Jennifer Crusie Bundle

by Jennifer Crusie

  “Yes.” Gina met Tess’s eyes. “I’m done. I’m tired and I hurt. I’ve always hurt, every dancer hurts, but somehow it hurts more now. I want to settle down and find a nice job in the theater selling tickets or something, and then find a nice man and have some kids and a real life.”

  Tess leaned her head back against the door and closed her eyes. “Tell me you’re not thinking of Park as a nice man.”

  “Listen.” Gina leaned forward. “I know that marrying Park is not for me. But he is a nice man. And he’s treated me like a queen all night. I’ve never been out with anybody like him.”

  “I can believe that,” Tess said. “There is nobody like him. He’s Andrew Dice Clay with breeding.”

  “No, he’s not,” Gina insisted. “He’s nice. He’s a good person. I like him.”

  “Fine.” Tess held up her hands in alarm. “Fine. Just don’t get serious about him. Don’t count on him.”

  Gina laughed mirthlessly. “Oh, I’m not. I know he’s not my future. In fact, I’m working on my future. The Charles Theater needs a secretary. I’ve got an interview Monday afternoon.”

  “A secretary?” Tess had a vivid, horrific vision of Gina chained to a typewriter. “You can’t type. Think of something else.”

  Gina slumped back in her chair again. “Could you just once be supportive?”

  “I’m sorry,” Tess said, appalled at the look on her friend’s face. “I’m really sorry. I think you’d make a fantastic addition to any theater. I think you’d be the best thing that ever happened to Park. I think you’re the best friend I’ve ever had, and I’m really sorry I’ve been such a bummer here. Give me a minute and I’ll be supportive. I just wasn’t thinking.”

  “You don’t need a minute,” Gina said gloomily. “Park is probably already looking for another woman, and you’re right, I can’t type.”

  Tess shook her head, scrambling through her thoughts to find something positive. “That doesn’t matter. You know the theater better than any secretary could possibly know it. And you know theater people. They’d be crazy not to snap you up as some kind of administrative assistant. And I think you should tell them that.” Tess warmed to her subject. “They’d be crazy to waste you typing and filing. Tell them everything you’ve done, everything you know, tell them—”

  “Tess…”

  Tess stopped.

  “It’s okay,” Gina said. “The job part isn’t that big a deal. But please, let me have this weekend with Park without making any snotty cracks.”

  Tess swallowed. “You’ve got it.”

  “Thank you.” Gina bit her lip.

  Tess blinked back tears that had somehow formed when she wasn’t paying attention. “But if he’s not good to you, I will take him apart.”

  “He’s good to me,” Gina said. “He’s really good to me. He told me I was the nicest person he’d ever dated and that I make him laugh and that I’m beautiful. He thinks I’m beautiful.”

  “You are beautiful.”

  “I look Italian,” Gina said.

  “You are Italian,” Tess said, confused. “Beautifully Italian.”

  “I know,” Gina said, exasperated. “But Park is probably one of those guys who only dates WASPs. WASPs with college educations and ivy growing on them. And he thinks I’m beautiful.”

  “Well, hell, he should,” Tess said. “Even I don’t think Park’s such a snob that he’d only date Ivy League blondes.”

  “You don’t understand,” Gina said. “I never even graduated from high school, and he still listens to me. He’s wonderful.”

  “I don’t think education is a big criteria for Park’s dates,” Tess said. “And who cares whether you graduated or not? You’re still a great person and you’ve been everywhere and you know a hell of a lot about the world. Of course he listens to you.”

  “You don’t understand,” Gina said hopelessly.

  “All right,” Tess said, but she had a sinking feeling that she did understand, only too well. Gina had fallen for Park and it was all her fault. She’d fixed them up. Good job, Tess, she told herself, and then shook her head when Gina frowned at her. “All right,” she said again. “I’m with you on this.”

  “Good.” Gina swallowed nervously. “Do you think it would be okay if I had some gum?”

  “No,” Tess said. “But what the hell, chew it, anyway.”

  “No,” Gina said. “I’m not gonna embarrass Park. If you see me doing anything dumb, stop me.”

