Jordan leaned forward in his office chair. It was almost noon on Monday, and he had a pile of work on his desk. He didn’t need this phone call. “What exactly did Don tell you?”
“Well, let’s see. Don and Julie stayed late at the restaurant. Their waiter told them he witnessed a fight between you and some other guy. The belly dancer was involved and she got hurt. So tell me, what’s the real story? I can’t wait to hear all the juicy details. By the way, Lara’s spitting mad. She’d like to have your head on a plate.” He gave a loud guffaw.
Jordan was not amused. “It was no big deal. I just tossed the guy on his ass because he was bothering Sam and wouldn’t stop. She took a punch meant for me and ended up with a bruised cheek. I don’t expect any repercussions, but thanks for the offer.” He hoped this would be the end of the incident.
“So the dancer’s name is Sam. Short for Samantha, I guess. Who is she? Did you get better acquainted? After all the trouble you went to, I hope you scored.” Scott was laughing again.
No way was Jordan giving further details to his friend. “Nah, I was just being a good Samaritan. I gave her a lift home and that’s all there was to it.”
There was a long pause. “Knowing you, I think you’re giving me the brush-off, but I won’t pursue the matter. Lara might not be so kind. Don’s wife called and told her about the argument over the belly dancer. Now Lara’s all fired up and wants to find out who the woman is and where she lives. I wouldn’t put it past her to make some mischief–she’s that peeved.”
“Thanks for the warning.”
“You’d do the same for me. Remember, if you need my legal services, give me a call.”
The last thing Jordan heard was another loud guffaw before Scott hung up. By this time, all the couples he’d dined with Saturday night knew about the fight. It wouldn’t be long before one of his sisters heard the story. If he was smart, he’d get to Lori before Scott’s wife gave her a call. They had mutual friends and it was only natural that Lori would hear juicy gossip like that. Damn Lara and damn Sam’s stupid boyfriend.
By the time Jordan made it home to his apartment in the east sixties, it was after nine. He was bushed but had that call to his sister preying on his mind. Usually the cool, serene appearance of his two-bedroom condo on the tenth floor of a restored brick apartment building put him in a calm mood.
He’d purchased the condo six years earlier and spent the next few years finding just the right furnishings and antiques to satisfy his taste. The walls were covered in a nubby silk cream that matched the light wood finish of some of the upholstered pieces. A long dark-blue silk sofa took up one wall of the rectangular living room while two armchairs in a light blue and gray striped fabric stood opposite on either side of the white brick fireplace. Cherry-wood end tables and a square coffee table combined with several tall lamps with white shades completed the look. A series of black and white prints adorned the walls. The floor was a polished dark-wood overlaid with a red and blue patterned Persian rug. His bedroom had similar colors and décor. Only the two bathrooms and kitchen were done in a more modern style. The second bedroom was his office and, other than a large mahogany desk and several bookcases, was more utilitarian than anything else.
The answering machine was blinking. After depositing his briefcase and ridding himself of his tie and jacket, he retrieved his messages.
“Jordan, its Lori. Call me.”
Damn. She knew. He could tell by the tone of her voice. Jordan punched in her number and waited.
“You could’ve told us the truth last night when we all went for Chinese food. I sensed you were holding out. How could you have gotten yourself into such a mess?”
Lori’s tone was grim. He took a few moments to compose his thoughts before answering. “Don’t make a big deal out of it. I’m sure whomever called you exaggerated the whole thing. I was merely offering my protection to a young woman who was being harassed by a drunk and angry acquaintance. The guy wasn’t hurt, only embarrassed by the fact that I flipped him on his ass. Sam tried to protect me from her friend who threw a punch. She’s fine and just needed a little ice on her cheek.” Hopefully she’d be satisfied with his explanation.
“Are you telling me everything that happened Saturday night? Why do I suspect you’re leaving something out?”
