When Carrie went off to her media interviews, with J.B. hovering after, I suggested to Dal that we move inside the building.
“Don’t let what J.B. said get under your skin, Billy. We’re not exactly in Afghanistan.”
“Of course not,” I said. “I just want to get another martini.”
Part of that was the truth. I needed a little liquid fortitude if I was going to be having dinner in the open under God, the stars, and any possible number of snipers.
“If you’re worried,” Dal continued, as we waited for the bartender to do his thing, “we can eat in here.”
I was definitely worried, but not enough to spend the rest of my time in Chicago hiding. Still, when we went back out on the terrace, I suggested we sit at an empty table where a row of imitation ficus trees offered at least a degree of cover.
“If you’re all set here,” Dal said, when I was seated, “I’m gonna go check in with the boss.”
“Go,” I said, and settled back, sipping my martini and watching the lights of the city turn the river into an ever-changing Rorschach.
Partially mesmerized by the shimmering water, I nearly jumped into it when I felt a tap on my shoulder.
I whipped my head around to find Adoree standing beside my chair.
“Billy, I startled you,” she said. “I am so sorry.”
“Nothing to be sorry about,” I said, getting to my feet awkwardly. “It’s great to see you.”
I leaned forward and kissed her cheek.
“Please sit,” I said, pulling out a chair for her.
She didn’t sit. “I believe you know these gentlemen,” she said. Standing just behind her were Charlie Dann the Puff Potato Man and his brother-in-law, Jon Baker. Charlie was dressed casually in a camel hair sport coat, a pale blue shirt, and chocolate trousers. Jon was in another beautifully tailored dark suit, with a white shirt and red power tie.
“Hi, Billy,” Jon said, offering his hand. “This beautiful lady insisted on coming over here, even though we were charming the heck out of her without your help.”
I shook his hand and then Charlie Dann’s.
“Please join me,” I said.
The two men waited for Adoree to sit, but she remained standing. “I have to go meet with the television and news people now.”
“Come back after,” I said.
“Of course. Save a place for me for dinner, please.”
“She’s quite a gal,” Charlie said, taking a seat as we watched her move across the terrace.
“Very savvy about the food business,” Jon said. “Her sister’s partnered in a restaurant in Marseilles. But I guess you knew that.”
As a matter of fact I didn’t know very much about Adoree at all. But I merely smiled.
“Is Jonny here tonight?” I asked.
“No. He, ah … He’s got his TV shows at night. I was hoping Jonny’s brother, Dickie, might join us, but he’s out at the plant, checking on something or other. The kid’s all business. I sure wasn’t at his age.”
I noticed Dal standing at the entrance to the terrace, surveying the buildings across the river. Trying to ignore the chill on the back of my neck, I asked, “What do you produce at the plant?”
“The one where Dickie is? Farm equipment. He’s checking on overtime production.”
“Jon manufactures all sorts of stuff,” Charlie said. “Cellphones. Semiconductors. The Bakers Best line of cooking products, which you may have heard of. Exercise machines. All this in addition to construction and real estate. Hell, with all the building, he’s changing the face of Chicago.”
The phrase was far from original, but there was something.…
“My brother-in-law is better than the press agents I hire,” Jon said, with a smile. “The one business I’m not in yet is the one responsible for our dinner tonight.”
“This restaurant?” Charlie asked.
“No. I want a few branches of our host’s money tree. Instapicks. Derek’s a tougher businessman than I am, but I’m persistent. I’ll wear him down. What about you, Billy? You’re not a guy who stands still. An entertainer with your own restaurant, frozen foods, books. That’s nice, but wouldn’t you like a stake in the new gold rush?”
That reminded me of the offer from Restaurants International that could be a game changer, financially speaking. “You offering me a piece of your action, Jon?”
His grin grew wider. “No, sir,” he said. “The only people getting a piece of my action are my boys.”
The conversation went on like that while the terrace became more and more crowded and noisy and the night sky darkened. Carrie and J.B. sat at a table not far from the entrance. Dal eventually joined us, along with two Chicago Cubs teammates and their wives who knew Charlie and were devotees of his establishment.
Dinner was just being served when Adoree returned. I’d reserved the chair on my left for her. I introduced her to the newcomers to the table and sat back and watched her as she easily became the center of attention, answering their questions with grace and charm.
Yes, she loved America. In fact, her grandfather had been an American, a World War Two GI who’d fallen in love with a Parisienne and decided to return to her after the war. Adoree was diplomatic enough not to mention why he’d chosen to remain an expatriate in Paris with his white wife.
Her father had been something of a rogue, a professional gambler, who, during her and her elder sister’s youth, had settled for a moderate but more secure income by working for casinos in Paris and Monte Carlo. The family had been well off enough for her sister, Jeanne, to attend Ecole de Cordon Bleu and for Adoree to study at the Conservatoire Supérieur d’art Dramatique, where she had been one of only three young women of color.
The dinner was fine, I suppose. But in Adoree’s company, the enjoyment of food took second place, even when the appetizer was crab bisque made with coconut milk and the main course was New York steak with béarnaise sauce.
“The food is delicious, no?” she asked.
My plate was almost clean. Hers looked as if she’d barely touched it. “You should try some,” I said.
“But I’ve tried it all. It is very good.”
“I guess it must be that French Women Don’t Get Fat way of eating,” I said.
“Oh, that book? No, no. My habit of eating is more flexible than that. I … have no appetite when I am without a lover.”
