All Night Long (11 page)

"Have you arranged that date for my mother yet?" Matt asked, suddenly tired of the subject of Heather Lloyd. He dealt with people like her all day—troubled, in trouble and just plain Trouble.

"I've talked to Mr. Elliott," Susannah said. "Even after I explained your excessive need for subterfuge—" she couldn't resist the gentle dig "—he was still very interested in meeting her. He said she sounds like a, and I quote, lovely, refined gentlewoman, unquote. I told him I'd check with you and get back to him about the date and time."

"How about this Saturday night at seven-thirty?"

"Saturday night?"

"The campaign's hosting a fundraiser at the Mark Hopkins. I have to make a speech and shake a few hands but it shouldn't be too bad. And the kitchens at the Mark are excellent," he said enticingly. "So you know the food will be good."

"Well, I'll check with Mr. Elliott." She doodled a question mark on her yellow pad. "Will he need a tuxedo or would a business suit be okay?"

"Tuxedo," Matt said. "And if he doesn't have one, tell him I'll spring for the rental as part of the deal."

"How about tickets?"

"Both you and Elliott will come as my guests, naturally."

"Me?" Susannah's heart suddenly started fluttering in her chest. She tried to calm it with flippancy. "I don't recall anything about my appearance at some stuffy political fundraiser being part of the deal."

"New deal," Matt said. "I need you there to introduce Elliott to my mother."

"You didn't need me to introduce her to the last three candidates."

"And looked what happened."

Susannah thought about that for all of two seconds. "All right, I'll call him right now and get back to you."

She tried to tell herself her eagerness had nothing to do with Matt—and failed miserably. Her eagerness had everything to do with Matt. She'd never in her life actually
wanted
to go to a political fundraiser.

"I'm due in court in a few minutes but you can leave a message on my voice mail or on the machine at the condo." He gave her the number. "Got that?"

"Mmm-hmm," she said and drew a heart around his home number.

"Good. And, Susannah?"

"Yes?" A ring of hearts began to take shape around his name.

"Even if Elliott can't make it on Saturday, I still want you to go with me." Matt's voice lowered suggestively. "We have unfinished business to take care of."

Susannah put her pencil down. "I hardly think a campaign fund-raiser is the place to take care of it," she said tartly, shocked at the way her heart had begun to thump against her chest.

"Afterward," he promised.

* * *

"If Mr. Elliott calls back while I'm upstairs, give me a holler, would you, please?" Susannah said as she came hurrying out of her office half an hour later. "I have to check on something." Like whether she had anything decent to wear to a black-tie dinner in the Peacock Court at the Mark Hopkins.

"One sec, Suse," Heather said, putting her hand over the mouthpiece. "I'm, like, on the phone."

Susannah stopped in her tracks and actually focused on who was sitting at the receptionist's desk. Heather never came into the front office during business hours. All parties concerned had decided she'd scare the clients. So what was she doing answering the phone? Her telephone skills were practically nonexistent.

"Yeah," Heather was saying into the receiver. "I'm, like, glad you're happy with the arrangement." She turned slightly away from Susannah as she spoke, lifting one shoulder as if to shield the conversation from her. "Yeah, I'll see you later. I gotta go now. 'Bye."

"Who was that?" Susannah asked when Heather had cradled the receiver. She tried to make her voice casual and undemanding, knowing how touchy teenagers were about their privacy.

"Nobody important." Heather shrugged. "Just a friend."

Susannah nodded and let the subject drop. If Heather didn't want to confide in her, then she didn't. "How come you're here answering the phones?"

"Helen went over to The Tea Cozy to, like, see what was taking Judy so long to, like, you know, check out the food 'n' stuff for your tea party. They'll be back in a coupl'a minutes."

"That still doesn't tell me what you're doing in the office." Susannah gave her a searching look. "Why aren't you in school?" Part of the agreement that allowed the girl to live in Susannah's house included regular attendance at school. "Are you cutting classes?"

"I'm on my lunch hour." Heather hunched her shoulders and shifted into offense. "I just, like, thought I'd come over and find out if the guy you were doin' the nasty with on the couch last night told you what the damages are yet, you know?"

