Sam stopped two feet from the edge of the desk and waited for him to acknowledge her.
After several long minutes, he looked up and his face brightened. “Hello, Kitten.”
“Daddy,” Sam groaned, “I’m seventeen.”
“You’re still my good little girl, aren’t you?” His chiseled chin gave him an air of distinction, but Sam knew not to cross him, because behind those kind, blue eyes was a man used to getting what he wanted. Their family didn’t own most of the real estate in Clarksonville County because her father was a softy.
Sam folded her arms across her chest. “How was your trip to Albany?”
“Ahh, politicians,” he flicked his hand dismissively and leaned back in the chair, “pompous fools, every last one of them.”
“So why do you give them money?”
He smiled at her with a twinkle in his eye. “Kitten, let Daddy worry about those things. Go play your violin for your mother’s company.” Clearly having dismissed her, he turned his attention back to the papers on his desk.
“Okay, Daddy.” She turned to go, feeling slighted. Her father thought she couldn’t possibly understand politics or the family finances. He still thinks I’m his good little girl. There was no way he’d ever give his little kitten permission to stay at the lake house with her friends. Not when he thought she was still nine years old. And he would positively freak if he suspected his perfect little kitten was a lesbian. Defeated, she reached for the door knob. Just as she touched it, she remembered Lisa’s Aunt Fran told her once that she and Lisa looked grown up. Maybe it was time for her father to see it, too.
She spun on her heels, adrenaline pumping. “Daddy, I know I asked you before,” she hesitated for a moment, trying to find the right words. She forced herself to look up at him. “I’d like to take some friends to the lake house. Weekend after next.”
“No,” he said without hesitation. “It’s not a good idea for you girls to be alone on the lake. It’s not secure.” He shook his head. “And I don’t know these new friends of yours.”
“You know Susie, and you met Lisa on the yacht.”
“Samantha Rose,” he glared at her over the top of his reading glasses, “I said no.”
“Okay, fine.” She cursed herself for giving in so quickly. God, how she wished she had a backbone. She slunk out of his study, tail between her legs.
Once in the hallway, she smoothed down her bright yellow sundress and made sure her hair was still securely tacked on top of her head. She took a deep breath and steeled herself to greet the ladies who lunch.
Stepping into the music room, she wasn’t surprised that Mrs. Worthington was among the first few guests. Mrs. Worthington was probably in her fifties, like Sam’s mother, but had her nose so far up her mother’s butt, it wasn’t funny.
“Samantha Rose, darling.” Mrs. Worthington leaned in for a two-cheek kiss.
Sam obliged, kissing the air on either side of the woman’s cheeks, desperately trying not to inhale her hairspray.
Sam stepped as far back as protocol allowed. “It’s nice to see you again, Mrs. Worthington.”
“You look lovely, dear. How is school?”
Sam didn’t bat an eye. The first rule of entertaining was to put guests at ease. So what if Mrs. Worthington didn’t know that school was still out for summer. It was Sam’s duty as Mimi and Gerald Payton’s only child to play junior hostess and make guests feel comfortable.
“Senior year starts in about a week and a half, but I expect it to be a good experience.” Sam stifled a laugh. A good experience? Oh my God, that was so cheesy.
“Well, that’s nice, dear,” Mrs. Worthington said with a smile.
“Thank you for coming today.” Sam nodded and then stepped back releasing Mrs. Worthington to join the entourage building around her mother.
Helene scurried around like a pro answering the door and serving tea to the steady stream of women arriving for the committee meeting. Several years before, Sam had helped Helene answer the door, but her mother reamed them both out afterward. It wasn’t Sam’s place, her mother had told her. Let the servants take care of those things. Since when was Helene a servant? Sam always thought of Helene as a member of the family.
