Snagged (18 page)

Uh, he thought. This place stinks. He walked over to the Crockpot that was really intended for the delicate slow cooking of meats and vegetables, not lingerie. He picked up the lid. Stew au hose. Good enough to drive Ruth crazy.

A quick examination of the specimen in question revealed that, indeed, it was as good as new.

Irving sighed. That’s all, folks, he thought. I’ve done everything I can think of to make this stuff unravel, one way or the other. But it couldn’t be done.

Disgusted, he dropped the hose back in the Crockpot, straightened up the counter, and started up the steps, ignoring the nagging little voice that told him to take one more look. He needed a shower and a change of clothes before he headed over to Ruthy Wuthy to break the bad news.

Thank God she can’t take it out on me, he thought. What a shock it had been when he wandered down to his lab during the company Christmas party and found her experimenting with the gardener, who was calling her Ruthy Wuthy. Ruthy had looked up just as he snapped their picture.

B
ARNEY FREIZE HAD had a terrible night’s sleep. He was still in shock over Ruth’s message on Danny’s answering machine. To think that those two were involved was bad enough, but what were they up to? Something told him he should not have brought those panty hose to Calla-Lily. And now Richie’s life was in danger, probably thanks to him.

He paced around his little house. The best thing he could do was just to go and talk to Danny. That’s it. Danny had never returned Barney’s call but he probably got home late. The question was, from where? And God knew, that machine of his couldn’t be depended upon to deliver the messages. At least not to Danny.

Barney grabbed his car keys and hurried out the door. It took him exactly eight minutes to reach Danny’s neighborhood. He pulled his sedan into the driveway and turned off the car. It was still early, but he couldn’t wait. Charging up to the door, he rang the bell and waited.

A few minutes later, a sleepy-looking Danny answered the door.

“Uncle Barney, what are you doing here?”

“We need to talk.”

“Come on in.”

Barney followed him into the kitchen. He cringed when he saw a can of turpentine on the counter.

“I tried to call you last night.”

“I didn’t get the message. My answering machine is screwing up a little bit.”

“I know.”

“How do you know?”

“Let’s just say I thought I had reached the hallway outside a newborn nursery, scootchie-ootchie.”

Danny’s face reddened. “That’s none of your business.”

“What did you do last night?” Barney asked.

“I painted a friend’s apartment. Why are you asking me these questions?” Danny asked, annoyed.

“What’s the turpentine doing here?”

“To get the paint off my hands. What do you think?”

“You know, Danny, in Florida people can go to jail for a long time for attempted murder.”

“What are you talking about?” “You don’t know?” “Of course not.”

“Then tell me about your wonderful plans to be with Ruthy Wuthy.”

J
OEY HONKED THE horn of his car. “Nadine, hurry up! I’m going to be late for work.”

“Hold your horses, I’m coming,” Nadine said as she struggled out the front door, her purse dangling in one hand, a cup of coffee in the other. She handed the cup to Joey to hold while she got in the car and buckled her seat belt. “Ready,” she pronounced.

“Well, hallelujah,” Joey said as they drove off.

Nadine raised her eyebrows. “That’d be a good CD to buy for the fashion show.” She started to sing, “Hal-le-lu-jah, hal-le-lu-jah, hal-le-lu-jah, hal-le-lu-jah . . .”

Joey switched on the radio.

“Are you trying to give me some sort of message here?” Nadine asked.

“Who, me?”

“Yeah, you. Unless there’s somebody in the backseat I don’t know about.”

“I love the sound of your voice, you know that.” He patted her thigh. “But not your singing voice.”

Nadine appeared nonplussed. “Nobody’s perfect.” She took a sip of the coffee that was sloshing around in the wide-brimmed cup.

“So, you know which stores you’re going to take this clown to?” Joey asked.

“Uh-huh. Do you want to come over to the fashion show?”

“Sure. I hope that Richie guy can pull this off.”

“Me too. I’ll go back with Nick and help him set up the stereo, so why don’t you come to the hotel when you’re finished working?”

“Okay. That should be early afternoon.” Joey paused. “If my boss only knew what the people from the Fourth Quarter are doing to hang on to that place . . .”

“Don’t tell him. He wouldn’t be too happy to find out that the commission check he’s probably planning for the Golden Sun could be a lot skinnier.”

“My lips are sealed.”

They drove along, with Nadine flipping stations after every song.

