"I think so, and I'm not easily impressed." She couldn't believe the man wasn't seeing right through her, but he continued to listen. "We're lining up suppliers now, which is why I'm here. We think this new computer marks the wave of the future. I've made the decision to commit myself and all my resources to SysVal." That was true anyway. Carl didn't have to know just how nonexistent those resources were.
"I'll be happy to help you in any way I can."
"Good. I want to make certain you'll give Sam everything he needs."
"He's got it," Carl replied enthusiastically.
"And time is important. We need reliable parts and we need them quickly."
"I understand."
She put out her hand and shook his, her grip much stronger this time. "I know you're busy, and I won't take up any more of your time. You have my business card." She hesitated at the exact moment when she wanted to appear most in control. Hoping she hadn't already betrayed herself, she said firmly, "Use that address for billing. Thirty days, normal terms."
For the first time, Carl looked doubtful. She had expected this to happen, but now that it had, she couldn't remember what she had planned to do about it.
"If we're dealing with a new company," he said, "we generally ask for payment in advance."
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Sam's head lift from the parts catalogue. This was it. Now the socialite had to turn into a hustler. Whatever had made her think she could pull this off? She raised her eyebrow, hoping she looked vaguely annoyed instead of sick to her stomach. "In advance? How odd. That's really going to drive my accountants wild."
"Nothing personal, Miss Faulconer. It's normal procedure."
"Of course. I understand. I should have realized this would be a problem. FBT is accustomed to working with much larger suppliers."
Deliberately, she turned her back on him and walked over to Sam. "I know that you want to get your parts here, Sam, but I'm afraid it's not possible. You have to see that this is going to cause all sorts of difficulties for me."
Sam looked properly annoyed. "The prices are better here at Spectra," he said. "You'll end up paying more somewhere else."
She managed a stiff shrug. "Cost is relative. The larger suppliers can accommodate themselves better to our accounting system. From my perspective, this is a relatively small order-"
"Now, Miss Faulconer-" Carl practically leaped around the counter. "I'm sure we can work something out."
The blood had started to roar so loudly in her ears that she was surprised he couldn't hear it. She risked glancing at her wrist again. Two hairs past a freckle. She remembered that saying from her childhood. What time is it? Two hairs past a freckle. "I'm quite late already. I really don't-"
"We'll take care of it," Carl insisted. "Don't worry. Thirty days will be fine."
It took all her self-control not to break out in a huge smile. "Are you certain? I don't want to inconvenience you."
"No inconvenience at all," Carl replied. "Now you go on to your appointment. Sam and I'll get started on your order."
She could barely restrain herself from leaping into the air like a child. She wanted to jump and shout and scream with joy at how clever she had been, how brave, how absolutely unconventional! Instead, she smiled at Carl and began walking toward the door.
As she stepped outside, she promised herself that she would do whatever she must to pay him back. She might have hustled him, but she wouldn't cheat him.
Chapter 11
That evening Angela Gamble burst into the garage like the rhythm section of a street band-charm bracelets jangling, stiletto heels tapping, Gypsy coin earrings tintinnabulating.
"Sammy Bammy! I'm back!" She stretched out her arms and dashed forward-a hot pink flash in a gauze jumpsuit cinched at the waist with a metallic fish-scale belt. Her shoulder-length cloud of black, sprayed hair barely moved.
"Hi, Mom." His smile didn't quite reach his eyes as he half-heartedly returned her hug.
She gave him a loud kiss on the chin and smacked his face with the flat of her hand. "That's for all the trouble you probably got into while I was away." Without stopping to catch her breath, she raced toward Yank, grabbed his rear end in both hands and squeezed hard. "Gotcha, hot cheeks. Miss me?"
Yank turned and blinked. Susannah, who had been unpacking a box of parts when Sam's mother had burst in, watched in astonishment as a smile slowly spread over his face. "Hi, Angela."
At the age of forty-two, Angela Gamble was slim and small. Only an inch over five feet tall, she was pretty despite her gaudiness, and fiercely engaged in a battle against encroaching middle age. She stretched up onto her tiptoes and planted a solid kiss on Yank's mouth. Then she slapped him across the face even harder than she had slapped her son. "That's for all the trouble you didn't get into while I was gone."
Yank rubbed his cheek absent-mindedly, gave her another smile-this one a bit vague-and reached for his logic probe.
She turned to Susannah. "Hi, honey. I'm Angela Gamble. You Sammy's new girlfriend?"
Susannah stepped forward and introduced herself.
Angela gazed at her curiously. "You look so familiar to me. Sammy, why does she look so familiar?"
Sam, busy sorting capacitors, said offhandedly, "She looks like that actress we saw on PBS a couple of months ago."
"I never watch PBS. I can't stand foreign accents. It's your hair. I don't ever forget a hairstyle. Not too many women still wear it in a bun like that."
Susannah felt vaguely apologetic. "I don't always wear it like this. Sometimes I wear it down."
"I'd take some of that weight out of it if I were you. Cut it just below your jaw line. Soften it with long layers so it stays full but isn't fussy. You don't look like the fussy type."
Her suggestions were delivered so good-naturedly, Susannah couldn't take offense. "I'll consider it."
Angela's scrutiny continued. "What did you say your last name was again?"
"Faulconer," she said hesitantly.
Angela looked thoughtful for a moment and then she let out a squeal. "I don't believe it! I read a story about you in the newspaper, didn't I? You're the daughter of that big shot. You're the one who ran away from her wedding! Ohmygod! Sammy, do you know who this is? This is Susannah Faulconer. She was getting married to this guy, and then right in the middle of this swank society wedding this other guy shows up on a Harley and-" She stopped in mid-sentence. Her jaw dropped as her eyes flew from Susannah to Sam. "Oh my God," she said breathlessly. "Oh my God! It was you!"
Without warning, she began to squeal in delight and pound her heels up and down on the concrete floor like a pint-sized flamenco dancer. "Sammy! I should have known. When I read that story, I got this shiver up my spine. I should have known right then. You're just like your old man! God, if he could only hear about this one."
Sam stiffened. Then he stepped forward. "Susannah is staying with me for a while."
"That's great! Oh, that's just great! If I'd known about this, I would have come back last week. Vegas was dead anyway. The town just isn't the same when Elvis isn't headlining. And then I had to listen to Audrey going on and on about how fat he's gotten. Fat or not, the King is still the King."
Sam interrupted abruptly. "You feel like making some spaghetti or something? I know it's late, but we're all pretty hungry."
Susannah looked at him curiously. She had just offered to make him something to eat, but he had refused.
"Sure, baby." Angela gave him another slap on the jaw and hugged Susannah. "You stay as long as you like, honey. And if Sammy gives you any trouble, you tell me about it. Between the two of us, we'll keep him in line." She jingled-jangled as she left the garage.
Susannah moved into Angela's sewing room that same night, despite the fact that Sam's mother had made it more than clear that she wasn't a prude. Susannah's desertion upset Sam, and he gave her another lecture about how uptight she was, but she was incapable of sharing his bed while his mother slept on the other side of the hall. They weren't married. They weren't engaged. They hadn't even discussed the possibility.