by Amber Brock
She drooped. “Oh.”
“I have a lot more to do without Andre around. I’m going to be too busy to leave.”
“I understand,” she said.
“I’ll take you out to a nice restaurant when you get back, all right? Just the two of us.” Her father’s eager tone meant he didn’t want to end the call until she perked up. Kitty forced brightness into her voice once more.
“That sounds swell. You take care. No more late nights, if you can help it.”
“If I can help it. Love you,” he said.
“Love you, too.” She hung up the phone, feeling awful. She knew Andre would have taken the Miami trip whether she went or not, but she couldn’t shake the guilt over her father having to manage everything on his own. And she wasn’t even there to cheer him up with Christmas celebrations.
The phone rang again, and she picked it up quickly. Maybe her father had had a change of heart about traveling after talking to her.
“Hello.” It wasn’t her father but Charles, and he sounded relieved to have gotten her instead of Hen. “How was the trip?”
“Havana was swell. You ought to go some time. You’d love the casinos.”
He paused, and his voice was taut when he spoke again. “Kitty, I’m afraid I really mucked it up with Hen. I’m sure she told you our last conversation was unpleasant.”
“What are you talking about?” Kitty’s heart raced. Of course Charles would pick this exact time to develop a conscience.
“I had gotten the impression that Hen was—well, having more fun in Miami than she should have. But that’s ridiculous, that’s not our Hen. I spoke harshly to her, and now she hasn’t called. Could you convince her to call me? Tell her I want to apologize.”
Kitty gripped the shoe. She had to get things back on track. She should say something that would enrage him again. Some wild story about their time in Havana. That would do it. She finally said, “Sure. I’ll tell her to call.”
“Tell her how sorry I am. I know only you can convince her.”
“I will.” She laid the receiver in the cradle and stared at it awhile. She could have taken full advantage of that moment, and she hadn’t. Surely hastening Charles’s breakup with Hen would be a good thing. Only it would mean that the first part of the plan would be complete, and she would have to take steps toward the second part. The part where she stood at his side, not Hen. The mental image, which once looked like victory, now made her sick.
* * *
Since Andre had to get right back to work on their return, Kitty and Hen went on their own to dinner. They didn’t want to go too far without someone to escort them, so they chose a barbecue restaurant called Embers that was in easy walking distance.
“I have to say,” Hen said as they strolled, “I wouldn’t have thought you’d agree to a barbecue place.”
“Well, Max says travel changes the way people think. Maybe I’m expanding my horizons.”
“All the way to barbecue. That’s quite an expansion.”
Kitty fanned herself. “I can’t believe it’s still so hot here. It makes all these Christmas decorations look so strange.” She waved her hand to indicate the tinsel and garland looped around the street signs.
“And I suppose when we get back to New York, all the decorations will be taken down.” Hen paused. “I know I’ve been complaining about the heat, but I don’t know if I’m ready to go back to the snow, to tell you the truth.”
Kitty glanced at her out of the corner of her eye. She waited until they were settled at a table in the restaurant before addressing the comment.
“Hen, I don’t know if it’s the snow you’re really dreading,” she said in a firm tone.
Hen sighed and set her menu down. “You may be right about that.”
“Are you going to call him?” Kitty asked.
“I suppose I should. Maybe he’s calmed down. Except…” Hen toyed with the straw in her drink. “Except I don’t know if I care anymore. I don’t know if I want to talk to him, even if he is sorry.”
Kitty fought to hide the excitement that was bubbling up inside. “What are you thinking?”
“Well, there’s always Mother to contend with. And, after all he’s done, a few shouting matches on the phone seems like a silly thing to end it over.” She shook her head. “I knew, Kitty. Before what happened with Bebe. Of course I knew. Every time I’d hear he went out with someone, I had to pretend.” Hen dropped the straw and met Kitty’s gaze. “But it’s not just the shouting phone calls. I know that, too. It’s that, after everything he did, he didn’t trust me. He didn’t respect me. And now…” She bit her lip and looked down at her lap. “Well, let’s just say I have a different perspective.”
