Five Brides (29 page)

“Nothing like a million-dollar account to drive a man crazy, is there, Joan?” Pat asked her with a laugh.

She shooed him away from the giant easel. “Why don’t you go back to the office for any last-minute details and I’ll finish up here.”

He sighed as he gave her his best little-boy-lost look. “Thank you, Joan. You’re a godsend.”

He was halfway out of the room when she called his name and he turned back to look at her.

“My roommate Betty is coming by tonight after work. She and I are going to do the most unusual thing of having dinner out on a Friday night. Would you care to join us?”

His eyes flashed with mirth. “Are you fixing me up, Joan?”

Joan crossed her arms. “Actually, I am.” She walked toward him. “You and Betty would be quite perfect for each other. You have similar backgrounds. You’re both from prominent families. And you’re both a lot of fun. I can’t imagine two people being more perfect for each other, actually.”

He paused, appearing to ponder the idea. “Well, I’m not seeing anyone,” he said with a wink. “And I’m assuming she isn’t seeing anyone either.”

“In the entire time I’ve known Betty, she hasn’t had a single
serious
date. Which I don’t quite understand. She’s
beautiful
.”

He nodded, took one step away, then looked at Joan again. “Then you’ve got yourself a date.” He started to walk away, stopped, and raised an index finger. “Does
she
know about this?”

Joan shook her head. “Not even a hint. Let’s just say you wormed your way into an invitation after our soup du jour presentation went so well.”

Pat roared with laughter. “Deal,” he said, and he glanced at his watch. “All right. I’ll be back in fifteen minutes, ready to roll.”

Joan waited until he was well out of sight before dashing to the conference room phone and dialing the number for Hertz. The switchboard had picked up the call, and she asked for Betty Estes, then waited until Betty’s voice came through the line. “Mr. Ferguson’s office. Betty Estes speaking. How may I help you?”

“The question is,” Joan teased, “how I may help
you
.”

“Joanie. What are you up to? Isn’t your big ‘The only thing
better is a night out on the town’ presentation supposed to start any minute?”

“It is. Pat is on his way upstairs for last-minute details and—I was thinking—why don’t you and I celebrate tonight at Pollywog? Dinner’s on me.”

“Goodness. You are in a celebratory mood if you’re volunteering to pay. What time?”

“Five thirty?”

“See you then,” she said.

Joan hung up the phone with a smile, knowing she’d finally come up with the perfect way to pay her flatmate back for the use of her cream-colored suit.

Betty said good-bye to Evelyn at the office before heading to the downtown restaurant Joan had suggested for dinner. When she didn’t spot Joan, Betty turned to the host and said, “I’ll take a seat at one of the tables, if you don’t mind.”

“Certainly, miss,” he told her, then led the way to one of the many vacant white-linen-draped tables near the back of the room.

Betty pulled off her gloves and placed them in her pocketbook before setting it at her feet. She looked up just as the front door opened and Joan stepped in. Directly behind her, a decidedly tall and incredibly handsome man allowed the door to close against his back. Betty waggled her fingers Joan’s way and Joan did the same.

Betty watched her friend speak to the stranger before the two indicated to the host that they were Betty’s dining companions. It only took a moment as they strolled toward her for realization to shower over Betty.
Pat Callahan.

“Well, for the love of pete,” she said under her breath. She smiled broadly as they reached the table.

“Betty,” Joan said immediately, her voice laced with hope. “I’d like to introduce you to my—to Mr. Pat Callahan.” She looked at Pat, her face practically glowing with anticipation. “Pat,
this
is
Betty Estes, whom I’m sure you’ve heard me talk about dozens of times.”

When Betty extended her hand for a shake Pat took it, squeezing gently. “I’ve looked forward to this, Miss Estes.”

Betty squeezed back. “Please. Call me Betty.” She waited until the host helped Joan to her chair and announced that their waiter would be with them shortly. She turned then to Pat, sitting at her left. “So, Pat,
exactly
how many times has my good friend Joanie talked about me?” She pulled a breadstick from a short glass in the center of the table and waved it around. “Ballpark.”

“Oh, dear,” Joan said, looking about as though trying to find an exit.

Pat laughed heartily. “Well, let’s see . . . She mentioned you around eleven this morning. Maybe eleven thirty. Again at—” he looked at his watch, which brought a smile to Betty’s lips—“I’d say around three. And she pretty much talked about you nonstop from the office to the restaurant. All totaled, I’d give the Betty references a total of more than five and less than ten.”

Joan covered her mouth with a gloved hand, then dropped it. “I’ve been had.”

Betty eyed Pat playfully. “I’d say
we
have, wouldn’t you?”

The three laughed together as their waiter arrived to fill their water goblets and to take their drink orders. He handed each of them a menu and rattled off the evening’s specials before leaving the conversation to pick up where Betty had left it.

Pat spoke first. “Well, maybe
we
have,” he said, “but I’ll tell you this much, Betty. Everything Joan said about your beauty was exact and honest.”

Heat rose to her face. “Why thank you, Mr. Callahan. And you are every bit as gallant as Joan has previously indicated.”

