Love Finds You in Lake Geneva, Wisconsin

by Pamela S. Meyers

  He let out an audible sigh. Probably a good thing he wasn’t going into the office tomorrow. He needed a breather.

  At midmorning the next day, Jack entered the Chicago Beacon’s tenth-floor office suite. Millie, Dad’s secretary, looked up from her typewriter and flashed him a smile that caused the laugh lines around her eyes to deepen. “About time you got here.” She pushed her wire-framed glasses farther up the bridge of her nose and stood. “Come closer so I can get a better look at you.”

  Since he’d been a boy, Millie had always greeted him as the son she never had.

  Jack closed the space between them, and she ran her eyes over his face. “How’s life in the country?”

  “Less hectic than here. It’s been a nice change.” He shrugged off his overcoat and hung it on a coat tree in a corner of the spacious room.

  She laughed. “I imagine a weekly is less hectic. I bet the editor’s secretary makes it home most nights before five.”

  “I believe you’re right, except for Wednesdays. Then she stays until at least six.”

  Millie shook her head as deep dimples appeared on her plump cheeks. “Maybe I should retire to Wisconsin.”

  Jack chuckled. No way would she leave Dad. She lived alone in a walk-up apartment, and other than her cat, the Beacon was her life.

  The door to his father’s office swung open and Dad stepped through it, impeccably dressed—but his three-piece suit hung loose over what used to be a sizable paunch. He pulled a watch from his vest pocket and flipped it open. “The Northwestern Railroad is on time as usual.” He returned the timepiece to his vest and held out his hand. “Son, good to see you.”

  The men shook. Dad hung on to Jack’s hand a bit longer than usual, giving him a moment to study his father’s face. Decidedly thinner since he last saw him. They released their grips, and Jack stepped into his dad’s wood-paneled inner sanctum. He headed for the upholstered armchair situated in front of the desk.

  “Let’s sit on the davenport. No need to be formal.”

  Puzzled, Jack paused then went to the leather sofa and sat while Dad took his place at the other end. What was going on? Was he thinner because of sickness, or had he finally listened to Mom’s chiding that he needed to lose weight?

  Dad reached for a wood box decorated with inlaid leaf shapes sitting on the coffee table, opening the lid. He selected a cigarette and, with shaking hands, stuck it between his lips. “I take it you still don’t indulge.”

  “No, I don’t.” Jack picked up the sterling silver lighter from the table and flicked a flame to life. He held it against the cigarette’s tip.

  Dad took a long draw and exhaled the smoke through his nose, an old ritual designed to give him time to think. “So, how are things in Lake Geneva?” He ran his hand over thinning gray hair.

  “Good. The town is excited about the new recreation building and ballroom. May twenty-second is the grand opening. They’ve booked Wayne King and his Orchestra.”

  “Must be quite a place, to get someone like King.”

  “I’ve not yet been inside, but on Sunday I had a look through the windows. The ballroom is a dandy. They’ve already got Tommy Dorsey coming this summer.”

  “Seems they’d want a reporter inside to keep everyone excited about the opening.”

  “I was planning to interview the building contractor today, but when you called, I canceled the appointment.”

  With a flick of Dad’s wrist, an ash dropped into a crystal ashtray. “You still have misgivings about taking away the job from that gal?”

  Jack picked up the lighter and worked the lever several times. “Yes, but I guess Oscar wouldn’t offer her the position anyway.”

  “You sure there aren’t other feelings going on with her? You’ve got the same faraway look on your face you used to get whenever Natalie Higgins was mentioned.”

  He flicked the lighter and held the flame. Natalie hadn’t invaded his thoughts in at least two years. She’d married a congressman from Arizona, dropping Jack like a hot potato when the politician showed interest. He extinguished the flame. “Nothing like that.” Whatever feelings he had for Meg, they were unlike anything he’d experienced before, but he wasn’t about to admit it to anyone.

