"Like me. That's okay, Darlene. I know Cole wouldn't cross the street to talk to me." The thought occurred to me that one day, when I was much older, I'd be grateful that people mistook me for being younger. "What did you say to Cole?" I asked, wondering how often the oil man had called Darlene lambkin.
"I figured he was probably right," Darlene mumbled.
Right! This was tricky. While I didn't approve of this bottom painting, I didn't want Darlene's lively, fun personality squashed. Especially by stuffy Cole. "Do you think Cole will continue to act like a father during your relationship?"
"Maybe not," she said slowly. "On the other hand, maybe that's what I need to be happy."
"I don't think that's true at all," I said. "Darlene, you need a guy whose personality complements yours."
She just shook her red curls.
"We talked about this before, remember? Are you really going to continue dating a guy who's more than old enough to be your father, to let him be a father figure for you?"
"I guess so," Darlene said. She sat up on the sectional.
"But you were happy with Stu. The two of you had all kinds of fun together. I thought you loved him, and I know he loves you."
"Look where it got me! He cheated on me," she cried.
"You don't know that for sure, Darlene, because you never would talk to him about it. All you're going on is gossip. Why don't you listen to Stu's side of the story?"
Darlene's eyes filled with tears. Her voice wobbled. "Honey, I can't. I can't talk to Stu about it now. I miss him, but in time I'll have to get over him."
"Why on earth can't you talk to Stu?" I asked. I got up off the floor and sat next to Darlene. I put my arm around her and squeezed.
"B-because of this," Darlene said and broke into fresh tears. She held out her left hand.
My jaw dropped. On the fourth finger of her left hand, Darlene wore a huge round diamond solitaire.
"Oh, my God," I muttered, as she wept. "Darlene, get ahold of yourself. Drink the rest of this whiskey, and tell me this isn't an engagement ring."
She used the tissue again, then took the glass and flung her head back, polishing off the whiskey. She looked away before speaking, as if she were remembering the evening. "Cole took me out to dinner first, a beautiful, romantic place, Valerie's, that served French cuisine. After we ate, he told me how much he loved me, how he wanted me to be his companion in life more than anything in the world. He said that I was special, and more beautiful than a perfect diamond. Then he slid a black velvet box across the table to me, and got down on one knee."
"Oh, my, Darlene," I said, mentally wondering how the bowlegged old coot got back up.
She continued the story, her attention on me. "When Cole asked me to marry him, I felt like a princess. The one thing that ran through my mind was that he represented security and a place in Texas society."
Darlene was going to leave New York City, the place she loved? What evil spell had Cole cast over her?
Darlene took up her story. "When I have to retire from Skyway in a few years, I won't have to work.
Cole wouldn't cheat on me. I don't really want children," she added, then paused, as if she were considering that last statement. "Anyway, I said yes, and the people in the restaurant cheered when Cole kissed me."
"Gosh," I said. "But now you've had second thoughts, right? Isn't that why you're crying your eyes out?"
"All I can think of is Stu," she confided. "If only I knew he hadn't cheated on me . . . but it's too late now."
I thought fast. "What are you doing tomorrow?"
"Cole's taking me shopping for new clothes. He wants to honeymoon in Paris, and he thinks I need some different outfits to wear, more conservative pieces."
"What honeymoon? You have to plan a wedding first."
Darlene looked down at the turquoise fur rug. "Cole said that since Mama doesn't talk to me, and all his family are gone except for a sister in Oregon he hasn't seen in years, we might as well just get married at City Hall."
"City Hall! Darlene Roland!" I exclaimed, standing up, my hands on my hips. "You will not exchange wedding vows in some poky hole-in-the wall wedding at City Hall! Haven't you dreamed about being married in a beautiful white—or, um, ivory—dress in a church filled with flowers, with bridesmaids, all your friends, a wedding cake, and champagne toasts? What about all that?"
"Girlish dreams, nothing more."
Darlene got up and made her way into the kitchen. She reached for the whiskey bottle, but I said, "How about some ice cream?"
