Still facing the bar, he glanced in my direction. He looked from my jacket on the sofa to my silk blouse. "Ever my champion, Miss Bennett. Maybe I'll get lucky and be sentenced to life in prison."
"They will never convict you because you're innocent."
He turned toward me and went on as if I hadn't spoken. "I'd miss seeing you, kid, and hearing your honeyed voice. God, I love the way you talk." He closed his eyes for a moment and breathed in. "And that perfume. I told you never to wear it again."
Desire overcame me. I couldn't stop looking at him. The words I love you wanted to come out, but I forced myself not to say them. Instead I whispered, "Are you drunk? I can't tell. You're always so cool and composed."
Bradley closed the distance between us and ran his right thumb lightly across my cheek. "Yes, I'm drunk; that's it," he murmured. "That's why I'm going to do this."
All at once I was in his arms. He slanted his head, and his lips came down on mine, warm and tasting of liquor, gently, as if he were testing me.
To my embarrassment, my whole body trembled. I lifted my arms. My right hand stroked his neck, my left gripped his upper arm, and I kissed him back. Out of instinct or I don't know what, I ran the tip of my tongue across his full bottom lip.
He drew in a deep breath and crushed his lips on mine. I matched his passion, immersed in pleasure and wanting more and more.
And he gave it to me, our kisses intense and desperate, as if he would be taken away at any second and locked in jail forever. In the darkness behind my closed eyes, nothing existed except the smell of his lime aftershave, the delicious taste of him, the strength of his muscles, and the warmth of his hot mouth.
I went along when he moved us to the sofa, kissing all the while. His knee nudged me down, and then we were lying side by side, pressed against each other. My hand moved to that tiny area of bare chest, and I stroked his skin. Bradley leaned over me, ripped open the top third of his shirt, buttons flying, and my hand caressed his exposed chest.
I thought I'd die if he didn't give me more. A pain deep inside me began, one I'd never felt before. He laid his cheek against mine and then kissed my neck,
whispering, "Bebe," in my ear before his mouth returned to mine. My blouse must have worked its way out of my skirt, because I felt his hand on my stomach.
I kicked off my pumps and ran my foot up his calf. He groaned, and I felt his hand on my leg. He moved my skirt higher and higher until his fingers found the snap of my garter.
Far away I heard laughter, but I didn't—I couldn't— care about anything except Bradley and what we were doing.
He must have heard it too, because he abruptly went still. He stopped kissing me, despite my murmuring, "No," in protest, and pulled my skirt down. He looked into my eyes and then slowly turned his head toward the laughter.
A male voice spoke, one I recognized and despised. Bradley's despicable cousin, who wanted his job.
"Back to your old tricks with company women, cousin? Isn't that what always gets you in trouble? You've been charged with murdering the last one."
"Get the hell out of here, Drew," Bradley ordered, his voice thick.
"I've come all the way from Chicago—"
"Out!" Bradley yelled.
"Okay, okay," Drew said. "Carry on; I'll be out in the waiting room."
I heard the door close.
Bradley looked at me and ran a hand through his hair. "Miss Bennett, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have let myself get carried away like that. You're very pretty, and—"
Frustrated as I'd never been in my whole life, I sat up, forcing him to do the same. "Don't you dare say you're sorry, Bradley. And stop calling me 'Miss Bennett' when we're alone."
"I'm not going to put you in a situation where you're alone with me again," he said, buttoning the few buttons left on his shirt and tucking it into his pants. "Obviously I can't be trusted. Of course I'd been drinking."
"That's a good excuse. Nothing would have happened had you been in your right mind," I said, fighting tears. Grabbing my shoes, I struggled to put them on. My heart still pounded, and that ache would not go away. Worse, I didn't think I could stand just yet.
"Kid, you're a good, sweet girl, and I don't want anything to hurt you," he said.
All my frustration manifested itself in anger. I struck out at him with words. "Oh, great. You can't even take responsibility for your own actions. Bradley, I can take care of myself. And by the way, the investigation is going well. I've narrowed the suspect list down, and hope to have your name cleared in the next few days."
