LORRAINE
“Well, that didn’t work out as planned,” Clara said with a nervous glance out the window.
Lorraine peeked out from underneath her oversized black felt hat. “Sing it, sister.”
They’d probably be sitting in the big house right about now if Clara hadn’t thought to run straight from the bridal salon to a street vendor. They’d hastily bought disguises—the hats, for one, as well as feathery white shawls—and worn them into the diner across the street from the shop.
Now they could sit by the window and keep an eye on the police cruiser parked outside Priscilla’s without worrying about the fuzz spotting them. The diner was a greasy sort of joint with stuffing bleeding out of half the red booths, and smudged windows.
Deirdre stood in front of the shop, talking to two police officers. Marcus’s fiancée twisted her veil nervously in her hands, leaning on Marguerite for support. The old hag of a shop manager patted Deirdre’s shoulder and pulled a handkerchief from her suit pocket. Lorraine guessed bitches like them had to stick together.
“Thank God that woman doesn’t know who we are!” Clara said. “Otherwise she’d be giving our names away to the cops!”
Lorraine gave a little laugh. “Um, yeah! By the way”—she paused and put on a smile—“you didn’t happen to grab my purse, did you? Because I might have forgotten it. In the bridal shop. With all of my identification inside of it.”
Clara’s gray-blue eyes widened. “Raine, how could you do something so—”
“Don’t worry, Clara, I know just the guy to go back there and get it for us. A total, um … sheik. Well, maybe a sheik-in-training.” Lorraine stood and headed toward the pay phone in the corner of the diner. She spoke to Clara over her shoulder. “He’d do anything for me!”
Melvin already looked silly in his lumpy gray sweater vest, wrinkled red button-down, and checkered bow tie. But carrying Lorraine’s alligator clutch as he walked into the diner took him to a whole new level of ridiculousness.
Lorraine waved him over. “Poor thing,” she whispered to Clara. “He’s desperately in love with me. Says if I don’t kiss him, he’ll die! Can you believe it?”
Clara rolled her eyes. “Hardly.”
“Hmmph.” Lorraine watched as Melvin approached them. So maybe he’d never said those words exactly to her … but no reason for Clara to know that.
Melvin held the clutch low against his thigh, trying to hide it. But he was so awkward about it that he made the purse even more obvious. A little girl eating an ice cream sundae pointed as he passed. “Look at the man with the purse, Mommy!”
A woman in a frumpy day dress didn’t look up from her issue of the Queen. “That’s nice, honey.”
“I never should’ve believed this was just about a purse,” Melvin said, and slouched in the booth beside Lorraine. “There are cops in that dress shop! Things are never simple with you, Raine.”
Lorraine frowned. “Simple? Who likes simple!”
Clara extended her hand across the table. “We can’t thank you enough. I don’t think we’ve been properly introduced—I’m Clara Knowles.”
“Right, from Forrest Hamilton’s party. Melvin Delacorte.”
“I really can’t tell you how much we appreciate this. I hope we didn’t pull you away from anything important.”
“Oh no, I was just working on my art history paper on Millais.”
Clara clasped her hands to her chest. “I love his Ophelia painting!”
“I do, too!” Lorraine had never noticed what a sweet smile Melvin had. Or maybe he just didn’t smile that way around her. “His depiction of the flora around the river is just amazing.”
“I always thought Ophelia was the best part of Hamlet—much better than Hamlet and all his I-have-to-do-something-but-I’m-too-depressed-to-do-something hooey,” Clara said. “Make up your mind!”
“Ah, I always like Rosencrantz and Guildenstern best. Every good story needs its double-crossing spies,” Melvin replied.
Lorraine looked at them. Clara wasn’t trying to seduce Melvin, was she? He wasn’t her type, but still—the girl did have a habit of stealing men right from under Lorraine. Not that Lorraine wanted Melvin, of course. She just didn’t want Clara to want him.
Besides, it wasn’t like Lorraine didn’t know that painting, too. It was of a dead girl floating in a river. What was so amazing about that?
Clara nodded at the purse. “I hope it wasn’t too much trouble?”
“No, it was actually really easy,” Melvin explained. “I just told them that my cousin, recently released from a sanatorium after having been jilted at the altar, has a penchant for attacking brides.”
