Lady Be Good

by Nancy Martin

  “Yes, actually.”

  “How’s it going so far?”

  Rather than tell him she was having a hard time making the transition to a public persona, Grace decided to stick to travel talk. “Until today, everything has been relatively smooth.”

  “Yeah,” he said sympathetically. “The winters around here can spoil the best laid plans. Two weeks ago, they had to cancel the hockey game for weather, and believe me, that never happens. Where are you headed now? If you’re going to the airport, I mean.”

  There had to be a graceful way of terminating such a familiar conversation but none was coming to mind. Anyway, Grace found herself oddly remembering the way his arms felt about her. And changing a tire for an elderly storm victim was an act of kindness that hardly happened anymore except on a movie screen. Besides, in a blue collar, boy-next-door kind of way, he had some sex appeal.

  He glanced into the mirror again and caught her staring.

  Grace looked away quickly. Had Mama coped with such runaway thoughts when she was touring her book? She forced herself to remember the man’s question and said primly, “My next stop is Philadelphia. I have to get there tonight, or I’m in big trouble.”

  “Philadelphia!” he objected with a hoot of laughter. “Princess, you’re never gonna get there. Not tonight. This storm stretches all the way from Chicago to the Atlantic Ocean.”

  “I will get there. I have to,” Grace said firmly. “Don’t tell me otherwise, please. It’s taking all the courage I have to get on this airplane, so don’t talk me out of it.”

  “Scared of flying?”

  “Let’s just say I’ve had my confidence shaken,” Grace said, surprising herself for confiding in a perfect stranger. “But I have to be in Philadelphia tomorrow, or my sister-in-law will be very upset.” Not as upset as Mama, of course, and a television producer, too, but Grace skipped that part.

  “Your sister-in-law’s some kind of battle ax?”

  “No, that’s not it. She’s done a great deal of work on my behalf, setting up events for me to meet people, and I can’t ask her to reschedule it all. So I have to go. Besides, the hotel is fully booked for tonight, so I can’t go back there.”

  “All the other hotels in the city are full, too. You couldn’t get a room if you bribed the mayor.” He grinned at her in the mirror again. “So you gotta go.”

  “Perhaps I’d better have a cocktail before takeoff,” Grace said, more to herself than to him.

  “Make it a double and maybe you won’t see Philadelphia. Trust me, you don’t want to see Philly, not even buried in three feet of snow. Of course, you can’t expect a Pittsburgher ever to say anything nice about Philadelphia. We’ve got a big rivalry, y’know.” He used the back of his glove to rub some of the fog off the car window, and then accelerated into traffic. The car nosed into another lane and headed for a tunnel. “So what’s it about? Your book, I mean. Is it a steamy romance novel? The latest diet? Maybe you got a theory about the next election?”

  She was accustomed to cab drivers who ignored their passengers. It was easier to keep silent when being driven somewhere. But Grace had a funny feeling this one was trying to get her to talk so she wouldn’t think about flying. But his question stumped Grace. Not the question, precisely, but how to answer it. To a prince or a gentleman who owned his own evening clothes, she could say the title and be done with it. But Miss Vanderbine’s Modern Manners was going to baffle this character. Or cause him to laugh uproariously.

  To play it safe, she said, “It’s a revised version of a nonfiction book my mother wrote several years ago.”

  “Oh, yeah? Who’s your mother? Anyone I’d have heard of?”

  Grace gave in cautiously. “My mother is Dear Miss Vanderbine.”

  “Dear—? Hey, no kidding?” he demanded in delight. “You mean the good manners lady? The one who writes for the newspapers? Like Dear Abby?”

  “Dear Abby,” Grace corrected, “deals with a totally different subject. Ours is exclusively an etiquette column.”

  “Ours? Hey, you write for the newspapers, too? You must. You said you’re a writer.”

  “My mother still writes the column for the moment,” Grace said, “but she wants to retire, so we collaborated on the new edition of her book.”

