***This excerpt is from an advance uncorrected copy proof***
Copyright © 2018 Amber Brock
Kitty Tessler sat at the long wooden bar in the Palm on a chilly Friday evening, steadily losing confidence that her date deserved the seat next to her. Raymond had seemed like a true catch, the perfect fit for her meticulous plans. About five minutes after they ordered their drinks, however, he had begun flicking his gaze over Kitty’s shoulder with a frequency that suggested a fugitive searching the crowd for a plainclothes policeman. Perhaps a change of scenery would still his wandering eye.
She waited until he paused the stream of names he’d been dropping since her rear hit the bar stool. “Raymond, don’t you think we ought to get a table?”
“Oh. Oh, sure. Right.”
Another glance over her shoulder. Who is he looking for?
“Not to rush you.” She flashed him a coy smile. “Don’t want you to think I get too hungry for dinner at eight.”
His brow furrowed in confusion, and she swallowed a sigh. “Never mind,” she said. “Why don’t I get our drinks?”
“I can’t let a lady pay,” he said.
“It’s on my father. He has a tab here.” She motioned for the bar- tender.
“What? Nicky Tessler has an open account at the Palm?”
Kitty turned her full attention on him. No one she knew would dare to call her father “Nicky.” “Is that so hard to believe?”
“That’s usually based on a certain . . . status. At a place like this, you understand.” He sipped his drink, unaware of the approaching storm.
“I see. And what kind of status would you say my father has?”
“Don’t get me wrong. He’s done well for himself. But it’s not like he runs in my father’s circles.”
“And remind me, where is your father spinning these days?”
Raymond straightened his tie. “Well, he’s a partner at Dunham and Lowe, for starters.”
“That’s right . . . aren’t they the ones who bungled that big corruption case that was all over the papers a few months ago?”
He squirmed on his bar stool. She pressed on. “That’s right. Your father was the lead lawyer on the matter. The papers really made it sound for a while there like he was awfully tied up in the whole situation. Thank goodness there wasn’t more of a scandal. It sure went away quietly.”
He scowled. “Hold on just a minute. You don’t know the first thing about it.”
“Now, now. I’m saying it’s a good thing. He avoided losing any of that stellar reputation.” She turned to smile at the now-waiting bar- tender. “Won’t you be a dear and put my drink on my father’s account? Nicolas Tessler is the name. In fact . . .” Kitty glanced around and raised her voice. “A round of champagne for everyone in the bar. Some- thing French and old.” She pointed a manicured finger at Raymond. “For everyone but Raymond here. He can’t stay.”
His lips were a thin, tight line. He fumbled with his wallet, threw a five on the bar, and walked out without another word. She folded the bill. When the bartender returned with a sparkling glass of bubbly, Kitty handed him the five. “This is for you. And I’ll get Raymond’s martini on my tab. Poor fellow. Had a sudden upset stomach.”
The bartender nodded, then shot her a knowing look. “I’m surprised to see Mr. Leighton here on a Friday. You must be a friend of his girlfriend Carol’s. Is she coming in with him on Saturday, as usual?”
Kitty loved a chatty bartender. “Oh, yes. She and I are dear friends. And I’ll tell you what—the next time they come in, will you put Carol’s first drink on my tab? Compliments of Kitty Tessler. She’ll be so delighted.”
The bartender winked and held the bottle aloft. “All right,” he said. “This young lady is buying champagne for anyone who wants it.”
A cheer went up from a few patrons, who crowded around to claim their glasses. Kitty stewed. She had known Raymond was flawed. None of them were perfect, after all. But she’d held out hope he would prove a viable candidate anyway. All he had proven was that he was the same as the other men she’d gone out with lately: appropriately wealthy and connected, yet all with some disqualifying factor she couldn’t ignore.
A meaty hand landed on her shoulder, making her jump.
“Didn’t mean to scare you,” the man said. Kitty scanned him. Hideous sweater vest, shoes not shined, greasy grin.
“You don’t scare me,” she said, turning back to the bar.
“Hey, that’s good, that’s good.” Ignoring all signs that he shouldn’t, he took the seat beside her. He stuck out a hand. “Joe Carlo.”
“I’m not looking for company at the moment, Mr. Carlo. I hope you understand.”
“Ah, yeah, I saw that guy leave. You had him pretty hot under the collar. But he obviously didn’t know how to talk to a classy lady like you. I’m glad you let him have it.”
Kitty turned her head so her eye roll wouldn’t be obvious. “Listen, you seem like a nice guy, but I’m not—”
“I noticed you recognized my name when I introduced myself. I won’t leave you guessing. Yes, I am that Carlo. The Muffler King is my uncle.”
The confession signaled the final curtain on Kitty’s doomed evening. She downed her glass of champagne.
“Oh, look at the time. I’d better go.” She hurried out. Sharing a drink with Joe Carlo, already an unappealing prospect, would only make her situation more impossible than it already was. She would never find the kind of man she needed to propel her into the social stratosphere if someone she knew caught her consorting with the Muffler King’s nephew.
She took a cab back to the Vanguard Hotel, barely seeing the city as it whizzed by outside the car’s window. Her mental list of acceptable mates was growing shorter with each disappointing Friday night. It wasn’t really about money. She had money. Even guys like the Muffler Prince had money. She needed the warm, cocooning protection of good breeding. And that kind of security could never be hers until she had a venerable and appropriately Anglo-Saxon name attached to her own. The trouble was, only a thimbleful of New Yorkers had the right lineage to counterbalance Kitty’s own pedigree. Even more troubling was the fact that the children of those respected families had an irritating tendency to marry each other. Though she moved in their social world, the dismissive way people like Raymond still said her father’s name was a constant reminder of how far the Tesslers still had to climb.
The cab pulled up to the curb in front of the Vanguard. Kitty considered going into the club on the first floor, but her mood was too sour. Instead, she took the elevator up to the top-level suite that she and her father called home.
The suite was a unique space. The diamond-shaped living room offered double the view of the area surrounding the hotel through two sliding-glass doors that led to a triangular balcony. If Kitty leaned over the point of the triangle, she could see down to Herald Square. She rarely went out onto the balcony these days, since they’d parked the bar cart in front of the windows. Nothing like a glittering view of city lights while mixing a drink. The door leading to her room and bathroom was on the wall just to the left of the balcony, while her father’s bedroom door was mirrored on the other side of the room. Thick, cream-colored rugs and a brocade couch with heavy pillows satisfied Nicolas Tessler’s preference for a classic look. The chaise longue had been Kitty’s choice, since she liked to have her feet up when she rested. He’d also given in to her request for a television, though he hated the clunky box.
A clattering of claws on the wooden floor meant Kitty’s little dog, Loco, had heard the key turn in the lock. She bent down, and the cocker spaniel leapt into her arms. Kitty laughed as she stood up.
“Oof. You’re gaining some weight, pretty girl. Time for that diet. Nothing but cottage cheese and lettuce for you from now on.” The dog enthusiastically licked Kitty’s face until she set the wriggling bundle of enthusiasm on the couch.
Fresh start tomorrow, Kitty thought, going into her bedroom to change.
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