Again they laughed. Joan pulled off her gloves as her eyes
danced between the two of them. “Okay, you two. Have your fun, but quite honestly, I can’t imagine two people getting along more famously than you. In fact—” she dropped both gloves into one hand and waved toward the front of the room—“I don’t know why I don’t just leave you here to dine alone. I’ll practically be a fifth wheel at this meal.”

Pat pointed to her. “Leave and you’re fired,” he said, adding a wink. Then he smiled at Betty. “Not that I find dining with you alone—just the two of us—to be burdensome, Miss Estes.”

Warmth ran through Betty’s veins, pulsating all the way to where her heart beat inside her chest. “Why, I believe that’s one of the nicest things anyone has said to me in some time,” she said, meaning every word. She looked from Pat to Joan, who beamed in the chair to the right of her.

A second later, their waiter returned with their drinks, and as Pat gave the toast to new friendships, Betty knew that a page in the book of her life had been unexpectedly turned.

Joan could hardly wait for the weekend to come to an end and for Betty to return home. She had hardly been there since early Saturday morning. Evidence of her late-night arrival on Saturday remained in the kitchen sink on Sunday morning, but other than that, neither Joan, Evelyn, nor Magda had seen or heard from her.

By Sunday evening, as the three flatmates gathered in the living room to listen to
The Big Show
, Joan’s frazzled nerves caused her to wonder if she’d made the right decision, putting the two of them together.

“So, what do you think, Joan?” Magda asked as she tuned the radio to the right station. “Do you think Mr. Cole will have looked at my manuscript by tomorrow morning?”

Joan had forgotten all about Magda’s manuscript. “When did you give it to him?” she asked, sitting on the sofa and tucking her legs under her.

Evelyn, dressed in a fashionable pair of pink matador pants and matching sweater, sat in the chair across from her. She carried the latest fashion magazine she’d purchased from the local five-and-dime—one, no doubt, George had insisted she study. “What manuscript?” she asked.

The radio crackled to life as
The Big Show
’s announcer said,
“And here is your hostess . . . the glamorous . . . the always unpredictable . . . Tallulah Bankhead.”

“Tell you later,” Magda said, hurrying to sit next to Joan.

“You know there are weeks when we have the most handsome, the most divine men on this show,”
Tallulah Bankhead began,
“and then again there’s
this
week.”
The studio audience laughed and the three roommates chuckled with them.
“This week we have a real meatball, Jack Carter.”

As Jack and Tallulah began their shtick, Joan glanced at Evelyn, who flipped quietly through the magazine.
Double duty,
she thought. Poor lamb couldn’t even enjoy the show without trying to please a man who hadn’t bothered to take her to dinner that evening. Joan looked at Magda, who frowned in unison as Jack Carter started the opening lyrics to “Peg o’ My Heart.”

The front door opened and all three turned toward it.

Betty stepped in, smiling contentedly. “Hello, girls.”

Joan jumped from her seat to turn the radio’s volume down as Miss Bankhead introduced James Mason and his wife, Pamela. She swung around to face Betty.
“Well?”

“He’s to die for,” she said with a smile, closing the door behind her. “A dream in every sense of the word.” She sighed. “I can’t say I’m in love—not yet—but I will tell you all that I’m so fully in . . .
something
. . . I can hardly imagine what tomorrow will be like. Not seeing him.” She sat on the arm of Evelyn’s chair and pulled the magazine from between her fingers. “George have you reading this?”

“Stop it, Betty,” Evelyn answered with a pout. “Concentrate on your own romance, why don’t you?”

Betty cupped Evelyn’s chin in her hand. “You’re right. You are absolutely right.” She stood, casting her attention on Joan. “I want a full report tomorrow night. Every word—every single word—he tells you. Leave nothing out.”

Joan felt her grin draw her cheeks taut. “I promise, Betts. Every word.” She clapped her hands. “Yay,” she exclaimed.

“Well,” Betty said with another sigh. “I’m exhausted.” She pointed to the radio. “Enjoy the show without me tonight. I’m going to bed.”

She’d hardly made it halfway down the hall when the front door opened again and Joan turned to see a somewhat haggard-looking Inga step inside.

Magda leapt up. “What happened to you?” she asked, then crossed the room and took her sister’s suitcase from her hand.

“Nothing. Don’t ask me anything.”

Betty reentered the room. “You look like you’ve lost your last nickel, kiddo.”

“I lost something, all right,” Inga mumbled, then waved her staring roommates away. “I need sleep.”

“Inga,” Magda whispered.
“What happened?”

Inga gave her sister a harsh look, one that cut into Joan’s heart. Never had any of her sisters treated her as poorly as Inga often did Magda. “Nothing for you to concern yourself with.” She looked at Betty. “I’m going to bed.”

“I’m right behind you,” Betty said, taking the luggage from Magda.

Joan waited until Inga had closed the bedroom door behind her before she smiled weakly at Magda. “Don’t worry, little sis. She’ll be all right. Whatever it is.”

Magda arrived at work earlier than usual the next morning, her nerves heightened. She’d hardly slept, imagining every scenario that might come her way when Mr. Cole entered the office. Would he look her directly in the eye and declare her the most amazing writer he’d ever had the pleasure of reading? Or would he avert his eyes, a sure indication that he’d hated every word? Every jot and tittle?