Sam shot Helene a sympathetic smile, which was returned. Sam wished she could have stayed in her room that afternoon to get ready for her six o’clock game, but she remembered her role as debutante and approached a group of women who had been watching her. All of her life people had stared at her. It had been unnerving when she was younger, but, over time, she learned to ignore the unwanted attention. Still, in the back of her mind she always wondered what people wanted from her. For whatever reason, a smile or a word from Samantha Rose made them happy. Sometimes she wanted to shout at them to leave her alone, that there was more to her than the debutante puppet Samantha Rose Payton—the princess of Clarksonville County. She hated every minute of it, but put on her practiced smile and greeted her mother’s guests warmly.
She steadily worked her way through the guests, and after what seemed like forever, stood next to her mother.
“Samantha Rose dear,” her mother said as if surprised to see her. “Would you favor us by playing a few selections?” She gestured toward the Stradivarius displayed on the closed grand piano. Apparently all the guests had arrived, and it was time for the puppet show to begin.
“Of course, Mother.” Sam went to her violin and placed it delicately under her chin. She quietly tuned the strings.
“Is everyone here?” Sam’s mother said.
Mrs. Worthington did a quick count and nodded.
Sam’s mother clapped her hands twice to get the women’s attention. “If everyone has their tea, please be seated.”
One thin woman held up her empty hands and frowned as if to say she had rudely not been offered tea. Sam couldn’t get over how emaciated the woman was. She looked like a walking skeleton. Obviously the woman thought you could never be too rich or too thin. Unfortunately, her mother adhered to the same philosophy.
Sam’s mother gestured toward Helene to wheel the silver tea service cart over. Helene obliged and poured hot water into a china cup. She offered the woman a selection of tea bags.
Sam methodically applied rosin to the bow giving the walking skeleton enough time to fix her tea. Sam waited for her mother’s introduction.
“Thank you for playing for us this morning, Samantha Rose.” Her mother turned toward her seated guests. “Samantha has been playing the violin since she was three. Isn’t that right, dear?”
Sam smiled graciously and nodded. The puppet was designed to please.
“Whenever you’re ready.” Her mother sat down.
Sam lifted her head high in performance mode. She played the opening measures of Spring from Vivaldi’s The Four Seasons and heard murmurs of approval. She’d learned over the years to play music her mother’s guests would recognize, otherwise they got bored. She’d learned that lesson the hard way when she was in middle school. At one of her mother’s luncheons, she had played a particularly challenging piece and overheard one of the women later complaining how the piece went on and on and on.
Through many trials, she found familiar music and strung them together in medleys, not staying with one piece for too long, in case the music went “on and on and on.” She wanted to throw Turkey in the Straw into the mix, but her mother admonished her by saying redneck fiddle music would never be played under her roof. Sam laughed privately at her mother’s ignorance. She hoped one day to be as good as some of the “redneck” fiddle players she’d heard.
After the Vivaldi, she switched to Brahms and played a sampling from the Hungarian Dance Numbers Six and Seven. When she saw some of the women’s smiles fade, she turned it up a notch with Rossini’s William Tell Overture. Of course, most of the women probably knew it as The Theme from the Lone Ranger, but who cared? It was a fun piece to play.
Her hair came loose from its tight bun as she flung the bow frantically over the strin
gs. She was working up a sweat, but that couldn’t be helped. She hoped her eye cover hadn’t run. Mustn’t ruin Mother’s luncheon no matter what.
Sam pulled her bow across the strings one last frantic time and ended the piece abruptly. After a surprised silence, the women erupted with applause. Sam lowered her bow and violin and bowed politely.
Sam’s mother stood up. “I know I’m biased, but isn’t she wonderful?”
The group clapped again, Mrs. Worthington the loudest.
“Mother,” Sam said, “you should play something for us.” She gestured toward the piano as she put her violin back in its case as if she were done playing for the day. They both knew she was not.
“Oh, I don’t know.” Her mother put a hand to the pearls hanging from her neck.
“Yes, please do.” There was Mrs. Worthington right on cue. She didn’t even know she was part of the script. The other women added their voices and encouraged Sam’s mother to play for them.
“Well, all right,” Sam’s mother agreed and headed toward the piano, “but you should play with me, Samantha Rose.”
