Good Man, Dalton

by Karen McQuestion

  “I went down, and they made me come back to help you get dressed,” he said, like this was a reasonable thing. As if a grown guy helping another adult man get dressed was something that was commonly done. Dalton had been getting himself dressed for almost two decades. He’d never needed a Duffy before, and he sure didn’t need one now.

  “That’s nice of you,” he said. “But I think I’ve got it.”

  “Are you sure?” Duffy didn’t move a muscle. “’Cause Libby is making me responsible for your attire.”

  “Absolutely.” Dalton gestured toward the bag. “Is everything there—shirt, socks, the whole nine yards?”

  His head bobbed up and down. “The entire ensemble. You’ve got yourself head-to-toe coverage right here.”

  “Then I’m good, Duffy. Thanks.”

  As it turned out, Dalton managed on his own, even doing the cummerbund and bow tie correctly. Once dressed, he rooted through his backpack, taking out the ReadyHelp device and his money. After tucking them into separate jacket pockets, he was finished. His shiny shoes clicked on the stairs on the way down, but no one seemed to be around on the first floor, so he sat on the bottom step and waited.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  Libby was, Greta noticed, really, really bossy and unbelievably overbearing. She led them up the stairs to Cece’s room, walking at a fast clip. They were followed by Libby’s beleaguered assistant, a young woman who toted bags slung over her back and stacked boxes carried in front. Greta thought of offering to help but was afraid she’d throw off the woman’s balance and send her tumbling down the stairs.

  Libby had her assistant unzip the bags and lay the dresses out across Cece’s bed, along with the appropriate undergarments, footwear, and jewelry. She’d prepared sketches of how each ensemble would look and brought out glossy color wheels showing the color palate for the evening’s chosen cosmetics. “I emailed the colors to the makeup artist ahead of time,” she said. “Make sure they adhere to my choices.”

  Greta couldn’t imagine anyone contradicting her, but Cece did. From the way Libby reacted, this was not something that had happened before.

  It started when Libby asked about Katrina’s whereabouts. “What time is Katrina arriving?” she asked, frowning. “She’s usually on time.”

  “Not today,” Cece said. “Katrina isn’t going to be here tonight. Or ever, probably.” It struck Greta how easily she’d accepted her best friends’ abandonment. Greta knew they were friends for pay, but Cece didn’t know that. Their absence had to sting, but Cece was putting up a brave front.

  “But she has to be here.” Libby’s brow furrowed. “I have a dress that’s been fitted especially for her.”

  Like a model on a game show gesturing to a new convertible, her assistant waved her arm toward one of the dresses. The gown she pointed to was a one-shoulder design, beige with a big fake flower on one side.

  “Katrina won’t be coming,” Cece said. “Greta is taking her place tonight.”

  “Greta?” Libby turned and gave Greta a haughty stare, as if she’d just noticed her presence and didn’t like what she saw. “Greta can’t go. I discussed this with Vance. Her storyline is one of gradual transformation. She’s the duckling who will become a swan. We have several weeks before she can appear at a black-tie event for the big reveal. Right now she’s supposed to look dumpy and Midwestern. Besides,” she said with a sniff, “her coloring is all wrong for the dress. The bisque would be lovely against Katrina’s skin, but it would be all washed out on this girl.”

  “We don’t want to wear the dresses you brought,” Cece said. “We’ll be wearing the dresses I actually designed. I can wear the white one with the feathers, and Greta will wear Katrina’s black gown.”

  “No, no, no!” Was it Greta’s imagination, or did Libby grow taller with every word? “That’s not acceptable. The gowns I brought are the ones in your new line. We’re debuting them tonight. The whole marketing campaign revolves around your wearing them this evening. By the time Firstborn Daughter, Inc. is done hyping them, every high school girl in the nation will dream of buying these dresses for the prom.”

  Really? Greta tried to imagine a sixteen-year-old wearing the beige dress with the fake flower on one side. Maybe with the flower taken off and the right jewelry, it wouldn’t look too terrible. No, who was she kidding? There was no saving that dress.

