Читать книгу A Bride To Honor - Arlene James, Arlene James - Страница 10

Chapter Three

They didn’t waste any time with the fabric selection. Cassidy had put together several color-coordinated options, detailing how each fabric in each set would be used. She had them laid out on a table in the sewing room, alongside pencil-colored pictures showing how the costume would look. Paul glanced over them all and asked, “What’s your favorite?”

She pointed to a particular combination of earth tones, blues and reds. He studied it about five seconds.

“Oh, yeah. That’s definitely it. Let’s go eat. I’m starved.”

She laughed. “You’re always starved.”

“Lately,” he said, realizing that his appetite had shown significant improvement during the past week. “Where’s your coat?”

She went to a small door in one corner, opened it, and took out a man’s navy blue wool, military-style, double-breasted coat. He hurried across the room to take it and hold it open for her to slip her arms into the sleeves. A name had been written on the inside label in red ink.

“C. Marmat,” he read. “Who on earth is that?”

She shrugged. “Don’t know. Some sailor who owned this coat before it went to the Army-Navy Store.”

She buys her clothes secondhand at the Army-Navy Store, he marveled. Betina wouldn’t touch even designer clothes on consignment. When he realized that he had actually compared the two of them, he shut down ruthlessly on the impulse. He had determined early that morning after a night of restless tossing to keep the two separate in his mind. Betina was his future, however dreaded. Cassidy was... his friend. He caught her by the hand and dragged her toward the showroom. Laughing, she tugged away, ran back to the closet and retrieved a minuscule purse on a long, thin strap. She slung the strap over her shoulder and ran back to him, placing her hand in his once more. Together they hurried through the store and out the front, which Cassidy locked with two separate keys.

Paul’s car was waiting at the curb. He unlocked the passenger door and ushered her inside, then hurried around to slide beneath the wheel. The night was clear and pleasantly cool. As he drove them toward the barbecue place, Cassidy settled back into her corner and looked at him, one jeaned knee drawn up slightly so that the ankle of her burgundy boot lay against the edge of her seat.

“So, how was your day?”

He chuckled because it was the kind of thing long-term couples said to one another. “Okay. How was yours?”

“Oh, mine was fine,” she said with a smug little smile. “I was Goldilocks today, and I made Tony be the baby bear. He was a very pouty baby bear.”

Laughter spurted out of Paul’s mouth. “Just how does a baby bear dress?” he wanted to know.

Cassidy’s smile was sublime. “Well, he wears a bear suit, of course, and a pacifier on a ribbon around his neck and a diaper and a great big baby bonnet.”

She painted a lovely picture, lovely enough to keep Paul laughing all the way to the restaurant, if restaurant was the correct word. The place where Paul took her on lower Green-ville Avenue was more of a supper club. The building was slightly dilapidated with a neon sign out front that flashed and buzzed, “Hoot Man’s BBQ & Music Club.” Even at six-fifteen in the evening, a scratchy recording of jazz blared over the loudspeaker by the door and a line of people snaked around the side of the building. Paul parked at the side of the building and pulled Cassidy by the hand around to the back by the hand, where he pounded on a door labeled, Deliveries.

After several seconds the door opened, and a black man wearing a spotless white apron greeted them. “Spence!” He grabbed Paul’s hand and pumped it energetically. “Hey, man, why didn’t you let me know you were coming?”

Paul grinned broadly. “Well, I thought I’d take my chances for a change, but I see that the place is as popular as ever.”

“We’re hanging in there, man. We’re hanging in.” He switched his gaze abruptly to Cassidy. “Who’s this?”

Paul placed an arm around Cassidy’s shoulders. “This is my good friend, Cassidy Penno. Cass, this old scoundrel is Hoot.”

“Good friend, eh?” Hoot commented, nodding thoughtfully. “Like the coat.”

Cassidy smiled. “Thanks.”

Hoot spread out his arms. “Well, come on in!” He turned and led the way down a long, narrow hall past a bustling kitchen and a variety of other rooms to a small, dusty office, where he put them in chairs and offered them drinks from a small refrigerator in one corner.

“No, thanks, I’m driving,” Paul said.

Cassidy smiled and shook her head, saying, “I don’t drink much.”

Hoot sent Paul a significant look and sat down behind his desk. Paul knew exactly what he was thinking. Paul didn’t drink much, either. Betina believed the “skill” of social drinking was a very important one and that he looked rude when he repeatedly turned down offers of alcohol. He stopped short of pointing out to himself that Cassidy’s feelings on the matter were much closer to his own.

Hoot templed his fingers over the top of his desk and asked, “How did you two meet?”

They both spoke at once. Cassidy said, “My brother works for Paul.” Paul said, “Cassidy’s my costumer.”

Hoot latched onto that last. “Costumer! Costumer? As in Betina’s infamous costume party?”

Paul made a face. “What else?”

Hoot clapped his hands together and boomed laughter. “You poor sucker!”

“I recall seeing your name on the guest list,” Paul reminded him sourly.

“And do you have a costume, Mr. Hoot?” Cassidy asked brightly.

Hoot looked surprised, then his face split in that huge white grin of his. “It’s just Hoot, no ‘Mister,’ and honey, I have the best costume. I plan to wear this big white apron here...”

“That he never gets dirty,” Paul quipped drily.

“And a chef’s hat,” Hoot went on.

“Clever,” Paul said.

“Cheap,” Cassidy added. “Oh, and you should get one of those big oven mitts, too.”

“Hey, good idea!” Hoot said.

“Do you have a chef’s hat?” Paul asked, his brow furrowed in thought.

“No,” Hoot admitted, “but I figure I can find one.”

“Actually I’ll be glad to rent you one,” Cassidy said. “Five dollars.”

His thick, woolly brows shot up. “That is cheap.”

“I’ll even throw in the oven mitt free. Now is that a bargain or what?”

Hoot looked at Paul. “She’s sweet,” he said. “Why don’t you latch on to her and forget Betina the bi—”

“I don’t think we want to go there,” Paul said quickly, frowning.

Hoot linked his hands over a slightly protruding belly. “Hmph!” He looked at Cassidy. “It’s that family of his. Bunch of leeches, if you ask me.”

“Hoot.”

He waved a hand to indicate that he considered Paul’s protest so much spent air. “Long time ago there was a fight in the family over how to run the business, so they decided to pick a goat.”

“Goat?”

“He means a scapegoat,” Paul explained, “and he’s way off base.”

“The ‘goat,’” Hoot said, “runs the business, and the rest of them go on their merry way, trusting him to take care of them all. He gets all the headaches, and they get nice fat checks dropped into their pockets at regular intervals.”

“It gives me a free hand in running the business,” Paul said.

“Is that the way you see it? Seems to me they tie your hands.” He said to Cassidy, “They leave him out on a limb and pretend not to notice when someone else comes along with a saw. He can’t vote their shares, and he can’t ask them to vote with him. If he could, he could tell Hydra to take her marriage scheme and stick it—”

“Hoot!”

“All right, all right, I get it.” He pointed at Cassidy. “This one’s a lady. The other one is a she-devil.”