Trust Me on This (2 page)

Patience looked as if she had reservations. "So you're just going to walk right up to her and say, 'So, Janice, about this divorce?' "

"No, of course not." Dennie frowned. "That would be cruel and I don't want to hurt her, she's going through enough. But she's had such a huge impact on modern marriage, and I know what she has to say about divorce is going to be even more important. And I want to be the one who does the first interview where she talks about it. With that interview"—Dennie glanced over her shoulder again—"if I can get that interview, I can get out of here and into the big leagues. One step at a time. I know you wanted me revolutionizing my life, but I can't afford—"

"I think this is great," Patience said. "I think you're doing the smartest thing possible."

Dennie felt the muscles in her neck relax for the first time since the night before when Patience had tackled her about her too safe life. Patience had stood in the middle of the tissue-papered aftermath of her bridal shower and said, "Dennie, it's time you moved on too," and the argument that followed hadn't been their first, but it had been their worst. "You're getting by on your charm, Dennie," Patience had said. "You're not even using your brains. Go after life and stop sitting around waiting for it to come to you." Dennie had been so insulted, she'd stomped out, but after a sleepless night, she knew she hadn't been insulted, she'd been terrified. Patience had been right. She'd been afraid, holding on to a safe life that wasn't giving her what she needed, and now that she was taking steps to break away, she could feel the relief in her bones. "I wouldn't have done this without you," she told Patience. "Although I still can't believe you're deserting me after all these years to get married and move to New York. How could you?"

Patience relaxed back into her chair. "He sleeps with me. You don't."

"Some friend," Dennie said. "Three more days, and you're a married woman in another state, and where will I be? How am I going to survive without you around to pick me up when I fell?"

"Don't fall," Patience said. "Or better yet, learn to pick yourself up. You underestimate yourself all the time, Dennie. You can do the tough stuff, and you can do it on your own. You just have to believe."

"Right," Dennie said. "Believe. Piece of cake."

"Don't tell me it's a piece of cake," the brunette told her partner one week later. "We've been pushing our luck too long. This isn't going to work. We have to get out.
Please
."

Brian Bond rolled his eyes at the ceiling. "Sheree, I told you, this time it's foolproof. This time, it's
legal
. We can't lose."

"No," Sheree said. "I have a really bad feeling about this. I don't think we should go." She fidgeted a little, bending the card in her hand back and forth.

Bond checked his watch to show her how impatient he was. He didn't really need to check because he always knew what time it was; success was in the details. "We have exactly forty-six minutes to catch the plane for Riverbend," he told her. "We are going. Move it."

"Did you hear me?" she asked. "Do you ever hear me? We're going to get caught. We've got to stop this."

"Can we have this argument on the plane?" Bond tested the lock on his suitcase one last time. "You know you're going. You've gotten cold feet before and you've gone, so why even bother talking about it? Now get your bag. We're out of here."

"No, we're not." Sheree picked the announcement card up from the table. "You know your 'Four Fabulous Days!'? Well, watch this." She tore the card in half. "That's you and me," she told Bond, her voice quavering. "I'm out of here. You go and get caught. I'm staying out of jail."

She picked up her bag and walked out the door, and Bond watched her go with some surprise. He'd had no idea Sheree had any backbone at all. Not that it mattered. He could do this one just as well without her. After six months, she'd become a pain in the butt, always needing reassurance, always looking over her shoulder, always looking
guilty
. Some women just weren't cut out for crime.

He checked the mirror on his way out the door, smiling his best honest smile. He looked as if guilt never crossed his mind. It didn't. "Trust me," he said to the mirror, and the mirror beamed back the face of a tow-headed farm boy, right out of Norman Rockwell.

Brian Bond laughed all the way to the airport.

Sheree had turned in her plane ticket for Riverbend at the airport counter, consoling herself that the hefty amount of money she'd lost on the exchange was really Brian's since he'd paid for the ticket originally. It wasn't much consolation, and the loss of the money coupled with the fact that she hadn't a clue what to do next made her depressed, and she didn't like being depressed. If she wasn't happy, it must be somebody else's fault, and that somebody else must be Brian who should have been taking care of her, and he really should be sorry about that, but she was pretty sure he wasn't. This was so depressing, Sheree sat in the airport bar and stewed about it for a while.

