Not good. She felt her panic rise and told herself to stay calm. This was what risking was all about. It was a setback, not a failure. All she had to do was analyze what she’d done wrong.
Well, first, she’d been dumb. She was used to people who wanted to talk to her, who were dying to describe the centerpieces at their anniversary parties. She should have been more convincing. Second, she should have known that the serenity Janice Meredith had shown in the restaurant was at least partly a cover for her pain. She should have been more careful. And approaching her in the elevator, that had been stupid too. Think from now on, she told herself.
All right. She was going to have to wait until the woman had calmed down before she could even hope to approach her, and even then it was going to be tough. Somehow, she had to convince her of her sincerity. Somehow, she had to show Janice Meredith that she was a reputable journalist, a sympathetic ear. Of course the woman wouldn’t talk to just anybody about this. Even if she was committed to a new life of risking, that didn’t mean the wounds from the old life weren’t still fresh.
But if a friend approached her … If a friend told her that this marvelous journalist wanted to present her side of the story … If a friend—
Somehow, she had to get an introduction from somebody Janice Meredith trusted.
There had been two of them in the restaurant. Trella and Victoria. There might be several Victorias in the pop literature program, but Dennie was willing to bet there’d be only one Trella. And while Victoria looked sharp, Trella had been only marginally sentient, much like the two guys who’d tried to pick her up in the lobby. Trella was the one to go for.
She punched the button for the lobby and went to pick up her bag and find a program and get her racing heart back under control.
Alec was back sitting in his favorite seat by the brass archway to the bar when the brunette crossed the lobby again. At last, he thought. She’d been gone from the restaurant when he’d gotten back from his phone call, and he’d lost her for half an hour. It made him nervous to think of the scores she could have been making while he was looking for her, but she was there now, steaming across the lobby to the phones.
Didn’t this woman ever just walk anywhere? Every time he saw her, she was moving full tilt. She’d run Bond into the ground with all that energy. The thought of Bond as recipient of the brunette’s energy made him envious. Harry had told him to make a move on her again. It was his duty to draw a little of that energy for himself.
He straightened to go join her, and then stopped. She was on the phone, checking her watch, and then she hung up and sat down, obviously waiting for someone. Alec relaxed back into his chair to see what she was up to.
Fifteen minutes later, a little blue-haired woman in a silver-gray suit got off the elevator and crossed toward her, and Alec sighed. He knew her, Trella Madison, an old friend of his aunt’s, and he also knew she was every con man’s dream: friendly, wealthy, and dumb as a rock.
It was starting.
“Thank you for meeting me,” Dennie said, sinking into a gilt chair next to Trella. The huge overplush lobby wasn’t the best place for an interview—the gold furniture and red-flocked walls made the place look like a nineteenth century Whores “R” Us—but Dennie couldn’t afford to be choosy. “You have no idea how much I appreciate this,” she told Trella.
“Well, I really just came to tell you that I couldn’t possibly talk to you about Janice.” Trella beamed at her. “And really, I wish you would just forget this whole thing. You seem like a nice person.” She patted Dennie’s hand.
“Oh, I am.” Dennie leaned forward and projected sincerity with every cell in her body. “And I do sympathize with Professor Meredith. Truly, I do. That’s why I want to do the interview with her. The press can be savage on something like this.” She beamed back at Trella, trying to look intelligent, compassionate, warm, and honest at the same time. It shouldn’t have been hard, she felt all of those things, but trying to keep them on her face made her feel like a fraud. “If you could just tell her that I mean only the best for her, and I mean the best—”
“You know, dear, I think it’s a mistake to talk to the press,” Trella said, a trifle abstracted. “Sometimes they misquote you, and then sometimes they don’t, and you’ve really said those things, which can be so much worse.”
“Don’t think of me as the press,” Dennie said, trying not to let her intensity flatten the little woman. “Think of me as a friend with a tape recorder. Think of me as somebody who would not dream of misquoting anyone because this is the biggest story of my career, and I want desperately to get everything right.”
