“I made dinner,” Bitsy threw in, but from the smell of what was coming from the kitchen, I wasn’t sure I wanted any. She was not known for her cooking; a fact she readily admitted. “It’s a sort of skillet burrito but I used cornbread mix ‘cause we were out of tortillas.”
“You know what? Why don’t you save that for your lunch tomorrow? I got paid today and I’m going to take us out on the town tonight to celebrate. I saw Mrs. Heathrow on the way up and she’d be glad to watch Carrie.”
Bitsy dropped the book she was reading. “Really? You’re buying? Wow, I haven’t been out to have fun in a long, long time.”
“Sure, I mean it. You know, I’ve been meaning to ask you. Doesn’t your job get to you? I mean, all those emergencies, that stress, the sad stories?”
“Nope,” she answered, unfolding her bent leg from beneath the other as she stood up and stretched. “I figure for every sad ending; my job makes it possible for there to be a dozen happy ones.”
I nodded. “A good way to look at it. Listen, I’m going to take Carrie down to Mrs. Heathrow. Why don’t you take your turn in the shower and then I’ll take mine—if you leave me any hot water, that is,” I grinned slyly. “Hey, why don’t you call some of our friends and tell them we’re going down to Pier 101. Maybe they’d like to meet us there?”
“Wow, this sounds like a whole party.”
“Why not? Oh, but Bitsy… I’m only treating you and myself. The others are on their own, okay?”
“Hmmm… sounds like you’re not quite the Miss Moneybags you’d like me to think. You sure you can do this?”
“I’m sure. Go on, get in the water. I’ll be back up in about ten minutes.” I packed a quick bag for Carrie, tossing in a couple of bottles, diapers, a change of jammies and her favorite teething ring and cuddly doll. Her dark eyes watched me, and I think she sensed I was going to leave because she started crying. I picked her up and loved on her, rocking her until she drifted off to sleep in my arms. Grabbing the bag for my shoulder, I crept downstairs and tapped on Mrs. Heathrow’s door. I handed her the bag and then Carrie. “I’ll bring down the porta-crib in a few minutes on my way out. She’ll be fine on her blanket on the floor until I get back. Thank you!” I added and took the stairs two at a time.
I laid out some leather leggings and a new, low-cut top I’d picked up at work in a weak moment. Bitsy slept on the pull-out since we needed a room with a door for Carrie and that’s where I slept, too. “Use your vanity?” she asked lightly as she passed me and didn’t wait for an answer. It almost felt like a holiday.
After my shower, I quickly dried my hair and pulled out my make-up. I used the sparkle eye shadow—something I couldn’t possibly wear to the more sedate atmosphere at the store. I grabbed the porta-crib and my handbag, and we were off!
“I didn’t get a chance to ask. Were you able to find anyone who wanted to join us?” Bitsy and I were walking to Pier 101. We were only a few blocks away and walking so that we didn’t have to watch how much we drank. Our neighborhood was safe, if a bit ragged looking.
“Oh, yes, Tim said he’s coming and bringing somebody. Marcy will bring the girls as soon as they’re out of work, which should be about anytime now. But you and I both know that the idea is to meet new people,” she said, winking at me.
“My idea is to have a relaxing evening out, and I appreciate knowing a few people there. It’s always awkward to get up and dance when you don’t have a partner.”
We arrived at Pier 101, a short line had already begun to form outside the double doors. There was a bouncer checking for the usual; guns, drugs, hidden flasks. When he came to me, he just smiled and patted me on the rump. I drew in my breath, but then consider he could’ve patted a whole lot more. I had to remember that he was protecting me as well as everyone else inside. “You have fun, now, you hear?” he said, winking at me. I hoped my night was going to be a little more interesting than being hit on by the bouncer.
Inside, dance music practically made the walls shudder. Spectrums of light bounced off ceiling, floors and walls, making the atmosphere feel frenetic. Bitsy went to scope out a table while I went to get us a couple of drinks. They didn’t have a cover charge here, but you were expected to have a drink. Bitsy liked the colored, frothy drinks. Those had always sent me to the bathroom to lose it before the night was over, so I chose Scotch and water. I hated the taste, which prompted me to sip slowly. That way I stayed sober enough to know what I was doing but just tipsy enough to enjoy doing it.
