Lady Be Good (3 page)

“My name’s Luke Lazurnovich. Luke the Laser, that’s me.”

Grace said, “How do you do?”

Mocking her round vowels, he teased her by repeating, “Howww do you dooo? You’re Miss Vanderbine, I guess. What’s your first name? Victoria? Anastasia? It’s got to be something snooty.”

With a snap, she supplied, “Grace.”

He laughed again. “No kidding? Princess Grace! You kinda look like that movie actress, whatshername. Grace Kelly. Do you put your pinkie in the air when you drink your tea, Grace? Or do you only drink coffee?”

“I prefer tea, actually, but--”

“I’ve always wondered about that pinkie business. Is it just a way to look hifalutin’?”

“I think explanations vary. It used to be a sign of being open to conversation. From the French,
auriculaire
—ear finger.” Grace had heard her mother spout off on the subject many times, so she went on, “Or you use the little finger to strike the saucer when you’re returning the cup, so it doesn’t make a loud noise or break the china. But—” she gave up thinking like her mother and said, “I think it’s just one of those silly habits people pick up.”

“Or maybe,” he said, lifting his little finger, “it’s a place to hang the teabag.”

Well, Mama had probably drummed this lesson into Grace’s head years ago. If one encourages perfect strangers in conversation, they soon take liberties and become overly familiar. Grace was already deep into socially dangerous waters. The best way to avoid talking further about herself was to talk about him. She took an inventory of her supply of football trivia and inquired, “What position did you play, Mr. Laz—Lazur--”

“Lazurnovich. Call me Luke. I played wide receiver.” Then he said, “But you don’t look like you know much about football.”

“Only that the Rose Bowl has a wonderful parade.”

He grinned once again. “Not as good as Macy’s Thanksgiving parade. I love those big balloons. Underdog, remember him?”

“Yes, of course.” Grace felt herself warming to Luke Lazurnovich. Anyone who sided with Underdog, the caped canine cartoon character, couldn’t be all bad. She said, “I thought professional football players always worked on holidays.”

“I wasn’t born a football player.” Suddenly, he grabbed the wheel harder. “Damn!”

The car lurched, lost its grip on the road, and slid sideways just enough to send an instant shot of adrenaline through Grace’s system. The weather was getting worse, and it was officially dark. The snow looked like flashes of white light as the wind drove it against the windshield. Luke Lazurnovich had slowed the big car to a sedate speed, but the road was still hazardous. Grace could see other cars stalled along the roadside, red caution lights flashing as they presumably waited for tow trucks.

“Sorry,” he said as he regained control of the car. “You okay back there?”

“I’m tightening my seatbelt. Are we going to make it?”

“To the airport? Sure. I wouldn’t take any bets about flying to Philly, though. But if the flight’s canceled, you can always drive to Philadelphia. It’s only a few hours by car.”

“How far by magic carpet? Because driving doesn’t seem likely tonight either.”

The highway was completely obscured by snow or blown clear into icy patches by the increasing wind. Many more cars were pulling off to the shoulder, as if their drivers had prudently given up the attempt to negotiate the dangerous road. The limousine, however, was a heavier car and managed to plow through the drifts without mishap. Luke Lazurnovich was a good driver, too. He took his time and concentrated. If he was feeling any anxiety, it didn’t show.

“There,” he said after a few more minutes. “You can see the lights from the airport now. At least everybody hasn’t gone home to bed yet.”

He was right. The lights and the traffic made the airport look busy, and Grace gathered up her handbag and found her good calfskin gloves inside. She pulled them onto her slim hands as Luke Lazurnovich drove the limousine up to the entrance. He parked illegally at the end of the covered walkway, shut off the engine, and got out.

A cop strolled down to the car, waving a flashlight. “Hey, buddy, you can’t park—Laser! Is that you?”

When Luke closed his door, Grace couldn’t hear the rest of their conversation, but it came with a lot of manly laughter and ended with the officer shaking Luke’s hand and walking away.

Grace waited until he had retrieved her luggage and then came around to open the door for her. Grasping his hand to climb out of the back seat, she gave a nod in the direction of the departing police officer. “Are you friends with everybody in this city?”

He gave a modest shrug. “I told you I was a minor celebrity. He’s giving me fifteen minutes of free parking. I can get a free beer in any bar in town, too.”

