A Fashionable Murder (4 page)

“Yeah, think how a week like this will build up my college fund!” Tyler said enthusiastically. He could see that he was beginning to win his mother over to his side.

“What is this movie about?”

But the appearance of Taylor Blanco with a gorgeous blonde on his arm prevented Tyler from answering and almost immediately, Josie found herself receiving more attention than she had gotten in her entire life. Waitpersons flocked around them. The owner of the restaurant appeared. The chef popped out of the kitchen to explain the evening’s specials in person. Other diners either gaped openly or covertly glanced at them through half-closed eyes. As the evening lengthened and Indochine filled up, the attention continued. But rum, nervousness, and lots of excellent food proved to be too much for Josie and she was exhausted long before midnight.

She and Sam said their good-byes, left the restaurant, and walked into the bitter cold night air. Lafayette Street was bustling. The evening’s performance at the Public Theater had just ended, and playgoers strolled by, discussing the night’s play. Students from Cooper Union were stamping down the sidewalk, arm in arm, laughing and arguing. Late-night dog walkers gathered around the only tree on the block, chatting and trying to keep their animals from becoming permanently wound up in one another’s leashes.

“The city that never sleeps,” Sam whispered, pulling Josie close.

“I sure hope that doesn’t apply to all of its citizens,” Josie mumbled, her speech slurred with fatigue.

“It doesn’t. Let’s walk a block or two to the west and look for a cab.”

“Sounds good to me.” She smiled up at him. Their first day in the city had turned out pretty well. Maybe their week together really would turn out to be a lot of fun.

FOUR

“THE DINNER WAS sensational! But it was difficult to eat. Everything was stacked up.”

“Stacked up?” Jon Jacobs repeated Josie’s words.

“Yeah. I ordered crab cakes as an appetizer and the waiter put down a huge plate with three tiny little crab cakes piled one on top of the other surrounded by three little squirts of sauce—tartar sauce, cocktail sauce, and something else. It was yellow—the third sauce. It tasted wonderful, but I have no idea what it was made from. For my main course I ordered a tuna fillet. The plate it arrived on was even bigger than the first, but the food was jammed together in the middle as though there wasn’t any room for it to spread out. There were noodles with tiny pieces of vegetables I didn’t even recognize. And then spears of fried sweet potatoes—at least I think that’s what they were—were laid on the rice. The tuna had been sliced and piled right on top. It was all delicious, but a little weird.

“And the dessert! Well, the dessert was incredible. I picked the apple tart, thinking of a nice slice of tart with maybe some ice cream on the side. But what came was another large plate, crystal this time. And on it was a little oblong thing that looked like an egg roll; it was topped by a pyramid of cinnamon ice cream which had been stabbed by this sword made out of barley sugar, like those candies we used to get at Christmas. And there was this luscious caramel sauce drizzled over the entire thing. It was all wonderful, but every time I stuck my fork in the food, the entire pile fell down!” Josie suddenly laughed. “Maybe that’s the reason they used such huge plates!”

“Well, we’re a bit more casual here,” Betty said, joining her guests in the living room. She carried a huge tray on which four steaming mugs stood, surrounded by little pitchers of cream and skim milk and tiny bowls of sugar and artificial sweetener. The two couples had finished their brunch, toured the large apartment, admired JJ’s new ability to drool and smile at the same time, and then retired to the living room.

Josie was impressed. Betty Patrick, beautiful energetic skilled carpenter had become Betty Jacobs, beautiful domestic mother. Josie, sitting quietly on the couch, little JJ dozing in her lap, wondered if she was capable of making such a big change in her own life.

“So what did you think of the famous movie producer?” Jon asked, passing out their coffee.

“He seems a very nice man. Very low-key,” Sam answered. “And his son is a nice kid too. Josie and I felt better after meeting them. It looks like Tyler’s in good hands, and we’re only a phone call away.”

“Yes, but there is one small problem,” Josie protested.

“What’s that?” Betty asked, taking JJ from Josie and settling him into her arms.

“The girlfriend.”

“We don’t know that she’s his girlfriend. She’s starring in the movie he’s making. He might just have invited her to dinner,” Sam protested and then explained further. “Her name is Suzi and—”

“And she’s closer in age to Tyler and his friend than to his father,” Josie burst out.

