge to wag a fatherly finger in her direction. “Okay, that does it. We’re instituting a new rule. From now on, for every curse word I hear coming from your mouth, you’re being docked fifty cents. No dame swears in my club, and that includes you.”

  With a frown, she dropped her feet to the floor before slipping on her loafers. In her heart, she knew that Nick was right. There were few moments of fisticuffs in the club, and one of the reasons behind that was his rule that all women act and be treated like ladies. Even the occasional prostitutes that came in off the stroll were given the same courtesy. Well, as long as the pimps stay outside, anyway. Nick had little tolerance for them and made short work of tossing them out. So, why should she get any special treatment?

  “Okay fine,” she mumbled. “If I’m going to keep taking those lessons from Madam Megan, I need all the money that I can get.”

  “That’s better.” Grabbing his cup of coffee, he watched as she gathered her books. “How are your lessons going anyway?”

  Nick had just recently introduced her to Megan Destler, a recent immigrant who claimed to have left some aristocratic son back in her native France. Yeah, like I haven’t heard that story a thousand times before. She was a dignified lady, though, and there was an air of class about her that Nick found endearing.


  Once Kat had become part of the club, he saw that their relationship could be mutually beneficial: she could give Kat lessons in French and etiquette, with maybe a few tips on acting thrown in for good measure. All the while, he could make certain that the good woman’s pockets were lined with a little extra cash without being on the receiving end of that temper of hers. It worked out all the same. The corner of his mouth lifted in a mockery of a smile as Kat responded to him in that very same French, giving him, he assumed some small courtesy as an answer.

  “Très bien, merci beaucoup.”

  Shaking his head, he eyed her over the rim of his coffee cup. “Hey, don’t go using that fancy stuff on me, young lady.”

  Flipping him a saucy grin, she moved gracefully to the piano. Rifling through sheets of music, she looked back at him expectantly. “Ted’s written me a song that I’d like to try out tonight. Want to hear it?”

  “A new one?” Nick scowled at her suspiciously. “You’ve been doing fine with the material you have been using. Why change now?”

  “Because I want one that is uniquely mine. Now, do you want to hear it or not.”

  With a nonchalant shrug, he leaned a broad shoulder against the bar. “Go ahead, impress me.”

  And impress him she did. From the first, sad lyrics of Time Heals Everything, he leaned forward, barely noticing the gooseflesh on his arms. This was a different side of Kat. The creature who stood before him was a woman desperately in love – and had lost it all. She was not the coltish young girl who had been thrilled beyond words just to have the chance to make chump change.