“I don’t think careers like this are good for a woman,” Trella said. “They make a woman hard.” She tilted her head at Dennie. “You don’t look hard yet. Although there is that line between your eyes. Lines are so bad. Why don’t you just find a nice man and forget this?” Trella patted Dennie’s hand again.
Dennie clenched her teeth and tried to remember that if she ripped Trella’s head off, she’d never get the Meredith interview. “Well,” she said carefully instead, “don’t you think that since I’m not hard yet, that I would be a good person—”
“Miss Banks?”
Dennie jerked her head up at the man’s voice. He was a young suit, probably early thirties, painfully thin, prematurely balding and visibly uncomfortable. He was standing beside Janice Meredith.
This could not be good.
“Miss Banks? I’m Paul Baxter, the manager here, and I was wondering if I could see you for a moment?” The man’s voice was pleading.
“Why?” Dennie asked, keeping a wary eye on Janice.
“I forgot to tell you, dear,” Trella said. “I did call Janice and mention I was meeting you. I hope you don’t mind—”
This is bad, Dennie told herself as her heartbeat moved into overdrive. Nothing I can’t handle, but it’s bad.
Janice Meredith broke in. “It’s very simple, Miss Banks. I have reported your harassment to Mr. Baxter. If you attempt to question either myself or any of my friends again, I’ll have you arrested. Ohio has a stalking law, you know.”
“Stalking?” Dennie blinked, confusion goosing her nervousness along. “I’m on your side. Why would I stalk you? If you’d just let me—”
“Trust me, Miss Banks,” Janice Meredith said evenly, “I know exactly who is on my side. And you’re not even close. Come with me, Trella.”
Trella stood up and smiled uncertainly at Dennie. “It was lovely talking to you, dear. Good luck on finding a man.”
When they were gone, Dennie realized she was trembling and clenched her hands together to stop the shaking.
The manager cleared his throat. “I’m sure this was just a misunderstanding,” he said, clasping and unclasping his hands. Dennie knew just how he felt. “But if you could avoid Dr. Meredith whenever possible, we’d all be very grateful. And we would like to avoid the police.”
“Right,” Dennie said. “The police would be bad.”
“Thank you,” Mr. Baxter said. “I’m sure you meant well, but Dr. Meredith is very powerful, and I just got this promotion, and I—we—the hotel, that is—well, me too—we really can’t afford the bad publicity.”
“I understand,” Dennie said, beginning to feel sorry for him, but sorrier for herself. She’d almost had a heart attack in the ugliest hotel lobby in Ohio.
“The police would probably be bad publicity.” Mr. Baxter sounded unsure.
“I’d bet on it,” Dennie said.
“Well, then, you understand.” Mr. Baxter nodded once, turned away, turned back, and said, “Uh, enjoy your stay.”
“Thank you,” Dennie said.
When he was gone, Dennie leaned back for a moment trying to calm her panic-stricken heart. You need to find someone you can’t charm, Patience had told her, and then Fate sent her Janice Meredith. What a shame she couldn’t call Patience on her honeymoon and tell her; somebody should be enjoying this. Think, she told herself, an
d then as she registered the curious looks that passersby were throwing at her as she sat frowning, she shoved herself out of her chair and headed for the mahogany and brass bar she could see through the archway at the end of the lobby. People in bars often scowled at random; she wouldn’t be noticeable there.
Once inside the cool darkness, she ordered a scotch from the little redhead behind the bar and contemplated the humiliation of her afternoon. First Janice Meredith had looked at her as if she were lower than Howard Stern. And then there had been Trella, the throwback. Find a nice man, she’d said. And then that wimpy hotel manager who was probably the sole support of a large extended family—
“You okay?” the bartender said as she put the scotch in front of Dennie.
“I’m having a rough morning,” Dennie said. “People are thwarting me.”
The redhead grinned at her. “Welcome to my world. And it’s afternoon now, so maybe things will pick up.”
“They can’t get much worse.” Dennie picked up her scotch. “Thanks. I needed this.”
“My pleasure,” the bartender said.