  That was the easiest way to explain how Todd’s death had shaken both mother and daughter to make big changes. Grace had been working at a glossy magazine in New York, but she hadn’t realized how unfulfilling she found the job until Todd died so suddenly. Mama had needed support during the bad times, too. So when Mama suggested that Grace should start taking on part of the Miss Vanderbine franchise, Grace decided that despite her gut feeling that she didn’t quite fit the Dear Miss Vanderbine role, helping her mother was more important than editing articles about decorating your tiny apartment and cooking a family dinner for under ten dollars.

  “And now you’re on the road instead of her, promoting it. You have the looks for it.” He complimented her with another wide smile.

  It was an irresistible smile. Even though he looked scruffy, he used an occasional three syllable word and conveyed a certain grasp of the world beyond driving hired cars. Or maybe she was just looking for a way to keep her mind off the airplane ride, too.

  “Thank you,” Grace said.

  “So how are sales? Is your book a big success?”

  “I’d need a crystal ball to tell you. It’s just been released, you understand.”

  “Sure.” He nodded knowledgeably. “But your tour will be a big help. You’ll make millions, I bet. How many cities are you doing?”

  “Twelve. Two down, ten to go.”

  “Where you been so far?”

  “Chicago and Pittsburgh.”

  “Where else you going?”

  “Philadelphia, Baltimore, Washington, Charlotte, Atlanta. Then I take a short rest before going out west. My mother suggested I break up the tour a little.”

  “Sure, makes sense. You want to get your beauty sleep before you hit L.A. How’d you like Pittsburgh?”

  “I liked it,” she said with complete honesty. She liked the frank and friendly people. The television program had been a disaster, but her trips to two bookstores seemed successful, and a large library had welcomed her with many spritely senior citizens who asked good questions and bemoaned the loss of civility in today’s world. The hotel had turned out to be a venerable bastion of elegance and good service.

  “Maybe you ought to stick around,” said her driver. “You might get to like it even better.”

  Something in his voice gave Grace a nervous tingle inside. Alone in a car with a strange man in a snowstorm. One who was making pleasant small talk while driving her farther and farther from the safety of the city. He had already calculated her book sales into millions of dollars. Suddenly she thought he could be a stone cold killer behind the happy-go-lucky façade. He had already proved he was strong enough to overpower her.

  Suddenly the drive had all the makings of a kidnapping.

  2.

  Grace needed time to come up with a plan. Keep him talking, she thought. While she figured out a way to get some help. She cleared her throat and asked idiotically, “Are you originally from Pittsburgh?”

  “Hell, no, I just washed up here. I fell into a business, so I stayed.”

  “A business?”

  Maybe he’d heard something skeptical in her tone that Grace hadn’t intended.

  “Oh, I get it. No, I don’t drive the limos very often—honest. Can’t you tell?” He pulled the car out of the tunnel and into the driving snow once more, explaining cheerfully, “I used to have a different career, after college, see. Now a friend and me, we own a string of car washes. We keep a couple of these limos around, and the hotels owe me some favors. They call when they need to run somebody special out to the airport. All our employees went home for the day. I live out this way, so it made sense for me to swing into town.”

  Grace digested all that information. College, a �
��different” career, and owning a bunch of car washes. And why would the city’s hotels owe this character any favors?

  “I’ll make it easy for you,” he said with another grin in the mirror. “Around this town, I’m a minor celebrity. Up until last year, I used to play football.”

  “Football?” Grace repeated stupidly.

  “Yeah. You know. The Pittsburgh Steelers. Ever heard of them?”

  He was a former professional football player. That made perfect sense. No wonder he was the size of the Abominable Snowman. He wasn’t a kidnapper, after all. Her imagination had gone into overdrive. Grace felt foolish and relaxed. “Yes, of course.”

  “My name’s Luke Lazurnovich. Luke the Laser, that’s me.”

  Grace said, “How do you do?”

  Mocking her round vowels, he teased her by repeating, “Howww do you dooo? You’re Miss Vanderbine, I guess. What’s your first name? Victoria? Anastasia? It’s got to be something snooty.”

  With a snap, she supplied, “Grace.”