I heard Dal make an odd choking sound, which confirmed my suspicion that he was bending an ear our way. Ignoring that, I said, “And when you have a lover?”
“I am ravenous. I am as hungry as a dog.”
“A horse,” I said, without thinking.
She frowned. “You think I resemble a horse?”
“No. Not at all. I … It’s the idiom. ‘Hungry as a horse.’ Or maybe ‘Hungry as a bear.’ I’ve never heard ‘Hungry as a dog.’ But I guess it works.”
She continued to frown.
The young woman who’d greeted us at the door approached our table. She told Adoree that Derek was about to say a few words to the guests and wanted the cast with him.
“Excuse me,” Adoree said brusquely, adding, when I pushed my chair back, “Please do not get up.”
And she was gone.
Dal was shaking his head. “Speaking of horses,” he said. “The ass of a horse, that would be you.”
“Thanks for your support,” I said.
“Lady’s an actress,” he said. “Anything other than a compliment is an insult.”
Had what I said been that terrible? Not even the arrival of dessert—mousse chocolat caramel—brought me out of my funk.
With Derek and the cast assembling and several camera crews setting up their special lights, I pushed back my chair and stood.
“Going to apologize?” Dal asked.
“I’m going to the men’s room,” I said. “If it’s all right with you.”
“It’s your bladder,” he said.
Crossing the terrace, I saw Derek make some comment that seemed to amuse the actors around him. Adoree was laughing.
Maybe I was overthinking the whole thing, misreading her reaction. Even if she thought I was calling her a horse, how bad was that? Horses were handsome animals, right? Hadn’t some famous artist called attention to Katharine Hepburn’s equine profile?
I was still focused on my little faux pas when I emerged from the men’s room stall and began washing my hands at the row of basins. It took me a moment to realize something was off in the room. I raised my eyes from my wet but now immaculate hands and, in the mirror, saw two men standing a few feet behind me. Staring at me. My old kidnapping pals—Ace and C-man.
I turned to face them.
They’d dressed for the occasion. Ace had traded in his country-boy duds for cleaned and pressed khaki pants and a bright yellow T-shirt that read: “She’s with Stupid.” C-man’s bombardier jacket had been replaced by a black-and-white checked sport coat. I’d thought that he looked familiar the last time we’d met. Seeing him in the sport coat brought that into focus.
“Why were you in the audience at the Gemma Bright show?” I asked him. “A fan of Gemma’s? No, I bet you were a fan of Pat Patton’s.”
He stared at me.
His coat bulged a little over his heart. He removed the bulge and pointed it at me. “I think we’ll just pick up where we left off,” he said. “With you coming with us to our van.”
I have to admit that even though he was aiming the gun at my chest, the Kevlar vest didn’t make me feel any less frightened.
“That reminds me,” he said. He took a step forward and smashed the gun against the side of my head.
So much for the value of the vest.
First came shock, followed by loss of equilibrium, followed by pain.
My knees gave. I tried to grab the washbasin, but it was too smooth, and I slid to the tile floor. Head spinning, eyes out of focus.
“Get up,” he shouted. A silly request, since he’d made it a physical impossibility.
“Chri’ Pete, why’d you hit him, C-man?” Ace said.
“Payback for the knock his pal gave me. I got a bump big as an egg.” What seemed to me like two C-men leaned down and shouted, “Stand the fuck up!”
I tried, but my legs were rubber.
“Get him up, Ace.”
“An’ then what?”
“Then you carry him out.”
“Me and what derrick?” Ace said.
“Okay, c’mon. You take one arm, I’ll take the other.”
They were bent over, trying to pick me up, when the bathroom door opened and Dal stepped in.
C-man dropped me and, as I fell back down, dragging Ace with me, swung his gun around to aim it at Dal.
My bodyguard was a little too fast for that. He grabbed C-man’s wrist, bringing it up behind his back with an ugly cracking sound. The gun clattered against the tile as Dal swung the unfortunate C-man face-first into a porcelain basin.
Ace scurried out from under me in time to see his partner’s damaged nose sending a spray of blood across the tiles where he’d fallen. He got one step toward the door when Dal grabbed him by the collar of his T-shirt and yanked him backward off his feet. He hit the tile with butt, back, and head, in that order.
Dal grabbed my arm and lifted me. “How you doing?” he asked.
“Better than them,” I said.
“Can you walk?”
“Give me a minute.”
“That’s all we’ve got. Our host is about finished doing his thing out there, and this place is going to see a whole lot of traffic.” While he talked, he searched the pockets of the unconscious men.
“Wallets. Car keys. No phones.”
“Maybe in their van,” I said.
“No time to check, even if we knew where they parked it. I’d really love to chat up one of these a-holes about their employer, but that’s not gonna happen. At least not right now.” He slipped the wallets into his coat pocket. “You ready?”
My head ached and I was still woozy. I took a tentative step, and my legs seemed to be working again. “Ready,” I said.
Dal looked down at the sprawled, bleeding C-man and kicked him in the stomach, without much reaction. “Bastard’s lucky he didn’t do anything to make me mad,” he said.
Our timing was right. Derek’s after-dinner display had just ended, and people were moving quickly in the direction of the restrooms. I caught a glimpse of Adoree talking with an outwardly appeased Madeleine Parnelle.
“It seems rude to leave without saying goodbye,” I said.
Dal made a horse-whicker noise and shook his head. He whispered, “Save the romance for later. We—Make that I—don’t want to be anywhere near here when the cops come.”
I took one more look at Adoree and followed Dal out.