Eventually she noticed that this was not helping her situation in the slightest, and then she began to plan, a new experience for her. Walking out had been a good idea only as a threat, she realized. Taking care of herself held absolutely no interest at all for her. She was going to have to find Brian again and convince him to take care of her until she could find somebody else who could do the job better. It was stupid of her to have walked away without having another man to walk away to. Her only problem was, Brian was in Riverbend by now.

She should never have cashed in that plane ticket. It just went to show you, somebody else should have been there making the decisions.

Three hours later, Sheree got on the bus for Riverbend. By now Brian would have seen how wrong he was and be ready to apologize, or she'd make sure he was when she got there. Either way, at least she was doing something. Sheree leaned her head on the window and went to sleep, dreaming of validation and vengeance.

Dennie went flying through the brass-framed revolving doors of the Riverbend Queen Hotel, her cheeks glowing from the April wind, and plowed right into a handsome, lanky blond in the middle of the red-flocked hotel lobby.

"I'm
so
sorry," she said, and he smiled at her, a shy smile that might have warmed her heart if she hadn't just given up men for the duration. He looked like her type: easy to enslave.

"That's all right," he said. "It was my fault. Not lookin' where I was goin'." He stuck out his hand. "I'm Brian Bondman. Pleased to meet you."

Dennie shook his hand once. "My pleasure." She turned to go, but he held on.

"You sure are a pretty sight comin' through that door—" he began.

Dennie tugged her hand back "Thank you." She turned to go again, but he'd sidled around her so she was face-to-face with him.

"I sure would be willin' to take you to dinner tonight to make up for this," he said and ducked his head at his own temerity.

This is an act
, Dennie told herself.
Nobody drops that many g's naturally
. It would be interesting to know why it was an act, but not very. "No," she said, and pulled her hand away. "But thank you anyway." Then she turned and headed for the brass-edged registration desk before he could leap in front of her and offer drinks, frozen yogurt, or breakfast. He had the look of a man who didn't quit trying, all that aw shucks to the contrary.

"I have a reservation," she told the registration clerk. "Dennie Banks?"

The clerk took her form when she'd signed it, handed her the key card to her room, and said, "Is there anything else?"

This was it.
Don't waste a minute
, she told herself. Dennie leaned forward. "Yes, I'm supposed to meet Janice Meredith here. Do you know—?"

"She's in the Ivy Room," the clerk said. "Right over there beyond the bar."

"Could you hold my bag for me, please?" Dennie passed her carry-on over the desk. "I don't want to miss her."

Be firm
, she told herself as she headed for the restaurant.
Be professional and firm and focused. Believe in your-self
.

Right.

Alec had taken it all in from his well-upholstered seat in the mahogany and brass hotel bar, and he'd never been more delighted to see a hunch pay off. He'd been watching Bond case the lobby when the brunette had started up the steps to the revolving door. Bond saw her at the same time and moved to meet her, deliberately running into her as she came through the doors, and Alec thought,
Nice touch. Anybody seeing them would swear it was an accident
. The brunette had smiled at him and moved away almost immediately, but Alec knew they'd spoken. Bond had even faked disappointment as she'd walked away.

Watching the brunette now, Alec sympathized with Bond; it wouldn't be hard faking disappointment if this woman walked away from you. Glossy dark brown curls bounced on her shoulders, and her smile heated the lobby. She walked past him to the registration desk, and he watched her hips move under her fluid red dress. She had a great swing to her.

Normally he'd wait until the con approached him; it was safer, less suspicious, but this was a woman any man would approach. In fact, he told himself, it would be more suspicious if he
didn't
approach her, and the last thing he wanted was to be more suspicious. So when she handed her bag to the clerk and turned toward the restaurant next to the bar, he moved to meet her, just like any red-blobded American man in his right, if gullible, mind would do.