“God forbid we should hear any news,” Joey muttered.

“Buy a paper,” Nadine suggested as she threw her drained coffee cup on the floor of the backseat. “It’s got a big handle. It shouldn’t roll around too much.”

“Thank you for caring.”

Finally, Joey pulled up the hill of the Watergreen’s horseshoe-shaped driveway. He leaned over to kiss her. “Now don’t run away with this guy.”

“You never know.” Nadine kissed him back. “He might like my singing.”

She stepped inside the lobby of the Watergreen and was impressed by the beautiful view of the ocean from the huge windows on the opposite wall. The blue water sparkled under the brilliant sunshine. Not bad, she thought. I’ll have to get Joey to take me here for a drink some night.

There was a bustle in the air. People with notebooks and pens were scurrying around. Nadine hurried over to the elevator. As she waited she studied the two signs, side by side, that listed the convention seminars for the day. The first one read: “‘Tanty Hose in a Glass— Efforts to Make Our Packaging Recyclable,’ Room 120A; ‘The “INGS” of Panty Hose Production—Knitting, Weaving, Dyeing,’ Room 124; ‘Tanty Hose for the Funky Crowd—Jeweled, Studded, Crazy—Cost of Production vs. Profit,’ Room 126.” Hmmm, Nadine thought. Things that I never lost sleep over.

The other sign read: “ ’Ashes to Ashes—Cremation vs. Burial,’ Room 112; ’Keeping Up Employee Morale Around the Home,’ Room 116; ‘The Latest Models of the Six-Foot Bungalow—Coffins on Display,’ Banquet Room B.” How cheerful, Nadine mused.

The elevator bell donged and the doors opened. Nadine pressed “PH” and was whisked up to the top floor of the Watergreen. Around the corner and down the hall were the double doors that opened into Nick Fargus’s suite. One of them was partially ajar. Nadine knocked on it. “Hello.”

Nick hurriedly opened the door. A valet stood next to him in the foyer, a hanger holding a flowered shirt in a dry cleaner’s bag resting on his index finger. “Nadine?” Nick asked.

“Since birth.”

“Come on in. I’m Nick.” He turned to the valet. “Did you get out the stains?”

“We tried very hard, Mr. Fargus. There’s still one little smidgen of tomato sauce, but I really think it blends in with the flowers.”

Nick looked at him sternly. “Very well.”

“Next time put some club soda on it right away,” Nadine suggested.

The valet exited with a downcast look on his face. With all the stains they got out for all the people who only visited the Watergreen once, it was just such bad luck that they couldn’t do it for the boss, he thought.

“Come on inside, Nadine. Take a look at the view,” he said proudly, leading her to the windows.

“Nice place you got here,” Nadine commented as she followed him in. “You’ve got a runway set up, I see?”

“A couple of the guys came up and built it last night. You like it?”

“Very professional. The view is great too. What a bachelor pad.”

Nick’s face lit up. “You think so?”

“Heck, yeah. I’m glad my boyfriend doesn’t live in a place like this. As it is now, if he ever brought another girl home, she’d trip and break her neck right inside his front door. You don’t have a girlfriend?”

“No. You really think this is a good place to have the party?”

“It’s a great place. What are you worried about?”

“Nothing. Where should we put the stereo?”

Nadine looked around. “Now let’s see. It depends on the system we get. How much do you want to spend?”

Nick shrugged his shoulders. “How much do you think I should spend?”

“You plan to live here for a while?”

He managed a little laugh. “Unless I get fired.”

“That’d be a bummer.” Nadine walked around the large room. “Let’s see. Do you want to put speakers in the bedroom?”

Nick shook his head. “Uh-huh. The models are going to change in there.”

“Lucky you.”

Nick grinned. “I know.”

“Ohhh, so you’re looking forward to having the models here, huh?” Nadine teased.

He shuffled his feet, embarrassed. “It’ll be fun. You think they’ll like the runway?”

“They’ll love the whole place,” Nadine assured him.

The phone rang. His manner became efficient as he picked it up. “Nick Fargus.”

Nadine sat down on the couch.

“. . . more acceptances, that’s fine. I’ll let the banquet manager know . . . the more the merrier . . . who else? . . .”

Nadine watched as the expression on Nick’s face clouded and he practically squealed.

“. . . Dayton Rotter is coming? . . . No, of course, that’s great . . . see you later.” He hung up the phone looking dejected.

