Paul Brouillette's jaw dropped as strobes lit up. His eyes searched the crowd for some sign that all this was for him. His jaw dropped further when the scantily clad model threw her arms around him, a champagne bottle clutched in each hand. He felt a wet kiss on his check before his gaze locked with Jack's. Then he grinned. “It's a party!” he shouted, to be heard over the musicians.
“Damn straight, it's a party! It's all for you, buddy. There's another one going on at the office right now. It was the least I could do for my old buddy! Welcome home, Paul!” Jack said, clapping him on the back.
“Where's Zip?” Paul shouted.
“With the fat lady who has big feet. I'm gonna get you for that one!”
“Can we stop and pick him up on the way? I really missed him.”
“I tried earlier, but no one was home. I didn't hear Zip bark, and I didn't want a repeat of that other night when he went through the door. We can pick him up after the party. It will only last an hour or so. We got some new guys at the firm, and they're dying to meet you. I also want to present your first job to you. Then, I'm going on vacation with Marissa.”
“You're leaving me alone with . . . everything?”
“Hey, you're a partner now. You gotta jump in some time. Might as well be right away. You can handle it. If you screw up, so what? That's how you learn.”
The sudden silence was deafening the moment the musicians started to pack up their instruments. Paul took off his jacket, rolled up the sleeves of his shirt, and yanked at his tie.
“See, you got it down.” Jack laughed as he pushed his friend into the limo. “This one is just for us. The others go in the two behind us. Now, cut the bullshit and tell me about Miss Josie Dupré. Is it going to go somewhere? What can I do to help move things along? You'll never starveâthat's for sure. Here,” he said, handing over a bottle of champagne to Paul. He kept one for himself. Both corks popped simultaneously.
Paul swigged from the bottle. It was time to talk. Time to open up. Time to lighten his shoulders. It was time.
Eight
K
itty Dupré paced the long, narrow test kitchen, her face a mask of fury. “I've been cooking for eight straight hours and now you tell me the Larsens are canceling. Why? Who's paying for all this?” she exploded.
“Calm down, Kitty. Emma Larsen dropped off a check twenty minutes ago. We aren't out one cent. What we have is a ton of food. We can either eat it or take it to one of the homeless shelters. It's no big deal. If you want me to drop it off, I will. Then I have to get ready for . . . to . . .”
“I can see where you have a narrow window of only four hours,” Kitty said. “I used to need at least six hours when I had a date with Harry. I'll package some of this up and take it up to the house in case you want to, you know, dine in. I'm staying at Harry's tonight. He's due in any minute now. We have two whole days We have a free day tomorrow, so I won't see you till Thursday. If you need me, call. Jill and I will drop the rest of this food off at the shelter. Go on, do your thing. The mangos are on the kitchen table.”
Josie threw a wooden spoon at her sister, her face flaming.
Kitty laughed and laughed. “C'mon, sis, the guy's a stiff. He takes himself way too seriously. He needs to lighten up. Think of all the fun you could have if you'd both loosen up. Mom would tell you to go for it. She snagged Daddy with some rather unorthodox methods. Think about it.” She struck a pose, reached for the rolling pin and held it in front of her as she started to sing.
I'm getting rid of all my pantyhose,
And all those high heels with the pointy toes.
I'm gonna find myself some comfortable clothes
I'm getting rid of all my pantyhose.
Now who decided what I'm supposed to wear?
Lots of makeup and all that big hair.
I've got a layer I've gotta expose.
I'm getting rid of all my pantyhose.
Josie burst out laughing as Kitty rolled her eyes as well as the rolling pin, pretending she was on stage. She strutted the length of the kitchen to Josie's delight.
“Enough! That song has been buzzing in my brain since the day you bought that Corinda Carford CD.”
“Do you think I have the makings of a songbird?” Kitty laughed.
“You are no Corinda Carfordâthat's for sure. So don't quit your day job.”
“Don't forget what I told you about the mangos. They're soooo ripe.”
“One nutcase in the family is enough. If you're sure you don't need me, then I have things to do. You could drop the Larsens' check off at the bank on your way to the shelter. It's on my desk, along with the deposit slip. We need to send some flowers. Mr. Larsen is in traction at the hospital. He slipped on some soapsuds in the laundry room. I guess he lay there in agony until his son came in from school. He'll be fine, though.”
“I'll order the flowers. Where are the dogs?”
“In the kitchen. I'll keep them with me.”
