B004183M70 EBOK (16 page)

The note read: Don't turn your nose up at
this classic man-killer. Wear it tonight!

The perfume was My Sin. I gasped. I
couldn't wear that! I knew the fragrance had been around for years, but the
very name made me blush. ... I hesitated. I could smell it and see what it was
like, I rationalized, turning the cap. A heavenly but sexy odor wafted to my
nostrils.

It smelled even better dabbed behind my
ears. I had put the bottle down and turned to leave the bathroom when Bradley's
voice played in my head, saying he did not need me to help him. I applied
perfume on my wrists and, closing my eyes, between my 34-As.

I armed myself with a can of Aqua Net and
went to work on my hair. Next I freshened my makeup and smoothed Darlene's
hot-pink lipstick on my lips. Taking a step back from the mirror to see the
results, I had second thoughts. Much brighter than the usual pale pink Mary
Quant lip gloss I used, the hot pink made me seem . . . well, older somehow.
Deciding that might not be such a bad thing, I went into my bedroom and
dressed.

Passing the yellow vinyl chair I call the
Banana, the one I had obtained while doing some curbside shopping soon
after moving in with Darlene, I looked at myself in the full-length mirror on
my closet door. Oh, my! Even with the pearl necklace and earrings Mama had
given me when I graduated from secretarial school, the dress and the lipstick
and the silver sandals made for a sexy look. Was it too sexy? I looked at the
Banana chair—more specifically, to Bradley's wool scarf I'd put there. Suzie's
bracelet was under the seat of the Banana along with my New York to-do list—
the latter I had sadly neglected.

I ran back to the bathroom, tissued off the
hot-pink lipstick, and applied the pale pink. Then I headed back to the
full-length mirror. Darn! Some of the hot-pink lipstick lingered, making the
gloss turn an ugly shade. Back in the bathroom, I cleaned my lips again and
reapplied the hot-pink lipstick. Nodding at myself in the mirror, I dropped the
lipstick, my daisy Mary Quant compact, a few dollars (Mama always said to be
prepared to take yourself home from a bad date), and my apartment keys.

At quarter to seven, I turned on the
black-and-white TV Darlene had recently found a stand for, sat on the pink
sectional, and watched the end of the news. President Johnson was making a
speech on what he called "the war on poverty." He also addressed the
Civil Rights Bill before Congress, saying it would be passed by the end of the
summer. A 102-year-old man, Edward Everett Cauthorne, prepared to be the guide
when he and twenty-nine of his fellow residents in a Rockaway Beach retirement
home toured the World's Fair. No rain was expected for tonight or tomorrow,
which, I thought, was good news for the B. Altman's shoot.

The intercom sounded promptly at seven. I
leaped off the couch, then took a deep breath before answering the summons.

"Hello?"

"Bebe?"

"Yes."

"It's Louis; are you ready to
go?"

"I'll be right down, Louis."

Throwing a soft, short silk cape in merging
shades of blue around my shoulders, I grabbed the clutch Darlene had loaned me
and headed down the stairs, carefully avoiding trash that could make me slip,
and toys I could trip over.

Once outside, I smiled at Louis.
"Hello."

"Wow!" he exclaimed. "You
look beautiful."

"Thank you." He didn't look bad
himself. Dressed in a navy dinner suit, with a white shirt, white pocket
handkerchief, and a navy-and-red striped tie, Louis looked every inch the model
he was. My anticipation for the evening grew.

"Here, I have a cab waiting for
us," he said, and I followed him to the curb. He gestured for me to get
in, saying, "I already wiped the seat with my spare handkerchief."

Using tricks Darlene had taught me about
entering and exiting a cab while wearing a dress, I managed to keep my modesty.

Louis followed, gave the cabbie an address,
and turned to me. "That's a nice perfume you're wearing. It smells good on
you."

The back of the cab suddenly felt like an
intimate setting. I felt myself getting nervous. I didn't want to tell him the
name of the scent, so I mumbled my thanks, thinking this would never do. Once
again, Mama came to my rescue. She always said to get the gentleman talking
about himself. That way he'd find you interesting.