  “You can put that dress away,” Cece said. “I don’t want to wear it.”

  Libby got out her phone. “I need to talk to Vance.”

  While she dialed, Cece went to her closet and pulled out two dresses covered with plastic bags. She handed one to Greta, who followed her lead, taking it out of the plastic and laying it across the bed. Cece shoved the other two dresses aside. She said, “I hope Vance doesn’t tell her to make us wear those ugly dresses.”

  “You don’t have to worry about that.”

  “I don’t?”

  “No, you don’t,” Greta said firmly. Why did Cece think she didn’t have a choice? When did the lunatics start running the asylum? “Vance isn’t here anymore, but even if he was, you can be in charge of your own life. Firstborn Daughter, Inc. is your company, right?”

  “Right.” Even as she agreed, she still looked skeptical.

  “And it’s your body and your life.”

  “That’s true,” Cece said, mulling over her words.

  “Besides, all these people work for you. Why does she think she can boss you around?” Greta glanced over at Libby, who was in the middle of leaving a scathing voice mail for Vance. Something about Cece having a temper tantrum like a spoiled child. “She’s your employee.”

  The assistant, who’d overheard them talking, came over and nervously said, “No one says no to Libby.” The poor girl looked like she was about to get sick.

  “Well, you’re going to see someone say no to Libby today,” Greta said. “Right, Cece?”

  “Right.” She smoothed the front of her shirt and cleared her throat.

  “Remember how you told the camera crew to go? This is the same thing. Just say the word, and send her away.” Libby was a whole lot meaner than the camera crew, but she didn’t mention that. “You should be able to wear any dress you want to wear.” It occurred to Greta that by encouraging Cece to mutiny, she was going against her assigned job as transferred to her by Katrina and Vance, but she was starting to think, The hell with that. The whole thing was ludicrous. Deborah Vanderhaven had brought her here under false pretenses, promising her an internship in one of their companies. She hadn’t come to New York to become Cece’s handler. She was her cousin and, hopefully, now her friend. Greta was beginning to see that Cece needed a friend, a real one, not one on the payroll.

  If the Vanderhavens were going to sue her, let them. It’s not like she had much to lose financially. If there were ever a good time in her life to be sued, it was right now when her student loans outweighed the numbers in her bank account. Good luck getting something from a negative. She wasn’t a math major, but even she could do those calculations.

  When Libby was done leaving the message, she turned to Cece and said, “I am quite sure Vance will be calling back directly. In the meantime, I suggest we get started if you’re going to get to the ball on time.”

  “Cece?” Greta prompted.

  Cece straightened up and addressed Libby. “You may go.”

  “Pardon me?” Libby narrowed her eyes in a way that said, How dare you?

  “You may leave. I won’t need your help tonight.”

  “No.” She shook her head. “I’m not going. I was hired to be the wardrobe supervisor, and that’s exactly what I’m going to do. If you leave here not properly attired, who’s going to be blamed? Me, that’s who. I’m responsible for your entire look. I came to do my job, and I’m seeing it through.” Her impossibly high eyebrows got even higher.

  Greta sucked in a breath, wondering what Cece would say. She would have banked on her capitulating, given that independent thinking was new to
her. But she would have been wrong. In a show of solidarity, Cece slipped her hand in Greta’s. “No, you’re leaving,” she said calmly. “You work for Firstborn Daughter, Inc., which is my company, which means I’m in charge.”

  “Not technically,” Libby said.

  She never got a chance to finish that thought because Cece kept talking, her voice getting louder with each word. “I don’t want someone working for me who doesn’t listen to me, so you’re fired.”

  “You’re firing me?” Libby said in disbelief. “You can’t fire me. You weren’t the one who hired me.”

  Cece looked to Greta, who nodded encouragingly. She said, “You don’t work for Firstborn Daughter, Inc. anymore. You may go.”

  There was an audible gasp in the room. It came from Libby’s assistant.

  “Cece Vanderhaven, you’re making a big mistake.” Libby gathered up her purse and headed for the door. On her way out, she couldn’t resist adding, “Wait until your father and Vance hear about this. Come along, Gabriella.” She stormed out of the room.

