Love in E Flat (5 page)

“I sincerely doubt that, my friend. And I’m not reading anything beforehand. This way, I’ll be surprised.”

“She’s had a tough life, Lou.”

Lou looked up at the soft tone in Edie’s voice. “Okay, I’ll take it easy on our Russian friend.”

“What are you going to wear?”

Lou chuckled and hung her head. “I do not know nor do I care.”

“Good for you,” John said, raising his fist in solidarity.

“You’re hopeless. But do not wear that same pantsuit. You have a very nice pair of khakis. Wear them and that navy sweater. It matches your eyes.”

“Yes, Mom.” Lou avoided John’s grin.

“And wear your nice shoes if you still have them.”

“Yes.”

“And socks.”

“Oh, and don’t forget underwear,” John said.

“And wear that cologne I got you for your birthday.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“You should be married, Lou. You’d make a great husband,” John said with approval.

“Shut up.”

“And it wouldn’t hurt to wear a little makeup.”

“Now you’re pushing it, honey,” John said.

Edie grunted. “I don’t suppose you’d consider some Nice ’n Easy to cover up that gray?”

“Hey. I like my gray. It shows a life well lived.”

“You are pushing forty, right?”

Lou glared at John. “Will you get lost?”

“I’ve told you before,” Edie said, “it shows age. On men, it’s dashing. On women, it’s old. Don’t kid yourself.”

“I’d better go home now and start primping. I’ll never be ready on time.” Lou waved her hand in the air as she walked out. “
Dasvidania
, kids.”

“And I want details,” Edie called out. “I think this will be a very interesting development.”

Lou poked her head back in. “I’m thinking disaster is a better word, but we’ll go with development for now.”

Chapter 5

By five o’clock, Lou had showered, dressed, and eaten an apple. After brushing her teeth once again and gargling, it was five minutes after five. She glanced at her watch. “What am I gonna do for an hour and a half?”

She sat at her desk in the living room, looking out the huge picture window, which overlooked the neighborhoods of Chicago and Lake Michigan in the distance. Lou loved her seventh-floor loft in the newly renovated Lakeview district on the North Side of Chicago. It was close to everything, and the best part—she needed no car. She had public transportation, which she adored. Got to meet the working class of Chicago on the bus that took her practically to the doorstep of the
Chicago Sentinel
, the small publication that Ron owned and edited. And Lou loved to work for him. He was a little rough around the edges, but most news editors were. But once you peeled back the layers, Ron Dawson was a good guy—born and bred in Chicago as was Lou. Each claimed to love the Chicago Cubs better.

Lou smiled when she remembered how Edie told her about the new publication. Ron knew he couldn’t compete with the
Trib
or the
Sun-Times
, but in the past six years, he’d carved a niche for himself, and Lou was glad to be a part of it. The
Tribune
had tried several times to get her away from the
Sentinel
, but a big city paper was just not for Lou. Though her parents fought her tooth and nail, telling her what an opportunity it was for Lou to write for the
Tribune
, Lou held out. She wondered sometimes why she held out, why she didn’t go for the big paper. It was certainly more money, and she certainly would be on TV, which was one reason her father couldn’t believe it when she turned it down.

“It’s your chance, Lou,” he had said. “Your chance to make up for…”

Lou remembered the sick look on her father’s face as his voice trailed off. He couldn’t finish the sentence. And the sad thing about it, neither could Lou. Even now, when she had found her own niche and loved it—even now, she couldn’t finish that sentence. So long ago, she thought.

She shook her head to dismiss the whole mess. “Okay, enough of that.” She intertwined her fingers and gave her knuckles a good crack. “We have a little time. Let’s do some research on Comrade Karetnikov,” she whispered. “I’m getting better at my Russian accent,
nyet
?”

*******

Nearly two hours later, Lou glanced at the clock on her desk. “Shit!” She grabbed her keys, flipped off the light, and dashed out the door.