Josie galloped up to the house, her heart thumping in her chest. She was going to see Paul in a few hours. A good, long soak in a bubble bath. A manicure and a pedicure were definitely called for. She needed to shave her legs, and she definitely needed to do something with her hair. Four hours to ground zero. Four hours until Paul Brouillette walked through her kitchen door. She closed her eyes and whirled around the kitchen. Both dogs followed her every move, as she twirled the dishtowel this way and that, a dreamy look on her face. She stopped for a minute and picked up one of the mangos from the bowl on the kitchen table. No way. Never in a million years. Kitty was right: They were so ripe. Another day and they would be rotten. So much juice. So delicious. She could almost feel the warm, sticky juice dripping down between her breasts. Almost.
“Let's go, guys. Time to get gussied up. Time is marching on, and your owner will be visiting very soon, Zip. Hop to it!”
Both dogs bounded out of the kitchen and up the steps, where they waited, panting for her to get to the top. When she reached the top, they raced down the hall to her bedroom. Zip always took a flying leap and landed smack in the middle of the bed while Rosie had to climb on the little bench Josie had placed at the foot of the bed to make it easier for her to get up and down.
The boxer eyed the wild array of clothing on the bed. He sniffed and pawed everything until he cleared a space for himself and Rosie. One huge paw reached out to an undergarment that was little more than cobwebs and lace. He dangled it over the side of the bed. “Is that a yes or a no?” Josie giggled as she took the teddy and carried it to the bathroom.
“Woof.”
Water gushed into the old-fashioned tub with the claw feet as Josie eyed the array of bath salts in crystal decanters on the shelf over the tub. Honeysuckle, lavender, avocado, lily of the valley, rose hyacinth. She reached for the lily of the valley and poured lavishly. “You're here, aren't you, Mom? I can feel your presence. Maybe it's wishful thinking on my part. Yes, I can talk to Kitty, and yes, she gives me good advice. Most of the time. It's you I want to talk to. God, I wish you were here. I like this guy. Probably more than I should. He could be
the one,
Mom. He really could. Kitty's right: He is rather stiff. Reserved. I see pain in his eyes. I know that sounds stupid, but it's there. I can feel that pain the way I can feel you're close by. I want to do everything right tonight. I want him to want to see me again. Not because of the dogs but because of me. Maybe there's something I should do to let him know how I feel. Maybe I should say something. How dressed up should I get? What if I get dressed up and he's casual? What if he's
duded
up to the nines and I'm casual? I never get it right, Mom. I feel so alone. I don't know why that is. Did I ever tell you I was sorry about the time I snatched your pearls and broke them? That's what I mean, Mom. I never got to say so many things. I wanted to. I loved those pearls. I know how much those pearls meant to you because Daddy gave them to you for your first anniversary. You didn't even get mad. You said you always felt warm and loved when you wore them. You didn't punish me; you didn't whip my ass. I never understood that. I did write you a letter, though, but I didn't give it to you. I'm sorry, Mom. Did you know I cried buckets for days when you gave me pearls for my seventeenth birthday? I wrote you a letter about that, too. I'm not going to do that mango thing, though.”
Josie stopped her monologue long enough to shed her clothes and pour a glass of wine, which she carried to the tub. A fifty-minute soak was going to work wonders.
Ground zero was thirty-five minutes away when Josie added the last pin to the French twist. She peered into the mirror. Stray tendrils of hair curled about her forehead and ears. There was nothing she could do about them, so she let them be. She reached for the perfume bottle, spritzed the air, and danced under the spray. Delicious. Absolutely delicious.
Something was missing. The yellow linen was plain, but perfect. The sandals were just right. If she didn't sit down for the next thirty-five minutes she would be fine. She loved linen, but it did wrinkle. “What do you think, guys? I need something. I don't feel
finished
.
”
Rosie circled her feet, trying to lick the lotion on her ankles. Zip romped across the room to widen the circle behind Rosie and in doing so bumped into the organdy-skirted dressing table, upending the little bench Josie sat on to apply her makeup. She watched as her jewelry box tilted and fell open, the contents scattering on the glass vanity table. A single strand of pearls floated to the floor.
Josie whirled around, her arms outstretched as she moved about the room in a crazy wild dance, the dogs behind her. “Mom!” When there was no responseâand she knew there wouldn't beâJosie dropped to her knees to pick up the pearls, knowing the yellow linen was going to be wrinkled when she got up. She didn't care. Instead, she fastened the pearls around her neck. She wanted to cry so bad she bit down on her lower lip to stem the flow of tears. She wondered if anyone would believe her if she told them her mother was there. Kitty might. Then again, maybe not. Either you believed or you didn't.