“You’re absolutely right, Hen. And you know—”
Hen jerked her head up. “I’m not saying I’m definitely ending it. It’s Mother I’m really worried about. She’ll put me out on the street. She’ll be on the phone with her lawyer making sure I’m cut out of any and every will I might be mentioned in. And that’s just for starters.”
“You don’t know that she’ll do any of that. You’ve never stood up to her before.” Kitty nearly pointed out everything that Bebe had gotten away with over the years in spite of Mrs. Bancroft’s bluster but sensed that wouldn’t help matters. Instead, she grabbed Hen’s hand. “And if she does throw you out, you’ll come live with Papa and me. We’ll find you a better fiancé, someone who actually deserves you.”
“That’s very sweet.” Hen smiled ruefully. “I can’t risk losing my family, but I don’t want to be with someone who makes me this unhappy. I need to think. And I’m glad we have more time here, so that I can do that.”
The waiter delivered their cocktails, and Kitty raised hers high in a mock toast. “Take all the time you need,” she said. Even if Charles’s anger had cooled off, it now seemed Hen was the one on the cusp of ending their relationship. And whoever needed the push over the edge, Kitty was prepared to do the shoving, especially if it meant Kitty could get Hen to the right place by counseling bravery instead of lying behind her back.
To pay back the guys who had filled in for them in Havana, Max and Sebastian had to play on the nights they usually had off. On Monday, Kitty gave a little wave with her purse when she and Hen were leaving the club, hoping Max would remember their signal to meet. He nodded and winked.
As the band played, she and Hen debated which version of “Harbor Lights” they liked better. Kitty noticed Max’s eyes widen at something behind her. She leaned out of the booth to look and saw two people plowing through the crowd toward her. One was a short, stout woman with a small white hat perched atop black ringlets. The other was a slim man with a graying beard, whose resemblance to Max left no doubt as to their familial connection. The two stopped in front of the booth.
“Are you Kitty Tessler? We asked the maître d’, but it was hard to tell who he was pointing to,” the woman said.
“I am,” she said, a bit hesitant.
The woman beamed. “I’m Gail Zillman. This is my husband, Ben.” She gestured to the man, who offered a wave. “We’re Max’s aunt and uncle.”
Kitty stepped out of the booth. “It’s so nice to meet you! This is my friend, Henrietta Bancroft.”
“Everyone calls me Hen,” Hen said, shaking Ben’s hand, then Gail’s.
Gail turned to the stage. “I’m so excited that Max is playing tonight. It’s so hard for us to come see him any other night, because of Ben’s work schedule.”
“Why don’t you sit with us?” Kitty said. She glanced up to the stage to find that Max’s whole face was now broadcasting panic. She frowned at him. Does he think I can’t make a good impression or something? she thought, sliding into the booth once the others had taken their seats.
“And how wonderful that we get to meet you,” Gail continued. “Max didn’t say much about
you, only that you’d been spending time together, but it was written all over his face.” She punctuated this statement with a knowing raise of her eyebrow.
Ben nudged his wife. “He has a type, doesn’t he?”
She poked him back. “Stop it, you’ll have her thinking he’s got girlfriends all over the city.” Gail turned to Kitty. “He doesn’t, really. There was one girl—blond and pretty, like you—but she broke his heart. I warned him she was no good. Didn’t I warn him, Ben? He never listens to me. But you’re nothing like her, I can tell. She didn’t have your manners.”
“Oh. Thank you, Mrs. Zillman,” Kitty said, not sure what else to say. She was beginning to suspect that she wasn’t the one Max was worried about.
“Please, call me Gail. So Max tells us your father owns this hotel?” Gail asked.
“That’s right.”
“And one in New York?” Ben said.
“Two, actually.”
“That’s fantastic. He must be some businessman,” Gail said. “Did he always work in hospitality?”