"Louis, how long have you been
modeling?" Just as the words came out of my mouth, I realized I still had
the key to the personnel file and could have investigated him. Darn!

"My mother kind of pushed it on me
when I was young. I was in ads for cereal, bicycles, a macaroni-and-cheese
recipe, and my career grew from there. I have Mother to thank for any success
I've had."

"Was it hard making the transition
from doing kids' ads to landing the Burma-Shave account?"

"No, actually it wasn't. Mother had
built contacts over the years, and I kept doing ads through my teenage years.
I did a portfolio a year ago with a great photographer, Scott Roberts, and— Oh,
we're here."

While Louis paid the driver, my mind began
spinning. Was Scott Roberts the same Roberts who'd taken Suzie's initial
photos? How many photographers named Roberts were in New York City? Could I get
information out of Louis regarding the guy?

I slid out of the seat, knees together, and
smiled at Louis when he offered his hand to help me out. His hand felt soft and
warm. He probably had to take really good care of his face and body. I tried to
concentrate on him and our surroundings, but my brain was like a broken record
saying, Scott Roberts, over and over. I'd wait until we were seated and had ordered
food before I began the third degfee.

Inside the Phone Booth, a full band,
dressed in tuxedos, played the current favorites. A talented young man belted
out "Hello, Dolly!" while Louis gave his name to the maitre d'. On
the dance floor lots of couples dressed in cocktail attire were gyrating to the
music. We had to wait only a minute before we were shown to a white
linen-covered table.

"Is this all right, Bebe?" Louis
asked me.

"Oh, yes, of course."

We were seated and presented with the wine
list, but my attention was caught by the fancy phone positioned to one side.
It was black and ivory with faux gold trim, and a "hold" button. What
was the polite etiquette if someone called to dance with me ... or Louis?

Louis took charge. "Would you like me
to make a suggestion about the wine?"

I leaned forward. His green eyes were
almost hypnotic, and his black hair shone. "To tell the truth— like the
TV show says—I'm not a big drinker."

"Perhaps it wouldn't be wise to order
a whole bottle of wine then?"

"Gosh, no, not for me. I like
champagne, can't stand beer, and tried whiskey once or twice. I'm not a highball
girl."

Louis smiled. "I find your freshness
charming, Bebe. How does this sound: I'll order a champagne cocktail for you,
and I'll have a vodka tonic. We'll have water with dinner, unless you prefer a
soda."

"I approve your plan, sir," I
said cheerfully. "Thank you, Louis."

The room became smoke-filled as more
couples crowded into the restaurant. It occurred to me that Louis was not a
smoker, which pleased me. Bradley didn't smoke either— Stop! No thoughts of
Bradley.

When the menus came, I immediately noted
that mine did not have the prices listed. I didn't know Louis's financial
situation, so I thought I'd play it safe and order a chicken entree. Our drinks
had arrived, and I'd already had a third of my champagne cocktail. Giggles
tried to force themselves out of my mouth, but I kept them in, fearing an
all-out gigglefest. I grooved a little in my seat when the band broke into
"Love Me Do."

Louis looked at me over his menu.
"Like the Beatles, do you?"

I grinned. "I looooove the Beatles,
especially John. Which reminds me: Your hair is fab, long that way."

"I have to keep up with current styles
as part of my reputation as a model. I'd much prefer to wear it short. What do
you say we order the beef Wellington for two?"

"That sounds delicious!"
Apparently Louis was willing to spend his money on a girl, which was swell. He
avoided saying anything about the Beatles, though. If he didn't like them, that
would be the end of it. I couldn't bear to be with someone who would frown at
me for listening to my favorite band.

I took another sip of champagne.
"Louis, tell me more about Scott Roberts, the photographer you said did a
good job on your portfolio."

Louis drank some of his vodka tonic.
"Not much to say. At the time his rates were low and he did a great job.
Scott's reputation grew after he claimed he was Suzie Wexford's first
photographer."