Dennie sipped her scotch, and the bartender drifted away as she contemplated her problem. Okay, she’d been shot down. She wasn’t out yet. She could still get the interview somehow. In spite of Meredith’s resistance and Trella’s obtuseness and that manager’s rabbitlike terror—
She closed her eyes as she felt every muscle she had tense with frustration. Be calm. Tension never got anybody anywhere. Tension was nonproductive. Tension was bad.
Calm was good. Calm. Cool. Sophisticated. If she was calm, she’d think of a solution. If she was calm, she could be charming again. She composed herself, opened her eyes, and looked at herself in the mirror over the bar. Exactly. She looked like an adult. She practiced a charming adult smile in the mirror.
“That is some smile.”
Dennie whipped her head around. Standing beside her was the I’ve-got-plenty-of-money doofus from the lobby, all blank brown eyes and aw-shucks grin and dumb good looks. He looked a lot like the first guy she’d bumped into at the door, but bigger. Broader. In fact, if he hadn’t had such a blank look on his face, he’d have been really attractive. He must have inherited his pile. He couldn’t possibly have had the brains to make it himself. Not that it mattered. She had other things to concentrate on. “Go away.”
“Aw, now, really.” He slid onto the bar seat next to her and smiled at her like Walter when she picked up the treat can. Gee, gosh, ma’am. “I bet that smile gets you just about anything you want. Like dinner. It sure would get you dinner with me tonight.”
The bartender had drifted back. Dennie caught her grinning and fought the urge to grin back. “No, thank you. As I mentioned to you earlier, you have nothing I want. I would like to be alone now, please.” Dennie tried to turn her back on him.
“Pretty lady like you, alone? Aw, c’mon.” He ducked his head in front of her, goofily confident.
Dennie reassessed her position on tension as she clenched her teeth. “No, never, not in this lifetime, absolutely not,” she said, enunciating each word clearly, and the bartender bit her lip.
His eyes widened slightly, and he drew back. “Gee, usually that smile bit is a great line for me.” He blinked at her. “But, hey, I’m adaptable. Okay. Your smile is really bad.”
Dennie swung around on her stool to walk away from him before she killed him.
“And you’re ugly too.”
Dennie froze, and the bartender blinked.
“How am I doing?” the doofus asked, his puppy smile still in place. “Better?”
Dennie shook her head, dumbstruck by his cheerfulness. “I’m ugly?”
He nodded, his head bobbing like a fishing float. “You probably walk funny too. That’s why I asked you to dinner. At least you’d be sitting down.”
Dennie folded her arms. “My smile is bad, I’m ugly, and I walk funny.”
He nodded again. “That’s about it. So how about dinner?”
This guy made Walter look like Cary Grant. “As I said, not in this lifetime,” Dennie said, and turned to walk out the door.
“Gee, and my aunt Trella seemed to like you so much.”
Dennie swung back around to him. “Trella is your aunt?”
“Well, not really.” He leaned back on the bar, looking dumb as dirt. “She’s a friend of my aunt Victoria’s.”
“Victoria,” Dennie said.
“Yep.”
“Victoria’s your aunt.” Dennie came back to the bar and sat down, thinking fast. Not even Janice Meredith could have her arrested for talking to Victoria while she dated her nephew. She looked at him again, and he smiled, all teeth. Dear God.
Pretend he’s Walter, she told herself. All she had to do was be sweet to this twit, meet his aunt, be nice to the aunt, and she’d be in. She could do it. He wasn’t bad looking or lecherous or evil, he was just dumb as a rock, which in this case was a plus. Maybe this was Fate apologizing. Dennie smiled at the twit. “I’d love to have dinner with you.”
“Because of my aunt?” He looked confused. “Gee, I don’t know.”
Great, now he was playing hard to get. “Okay, then,” Dennie said. “You’re ugly.”
His eyes locked on hers, and he grinned suddenly, and she was stunned. Humor leaped in his eyes, and a quick, sharp intelligence that disappeared as quickly as it came, replaced his blank childlike stare. Hello, she thought. What’s this?
He aimed his Walter grin at her. “Well, if you’re going to sweet-talk me, I’ll consider it.” He held out his hand. “I’m Alec Prentice.”