“Welcome to New York,” Betty said. “That’s just the way it is in some circles around here. I fully expect Jon to trade me in for a younger model when I pass the age of thirty.”

“No way you’re going to get out of our marriage that easily,” Jon said. “I’m planning on watching you grow old and gray.”

Betty grinned. “Old maybe, but not gray. Not if Tina has anything to say about it.”

“Who’s Tina?” Josie asked.

“Tina does my hair at Elizabeth Arden. She is the enemy of gray hair.”

“You’re having your hair colored! I thought you looked different!” Josie cried.

“I hope I look different. I spend hours and hours, and hundreds of dollars each month trying to look different.” Betty glanced over at her husband and, seeing that he and Sam were starting up a conversation, scooted across the couch closer to Josie. “Do you like it?”

“I love it! It looks natural, like it’s sun streaked, only better,” Josie assured her, self-consciously smoothing down her own unruly mop as she spoke.

“I was wondering. . . . well, I thought maybe . . .”

Such hesitation was unusual for Betty. “What?” Josie prompted impatiently.

“Well, I have an appointment tomorrow morning—at Elizabeth Arden—and I wondered if you wanted to go with me.”

“Oh, Betty, of course. You didn’t even have to ask. JJ and I will keep each other company while you become even more beautiful . . .”

“Why is JJ going to be there? Oh . . .” A look of dawning understanding appeared on Betty’s lovely face. “Oh, no, Josie. I’m not asking you to take care of JJ. I was hoping you’d come along and get your hair done too. It will be lots of fun and we can visit. What do you think?”

Josie didn’t answer Betty’s question, but asked one of her own. “Wouldn’t the people there, the women who work there—like Tina—wouldn’t someone like Tina . . . I don’t know, look down on someone who looks like me? I’m not terribly well groomed.”

“In the first place, you look wonderful. You really do! You have natural beauty. And, to be honest, I know exactly how you feel. I felt the same way when I first moved here—like a hick surrounded by all these women who knew how to do things I’d never done. I spent the first six months here afraid of looking like a fool.”

Josie nodded vigorously. “Exactly.”

“But it was my imagination that had me in a panic. Most people in New York are too busy living their own lives to spend time trashing other people. Of course, every once in a while I run into someone who wants to put me down. The very first charity banquet Jon took me to was in the ballroom at the Waldorf. It’s a gorgeous room and the decorations that evening were spectacular—all white candles, white lilies, and crystal. I was blown away. Jon introduced me to one of his coworkers and I said something about the room and asked her if she had ever been there before. I was just trying to be polite, but she used my question as an opportunity to make me feel inferior.”

“What did she say?”

“Just that she had been there dozens of times before— that, in fact, everyone she knew had been there dozens of times before. I felt a bit like something that had just crawled out of the gutter and didn’t belong in such elevated company. Which is, of course, exactly the way she wanted me to feel.”

“Bitch.”

Betty nodded. “Exactly. But she’s in the minority. And Elizabeth Arden isn’t like that. They have new clients coming in all the time—women who are getting married and want to be made over, women who have bought or been given what they call a day of beauty and are getting manicures, facials, massages, hair treatments, makeup design . . . everything. Everyone there is very nice. Hell, they’re paid to be nice. Anyway, Josie, I thought we could have fun if we went together.”

“Will I come out looking as gorgeous as you do?”

“Even better! Your hair is so thick and long that they can do all sorts of things with it and you have almost flawless skin . . .”

“And about twenty extra pounds, broken fingernails, no makeup . . .”

“You’re right! We’ll schedule a makeup lesson right after your haircut. And a pedicure as well as a manicure.”

“A pedicure! Betty, it’s winter! Who’s going to see my feet?”

“Sam.”

“Yes, but he’s used to my naked toenails and callused heels. And won’t he think it’s odd if I suddenly start acting like a city girl?”

“You don’t have to worry about that. Men never really notice the details. He’ll think you’re looking nice, but he won’t realize exactly what’s changed. Oh, Josie, please come with me. We’ll have fun!”

“Well . . .”

“Great! I’ll pick you up at Sam’s apartment at eight.”

“Sam may have plans . . .”

But at the mention of his name, Sam’s attention returned to the women. “If you’re going to say nice things about me, you could speak up so I could enjoy it,” he suggested, smiling.

