Snagged (20 page)

The driver’s eyes nearly popped out of his head. I was told it was company policy not to date anyone else at Calla-Lily, he thought.

Regan stood in the corner talking to Nadine, Joey and Scott. The guys had come over together after Joey finished work.

“I’ve got to see how my girls do,” Scott smiled. “I want to find out if you’re paying them too much.”

“Ha-ha,” Nadine said. “This is for a good cause.”

Outside in the hallway Nora surveyed the few name tags left unclaimed.

“How are you doing, Richie?” she asked when he stepped out the door.

“The place is crowded, isn’t it, Nora?”

“It sure is. Are you nervous?”

“Yes.”

Nora smiled at him. “Keep the faith. Oh, good. Here come Luke and Ed and Bridget.”

“We met in the elevator,” Bridget said exuberantly. When she stepped in the doorway she added, “It looks like you have a sold-out show.”

“Let’s hope they’re the right audience!” Richie exclaimed. “Nora, when do you think we should start?”

“Dayton Rotter hasn’t gotten here yet.”

“Then by all means let’s wait.”

Ruth deliberately kept a general discussion going, not wanting people to break into private conversations. The last thing she needed was to have Irving and Barney talk. Irving was a troublemaker and she couldn’t stand the thought of him having any more power over her. It was bad enough he had those pictures of her and Danny from the Christmas party. When the doorbell rang, Ruth practically ejected from her seat. This time she found Preston Landers standing there clad in his boots and spurs, cowboy hat, plaid shirt, and fringed vest. He was twirling a lasso and was munching chewing tobacco.

“Howdy, partner,” was his greeting.

“
YOU
!” Ruth practically lunged at him. “Get in here!”

“Whoa. Down girl, down girl,” he said as he swaggered into the boardroom to the total astonishment of his colleagues. He tipped his hat. “Howdy.”

“Howdy,” they all mumbled self-consciously.

Ruth threw a piece of paper at him. “SIGN THIS!”

“I’ve got to look over the fine print here, ma’am . . .” he said, but Ethel interrupted, covering the mouthpiece of the phone with her hand.

“Excuse me, Ruth,”—Ethel braced herself—“but Dayton Rotter just pulled in downstairs.”

“
SIGN! SIGN! SIGN
!” By now Ruth was jumping up and down.

Preston submitted, scrawling his name, and before he could finish saying “Here’s my John Hancock,” Ruth had flown out the door, with Ethel, Irving, Barney and the Calla-Lily board members in hot pursuit.

N
ORA GLANCED AT her watch. It was five past three. “It looks like everybody’s having a good time, but we shouldn’t keep them waiting too much longer,” she told Richie. “Dayton Rotter might not even show up.”

“You’re right, Nora.”

“If he’s not here by three-fifteen, I’ll give them a little welcoming speech to try and stall for a few more minutes . . .”

“She’s got the gift of gab, Richie,” Luke said soothingly. “Dayton Rotter will get here before she finishes telling everybody how thrilled she is to see them.”

Richie watched Nora thread her way through the crowd to whisper something in Nadine’s ear. He could tell Nora was telling Nadine when to lower the music so she could start her speech. Then Nora joined a cluster of people on the terrace.

“I’m too nervous to stay here,” Richie moaned. “I might get sick or something. I’ll give the girls a pep talk and then I’m gonna stand by the door. I don’t want to faint or anything.”

Luke watched sympathetically as Richie bolted down the hall to the bedroom door, followed by the young fellow who’d been introduced as Scott. He had something to do with the modeling agency, Luke thought.

Richie was about to tap on the bedroom door when he felt a hand on his arm. He jumped. “What?” Then he said sheepishly, “Gee-whiz, Scott, I’m a bundle of nerves, I guess. I didn’t realize you were there.”

“Richie, I finally get you alone. I have to talk to you.”

“Gee, Scott. Can’t it wait?”

“I wish it could. Richie, one of the biggest movie producers saw your commercial. He thought it was great. He’s casting a movie that he thinks you might be perfect for. But he needs a special picture of you right away. His photographer is standing by at the elevator.”

“Me in a movie? You need a picture? What about the stack of pictures you already got of me? I paid plenty to have those done.”

“Richie, they’re not right for this.” Scott’s face was inches from his. “Richie, trust me. Why do you think I’m in this business? It’s because I get a gut feeling. It’ll only take five minutes.”

