The Grand Finale

by Janet Evanovich

  “Of course they can kiss, and how did we get to talking about kissing, anyway?”

  He nibbled on her left earlobe. “You have this erotic effect on me.” He kissed the pulse point in her neck. “It’s become an obsession. All I ever think about is kissing you. Well, that’s not totally honest. I think about doing other things to you, too, but they’re related to kissing.”

  “Get serious.”

  His knee nudged against the inside of her thigh. “I’m trying. You’re not cooperating.”

  Berry tried to concentrate, but for the life of her she couldn’t remember why they were back there, standing against the refrigerator. It might have something to do with tuna salad. No, she thought, that’s not it.

  Mrs. Fitz bustled around the front of the shop. She gave Harry Fee a Coke and a hot piece of pizza. “We’ll have to go to the late show,” she told Harry. “I have to help Berry until the place closes.”

  Jake nuzzled Berry’s hair and molded his hand to her hip. “That’s okay, Mrs. Fitz, I’ll help Berry tonight.”

  Berry wriggled away. “No!”

  “Yes.” Jake was firm.

  “You helped me last night and the stupid car got stolen. I don’t want your help. You’re nothing but a pain in the neck.”

  Jake put his arm around her and kissed the top of her head. “She’s crazy about me,” he told Harry. “But she’s shy. You know how women are.”

  Mrs. Fitz got her sweater and her purse. “She’s a ninny,” she mumbled to Harry. “Don’t know opportunity when it comes knocking.”

  Harry smiled. “I bet you don’t pass up any opportunities, Lena.”

  “Not if I can help it. Trouble is, opportunities don’t come along often enough.”

  Harry held the door for her and winked at Jake. “Don’t wait up.”

  Berry narrowed her eyes. “What did he mean by that?”

  “He meant they’re going to have an enjoyable evening at the movies, and we shouldn’t wait up.”

  “That dirty old man has designs on Mrs. Fitz,” Berry said.

  “I don’t believe this. You’re doing a Mrs. Dugan.”

  “If anything happens to that dear, sweet old lady, I’m holding you personally responsible.”

  “Are you kidding me? I’m worried about Harry.”

  Berry took several pizzas from the oven and shoveled them into boxes. “Is he a really good friend? How long have you known him?”

  Jake looked at his watch. “Forty-five minutes.”

  “What?”

  “I met him in the supermarket. Actually, I had him lined up for Mrs. Dugan. Guess I’ll have to go back to prowling the frozen food section tomorrow. Frozen food is a good place to meet old guys.”

  “You purveyor!” she sputtered, wide-eyed and furious. “I know what you’re up to. I’m not stupid. You’re getting rid of my ladies. You’re getting them out of the house so you can talk about soap!”

  “Yup.”

  “You admit it?”

  “Yup.”

  “That’s despicable.”

  He slouched casually against the counter, hands in his pockets. “Mrs. Fitz and Mrs. Dugan and Miss Gaspich are three terrific ladies. They’re bright and lively and lonely. It doesn’t take a genius to figure out that they’d like some male companionship once in a while. And it doesn’t take a genius to figure out that I’d have to be Houdini to get you into bed with Mrs. Dugan around. I think I’ve reached a creative solution to everyone’s problem.”

  Berry turned on him. “It’s not the ladies who are the problem. You’re the problem. You’re ruining my plan. I don’t want a relationship. I don’t want your tuna salad. I was doing just fine until you came along. For the first time in my life I knew where I was going. I had goals, direction, purpose. I had self-esteem. Now I don’t know what I have. Now I have hot flashes and uncomfortable cravings.”

  Jake looked outrageously pleased at that. “Really?”

  “I don’t need uncomfortable cravings. I need to study my art history. You can understand that, can’t you?” Berry pleaded.

  Jake took a step toward her. “What sort of cravings?”

  “None of your business.”

  “Ah, but it is my business.” He stood so close Berry could feel the warmth from his body swirl around her. “I feel an obligation to take care of these uncomfortable cravings.”

