Ooh, La La!, page 5
He rapidly pulled out a dollar, thrust it at the parking attendant, and circled to the driver’s seat, irritated at himself and even more irritated at her. Hell. The professor wasn’t his type— not in the least. Up until now, he hadn’t given her undergarments any thought. If he had speculated about her underwear, though, he would have figured her for the plain, white, three-to-a-pack type.
Zack scowled as he pulled the vehicle away from the curb. Blast it all—now that he knew her taste ran to black lace and garters, he couldn’t help but wonder what else she was or wasn’t wearing.
“Where are we going?” Kate asked as he turned the car onto Poydras Avenue.
“To a house my scout says is perfect for the bordello exterior.”
“Great. What’s the address?”
Zack reached into his pocket, pulled out a piece of paper, and handed it to her. From the corner of his eye, he saw her eyebrows pull up into another one of her disapproving frowns. Aw, hell. She wasn’t going to throw a wrench into the location plans, too, was she?
She was. His stomach balled up like a paper wad.
“The two thousand block of Prytania?"
“Yeah.” Zack pretended he hadn’t heard the incredulous note in her voice. “Tell me which way to turn to get there.”
“But…”
Zack drew a deep breath and counted to ten. “But what?”
“But I’m pretty sure all of those homes are Greek Revival.”
Zack felt a nerve twitch in his jaw. “Let’s just go look at the place, all right?”
“Well, all right, but if the house is Greek Revival, it won’t work. Most of the sporting palaces were narrow, three-story buildings that looked like large Victorian town houses. Besides, the homes on Prytania all have beautiful trees and lawns, and the Storyville brothels were lined up right by the sidewalk.”
Zack’s fingers gripped the steering wheel in a death choke. “You know, Doc, you don’t have to find fault with everything. You’re not getting paid by the ix-nay.”
Her eyes grew large. “I-I’m not trying to find fault. I’m just trying to do my job.”
“And just exactly what do you think your job is, Doc? To kill this movie before it even gets shot?”
Her voice turned defensive. “Of course not.”
“Well, that’s exactly what you’re doing, Doc.”
“That’s certainly not my intention. I wish you’d quit acting as if I’m deliberately causing problems.” Her tone was as icy as a Sno-cone. “And I’d appreciate it if you’d quit calling me Doc.”
“Yeah, well, I’d appreciate it if you’d quit ruining my movie.”
“But I’m just trying to—”
If he heard her say “historical accuracy” one more time, he’d jump off the Mississippi River bridge. “Yeah, yeah, yeah,” he cut in. “I know all about your fixation with facts.”
Her chin tilted up. “It’s not a fixation. It’s what I’m being paid to do.”
He had to put a stop to this. Zack abruptly swerved onto a side street, pulled to the curb, and slammed on the brakes. Jamming the car into park, he twisted around on the seat to face her. “Look here, Professor—you and I need to talk. Can we have a private conversation, or is everything I say going to get back to Goldman?”
She shrank back against the passenger door and eyed him with alarm.
“Can you and I talk, off the record?” Zack repeated.
“Well, of—of course.”
“Good. Because I want to lay things out for you.” He draped his arm over the top of the steering wheel and angled his body more fully toward her. “This whole business about historical accuracy—it’s all a bunch of bull. Goldman doesn’t care about that.”
“But he said—”
“I don’t give a rat’s furball what he said. The truth is, he’s only interested in packaging and marketing. True stories are really hot right now, and the only thing he cares about is that you’re willing to go on TV and vouch that this movie is factual. Now, I know you’re a professor, and this is your field of expertise, and you want everything hunky-dory and picture perfect, but that’s not the way things work. As soon as Goldman sees the revised script, he’s going to kill the whole movie. Then you’ll be fired and I’ll be fired, and that’ll be the only historically accurate fact about this whole friggin’ project. So you and I need to work a few things out.”
She regarded him as if he were a rabid skunk. “Work out what things?”
“Well, hey, I’m sure you're not doing this for your health.” He drummed his fingertips on the steering wheel. “You’re being paid for your time, but you can probably use a little extra cash, right? So, I want you to know that I’d be more than willing to compensate you for a little cooperation.”
Her eyebrows rode high on her forehead. “Are you offering me a bribe?”
“Well, now, I wouldn’t call it that.”
“But that’s what it is, isn’t it?”