  “Don’t change for him,” Tess insisted, appalled. “Don’t do it. You’re a great person.”

  “Just for the weekend,” Gina said. “Just for this weekend.”

  “LONG TIME in the bathroom,” Nick said when they went back to the party, but he was smiling at her as if he’d missed her, and she felt pleased and then immediately kicked herself for feeling pleased. Big deal, he’d missed her. So what. Then he put his arm around her, and she forgot Gina and her problems for a moment and just enjoyed the weight and warmth of his arm on her back and the pleasure of being with him again. Steady, she told herself, trying hard not to lean into him. Get through this weekend and get out, because this man is not for you. He has bad values and worse ambitions. Remember that.

  But all she said was, “We got lost in the ferns. They should hand out machetes at the door.”

  “Well, don’t disappear again,” Nick said. “We’re going in to dinner soon.” Then he leaned over and whispered in her ear, “There are two Decker board members here. Watch your step, don’t say anything controversial and smile at everybody.”

  “Who are the board members?” Tess whispered back.

  “Annalise Donaldson and Robert Tyler.” Nick nodded toward a portly gray-haired man on the other side of the room. “That’s Tyler. I haven’t seen Donaldson yet, but she’s here. Welch said so.”

  “Donaldson, Tyler,” Tess said. “She collects terra-cotta, he’s a big Bengals fan.”

  Nick raised an eyebrow. “And how do we know this?”

  “We did our research,” Tess said. “Lead me to ’em. I’m ready.”

  “Dinner is served,” Henderson announced.

  Welch had evidently given up his lust for leather in the dining room, but the same giant walnut furniture prevailed and the same beige paper striped the walls. Tess speculated that maybe he’d gotten a deal from a walnut-and-wallpaper place, but before she could share her theory with Nick, Henderson showed them to their seats. Tess was next to Norbert Welch at the head of the table with Nick on her right and Park and Gina across the table from them, one seat down. An attractive blond woman came to take the chair between Welch and Park.

  “So this is the little woman,” Welch said to Nick as they reached the table, and Tess turned to look at him in disbelief. Nobody in her life had ever called her a little woman.

  For a great American author, he was a lot younger and a lot shorter than she’d expected, even after seeing his photo on the book jacket. He couldn’t be past his early fifties and his eyes were a couple of inches below hers, which meant he was five six at most. But his face lived up to legend. He looked like a macho literary lion: his thick mane of white hair was so long it covered his ears and then waved back from his battered, square-jawed face, a weathered prize-fighter kind of face that was etched with a permanent scowl. He was the only person in the room who didn’t look as if he’d been designed to go with the decor.

  Tess blinked when she realized that he was studying her as closely as she was studying him.

  “Good to see you again, sir,” Nick said as he reached across Tess to shake Welch’s hand. “I don’t believe you’ve met my fiancée, Tess Newhart.”

  “I don’t believe I have,” Welch rumbled. “So you’re the future Mrs. Jamieson.”

  Tess resisted the urge to explain that she’d be keeping her maiden name, since the point was moot, given that she wasn’t marrying Nick. She smiled instead and heard Nick give a very small sigh of relief next to her. “That’s me. Thank you for inviting us t
o your home. We’re enjoying ourselves tremendously. And I can’t wait to hear your new book. Henderson told us earlier that you’re reading from it tomorrow.” She started to ask him where he’d bought Henderson and if they took MasterCard, but Welch overrode her.

  “I bet you can’t wait,” Welch said. “The question is, have you read any of my other books? Or are you waiting for the movies?”

  “Oh, I’ve read them all,” Tess said. “I was assigned The Last Promise in college, and then read the other two on my own. Of course that was many years ago. How long has it been since Disenchanted Evenings? Fifteen years?”

  “Why don’t you sit down now, Tess?” Nick said to her grimly, pulling out her chair for her. “And remember where you are.”

  “Back off, Jamieson,” Welch snapped at him. “When I can’t take it, I’ll let you know.”

  “Actually I really am looking forward to hearing you read,” Tess said, sinking into her chair.

  “Because you’re so taken with my philosophy?” Welch asked, baiting her.

