"Great."
"Stu's going to London today to find out what he can about Astrid."
"That's wonderful, Darlene! Stu really cares about you."
"Yeah, me and every other Skyway stewardess."
"No, Darlene, he really likes you. He wouldn't be going to all this trouble otherwise."
"You're wrong, Bebe. Stu just likes an adventure. Anyway, honey, what are you wearing for Bradley today?"
"Hmpf. Nothing in particular."
Darlene raised an eyebrow. "He'd like that."
"I mean I'm not dressing to attract his attention. I'd have to be blond to do that, and I'm not bleaching my hair."
"What's got you in such a snit about Bradley? You two looked cozy on the dance floor."
I whipped the hood of the hair dryer off my hair and began unpinning my rollers. "He treats me like a child! He warned me off investigating the murder."
"Maybe he's just being protective of you."
"Or maybe he thinks I'm too stupid to solve the case."
"Bradley wouldn't have a stupid secretary. Now wear the emerald-green suit with the gray velvet buttons. It makes you look like a forest nymph. He'll be distracted all day."
"I said I wouldn't wear anything just for him."
"Honey, looking good is your best revenge. Now be your prettiest and your nicest, and it will drive him wild. Trust me. And stop scowling. You'll get wrinkles."
"Oh, all right. But only because the green suit needs an airing."
Darlene laughed.
Later at the office, I stood at the duplicating machine, watching the paper reel off in purple ink, when Nigel arrived for his eleven-o'clock meeting with Bradley.
I closed my eyes for a moment, knowing what would happen when Nigel went into Bradley's office.
"Hullo, there, Bebe. Thanks for arranging for us to go out last night. The boys needed some entertainment. That was some club."
"You're welcome. I hope they enjoyed themselves."
"As much as can be expected with our Philip not joining us. A great partier Philip was. 'E would have been up there with those girlie dancers, you know. 'Ad a way with women."
I stacked the mimeographed sheets on my desk, hardly knowing where to look. "Can I get you some coffee, Nigel?"
"You 'aven't got a nice cuppa tea, 'ave you? That would go down right nice."
"I'm sorry; all I have is coffee."
"Well, don't bother, luv. 'Ere's Bradley come to get me 'imself. See you've got yourself a shiner, Bradley. Noticed it last night, but you didn't 'ave time to talk to us then."
This last was said with a significant look at me.
Heat flooded my face despite my effort not to blush. I hated this weakness of mine. Mama always told me ladies blushed regularly, but I thought it had more to do with my fair complexion.
Bradley had been quiet this morning, keeping busy with paperwork. I knew he dreaded telling Nigel the album wouldn't be released.
"It's starting to fade," Bradley said, touching the spot around his eye.
"Fight over a bird, I'd wager," Nigel said. He let out a booming laugh.
"No. A simple misunderstanding. Now, has Miss Bennett offered you coffee?"
"Yes, I have," I said tartly.
"Of course, ever efficient. Sometimes she can be dangerous, Nigel," he teased.
"The lot of women are, Bradley. Surely you've learned that," Nigel responded with yet another booming laugh.
"Don't worry, Nigel; I harm only those who threaten me," I said, hoping Bradley knew I meant him. Warning me off the investigation!
With a knowing look in my direction, Bradley waved Nigel into his office. The moment the door closed behind him, I put my head in my hands and grieved over what was about to happen to the remaining members of the Beefeaters. How would they take the news? I was sure they'd want to leave immediately for England, just as I was sure Bradley was right in that the police wouldn't let them.
"Pining for me, baby? Here I am." Vince Walsh walked up to my desk. I remembered he'd promised to be nearby when Nigel was told the bad news.
"Mr. Walsh, what can I help you with?" I said with little patience.
"Now, there's something we can talk about at my place Saturday after listening to the band, muffin-cup," he said.
"I told you, Mr. Walsh, I don't date coworkers. Saturday night will be strictly business."
"That's a shame. I'm going to continue to try to get you to change your mind. So, how long do you think it will be before—"
"You can't do this to us!" Nigel's voice thundered from inside Bradley's office.
Bradley's voice could be heard in a lower tone.