She took it. “Dennie Banks.” She looked in his eyes and saw nothing but blank affability. You’re up to something, sonny, she thought, but all she said was, “I’ll meet you here at seven, Alec Prentice.”
“All right, Dennie Banks.” Alec ducked his head again, doofus style. “You want dinner in the restaurant or in my room?”
“The restaurant,” Dennie said. “You’re not that ugly.”
She dropped his hand and walked out of the bar, knowing he was watching.
For this, she’d left Walter. You’d better be worth it, Alec Prentice, she thought. You’d better come across with everything I need.
Then she went upstairs and changed into something Walter wouldn’t have approved of.
“She’s in it with him,” Alec told Harry on the phone fifteen minutes later, trying not to gloat that he’d been right again and feeling vaguely depressed that he was.
“You found out already?”
“I tried to pick her up but it was no go until I mentioned my aunt, whom she’s already been checking out. Once she heard about Aunt Vic, she couldn’t wait to date me. She’s working for Bond.”
“Well, stay with her,” Harry said. “I’ll be there in a couple of hours. You sure your aunt will play along?”
“My aunt will play anything.” Alec dismissed Victoria to think about Dennie Banks again. “You know, I really am disappointed in this Banks woman. Up close, she looks like a class act.”
“You’re getting too damn old to be that dumb,” Harry said.
“Thank you, Harry,” Alec said. “I needed that. Now tell me I’m ugly.”
“You’re ugly,” Harry said. “Watch her.”
Brian Bond studied his reflection in the mirror and nodded. He still had it, Sherée’s desertion notwithstanding. The looks, the charm, the shy, boyish killer smile. They all said, “Trust me on this,” and people did. Certainly no woman could resist once he set his sights on her.
And his sights were on the brunette. He’d seen her again, coming out of the bar that afternoon. A drinker. That was good. It’d make her easy to find. She’d be back in the bar again, he’d pour a few drinks down her, and pow. Another Bond triumph.
He smiled at his reflection and headed for the elevator to sell real estate and fake honesty before he sold the brunette on a night in his room.
When the brass elevator doors opened at the nineteenth floor, Alec s
tood face-to-face with a white-haired woman dressed in navy silk and gold braid. She beamed at him as she stepped in. “Darling!”
“Good. I was coming to talk to you.” Alec leaned over and kissed her cheek, smiling because she was so cute and he was so glad to see her. “Nice getup, Aunt Vic. Planning on invading something?”
She laughed and saluted him as the elevator doors closed. “The military look is very stylish now. God knows why. Probably nostalgia for the Reagan years. But it’s also wonderfully flattering. It’s amazing how distracting gold braid can be.” She frowned at the red velvet–covered elevator walls. “And it’s not easy to stand out in this place. Who was their decorator, that Biddle Barrows woman?”
“I like it,” Alec said.
“With your libido, you would,” Victoria said. “What did you do all afternoon? Seduce the natives?”
“Waited for you, of course,” Alec lied.
“Right.” Victoria narrowed her eyes. “I left a message for you to meet me in the Ivy Room for lunch, but you didn’t. What are you up to? Are you doing something for that secret agency of yours?”
“Shhhh,” Alec said to the empty elevator.
“And you’re awfully dressed up since you didn’t know you’d run into me.” His aunt looked at him in disgust. “You’ve picked up a blonde and asked her out to dinner, haven’t you?”
“A brunette. Listen, I need—”
The elevator doors opened, and Victoria sailed out. “Don’t worry,” she said tartly. “I won’t cramp your style.”
Alec followed her with exasperated affection. “You never do. Most of the time I cramp yours.”
Victoria sniffed. “Nobody cramps my style.”
Alec caught up with her. “That’s why I worry. You’re running around with my last name, diving into fountains. Why didn’t you keep your married name?”
“Why should I? I didn’t keep my husband.”
Alec tried to look stern. “It’s time you settled down.”
“Me?” Victoria snorted. “What about you?”
“Why should I settle down? I’m having a great time.”