  He laughed again. “No kidding? Princess Grace! You kinda look like that movie actress, whatshername. Grace Kelly. Do you put your pinkie in the air when you drink your tea, Grace? Or do you only drink coffee?”

  “I prefer tea, actually, but--”

  “I’ve always wondered about that pinkie business. Is it just a way to look hifalutin’?”

  “I think explanations vary. It used to be a sign of being open to conversation. From the French, auriculaire—ear finger.” Grace had heard her mother spout off on the subject many times, so she went on, “Or you use the little finger to strike the saucer when you’re returning the cup, so it doesn’t make a loud noise or break the china. But—” she gave up thinking like her mother and said, “I think it’s just one of those silly habits people pick up.”

  “Or maybe,” he said, lifting his little finger, “it’s a place to hang the teabag.”

  Well, Mama had probably drummed this lesson into Grace’s head years ago. If one encourages perfect strangers in conversation, they soon take liberties and become overly familiar. Grace was already deep into socially dangerous waters. The best way to avoid talking further about herself was to talk about him. She took an inventory of her supply of football trivia and inquired, “What position did you play, Mr. Laz—Lazur--”

  “Lazurnovich. Call me Luke. I played wide receiver.” Then he said, “But you don’t look like you know much about football.”

  “Only that the Rose Bowl has a wonderful parade.”

  He grinned once again. “Not as good as Macy’s Thanksgiving parade. I love those big balloons. Underdog, remember him?”

  “Yes, of course.” Grace felt herself warming to Luke Lazurnovich. Anyone who sided with Underdog, the caped canine cartoon character, couldn’t be all bad. She said, “I thought professional football players always worked on holidays.”

  “I wasn’t born a football player.” Suddenly, he grabbed the wheel harder. “Damn!”

  The car lurched, lost its grip on the road, and slid sideways just enough to send an instant shot of adrenaline through Grace’s system. The weather was getting worse, and it was officially dark. The snow looked like flashes of white light as the wind drove it against the windshield. Luke Lazurnovich had slowed the big car to a sedate speed, but the road was still hazardous. Grace could see other cars stalled along the roadside, red caution lights flashing as they presumably waited for tow trucks.

  “Sorry,” he said as he regained control of the car. “You okay back there?”

  “I’m tightening my seatbelt. Are we going to make it?”

  “To the airport? Sure. I wouldn’t take any bets about flying to Philly, though. But if the flight’s canceled, you can always drive to Philadelphia. It’s only a few hours by car.”

  “How far by magic carpet? Because driving doesn’t seem likely tonight either.”

  The highway was completely obscured by snow or blown clear into icy patches by the increasing wind. Many more cars were pulling off to the shoulder, as if their drivers had prudently given up the attempt to negotiate the dangerous road. The limousine, however, was a heavier car and managed to plow through the drifts without mishap. Luke Lazurnovich was a good driver, too. He took his time and concentrated. If he was feeling any anxiety, it didn’t show.

  “There,” he said after a few more minutes. “You can see the lights from the airport now. At least everybody hasn’t gone home to bed yet.”

  He was right. The lights and the traffic made the airport look busy, and Grace gathered up her handbag and found her good calfskin gloves inside. She pulled them onto her slim hands as Luke Lazurnovich drove the limousine up to the entrance. He parked illegally at the end of the covered walkway, shut off the engine, and got out.

  A cop strolled down to the car, waving a flashlight. “Hey, buddy, you can’t park—Laser! Is that you?”

  When Luke closed his door, Grace couldn’t hear the rest of their conversation, but it came with a lot of manly laughter and ended with the officer shaking Luke’s hand and walking away.

  Grace waited until he had retrieved her luggage and then came around to open the door for her. Grasping his hand to climb out of the back seat, she gave a nod in the direction of the departing police officer. “Are you friends with everybody in this city?”

  He gave a modest shrug. “I told you I was a minor celebrity. He’s giving me fifteen minutes of free parking. I can get a free beer in any bar in town, too.”

  “With chicken wings?”

  He laughed. “If I ask nicely. What airline?”

