Нэнси Уоррен – Underneath It All (страница 7)

“Thank you, Ma,” Kate replied in a more authentic brogue. “But don’t be marryin’ me off now, till you’ve tasted it.”

“Here’s to mothers.” Ruby raised her glass in a toast. “How is your mom, anyway?”

“Oh, I don’t know. The same. They’re all the same.”

“Susan and her crew moved out yet?”

She shook her head. Susan, the eldest of the five children, was the only married one, and the only child apart from Kate who’d left home. She’d been married four years and had two children, but when her husband lost his job the four of them had moved back in with her mother and her other siblings. The small two-bedroom bungalow Kate grew up in now housed eight of her family.

“And I thought I’d lived in tenements.” Ruby shook her head.

“You did live in tenements. You’re just not Irish.”

The aromatic scent of lasagna filled the air as she scooped hefty portions onto two plates. A basket of crusty garlic bread and a big bowl of salad lay between the two women.

“Oh, I wish I could cook,” wailed Ruby as she did every time she came to Kate’s for dinner. “Will you marry me?”

Kate shook her head. “I’m looking for somebody with enough money to get me out of hairdressing.”

“Well, that lets me out. What about that escaped bachelor fellow I keep hearing about on the news? Maybe you could find him and pick up the reward.”

Kate snorted. “I never even find my lost earrings.” She vaguely recalled the blond man on the front of Bethany’s magazine. “I’m not sure I’m the type rich men go for.”

“I hear you. Why do people with money always look for people with more money? You’d think they’d try and spread the wealth a little. It’s more democratic.”

“I don’t know. But I do know that you have to rely on yourself. Dreaming of rich guys doesn’t help.”

“What about your bank man? He looks like a guy with money to spend.”

“You mean Brian.”

“Yeah, right. How’s it going?”

Kate sipped wine, thinking. “He’s been working really hard lately and so have I, so we haven’t seen each other that much.”

“Looked to me last time I saw him like he was getting set to propose. You going to marry him?”

Kate broke apart a piece of garlic bread, the crust crunching in the silence. “No. I can’t explain it. Sure, he’s good-looking and has a great job, but I’m pretty sure he wants kids right away.” Suddenly a bubble of despair welled up inside her. “Oh, Ruby, I’m just so tired of looking after people.”

Across the table Ruby’s chocolate eyes were soft with sympathy. “Don’t I know it.”

When the two had met at the beauty salon, they’d become instant friends. As they got to know each other, it was uncanny how similar their backgrounds were. Both came from big families headed by single women: Ruby’s through divorce, Kate’s through her father’s death. She’d quit high school to help her mother out financially, and to look after the younger kids since her mom had to get a job long before her grief had healed. A big chunk of both her and Ruby’s paychecks still went straight home to their mothers even though they had moved out on their own.

Both were willing to make extra sacrifices not to live at home ever again. Living alone meant working extra shifts, skipping breaks to squeeze a few more customers into each day, eating a lot of macaroni and being very creative with little clothing. They both agreed their freedom and the luxury of privacy was worth any sacrifice.

“He doesn’t know about your family, does he?” Ruby asked.

“No.” Brian certainly didn’t know that her mother relied on Kate’s financial support. And he didn’t strike Kate as the kind of man who would ever take on that burden himself once they were married. If she did marry him, how could she give her mother money and keep it a secret?

“Well, don’t rush into anything,” was Ruby’s advice, which was pretty much what Kate had already decided.

“Yes. We’re sort of taking a break from each other for a little while. It’s easier than both of us having to cancel plans because we’re working overtime.” She rose to clear the table and paused. “Plus, I think the spark’s gone. You know?”

After dinner, they moved to sit on the couch. Ruby unscrewed the cap on the bottle and topped up their glasses. “So, heard anything more from Angel-Butt?” she asked. Having heard the whole story, she’d now christened Kate’s upstairs neighbor with that nickname.

Nodding mysteriously, Kate rose from the table and crossed to the adjacent bedroom, returning with the gold-and-white box. Ruby let out a low whistle when she saw the name of the shop. Her jaw dropped when she removed the camisole, touching it reverently. “Oh, honey! This is to die for. Was there a note?” she asked.