"Sounds good," she said, then slumped at the tiny table, looking all of twelve years old. Without makeup, her freckles stood out across her nose.
I scooped generous amounts of chocolate ice cream into two green bowls, got out the spoons and napkins, and sat across from her. All the while, my head spun. I didn't believe for one second that Darlene thought a nice wedding with all the trimmings was just a "girlish dream." But that was not the critical point. First I had to pour more doubts into her head about this crazy idea of marrying Cole. Ever since she'd met him, he'd tried to change her, mold her into something she wasn't. Darlene needed to be who she was.
I passed her her bowl, spoon, and napkin, and said, "So you'll be busy on Tuesday. Then on Wednesday you're working the flight to the Virgin Islands. Maybe in the tropical setting, you'll be able to think over this engagement."
She took a tiny bite of chocolate, then dropped the spoon into the bowl. "Cole bought a ticket for the flight. He said that way we could consider our honeymoon in two parts: one in the hot sunshine and beach, and the other in the cool spring of Paris."
"With the City Hall stop-off somewhere in between," I said sarcastically.
Darlene rose. "Listen, I can't talk about this anymore. I need to lie down. Would you come in my room and talk to me? I want to know how your investigation is going, not to mention your date."
An idea came to mind. Darlene would hate me, maybe even smack me or tear my hair out, but one day she'd be on her knees thanking me.
"All right, let me get out of this dress, and I'll be right in. You're not going to fall asleep on me, are you?"
"Honey, don't be silly. It's only ten thirty. I'm not at death's door." She moved into her room, and I went into mine.
I shut the door, peeled off my dress, girdle, and stockings, and flung on my pink chenille robe, the one decorated with big coffee cups. Looking widly around my room, I spotted the purse I'd taken to work that day on the Banana chair. I grabbed it, opened it wide, and retrieved my trusty little notebook. Flipping through the pages, I found what I needed. I made a quick trip to the kitchen, noisily putting the dishes away, then strolled into Darlene's bedroom.
She reclined on her bed, a box spring and mattress on the floor. Red chiffon material formed a tent that gathered at the top over the bed. On a narrow, rickety table sat a phonograph and a collection of albums. Darlene had Patsy Cline playing. I closed my eyes, thinking of how we'd lost dear Patsy just last year in that awful plane crash. Her magical voice sang the words to "Why Can't He Be You." I was sure Darlene had thoughts of Stu on her mind, just as I couldn't get Bradley off my brain. From the attention of the young actor at Pierre's gala showing and my date with Louis, I felt my confidence growing.
Darlene scooted to the far edge of the bed. "Come on, honey, tell me about your date."
I lay down next to her. We both stared at the top of the red, see-through chiffon. "I will, but don't think I've finished talking to you about Cole. You're just getting a break."
"You're the best, Bebe."
I poked her left arm. "Bradley was there."
She gasped, rolled to her side, and propped herself up on her left elbow. "On your date? How in blue blazes did he manage that?"
I rolled on my side to face her. "He got the information out of this sweet girl from the typing pool who took over for me at lunch. Can you believe it? Then he showed up at the Phone Booth with a model he'd had me help him contact."
> Darlene shook her head and smiled. "I'm telling you, Bradley considers you his; otherwise he never would have followed you like that! I've been in the Phone Booth. Did he come up to your table, or—no, don't tell me—he called you for a dance."
"All right, I won't tell you, but that's what he did," I said, and grinned.
Darlene and I fell to giggling.
"Get this," I said, "he recognized the My Sin perfume and told me never to wear it again!"
Darlene burst into laughter. "Lord have mercy! That man is trying so hard not to act on his feelings."
"I don't know about that, but he also told me never to wear that hot-pink lipstick again." I snickered.
"You can have my tube. It doesn't look right on me. As for the My Sin—"
"I'm buying a big bottle."
We laughed, and I felt a surge of happiness that Darlene thought Bradley considered me his.
Then Patsy started singing "Crazy" and the smile faded from Darlene's face.