  “No, I’m not crazy about your philosophy,” Tess said. “I just like your writing.”

  She smiled at him cheerfully, and Welch blinked in disgruntled surprise. “Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome,” Tess said. “Your house is nice, too. Did you pick out the sampler in my bedroom?”

  Welch snorted with laughter. “You liked that, did you?”

  “Loved it,” Tess said.

  Welch laughed again and then turned to the woman on his left. “You should see this sampler, Tricia,” he said to her, and she cooed at him, practically consuming him with obvious celebrity-collector’s greed.

  “Who’s she?” Tess asked Nick when Welch turned away and Henderson began to serve.

  “This is a good sign,” Nick murmured at the same time. “He’s taking me pretty seriously to sit us here. But, God, Tess, watch your mouth. Don’t blow this for me.”

  “I think he likes it when I talk back,” Tess said, but then she was distracted by Henderson. “I want one of those,” she whispered to Nick.

  “What would you do with him if you had him?” Nick whispered back. “Staple signs to him for demonstrations?”

  Tess sighed. “I just like the way he controls the universe. You know, before dinner somebody was saying that he even watches what Welch eats because he has a heart condition. Welch doesn’t even have to do his own dieting. Henderson sees to it.” She shook her head in admiration. “It would be really nice to have a man around to take care of me like that.”

  “Hey.” Nick pointed to his chest. “Let’s not forget the obvious here. What about me?”

  She looked at him, warm and broad and smiling next to her, and thought, anytime, but all she said was, “You’re cute, but you’re no Henderson.”

  “Hey,” Nick said again, but then Henderson began to serve, and Tess minded her manners beautifully through most of the entrée.

  Then Welch pushed his plate back and said, “So, Miss Newhart,” and Tess looked at him inquiringly.

  “You say you’re not crazy about my philosophy,” Welch went on. “Now your philosophy would be what, exactly?” He looked at her from under his brows, and Tess saw a definite challenge there.

  Be good, she reminded herself. This is important for Nick. “My philosophy is to behave myself so I get invited back for dinner again,” she told him. “This is excellent beef. Does Henderson do your cooking?”

  “No,” Welch said, “and you’re ducking the question.”

  “Well, I’m trying to behave,” Tess said. “It’s always a struggle for me. Now where exactly did you get Hen—”

  “The hell with behaving,” Welch said. “Show a little spirit. I know you’re under Jamieson’s thumb here, but you must have some ideas of your own.”

  Tess held back the first dozen retorts that occurred to her. “Can’t think of one. You know us women. Short on philosophy, long on shopping.”

  “Didn’t pick this one for her brains, did you, Jamieson?” Welch said, but he kept his eyes on Tess.

  “Tess is brilliant—” Nick began quietly, but Tess waved him silent.

  “What are you up to?” she asked Welch, and was rewarded with a grin. “I thought so. You’re just trying to get me in trouble. Well, forget it. Pass the butter.”

  “A woman without a philosophy,” Welch said, passing her the butter dish. “Why am I not surprised?”

  “All right, all right, I have a philosophy,” Tess said, trying to play the game for Nick’s sake. “Well, it’s not really mine. It’s one I borrowed. I had a friend a very long time ago who used to say that the only way to live life was to look for the best in every day and make sure I had a part in creating some of it. That still works for me.”

  “Oh, Lord,” Park groaned.

  “How charming,” the blond woman across from Tess said, making it obvious that she didn’t think so.

  “I think it is,” Gina said, a truly brave act since she’d been silent, staring at her plate, ever since they’d all sat down.

  Tess turned to her, smiling, but Welch was already on the attack. “Sounds like sixties’ garbage.”

  Tess swung back to him, and then she felt Nick’s hand grip her thigh. Don’t say anything, she thought, and then she nodded a little, and Nick moved his hand away.

  The blond woman tittered. “Oh, Norbert.”

  Encouraged, Welch went on. “You’re probably one of those fools who thinks literature should be life-affirming.”