"Are you all right, ma'am?" he asked. "You hit that guy pretty hard."

She smiled briefly and stepped away, turning toward the restaurant, her red skirt flaring around her very nice calves. "I'm fine, thank you."

"You might want a brandy." Alec eased himself alongside her. "It would be my privilege to buy you one. I'm a stranger here myself, but I do know how to buy a pretty lady a brandy."

She stopped and her eyes got narrower. "Is there some kind of convention here besides pop literature? Some farm-boy thing?"

"I don't know." Alec tried to look open and eager to please. "I could sure find out. I'm all alone here, got plenty of time, and it would be a real act of kindness if you'd join me." The woman opened her mouth to protest and he finished, "Now don't you worry about a thing. I got plenty of money and I'd just love to spend it on you. Would you like—?"

"No," she said, moving away from him again. "I wouldn't like anything you could give me. Thank you anyway."

She disappeared into the restaurant and Alec watched her go, still wincing a little from the "anything you could give me" line. Better marks than he were evidently having brunch. He gave her a couple of minutes and then trailed in after her, taking a table across the room where he could watch her without seeming to.

As soon as he sat down, he knew he was in trouble. She was there all right, but sitting in the Booth next to her were his aunt Victoria and two of her friends, all of whom had known him since babyhood. All he needed was for one of them to spot him across a room and start yodeling hellos, and his cover would be history. He sidled out again, but not before he noticed the brunette was eavesdropping on them.

Five minutes later, Harry picked up the phone and said, "What?"

"Harry, that's a lousy way to answer the phone," Alec said. "You've still got seven years to go until retirement. Try a little polish, a little sophistication."

"At two-thirty in the afternoon, when all hell is breaking loose, and you're sitting on your butt in Ohio instead of here where you belong, you get 'What?'," Harry growled. "You want me polished and sophisticated, you call another time."

"If I want you polished and sophisticated, I'll have to call another planet."

"You calling to resign?"

"Hell no," Alec said cheerfully. "Somebody's got to help you out, old man. Guess who I just saw?"

Harry snorted. "A blonde."

"Yep. And this blond you're interested in. Brian Bond."

"You're kidding." Harry sounded dumbfounded: "He's really there?"

"Oh, yes. The Shadow always knows, Harry. You never trust me."

Harry snorted. "What about the woman?"

"Oh, she's here too." Alec grinned. "A very hot brunette. She blew me off when I tried to be the greatest mark God ever sent her. Not too swift obviously, but then she's quite a looker. He probably doesn't keep her around for her brains."

"This is too good to be true," Harry said. "I love it. Make your move on the brunette. Try to convince her to sell you something."

Alec thought about making his move on the brunette, and his pulse kicked up. "The sacrifices I make for you. If necessary, I'll even let her drag me to bed. Anything else?"

"Yeah, I want you to go after Bond directly too. It would help if we could nail him in the act." There was a long silence, and Alec waited patiently. "You know any college professors?" Harry asked finally.

"I was hoping you'd ask," Alec said. "My aunt Victoria is brave, honest, intelligent, unpredictable, and here. And the good news is, the brunette is already scoping her out. We won't even have to plant her; they're already on her scent."

"Unpredictable is bad," Harry growled. "Not that all women aren't. Don't you know any guy professors?"

Alec frowned at the phone. "Hell, Harry, I just gave you a perfectly good professor who's already a mark. You want a custom job, get one yourself."

"I better come there," Harry said. "I'll fly out tonight. Keep your eyes open, and concentrate on the woman until I get there."

"No problem," Alec said. "She is definitely worth concentrating on."

The Ivy Room was a restaurant, Dennie found out, and the walls dividing the room from the lobby and the booths from each other were open brass lattice woven with brass ivy leaves. Janice Meredith hadn't been hard to spot since the place was almost deserted in the middle of the afternoon. Dennie slid into the next booth and watched out of the corner of her eye through the lattice as the three women talked.