“Five minutes?”

“Absolutely.”

“I can’t miss the fashion show. I make a speech at the end of it.”

“Richie, you’ll be back. I swear. But don’t mention it to anybody. If Elmer finds out, he’ll want his picture taken too, and they’re just not interested in him. You’ll only be gone a couple of minutes.”

“Okay. Okay. Sure. Why not? It’s kind of fun doing commercials. I can just imagine doing a movie.” He hesitated. “The only thing is maybe it’s fair for Elmer to have his picture taken too. You know he’s always been mad that I got the commercial he was up for.”

“Forget Elmer. He’s always hanging around the office moaning. See what I mean about not letting this get around? It may not even come off, so keep it under your hat.”

Richie put his thumb and forefinger together. Geewhiz, he thought, maybe this could really turn out to be my lucky day. Somebody might buy my Birdie Panty Hose, and I may become a movie star. The thought should have been reassuring. Instead it made him more nervous as he tapped on the bedroom door.

“Come in,” someone yelled. When he opened the door, Annabelle said, “Oh, it’s you, Richie. We’re all set.”

“You girls look great,” he said fervently.

They were starting to line up in the order in which they’d appear on the runway. Annabelle was holding a copy of Nora’s script. She explained, “Richie, we were doing a run-through,” then turned back to the models. “Bessie, when Mrs. Reilly says, They come in all colors . . .’ “

Richie interrupted, “Girls, I just wanted to wish you luck. I’m gonna ask you to do what I know you’re gonna do. Your best. Your very best. For the Fourth Quarter. For home. For country.” He swallowed, choked up.

“Get out of here, Richie,” Flo ordered. “We know what to do. Bettina,” she bellowed, “what’s holding you up in there?”

“I must have gotten a sunburn yesterday,” a voice called from the bathroom, “all of a sudden my legs itch.”

W
HEEZING AND GASPING, Ruth raced up the stairwell, threw open the door and stormed down the hallway, her entourage half a flight behind her. This almost makes me want to give up cigarettes, she thought as she aimed for the open door of the manager’s penthouse.

Sounds of voices, laughter and music did not reassure her. There was a crowd in there. A crowd of sharks ready to devour the Calla-Lily Company profits, destroy her grandpa’s lifework, all because some schlemiel had nothing better to do than invent unsnaggable panty hose.

A horrifying thought hit her. She didn’t even know what that schlemiel looked like. She braked long enough to let Barney Freize catch up with her. “What does this jerk look like?” she snarled.

“I’ll point him out to you,” Barney panted. He knew that Richie might wonder why he was showing up with the people who were trying to buy his patent. Barney didn’t care. He didn’t trust Ruthy Wuthy as far as you could throw her, which wasn’t very far. If she didn’t hand over his check at the same minute she tried to get Richie to sign on the dotted line, he’d tell Richie that Ruth wanted his patent at any price.

And she did. But this way, Richie would come out with plenty of big bucks and Barney would have a little nest egg.

They were almost at the door of the suite when Richie stepped into the hallway. “There he is,” Barney exclaimed.

In a final burst of speed, Ruth materialized like an apparition in front of Richie. “Five million,” she gasped. She waved a paper in front of his face, thrust a pen in his hand. “Sign here. One-time-only offer.”

“What?” Richie blinked. From behind he could hear the music fade into the background as Nora began to speak.

“Hello, everyone, and welcome. I’m Nora Regan Reilley, and I’m delighted to have you with us for what I think is one of the most exciting half hours any of you in the panty-hose business will ever experience.”

“Sign!” Ruth snarled.

Richie’s eyes became unfocused as he saw the check.
RICHARD BORIS BLOSSOM . . . FIVE MILLION DOLLARS
.

And it was a cashier’s check. Not like the ones he and Birdie used to write to each other as a joke on their birthdays. The biggest one they had ever written was for one million dollars. They’re kidding, he thought. It’s a gag. He spotted Barney.

“Hey, you saved my life last night. What are you trying to do, Barney?” he asked. “Give me a heart attack now? What’s this all about?”

He glanced down the hall. Barney was a real card but Richie didn’t want to miss the chance to be in a movie.

“It’s for real, you dodo,” Ruth growled. “And ten percent of the Birdie Panty Hose line of the Calla-Lily Hosiery Company, Inc.”

Something hit Richie. This might be on the level. “Wait a minute,” he asked, “does your engineer have a mother-in-law who got a manicure yesterday?”