Susannah decided the only dignified thing to do was ignore the reference to last night's activities. "Fifteen dollars."

Heather shrugged, as if it didn't make any difference to her one way or another. She dug into the pocket of her jeans, drawing out a handful of crumpled bills, and peeled off a ten and five ones. The remaining bills totaled less than six dollars, all she'd have until the weekend, when she could sell more of her jewelry creations to the tourists at Fisherman's Wharf. "Give it to him for me, will ya?"

Susannah waved the money away. "Give it to him yourself," she said. "He'll be coming here to pick me up Saturday night."

"Aw, come on, Suse. Saturday night? I'm gonna be, like, you know, busy on Saturday night."

"Come on, yourself," Susannah retorted. "Part of taking responsibility for your life is owning up to your mistakes and making amends in person."

"Couldn't I just, like, mail it to him, instead?"

"It's up to you," Susannah said, her tone aptly conveying how disappointed she'd be if Heather chose that method of dealing with the problem. "It's the coward's way out, though."

Heather frowned. "Okay, Saturday night," she groused, stuffing the money back into the pocket of her grubby jeans. "What time?"

"Between seven and seven-thirty."

Heather nodded. "Okay, I'll make sure to be here. Later." She lifted her hand in a gesture of farewell and headed for the front door.

"Wait."

Heather paused, looking back over her shoulder with a put-upon sigh, half expecting to be called down for something else. "I gotta get back to school."

"Did you eat lunch? Would you like me to make you a sandwich to take with you?"

Heather's smile was unexpectedly sweet. "No thanks, Suse," she said, obviously touched. "I grabbed a Big Mac on the way over, you know?"

* * *

Susannah decided the best course of action was to just be herself. Oh, she could run out and buy something long and formal and boring for this fundraiser, and Matt would probably love it. After all, he'd seemed pretty taken with the prissy little nun's habit she'd worn last night. But it wouldn't be
her.
And if this relationship—or
whatever
it was that was happening between them—was going to develop into anything at all, it had to be based on total honesty.

And a long, formal boring evening gown from some tony Union Square department store wasn't honest. The 1920s rose-chiffon flapper dress she'd bought herself for her birthday last February was.

She took it out of the closet and unzipped the cloth garment bag she'd stored it in to protect the fragile material. Shaking it out lightly, she reached up and snagged the hook of the padded hanger on the bare brass canopy frame over her bed. The fresh ocean-scented breeze coming in through the open window fluttered the airy layers of the chiffon handkerchief hem, making the dress billow and sway as if it were dancing by itself. Sunlight sparkled on the long, intricately beaded bodice, making it glimmer and shine. It was a perfect dress.
The
perfect dress. If Matthew Ryan didn't fall flat on his face when he saw her in this dress, then he wasn't the man for her.

Smiling to herself, she turned from the bed to the window, intending to close it a bit so that a sudden gust wouldn't blow the delicate dress from its hanger. She paused with her hands on the window sash, her gaze captured by the scene playing itself out on the street below her.

Eddie Devine was standing across the street in front of The Tea Cozy. He had his hands wrapped around Judy's upper arms, holding her captive, talking earnestly, rapidly, emphatically. Judy stood with her head turned down and away from him, her whole body straining away from his touch.

Susannah felt the anger boil up. He'd had his one chance, and one was all he was going to get. She wasn't going to stand around while he manhandled Judy a second time.

Slamming the window down, Susannah ran out of the bedroom, through the great room of her upstairs apartment and down the carpeted staircase. She flew into the reception area just as Judy came rushing in from outside.

"Judy, are you all right?" she asked, reaching out to steady the younger woman and help her to a chair. "Are you hurt?"

"I'm all right," Judy said, shrugging away from the helping hands as she sank into the desk chair. "It was nothing."

"Nothing! I saw him grab you." Susannah reached out again, hesitantly, her fingertips hovering over the angry red marks on the soft skin of Judy's upper arms. "You're going to have bruises."