Kitty couldn’t fight a smile as she thought of her early conversations with Max. It seemed the third degree was a family tradition. “My grandfather was a tailor who started a clothing store. But Papa had more of a knack for the leisure industry.”
The four chatted about New York and the girls’ families until Max rushed to the microphone. “We’re going to take a quick break, ladies and gentlemen. Back in five.” He set down his trumpet and headed for the booth. Gail and Ben jumped to their feet.
“You sound wonderful. So talented,” Gail said, hugging him.
“Thanks, Aunt Gail. How’s everything going over here?” he asked.
“Swell,” Kitty said. “It’s so nice to meet your family, Max.”
He laughed nervously. “I wish I could sit with you guys.”
Ben patted him on the back. “But we came to hear you play. Kitty’s doing a great job hosting us.”
“Is that a fact?” Max said.
“They’re in good hands,” Kitty said.
With slight reluctance, Max rejoined the band. Kitty caught the waiter’s eye and encouraged Ben and Gail to order something. “On the house,” she said.
“I insist on paying,” Ben said, reaching for his wallet.
“If you sit at my table, your drinks are my treat,” she said.
“That’s very kind,” Gail said. The two only ordered ginger ales but looked pleased nonetheless.
The four sat back to enjoy the set, occasionally commenting on the song or style. As the Zillionaires signed off, Gail spoke to Kitty under her breath once more. “I hope we didn’t say too much, talking about that other girl.”
“It didn’t bother me, I promise,” Kitty said, hoping it sounded true.
She laid a hand on Kitty’s. “Just be kind to him. That’s all I ask. He’s been hurt before, you know?”
“Of course,” Kitty said. They went to say their good-byes to Max, and Hen and Kitty left so the family could have a few moments together.
“They sure were sweet,” Hen said, as they entered the elevator. “What did Gail say to you before we left?”
“Oh…she thanked me again for the drinks. Nice people,” Kitty said, not willing to share Max’s troubles. It certainly did explain why he’d been so intent on testing her in their early conversations.
She returned downstairs about an hour after closing time with Loco and checked the patio on the side of the hotel. Empty. She decided to wait, hoping the arrival of Max’s aunt and uncle hadn’t caused him to forget the signal to meet.
It quickly became apparent why the patio was less popular at night. The only light came from the silvery moon and the reflection of a lonely streetlight off the office window. Kitty could barely see Loco sniffing around at the shrubs. She supposed she hadn’t noticed last time because her meeting with Max was so quick. Now that she was waiting, her eyes strained in the dark. She had almost given up when a service door opened on the other side of the bank of trees.
“Kitty?” Max stepped between the trees.
“I’m here.” She stood, and he wrapped his arms around her waist.
“Sorry it took me a while,” he said. “I thought Aunt Gail would never leave.”
“It’s all right.” She kissed him lightly on the lips. “It was nice to meet them.”
“They didn’t go on and on, did they?”
“They were lovely. And how interesting to know you’ve been telling your family about me.”
He rubbed his cheek. “Only a little.”
“Mmm-hmm. So, are you settling back in okay after the trip?”
“Playing Mondays is hard. Now I remember why I hate it. The crowd is so dead.” He brushed his lips on her neck. “You smell nice.”
She closed her eyes and smiled. “I can’t stay too much longer. I told Hen I’m walking the dog.” Even though Hen knew about the time Kitty and Max had spent together in Havana, Kitty had preferred to pretend their evening excursions wouldn’t continue back in Miami. She didn’t want another admonishment from Hen reminding her to let him down easily.
He leaned back. “You don’t have much longer here, do you?”
Her smile suddenly felt too tight. “Another two weeks.”
“When do you go back, exactly?”
Kitty let go of him and snapped her fingers to get Loco’s attention. “On the fourth.”
He took a step toward her. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know it was a sore subject.”
“It’s not. I’ll be glad to see Papa again.” She knelt and fussed with the dog’s leash. “And you’ll call, won’t you? When you can.”