Clara burst into laughter at this. Lorraine cracked a smile, too, though she doubted anyone had really believed the story. “Erm … good one, Melvin.” She looked down at her light green floral-print day dress with its ruffled skirt and her perfectly matching heels. Could a crazy girl put such a fantastic outfit together? She thought not. “Whatever gets the job done.”
“I had to pay some damages,” Melvin went on, “and they put your name on a watch list, but they’re not going to press charges.”
Lorraine raised her eyebrows. How much had he paid for her bad-cop routine gone wrong? Melvin was at Columbia almost entirely on scholarship—he didn’t have much money to throw around. Lorraine threw her arms around his neck in a sideways hug and kissed his cheek. “Aw, Melvin, thank you so much! I’ll pay you back.”
Melvin’s face turned bright red and he scooted away from her. “I can’t believe this is why you called me—to involve me in your petty crimes. I thought something serious had happened, and when I got there, well …” He shook his head, at a loss for words. “I helped you out this time, but don’t call me for any more of these shenanigans.”
“Shenanigans? I can’t get in trouble with the cops again!” Lorraine exclaimed. “You know that, Melvin! You, Mr. Squeaky Clean, could probably steal a car right in front of the owner’s eyes and he’d still never suspect you.”
Melvin wiped his brow with one of the napkins from the table. “Raine, you’re not asking me to—”
“No, no! Believe me, my career in crime is over.” Lorraine took off her hat and plopped it right onto Melvin’s head. “Though I’m not sure you should end yours. You’d look pretty spiffy in a fedora.”
Melvin chuckled and scooted back into the booth. He slid Lorraine’s chocolate milk shake away from her and sipped it. It was the rudest thing Lorraine had ever seen him do, and also the most attractive. Was Melvin finally growing some backbone?
“All right, so tell me what this is all about,” he said with the hat still on. The way it flopped over his forehead, Lorraine couldn’t see his face—it was a good look for him.
“Well,” Lorraine said, “we’re trying to stop Marcus from marrying that gold digger. Clara here—she’s a reporter for the Manhattanite—found out all sorts of dirt about her. The woman’s changed her name about a thousand times, and she’s wanted for robbery and assault. And those are just the things the cops know about! Once Clara digs a little deeper—”
“I’m not going to pursue this any further,” Clara cut in.
She was looking wistfully out the window. The coppers were finally leaving, and Deirdre was back in her normal clothes: a peach crocheted day dress with little black bows down the front where buttons would usually be. It was still hard to believe such a delicate flower of a woman had committed all those crimes.
Which was probably exactly how she’d gotten away with them.
“What?” Lorraine exclaimed. “Why? Now we know it’s her—she confessed!”
“If Marcus wants to marry that Deirdre woman, it’s his business.” Clara reached over to take a French fry from the basket they’d been sharing (“These are more French than that lying harlot,” Lorraine had commented when the waiter brought them) and nibbled it. Lorraine noticed sadness in Clara’s eyes. “I need to stop pretending it’s mine.”
“Applesauce, it’s not,” Lorraine said. The cheerful bell over the door jingled as an elderly couple left. “Don’t be an idiot like me! Haven’t you learned anything from my example?” She looked at Melvin. “Marcus is only with this Deirdre girl because he misses Clara, who lied to him and broke his heart.”
“Thanks for that,” Clara said.
“But I thought you liked Marcus,” Melvin said.
“Oh, that was so three weeks ago,” Lorraine replied, waving him off. “Nope, Clara’s the only girl for Marcus—anyone but the two of them could see that in a second.”
It was only when Lorraine said it that she truly believed it. Clara and Marcus really did belong together. With their runway-ready looks, neither of them had any business being as smart and sensitive as they were. They needed to get back together, get married, and have beautiful blond children. Who would probably also be charming and clever enough to take over the world.
Clara raised her eyebrows at Lorraine and opened her mouth, surely to object, but Lorraine wouldn’t let her.
She met Clara’s eyes. “The only reason that girl’s spell works on him is because he can’t see straight. He got hit so hard by you. Like he was hit by a brick. Yep, that’s it exactly—he was smashed in the head by a brick full of love.” Lorraine let out a tiny cough. “For you. Not me at all. Definitely for you, Clara.”
For a second, Clara looked as though she might start crying. Lorraine dug into her purse, readying a tissue, but then Clara blinked, took a deep breath, and composed herself.
“Do you really think so, Raine—that he, you know … the love brick? For me? He was so cold when I went to see him … not that I didn’t deserve it.”