Judy barely glanced down at them. "I'm all right, Susannah. Really," she said, looking up at her employer with eyes too old and experienced to belong to a woman who was barely twenty-one. "He didn't do anything he hasn't done worse before. I'm fine. They're just bruises." She waved away Susannah's concern with a weary gesture. "It's nothing."

"It's not nothing," Susannah insisted. "It's assault. I think you should call the police and file a complaint."

"No!"
Judy almost came up out of her chair at the suggestion. "No," she said, more calmly. "I don't want the police. I don't need them. It's nothing, really. Eddie was just... being Eddie. Just talking big, you know? Trying to scare me into coming back to work for him."

"If you don't do something about it now, he might do something worse next time."

"No." Judy shook her head. "I told him I wouldn't do it. That no matter what he did, he couldn't make me do it. He knows I mean it."

"Well, I sent him on his way," Helen said with satisfaction as she bustled into the office. She hurried over to Judy. "Are you all right, dear? Did he hurt you?"

In an uncharacteristic gesture, Judy reached up and squeezed the hand that reached out to pat her shoulder. "Thanks, Helen," she said softly, and quickly let the hand go.

Susannah looked back and forth between the two women. "Just what exactly went on out there?" she asked.

"Eddie was waiting for me when I came out of The Tea Cozy," Judy said wearily. "Helen was still inside, talking to Jason about the food for the party." Jason was one of the two owners of The Tea Cozy. "Anyway, Eddie said he wanted to talk to me about—" she shrugged uneasily and looked away "—about a new scam or something. I don't know, exactly. When I told him I wasn't interested, he started to get a little rough. That's when Helen came out of the Cozy. She hollered my name and Eddie let me go. I ran in here. After that—" She shrugged.

Susannah looked at Helen, silently asking what had happened after that.

"I gave that lowlife scum a piece of my mind, that's what happened after that," Helen said. "And you were right, Susannah, he isn't nearly as tough as he thinks he is. He changed his tune real fast when I threatened to mess up his pretty moussed hairdo with my lead pipe." She pulled the item partway out of her voluminous shoulder bag to show them. "It put the fear of God into him, I can tell you. He won't be back here bothering Judy again. Not if he knows what's good for him."

"Oh, my goodness." Susannah could feel a little bubble of laughter working its way up out of her chest as her mind conjured up a picture of grandmotherly Helen chasing slick Eddie Devine down the street with a lead pipe in her hand. "Oh, Helen," she said in a strangled voice. Despite all she could do, the laughter spilled over. "I'm sorry," she said. "I know it isn't funny. But the thought of you—" she choked back a whoop of laughter "—chasing Eddie down the street...."

"Waving that lead pipe over your head," Judy added, before breaking into laughter herself.

Helen looked back and forth between her two laughing co-workers, as if slightly insulted. And then she smiled. "It would look kind of funny, wouldn't it?"

* * *

"Okay, we've got the watercress sandwiches, the cucumber sandwiches, the scones, the shortbread cookies, the tea cakes...." Susannah snatched up one of the tiny frosted confections and popped it into her mouth.

"The tea and coffee are on the sideboard. Helen, where are the lemon wedges?" she asked, reaching out to reposition the silver sugar bowl to a more attractive angle. "There aren't any lemon wedges."

"Right here," Helen said, hurrying over to place the small glass bowl of sliced fruit on the sideboard.

"Lemon wedges," Susannah said, continuing with her visual inventory, "sugar, milk, cream, cocktail napkins, and fresh lemonade. We're ready for blastoff," she announced, just as the first party guests entered through the front door of The Personal Touch.

In less than a half an hour the reception area and front parlor were crowded with those Personal Touch clients who'd been invited to attend one of Susannah's get-acquainted teas. Although invitations weren't limited to the senior citizens on her client list, the tea parties usually ended up heavily weighted in that direction. Unlike a lot of other dating services in the city, a large part of her clientele was in the sixty-five-and-over age group. She'd found that many of them felt more comfortable meeting new people in an informal setting, alleviating the nerve-racking pressure of a one-on-one encounter. Her late-afternoon teas had proven so popular, she was thinking of adding a dressier evening party to the mix, maybe opening up the doors between the front and back parlors and rolling up the rugs for ballroom dancing.