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‘She’s incredible,’ Chuck said, his eyes watching the proprietress’s back move away.
‘She is,’ Tug nodded. She had learned a few things tonight. The club wasn’t the only thing that needed to change.
As Chuck helped Tug back out the door an hour later, she had big plans in mind.
‘Did you get what you needed?’ Chuck asked. He leaned forward to light the cigarette that Tug had pulled from her purse.
‘Butt?’ she asked, offering Chuck a cigarette.
He shook his head.
‘Thanks for the light,’ she said. ‘Yeah. I think I know what I need to know.’
They found a cab and rode together in silence.
Tug studied Chuck’s face as they moved through the streets in the bouncing car. He was handsome, she thought. She smiled when he caught her gazing at him and pulled her eyes away, a warm blush creeping up her cheeks. Tug had never really thought of Chuck that way. She’d been distracted by her silly crush on Roger. But she had no doubt that Chuck would soon have some society girl planning a big wedding, too. Her perspective on a few things had shifted tonight.
Chapter Seven
Evie
Evie sat through her classes feeling confused. Seeing Jack had stirred something within her, left her feeling dissatisfied. She arrived at the lecture hall for her last class of the afternoon and took a seat near the back, her gloom hanging low around her like a veil. She stared at the ring on her hand and gazed around at the room as students arrived. Wasn’t she where she wanted to be? She had fought for the chance to go to college. She’d been proposed to by the man of her choice, and she was slowly building a career as a journalist – even if she was beginning with gossip, a fact that she wasn’t altogether proud of. Still, Tobias loved her work, and the latest column about Babe Ruth’s carousing had him practically leaping from his seat as he read. She should be happy. Content, at least. But she wasn’t. Something was missing.
She was somewhat nervous about this particular class. Her previous teacher had announced before the spring break that she would not be returning, and that her class would be assumed by a new teacher at the University, though she hadn’t mentioned a name. Evie hoped the new professor would be a good teacher.
‘Take your seats please,’ a rich deep voice rolled across the room from the podium at the front, and Evie’s attention immediately shifted. ‘We have quite a bit to cover this semester. Let’s begin.’
There were still students standing in the rows ahead of her, and the professor was blocked from her view, but Evie’s body seemed to know exactly who would be teaching her poetry course this semester. A snapping electricity filled the air, and every muscle in Evie’s body tightened when she heard that voice. By the time the voice moved through the room again, announcing his name, Evie already knew.
‘I’m Professor Taylor,’ he said, just as the man in front of her took his seat.
Evie knew that when she was able to see the front of the room, she would find Jack Taylor standing there, impossibly. But when her eyes fell on the lean graceful form of the man who only a few months ago had known her in some very compromising ways … Evie wasn’t prepared for the heat that rose within her. She scrambled mentally for a recourse. Should she leave? Getting up and rushing out would surely cause a commotion – and then Jack would see her. But staying? Taking a class with Jack as her instructor? She didn’t know if she could possibly manage it. Without thinking, she began to fan herself with her syllabus, and then cursed herself. The motion had pulled Jack’s eyes directly to where she sat.
A sly smile pulled itself across Jack’s face, and the icy eyes danced. He looked pleased to find Evie in his class, or maybe he was pleased to see her so clearly out of sorts. He gave a quick nod of his head, an acknowledgment, and then went on speaking.
Watching Jack prowl the front of the lecture hall for an hour, letting his smooth low tenor wash through her for that amount of time, had Evie’s entire body buzzing by the time class had ended. She was just as confused as it finished as she had been when it had started. She was so worked up she wasn’t sure she could walk properly. He mind spun and her limbs felt separate from her body. Somehow, she took herself out to the curb where Buck waited with the car.
‘Miss Evie, you look … are you sick?’ Buck took her books and helped her into the car.
‘No, Bucky. I’m fine. Just … overwhelmed is all.’
‘If you say so,’ Buck said, sounding uncertain.
‘Don’t tell my mother you found me this way, all right? She’ll think it’s proof that college is too much for me.’
‘Of course I won’t, Evie.’
Buck drove her home, and Evie closed her eyes, laying her head against the cool window. The only image that seemed to reside behind her eyelids was that of the glacier blue eyes and perfect lips that belonged to Jack Taylor – eyes and lips that she had been sure she was through imagining.
*****
Roger and his parents joined Evie’s family for dinner Friday evening at their townhouse. Roger’s father was an exact replica of Roger – just several decades advanced. The pile of wavy dark hair that Evie loved on Roger was the same, just a silvery shade of gray. And they shared the same easy smile and quick mind. Roger’s mother was a tall thin woman, also easy-going and quick to smile. Quite different from Evie’s own mother, who fussed and worried constantly.