Clara was asking Lorraine’s opinion as if it actually mattered to her. The way Gloria used to, back before everything had gone so wrong between them.
It felt really nice.
“Probably because you told him you were only there as a friend,” Lorraine said. “He wanted you to tell him that you’re lost without him, that you want a happily-ever-after with him, so that he could sweep you into his arms, and—”
“It’s true,” Melvin chimed in. He took off the hat now, and swept his hair back with his hands. Actually, it was a good head of hair, Lorraine thought. “Men don’t really want to be friends with women.”
Lorraine elbowed him in the ribs. “What’s that supposed to mean? You’re friends with me, right?”
Melvin glanced away sheepishly. “Yeah, but—”
“No buts about it!” Lorraine said. “Clara, you need to snap out of it. We have to stop this devil woman together.”
What she didn’t say out loud was that not only did she want to help Marcus, but she wanted to help Clara, too. After all, they were starting to become … friends. Weren’t they? Stranger things had happened. Lorraine had been manager of a speakeasy before she’d turned eighteen, after all.
“Spare me the theatrics, Raine,” Clara said. She straightened her hat and grabbed her briefcase. “I’m gonna get out of here.”
“Where are you going?” Lorraine asked lightly.
Clara sighed. “The Manhattanite offices. I’ve got to talk to Parker, see if he’ll actually let me write something about this Deirdre.”
Lorraine’s lips spread into a big smile. They were friends. It was such a relief to finally have a real girlfriend in the city. She had Becky, she supposed. But she and Becky really didn’t have much in common. Lorraine had started to wonder whether Becky was joking about that matronly stuff at all. She’d made shortbread the other day, and it had been delicious.
“Melvin, you mind letting me out?” Lorraine asked.
“Of course not.” He drank down the last of her milk shake and stood.
Lorraine sprang from the booth and gave Clara a hug. “Sorry for fouling everything up earlier. I’ll try to keep my flair for the dramatic in check from now on. Though you do have to admit … Deirdre looked much better with the dress over her head, don’t you think?”
Clara swatted her back. “You’re so bad, Raine.” She giggled. “But seriously—if all this works out, and if Marcus ever speaks to me again, I’ll be sure to tell him everything you’ve done. I think he’d be impressed by how far you’ve gone to help him.”
While Clara made her way to Midtown, Lorraine and Melvin began the long walk to the Columbus Circle subway station. Lorraine had already blown enough money on the cab she and Clara had convinced to follow Deirdre’s town car to the dress shop.
They moved past Bloomingdale’s on Fifty-Ninth Street and Lorraine felt a pang at the sight of the enormous store and its windows full of mannequins modeling Patou and Chanel. But she could shop another day. Right now it was time to just be happy she wasn’t in jail.
In the distance she could see Pulitzer Fountain burbling in front of the Plaza Hotel, and the trees of Central Park beside it. She glanced at Melvin. It was kind of nice to spend time with him off campus. He seemed like less of an insufferable brain without that constant tower of books in his arms.
“Hey,” Melvin said as they walked. “That was nice what you said to Clara back there. About Marcus and everything. You used to like him a lot, didn’t you?”
“Yep, I wrote bad poetry and everything.” Lorraine’s cheeks pinked at the fool she’d made of herself over Marcus Eastman in prep school. “I was so far gone over him—I used to crash his baseball games and ask for his help on math homework I’d already finished just so I’d have an excuse to stare at him.”
She’d wanted so badly for Marcus to feel the same way about her. Lorraine’s face still flushed every time she thought of the one and only time they’d ever kissed. They’d been at the Green Mill with Gloria and Clara, and Marcus was already so clearly beginning to fall for Clara. She’d leaned in to kiss him and he’d pulled away, horrified. She’d had to cover, say that she was drunk and being silly—but really, she’d been as sober as a judge.
The worst part of that memory was how long Lorraine had persisted in the senseless crush after it had happened.
And then in New York there’d been Hank. Their whole relationship had been a big fat lie, but Lorraine had walked away from it having learned a big fat truth: It was really, really nice when the boy you liked actually liked you back.
Now she could hardly believe how long she’d chased after Marcus, thinking she could convince him to have feelings for her. Why go to all that trouble when there were boys out there who would like her all on their own? Surely there had to be a few lining the streets of New York. She just had to find them.