I found Bitsy at a large table, surrounded by the friends she promised were coming. I had to admit it was much better being part of the group. “Oh, that looks just delicious,” Bitsy squealed, taking the pink drink in a margarita glass I held out to her. “You always know just what I like.” She spilled a little in her lap and her mouth formed a guilty O and then she broke out in giggles. That was normal Bitsy.
I sat down, and we started a shouting conversation between us. Some of the people I didn’t know, but others I just hadn’t seen for quite a while. Of course, in my case, quite a while wasn’t all that long since I’d only recently moved to town. Talking felt like walking against the current, it just didn’t make any sense in this over-the-top atmosphere.
I looked up to see Tim standing next to me. “You want to dance?” he asked, jerking his head in the direction of the dance floor.
I nodded and slid out of the booth, following him.
There are a few things to be said for dance music. It is so unmemorable that when you go home at night, there is no tune running through your head as you try to go to sleep. It is also not romantic. You can dance with a perfect stranger and not feel obligated to touch them. And it is as equally hard to maintain a conversation while dancing as it is sitting in a booth. For all these reasons, I let myself go and let the bass feed my heartbeat.
Tim just smiled at me from time to time and nodded, a friendly gesture that made me feel comfortable with him. I’d suspected he had an interest in me for a while, but he wasn’t my type and I certainly wasn’t able to party with his crowd. I was a mother and a career woman and those two had to take precedence. The music changed, and I started some new moves, stepping from my left to my right. I came back to forward and saw that Tim was standing to one side, shrugging. In front of me was someone entirely different. To my amazement, it was the man from the trial, the defendant. How the hell had he gotten there?
Tim was gesturing with his hand, asking if it was okay that he wanted to sit down. I rolled my eyes and nodded for him to go ahead, not at all happy with the change in dance partner. Despite the overwhelming noise, I asked, “What are you doing here?”
“I came by to dance and saw you out here on the floor. I recognized you as the girl in my jury and I was a little surprised. Quite a coincidence, wouldn’t you say?”
I hadn’t liked his attitude in the courtroom, so much so that I think I’d already found him guilty before the trial even began. It was probably better that it never came to a jury decision. There was an arrogance about him, as though he expected the world about him. It reminded me of someone, someone who had dealt a major blow to my future. I couldn’t be friendly. “I don’t remember inviting you.”
“Is this a private party?” he taunted me, feigning surprise by jerking his head backward. I saw the muscles in his throat, heavy and strong. Everything about him suggested power.
“This wasn’t a coincidence, was it?”
He laughed a little. “No, not really.”
“Are you saying you’ve been following me?”
He stopped dancing then and took me by the hand, pulling me from the dance floor toward the bar in the corner of the room. It was only slightly quieter there but at least you could hold a conversation. “I’ll put my cards on the table. I saw you walk into the jury box. I liked your attitude.”
“My attitude?”
“You didn’t like me, did you?”
He was perceptive, at least. “Well, here comes my cards on the
table. No, I didn’t like what I saw.”
“And what did you see?”
“I saw a man who believed in his own power, dressed in a suit that was costumed to make him look modest and innocent, but his face couldn’t hide his disdain for the people and situations around him.”
He signaled the bartender, who must’ve known him because he returned instantly with two glasses of wine. I shook my head and pushed one away. “I have a drink at my table.”
“We’ll talk first and then I’ll take you to your table,” he said in a commanding voice.
I could feel the hackles begin to rise but there was something compelling about his presence. Was I falling for that “I’m so powerful” routine?
He sipped his wine and I could see it was an opportunity to think through his next words. “Good girl, you don’t pull any punches. That said, I think you might have misread what you saw on my face. The truth is that neither you nor I should have ever been in that room that day. I was being set up. The man who brought suit against me fabricated the story and I have a bad feeling that someone put him up to it.”