“C’mon, Lori, give me a break here. I don’t interrogate you about your personal situations. I figure you’re old enough to conduct your life as you see fit. Regarding my breakup with Lara, she isn’t right for me. I’ve known that for the past few months. She’s a classy-looking woman with lots of money and time on her hands. What she needs is a man who doesn’t have to work and can spend all his time entertaining her. I’m not that guy.” He couldn’t make it any plainer.
“You could’ve broken up with her before she spent a small fortune buying an outfit for Andrea’s wedding. She went to a lot of trouble finding just the right evening dress, shoes, and handbag for the occasion. Since she had to have it altered, it can’t be returned. What’s she supposed to do with it now?”
“I’ll send her a check. Okay? What do you want me to do? I’m certainly not taking her to that damn wedding.” Jordan’s temper was beginning to fray.
“Don’t get angry with me,” Lori snapped. “If you knew you were going to break up with Lara, you shouldn’t have invited her to the wedding. That would’ve been the smart thing to do. I’m sure she’d be insulted by a check. I know I would.”
He inhaled sharply. This conversation was going nowhere fast. “Listen, I just got home from work and I’m exhausted. I don’t want to argue with you anymore. I’ll deal with things as they come up. This is my problem, not yours.”
“Well, don’t be surprised if Lara ends up going to that wedding with someone else. She hinted as much to me when I spoke to her. There’s no reason to let that new outfit sit in her closet. She might as well get some use out of it.”
There were a few more irate words exchanged, and then Lori hung up.
What is it with the female sex, Jordon thought, as he mulled over his sister’s tirade. The whole matter of Lara’s new outfit and how costly it was outweighed everything he had to say about their incompatibility. Women spoke a language that men had a difficult time comprehending. Were they all like that? An image of Sam swaying seductively in her belly dance costume flashed through his mind. Was she the same way?
After a moment’s reflection, he shook his head. He didn’t think so. Then again, how much did he know about her? Recalling the night they’d spent together, he couldn’t help smiling. One thing was certain–she was passionate and wild in bed. He couldn’t wait to spend another night with her.
After that annoying phone call, Jordan helped himself to an extra-large portion of butter pecan and chocolate chip ice cream with a dollop of hot fudge and whipped cream.
Sighing with contentment, he turned on the news and emptied his mind of everything concerning women and their many foibles.
~ ~ ~
When Sam walked into the gallery on Tuesday morning, Peter did a double take. “Sam? Is that you? What did you do to yourself?” He stood there looking at her with an incredulous expression.
Trying for a nonchalant air, she sauntered over to her white wood desk at the rear of the gallery and slid her bag into one of the lower drawers. “Nothing much—just darkened the color of my hair. No big deal.” Straightening, she folded her arms over her chest and stared back at him.
“Well, it’s a radical change, that’s all I can say. I don’t think I’d have recognized you if I passed you on the street.” He came closer and peered at her face. “You look different, besides your hair. Maybe because you’re wearing makeup. It’s quite a transformation, but I like it.” He sent her a broad smile.
“Glad you approve.” At least he wasn’t giving her a hard time about it or asking too many question
s.
“I’ll bet it’s your sister’s upcoming wedding. Am I right?”
“Perhaps. Or maybe I just wanted a new look, that’s all. Anyway, it’s no big deal. I think I’ll check out the shipment of ceramics from the Watsons. John phoned to ask me if everything arrived safely.”
“Fine. Jack Norris is popping in later to see how many paintings he’ll need for next month’s show. I may be out, so you’ll have to help him,” Peter said as he went back to his small office between the painting and print areas.
“No problem. He’s easy to work with.” Some of the artists could be temperamental, but not Jack. His paintings were consistently good, and he sold well. She headed to the shipping room at the rear of the building to begin opening crates of ceramics.
The Finch/Peabody Gallery had expanded from a small storefront to triple in size. The first gallery was devoted to contemporary original paintings and sculpture. Prints and reproductions were sold in a separate gallery while fine crafts took up another section. Pale oak hardwood floors, white walls and stainless steel state-of-the-art lighting gave the galleries an upscale look.