“Oh, come on. I’m not asking you to do anything illegal. I’m just asking you to be a little more flexible.” Zack leaned toward her. “Here’s the situation: I need to make a movie that’s going to sell at the box office. My last two haven’t done so well, and this is my last chance before everyone starts slamming doors in my face. This film is really important to me, and I’m sure you can use some extra cash. So why don’t we cut a deal? I’ll pay you, say, five Gs, and you start being a little more cooperative.”
She drew back, her expression offended. “You’re offering me five thousand dollars?”
“Okay, okay. I’ll make it ten.”
She stared at him, her eyes round with disbelief.
Zack lifted his shoulders. “What the hell. I’ll go as high as fifteen, but that’s my final offer.”
She shook her head, her expression incredulous. “You must think I have no backbone at all."
“Damn.” Zack heaved a heavy sigh. “Man, I didn’t want to go this high, but okay. I’ll make it twenty.”
Her eyebrows drew down into a hard frown. “You just don’t get it, do you? This isn’t about money.”
“Come on, Doc. Everything is about money.”
“Not to me, it isn’t.”
“Well, then, what do you want? A part in a movie? An introduction to someone? You name it, and I’ll try to make it happen.”
“Is this how you usually operate?”
“What do you mean?”
“Do you always try to buy people off if you don’t get your way?”
Oh, hell. Here she went with that self-righteous act again. “No,” he growled. “Usually I just fire them and hire someone else.”
She straightened her spine and tilted her chin at a stubborn angle. “Well, then, maybe that’s what you ought to do with me.”
Believe me, Doc, I’d love to. Unfortunately, Goldman thought she was going to lay a golden egg. Zack forced his lips into what he hoped passed for a cajoling smile. “Oh, come on now, Professor. Why is it so hard for you to just bend a little?”
“You mean, aside from the fact that I happen to have some ethics?”
Zack’s mouth curled in displeasure. “Yeah, Doc. Aside from that.”
“Because I’ve spent years building my professional reputation—years of studying and teaching and lecturing, years of writing and doing research and trying to make history come alive for my students. My career is based on my knowledge and my integrity, and I’m not going to throw it all away just so you can cut a few corners."
Hell—she made it sound as if he was the one who was being unreasonable! He jammed a hand through his hair, then drummed his fingers impatiently on the steering wheel. Maybe she needed some time. Maybe if he backed off and gave her some space, she’d think things over and come around. He forced himself to unclench his jaw and soften his tone. “Look. There’s no need to give me an answer right now. Go home, think about it over the weekend, and talk it over with your husband.”
“I don’t have a husband.”
No husband. The memory of her garter-clad leg filled his mind. So, who was the fancy underwear for? He deliberately pushed the thought away. “Well, then, take some time and give it some thought.”
“There’s nothing to think about. My integrity is nonnegotiable.”
Great. Just great. He’d ticked her off, insulted her, and made her think he was a total sleaze bag in the bargain. Good going, Jackson. Just when he’d thought things were as bad as they could possibly get, he proved himself wrong.
Blowing out an exasperated breath, Zack put the Navigator in gear and pulled away from the curb. Plan A was a bust. Time to move on to Plan B.
Unfortunately, he didn’t have one. There had to be something she wanted—something that would make her see things his way. He just had to find out what it was.
“This is it,” Zack said fifteen minutes later, slowing down in front of a large, white-columned home on Prytania Street.
Kate’s fingers tensed in her lap. Greek Revival—just as she’d feared.
Oh, dear—this project wasn’t going at all as she’d envisioned.
Goldman had led her to believe that Zack would welcome her input. She’d thought she’d get to be a valued member of his team, not a problem so severe he would bribe her to go away.
Kate worried her bottom lip. She’d known Zack had been unhappy about the script revisions, but she’d still been shocked that he would offer her a bribe. It was disturbing, seeing him in this light.
What was even more disturbing, she thought ruefully, was the realization that she’d secretly expected him to be as virtuous in real life as he’d been on TV. She was a grown woman, and she knew the difference between fiction and reality. It was ridiculous to think he’d be like his TV character. Still, she was disappointed to learn that he cared more about making money than portraying the truth.
Well, she had no intention of compromising her principles. She’d been hired to make sure this movie was accurate, and that was exactly what she was going to do. And if Zack Jackson disliked her for just doing her job, well, so be it. He wasn’t turning out to be the Prince Charming she’d always imagined, either.