"Oh, was he?"

"Apparently so. The story he told me
was that Suzie sent him her senior high school picture, along with a few candid
shots. He was so impressed, he encouraged her to come to New York from
Oklahoma—"

"Omaha," I corrected.

He peered at me, then shrugged. "I try
to retain only important information. Scott got Suzie right off the bus, and
took her to his studio apartment. She, uh, stayed with him for a while, until
she caught the attention of Pierre. Just like a woman, Suzie dumped poor Scott
for a bigger name, but I think he has some early photos of her. Er, many female
models pose for pictures they later regret."

The waiter arrived and Louis took care of
everything, stopping only to ask if well-done was okay for our beef. I would
have preferred medium, but my mind was on other things, so I nodded absently.

First, I hadn't liked Louis saying,
"just like a woman." And was he putting me down when he said, "I
try to retain only important information"? I told myself that I had gotten
something out of him: that Scott Roberts might have naughty pictures of Suzie.
Was Roberts blackmailing her? Did Suzie refuse to pay? When was the last time
Roberts had seen Suzie? Was it a volatile relationship? Could he have killed
her?

"Where's his studio now, Louis?"

His green eyes met my brown ones. He said,
"Scott's moved since I saw him last."

At that moment the phone at our table rang,
startling me. Louis picked up the receiver. I tried to signal him that I
didn't want to dance with anyone, but then

I heard him say, "Yes, Mr. Williams. I'm sure she'll be
happy to. We didn't see you when we arrived. Yes, I'd be happy to dance with
Miss Miller. Okay."

No! No! Bradley couldn't be here with
Evelyn Miller. It would be too much of a coincidence. I tried to keep my
composure, but mentally, my mouth hung open and my eyes popped out of my head.

"I accepted for you because he's your
boss," Louis said, downing the rest of his vodka tonic. "And he could
get work for me. I'll put the phone on hold now, so we won't be disturbed again."

"It's all right," I replied, a
sneaking suspicion coming into my mind. I removed the cape I still wore,
causing Louis's gaze to drop to my chest.

Bradley and Evelyn walked up to our table.
Louis stood, and the two men shook hands. Bradley wore another somber suit,
dark gray with a dreary tie. His "mourning for Suzie" look. As usual,
my heart jumped when I saw him. Without question, he was the most handsome man
in the room. Not that I'd looked at every man, but I didn't have to.

Evelyn Miller's blond hair was in a short
bob, one side tucked under, a low side part sweeping the rest over, ending in a
flip. She had on a shimmering, cream floral brocade cocktail dress with gold
and pale green flowers. Cut low, the front of the dress was finished off by a matching
cream brocade bow, trimmed with sequins, directly under her ample bust.

She held on to Bradley's arm, bringing out
the green-eyed monster in me.

Introductions were made, and Evelyn shook
my hand, saying, "So you're Bradley's secretary. I didn't realize he was
helping the area high schools."

Bradley coughed.

I made myself laugh. "Oh, my, what a
sense of humor you have, Evelyn. Why, I'll bet you know all the latest bon
mots."

She narrowed her eyes at me.

The band tuned up, and Bradley held out his
arm. "Shall we dance, Miss Bennett?"

"That was the purpose of your call,
wasn't it, Mr. Williams?"

"It was indeed."

Louis led Evelyn away.

Bradley smiled at me, making me dizzy. He
pulled my arm through his and walked with me to the dance floor. When we turned
to each other, he looked me up and down and said, "Your dress is very
flattering. That shade of blue is my favorite color."

"Thank you." I would not melt, I
would not faint, I would not tell him my favorite shade of blue was the color
of his eyes; I would stand my ground.

The band played the opening notes of Peter
and Gordon's new song, "A World Without Love," a slow number. Bradley
held me closer than was proper. I loved every second, but blinked a few times
to overcome the hazy cloud that threatened to turn me into a gooey marshmallow
at a campfire.