He shot to his feet and stood towering over me. Pointing his finger at my face, he said, "I told you not to meddle, not to put yourself in danger. I told you I'd fire you if I found out you were investigating Suzie's murder."
That brought me to my feet. Looking him straight in the eye, I said, "So, am I fired for trying to help you, or maybe for what just happened, because you don't want to admit any feelings for me?"
We glared at each other.
"Yes, you are fired. I warned you. I'll write you an excellent recommendation," he said, and moved to his desk, fumbling for paper.
"Fine. I'll get my purse, and you'll never see me again. You can put that recommendation in the mail," I told him.
Head held high, I stormed out of his office, grabbed my purse, and walked past Drew to the elevator.
Mercifully, it came immediately.
In the lobby there was a ladies' room. I dashed in there, sat on a squarish green chair, and began to cry.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
When I returned to my apartment, I had to hurry and get ready to meet my parents at six. Darlene wasn't home, so I couldn't cry on her shoulder.
I had to wash off what was left of my makeup, then reapply it. My lips were swollen, and my chin sported a dark pink color. With heavy makeup on my chin, I put on a bright, floral sheath dress to distract attention from my lips. My hand trembled when I touched the garter snap that Bradley's fingers had been about to undo.
Like a chant going through my head, I kept thinking, You've lost him forever. You won't even get to see him at the office. Nothing would stop me from finishing the investigation, though. That night at dinner, sharp-eyed Daddy said, "Bebe, what's wrong with your lips?"
Mama chimed in, "Oh, dear, Bebe. Your father is right. Your lips are puffy."
I tried to laugh, but a squeaky sound came out. "It was warm in the office, so I went out and bought a snow cone."
Unable to eat, I pushed food around my plate, and struggled to chitchat with Mama and Daddy so they'd be reassured.
Once home, I sobbed my heart out.
Sunday wasn't any better. I'd slept about three hours the night before, and had to be up for the early Mass at St. Patrick's. In church, I felt guilty for my actions the day before, but I didn't regret them. Then there was Mother's Day brunch at the Legends. Mama loved her pin and put it on immediately. The whole time, part of my brain kept replaying the scene on Bradley's sofa.
Upstairs in my parents' hotel room, while Daddy watched a baseball game on TV, Mama and I sat on the other bed. We chatted about hometown people, but she knew something was wrong. Thank God she didn't pry, because I would have broken down and told her everything, ensuring her horror and disapproval.
After dinner—another meal wasted on me—I hugged them each hard and said good-bye. I was even able to reassure Daddy that I no longer worked for Bradley Williams.
Entering my apartment, I was confronted with Stu and Darlene making out on the sectional. I ran into my room, flinging the door shut, and bent double on the side of the bed. Racking sobs overtook me.
Darlene came in and closed the door. "You look like hell."
I told her everything, down to the last detail, ending with, "And what must he think about me, behaving like a . . . like a—"
"Passionate woman?" Darlene supplied. "I'll bet you drove him out of his mind with desire."
I considered this. "He was ... um, well, never mind.
But he fired me. I'll never see him again. And he didn't take responsibility for being attracted to me."
"He's fighting it, I keep telling you. He'll call you, Bebe. Wait and see. Bradley won't be able to stand not having you in the office."
I wiped my eyes with a balled-up, mascara-blotted tissue. "He was able to stand it yesterday."
Darlene put her arm around me. "Just how far were you prepared to go, honey?"
I closed my eyes as a fresh wave of pain came over me. "I don't know. The way I felt at the time, I think I would have done whatever Bradley wanted," I whispered, and felt heat come into my cheeks.
Darlene moved to the floor, crouching in front of me. "And Bradley knew that. He also knew he wasn't able to stop. He knows what would have happened if Drew hadn't walked in on you. That's why Bradley's mad."
"I'm not getting your drift," I said.
"Bradley is mad at himself, not you. He violated his male moral code against seducing virgins. When you think about it, Bradley's tipped his hand. He cares deeply about you, and he wants you in every meaning of the word."