“The competition is coming?” Nadine asked.

“Huh? Oh. I don’t care,” Nick protested weakly.

“He’s just another good-looking guy,” Nadine said with forced cheerfulness.

“Who also happens to be rich and famous!” Nick blurted.

“Forget it, Nick. You’re going to have a good time today. Just be yourself. You’re the host! He’s not going to tie up everyone’s attention the whole time.”

“I guess so.”

“Let’s get out of here and buy a stereo that’s going to make this place rock!”

“Okay. Now, how much do you think I’m going to have to spend?” he asked as the door closed behind them.

J
UDD GREEN SAT in the phone booth out by the pool bar. The bar was closed and there were only a couple of bathers sunning themselves at the other end of the pool. It was still early.

“You poured it! You saw the door was blocked! You saw him through the window! How was I supposed to know somebody was going to take a jog in the boonies late at night?”

He played with his mirror sunglasses as he listened. “I know how bad it is. I know you’re getting the pressure. Believe me, I wish this job was finished. Although it should have been taken care of a long time ago . . . Listen, the funeral convention ends early this afternoon. I know what we can do. We’ll need a legitimate-looking business van. Get two of the guys in workers’ uniforms . . .”

Someone tapped on the window of the phone booth. “Are you going to be finished soon?” a woman in a skirted bathing suit asked.

Judd turned to her and opened the door. Trying to keep his tone civil, he said, “I’ll be out in a few minutes.”

Hurriedly he explained the rest of his plan as the bather wandered off. “I tell you, it’s going to work. We’ll go straight to the dock. At the party, I’ll concentrate on the old guy. You take care of Regan Reilly.”

I
T WAS NOT just a gray haze of smoke that hung in the air of the Calla-Lily suite. The atmosphere was thick with the kind of tension you could cut with a knife.

“This waiting is killing me!” Ruth screamed as she puffed her twenty-seventh cigarette of the day.

The Calla-Lily board members sat on the couches looking glum. They had all arrived at 7 A.M., at the precise time that the cowpoke was spotted in the wilds of Colorado. While he was jetting back across the country, they were made to sit and discuss with Ruth, if “discuss” was the right word, Calla-Lily’s final decision on purchasing the Birdie Panty Hose.

“To buy, or not to buy, that is the question,” one of them had made the mistake of joking as he held up a glazed doughnut in the air for emphasis. The force of Ruth’s reaction had startled him so much that he dropped the doughnut in his cup of coffee.

The doorbell rang. Ethel, back in the salt mines, answered the door.

It was Irving Franklin. Late as usual.

“I don’t know how he gets away with it,” one of the board members muttered as he bit into a crumb bun that broke apart, dusting his suit with confectioners sugar.

“Good morning, everyone.”

“Would you like some coffee?” Ethel asked.

“Thank you, Ethel. Yes, I would. Black.”

Like Ruth’s mood, Ethel thought. Easy to remember.

Irving sat down. He looked over at Ruth and smiled. “Good morning, Ruth.”

“What’s the deal, Irving?” she responded.

Ethel placed a coffee cup in front of Irving. “Ruth?” she asked.

“Is it important, Ethel?” Ruth demanded to know.

“I was just thinking that I’d run downstairs and get those papers you wanted photocopied . . .” Her voice trailed off. Before this place explodes, she wanted to add.

“Go.”

“Thank you.”

Irving sipped his drink. “Good coffee.” He cleared his throat. “I guess you can tell that I did not come in here jumping with joy. I was up all night determined to find something wrong with that panty hose. I cooked it, beat it, washed it, stomped on it. I’m sorry. It
seems
to be just perfect.”

An animal-like moan emanated from Ruth’s throat.

“We’ve got to buy it! That idiot better get back here soon and sign his consent!”

The board members shook their heads, agreeing that indeed the best thing was to fork over the money.

Three minutes later the door to the suite flung open. Ethel was back, the papers in her hand yet to be copied. She could tell that the news from Irving had not been good. And now she had more bad news that she couldn’t wait to tell Ruth.

“I thought you’d want to know . . . I was just down in the manager’s office. The buzz is that Dayton Rotter is coming to the cocktail party. He’s very interested in buying the Birdie Panty Hose . . .”

The last thing Ruth saw before she fainted was the vision of Grandpa pointing his finger at her, shouting, “You ruined my company!”