She shrugged at Melvin. “But Marcus never liked me that way. I should’ve realized that a long time ago.” How lovely it was to finally admit that, without it feeling like her whole world would come crashing down. “How about you, Melvin, have you ever been in love?”
His cheeks got a little rosy and he gave her a quick glance. “Well, there is this one girl I sort of like … but I don’t think she likes me the same way.”
“Well, then she’s crazy. You’re a real catch, Melvin.” Just like when she’d said Marcus and Clara belonged together, Lorraine had to say the words to realize that she believed them. Melvin really was a great guy.
“You think so?”
“I do.”
They walked in silence for a few minutes, with the park on their right and the hulking skyscrapers of the city on their left. Lorraine watched a few picnickers pack up their blankets as the sun began to set.
“So why do you want to help Marcus?” Melvin asked. “If you’re not trying to get him to like you?”
“It’d just be nice to have him back as a friend. Maybe then some of the Barnard girls would give me the time of day.”
“Ah, so you do have an ulterior motive. I should’ve known.”
She glanced over at him, ready to be insulted. But his smile made it clear he was kidding. He really did have such a nice smile—how had she never noticed? “Of course. I’ll leave true selflessness to you—you’re much better at it than I ever could be.” She paused. “Like what you did today. I don’t know how I can ever thank you.”
Lorraine looked at him then—really looked at him—walking with his hands plunged into his pockets. He didn’t walk with his chest puffed out like Marcus or Hank, men who knew how charming and attractive they were. But Lorraine was beginning to find that she liked that about Melvin. He didn’t think about how he appeared to anyone else—when he walked he thought about deeper things, like books and art. And Lorraine, maybe. People he cared about.
Melvin was funny, and not in the biting way Marcus had always been. And he was the sort of boy who got better looking the more you got to know him, though it wasn’t as if he were handsome. Still, as long as he kept his glasses on, Melvin’s strong chin, sculpted cheekbones, and full lips were practically swoony. He didn’t have to spend all his time at Lorraine’s beck and call. There were plenty of brainy girls at Barnard who would be happy to give Melvin the attention he deserved.
She stopped in the middle of the sidewalk and turned to him. “You do everything for me, and you never complain, and I never do anything for you. Why?”
He glanced down at her with his head cocked to the side. “Why do you think?”
Could it be … did Melvin do all this because he liked her? Could Lorraine be the girl he’d been talking about before? But no … he’d just said Lorraine did everything with an ulterior motive. He’d been joking, but would he really joke that way with the girl he carried a torch for?
“I’m your friend,” Melvin explained.
Ah, right. Friends. Of course.
“Now come on,” he said, “you’re gonna help me study for U.S. and European History. You owe me.”
Lorraine linked her arm through Melvin’s. “Oh, all right. Can we skip over Queen Victoria, though? She’s such a bore.”
“You’d be surprised. She and Albert actually had a pretty saucy marriage.”
“Really?” She paused. “Well, I guess that’s not actually so surprising.”
“Why not?”
“Well, in my experience, the people who seem dull at first can turn out to be some of the best people you’ll ever meet.” She peered at his brownish eyes behind his glasses and tightened her arm around his. “Once you get to know them.”
The two of them walked past the last bit of Central Park and a cool wind blew Lorraine’s hair back from her face. She smiled at the leaves of the trees beside them. They were just beginning to change color—a little flash of yellow on one tree, a bit of orange on another. The shift was only just starting, but soon it would be as though the trees had completely new leaves.
And now it looked like Lorraine, too, had new leaves after all.
GLORIA
Gloria was tired.
She’d been ready to fall into bed when the group had gotten back from a drunken scavenger hunt in Great Neck Plaza the night before. But Forrest had decided that it was the perfect time to set up the tightrope he’d just bought in the backyard. Gloria wasn’t sure how no one had broken any bones—though the mattresses the servants dragged outside had helped.
Gloria still hadn’t been able to dig up anything else on Forrest. And to make matters worse, Hank didn’t know where Jerome was. Thank God Ruby had agreed to help them, or Hank probably would’ve sent Gloria back to prison by now. Ruby would bring the information the feds needed to Marcus’s wedding tomorrow. Then, with Hank’s blessing, Ruby and Forrest would run off to Paris. And Gloria would be free to focus her attention on finding her fiancé.