Then Nigel: "We've got a contract! We've come all the way from England to make it 'ere in America. You 'ave to release the album!"
Bradley said something else; then Nigel yelled, "Go ahead and call security. I won't 'ave you do this to my boys!"
Vince, obviously enjoying the exchange, took the opportunity to open Bradley's door. "Any trouble in here?"
I heard Bradley's clearly annoyed voice say, "Nothing that concerns you, Vince."
Nigel said, "I'll give you a shiner to match your other if you don't take back what you said and release the album, Bradley."
Then there were sounds of a scuffle. I ran to the door to see Nigel leaning across Bradley's desk, grabbing him by his suit collar. Bradley removed Nigel's grip and Vince took hold of Nigel's arm.
"I suggest you leave now, Nigel," Bradley said. "Before I do call security."
Nigel broke away from Vince and pushed past me to the elevators. His face was mottled red.
Back in Bradley's office, Vince beamed. "That's one unhappy limey. He was going for your throat, Bradley."
"Well, he didn't get it," Bradley said in a calm tone as he smoothed his suit jacket. The expression on his face told me of the mixed emotions he had concerning the scene with Nigel. Bradley wasn't happy with what he'd had to do, or with Nigel's violent reaction.
The only person who seemed pleased by it all was Vince.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
At lunchtime I still felt bad for the guys in the band and decided to skip eating. Vince hung around on the flimsiest of excuses.
Around quarter to one, a tall, handsome, graying man walked proudly into the office. I recognized him at once: Sal Vitelli, the singer who had stolen Mama's heart with his searing ballads. I had loved his music as well, ever since I was a young girl. I knew he was one of Rip-City's artists, but never thought I'd get to meet him.
"Mr. Vitelli!" I cried, a bit breathless. "How exciting to see you in person."
The older man, surely in his early sixties by now, smiled at me. "I'm here to see Bradley Williams, sweetheart. Is he in?"
"Oh, no, Mr. Vitelli. He's at lunch."
Vince, who, if you ask me, didn't do much more than wander around the office letting Miss Hawthorne take messages for him, came up to Sal. "How's it going, Sal? I heard sales of your last record weren't so hot."
Sal's nostrils flared. "I have a large, devoted fan base. This company's distribution leaves a lot to be desired."
How rude of Vince! I thought. He thrived on meanness. Poor Mr. Vitelli.
"Sir, if you'd like, I'm sure Mr. Williams wouldn't mind if you waited in his office. I could bring you a nice
cup of coffee," I said, smiling in an effort to take the sting out of Vince's words.
Sal turned back to me. "Sweetheart, that's exactly what I'll do."
"Great! How do you like your coffee?" I asked, rising from my chair.
Mr. Vitelli walked past me to Bradley's office. "Nice and sweet. Three sugars, cream."
"I'll be right in with it," I promised.
Going toward the coffeepot, I was glad I had just brewed a fresh pot. Sometimes Bradley liked a cup when he returned from lunch.
I chewed my bottom lip. I'd heard the rumors that Sal Vitelli's albums weren't selling like they did in his heyday in the fifties. But surely he was right in that he still had
plenty of loyal fans.
"Hey, cupcake," Vince said, coming up behind me.
I almost scalded myself with the coffee.
"Yes?" I measured three teaspoons of sugar into the hot liquid and then reached for the cream.
"Why don't you go into Bradley's office with Sal and make the old guy happy? He looked you over pretty good, and I think he'd enjoy the pleasure of your company, if you know what I mean."
"Well, sure, I'd be glad to wait for Bradley with him if you think Mr. Vitelli would like it."
"Oh, I'm sure he'd like you." Vince winked and chuckled.
I stirred the coffee and brushed past Vince. He followed me, and when I was in Bradley's office handing Mr. Vitelli the coffee, Vince closed the door behind us. I wondered why he did that, but then figured he didn't want the star being bothered by any of the Rip-City staff who happened to wander by and see Sal in the office.
Mr. Vitelli was seated on the sofa. I chose the chair opposite. "Vince said you might like some company, Mr. Vitelli."
The older man's eyebrows rose. "Did he?"