By the time five o’clock rolled around, Sam was in no mood to be fitted for that bridesmaid outfit. But she’d had a phone call at four-thirty with a reminder.
“Samantha, I don’t want you to forget about that fitting today,” her mother said. “I’ve already phoned one of the car services we use to pick you up at the gallery promptly at five. The driver has the address of the seamstress and will drop you off.”
Her mother was leaving nothing to chance, Sam thought with an inward groan. “Fine, mom, whatever you say.”
“You could sound a bit more enthusiastic!” her mother exclaimed.
Sam gritted her teeth and counted to ten before replying. “Don’t get me started on big weddings. You know I detest them.” Then, realizing how negative that must sound, she added, “But Andrea’s wedding is the exception. I’m sure it will be a splendid affair.”
“Of course it will. This time I’m involved with the preparations, and nothing will go wrong, believe me. We’ve hired one of the best wedding planners in the city. Now if we could only control the weather . . .”
Sam couldn’t help wishing an early hurricane would demolish the whole stupid happening, but she was careful not to voice that thought.
~ ~ ~
By the time Sam finished the fitting and took the bus home, it was almost eight. At least she’d prepared an eggplant casserole the night before, so all that was necessary was to heat it up and throw together a salad. She ignored the blinking light on her answering machine, fed her cats, and changed into comfortable sweats, ready for a relaxing evening.
And at least the bridesmaid outfit wasn’t as ghastly as the last one Andrea chose, she reflected. She munched on a bowl of baby greens, grated carrots, and slices of tomato while waiting for the casserole to warm. Mrs. Capone, the seamstress, thought the magenta color looked good on her. The chiffon dress had hundreds of tiny silver beads sewn on it and, the seamstress confided, cost a pretty penny. Her mother hadn’t mentioned anything about asking Sam to pay for the outfit. Maybe she’d decided to pay for it herself. Whatever, Sam wasn’t going to question her.
The next thought to cross Sam’s mind was the situation with her friends, Beth and Sean. She still hadn’t heard from either of them. Usually Beth phoned her, or she called her friend at least three or four times a week. The sudden silence was ominous. Was Brice still with them? She didn’t remember exactly when he planned to leave. She ought to phone and find out if Sean’s cousin was okay.
After finishing the eggplant dish, she decided to take the plunge and call Beth. Her friend answered after several rings. “Hi, Beth, it’s Sam. Haven’t heard from you in a while and wanted to check and see how you were doing.”
There was a long silence. “What can I say? We’ve had a terrible time with Brice. He was injured when that guy tossed him on his back and has been in pain ever since. We had to order a wheelchair for him at the airport.”
Sam’s heart sank at the news. Did they blame her for all that had happened? “I’m so sorry to hear that.”
“I still don’t know why you wouldn’t let Brice drop you off at your house. What did you think he would do—rape you or something? He’s a decent guy, Sam, and he was really hurt that you turned on him.”
This was not the way Sam saw the situation. But she could sense that whatever she said would only make things worse. “Please apologize to Sean for me. I didn’t think things would get out of hand the way they did.”
“Well, Sean’s ready to press charges against the guy who tossed Brice around like that, but we don’t know his name. Did he take you home Saturday night? Can you tell me who he is? Believe me, he’s not welcome at the Blue Monkey anymore.”
Sam inhaled sharply while her heart began pounding. She was between a rock and a hard place. By helping Beth and Sean, she’d betray Jordan’s trust, and she couldn’t do that. Still, she hated to lie to her best friend. “He dropped me off and left. We didn’t talk very much. My face was bruised, and all I wanted to do was go home and take care of it.” Would Beth buy her story?
There was another long silence. “Well, if his name just happens to come to you, please call us.” The line went dead.