For an extra ten bucks, the cab driver weaved in and out of the rush-hour downtown traffic. She caught him glancing at her in his rearview mirror and glared at him. “If you get us killed…”

“Good thing it’s not snowing yet. Buckle up. It’s the law.” He laughed as he let out a barking cough. “Aren’t you the sportswriter from the
Sentinel
?”

“Yes,” she said with a grin. “But you’re not getting another tip.”

Again, he laughed. “I loved your column on the DePaul game.” He reached his hand back to her as he tried to watch busy Michigan Avenue. “Nick.”

Lou leaned forward and shook his hand. “Lou—”

“Preston, yeah, I know. How come you ain’t writing for the
Trib
or the
Sun-Times
?”

“Fate, I guess, Nick,” Lou said, looking out the window.

As Nick swerved around the bus, Lou slid across her seat, slamming into the door. He came to a screeching halt in front of the Four Seasons. Nick ran around to her door and opened it; Lou rubbed the back of her neck and nearly fell out.

“Women and children first,” she said, stretching her arm.

Nick laughed, offering his hand. “I told ya to buckle up.”

As Lou exited the cab, he called out, “Ya want me to wait?”

“Yes. I’m late. I’ll be right down with an irate cellist.”

“Huh?”

Lou dodged several pedestrians, nearly knocking over the Salvation Army Santa and his red bucket. Guilt had her searching her pockets for change; she dumped it into the bucket. She heard his bell ringing angrily as she ran into the swanky hotel and up to the desk. She took a deep breath, ignoring the sweat that trickled down her back; she ran her fingers through her hair and cursed the unseasonable humidity, which turned her subtle wavy hair into a mass of curls. It was almost Christmas for god’s sake, she thought.

“May I help you?”

When Lou heard the quiet voice of the woman behind the desk, she realized how eerily quiet the lobby was. She felt like she was in church. “Yes,” she nearly whispered and leaned in. “Would you ring Madam Karetnikov’s room, please?”

“Certainly. Why are you whispering?”

Taken aback for a moment, Lou blinked. She then chuckled and wiped her forehead. “I have no idea.”

The woman laughed along. “Is she expecting you?”

“Yes. Please tell her the reporter from the
Sentinel
is here. And I’m late.”

“You’re…” The receptionist hesitated and snapped her fingers. “My boyfriend loves you… Don’t tell me…” She stopped again, then grinned. “Preston, Lou Preston.”

“Yes, tell your boyfriend thanks.”

While the receptionist rang the room, Lou looked around the plush hotel lobby. She’d never been in this hotel and for good reason—it was obscenely expensive. She remembered a couple of friends of hers stayed here for a weekend getaway, and she thought they had to promise their firstborn to get a reservation.

“Madam Karetnikov will be right down.”

“Um, how did she sound?”

“I really can’t tell with her accent. You can wait over there.”

“Thanks.” Lou walked over “there” and sat in a very comfortable chair by a very expensive-looking end table. As comfortable as the chair may have been, Lou felt very uncomfortable. Feeling totally out of her element, she shifted awkwardly in the deep cushion.

“What are you doing here?”

Lou froze in mid-shift when she heard the low Russian accent—Lou couldn’t remember the sexy actress from the thirties with the same voice… This is not going to go well, she thought as she looked up into the deep blue eyes and at the milky white skin of the angry Agata Karetnikov. She immediately stood and smiled. “Hello.”

“Hello. What are you doing here?” Agata absently brushed a soft blond wave off her forehead with the back of her hand—the gesture as delicate as her features. “Do not tell me…”

Lou continued to smile. “Yes. I’m here for the remainder of the interview.”

“Why?”

“Why what?” Lou slipped her hands into the pockets of her slacks. “Why me or why the interview?” Lou smiled and shrugged. “Just lucky, I guess.”

She saw a wisp of a smile cross Agata’s lips; it vanished just as quickly.