  Tess frowned at him and opened her mouth, but Nick’s hand was back before she could speak. “Tess teaches literature,” he said. “I’m sure she has many interesting theories about it, but right now—”

  Welch interrupted him. “So now you’re the spokesman for her? What happened to her mouth?”

  “Spokesperson,” Tess said. “And my mouth is right here. Biding its time.”

  “Spokesperson?” Park said, confused.

  “Nongender-specific term.” Tess watched Welch grow red with annoyance and smiled cheerfully at him in response.

  He caught her grin and stopped scowling, nodding at her slightly to acknowledge the hit. “Politically correct garbage,” he said, baiting her again. “Stupid words.”

  “Definitely,” the blonde agreed, totally oblivious to the byplay going on in front of her.

  “Patriarchy is dead, folks.” Tess beamed at them both. “Get used to it.”

  The pressure from Nick’s hand on her thigh increased to the point of pain.

  “The hell it is,” Welch grumped. “Not in my house.”

  Tess laughed at Welch, at the same time attempting to move her leg out of Nick’s grip. “What are you trying to do? Recapture the fifties?”

  Welch snorted at her again. “Makes more sense than reliving the sixties. ’Course, you’re a real radical, probably protesting all over the place.” He shook his head at her, obviously fighting back a grin as he looked at her from under his brows, his head lowered like a bull ready to charge. “You really think that crap does any good?”

  Tess felt her temper flare and stomped on it. Getting mad was what Welch wanted her to do, the old goat. If she wanted to help Nick, the best thing she could do was shut up.

  She shut up.

  Nick moved his hand away again, patting her knee in gratitude as he did so.

  Welch needled her some more. “Your problem is that you’re in the wrong decade. The hippies are gone, Tess. Give it up.”

  “Give it up?” Tess said, holding on to her temper. “Then who will do it if I don’t?”

  “That’s what I thought—you’re a martyr. And for what? All that protesting never accomplished squat, anyway.” Welch grinned at her. “Sixties’ stuff. That’s all out of date now.”

  “Well, values are timeless,” Tess said goaded beyond endurance. “Do you have any?”

  “How about this roast beef?” Nick said. “And the gravy? My compliments to the cook.”

  “Butt out, Jamieson,” Welch said
, and then went back on attack. “Yeah, I have values. Hard work, drive and success. Those are my values. And they’ll get me a lot farther than your touchy-feely ideals will get you.” He peered at her, watching avidly for her reaction, but Tess was suddenly too angry to notice.

  “Values aren’t buses,” she said shortly. “They’re not supposed to get you anywhere. They’re supposed to define who you are. And I’d rather be touchy-feely than morally bankrupt.”

  “Well, really,” the blonde said.

  “Awfully nice party,” Park said.

  “Well, I’d rather be morally bankrupt than literally bankrupt,” Welch shot back. “Right, Jamieson?”

  They both turned to Nick.

  “I’d rather not be either,” Nick said. “I’m certainly looking forward to hearing you read tomorrow, sir.”

  Welch closed his eyes in disgust. “Typical lawyer.”

  “On that we agree,” Tess said, and was surprised to see him grin at her.

  “Good for you,” Welch said, and turned back to the blonde, laughing, and began to talk to her.

  “What was that all about?” Tess asked Nick.

  “That was the sound of one account escaping,” Park hissed at her across the table, glaring.

  “Oh, no,” Gina said, and absentmindedly began to eat faster in distress.

  “Will you please shut up for the rest of the night?” Park continued. “I know you won’t do it for me, but think of Nick for a change.”

  Tess met Nick’s eyes.

  “Just eat,” Nick said, and Tess picked up her fork and looked across the table in time to see Gina sopping up the last of her gravy with a roll. She tried to catch her eye to shake her head, but Gina was oblivious in her tension. That’s my fault, too, Tess thought, and tried to kick her friend under the table, but she caught Park on the shin instead.

  He turned outraged eyes on her just as the blonde said, “My dear, what are you doing?” to Gina.

  Gina froze, roll in hand.

  “She’s making the most of this delicious gravy,” Tess said with a pointed glare at the blonde who glared back. Tess picked up her roll to do the same, prepared to filet the blonde if she said one more word to Gina.