"Do you think he loves me?"
Darlene paused, then said, "I think he's battling his own feelings. He's been a swinging bachelor for a long time."
I shredded the tissue. "He told me at the memorial service that he'd been lied to a lot by women. He said 'someday' he might get married."
"Wow. I'm surprised he opened up to you that much. The man is in torment, I tell you."
The phone rang.
Darlene grinned and got to her feet.
I grabbed her arm. "If it's him, tell him I'm unable to come to the phone and take a message."
"Why?"
I shook my head, tears falling again. "It's probably not him anyway."
"The phone's ringing!" Stu yelled.
Darlene ran into the kitchen. I looked for a clean nightgown.
A minute later, Darlene returned. "Guess who that was?"
Despite myself, I smiled. "Really?"
"Oh, yeah. Sounded like a wounded puppy. Wants you to call him back," Darlene said, waving a piece of paper with Bradley's phone number on it in front of my face.
I shifted my ivory cotton nightgown to my left hand
and took the paper. "He probably just has a question about the photo shoot. I'm not calling him back. He fired me. Let him figure it out."
"You're just as stubborn as he is." Darlene bit her lower hp. "Though, that might be the way to play it. Let him call again. Let him go into the office tomorrow and see your empty chair. Let him learn a lesson."
Bradley called again an hour later.
Darlene came to my door, grinning. "Oh, the poor baby. He asked if you had received his message, and I told him you had."
I sat in my nightgown on the floor next to my record player, listening to John Lennon singing about money on The Beatles Second Album. "What did he say then?"
"At first he was speechless. Then he said, 'Please ask her to call me; it's important.' "
I frowned. "I told you it's about the photo shoot."
Darlene slapped her hand on her thigh and laughed. "No, it isn't."
"Yes, it is."
"Okay, honey. Stu's going home now. He has an important business meeting in the morning; then he wants to take both of us out for an early lunch tomorrow."
"That would be nice," I said.
I waited until I heard the apartment door close before I came out of my room. All my crying had made me thirsty. I had grabbed a Tab when the buzzer from downstairs went off. The bottle almost slipped from my hand.
I rushed into the living room in time to hear Darlene speak into the intercom. "Yes, Stu, what did you forget?"
"Is this Darlene?"
Bradley's voice. He was downstairs! I couldn't see him like this: in my nightgown, my hair a mess, my nose and eyes red from crying. Still, a rush of elation went through me that he had actually come to see me.
I motioned frantically for Darlene not to let him in.
She nodded her agreement.
"Yes, Bradley?" she said.
"I'd like to come up and talk with Bebe."
"Oh, geez, I'm sorry, but she's asleep," Darlene said.
"Please go wake her up and get her to either see me or talk to me over this damned intercom," Bradley demanded.
"I'll see what I can do," Darlene promised.
I let a full five minutes go by before I took over at the intercom. "Yes, Bradley?"
"Let me come up, Bebe. I want to see you," he said, his voice somber.
"That's impossible. It's very late, I'm not properly dressed, and I do have my reputation to maintain."
Darlene buried her face in the gold sofa cushion, she was laughing so hard. I was not ready to find the situation funny.
Neither was Bradley. "Bebe, we need to talk."
"We already talked. I have no intention of listening to you make excuses about what happened between us on your sofa. I'll mail you a report on the Saint Thomas shoot, even though I'm no longer employed by Ryan Modeling. Pierre Benoit has offered me a job twice. I assume the offer is still open. I'm going to see him in the morning."
Darlene fell to the floor laughing, both hands over her mouth.
"Bebe, don't do this," Bradley said. "Let me come up."
Darlene ran the first finger of her right hand around the pinkie of her left, meaning I had Bradley wrapped around my little finger. She scooted off to her room.
That ache started again, hearing the vulnerable tone of his voice. Vulnerable? Cool man-about-town Bradley? I softened my voice. "No. You're not coming up here. And you are the one who fired me."
"You can't go to work for Pierre, that lecher."
"I need a job," I said.