“I hope you don’t mind. I’ve made reservations at a very nice restaurant close by.” She extended her hand toward the glass doors. “Your taxi awaits.”

Agata adjusted the black wool cape she wore and preceded Lou to the door. “No limousine?”

“Regretfully, no,” Lou said, full of regret. She opened the door for Agata. “It’s in the shop.”

Nick jumped out to open the cab door as they approached.

“Why thank you, Nick,” Lou said, allowing Agata to enter before her.

Nick looked from her to Lou and grinned. “Classy…”

Lou rolled her eyes and got in. They could have walked to The Gage, but it was about a mile up on Michigan Avenue. But in the high-heeled shoes her Russian friend wore, Lou thought better of it. Even in the heavy traffic, they were at the restaurant in a matter of minutes.

Lou slipped Nick the cab fare. He counted it and grinned. “Thanks, Lou.” He handed her his card. “Call me direct if ya want me to pick ya up.”

“Thanks, Nick, I will.”

“Do you know all the cab drivers?” Agata asked as Lou once again opened the door for her.

“No. It only seems like it. I don’t own a car.”

No sooner did they enter the foyer of the restaurant than Luke met them. “Madam Karetnikov, welcome.” He looked practically giddy, Lou thought. But then that was the way Luke always looked. “Lou,” he said, almost as an afterthought.

“Good evening,” Lou said with a scowl. She glanced at Agata, who smiled slightly as Luke led the way to their table.

Lou noticed he put them in a secluded portion of the restaurant. Luke held the chair for Agata, who responded with a soft thank you. Lou stood there and waited as Luke placed the menus on the table; he raised an eyebrow in question when he looked up. She pulled out her chair and waited.

“Oh, so sorry,” Luke said lightly and held the chair for her. “I’m not used to you being so female.”

Lou’s eyes bugged out of her head; she glanced at Agata, who looked over the menu with fierce concentration. “Thank you,” Lou said tightly.

“You’re welcome.” Luke patted her shoulder. “Now what can I get you from the bar?” He looked at Agata.

“I will have a vodka martini, please.”

“Splendid. We have Stolichnaya.”

Agata nodded. “That is perfect. No olives, please.”

“Straight up?”

“Of course,” she responded with a smile.

“Of course.” Luke grinned and bowed. “And may I say, madam, I love your work. I saw you in New York last year and cried for days.”

“What was wrong?” Lou leaned forward.

Luke ignored her. “I apologize, Madam Karetnikov.” He motioned to Lou.

“There is no need,” she replied in a low voice that sent a chill through Lou, who chuckled as she looked over the menu.
 

“The usual swill, Lou?” he asked dryly.

“Yes, thank you.”

“You take all the time you need. I’ll give you our specials when I come back.” He turned his back to Agata and shook his fist in Lou’s direction as he walked away.

“He is friend of yours, I take it,” Agata said.

Lou laughed. “Yes, I’ve known him for a couple years. He moved from Ireland to work here.”

“I thought I noticed an accent.”

“It’s light and almost whimsical, not at all like yours.”

Agata looked up. “What does that mean?”

Lou blinked. “Uh…”

“Is there something wrong with the way I speak?”

“Um…” Lou noticed how Agata’s blue eyes turned darker as Agata studied her. Lou looked up to see Luke standing there, tray of drinks in hand and shaking his head sadly.

As Luke set the drinks down, he glared at Lou. “So how are we doing?”

“We were discussing accents.” Agata smiled. “You are from Ireland.”

“Yes, I am. A Dubliner. And I adore your accent. It sounds so Garbo-esque.”

“That’s the actress,” Lou said, snapping her fingers.

Luke leaned into Agata and whispered, “And very sexy, if I may say.”

He set Lou’s bourbon in front of her. “That’s how it’s done,” he whispered with a smug grin. “Are we ready to order?”

Lou noticed he directed the question to Agata and not her. Whatever, she thought. She just wanted this night to be over.