  He didn’t understand, Berry thought sadly. She had plenty of the type of cravings he was referring to, but they weren’t the ones that scared her. It was the pudding cravings, and the baby cravings, that turned her stomach into a churning turmoil. It was the way she felt when she did his laundry and found herself fondling his clean white sweat socks, worrying if they were soft enough, white enough.

  “Right now I’m going to take care of the food craving,” Berry said, digging in to her salad.

  “It’s a start,” Jake said.

  Rain slashed down the plate-glass windows of the Pizza Place, casting the small shop in funereal shadow. The ovens were warm against Berry’s back, but the fluorescent lighting did nothing to dispel the gloom of cold April showers.

  The front door swung open and two bedraggled men entered, stomping the rain off their sneakered feet. Their first reaction was to sniff the air and smile appreciatively.

  “Lady, if I were you, I’d move my bed down here. The pizza smells great.”

  Berry handed them each a slice on a paper plate. “Are you done? Is my carpet all installed?”

  “Yeah. Boy, I was never so glad to be done with a job in my life. Nothing personal, but your apartment really stinks.”

  “There was a fire,” Berry said. “And it’s just been painted.”

  “What kind of paint did you use? That place smells like old socks.”

  The second man shook his head. “Worse than old socks. That place smells like dead socks.”

  Berry looked at Miss Gaspich and Mrs. Fitz. “Maybe I’d better go investigate.”

  She and Jake had checked on it this morning, and it had definitely had a strong paint odor. She hadn’t been able to open the windows because of the rain, but she’d assumed the fumes would have dissipated by now.

  When she reached the top of the stairs her eyes began to sting. Paint, new carpet, dead socks. They were right. It smelled bad, really bad. Worse than this morning. The walls were eggshell white, and the insurance had paid for not the best but not the worst grade of beige wall-to-wall carpet. The windows were sparkling clean. There was insurance money for new curtains and a new couch but no time to shop for them.

  She turned at the sound of footsteps on the stairs and smiled at Jake before he pulled her to him and kissed her hello. Just as he always did. As if they belonged to each other, she thought. Casual husbandly kisses. Hello, good night, good morning.

  Jake wrinkled his nose. “What’s that smell?”

  “It’s my apartment,” she said, moaning. “How am I going to live in this?”

  “Don’t worry. It’s probably just a combination of fresh paint and new carpet. It’ll be better in a few days.”

  Berry felt like screaming. In a few days she’d be a babbling, drooling idiot. She needed to get away from Jake Sawyer. She needed to get out of his bed, out of his house, away from his shower. Especially his shower. A morning shower used to be a wake-up ritual. Now it was an erotic experience that brought her to the breakfast table cracking her knuckles, wondering if Jake was really as good with soapsuds as he claimed.

  Jake looked down at her. “You have a peculiar expression on your face. Sort of desperate.”

  Desperate. The perfect word. She turned from him so he wouldn’t see the fib. “Not desperate. Just disappointed. I’d hoped to move in tonight.”

  “Obviously that’s out of the question. Looks like you’re destined to stay with me a little longer,” he said cheerfully.

  “Maybe it’ll smell better tomorrow.”

  “I doubt it. Not if it keeps raining, and you can’t open the windows.”

&nb
sp; “You seem awfully pleased about all of this.”

  “I like having you in my bed…even if I’m not there with you.”

  Berry was sure her heart stopped beating. It went thud and then there was nothing but singing. Julie Andrews singing that song from The Sound of Music. Plus the Hallelujah Chorus. Sometimes Jake Sawyer said things that knocked Berry off her feet. And truth was, Berry liked being in his bed, too. She liked imagining him next to her, his arm possessively curled across her chest, his lips pressed against her shoulder.

  “Admit it,” Jake said. “You like being in my bed.”

  “It’s very comfy.”

  “And what else?”

  “Nice sheets.”

  “What about me? Don’t you wonder what it would be like to have me in bed next to you?”

  “Never. Absolutely never. And stop grinning like that.”

  “Sometimes you’re such a goose,” he said, draping his arm around her, ushering her down the stairs. “So, how are you and Mrs. Dugan doing today? Selling lots of pizzas?”