Kate recited it.

Ruby laughed. “Revenge of the Nerd?”

She told her friend about storming up to his apartment, and his apology, while Ruby continued fondling the silk camisole.

“And he can afford this?”

“I guess so. I told him to take it back, but he insisted I keep it, just to show there’s no hard feelings.”

“He’s got good taste for a nerd.” Ruby let out a lusty chuckle. “Why, you should model this for him some night.” Ruby thrust out her impressive chest and held the camisole against it. “Give that angel a workout.”

THE QUIET TAP OF THE computer keys was the only sound in the room, but Darren was having trouble concentrating. He was hungry, and he was spending so many hours alone he was starting to worry about his mental health.

Sure, he wanted to work on his project, and yes, if the media got hold of him there’d be hell to pay, but still he needed to get out more.

Little noises from downstairs told him his neighbor was home. And that was his biggest problem. The person in Seattle he most wanted to socialize with—the only one he knew—was the one he most needed to stay away from.

He told himself it was simply loneliness and not his frustrated libido that had him thinking about her when he ought to be working. Thinking about her reminded him of the schedule that anal-retentive Dean Edgar had promised to draft.

He worked out a very Dean Edgarish schedule, coded in blocks, that gave him exclusive use of the laundry facilities Saturday, Sunday and Wednesday, while Kate got Monday, Tuesday, Thursday and Friday. He printed the schedule and was just about to take it to her when he heard shrieks of laughter coming from the downstairs apartment. He smiled, enjoying the sound. Kate must have a friend over, and something had struck them pretty funny.

The laughter downstairs emphasized how quiet it was in his apartment. His first Saturday night in Seattle and he was sitting here all alone, not knowing a soul in the city and dressed like a goof. He shook his head.

Was he crazy?

He thought back to what he would be doing back home on a Saturday night. He almost groaned at the thought of all he’d left behind—the restaurants, the parties, the clubs, the women.

He glanced out the window. The stars were out tonight. Maybe he’d take a walk by himself and go find something to eat in a restaurant where there were other people. He gazed down at the quiet tree-lined street.

A young black woman emerged from the downstairs apartment, throwing a laughing comment over her shoulder. He heard Kate’s voice calling out in reply. Great, the friend was gone, he could drop the schedule off on his way out.

He donned the glasses and an old jeans jacket Bart and he had found in a thrift store, shoved a Mariners cap on his head and let himself out of his apartment, the computer printout in his hand. He ran lightly down the stairs and knocked on Kate’s door.

“Honestly, Ruby, you always forget something.” Kate was laughing as she opened the door. The smile turned to an O of surprise when she saw Darren standing there. For some reason she blushed when she saw him.

“Hi,” he said.

“Hi,” she answered, an embarrassed smile playing around her lips. She had bright yellow rubber gloves on, drops of soapy water clinging to them. They looked like clown hands, Darren thought, incongruous against the cherry-red sleeveless cotton sweater and jeans. Instead of shoes she wore oversize gray wool socks.

He cleared his throat. “I brought you the schedule,” he said, trying to hand it to her, but she backed away, laughing and flapping her wet yellow gloves.

“My hands are all wet. You’d better come in.”

Stepping into her apartment, he was assailed by delicious aromas: garlic and cheese, spicy tomato sauce. He breathed in rapturously. “Smells like a little Italian restaurant I used to love on…” He stopped himself before he mentioned East Seventy-third street. What was the matter with him? His cover was slipping again. “I can’t remember where it was,” he finished lamely. She didn’t look too surprised. She already thought he was a lame sort of guy.

“Lasagna.” She smiled. “You probably haven’t had time to get organized, do you want some?”

“No thanks,” he said, before his stomach and every other part of him could make him say yes.

She was even prettier when she wasn’t yelling. Her eyes were big and green with flecks of gold. Her lips were full and kissable. And that hair—if it was real—would be glorious to touch.

She peeled off the gloves and took the schedule from him. “Sure, this looks fine,” she said, casually perusing the page, then she focused intently. “You remembered my first and last name. And spelled it right, too.” She looked at him curiously. “Are you Irish?”