"Yes, but if you want me to leave, just let me know. I don't want to be a bother. I would like to tell you how much I've enjoyed your music over the years."
Mr. Vitelli sipped his coffee. "Thank you."
"I know you must hear this all the time, but you have the most soulful voice. Sometimes hearing you sing has brought me to tears. I know Mama cries all the time when she listens to you. In fact, Mama would die if she knew I was sitting here talking to you. She just loves you! She has all your albums. She's the one who introduced me to your singing. I'm not boring you, am I? Like I said, you must hear this all the time."
Mr. Vitelli slowly smiled. "Sweetheart, you've made my day. I needed a little ego boost just about now."
"Well, good! Could I press my luck and ask for your autograph? It would be for Mama. I'd like one, but Mama would kill me if she found out that I'd gotten your autograph and didn't get one for her."
"You can have two."
"Wow, that's so nice of you! Here, I'll get a pad and pen off of Mr. Williams's desk." I did so and handed them to him.
"What's your mother's name?"
"Noreen."
"And where does she live?"
"Richmond, Virginia."
He scribbled a note to Mama and handed it to me. It said, To Noreen, the prettiest gal in Richmond. Yours, Sal Vitelli
"Oh, this will make Mama so happy!" I squealed. "Thank you."
"And what's your name?"
"I'm Bebe."
Mr. Vitelli wrote out another note and handed it to me. It said, To Bebe, who makes a great cup of coffee. Best of luck, Sal Vitelli.
"I feel like the luckiest girl in Manhattan today, Mr.
Vitelli. If you only knew the nights Mama and I would spend washing up the dishes listening to you sing 'Beautiful Brown Eyes.' Thank you so much for your kindness."
Impulsively, I got up and gave the older man a brief hug and a peck on the cheek. He laughed and called me a good girl.
Suddenly the door to Bradley's office burst open. Bradley stood in his overcoat with a steamed look on his face. "What exactly is going on in here?"
I couldn't figure out why he was mad, but he sure was. Maybe it was because I let Mr. Vitelli wait in his office instead of the reception area. But Mr. Vitelli was a star and deserved special treatment. I found my voice. "Mr. Vitelli arrived to see you. I thought it would be okay to let him wait in here."
"And why are you in here, Miss Bennett? With the door closed."
Sal Vitelli answered for me. "She was just making me feel like I was still appreciated by my audience. She asked for my autograph. That's all there was to it."
A look passed between the two men, one I couldn't understand. Then Bradley said, "I'm back now, Miss Bennett, so you can return to your desk."
I rose, confused by Bradley's attitude, and exited the office. Before I did so, I said, "Mr. Vitelli, I hope to say good-bye to you before you leave today, but if I'm not at my desk when you go, let me say now that it was an honor to meet you."
"Thank you, Bebe. You take care. Don't let New York take away your Southern charm."
"No, a part of Virginia will always be in me. But I want to be a New Yorker!" I smiled and closed the door.
Much to my dismay, Vince was leaning against a file cabinet. "So how did it go?"
"He's such a nice man. Not stuck-up like you'd expect some stars to be. I got his autograph. One for me, and one for Mama."
"Is that all?"
I looked at him. "Yes, what else would there be?"
Vince shook his head. "I can't figure you, babycakes. But anyway, Sal Vitelli doesn't have much time left with Rip-City."
"What do you mean?" I asked, sitting at my desk.
"His sales have progressively dropped over the last two albums. Especially the last one. People don't want to hear aging crooners anymore. They want the Beatles and Motown, the new stuff. Sal is old news."
"Are you telling me that Rip-City might drop Mr. Vitelli from their list of artists?"
"You got it, babe. In fact, I wouldn't be surprised if Bradley isn't telling Sal that unless the new single rises on the charts, he's history. Bradley called the meeting, you know."
"No, I didn't," I said in a soft voice. I couldn't believe it. Rip-City would never drop Sal Vitelli, even if his last few singles hadn't made the top ten on the charts.
After I ignored Vince, busying myself with papers on my desk, he finally took the hint and wandered away.