Sam had moved off to the side of the room out of the spotlight. “Very well, Mother. Shall we play Forgotten Dreams?”
“Yes, that would be lovely.”
Of course earlier that morning they had practiced the piece several times, but the guests didn’t need to know that. Sam pulled the violin back out of its case and took a moment to retune while her mother got settled behind the piano. Sam placed the violin under her chin and lifted her head indicating to her mother she was ready. Her mother played the first note, and Sam joined in softly behind the piano lead. Eventually Sam took over the piece as planned. Her mother continued to play underneath the violin for most of the song until the end when Sam pulled back and let her mother have the grand finale moment. When they finished, the guests leaped to their feet and clapped. Sam’s mother shot Sam a grateful smile, and Sam’s heart swelled because her mother’s genuine smiles were so very few and far between.
Sam reached for her mother’s hand. They bowed together to more clapping and cheering. Her mother gave her a stiff hug and then invited the women into the dining room for lunch.
Sam sighed, happy because that part in the puppet show was over. Now all she had to do was make it through the luncheon. She placed her violin and bow back in the case. She needed to hustle upstairs and lock it in her room for safekeeping.
Sam headed up the stairs as quickly as she could without running. Mustn’t keep the ladies waiting. Once in her room, she locked the violin in its cupboard and smoothed in her eye cover. Satisfied she wouldn’t embarrass her mother, she scurried down the hall and down the stairs. She slowed her pace as she neared the dining room, and did an invisible happy dance when she saw she had been placed at the last seat on the left side of the table with no one in front of her. Her mother sat at the head with the walking skeleton on one side and Mrs. Worthington on the other. Sam introduced herself to the woman she would be sitting next to throughout the luncheon. Mrs. Smyth was a relative newcomer to the committee, and her grin gave away the fact she was excited to be sitting next to the princess. And the puppet show continues.
Helene and their part-time cook, Mrs. Tardelli, brought out bowls of cold dill soup for the first course. Mrs. Tardelli wore cooking whites, and Helene had put on a full-sized apron over her usual dark skirt and white blouse. Sam felt bad that Helene had to play so many different roles at the luncheon. Just once it would be nice if Helene could sit down and eat with them, instead of serving them.
Sam bit down her irritation and took a hefty spoonful of the soup. She was absolutely starving. Playing the violin always did that to her. Well, that and not eating breakfast. She dug in for another spoonful, but caught her mother’s disapproving glare. Sam nodded once and put her spoon down. “One must eat like a bird,” her mother had drilled into her, “especially around guests.” Helene would, hopefully, bring her a sandwich later like she usually did.
Sam made it through the luncheon, eating enough chicken Caesar salad to curb her hunger, but not enough for her mother to shoot her another disapproving glare. Sam was envious of the women, like Mrs. Smyth, who didn’t realize they were supposed to demurely pick at their food instead of actually eat it. After forever, her mother announced that coffee and dessert were to be served in the music room with the committee meeting after that. Sam held her breath hoping she wouldn’t hear the words, “Join us, Samantha Rose.”
Sam’s mother finally nodded; it was their private signal for Sam to excuse herself. Sam almost sighed out loud in relief. She said her goodbyes and walked out of the dining room calmly instead of fleeing the way she wanted to. She didn’t even care that she had to hide out in her room for a couple of hours until it was time to leave for her game against the Black Widows. The ladies who lunch would be long gone by then, which was good because it would have been a big no-no to be seen in her softball uniform. Such a tomboy activity was most definitely not befitting Samantha Rose the debutante. Her mother hated the fact that she played softball, but Dr. Boyle had convinced Sam’s mother it was okay for Sam to participate in the “rough-andtumble” sport as her mother called it. He’d said it would be a good way for Sam to make friends, since she’d had none three years before when she first started ninth grade. They hoped it would relieve Sam’s stress and reduce the frequency of migraines. It had helped, not completely, but some.