At dinner, Roger took her hand frequently and smiled, kissing her cheek several times. When he looked at her with those dark eyes, Evie’s stomach jumped, but she was beginning to feel more guilty than giddy. When he put an arm around her shoulders and breathed into her ear, she got goosebumps and a wicked warmth crept between her legs. But when Roger turned his attention back to his meal, she wondered if her reaction was to him, or to her inability to stop imagining Jack Taylor sitting next to her, touching her. She hated herself for being so rattled by Jack’s reappearance, and Roger certainly didn’t deserve such disloyalty. As they moved to the sitting room for scotch after dinner, she tried to force her dallying mind to behave.
‘We’ve found a lovely townhome,’ said Mrs White, smiling at Roger and Evie. ‘I had planned to just give you the keys at the wedding, but I’m so excited, I don’t think I can wait.’
Evie jolted forward in surprise. ‘For us?’ she cried. ‘You bought us a house?’
‘Really, Evie,’ her mother scolded. Mrs McKenzie had rules about how one should react to gifts and discussions of money. Her general logic was that you should never act as if money were something worthy of excitement. A hard rule to follow when someone has just given you a house.
Roger laughed. ‘It was going to be a surprise,’ he said to Evie. ‘It was Mother’s idea, but we’ve been looking together. We’ll need a place to live, darling!’
‘Of course,’ Evie said. ‘How wonderful. Thank you so much.’
‘Would you like to see it?’ Mrs White asked. ‘I can arrange for us to visit this weekend. If Roger doesn’t have to work unreasonable hours at that investment firm of his, anyway.’ Roger had still not told his family about his actual employment. Chuck’s father had given both Roger and Chuck a promise of employment at his investment firm downtown, and had begun training them when they were available. Roger used the firm as cover for the time he spent at Evie’s, and his parents never seemed to question it.
‘I think I can find the time,’ Roger smiled.
‘I’d love to,’ Evie said. The talk of a real home had brought her back to reality somehow. She couldn’t fantasize about the rogue she’d once known. Jack Taylor had no place in her real life. She squeezed Roger’s hand in excitement.
*****
Around town, people were beginning to talk about the Manhattan Mouse. Evie had heard girls in one of her lectures discussing the exciting life that the Mouse must live, to be privy to the secrets that were exposed each week in the column.
‘Did you see today’s?’ One girl pulled the paper from her bag in the row just ahead of Evie.
‘No, let me see!’ The other girl snatched the paper from her friend and opened it eagerly, then began to read aloud. ‘The upcoming nuptials of Miss Evelyn McKenzie and Mr Roger White have been cemented with a promise more firm than any ring. The pair are the proud owners of an Upper East Side townhome seated nicely near the park. From their new abode, this high-society duo will no doubt have a flock of children at their heels soon after the knot is firmly tied. Miss McKenzie is currently a student at New York University, where she studies journalism. Mr White is finishing his last year at Yale, and is slated to be a junior investor at a firm on Water Street.’ Both girls turned to eye Evie, but quickly turned back around when she caught them looking at her.
Evie still hated this column. Tobias had assigned her a topic, not something he normally did. But he had gotten wind of the wedding, and for some reason, he had a fixation on high-society marriages and debutantes, and asked Evie to cover this particular pair. At least she hadn’t had to do much research.
The girl kept reading, though, and Evie gasped as the next part was read aloud to anyone close enough to listen.
‘White’s false front is shakily constructed, however, as it is common knowledge that he runs the quiet club on Midtown’s east side, which used to go by the name “The White House.” The name of the club was changed last winter, when this moneyed duo became a couple, and now Yalies who have grown tired of the wood paneling at the storied Yale Club have another place to imbibe – Evie’s.
‘White and his business partner may be advising clients about where to invest their money from behind the bar top, but this mouse suspects that they are simply taking their clients’ money instead.’
Evie stood abruptly, attracting the attention of the students sitting around her. Class was about to begin, and the professor up front glared at her. ‘If you’ll take your seats,’ she said, looking at Evie.
‘I’m so sorry, I have to …’ Evie gathered her things and raced from the room. She hurried at a near run to the Herald Tribune offices, bursting into Tobias’s office without announcement.
‘Mouse,’ he smiled after looking momentarily surprised.
‘What did you do?’ she asked.
‘I added a bit. I didn’t think your latest effort was up to par. Your readers are looking for dirt, Mouse. Not architectural descriptions.’
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