But for now, she was still stuck here. After three weeks at Forrest’s villa, she’d almost started to think three a.m. beach bonfires and sled rides down the grand staircase were normal. Talking to an old friend helped her remember how absurd Forrest Hamilton’s lifestyle really was.
“What are Forrest and his pack of vamps getting up to now?” Marcus asked over the telephone. “Sparking some fireworks in the living room? Parachuting off the rooftop?”
“I’m not sure even Glitz or Glamour would be dim enough to try to set off fireworks indoors,” Gloria replied. “I should mention the parachute idea to Forrest, though—sounds right up his alley. But no, they’re all playing chess.”
“I don’t believe it. Sounds far too civilized for his crowd.”
“Well, it is human-sized chess. Forrest had the tiles out on the terrace painted to look like a chessboard.”
“Ah, there we go. Has anyone chucked a pawn off the terrace yet?”
She sat up from the sofa, looking out at the broad terrace through the wood-paneled den’s ornate French doors. The chessboard took up almost the entirety of the terrace. Larger pieces like the king and queen were more than half as tall as Forrest and his houseguests. Forrest and Glitz controlled the aquamarine pieces, while Marty, Ruby, and Glamour pushed the ivory ones.
Marty was the only one who seemed to be paying the least bit of attention to the game. Glitz and Glamour were using their respective bishops to have a sword fight of sorts. Ruby twirled her skirt this way and that and sang while a besotted Forrest applauded. Ruby had been singing soft, sweet songs in French all morning.
“No, but it’s only a matter of time,” Gloria replied with a laugh. “I’m sure you’re no stranger to this sort of thing now that you’re an experienced college man.”
“You forget I was nearly engaged by the time school started. I’ve been behaving myself these days, unlike you.”
“Well, I hope you haven’t completely reformed. The scoundrel Marcus Eastman is the one who’s been my best friend all these years.”
“I’m still me, don’t worry. I’ve just got my head on a little straighter. And you’re one to talk—I hope I’ll even recognize you at my wedding. You’ve turned into this singing jailbird who cavorts with shady billionaires. Doesn’t sound like the Gloria Carmody I used to know.”
Marcus was joking, but Gloria recognized the truth in his words. Would the girl Gloria had been in Chicago, president of the Honor Society and example to all the other debs in town, even recognize the woman Gloria had become?
Gloria didn’t think so. And she was so glad.
When Marcus spoke again, his tone was more serious. “Really, Glo, what are you doing out there? You’re way too good to spend your days as one of Forrest Hamilton’s girl toys. And now he’s coming with you to my wedding?”
“Just as friends,” Gloria corrected quickly. That way Forrest and Ruby would be able to flee the wedding directly and catch their ship to Paris. “You don’t want to know what I’m doing here, believe me.” Gloria peered outside again. She couldn’t see Forrest anymore—he’d probably returned to his own side of the chessboard, which Gloria couldn’t quite see from her vantage point. “It’s complicated,” she told Marcus in a whisper. “I’m working for the FBI, but I can’t really talk about it. Forrest thinks I’m here as a guest, more or less—he doesn’t know that I’m trying to bring him down.” Gloria thought of Ruby. “And I’m very close to getting what I need to satisfy the FBI and have him locked away.”
“I figured it might be something like that, considering you went straight from prison to that fellow’s house.” Marcus’s voice was tinged with worry. “But your detective work better not keep you from your role in my wedding. I can’t get married without my best friend there by my side.”
Gloria felt a rush of affection for her old friend. Maybe she didn’t agree with his getting married so fast, but she did have to admit this was the happiest she’d heard him in a while.
“Don’t worry,” she replied. “They’d have to lock me up again to keep me away.”
They said their goodbyes and Gloria returned the telephone to the mahogany end table. She let her hand rest on the receiver for a moment. In Chicago, Marcus had been such an integral part of her world. Here in New York, he was nothing more than a ghost. And now that he was getting married … would he disappear forever? Would their only communication be via Christmas cards and family photos?
Then it hit her: Would she and Jerome even send Christmas cards? What would be the point—who would they send them to? Vera and Evan, maybe, but that was it. She sighed and fingered the chain around her neck—she hadn’t taken it off since Forrest’s party, Hank and his rules be damned. Jerome kept disappearing on her. Wearing the ring around her neck, close to her heart, was the only way Gloria could ease the pain of his absence. Now she would just work on getting him back. It was only September, after all. They could worry about Christmas cards later.
