by Beth Ciotta
A waiter hustled over. “Coffee, Miss Van Buren?”
Rufus looked to Izzy. “Didn’t you say—”
“An espresso with a twist, Robert.” She flashed a cheeky smile. “Make it two.”
“Izzy!” A rush of women, thin and pale as sheets of paper, fluttered around their table. Bones poked against shimmering gowns. Dark eye makeup and sin-red lipstick slashed milky faces. Sterling silver cigarette holders darted with excited gestures like a swarm of armored insects. Every woman looked strangely gorgeous in chopped hair, like Hollywood beauty gone derelict.
“Who’s the new man, Izzy?”
“Where can I find one just like him?”
“I’m looking for a new dance partner, if you know what I mean.”
Their low drawls and thick confidence reeked money.
Izzy snuggled up to him, throwing a possessive arm over his shoulder.
“This is Julius Caesar. He’s staying with me at Laguna Vista.”
He frowned. What the hell happened to Ace?
The pack of dark, glittering eyes looked at each other. “Julius Caesar?”
She squeezed him. “His mother was an actress. Very dramatic. Shakespeare, you know.”
The heads bobbed in understanding. They eyed him with heated interest.
“Strong name.”
“A man of great power . . .”
“Izzy, you’re like Cleopatra!”
They all squealed over the rousing music. He struggled not to cover his ears.
Izzy introduced her friends. “Selma, Cora, Mary Lou, Velma, Margie, and Miriam.”
Despite Izzy’s choke hold on him, Miriam sat on his lap. “It’s like Freud said—the nucleus of what we mean by love naturally consists of sexual love with sexual union as its aim.”
“And how!” the women cheered. “Freud is the elephant’s eyebrows!”
“A nation obsessed with booze and sex,” Bookman had said. Rufus grinned as Miriam wiggled in his lap and Margie nuzzled his ear. Maybe he had died and gone to heaven.
Chapter Six
“I NEVER FIGURED you for a coward, Grace LaRue.”
“Yeah, right. I’m shaking in my boots.” Grace stared at the red-draped table set for two. Champagne. Roses. Damn you, Izzy. “Expecting someone?”
“You.”
She sidestepped the chair Mick held out for her and dropped onto a leather footstool. Elbows propped on her open knees, she swept off her goggles and twirled them around her finger. She pretended to be at ease, unaffected by his intense blue gaze and the intimate table setting that screamed seduction. Meanwhile her heart rattled like a Tommy gun. “You don’t expect those to work, do you?”
He sat on the corner of his desk, crossed his brawny arms, and cocked a dark eyebrow. “I don’t know why you’re fighting this.”
“I’m not fighting. I’m just not interested.”
“If you’d let me . . .” He paused, jutting his stubborn chin toward the Champagne bottle. “If you’d let me woo you properly, you might become interested.”
“Woo?” Her mouth puckered as if she were tasting something bitter. “Forget it. Just because you diddled Izzy doesn’t mean you get to stick it to me. Contrary to popular belief, we don’t do everything together.”
He frowned. “No need to be crude. It’s not like that with you. You know that. And if you don’t . . .” He worked his jaw, then sighed. “Dammit, Grace . . .”
She dropped her goggles into her lap. “For cryin’ out loud, Mick, we’ve been friends since we were nine. We played baseball together. Sneaked ciggies under the boardwalk.”
“Exactly my point. We’ve got history.”
When Mick frowned, his strong features softened and drooped till he looked like a depressed trout. Even his full lips turned fleshy. Nowhere near as good as Ace’s smacker. Not that she cared. No matter how big and handsome Mick had grown, he’d always be the one who’d wet his pants when they’d braved The Whip on Steel Pier.
“Friends don’t . . .” She waved a hand in the air.
“Have sex?” Mick suggested.
“Yes.”
“Says who?”
“Says me.”
He cocked a knowing eyebrow. “You’re telling me you only sleep with strangers or with men you don’t like?”