“Yeah. Yeah, of course.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “And there’s plenty of time. Maybe we could ring in the New Year together. I’m playing that night, but we could go out after.”
She stood, feeling lighter. “I’d like that.”
A light flooded the patio. They both startled, and Kitty accidentally jerked Loco’s leash. The dog let out a yelp. Kitty looked into the office window, her heart pounding. But she only saw a man emptying the trash into a wheeled container. He never even looked up.
Max clutched his chest. “Phew. Wasn’t expecting that. I thought we were caught.”
Kitty nearly gasped. She had almost forgotten that getting caught was the entire purpose of the rendezvous spot. The light in the office went out again, and she waited for her eyes to adjust. She thought uncomfortably of Gail’s words: He’s been hurt. She shoved the thought away.
“Are you okay?” he asked.
“Oh. Oh yes. Just scared me, that’s all.”
He watched her for a moment. “You better go. Don’t want Hen sending out a search party.”
Kitty nodded. She kissed him again, this time lingering on the feel of his lips. She broke away flushed and wiggled her fingers in a good-bye. As she started through the hedges, Max called her back.
“Are you going to that fashion show thing tomorrow?” he asked.
“Yes. How did you know about that?”
“I think Marcela wants that singer to go. You know, the one I introduced you to at the house party. Daniela.”
Kitty couldn’t find a nice way to say that Daniela wouldn’t be able to afford the kind of clothing that would be on display. Instead, she said, “Oh? Is she interested in fashion?”
“I think it’s more of a ‘see and be seen’ kind of thing for her. Marcela is trying to get her noticed by some hotshot singer who will be there—she used all her connections to wrangle Daniela an invitation. She hopes Daniela could get her start by singing backup. Or at least meet someone important.”
Kitty had to admit that Daniela was gorgeous. She would easily get attention, even at an event like that. “Well, I’ll keep a lookout for her.”
“Yeah, would you? Just�
�if you see her, will you say hi? I think she’d feel more welcome.”
“Sure.” She nodded. “Hen and I will say hello when we see her.”
“Great.” He waved. “Have a nice night.”
“You too.”
* * *
The next morning, Kitty rummaged through Hen’s clothes to find the right look for the show. “It needs to be charming but effortless,” she said, tossing a dove-gray skirt onto the bed.
“ ‘Effortless’ sure requires a lot of work,” Hen said.
Kitty wagged a finger. “Don’t try to pretend like you don’t care. I’ve seen the way you’ve done yourself up lately. Admit it. I’ve been a good influence, haven’t I?” She handed Hen a blouse and a blue scarf.
Hen blushed. “I’ll go change. We don’t want to be late.”
“You just can’t stand to admit it,” Kitty said in a singsong, turning her attentions to Hen’s jewelry box. There was no response from the bathroom, which Kitty took to be confirmation.
They took the elevator down to the lobby and entered the ballroom several minutes after the announced start time. As Kitty suspected, the show had not yet started, and many of the attendees were already seated. Since she didn’t know anyone important in Miami society, she and Hen weren’t able to secure chairs in the front row. But they were at least able to glide in past those who had already arrived and make an attempt at a grand entrance.
The folding chairs had been arranged in a semicircle around the short, V-shaped runway. On the right side of the room, screens hid the models and the racks of clothing from view. Kitty scanned the room, hoping to see Daniela. She recalled the girl having striking good looks, but that description fit many women in the audience. Hen elbowed Kitty to get her attention.
“I’m starting to think we’re underdressed,” Hen said, gesturing to the entrance.
Kitty nearly jumped out of her seat. Daniela strode in, wearing a strapless teal dress with a draped skirt that hit just above the knee. A short train fanned off the back hem, giving the dress a dramatic flair normally unsuitable for the day but ideal for turning heads at a fashion show. Daniela’s ink-black hair was swept into a high bun, and a coral necklace and earrings made her pale skin glow.