Gloria stood and made for the den’s door.
And she found that she wasn’t alone.
Forrest sat at the other end of the peach velvet sofa, perched on its arm. He must have left the terrace while she’d been on the phone, and entered through the other set of French doors that led to the room beside this one. He held an empty martini glass in each hand and raised one to her in a mock toast.
“One of these was for you,” he said. “But I was so engrossed by your conversation that I drank both without realizing it. Silly me!”
He placed both the glasses on an end table and moved toward her. His dark eyes had none of their usual sparkle—they were nearly black. Gloria had never seen him without a touch of mirth on his face, some joke on the tip of his tongue. But now Forrest’s expression was utterly grim and his face was pallid.
“Tsk, tsk, tsk.” He clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth, making Gloria feel uncomfortable. Nervous. “So you really are on the bureau’s side. I thought I’d won you over, but you’re still intent on uncovering some dirt about me, aren’t you?” His voice was harder than Gloria had ever heard it.
She had to think of a lie, and quickly. “No—at least, not anymore,” Gloria said. “Not after what Ruby told me last night.” The moment she mentioned Ruby, Forrest’s face softened. “She told me everything, Forrest, about how you two are going to run away together to Paris. And I’m so happy for you. I know you two have real love. I just said that stuff to Marcus so he wouldn’t be suspicious.”
Forrest blinked a few times, then sank onto the couch. After a moment he looked up at her with hope in his eyes. “She really said that?” He smiled a little. “I’ve been begging her for weeks to agree … I’ve been so scared she would change her mind.”
All the canoodling, the secret conversations Gloria thought she’d been witnessing—they really had been going on. She wasn’t crazy. Ruby was going to leave her husband for Forrest.
“I’m sorry I wasn’t honest with you, but it’s not like you haven’t been using me,” Gloria said.
Forrest looked at her, confused.
“Oh, come on. The flirting, the compliments—you were just trying to make Ruby jealous.”
Forrest glanced away, his cheeks turning red. “Fair enough,” he said.
Gloria held out her hand. “So we’re even?”
Forrest studied it for a second, then extended his own. “Even.”
“Besides”—Gloria sat down beside him—“Ruby also said she loves you more than life itself. She said she doesn’t care about money or fame just so long as she can be with you.”
He turned to give her a wide smile. He wasn’t a self-assured playboy billionaire or a possibly shady businessman now; he was just a boy in love. “I’m so excited, Glo,” he admitted. “Tomorrow Ruby and I are going to sail off into a new life together, just her and me. It’s what I’ve always wanted. No one will know who we are: no more questions about my fortune, no more insufferable Marty. We’ll be free to do whatever we want, and we’ll never come back.”
Then he saw something behind Gloria that wiped the joyful expression right off his face.
“Oh, so is that the plan?” a gruff voice said.
Pembroke.
Standing in the doorframe.
His presence sucked the happy energy out of the room like a vacuum, and suddenly the den was dark and desolate. Pembroke’s gaze had the same effect on Gloria as an ice cube sliding down her spine. She was surprised the older man’s burly shoulders were even able to fit through the doorway. But though Pembroke was a big man, he moved gracefully, crossing the Persian rug like a lion stalking its prey. His bushy gray brows lowered over his eyes, and cold fury radiated off him in waves. Back in Chicago, Carlito Macharelli’s rages had been like wildfire—burning, passionate, and unpredictable. But there was something so much more frightening about the combination of Pembroke’s intimidating size with his cool, unruffled manner. It was as if he could snap Gloria and Forrest in half without a blink of his pale, eerie eyes.
Now those terrifying eyes fixed on Forrest. “And you didn’t even think to include me? I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised. You always were a selfish boy.”
Pembroke pulled a wooden chair away from the desk in the corner. He turned it away from Gloria and Forrest and sat to face them, straddling it and resting his muscled arms on the back. He chuckled, and the smile twisted the lower end of his scar into a disturbing J. “I should have known better than to let you squander my money on Broadway shows. A stupid kid like you always gets romantic notions.”
Gloria looked between Pembroke and Forrest. What made Forrest’s servant think he had the right to call Forrest selfish or stupid? “Excuse me, but what business is it of yours?”
Pembroke threw his head back and laughed. “It’s all my business, sweetheart. Forrest doesn’t have two wooden nickels to rub together.” He turned back to Gloria. “All he’s got is the money I let him launder while I set up a new life for myself in Europe. And yet he seems to think he could make it without me.”