Clutching the phone to her chest, Sam leaned against the kitchen counter while a heavy sadness settled over her. A lump formed in her throat as she realized her long friendship with Beth was over. She was closer to Beth than to her own sisters. This sudden breakup was painful, and her eyelids burned with unshed tears. She couldn’t imagine anything worse happening to her.
Chapter 8
It was nine in the morning on Wednesday and Sean Fuller was on his way to work at his restaurant. Stopping at a newsstand near the Blue Monkey, he greeted the proprietor, Jimmy, and paid for the weekly newspaper, The East Village Gazette.
“Hey, man, you’re famous,” Jimmy announced with a cheery smile.
“Famous? What’re you talking about?” Sean asked.
“Look at the headline. That must have been some fight.”
Sean looked at the paper and paled. “Omigod.”
In bold two-inch letters the headline read, “Belly Dancer in Brawl at Blue Monkey Restaurant.” Below those words were several photos. One showed Sam performing her routine at the restaurant. Then there was a photo of her seated on a chair holding the side of her face. Another photo pictured Brice sprawled flat on his back while the last photo caught Jordan’s back as he held a cloth to Sam’s head. The story that followed went into great detail about the argument between the two men who were fighting over the attentions of the belly dancer. The men’s names were not mentioned, but the belly dancer was identified as Samantha Peabody, and the owners were listed as Sean and Beth Fuller.
“So what really happened, Sean?” Jimmy inquired. “And who are the guys fighting over the dancer? She’s some hot-looking babe. I’ll bet you get a ton of people coming in and asking to see her perform.” He started laughing.
Sean was in no mood for hilarity. “That’s not the type of publicity I’m looking for,” he said with a grim expression. Folding the newspaper, he stuck it under his arm and marched off. The first thing to cross his mind was his wife’s reaction when she saw the front-page story. She started work at the restaurant close to eleven, when preparations for the lunch hour crowd were in full swing. Should he phone and tell her what happened, or should he wait until she walked in later? While he mulled over that decision, another thought popped up. Who had taken those pictures?
His mind flashed over the people in his employ, from the chef, to the bartender, to the waiters. Any one of them could have used their phone to catch those images. From what he recalled, there’d been several waiters hanging around after that guy flipped Brice onto his back. It could have been one of the
m. He had to find out.
The more he thought about the situation, the angrier he became. Coming to a decision, he punched in Beth’s number. He might as well get the bad news over with instead of waiting.
~ ~ ~
When Sam walked into the gallery at ten on Wednesday morning, something in the atmosphere alerted her to trouble. Peter perched on the edge of her desk, reading a newspaper with great interest.
“Good morning,” Sam called out in a cheery tone. After a miserable evening mulling over her problems with the Fullers, she’d barely slept. Today had to be a better day. To make that wish come true, she was dressed in the new outfit she’d purchased on Monday and wore the long swatch of hair reaching halfway down her back. She was determined to feel positive, and the new clothes did lift her spirits.
Peter glanced up and gave her an appraising stare. Then he shook his head as if he couldn’t believe something. “Sam, have you seen The East Village Gazette yet?”
“No, what’s so interesting in it?’ She walked toward him and tried to read over his shoulder.
He folded the paper and stood up. “Maybe you’d better sit down first.”
Curious, she slipped into her chair. “Why do I need to sit down before reading the paper? Did someone I know die?” She couldn’t imagine what was wrong. Peter was acting oddly.
“Now I know why you received those stunning roses,” he muttered, handing her the newspaper. “That must have been quite an evening. I’ll be in my office making calls.” Then he turned to leave her alone.
Sam’s heart thudded, and her stomach coiled into a knot while a strange foreboding caused her hands to tremble. And that was before she saw the headline and read the story beneath. Speechless, she sat there in shock while a dull throbbing began in her temples. No wonder Peter could barely look at her or say anything. She could just imagine how Sean and Beth would react to this outrageous notoriety.
A Total Mismatch Page 6