“Two friends who know each other inside out,” Grace recalled Izzy’s words about herself and Mick. Mick knew she didn’t sleep with anyone. Then again, so did everyone else. She worked and lived in a male world—flying—and word would have spread fast about her. Mostly, though, people knew just by looking at her. “I don’t feel that way about you, Mick.”
“You mean you won’t let yourself. Everyone needs someone sometime, Grace. You’re just too stubborn to admit it.”
It was then she spied the small velvet box nestled between the ice bucket and the crystal vase. Oh, no. No, no, no. This can’t be happening. This is Mick. This is me. This is insane.
She wanted to scream. Why couldn’t things stay the same? Why did people have to change? It seemed as if everyone and everything in her life was changing. Except for Izzy. Izzy remained Izzy. Shallow, love-starved, fun-loving Izzy.
“I need friends, Mick. I don’t need lovers. Look what sex does to Izzy. Look what it’s doing to us. Let’s just walk away and forget this whole thing.”
“I can’t, Grace. I’ve wanted you for too long.”
Shock shot her to her feet. “Well, why fess up now? And don’t say it’s because I’m alone at the farm.”
He shoved off the desk and sat in one of the chairs. “You should sell the farm.”
“What?”
“Sell it. Home isn’t home without Pop Pop. You said that was why you left.”
“No.”
“Then rent it. The house is sound, the land fertile—”
“Extra income. I get it.” She raised an eyebrow. “I’m not an imbecile.”
“I know. Sell the farm.”
“And live where?”
“With me.”
“Get serious.”
“I am. We could get—”
“Don’t say it.”
“Married.”
“I can’t believe you said that.”
“Believe it.”
“Take it back.”
“No.” He reached for the jeweler’s box.
She slapped away his hand. If she didn’t see the ring, it wouldn’t be real. “What’s wrong with you? You could have a hundred women. The Miss America contest will be here in a couple of months. Pick one of them.”
“I’ve had a hundred women, including Miss America,” he teased, dropping his hand to his thigh. “I want you.”
She started to pace. “You’re off your nut.”
He stood. “For you.”
Her skin prickled with frustration. She’d hoped to reason with him. To get their friendship back on track. Instead, the situation was getting worse.
He leaned down for a kiss.
She pushed against his chest. “Don’t. Don’t ruin a lifetime of friendship.”
He brushed her curls out of her eyes. “I’m not going to ruin it, Grace. I’m going to make it better.”
“You can’t.”
He smiled. “Grace, Claude raised you to be tough. He thought it was best, and I guess he was right, considering your passion for flying. That hard-as-nails attitude got you to where you are, but now that you’re there . . . you’ve proven yourself, Grace. You’re a respected pilot.”
“Was a respected pilot. Get to the point.”
“If Claude were here—”
“He’d hand me a shotgun.” She wished he hadn’t dragged Pop Pop into this. She missed her grandfather. Mick knew that better than anyone.
And he was using it to his advantage. The more he pointed out Pop Pop’s absence, the more alone she felt. Anger surged like heat up her neck. “I’m not acting tough. I am tough. Why don’t you and Izzy start acting like my friends? How dare you plot my future behind my back as if I were some little farm girl who didn’t know better?”
He ignored her sarcasm and her indignation. “I called you farm girl once. I didn’t know your name.”
She grunted.
“Claude wouldn’t want you to grow old alone, Grace.”
“Go chase yourself. I’m twenty-three. Plenty of flying years left.”
“Flying has nothing to do with this. Not anymore. Your grandfather would want you to end up with someone like me. Christ, I ate dinner at your house every day for almost two years when my mother left. My father, stumbling drunk, couldn’t take care of me. Claude did. Grace, he trusted us to sleep in the same room. At first it was fun—forts and lanterns—then it got harder.” He looked away. “I’ve spent two-thirds of my life with you, Grace. We’re perfect together.”
“As friends.”
“As lovers.”
“In your dreams.”
He nodded. “Since I was about fourteen.”
Grace struggled not to run away. What was wrong with him? “Are you crocked?”