"Do you want to know about my date with Louis?" I asked, hoping to keep her mind off the "engagement."
"Yeah, how was he?"
I looked down at the red bedspread. "He's handsome, polite, paid for a very nice dinner—"
"If that's all you have to say about him, he was dull."
"He kissed me, kinda, and asked me out again."
"How was the kiss?"
"It was a first date; I couldn't expect much."
"Dull. Did he dance with you?"
"Gee, no. I hadn't even thought of that, but he didn't. I danced with Bradley; then Louis and I had our meal. I'll go out with Louis again if he asks. I hardly know him, though he seems hard on himself and others. I gave him a modeling assignment, which he appreciated."
"I'll bet he did. Bebe, I think you do know him, but go ahead and give him another chance."
"I'll be seeing him tomorrow on a photo shoot for B. Altman's. What's better is that Bradley will be there—"
The sound of the intercom buzzer cut me off. I said, "Here, Darlene, hand me your engagement ring."
With her brows together, she did as I asked, then said, "Why do you want the ring? The buzzer for downstairs went off. Didn't you hear it? Someone's here to see one of us."
"I'll give you back the ring." Now I was shaking. Should I really be meddling in Darlene's life like this? Was I turning into Debbie Ann, well-meaning but intrusive?
This time didn't count. I sprang out of the bed, scrambled to the intercom, and buzzed for Stu to come up. I knew it was him, because I'd called him and told him to come over. I couldn't let Darlene marry Cole without her hearing Stu's side of the story.
Darlene was right behind me. "Who is it, Bebe?"
I held up my hands as though I were being arrested, and put the pink sectional between us. "Now, Darlene, don't get mad. This is for your own good."
Her eyes popped. "Tell me you didn't call Stu."
I stood mute.
"Tell me!"
She tried to come to my side of the sectional, a look of fury in her eyes, but I dodged her.
"I'm going to kill you, Elizabeth Bennett," she hissed at me.
A knock sounded on the door.
Darlene ran into the kitchen, came back into the living room with a pen in her hand, and scrawled Bebe on the bottom painting.
"Darlene! You can't do that!" I cried.
"That's just the beginning of what I'm going to do to you for calling Stu," she promised.
I finally made it to the door and flung it open. Stu, dressed in a midnight-blue evening suit, his dark hair styled like a movie star's, strolled into the room.
He looked at Darlene with concern blazing in his brown eyes. "Darlene, are you all right? Bebe called me and said you were sick. That I should come right over."
She shot me a look that might have felled the Empire State Building. Then she gazed at Stu for a long moment, her arms crossed over her chest.
No one spoke.
Finally I said, "Stu, I love Darlene, and I'm very fond of you. I wanted the two of you to talk, but if you don't want to, maybe you could just watch TV together. Oh, look at the time, all the stations are off the air. 1 guess you'll have to talk."
Stu said, "Hey, if I'm not wanted here—"
Darlene interrupted. "Bebe, will you excuse Stu and me?"
"Yes," I said, and dashed to my room. I closed the door behind me, then mentally kicked myself for doing so. I wasn't going to hear them well with the door tightly shut.
That didn't stop me from sitting on the floor, my right ear pressed to the wood.
Darlene started the attack. "You spent the weekend with that stewardess Peggy in Paris. Why did you come here?"
"Bebe said you were ill, that's why. And if you would only listen and trust me, I can explain why the rumor of my so-called infidelity got started."
"Start talkin', buster," Darlene instructed. I could picture her, arms crossed, glaring at Stu.
I could still hear Stu's voice, but not enough to make out what he was saying. I remembered him telling me when I saw him at the World's Fair how Peggy, a chief stewardess, had made up the story of a fling with him, wanting to make Darlene jealous. I figured he was explaining this to Darlene.
She stayed quiet while he spoke, thank heavens.
When it was her turn to talk, she spoke too softly for me to hear, much to my frustration.
At least they were talking, I thought. I hoped Darlene wasn't dumb enough to tell Stu she was engaged to Cole.