“No, Dad, Gloria’s got it all wrong,” Forrest said, his voice high and nervous. “I’m … not running away with Ruby. Honestly.”
Gloria’s head whipped between the two men again. Dad?
“Damn right, you’re not!” Pembroke yelled, causing Ruby and the others to look at them through the French doors questioningly. Forrest summoned a shadow of his usual charming smile and waved off their concern.
Once the others were back to their drunken shenanigans, Pembroke stood up and pointed at Gloria. “And you aren’t going to say a word to anyone about anything.” He paced and stroked his mustache pensively for a moment. “I still haven’t decided what to do with your colored boyfriend.” He held his hands out, weighing them back and forth. “Kill him? Leave him locked up till he starves to death? Let him go?”
Without thinking, Gloria leaped up from the couch and seized Pembroke by his shoulders. “Where is he? Let him go!”
Pembroke looked down at her and laughed. Then he effortlessly shoved her away from him, hard enough that she fell to the ground.
“You weren’t kidding, Forrest, this girl’s a real bearcat,” Pembroke observed. “Moxie’s something I respect in a woman, and I plan to treat you and your boy real nice if you promise to treat me the same. I’ll let you know where he is after you do what I want. But if you don’t play by my rules … well, there won’t be much left of him to find.”
Gloria swallowed hard and sat back down next to Forrest. She looked into Pembroke’s eerie eyes and nodded.
Pembroke sat down as well. “Forrest. When did you say your tickets were for?”
Forrest gulped, wiping sweat from his forehead. “Tomorrow night. After the Eastman wedding.”
Pembroke nodded, then pointed at Gloria. “So here’s how things are gonna work: Forrest and I are going to be on that boat.” Forrest sucked in a sharp breath and Pembroke laughed again. “That’s right, Son, you’re taking me with you—not your old flame. Ruby’s got a sweet deal, being a real producer’s wife. I’m sure she’ll thank me someday for keeping her from ruining her career for a punk like you.”
Pembroke leaned forward to pat Forrest’s knee. “That’s something you still need to learn from me—how to know when something’s over. You and Ruby were finished a long time ago, and now I’m finished with this country. Things have gotten too hot here, and too many people know that I’m still alive. It’s time to get out, and I’m taking you—and my money—with me.”
Gloria stared at Forrest, sure he was going to scream, or storm out, or do something. She knew how much he loved Ruby. Was he really going to let his father steal his and Ruby’s one chance to be happy together?
But Forrest just stared at the floor and gave a small nod. “Yes, sir.”
Gloria could feel the chill of Pembroke’s gaze on her. “You, Gloria,” he said, “are going to be at that wedding. My contacts tell me your G-man expects you there. And we’ll be there with you, because I don’t trust you and we’re not letting you out of our sight. So long as you don’t misbehave, afterward you can spring your boyfriend. By then we’ll be long gone.”
Gloria peered quickly at Forrest, who still seemed to be trying to read some kind of hidden wisdom in the carpet.
“All right,” Gloria said. What choice did she have? “But if you hurt Jerome, you’d better believe you’ll be climbing onto that boat with a bullet in your back.”
Pembroke laughed again and slapped his thigh. “You really took that thing I said about moxie to heart, didn’t you? That’s what makes you a good performer, kid—you know your audience.” He stood and put the chair back by the desk. He turned back to Gloria and Forrest and clapped his hands. “Great, so we all know the roles we’re playing here.” He glanced at the others outside, then at Forrest. “I believe you have a chess game to finish.”
Pembroke moved in front of her when she tried to follow Forrest through the French doors. “Meanwhile, Miss Carmody, your telephone privileges are cut off.” He leaned closer so that he was speaking directly into her ear. “And believe me, I’ll know if you try to place a call here or anywhere else. I’ve got eyes and ears everywhere.”
Then Pembroke approached the end table where the telephone Gloria had used earlier was sitting. In one swift move, he yanked the telephone straight out of the wall. It fell to the floor with a jangle.
He cracked his knuckles and glanced at Gloria. She tried not to let him see her hands trembling.
“Now,” Pembroke said, his voice an older version of Forrest’s when he was at the height of his charm. “Why don’t you go out and enjoy the day with my boy and his friends? After all, it is a lovely time of year.”