As it turned out, I was at my desk when Mr. Vitelli and Bradley came out of Bradley's office. Bradley didn't look pleased. Sal Vitelli's proud bearing had slumped. He didn't forget me, though. He leaned over and patted my hand, then walked swiftly to the elevators.
I looked at Bradley. He said, "Come into my office, Miss Bennett."
I got up and followed him.
He sat at his desk, a pencil between his two index fingers. "Now suppose you sit down and tell me what was going on in here between you and Sal Vitelli."
I took my place in the seat across the desk and repeated what I'd told him earlier.
"And that's all?"
"Yes, what else would there be?"
"Vince told me he'd sent you in here to 'make the old guy happy.' Do you know what I'm talking about, Miss Bennett?"
"I think Mr. Vitelli was happy hearing that Mama and I like his music so much. He said I'd made his day."
Bradley dropped the pencil on his desk. He got out of his chair and came around the desk to perch on the edge nearest me. "That's not what Vince had in mind when he sent you in here."
"Just what are you saying?" I asked, an idea beginning to form in my mind.
"When I saw you kiss Sal on the cheek, I thought maybe you did understand what Vince meant."
"Let's stop beating about the bush. What did Vince mean?"
Bradley looked at the ceiling. "The expression 'to make him happy' was meant as a sexual reference." Bradley looked back at me.
My face flamed. "Are you trying to say that Vince wanted me to ... to let Mr. Vitelli ... for me to—"
"Yes, that's exactly what I mean."
I rose from my chair. With him leaning on the side of his desk we were almost eye-to-eye. "That can't be what Vince meant. He knows I'm not that type of girl. You've been spending too much time at the Playboy Club."
"I assure you, that is exactly what Vince meant for you to do when he sent you in here."
"And you thought I would comply with such a request?"
Bradley looked down at his expensive shoes. "I didn't know what to think when I saw you on the sofa kissing Sal."
"On the cheek! I didn't know you had such a low opinion of me, Mr. Williams." I was mad now. I turned to march out of his office.
He caught my arm in a snug grasp. "I'm sorry, Miss Bennett. I should have known better. I lost my head when I saw you kissing him. You're not that kind of girl at all. I respect you, kid."
&nbs
p; His hand on my arm was making my heart beat faster.
While I was glad to hear he respected me, I wished there were more to it than that.
"Okay, I accept your apology because you said you know I'm not that type of girl."
"I know it all too well," Bradley said in a low voice.
We stood almost toe-to-toe, looking at each other, I wanted to touch his hair, to keep staring into his eyes. But mostly I wanted him to slide his arm around my waist, pull me to him, and kiss me with his sexy mouth.
My heart almost stopped when it seemed like that was exactly what he was going to do. His gaze dropped to my mouth and stayed there for a long moment.
Then he turned away and muttered, "I'd better get back to work. I have things to accomplish before I get ready for my date tonight. I'm taking her to the 21 Club right after work, so I'll be changing here."
It's amazing how fast the drop is from heaven to hell.
I held my head high as I left the office without another word. Inside, the lyrics of Sal Vitelli's "Beautiful Brown Eyes" went through my head. The song was about a man who couldn't resist his girl's beautiful brown eyes.
If only Bradley felt that way about my brown eyes.
I was sitting at my desk, sorting through the filing, when I thought again of what Bradley had feared was going on between me and Sal Vitelli. Bradley had been angry when he saw us on the sofa.
Could it be that Bradley had been jealous? What a delicious idea!
A smile crossed my lips, and I began to hum Dusty Springfield's "I Only Want to Be with You."
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Bradley had gone for the day on his stupid date, smelling like heaven and looking like anything but an angel, when Darlene called.
"Hi, Darlene, I was just about to finish a report, then leave for the day."
"Honey, you aren't gonna believe what Stu just called and told me."
"I thought Stu was on his way to London to dig up some dirt on Astrid."
"Exactly. He was at LaGuardia airport and guess what he saw happen?"
I was all ears. "Tell me."
"It seems Nigel was trying to leave the country and go back to England. There was a big fuss with the cops all over him, dragging him back from the London gate."
It's A Mod, Mod, Mod, Mod Murder Page 13