One was a dumpy little grandmother with a full head of tight blue curls; one was a white-haired, bright-eyed, midsized dynamo; and one—the one with her back to Dennie—was a regal presence, her hair styled in an elegant black razor cut feathered with white. They were all wearing expensive suits and expensive perfume, and they all looked like success. The only one Dennie recognized was the one with the razor cut. Janice Meredith.

"Are you really all right, Janice?" the dynamo was saying. "Don't be a martyr with us."

"Victoria, I am not now nor have I ever been a martyr," Janice Meredith said. "I've been better, but I'm doing fine. My marriage died, not my child."

"That's very true," the blue-haired woman said. "How is Maggie?"

"I know it's just your marriage, but it still hurts," Victoria said. "I remember."

"Well, hurt is better than no feeling at all," Janice said. "In a way, this is good. I think I was having it all too easy."

"And Charles, Junior? How is Charles, Junior?" the blue-haired one went on.

"Never mind that, Trella," Victoria said. "This is serious. Now listen to me, Janice, if you're going to say something about this as a growth experience, you can forget it. Women our age don't need growth experiences."

"Oh, yes, we do," Janice said. "We need to keep taking chances, or we stagnate. Especially women our age. I don't think this divorce is my fault—"

"Good," Victoria muttered.

"Just one of those things," Trella murmured aimlessly.

"—but I don't think I was doing much to save my marriage, either. I was comfortable. So I didn't pay attention."

"This is not your fault," Victoria began, outrage in her voice.

"So this is really good for me," Janice went on serenely. "It's my wake-up call. I've only been doing the easy things. I've been in a rut. I need to take some risks, fail a little. I really believe that if you're not failing now and then, you're not trying hard enough. Failure says, well, at least you're living. You're stretching." She cocked her head at Victoria. "I'm planning on doing a lot more failing in the future. And a hell of a lot more succeeding too. I'll be fine."

"The worst thing about being your friend is constantly feeling inferior to you," Victoria said. "You're right, of course, but isn't there at least a tiny little part of you that wants to castrate Charles Meredith with a dull spoon?"

"Victoria, really," Trella said.

"Why don't we change the subject?" Janice said, patting Trella's hand. "How are the grandchildren, Trella?"

Dennie sank back away from the lattice and stared into space.
That's my interview
, she thought. She could hang the whole thing on the risking quote. Any other woman might bend under the weight of what Janice Meredith was going through, but she was going to go out and risk it all again. She was incredible. Patience would love her. Well, from now on Dennie was risking too.

And she was going to start with the biggest risk of all: She was going to approach Janice Meredith.

She waited until the three got up and parted company at the door of the restaurant, and then she followed her quarry to the elevator. Dennie jammed her hand in the closing doors and slid through the opening, smiling her best Hi-tell-me-about-your-wedding smile at the startled woman.

"Professor Meredith," she said, holding out her hand. "I'm Dennie Banks, and I'm so pleased to meet you. I've enjoyed your work so much."

"Thank you." Janice Meredith took her hand cautiously and dropped it almost immediately.

"That's why I'd like to interview you," Dennie said. "I couldn't help but overhear you at lunch today—"

The woman's cool reserve froze immediately into iceberg disgust.

"—and I think what you said is terribly important," Dennie said hurriedly. "I think you have an important message for women in your position—"

The woman took a step back, and Dennie speeded up even more.

"—and I would be
honored
to be the writer who—"

"Miss Banks," Janice Meredith said coldly. "If I want a message sent,
I
will be the one to send it. And I might add, reputable journalists do not get their stories through eavesdropping."

"No, no," Dennie said, waving her hands. "I had the story before. I was looking for you. I came to this conference specifically to see you. To interview you about this."

She stopped because the woman's face had gone white. "It's out then," she whispered to herself. "Everybody knows."

"No, no," Dennie said again, frantically this time. "I only found out because I interviewed Tallie Gamble and—"

"And you want to do a comparison interview with the two of us?" The iceberg suddenly flared into a propane torch. "No. Not while I have breath, do you understand?"

"No, that's not it—" Dennie began, but the elevator doors were open, and Janice Meredith stormed out, her rage making her deaf to any argument.

Dennie leaned back in the elevator and closed her eyes.

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.