“Never touch the hard stuff, and you know it.”
Yeah. She knew. They’d both thrown up after downing a pint of his father’s whiskey one night. To this day neither of them could stomach anything stronger than wine. “We’re perfect together.”
“You didn’t answer my question,” she pointed out. “Why now?”
“I don’t want to lose you again, Grace. I don’t want you to disappear for a year because you don’t think you have any reason to stay. You have a reason. Me. I want to take care of you. It’s always easier to face troubles—like your defamed reputation—with someone you trust. Someone who cares about you. Someone who lo—”
“You can’t just step into Pop Pop’s shoes.”
“I don’t want to step into his shoes. You’re right, Grace. You’re not a little girl anymore. You don’t need a guardian. You need a partner. A husband.”
“Don’t tell me what I need. What I need is for you to be my friend.”
“I am your friend.”
He sounded so earnest. So strong. So . . . Mick. Sick to her stomach, she moved for the door. She needed distance. Maybe even a drink. “Izzy’s waiting.”
“Heard you met with Joystick today. Heard he offered you a job.”
Her hand stilled on the knob. Mick had ears and eyes all over town. “You heard right.”
“Did you take it?”
Joystick’s offer had come when no one else would touch her. She wanted to believe it was because Joystick recognized Tuck’s accusations as lies. Because he believed in her superior talents as a stunt pilot. Izzy’s slip of the tongue had forced her to consider her value as a potential gore ticket. Now . . . good Lord, this was even worse. She turned, one eyebrow cocked. “You tell me.”
He poured himself a glass of Champagne. “The Grace LaRue I know has never made a rash decision in her life. Even when you left last year, you made arrangements weeks in advance. You told Joystick you’d think it over and get back to him.”
She frowned at the stubborn set of his jaw. “Butt out, Mick. I can handle my own affairs.”
He saluted her with the bubbling liquid. “See you downstairs, short stuff.”
“Take your time.” A reprieve. Though not really. Mick was a strategist. Damn him.
“About my marriage proposal—”
“Is that what that was?”
“Think it over and get back to me in a couple of days.”
She waited for a wink, a grin, anything to hint that he was teasing. He merely downed the Champagne and regarded her with a gaze so intense, she bolted out and slammed the door. She barreled past Waldo and down the back steps. “Everyone needs someone sometime, Grace.” She cursed time. Why did Pop Pop have to grow old and die? Why did she have to grow into a woman’s body? Why did having breasts mean she had to do something with them? Flying high in her Jenny was all she needed. Why couldn’t that be enough?
Cursing Mick and his personal crisis, she blew into the speakeasy. When she spotted Izzy on the dance floor, hanging all over Elroy Gertz, she nearly exploded. Izzy had known about Mick’s proposal. Worse, she’d help set it up!
She plowed through the room and tapped Izzy on the shoulder.
Izzy looked at her with a dazzling smile. “Don’t you look flushed.”
Grace braced her fists on her hips. “I thought you were my friend.”
Izzy’s smile faltered. “I am.”
“You let me walk into that trap without any warning. Not a word.”
“Mick is perfect for you, Grace. I don’t want to see you lose him.”
“What do you mean, lose him?”
“Ask Mick.”
She frowned. “No more secrets, Izzy.”
Elroy spun Izzy so that her ebony hair fanned across her cheek, brushing her scarlet mouth. For the first time in years, Grace experienced a twinge of insecurity in the shadow of her friend’s glowing beauty.
“He loves you, Grace. Don’t you want to be in love?”
Izzy said it breathlessly, longingly. She couldn’t wait to be in love again, and she’d found her next man. There was only one reason she would dance with Elroy tonight. She was out to make Ace jealous.
“As if you have a clue about love,” Grace said, stepping on Elroy’s foot as she stomped away. She didn’t expect Izzy to follow. Izzy didn’t like confrontation. She’d drink more “coffee” then, in the morning, act as if nothing happened. Grace didn’t know if she could recover so easily.