  Jack set the lighter on the table and crossed his arms. “You know I can’t afford to get involved with a woman right now. No distractions for me. Just learn the biz and get back here. In fact I wanted to sug—”

  Dad hacked into his free hand, the same kind of cough that came over the phone the other day. He stubbed out the cigarette then settled back into the couch cushion, his face pale against the dark brown leather. Color slowly returned to his cheeks.

  Stunned, Jack shifted his weight, causing the cushions to rustle. “What’s wrong?”

  “Wrong?”

  “You’ve lost weight, and your cough sounds bad.”

  Dad gave an eye roll and shook his head. “At your mother’s insistence, I cut out starchy food. Picked up the cough a few weeks ago with a nasty cold. You know how it is. The barking is always the last to go. Your mother made me a doctor’s appointment for next week. In the meantime, I want to hear how things are going with you and Oscar.”

  “Are you sure you called me down here to talk about a job I’ve only had a bit more than a week?”

  Dad sat up, his soft expression dissolving into a rigid mask. “That, and your mother is coming into the city to have lunch with us.”

  As usual, his father was holding a figurative arm out, keeping Jack at bay. Was it no wonder he always felt like an exile? If his father wanted to deny his motives, so be it.

  “Dad, I don’t understand how working for a small-town weekly will help me run the Beacon. Once the new lakefront building opens, the hottest news to hit the area in years will dry up. You’re the one I should be learning from. Not Oscar, who’s done nothing but run weeklies for the past thirty years.”

  Dad pushed to his feet and walked to the window overlooking Madison Street. “I had a feeling you’d want to back out of our agreement.” He jammed his hands into his pockets and jingled his coins. “Back in Terre Haute, when I started in the business, my desk looked out onto the sidewalk, much like yours must today. From this height, the people look like ants.

  “A lot has happened in my rise to this lofty place. If I’d come here directly, I wouldn’t know what it takes to work a Linotype or put a paper together from beginning to end. Learning how to do everything on a weekly made it easier to take over for your grandfather twenty-five years ago.” He turned. “You’ve only been there a week. You’ve got to give the year we agreed upon.”

  Jack blew out a breath. Twelve months of sitting within feet of one very distracting lady. But none of that mattered. Not with the way his father looked. Jack leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees. “Be honest, Dad. You have to be dragged kicking and screaming to the doctor. Do you know something you’re not telling?”

  A shadow of uncertainty registered on Dad’s face before he faced the window once more. “This cough needs some medication, is all.”

  “I hope you’re right. Have you talked to Kate lately?”

  “Just last night. Paul got the promotion he’d hoped for, and they’re moving to Chicago this coming summer.”

  Jack grinned. “That’s swell news. I hope they settle in time to spend some of the summer up at the lake.” With his sister back in the area, his plan would work even better. “When is the doctor’s appointment?”

  “Next Monday at ten.” Dad walked back to his end of the couch. “Your mother should be here soon. She’s been wanting to eat at the Tip Top Inn’s Dickens Room ever since your aunt Emma mentioned it.”

  “Sounds good.” He’d pull Mom aside and ask her to call him later. That was the only way he’d get any answers.

  Later that night back at the Elgin Club, Jack asked the central operator to connect him to Detroit and his sister’s telephone. Kate’s husband answered and called her to the phone.

  “Hey
, sis, I heard today that you and Paul are moving to Chicago.”

  “Jack,” she squealed. “Your voice sounds so good. We’ll be in the Windy City by this summer. We thought we’d look for an apartment near Lincoln Park. How are you doing?”

  Jack drew in a breath and held it. “I’m doing fine. It’s Dad I’m worried about. You have a few minutes?”

  Chapter Nine

  When Jack arrived at work the next morning, Meg was already at her desk, frowning at whatever she’d just typed. He stopped by the coffeepot then strolled up to her, filled cup in one hand and briefcase in the other. “Morning, Miss Alden. I see I’m not the only early riser, even for deadline day.” He glanced at the empty desks, pretending to not notice her arm placed strategically over her typing.

  “The early bird gets the worm, they say.” Her weak smile didn’t match the fear in her eyes.