“With chicken wings?”

He laughed. “If I ask nicely. What airline?”

“I’ll have to check my ticket.”

The snow and ice had been cleared under the canopy, but a crunch of salt underfoot made walking in heels treacherous. He caught her elbow again and shouldered the strap of her carryall. “Inside, then.”

“I can hire someone to help me with those. You needn’t—”

“Inside,” he ordered calmly. “You’ll freeze out here. The cop has given me fifteen minutes, so let’s move.”

“I’m quite capable of handling my own travel arrangements now, Mr. Lazur—”

“Luke. Come on. We’ll just check the board and see if your flight’s been canceled.”

“It will not be canceled!”

In the terminal, he halted her in front of a bank of television screens and scanned them. At the nearby ticket counters, long lines of baggage-laden people looked either frantic or woebegone. The security line looked disheartening, too.

“You’re in luck.” Luke pointed at the television with his free hand. “Your flight’s still on the board, but it’s delayed. Do you want that drink?”

Grace stared at the blinking letters on the television screen. Up until now, she’d been bluffing herself. Or perhaps hoping that Luke Lazurnovich was right and that the plane was not going to take off. Now confronted with the reality of stepping onto a plane in a snowstorm, she was unnerved. If today’s bad luck continued, she was going to end up crash-landing in the Andes with a group of cannibals.

“Yes,” she said. “I definitely want a drink.”

“There’s a bar up this way. Maybe you need something to eat, too? We have great pierogies in this city.”

“Pierogies?”

“It’s a local delicacy.”

“I don’t dare eat a bite,” said Grace. “I might embarrass myself later.”

“How does a lady puke on an airplane, Princess Grace?”

“Let’s hope I don’t have to find out.”

He met her look with a twinkle in his blue gaze. Maybe he didn’t have a lot of polish, but he had a certain gentleness that warmed her heart. A lesser man would have left her on the curb outside and gone home.

Probably to his wife and kids.

Suddenly Grace felt an urge to know whether Luke the Laser had a pretty young wife and a herd of adorable blue-eyed children waiting for him at home. He probably got down on the floor and wrestled with half a dozen shrieking toddlers every night.

His grin widened as if he guessed where her thoughts went, but he jerked his head to indicate one of the concourses. “This way. You don’t look like the shot-and-a-beer type. We’ll find you a martini.”

As they walked past the security line together, Grace learned something very interesting about professional football players. Because of their size, they drew the eye of every passerby, both male and female. The men looked hard and narrow-eyed at Luke, as if trying to decide if he was someone they ought to remember, then elbowed each other and pointed when they recognized him. The women looked him up and down and finished by smiling directly into his face.
All
the women did it— from teenage gigglers to grandmotherly types.

One young lady with dangling earrings, dressed in a pair of jeans so tight that they might have been sprayed on with her tan, gave him such an eyelash flutter that Grace wondered if the poor girl had sprained her eyelid. The sexual message was obvious.
Anytime, Big Boy
.

Luke seemed blithely unaware of the attention he drew. He had an aw-shucks smile for everyone who caught his eye, though.

He found the bar and pushed the glass door open. “Ladies first, right?”

“Thank you.” She slipped past his tall frame and into the bedlam of an overcrowded bar.

Apparently other travelers needed to bolster their courage, because there wasn’t an empty seat in the whole room. Beside her, Luke spoke over the noisy crowd. “I’ll squeeze through and get something at the bar. What’ll it be? What does the good manners lady order?”

“A gimlet, please.”

He blinked. “Has anybody ordered a gimlet in this century?”

“With a twist.” The gimlet was Mama’s drink, and Grace figured one way to become Dear Miss Vanderbine was to mimic her mother’s every step. But she grabbed Luke’s hand. “Quick, this way.”

Grace had spotted a pair of businessmen leaving their seats at the bar. With her city instincts taking over, she squeezed her way to the empty barstools before anyone else realized the seats were available.

Luke followed—it was trickier for him to get through the crowd—but when he arrived at the two stools and she released his warm hand, he flagged the bartender.

Dropping his towel, the bartender rushed over and shook his hand. “Luke! Luke the Laser! Wow, we missed you this season. Anything you want, buddy. It’s on the house.”