  As her assistant, Gabriella, went to follow her, Cece stopped her. “Just a minute.”

  The girl paused in the doorway. “Yes?”

  “Do you like working for Libby?”

  She hesitated. “I’ve learned a lot under her tutelage and am making some great connections in the industry.”

  From down the stairs, they heard Libby’s voice call out, “Gabriella, now!”

  Cece ignored her and asked, “But honestly, do you enjoy your job?”

  “I wouldn’t say I enjoy it.”

  “Why not?” Cece asked.

  “Well, because . . .” Here, the girl held up both hands and looked anxiously behind her. “I don’t get much say in anything. Let’s just say I’m putting in my time, trying to build some experience.”

  “Hold that thought,” Greta said, one finger raised. She took Cece aside. “You should hire her. With Vance and Katrina gone, you’re coming up short on personnel.”

  “I have you.”

  “Yes, but I’m only here for the summer.”

  Cece tapped her lips thoughtfully. “Would you like to come work for me, Gabriella?”

  The girl’s shoulders relaxed. “Are you offering me a job? For real?”

  “Yes.”

  “Wow.” She smiled. “Yes, absolutely yes! I mean, as long as it’s full-time. I can’t afford to do it otherwise.”

  “It’ll be full-time,” Greta said. “Right?”

  “I guess it could be,” Cece said.

  “I’d love to! I mean, as long as the pay is comparable to what I’m already getting.”

  Cece said, “I didn’t know there were so many things to think about when you get a job offer.”

  Gabriella said, “I definitely want the job. It’s a matter of paying my bills. I’m cutting it kind of close as it is. I can’t take less pay than I’m already getting.”

  “I will give you more than Libby is paying you,” Cece decided.

  “And full benefits,” Greta suggested.

  Cece turned to her. “What’s that?”

  “Health insurance and vacation days, things like that.”

  “Doesn’t that come automatically?”

  “No. You’d be surprised. It’s not as common as you’d think.”

  “You shall have full benefits, Gabriella,” Cece said, as if bestowing a royal title.

  From the bottom of the stairs, they heard Libby yell, “Gabriella! Now!”

  Gabriella broke into a grin. “Can I run down and tell her I quit?”

  Getting approval, she took off out the door, looking so much happier than what they’d seen on the climb up the stairs, when she’d resembled a burdened pack mule. Greta felt happier too, a weight lifted since she’d first arrived in New York. She’d had a lot to process, and then Katrina and Vance had left, leaving her in the lurch. She’d never wanted to be in charge. Without realizing it, she’d handed over some of the burden to Cece, who was more than willing to share the load. She was also proving to be capable of deciding what she wanted.

  Gabriella came back and helped them into their dresses, the ones Cece had designed, and then Brenna came in and sat on the bed to watch them get ready. Greta breathed a sigh of relief upon discovering Katrina’s dress fit her. There was some give to the crisscross bodice, spandex or something that stretched to conform to her body. As a design element, it was one most women would appreciate. When they were dressed in finery from head to toe, the hair and makeup people set up chairs, put paper capes around their shoulders, and did their magic. Cece was used to this routine and knew when to purse her lips and when to close her eyes and all the rest of it, while Greta needed instruction.

  Once done, they stood side by side, looking into Cece’s full-length mirror. “Twins,” her cousin exclaimed.

  Greta almost didn’t recognize herself. She had never looked this good in her entire life. She didn’t know she could look this good and was pretty certain she never would again. Her skin no longer had pores. Her eyes had gotten bigger, and her lips looked luscious without looking garish. The dress was incredible, giving her curves in all the right places. The shoes were pretty awesome too, with crystals across the ankles and toe straps. The whole ensemble made her feel like a different person. Glamorous. Saucy. Bold. She felt a small hand brush against her arm and looked down to see Brenna, her eyes wide. “So how do we look?” Greta asked.

  “Beautiful. Like princesses.”

  “Thank you, sweetie.”

  While the crew was packing up their supplies and Cece was talking to Gabriella, Brenna motioned for Greta to come closer. “Yes?” She crouched down to her level.