Suddenly Stu must have walked around the sectional, closer to my door. I heard him say, "Okay, doll, if you want to think about it, that's fine by me. I'm damn glad we talked. When you get back from your trip to the Virgin Islands, give me a call. You know I'll be waiting for you."
Another little spell of silence; then I heard the apartment door open and close. I crawled over to my albums, pretending to look through them.
Darlene knocked on the door, and I said, "Come in unless you're going to kill me."
She opened the door and stuck her head around it. "I don't like your tactics, Bennett."
"It was for your own good, Roland."
We smiled at each another.
"Well, do you believe Stu now?" I asked.
"I told him I'd think it over," she replied. "Toss me that rock of a ring. I'll need it tomorrow."
I complied and Darlene caught it in one try. I said, "Did Stu kiss you?"
She licked her lips, then shook her finger at me. "No more information for you, Miss Nosy."
"Stu did kiss you, or you wouldn't have licked your lips."
Darlene came around the door. "We never talked about the murder investigation."
I shrugged. "It's really late. I need to get to bed. But I will say there are three, maybe four suspects on my list right now: Pierre, Gloria, Lola, and a photographer named Scott Roberts. Plus, Bradley's uncle is going to kick him out of the company if the killer isn't caught within ten days."
"That's nice of him. What can I do?" Darlene said, yawning.
"Nothing tomorrow. Come to Suzie's memorial on Wednesday and help me check people out. When we get to the Virgin Islands, hopefully we can nail the killer."
"So you're sure the police won't let Bradley leave town by Wednesday afternoon?"
"I'm sure, but I'd love to be surprised."
"And you think he'll let you go in his place?"
"He'd better."
Darlene yawned again. "Whew, crying takes a lot out of a body. I'm going to bed." She turned to leave the room, then peeked back at me. "Stu said he knew the bottom painting was of me. I wonder how we could get Bradley to see it and get his opinion."
She closed the door before I could fling a slipper at her.
"Oh, and your daddy called," Darlene yelled. "You'd better call him back." I put my head in my hands and groaned.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Tuesday morning at Ryan, I sat at my desk typing letters for Bradley. His door stood open, and when I'd brought him his coffee h
e hadn't said a word.
Before I'd gone to sleep last night, I'd called Daddy back, deliberately not reversing the charges so he'd have to be quick. I suspected why he wanted to talk to me, and I was correct.
"What in tarnation is going on up there, Bebe? I told you that Williams fella was nothing but a playboy. Now look what he's gone and done, murdered that cute girl. Tell me you're not working at that place anymore—"
"Daddy!" I interrupted. "Mr. Williams didn't kill Suzie Wexford. He hasn't been charged with her murder. It's only a misunderstanding."
"There won't be any misunderstanding when I come up there and carry you to the train! Your mama's been pale as a snowdrop, worried sick about you."
"I'm sorry. Give her my love," I said, and yawned.
"What are you doing awake so late? You haven't been out at night in that heathen city, have you?"
"Daddy, I had a date with a young man who's a model. He took me for a nice dinner."
"A male model? Don't you know all them are queer?"
I rolled my eyes. "Daddy, I need to get some sleep, okay?"
"All right, Little Magnolia. Next time reverse the
charges. And don't get mixed up with that Williams character, you hear me?"
I hadn't made any promises.
I sipped my coffee. Eight models were upstairs getting into makeup and the clothes from B. Altman's. Gloria had come in before I did, according to the talent sign-up sheet on my desk.
There was no sign of Pierre, who was supposed to be shooting the ad.
A few minutes before ten o'clock, the models started straggling downstairs and lounging in chairs. They were beautiful! The girls were decked out in fashionably striped long culottes—in shades of pink, white, pale blue, red, orange, and tan—with strawberry-pink halter tops trimmed with large front bows. They had on big, pink plastic earrings and plastic bangle bracelets on their arms. Simple tan sandals were on their feet.
Gloria had done a dramatic look with their makeup, and the girls' hair had been teased high. B. Altman's promotional material had said the outfit was smart for home entertaining or seaside sunning.
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