  “Mrs. Dugan isn’t working today. Miss Gaspich is working today.”

  He stopped and grasped her shoulders. “Are you kidding me? I asked Mrs. Dugan at the breakfast table, and she said this was her shift.”

  “She decided to trade with Miss Gaspich. It had to do with irregularity, I think.”

  “How could she possibly have irregularity? We’ve got stewed prunes, prune juice, dried prunes, and bran nuggets.”

  “I’m afraid to ask why you’re so concerned about Mrs. Dugan’s work schedule.”

  Jake removed his slicker and wrapped it around Berry’s shoulders. He opened the downstairs door and gave her a push into the rain. “Run for it.”

  Miss Gaspich didn’t bother to look up when Berry and Jake burst into the store. She was instructing a burly elderly gentleman in the art of pizza making. “My goodness, you’re good at this,” she murmured to him.

  “Used to be a cook in the navy. And then when my hitch was done I was a butcher. Ran my own shop for forty years, until I retired seven years ago.” He shook his head. “Should never have retired. Life is damn boring. The wife and I were going to travel, but she died before we did much of anything.”

  “I’m sorry,” Miss Gaspich whispered.

  He made a dismissive gesture with his hand. “It’s okay. We had a good life together.”

  Berry glared at Jake. “You’ve done it again.”

  “He was supposed to be for Mrs. Dugan.”

  “You were going to fix Mrs. Dugan up with a man who has a tattoo on his arm?”

  Jake grinned. “It’s an anchor.”

  Miss Gaspich slid the pizza into an oven and waved to Berry. “This is William Kozinski. I was showing him how to make pizza.”

  William Kozinski extended his hand. “Bill. I’m Jake’s friend.”

  Berry looked at him through slitted eyes. “Of course you are.”

  “Everyone wants pizza delivered tonight,” Miss Gaspich said. “No one wants to go out in the rain.”

  Jake balanced the boxes in his arms. “Come on, Berry. You drive. I’ll deliver.”

  Berry looked around. “Where’s Mrs. Fitz?”

  “She just left.” Miss Gaspich beamed. “She had a date!”

  Bill held up his large butcher’s hand. “Don’t worry about a thing. Mildred and I can handle things here. You young folks go off and do your deliveries.”

  Berry turned to Jake. “I’m not leaving this geriatric Lothario alone with my cash register,” she whispered.

  “He’s my sister’s father-in-law.”

  “Oh.”

  Berry slid behind the wheel and turned the key. Rain buffeted the car and dark clouds roiled overhead. “Where’s the first delivery?”

  “Sudley Road.”

  Berry faced him. “Sudley Road? That’s pretty far away. Don’t we have anything closer?”

  “Nope.”

  Another one of those nights, she thought, sighing. It was hard to make money when she was driving all over the county. In fact, the profit on these nighttime deliveries was marginal once she surpassed a three-mile radius. Heat from the pizzas drifted forward, warming Berry’s neck, and the cozy aroma of fresh-baked dough filled the car.

  Jake relaxed in the seat next to her, content with his role of riding shotgun. Berry watched him from the corner of her eye and thought that sometimes life was very comfortable with Jake. There wasn’t the need to fill every moment with chatter. In fact, if she had to analyze her feelings for him, she would have to admit to feeling…married. It was especially disconcerting since she had been legally married to Allen for four years and never once felt this companionable affection. Life was strange, and there was no accounting for emotions. Emotions went their own way willy-nilly, without consulting The Plan.

  Jake sat up straighter as they turned onto Sudley and checked the house numbers. “The white ranch on the left.” He grabbed the pizza box and splashed his way to the front door. By the time he got back he was soaked.

  Berry grimaced at the sight of his ruined loafers. She should never have let him do the deliveries. He wouldn’t accept any pay. Yet every day he came directly from school and worked at the Pizza Place until closing. The fact that she was beginning to rely on his help only compounded her feelings of guilt.

  After the third delivery he didn’t bother with the hood to his jacket. He couldn’t get any wetter. After the seventh pizza he took his shoes off and rolled his pants to midcalf. It was six o’clock and getting dark.