"You have a job, Bebe," he said. "You're my executive secretary."
Tears came to my eyes. I could tell he was very
close to his end of the intercom. It was as if he were whispering in my ear again. And, oh, dear God, he wanted me back. Kept calling me Bebe. Was on my doorstep despite its being almost midnight.
Bradley said, "You aren't fired."
I let a long minute go by. "I'll come in tomorrow morning, and we'll see how it goes on a trial basis," I told him.
"Thank you," he said.
"Hey, mister, are you talkin' to Miss Sweet Face?" Harry's drunken voice met my ears.
Uh-oh. Harry had better not say anything about how I loved one man. Bradley would know for sure it was him. "Bradley!" I said urgently.
"Yes?"
"Give Harry some money."
"This wino?"
"Miss Sweet Face has a lot of boyfriends. You one of them? Had a fella come get her a couple of nights ago. She had on the prettiest blue dress. She didn't see me, only had eyes for him."
Lord have mercy! Harry was talking about Louis.
"Bebe?" Bradley said.
"Yes."
"I gave the bum five dollars, okay? He's gone now. We'll talk about your association with this person in the morning."
"Good night, Bradley."
I drifted into Darlene's room. "I'm not fired, Bradley says."
Darlene grinned. "Told ya. Now, we have to plot your next step."
"What next step?"
"What you're going to wear tomorrow."
In unison we said, "The white go-go boots!"
I made Bradley wait Monday morning, arriving at the office at quarter after nine. Sauntering off the elevator, I lingered on the opposite side of my desk, pretending to read phone messages.
The truth was, I wanted Bradley to have a good look at me. I was wearing a pale pink sleeveless mini-dress that Darlene had brought back from London. The dress had tiny white fuzzy dots all over it, and featured a scooped neck with a white bow at the bosom. On my legs were white tights and those precious white go-go boots.
I'm not positive he saw me, though I heard him choke on his coffee.
It was Drew who spoke to me first. Coming around the corner, he plunked himself down in one o
f the waiting-area chairs. "Wow, great outfit. We don't have anything like that in our stores." He lit a cigar and stared at me.
"Perhaps because your chain of department stores hasn't caught up to the latest fashions from London," I said.
Drew crossed his legs, showing off his expensive leather shoes. He wore a flashy Italian suit, which didn't impress me. His face always reminded me of a fox's, angling in as it did from his wide forehead. His auburn hair added to the image.
"I'll have to get on that. You know, Bebe, you could always come out to Chicago and work for me," Drew said, his tone suggestive.
I went around my desk and sat in my chair. "I like New York, thank you."
Drew went on. "I'd like to take you and Debbie Ann. Man, that woman can cook. She's here working on her show—that would go over good in Chicago— and she made me a perfect omelet."
"Debbie Ann has had a tragic past," I informed him. "She lost both her husband and her son. Leave her alone."
He held up his hands. "I didn't come here to cause trouble. Uncle Herman wanted me to check things out."
I didn't answer. Instead, I remembered Uncle Herman's deadline for Bradley. His ten days would be up on Wednesday.
Glancing up from Danielle's notes, I caught Bradley looking at me. He wore a slate-blue suit—which brought out the color of his eyes—with a goldish tie sporting square and circular blue swirls. No more mourning for Suzie, I thought.
"Miss Bennett, come in here please," he said.
Drew hollered, "Should I leave this time?"
Bradley bolted out of his office. "Drew, make no mistake. You are not to speak that way in front of Miss Bennett. Should you choose to test my resolve in this, you'll find yourself with a black eye. I'm fed up with your tactics. You come here, spying on me again, trying to find ways to make me look bad in front of Uncle Herman. I don't interfere in your business."
"That's because I run a clean operation."
Bradley grabbed Drew by his lapels. "Like hell you do."
As if no one had spoken, I placed a check made out to the Legends for Suzie's memorial reception at the edge of my desk. In a casual tone, I said, "Mr. Williams, you need to sign this. I'll take it over to the Legends myself, as I have an early business lunch at eleven."
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