“So, you were innocent? Isn’t that what they all say?”
“Do you automatically assume everyone who walks into a courtroom is guilty?”
I didn’t hesitate. “Aren’t we all guilty of something? Large or small?”
“What are you guilty of?” He turned and settled both elbows on the bar as if my response would take some thought. His question took my breath for a moment. The words that filled the air between us were like verbal swords, parrying to size up the opponent like two determined fencers.
“Perhaps I was guilty of jumping to a conclusion about you. Would that be fair?”
“That would be fair,” he nodded. He took another sip of his wine as though he were looking for his next moves. “You’re here alone.” It was a statement, not a question.
I could be equally misleading. “No, as a matter of fact, I’m not.”
“Ree-aa-lly?” He dragged out the word, evidence of his disbelief. His voice was mesmerizing. It was deep and a little raspy, textured, and emotional. I hadn’t noticed from the distance of the jury box that his eyes were a brilliant blue, contrasting with raven’s wing black hair. As a blonde, I resented the dumb blonde jokes and it always wished that I had black hair. A part of my womanhood heated up and I realized I was attracted to him. I quickly thought of something else, unwilling to give up my first impression of him. “So, why don’t you introduce me to your friends? Let’s see if anyone claims you?” he needled me.
“Are you calling me a liar?”
“Of course not. I’d just like to see your date.”
I nodded, pushed the goblet of wine in the bartender’s direction and swiveled the stool so I could bypass the dance floor and walk to my table. Once I got there, I squeezed in next to Tim and wrapped my arm beneath his, laying my cheek on his shoulder. “Tim, this man doesn’t believe you are my date.”
Tim’s face took on a puzzled look. “Well…” I knew I’d made a mistake. Tim had a thing for another guy so there could be nothing but friendship between us. I pinched him beneath the table, hoping he would catch on. He did. “Of course, she’s my date. Did you forget it was my shoulder you tapped on to dance with her?”
The Stillman guy grinned wickedly. “Okay, okay, have it your own way,” he said with a knowing look. We’d made it worse, not believable. He looked toward the entrance and signaled someone. A man walked over to our table. His face was affable, and he certainly didn’t resemble Stillman at all. He was considerably shorter, fair in coloring with a light sprinkle of freckles across his full face. “My friend, William Clark, although friends call him Buddy,” he introduced. Yes, he looked like a Buddy.
Bitsy’s face lit up; there was fresh, untried male in the vicinity! “Hi, Buddy,” she said, going straight for the familiarity jugular. “There’s room here for you next to me.”
To my great surprise, Buddy seemed to like the idea and the people next to Bitsy piled out of the booth to let him take a seat next to her. She grabbed an empty glass, poured beer into it from a pitcher on the table and handed it to him. “So, Buddy, tell me all about yourself.” I knew Bitsy had already had too many pink fizzles; she was obviously gregariously drunk.
Stillman looked at me. I suppose he was waiting for a likewise invitation. I ignored him, clung to Tim’s arm and studied the dancers. “No?” he asked.
I continued to look past him. “I guess not,” he said and dragged a chair from another table to sit somewhat opposite me—just enough to block my view of the dance floor. He signaled a waiter who soon reappeared with bottles of champagne and stemmed flutes for everyone at the table. He was followed by more waiters with trays filled with expensive finger food like shrimp, caviar, small crustless sandwiches and the most delicious-looking squares of some sort of pasta. My tummy growled but I ignored it all and stuck with my nasty Scotch. Stillman just grinned at me as he passed around the food and drink.
“So, Miss Patterson, I wonder if you would share with me, and of course, the group, just what it was that you saw in me that made me your instant enemy?” There were several gasps around the table. He’d bought my own friends away from me and I was steaming.
“You think you’re entitled to be right,” I said and there was silence at the table as the others waited for his response. It was golden.
“I usually am,” he said arrogantly and tossed a shrimp into his mouth with the accuracy of an NBA player slamming the hoop. He was wearing a thick, Norwegian sweater that made his muscled shoulders even broader. Damn that stirring in my tummy!