“What the hell does that have to do with anything?” Ruth screamed. “Irving?”

“Yes, Ruthy.”

The Calla-Lily contingent was now gathered behind Ruth.

“Did your mother-in-law have her nails done yesterday?” Ruth demanded.

“Yes. And since you ask, she isn’t happy about the shade. She thinks it might have a little too much brown in it, Wuthy.”

“I’ll get you,” she hissed between clenched teeth.

This is for real, Richie thought. They’ve checked out my panty hose. They know it works.

Nora’s modulated voice was clear on the loudspeaker. “Our first model is Annabelle. She is wearing a luscious shade of twilight-peach panty hose. Notice how it hugs her legs, how it shimmers in the light, how it flatters the ankle. That’s it, Annabelle . . . Let everyone see how beautiful they are . . .” Ruth heard the genuine applause as the bile rose in her throat.

Down the hall, there was a flurry at the elevator. A bunch of people were getting off.

Ruth looked wild-eyed over her shoulder. Head and shoulders above his entourage and the photographers clustered around him, the familiar face of Dayton Rotter approached like a nightmare come true. Fish or cut bait. That’s what Grandpa had always taught her. She forced herself to stand straight, act calm.

“Unless you sign this agreement immediately and accept this check, I officially withdraw my offer,” she announced.

With unwilling admiration, Irving thought, Ruthy, I’ve got to hand it to you. You have guts. He knew if Blossom turned her down, she would kill herself.

Richie wavered. Maybe I’ll get more, he thought, his eyes glued on the check. And maybe I won’t. Like Ed said, there’s nothing you can be sure of except death and taxes. And suppose the other companies like the Birdies a lot but want to take an option till they check them out. That won’t buy the Fourth Quarter. This will.

“It’s a pleasure to do business with you,” he said grandly as he reached for the pen. He started to sign the agreement “Richard Blossom,” then hesitated.

Dayton Rotter was footsteps away.

“Sign,” Ruth whined.

“Just want to make sure I use my full name so the whole thing is legal,” Richie assured her benevolently as, in clear Palmer Method penmanship, he wrote “Richard Boris Blossom.”

He put the check in his breast pocket and exchanged a vigorous handshake with Ruth. Still not believing his good fortune, he said, “I never wanted to leave a spot less, but I promised to see someone for just a minute. Why don’t you folks go on inside and watch your panty hose being shown off?”

“You bet we will,” Ruth gloated as she locked her fingers around the contract. Triumph in her eyes, she smiled viciously as the Rotter entourage entered the foyer and began to watch the fashion show.

“I’ll take my check now, too,” Barney said to Ruth.

“Give it to him, Ethel,” Ruth ordered.

“I have it right here.”

E
THEL COULDN’T BELIEVE it. The contract was signed. Now they could all start to breathe again, she hoped. Like Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs, Ruth and the others swept past her to crowd into the room where the fashion show was taking place.

Ethel knew exactly what Ruth was doing. Making up the speech she’d deliver to announce to her rivals that Calla-Lily had struck a deal for Birdie Panty Hose. In a way it was a shame. That panty hose was really pretty and she knew that Ruth wouldn’t bring it onto the market until the patent expired. That was in seventeen years. I probably won’t be around to get any on discount, Ethel thought.

She realized she needed a couple of aspirins. She’d just take a minute to run down to the suite and get some. Sitting with Ruth since dawn waiting for Preston Landers had been a nerve-racking experience. Ethel thought she’d rather have a full-time job walking pit bulls.

She started down the hall and turned the corner. Mr. Blossom was stepping into the elevator with a tall man. “Hold it, please,” she bellowed as she sprinted forward.

Richie smiled benevolently as he held the door, ignoring the photographer who told him to let her wait. ’ This lady and I just took care of some important business together,” he said as Ethel hopped past him into the elevator.

Regan stood nervously in the corner of the room. She didn’t want to obstruct anyone’s view of the runway. It was going so well she couldn’t believe it. She watched the way people were huddling and whispering. She could tell how impressed they were. Even so, it was a long shot that a valid contract could be signed as fast as Richie needed the money.

“It’s looking good,” Luke whispered in her ear.

Regan glanced up at him. “Dad, where’s Richie?”

“He’s okay. He’s by the door. Said he can’t stand to be in here.”

“I don’t blame him. What the heck was that noise outside?”