  “I’ll have to check my ticket.”

  The snow and ice had been cleared under the canopy, but a crunch of salt underfoot made walking in heels treacherous. He caught her elbow again and shouldered the strap of her carryall. “Inside, then.”

  “I can hire someone to help me with those. You needn’t—”

  “Inside,” he ordered calmly. “You’ll freeze out here. The cop has given me fifteen minutes, so let’s move.”

  “I’m quite capable of handling my own travel arrangements now, Mr. Lazur—”

  “Luke. Come on. We’ll just check the board and see if your flight’s been canceled.”

  “It will not be canceled!”

  In the terminal, he halted her in front of a bank of television screens and scanned them. At the nearby ticket counters, long lines of baggage-laden people looked either frantic or woebegone. The security line looked disheartening, too.

  “You’re in luck.” Luke pointed at the television with his free hand. “Your flight’s still on the board, but it’s delayed. Do you want that drink?”

  Grace stared at the blinking letters on the television screen. Up until now, she’d been bluffing herself. Or perhaps hoping that Luke Lazurnovich was right and that the plane was not going to take off. Now confronted with the reality of stepping onto a plane in a snowstorm, she was unnerved. If today’s bad luck continued, she was going to end up crash-landing in the Andes with a group of cannibals.

  “Yes,” she said. “I definitely want a drink.”

  “There’s a bar up this way. Maybe you need something to eat, too? We have great pierogies in this city.”

  “Pierogies?”

  “It’s a local delicacy.”

  “I don’t dare eat a bite,” said Grace. “I might embarrass myself later.”

  “How does a lady puke on an airplane, Princess Grace?”

  “Let’s hope I don’t have to find out.”

  He met her look with a twinkle in his blue gaze. Maybe he didn’t have a lot of polish, but he had a certain gentleness that warmed her heart. A lesser man would have left her on the curb outside and gone home.

  Probably to his wife and kids.

  Suddenly Grace felt an urge to know whether Luke the Laser had a pretty young wife and a herd of adorable blue-eyed children waiting for him at home. He probably got down on the floor and wrestled with half a dozen shrieking toddlers every night.

  His g
rin widened as if he guessed where her thoughts went, but he jerked his head to indicate one of the concourses. “This way. You don’t look like the shot-and-a-beer type. We’ll find you a martini.”

  As they walked past the security line together, Grace learned something very interesting about professional football players. Because of their size, they drew the eye of every passerby, both male and female. The men looked hard and narrow-eyed at Luke, as if trying to decide if he was someone they ought to remember, then elbowed each other and pointed when they recognized him. The women looked him up and down and finished by smiling directly into his face. All the women did it— from teenage gigglers to grandmotherly types.

  One young lady with dangling earrings, dressed in a pair of jeans so tight that they might have been sprayed on with her tan, gave him such an eyelash flutter that Grace wondered if the poor girl had sprained her eyelid. The sexual message was obvious. Anytime, Big Boy.

  Luke seemed blithely unaware of the attention he drew. He had an aw-shucks smile for everyone who caught his eye, though.

  He found the bar and pushed the glass door open. “Ladies first, right?”

  “Thank you.” She slipped past his tall frame and into the bedlam of an overcrowded bar.

  Apparently other travelers needed to bolster their courage, because there wasn’t an empty seat in the whole room. Beside her, Luke spoke over the noisy crowd. “I’ll squeeze through and get something at the bar. What’ll it be? What does the good manners lady order?”

  “A gimlet, please.”

  He blinked. “Has anybody ordered a gimlet in this century?”

  “With a twist.” The gimlet was Mama’s drink, and Grace figured one way to become Dear Miss Vanderbine was to mimic her mother’s every step. But she grabbed Luke’s hand. “Quick, this way.”

  Grace had spotted a pair of businessmen leaving their seats at the bar. With her city instincts taking over, she squeezed her way to the empty barstools before anyone else realized the seats were available.

  Luke followed—it was trickier for him to get through the crowd—but when he arrived at the two stools and she released his warm hand, he flagged the bartender.