Sam was about to bolt up the stairs to her room, when the front door opened. Rolando, her father’s driver, stepped into the foyer. His black suit and white shirt were neatly pressed as always. He was an older Italian man with graying dark hair and a pencil-thin mustache that made him look distinctly European. He had been her father’s driver ever since she could remember.
Sam practically skipped back to the foyer to greet him. Even though she was trying to convince everyone that she was a mature young woman, she always felt nine years old around Rolando.
“How are you today, Miss Samantha Rose?” Rolando gave her a quick hug.
“Fine.” She looked up at him expectantly.
His eyes twinkled as he deliberately avoided her gaze by looking up at the chandelier.
Sam cleared her throat.
“Was there something you needed, Miss?” His face broke into a grin.
She pushed out her lower lip in a boo-boo face.
“Don’t cry, mia bella ragazza.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a butterscotch candy.
Her boo-boo face shot into a smile as she took the candy from his hand. “Thanks, Rolando.”
He bowed slightly and chuckled.
“I’ll tell Daddy you’re here.”
“Thank you, Miss.”
She coughed as she neared her father’s study, so he would know she was approaching. She knocked, waited for him to say, “Come,” and then opened the door.
“Rolando’s here, Daddy.”
“Thank you, Kitten.” He didn’t look up.
She turned to go, but hesitated, hoping he’d changed his mind about the lake house. She glanced back at him, but he was so absorbed in his work that he didn’t even notice her. With a sigh, she walked out and headed to the stairs. Maybe she’d go back to bed and dream about Lisa until it was time to pick up Susie for the game.
Chapter Four
Never Let Them See You Cry
SAM PULLED THE convertible into Susie’s driveway and popped the trunk. Susie leaped off the hood of her rusty Toyota and tossed her softball bag in the open trunk.
“Top down,” Susie said as she hopped into the passenger seat. “Nice. Hey, guess what?”
“What?” Sam backed the car out of the driveway and headed toward Sandstoner Fields. And toward Lisa. She grinned; she couldn’t help it.
“Aay, wait a second. You’re grinning like un gato. Are there new developments in the, uh, amor department?”
“No.” Sam felt her face flush. “Just shuddup, okay? I’m working on it.”
“Aay, touch
y, touchy.” Susie grabbed Sam by the arm. “Guess who got a job in the Science Center at the college?”
“Hmm,” Sam teased. “Marlee?”
Susie shook Sam’s arm. “No.”
“Your angel of a brother, Miguel?”
“No!”
Sam couldn’t keep a straight face and laughed. “That’s awesome Sus. When do you start?”
“Tomorrow.”
“On a Friday?”
Susie nodded. “Yep. Orientation. They’re going to show me around, and I’ll meet the professors and some of the students and stuff. It’s gonna be so cool.”
“You’re such a science geek.” Sam smiled at her friend, hoping that Susie’s new job would work out better than the last one had. “No more babysitting?”
“Dios, never again.” Susie rolled her eyes. “Anyway, let me tell you what I’ll be doing.” Susie rambled on excitedly about setting up labs and helping the professors. She rambled on so long it took up the entire drive to the field. Sam had contributed three, maybe four, words to the entire conversation.
Sam pulled the car into the Sandstoner Fields parking lot. Her heart quickened when she spotted Lisa and Marlee waiting for them near Marlee’s van. A delicious tingling overtook her at the sight of Lisa.
Sam put the convertible’s top up and popped the trunk. She checked her eyeliner in the rear view mirror one last time. Lisa once said Sam looked sexy wearing eyeliner, so Sam made sure she wore it all the time. Satisfied it hadn’t smudged, she bolted out of the car and grabbed her gear from the trunk. She shouldered her bag and ran toward Lisa and Marlee, not waiting for Susie.
Lisa put her arms out, and Sam flew into them. After a moment, she reluctantly let go.
Susie walked up calmly and coolly and gave her own girlfriend a quick hug.
Marlee turned to Sam. “Any news about the lake house?”
“Sus,” Sam glared at Susie, “you weren’t supposed to say anything yet.”
Stealing Second: Sam's Story: Book 4 in the Clarksonville Series Page 3