“Josie and I are going to—”

“We thought we’d spend tomorrow morning exploring the city,” Josie interrupted. “And we wondered if meeting at eight is too early.”

“Perfect timing. As much as I’d like to sleep in tomorrow, the real estate agent is hoping to see the apartment at seven-thirty, so we’ll have to get up early anyway,” Sam said. “Where are you two planning to go?”

“What real estate agency are you using?” Jon asked Sam before anyone had an opportunity to answer his question.

“The one I used when I bought the place. But I’m beginning to think that was a bad idea,” Sam answered, returning his attention to his friend.

Josie was relieved, as she really didn’t want Sam to know about the plans she and Betty were making. Josie couldn’t remember the last time she’d been in a beauty parlor, but she knew enough to know that they weren’t even called that anymore. She had been trimming—okay, hacking the split ends off—her hair herself for over a decade. She knew it wasn’t chic, but it was cheap. And as for a manicure or a pedicure, well, she had simply never related these things to her life. Every extra dollar she had, she either spent on her son or reinvested in her business, Island Contracting. Once in a while she looked with envy upon the high-maintenance women who lived in the gorgeous houses she worked on, but she had trained herself not to think about what she couldn’t have. . . . Except, of course, if she married Sam she could have anything she wanted, within reason. She frowned, pushed her unstyled hair away from her face, and reached for her coffee mug.

“Is anything wrong?” Betty asked worriedly. “If you don’t want to go tomorrow, I can cancel my appointment—”

“That’s not it . . . exactly.” Josie glanced over at the men, now engrossed in a topic New Yorkers always found enchanting: real estate prices.

“Let’s put JJ down for a nap,” Betty said, standing up suddenly.

Josie knew Betty wanted to talk privately. She agreed and followed Betty down the long hallway to her son’s nursery. “This is a gorgeous apartment,” she said quietly.

“Yes, we were lucky to find it. Josie, did I say something to upset you? I mean, you look wonderful. I like your hair, and Sam likes it and . . .”

“It’s not my hair. Well, it’s not just my hair. I feel weird being here. It feels to me as though a lot is depending on what happens this week.”

“What do you mean? I thought you were on vacation. For practically the first time since I’ve known you, I might add.”

“It is. I mean, I’m not working. But I’m not relaxing either.”

“I don’t understand.”

Betty was putting her baby down and had her back to Josie. “Well, in the first place,” Josie said slowly, “I think Sam’s going to propose . . .”

Betty was a good mother so nothing could cause her to drop her son. But JJ was placed in his crib rather more quickly than was normal. “Josie! That’s sensational!” She looked at Josie’s face. “It is, isn’t it? Josie, you are going to say yes, aren’t you?”

Josie was staring at the cheerful mural of a beach scene covering the wall opposite JJ’s crib and didn’t answer.

“Josie? Isn’t Sam the person you want? Is something wrong between you?”

“That’s just it. Sam is the person I want. I love him. Nothing has gone wrong between us, but getting married is such a big step. It could change my life.”

“And you’re not sure you want your life changed.”

“There are things I would love to change. When Tyler’s at school, I’m alone too much. It would be wonderful to be with Sam all the time. He’s perfect for me. The trouble is me. I’m not sure I’m capable of living a different life.” Josie suddenly sat down in a rocking chair and sighed loudly. “Sounds stupid, doesn’t it?”

Betty was obviously mystified. “I don’t understand. Is Sam planning on leaving the island?”

“No.”

“Is he going to practice law again?”

“No.”

“Are you going to quit running Island Contracting?”

Josie’s denial was even firmer than her previous protests.

“So what is going to be different? You and Sam are together all the time anyway. I know you’ll miss Risa’s wonderful cooking,” Betty said, referring to Josie’s generous and gourmet landlady, “but—”

“That’s just it!”

Betty’s gorgeous eyes opened wide and she stared at her friend. “You don’t want to marry Sam because you don’t want to give up Risa’s meals? But, Josie . . .”

“Well, that’s not exactly it. That sounds like I’m nuts. And I’m not! It’s not just Risa’s risotto or her calamari or her spaghetti Bolognese. It’s what that apartment means to me. I know it’s not well decorated. Hell, it’s not even decorated at all. And I really do plan on changing the ugly toilet and sink. And—”