“That’s a heavy thing to do to someone who spent six years in the joint.” His mouth smiled, but his eyes looked serious, almost afraid. “I get nervous about who stands behind me. By now it’s a reflex.”
“I’m sorry, Luke. I just wanted to say goodbye. I have to catch my plane.”
“Okay, just a sec.” He rose to walk her out to the lobby, and she went back to her table to pick up her coat. But Luke was waylaid on the way, and he was locked into another cluster of men as she fidgeted near the door, until she couldn’t wait any longer. Unkind or not, she had to go. She didn’t want to miss her plane. With a last look in his direction, she slipped quietly out of the room, crossed the lobby, and retrieved her valise from the doorman as he opened the door to a cab.
She settled back against the seat, and smiled to herself. It had been a good trip, and it was going to be a beautiful piece.
She never saw Lucas standing beneath the awning behind her, a look of storm clouds and disappointment on his face.
“Damn!” All right, Ms. Kate Miller. We’ll see about that. He smiled to himself as he strode back inside. He had liked her. She was so vulnerable, so funny … the kind of tiny little woman you wanted to toss up in the air and catch in your arms.
“Did you catch the young lady, sir?” The doorman had seen him run.
“No.” He broke into a broad grin which bordered on laughter. “But I will.”
Chapter 9
“Called me? What do you mean he called me? I just walked in the door. And how did he know how to get hold of you?” Kezia was almost livid with rage at Simpson.
“Calm down. Kezia. He called over an hour ago, and I assume that the magazine referred him to me. There’s no harm in that. And he was perfectly civil.”
“Well, what did he want?” She was stepping out of her clothes as she spoke, and the bath was already running. It was five minutes to seven, and Whit had said he’d pick her up at eight. They were due at a party at nine.
“He said he didn’t feel the article would be complete unless you covered the meeting for that moratorium against prisons tomorrow in Washington. And he’d appreciate it if you’d hold off turning the piece in until you’ve added that to the rest. It sounds reasonable, Kezia. If you went to Chicago, you can certainly go to Washington for an afternoon.”
“When is this thing he wants me to go to?” Goddamn Lucas Johns. He was being a pest, or at least egocentric. She had written the outline for the piece on the plane, and enough was enough. Her sense of triumph was evaporating rapidly now. A man who called scarcely before she’d stepped off the plane could hardly be trusted not to pry.
“The moratorium meeting is tomorrow afternoon.”
“Hell. And if I go by plane, I’m liable to get spotted by some asshole society reporter who’ll think I’m going down there for a party, and he’ll try to catch a quick bit of news. And then I’m liable to end up with the paparazzi down my back.”
“That didn’t happen on the way to Chicago, did it?”
“No, but Washington is a lot closer to home, and you know it. I never go to Chicago. Maybe I should drive down tomorrow, and … oh God, the tub! Hang on!”
Simpson waited while she went to turn off the water. She sounded nervous, and he assumed that the trip had been hectic. But it had been good for her. There was no doubt about that. She had braved it out, done the interview, and no one had recognized her, thank God. If they had, he’d never have heard the end of it. Now there were any number of interviews she could do. And Johns had certainly sounded pleased with her work. He had mentioned spending almost four hours with her. She must have handled it well, and Johns’ casual references to “Miss Miller” showed that he hadn’t the faintest idea who she was. So what was her problem? Why so jumpy? She came back on the line with a sigh. “Are you drowning over there?”
“No.” She laughed tiredly then. “I don’t know, Jack, I’m sorry I jumped on you, but it really makes me nervous to do this kind of thing so close to New York.”
“But the interview today went well, didn’t it?”
“Yes. Very. But do you think the moratorium is really important to the piece, or is it that Luke Johns is on a star trip now and wants more attention?”
“I think he made a valid point when he called. It’s another sphere of his action, and could add a lot of strength to the piece. Atmosphere, if nothing else. It’s up to you, but I don’t see any harm in your going. And I know what you’re worried about, but you saw for yourself in Chicago that there was no problem with that. No paparazzi, and he hasn’t the faintest idea that you’re anyone but K. S. Miller.”
“Kate.” She smiled to herself.
“What?”
“Nothing. Oh, I don’t know. Maybe you’re right. What time does the meeting start? Did he say?”
“Noon. He’ll be flying in from Chicago in the morning.” She thought about it for a minute, and then nodded at the phone.
“All right, I’ll do it. I suppose I could fly down on the shuttle. That’s innocuous enough. And I could be back easily by tomorrow night.”
“Fine. Do you want to call Johns yourself to confirm it, or shall I? He wanted confirmation.”
“Why? So he could line up another biographer if I didn’t go?”
“Now, now, let’s not be nasty.” Simpson chuckled in spite of himself. There were times when she needed a good boot in the ass. “No, he said something about picking you up at the plane.”
“Shit.”
“What?” Simpson sounded faintly shocked. He was much less used to that from her than Edward, who was of a comparable vintage but a little less proper.
“Sorry. No, I’ll call him myself. And I don’t want to be met at the plane. Just in case.”
“I think that’s wise. And do you want me to arrange someplace for you to stay? If you want to stay at a hotel we could bill it to the magazine, along with your plane fare.”
“No, I’d rather come home. And that place you got me in Chicago was fabulous. Must be quite a home when it’s in full swing.”
“Used to be … used to be. I’m glad you liked it. I had some good times there, many years ago.” He drifted for a moment and then reverted to his business voice. “So you’ll come home tomorrow night then?”
“Damn right.” She wanted to get down to SoHo, and Mark. It had been days! And tonight she had that damn party at the El Morocco to go to with Whit. Hunter Forbishe and Juliana Watson-Smythe were announcing their engagement, as though everyone didn’t already know. Two of the dullest, richest people in town, and worse luck yet, Hunter was her second cousin. The party was sure to be shitful, but at least the El Morocco was fun. She hadn’t been since before the summer.
And not only were the dumb bastards getting engaged, but they had decided to have a theme for their party. Black and White. What fun it would have been to appear with George, her dancer friend from SoHo. Black and White … or Lucas for that matter, with his black hair to match Kezia’s, and their equally white skin. How absurd—and worth a mountain of news for a year. No, she’d have to settle for Whitney, but it was a shame. Luke might have been fun at a party like that. Fun and outrageous. She laughed aloud as she sank into her bath. She would call him after she dressed, to tell him that she’d meet him in Washington tomorrow. But first she had to dress, and she needed time for a party like the one they were going to. She had long since decided what to wear for their charming soiree in black and white. The creamy lace dress was already laid out on her bed, fiercely décolleté and gently empire, with a black moire cape, and the new David Webb choker and earrings she’d bought herself last Christmas: an onyx set with a generous supply of handsome stones, diamonds of course. At twenty-nine she had stopped waiting for someone else to buy that sort of thing for her. She bought them herself.