“Hey, thanks, but that’s not necessary. One gimlet with a twist for the lady and a draft, huh?”

While the bartender burst into gushing praise for Luke’s career on the football field, Grace slipped off her coat and sat on one of the empty stools, neatly crossing her legs.

That’s when a large woman in jeans and a sweatshirt lurched up to the bar, an empty wine glass in her hand. She poked out her forefinger from the glass and pointed at Grace’s face. “Hey,” she shouted over the noise, “didn’t I see you on TV this morning? You’re Dear Miss Vanderbine.”

Surprised to be recognized, Grace said, “Yes, that’s me.”

The woman smirked. “Nice underpants.”

“Uh, thank you. I was a little--”

“Yeah, the two of you sure looked silly,” the woman said. “Yelling and dancing around like there was a mouse in the room.” With a closer squint at Grace, she added, “You’re thinner in person.”

Grace got the impression the remark was not meant as a compliment. “Thanks, I guess.”

“My grandma had a copy of your book.” The woman had garish red hair and too much makeup, and she was clearly on her third or fourth glass of wine. She leaned closer and confided, “In high school, I tried to use it for a book report once, but I got a D.”

How was Grace supposed to respond to that? She tried to look sympathetic. “Too bad.”

“The book was too damn long. How was I supposed to write a report about a book that was practically an encyclopedia? It musta been six hundred pages.”

Unable to stop herself, Grace said tartly, “It’s shorter now. Maybe it’s time to buy an updated copy.”

The drunk frowned. “You trying to be funny?”

“No, I simply--”

The woman poked Grace’s chest with her finger. “You can’t tell me nothing about manners, fancy lady. So don’t give me the hard sell.”

Grace leaned back to avoid the alcohol fumes. She could think of several things she could sell the drunk—like maybe a walk outside to clear her head--but Luke turned around and immediately grasped the situation.

He said to the woman, “Hey, your glass is empty. How about if we buy you another drink?”

The woman had been building up a head of angry steam, but she looked up into Luke’s easy-going smile and her mood changed. “That’s real nice of you. Sure, buy me a chardonnay.”

The bartender sent an understanding glance at Luke and reached past Grace for the woman’s glass. “Let me take care of that.”

The woman said to Grace, “You could take some lessons from your boyfriend.”

“He’s not—“ Grace began, then thought better of correcting her. Instead, she said, “Thanks for the tip.”

The wine glass was refilled in record time. Luke affably took it from the bartender and handed it ceremoniously to the redheaded woman. “Here you go. Enjoy.”

“Thanks, hon, I will.” She shot a considerably less friendly glare at Grace before turning away and heading back to her table.

“Whew,” Grace said. “Nicely defused. If she’d had anything in her glass to begin with, she’d have thrown it at me.” She pulled off her hat and set it on the bar, then ran one hand through her blonde hair to fluff it up again.

“Hey, it happens. If people get the impression you believe you’re better than they are, they get testy real fast. Better not to talk seriously to them. Just smile and make ‘em happy.”

Grace hadn’t expected to learn anything from a football player, but she looked at him more carefully and said, “I’ll remember that.”

Luke sat, looking at her more carefully now that she had removed her hat. He turned his stool outward so his long legs could stretch in comfort. But the crowd was tight, so he swung back toward Grace. His knee bumped hers in the process. He didn’t appear to care that his jeans were marked with a perfect handprint of automotive grease.

Grace re-crossed her legs. “You obviously know how to handle people.”

He continued to study her more carefully. “It’s not hard. You gotta relax, that’s all. People can sense you’re uptight.”

“I’m not uptight.”

Luke laughed.

“I’m not!” Although in her borrowed clothes, Grace had to admit she wasn’t as comfortable as she’d prefer.

The bartender slid Grace’s drink across the bar to her, and Luke’s beer appeared a second later. Luke reached for his and took a slug.

Still stewing about being perceived as uptight, Grace heard her cell phone jingle, and she reached into her handbag to politely shut it off. “I’m sorry,” she said. “It rings constantly.”

“Answer it,” he said. “It might be your airline calling with an update.”

It wasn’t the airline. Instead, Grace heard Nora Blackbird’s distressed voice. She tuned out the noise of the bar to listen.