  “That’s it,” he announced, squishing into the car. “I’m going home. I’m not delivering any more pizzas.”

  Berry looked in the backseat. “We have one last delivery.”

  “Too bad. Let them eat cereal. I’m cold and I’m wet and this whole thing is stupid. You’re not even making any money on these deliveries.”

  “But I always deliver.”

  “Not any more you don’t. We’re going home to talk.”

  “Just what are we going to talk about?”

  “We’re going to talk about this pizza business. Then we’re going to talk about us.”

  “There’s nothing to discuss. My pizza business is doing fine, and there’s no us. What we have is a living arrangement soon to be terminated. I don’t mean to sound ungrateful. You’ve been very kind—”

  “Kind?” he shouted. “You think I’m kind?”

  “Well, yes.”

  “I’ve been kind to your three old ladies, but I haven’t been kind to you.”

  “What have you been?”

  “Waiting, mostly. Trying to get rid of Mrs. Dugan. I can’t get ten minutes alone with you. The only time we’re alone is when we’re delivering pizzas, and then I’m busy with my nose in a map or you’re falling asleep on the seat beside me. Your lifestyle is not conducive to romance.”

  “I know that, Sherlock.” Berry turned into Ellenburg Drive. “I’ve told you before. I don’t have time for romance.”

  “Wrong. You don’t want to have time for romance.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “It means you’re still running scared from your first marriage.” His finger lightly stroked her cheek. “Let it go, Berry. Give yourself a chance to fall in love again.”

  “You don’t understand. I have goals.”

  “You make falling in love sound like a terminal illness.”

  Berry pulled into the garage and cut the ignition. “I feel guilty about this last pizza.”

  “I don’t. I’m sure the people who ordered it have already eaten something else. It took us almost two hours to deliver seven pizzas in this damn rain. Let’s heat it up in the warming oven and eat it.” He opened the kitchen door for Berry and set the pizza on the counter. “I’ll be right back. I’m going to take a hot shower and change my clothes.”

  Berry paced in the kitchen. Jake was wrong. She didn’t make herself busy just to avoid romance. Did she? Of course not. But if she did, it was for g
ood reason. She had priorities. She had a plan. Damn that plan. She was beginning to hate it, and it was all Jake’s fault. He made her dissatisfied. He dangled all sorts of forbidden pleasures under her nose. For crying out loud, she’d had a hard enough time doing without butterscotch pudding—now she had romance added to her list.

  She heard the water stop running in the upstairs bathroom. Jake was done with his shower. She popped the pizza into the warming oven and hastily scribbled a note telling Jake she’d gone back to the Pizza Place to help Miss Gaspich. Was she running away from romance? Darn right she was.

  Miss Gaspich looked up when Berry walked in. “Did you get all the pizzas delivered?” she asked. “I was worried about you out there in this rain. It’s a real soaker.”

  “I was fine,” Berry said, “but Jake almost drowned. He’s home drying off.”

  “We didn’t have any walk-in business and no new orders so I’m just cleaning up. I’m almost done. Bill is coming over, and we’re going out for dessert and coffee. He’s such a nice man.”

  “I know almost nothing about you,” Berry said. “You never talk about yourself.”

  “Not much to tell,” Miss Gaspich said. “I was a personal secretary to the president of an insurance company for fifty years. I took the job right out of high school, and when my boss died at age eighty-three I retired. That was five years ago. I gave up my apartment and moved into the hotel for ladies on my pension and small savings. I never thought I’d find myself living in a train station. I suppose I should have put more away for a rainy day, but I always thought…” Miss Gaspich gave her head a shake. “I don’t know what I thought. I never had a good head for business.”

  “Never married?”

  “No. The right man never came along, and I wasn’t the one to settle. I always had a cat.”

  Berry entered the darkened kitchen on tiptoe. It was twelve o’clock, and if she had any luck at all, no one would wake up. She inched across the floor, waiting for her eyes to adjust to the dim light, and almost screamed out loud when she stumbled into Jake.