  He wanted to tell her that her ghosting secret was safe with him but thought better of it. Best to apologize for his appearing to hide his own secret first. But it needed to be done away from work. He moved to his desk and set down the piping hot brew. “Then I’d better get busy if I’m going to get a worm at all.”

  “I suppose you were out yesterday getting information for your story.”

  “Actually, no.” He rolled a clean sheet of paper into his typewriter. “If you’re free for lunch—and we both get our work to Composing by then—would you care to join me?”

  She bit her apple-red lower lip. “I have to run to Helen’s shop and drop off something for her mother. She lives close to the Geneva Grill. We could meet there.”

  “Sounds good. We’d best get to work, then, so we don’t have to change plans.” Jack tossed her a wink then opened a drawer and took out his notebook. Outside of the quote from Meg’s father, his notes were not enough to bring the story up to snuff. What he needed was likely on the paper in Meg’s typewriter.

  Meg rolled the article from the platen of the typewriter then slid it between two sheets of unused paper. Across the room, Thelma and Emily chatted. She glanced at Jack. His handsome face was set in concentration as he two-finger typed. If it weren’t for him, she would have finished the article before Thelma and Emily arrived. It was bad enough he sat next to her, but with that wink, her concentration seemed to fly out the window. Twice, she had to retype the article after she left out a word.

  She placed the papers on a corner of her desk then stood and strolled through Composing and into the tiny restroom, where she leaned against the wall. Pressing her palm against her chest as if the gesture would still her heart, she forced herself to take a deep breath. Maybe she should have taken Jack up on his offer of collaboration. At least she wouldn’t have to sneak around.

  Her face freshened with splashes of cold water, she returned to her work area. Her eyes went to the empty corner of her desk and then to Lester. He acknowledged her with a nod before ambling toward Mr. Zimmer’s office, Meg’s article in hand.

  Meg went back to writing “Town Talk” with its usual litany of social doings. She’d spent a good portion of yesterday calling her usual sources, but all she’d picked up was someone’s sister visiting from Indianapolis and a bridal shower. She’d have to go with the usual filler of garden-club activities and birth announcements. She counted back the days to Saturday morning when she’d mailed her letter to Mattie Nordman. The post should arrive there by the weekend.

  God, if this is not the right direction, please give me a reason to stay here.

  “Miss Alden, my work is done. What about yours?”

  Meg opened her eyes and found herself staring into Jack’s blue-eyed gaze. No…God wouldn’t answer like that, would He? She managed a smile. “Almost done.”

  Meg scurried the short distance from the Powder Puff Beauty Shop to the Geneva Grill, her thoughts remaining on her previous conversation with Helen. Both Helen and her mother had customers at their workstations when Meg entered, and Helen had insisted Meg wait until she finished giving a trim so they could talk about California. Meg told her she was still thinking about it and had written to Mattie. Until she heard from her, Meg would have no decision.

  She entered the crowded restaurant, and the aroma of their signature chicken noodle soup tickled her nose. Jack sat at a table toward the back, frowning at his open pocket watch. She cringed. Why hadn’t she told Helen she couldn’t wait? She scurried past the lunch counter and up to his table. “Sorry I was delayed. Helen insisted I wait until she finished with a customer. I guess we should have made it another day.”

  Jack stood. “I was afraid you’d changed your mind. I hope soup is okay with you since we don’t have much time.” He pushed out the chair to his right and waited for her to sit before he retook his seat.

  She sat and removed her gloves. “Yes, the soup here is wonderful.”

  A waitress appeared, notepad in hand. “Ready to order now, Mr. Wallace?”

  Jack grinned. “Yes, Alice. Thanks for your patience.”

  The brunette’s face lit up. “No problem at all.”

  Meg’s chest constricted. He was even on a first-name basis with the waitress. It was bad enough watching women almost eat out of his hand at the office, but the stabs of jealousy surging through her now were worse.

  Jack ordered two chicken soups and coffee. The server closed her pad. “If you need anything else, just holler.”