She stalked to Izzy’s usual table. There sat her new partner, all glazed eyes and sloppy smile, surrounded by fawning women, swilling “coffee.” Izzy was definitely on “I’ll show you” duty. “Playing hard to get,” she liked to call it. Too bad she didn’t realize it wasn’t working.
The band broke into the Charleston. The women squealed, then jumped up from the table and flocked to the dance floor. Velma Gooding, a blond-haired sheba, pulled at Ace’s arm, begging him to dance. When he didn’t rise, she wasted no time plopping back into his lap and engaging him in a personal petting party.
Grace walked up behind them and gave a sharp tug to Velma’s marceled bob. “Scram.”
Pouting, Velma didn’t argue.
Ace cocked a lopsided grin at Grace. “Couldn’t wait your turn?”
“Hardly.” He was as cocky as Mick. Maybe more so. Only her pulse had never skipped at one of Mick’s smiles. She adjusted the goggles atop her head, waiting for the queer sensation to pass. This was all Mick’s fault. He’d twisted and pulled her emotional lines with the precision of a switchboard operator.
“You okay?” Ace asked her.
“Heartburn.”
“Maybe some milk—”
“I’m fine.”
A waiter appeared out of nowhere. “Coffee?”
“Coca-Cola,” she said.
“Espresso with a twist,” Ace said.
The waiter hurried off.
She straddled the seat next to Ace, studying the glazed look in his eyes. “How many ‘espressos’ have you had, anyway?”
He shrugged. “Four. Five.”
Perfect. Time to take the night by the horns. “Let’s talk.”
“Finally.” He leaned into her and started rattling off questions. “Why did Izzy’s first two marriages end in divorce? Why doesn’t she like Jonas’s wife? Where were you just now? And who’s that man over there?”
She tried to keep up with the rapid-fire questions. Maybe his interest was in Izzy and not in Mick. Maybe, f
or once, Izzy did know what she was doing. Despite her anger at her friend, she decided to play along. Just because she didn’t want her love life messed with—or rather started—didn’t mean she’d purposely ruin things for Izzy. At least not until she knew Ace’s motives. Besides, the wistful note in Izzy’s voice always struck a sad chord in Grace.
She looked to where Ace was pointing, answering his last question first. “Roy Tadmucker. Why?”
Ace raised an eyebrow. Looked from Roy to Izzy to Roy. He grinned.
“What’s so funny?”
“Nothing.”
“Why did you ask about Roy?”
“He’s been watching Izzy all night.”
She snorted. “He’s always watching Izzy. Every man watches Izzy.”
“Not every man.”
She realized Ace was looking at her the same way Mick had. But instead of feeling distressed, she felt . . . fluttery. What was wrong with her? And why would Ace be interested in her when he could have any dame in the joint? Namely, the rich and beautiful Isadora Van Buren. Then it hit her. Half-corked on Mick’s monkey rum, to him any woman looked good. Even a woman dressed like an airplane mechanic. Maybe Izzy had overspent her time with Elroy.
Ace smiled, then glanced toward the bustling dance floor. “Why aren’t you dancing?”
“I don’t dance. How did you know Izzy was twice divorced?”
“She told me.”
Grace nodded. Izzy’s parents were the ones embarrassed by her matrimonial blunders. Not Izzy. “The way Izzy looks at it, she followed her heart. Unfortunately, following her heart usually leads Izzy to hurt.” She narrowed her eyes. “I don’t like people who hurt my friends.”
“I understand.”
She paused as the waiter served their drinks. Sipping her Coca-Cola as Ace slugged back a potent double shot of monkey rum, she couldn’t even entertain the idea that he might be an undercover Fed. “Why do you say she doesn’t like Jonas’s wife? I know she didn’t tell you that. Izzy doesn’t speak ill of family, except to family. All for one, and one for all.”
Ace gave her a funny look, then recovered. “She didn’t outright say it. She mentioned that Jonas was married, and she didn’t sound too thrilled about her sister-in-law.”