“What gives you the superiority to think you’re always right?” I threw at him.
“No, I mean I usually am right. I make it my business to have all the facts and then form an opinion…” he said casually and then added, “…unlike some people who jump to conclusions.” There was another small gasp around the table and I knew I’d lost point, set and match. I wanted to slap him and then kiss him, in that order. What was wrong with me?
Stillman stayed in his place, eating, drinking, and telling stories to the others of his travels around the world. He talked about his father and it was apparent he’d been raised with manners… and with money. He had me trapped and that made me furious. If I ignored him and got up to dance, he’d follow me. If I stayed in my seat, I had to listen with the others because he was certainly monopolizing the conversation. All except for his friend, Buddy. It seemed that Bitsy had hooked herself a live one because she was chattering in drunken animation and Buddy couldn’t take his eyes off her.
“Ms. Patterson, would you care to dance?” Stillman asked, deliberately calling me by my last name. He knew everyone at the table already.
I shook my head and leaned into Tim.
“I see. Well, it appears I’ve outstayed my welcome,” he said smoothly and stood up. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a white card, sliding it across the table until it came to rest against my breasts that slightly topped the table. His fingers lingered, and I could feel my nipples harden. Damn him! “Here’s my card. Send me a text when you’re available,” he said with a wink in Tim’s direction. “I’ll be waiting to hear from you. Buddy?”
“I’ll find my own way home, Colt,” Buddy called out and Stillman gave him a thumbs-up. He nodded to me and turned away, raising a fingertip to signal a man who was leaning against the wall of the dance club. The man, dressed in a black suit, had an earpiece that glinted in the colored lights. It was obvious he was not there to drink or dance but followed Stillman five paces behind as they left the club.
“Who in the world was that?” Bitsy could hardly contain herself.
I shrugged. “Just the guy on trial. Remember, I told you I had jury duty?”
“That’s Colt Stillman. One of the finest guys you could ever hope to know,” Buddy chimed in.
Bitsy leaned forward and picked up the card, holding it into the light of the candle at the center of our t
able. Her mouth formed an O. “Do you know who that is?”
I pretended nonchalance. “I told you—he’s the guy from the trial.”
Bitsy passed the card around the table. “Never mind that. That guy is like a bazillionaire! He owns skyscrapers all over town. He’s like the most eligible bachelor there is. How did you happen to run into him?”
“He followed me here.” I tried to say it quickly and briefly, so no one would make a big deal out of it, but Bitsy’s description was far more interesting than my own explanation.
“Oh, my God, are you kidding? He’s interested in you?”
“Is that so hard to believe?” I felt a little insulted that Bitsy thought I was not desirable enough to attract someone like Stillman, but I didn’t want to let on that I found him the least bit intriguing.
Tim spoke up. “So, what was this thing about being my date?”
I pushed at his arm and gave them a quick peck on the cheek. “Sorry to spring on you like that. He was trying to pick me up and I wanted him to think that I was with a guy.”
“Well, I am a guy, but I don’t think he bought the idea that I was your date. I could tell by the look in his eyes, he knew you were lying.”
I shrugged again. “Doesn’t matter,” I said nonchalantly as I scanned the room. “You know, Bitsy? I guess I didn’t realize how tired I am. I’m going to go ahead and walk home, but here,” I reached into my purse and pulled out two $20 bills and slid them into her hand. She looked down and nodded.
“Sure you don’t want me to go with you?” I knew she was being polite; she was wrapped all over Buddy.
“No, you stay and have a good time. It’s been a long day. I’m going to grab Carrie and go home to bed.” Bitsy looked immensely relieved and she waved briefly and blew me a kiss. Voices from around the table said goodnight as I picked up my bag, tossed down one more sip of the wretched Scotch and headed out the door. Within an hour, both Carrie and I were sound asleep. Bitsy told me the next morning that as soon as I left, the conversation turned to everyone plotting to get me into Stillman’s hands, including her new friend, Buddy. Didn’t people have anything better to do?
Mine to Protect Page 4