  After the waitress left, Jack inched his chair closer to the table and leaned on his elbows. “You deserve an apology.”

  “For what?”

  His right brow rose a half inch. “You don’t think I owe you one?”

  “Depends on which offense you’re apologizing for.” She sent him a smile.

  A V-shaped crease appeared between his eyes. “Here I’d hoped you hadn’t noticed all the other ones. Have you kept track?”

  She feigned flipping open a notebook and running a finger down an imaginary list. “Where should I start?”

  He laughed. “That bad, huh?”

  She leaned her elbow on the table and rested her chin in her hand. “Depends on what you call bad.”

  He rewarded her with a wry smile, and her stomach dipped and fluttered. Who needed soup? She gave herself a mental shake. What she needed was a dose of reality. The man may as well have Heartbreaker written across his forehead.

  His face turned serious. “Joking aside, I should have told you first how I came to be at the News-Trib, not spring it on you at your family’s dinner table. The news must have stunned you.” His mouth turned down at the corners. “I’m sorry.”

  The waitress brought Meg coffee and added more to Jack’s cup. Thankful for the time to calm her nerves, Meg stirred a couple of sugars into her brew. She had to give him credit for compassion. “I was surprised.”

  Jack looked her in the eyes. “If it’s any consolation, it was Oscar’s idea to not tell the staff of my connections. The other day when your father asked about my family, I answered truthfully. I should have declined your mother’s invitation to avoid disclosing myself, but…” He flashed her a lopsided smile that threatened to melt any defenses she had left. “After living on bologna sandwiches all week and then smelling your mother’s marvelous roast, I couldn’t refuse.”

  She regarded her lap as regret took over. “I really thought you had a cook.”

  “Why would you think that?”

  She shrugged. “Families who live on the lakeshore have servants. Even in these times.”

  “I suppose my parents could afford domestic help, but my mother’s family never had much, and she prefers taking care of things herself.”

  Meg sipped her coffee and set it down. “Keeping up a mansion must be hard without servants.”

  A smile played on his lips. “Have you ever seen the Elgin Club?”

  Meg shook her head.

  “The houses there are nice, but they hardly qualify as mansions.”

  Okay, so he hadn’t been spoiled growing up, and he drove a regular car. Albeit a brand-new one. She c
aught his eye. “Looks like I misjudged you. I’m sorry, but you still haven’t said why the heir apparent of the Beacon is working at the News-Trib.”

  “My dad feels the experience he received on a weekly paper—before he took over from my grandfather—was invaluable. He insists I do the same. Dad has known Oscar for years and asked him if he knew of anyone looking for reporters. Turned out Oscar had an opening.” He picked up the saltshaker and studied it. “The deal is, I’ll work here for a year. You’ll have your opportunity back next spring.”

  “Here you go.” The waitress placed steaming bowls of soup in front of them and looked at Jack. “Anything else?”

  Jack shook his head, and she left. He and Meg ate in silence for several minutes. Then he took a slice of bread from a stack on a plate and buttered it while he spoke. “If it helps, Oscar planned to advertise the job in Chicago and Milwaukee, hoping to lure someone with experience who might have been laid off.”

  Meg lifted a spoonful of fragrant hot broth to her lips and blew on it. “It doesn’t matter. By the time you’re gone, I’ll likely be living where women have a chance to advan—” She clamped her mouth shut and rested her spoon on the table. It clattered to the floor.

  She bent and peeked under the tablecloth. The utensil lay a few inches from his wingtip-covered right foot. She straightened, and the brim of her hat caught on the table ledge. The hat dropped over her right eye.

  Jack’s mouth twisted into a smirk. “I’ll ask Alice to bring you another spoon.”

  She adjusted her hat. “Don’t bother.…”

  Jack raised his hand and waved toward the girl. “Too late.”

  The waitress hurried over, all smiles, and he asked for a new spoon for the lady. They waited in silence until Jack spoke. “That’s what I like about you, Meg. You’re a fighter.”

  Relief washed over her. Apparently he’d missed her allusion to moving away. “How so?”