  “Will you watch my sister tonight?” she asked, her voice quavering. “To make sure nothing bad happens to her?”

  “I’ll be with her the whole evening.” Greta shot a look at Cece, who didn’t appear to be in any danger. “Nothing bad will happen to her. She’ll be fine.”

  Brenna tugged at her dress and whispered right in her ear. “You have to watch her every minute.” Her worry was endearing. “My dad said sometimes she has poor impulse control. From being in the pool.” Her eyes were tearing up, as if she were about to cry. Poor little thing. She’d obviously overheard the adults talking about her sister and taken the worry on to herself. Greta knew the feeling well. She’d spent a lot of her own childhood worrying about things that never happened.

  “You don’t need to worry, Brenna. Believe me, I will watch her.”

  She still looked dubious. “You have to promise.”

  Greta tapped her heart. “I swear on my life that I will watch Cece every minute and will keep anything bad from happening to her.”

  “And she’ll come home safe.”

  “Yes.” She reached out and gave her cousin a reassuring hug. “Cece will come home safe and sound. You can be sure of that.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  Dalton sat on the bottom step for what felt like a long time. He was alone until he wasn’t anymore. When a herd of people came thundering down the steps, most of them carrying cases of cosmetics and hair supplies, he got up and stepped out of their way, leaving his spot to lean against a pillar. They nodded as they went past and headed toward the exit. Once they were out of view, he heard their voices, the chattering of women who were done working and were now making plans for the rest of the evening. One of them jovially called out, “First round of drinks is on Carrie.”

  Another woman’s voice called back, “Like hell.”

  Hearing this friendly exchange gave him a pang. He’d become so entrenched in living the life of the homeless that he’d almost forgotten the casual fun of going out with friends. Now it was all coming back: the pleasure of grabbing a bite or getting a drink in the company of people he enjoyed. The comradery of joking among friends. It was such an ordinary thing to do, but his current lifestyle wouldn’t allow him to spend money so frivolously. He missed being able to socialize on a moment’s notice. Part of him wanted
to run after them and say, “Wait up! I’m coming too.”

  He felt that way for only a second, because the next thing he heard was Greta coming down the stairs. He looked up to see she wasn’t so much stepping as gliding, one hand lightly skimming the banister, the skirt of her black dress moving with the twitch of her hips. She gave him a shy smile that erupted into a grin mirroring his own. Man, she looked great.

  “You look gorgeous,” Dalton said when she reached the bottom. “Great dress.”

  “Thanks,” she said. “We need to talk.” She grabbed the lapel of his tux and steered him to the other side of the pillar. “Quick, before Cece comes down. What’s your story?” She still looked gorgeous, but she wasn’t smiling anymore.

  “My story?”

  “I googled Dalton Bradshaw and couldn’t find you anywhere.”

  “No?” He raised one eyebrow. His former girlfriend had thought this looked sexy, but of course, this was the same girlfriend who’d broken off the relationship because she’d found her someone, and it wasn’t him. Judging from Greta’s expression, the eyebrow lift wasn’t getting him anywhere.

  “There were some Dalton Bradshaws out there, but none of them looked like you. So what gives?”

  She had him there. If she had searched for his real name, Dalton Bishop, she would have found his social media accounts, LinkedIn page, and articles about the service projects and scholarship funds he’d helped establish at the university. But as Dalton Bradshaw, he’d done nothing. “I know there’s not much out there,” he said. “I’m not big into social media. I kind of like to keep a low profile.”

  “Try again.” She crossed her arms in front of her, trying to look menacing, but it was like being threatened by a rabbit. “Are you homeless, like Cece said? And how is it that you keep showing up wherever we are? Are you a stalker?”

  “Okay.” Dalton lowered his voice. “Just between us, I am currently homeless, but it’s a temporary situation. I didn’t plan to run into you, and I’m not stalking you or Cece. That part is a coincidence.” He glanced up to see Cece at the top of the stairs. “I don’t want to get into it right now, but I promise you, I’m a good guy.”