She believed.
Â
Paul's head buzzed as he shook hands all around. He couldn't remember ever feeling as good as he felt right then. Everyone seemed genuinely glad he was aboard. He was going to like working there, doing something he loved. Finally. It was his day. A day he thought would never arrive, but it had. Thanks to a mugging in Central Park.
Another round of good-byes, and then Jack literally pushed him out the door. “I'm taking you home, buddy, and you're going to chug down a pot of coffee before you meet the lady with the big feet. You don't want her bouncing you out on your ear. Besides, you said the private dick was coming by at five. It's almost five now. Let's get this show on the road.”
“Sounds like a plan to me. Where do you think I should take Josie for dinner?”
“I think, if I were you, I'd try to coax her into cooking something for you. Stay in, cuddle on the couch, and don't drink any more. You like this little gal, don't you?”
“Yes, I do,” Paul said smartly.
“You don't have a good track record with women. Do you want some advice?”
“No, I do not want any advice. I can handle my own love life. You haven't done that well yourself.”
“That's true,” Jack said amiably. “You, on the other hand, are a different story. You just love 'em and leave 'em.”
“That's also true, but I've been in no position to get serious about anyone. My life has been at odds, and I could never subject a woman to something like that. It wouldn't have been fair. Now that I've shed my shackles, I'm free to pursue a relationship.”
“Are you going to go to see your mother?”
“Eventually. I really don't want to talk about that right now, Jack.”
“By the way, Paul, you can take Zip to the office with you if you want. He'll make a good mascot. There will be no end of people to walk and play with him. We run a loose ship. It's something to think about. Okay, we're home. Do you want me to come in and make you that pot of coffee?”
The look Paul shot at his friend was so withering, Jack flinched. “I think I'm capable of making my own coffee and drinking it, too. Thanks, buddy. Pick up your lady and have a great time. I'll see you when you get back. Were you serious about me taking Zip to the office?”
“Yep. I love that big hound. See ya, buddy.”
Paul unlocked the door and walked into his house, aware of the thundering silence. He looked around at the perfection the decorator had created as though seeing it for the first time. He threw his tie on one chair, his jacket on another. He stood back, took a basketball stance and pitched his briefcase in the general direction of the couch. It landed on the hearth. He threw back his head and howled with laughter. The garment bag and carry-on bag were shoved to the middle of an exquisite Oriental rug. He laughed again when the rolled-up newspaper worked loose from the flap on the carry-on bag and toppled to the floor. He gave it a kick and watched the paper spread in all directions. All he needed was for Zip to be there to poop on the paper.
He walked from room to room, wondering why his house still smelled like paint and wallpaper paste. He hated the smell almost as much as he hated the smell of a new car. He made his way to the back of the house, stopping in the kitchen to grab a chicken leg and a hunk of cheese. He backed up, filled the coffeepot, poured water, swung the basket to the left, and listened to the machine grind the beans. When it swung back into place he moved on to the room he shared with Zip. Not that Zip was confined to that one particular room. He had the run of the house but seemed to like the glassed-in room the best. He could see outside and fantasize about catching the squirrels and geckos that climbed the trellis. What in hell was he going to do if Zip didn't want to be with him anymore? How was he going to handle that? Man and his dog. That was supposed to be the way it was. Now there were two females in his life, Josie and Rosie. He had to decide what he was going to do about
that,
too. He chomped on the chicken leg and wondered if he was falling in love. Whatever it was he felt for Josie Dupré, it was something he'd never felt for another woman. Therefore, it had to mean something. He needed to start paying attention to things like that.
Paul looked at his watch just as the front doorbell rang. The private dick! Punctual. Punctual was good. He gnawed on the chunk of cheese as he made his way to the front door. He felt so pleased with the mess in the living room, he gave himself a mental pat on the back.
The detective was big and burly, rather like a tree trunk with four limbs. His hands were bigger than ham hocks. Paul wondered if his face showed any pain at the bone-crushing handshake. He wished he could soak his hand in hot water. “Let's go in the kitchen so you can spread out if need be. Can I get you a drink? Coffee, beer, soda pop?”
“Do you have any lemonade?”
“I don't know. I'll look. How about a sandwich, a chicken leg or some ham and cheese,” Paul said, ripping a chunk of ham off the plate. He stuffed it into his mouth. “I think this is lemonade in the pitcher. Want to try it and see? My housekeeper must have made it.” The detective nodded as Paul whipped out a glass and poured. “So, whataya got?” he said as he fixed coffee for himself.