“So, what do you think?” Zack asked, jerking his thumb toward the stately home. “I think it’s perfect.”
She drew a deep breath. “Apparently your scout didn’t receive the photos I sent. This is all wrong. It’s nothing like the brothels in Storyville.”
His lips hardened into a grim line, “This is exactly what people expect a New Orleans cathouse to look like.”
“It might be what they expect, but it’s not historically accurate.”
Zack muttered something unintelligible that Kate was glad she couldn’t quite hear.
“I can show you some houses that are architecturally similar to the ones in Storyville, if you’re interested,” she offered.
His brow gathered like a thundercloud. “What I’m interested in, Doc, is making this movie, and it’s going to be damn difficult if you insist on changing every gnat’s ass of a detail.”
Kate cringed inside, but she was determined not to show it. If he knew she was intimidated, he’d run over her from here on out. “This is a major point, not a detail. And I’m not trying to be difficult,” she continued firmly. “In fact, I’m doing my best to be helpful.” And civil, but you're making it darn near impossible. “Now, do you want to look at the houses that might work or not?”
A vein bulged in Zack’s neck, and his glare was so hot he looked as if he were about to self-combust. Kate nervously gripped the seat, bracing herself for an angry tirade. Her fingernails had nearly cut through the leather upholstery when he finally faced forward and put the vehicle in gear.
“Hell.” Reluctance dripped from his voice. “Let’s go take a look.”
Relief flooded Kate’s veins. “Fine.”
“Which way?”
“Straight ahead, then turn right at the first light.”
They’d traveled several blocks in awkward silence when Kate’s cell phone rang. Digging it out of her bag, she flipped it open and put it to her ear. “Hello?”
A loud sob reverberated through the receiver. “M-M-Mom!”
Kate’s heart nose-dived to her stomach. “Skye? What’s the matter, honey?”
“I-I—” Skye’s voice dissolved into tears.
Alarm hurled through Kate like a fastball. “Are you hurt?”
“N-no.”
Zack cast her a quizzical look. Kate hunched over the phone, holding on to it with both hands. “Where are you?”
“At the po—po—” Sobs obscured her voice.
“Skye, calm down, sweetheart. Take a deep breath and tell me where you are.”
Kate heard the faint rumble of a man’s voice in the background. There was a shuffling sound, and then a deep baritone came through the line. “Ms. Matthews? This is Sergeant Wilks with the NOPD. Your daughter is with me here at the Vieux Carre station.”
Kate’s blood roared in her ears so loudly that she wasn’t sure she’d heard correctly. “My daughter is at a police station?”
“Yes, ma’am. We picked her up for truancy and loitering.”
“Truancy? Loitering?”
“Yes, ma’am. On Decatur Street. We need you to come down to the station to get her.”
“Of—of course. Is she all right?”
“She’s fine. She’s just scared. Do you know where the station is?”
“I’m not sure…”
“It’s on Royal, between Conti and Dumaine.”
“I-I’ll be right there.” She hung up the phone, her thoughts tumbling over each other like a troupe of Chinese acrobats.
“I take it we have a change in plans,” Zack said flatly.
She looked over to find his gaze fixed on her, his expression inscrutable. At least he was no longer scowling. “I-I need to go to the French Quarter. My daughter…”
“I heard. What’s the best route there?”
Twenty minutes later, Kate charged through the door of the police station like a lioness on a cub rescue mission. Zack looked around as he climbed the marble steps behind her. Wedged between stylish art galleries and expensive antique shops, it was an unlikely site for a police station, and the building itself seemed too refined for its function. The doors were topped with fanlights, the ceiling was triple crown-molded, and several large chandeliers lit the large room. A built-in desk stood in front of the entrance. Only New Orleans could make a police station look like a Cecil B. DeMille set.
Kate made a beeline for the uniformed middle-aged woman behind the tall desk. “I’m here to get my daughter.”
The woman pushed her glasses up on her nose. “What’s her name?”
“Skye Matthews.”
Skye. It wasn’t the kind of name Zack would have expected the straitlaced professor to give her daughter. But then, he hadn’t expected her to have a daughter at all—especially a daughter old enough to be picked up by the police. Unless she were a lot older than she looked, Kate must have been a teenaged mother.
Now that didn’t fit the mold of a rigid, conservative, morally upright scholar. Zack eyed her curiously. Apparently there was more to the doc than met the eye. The image of her garter-belted leg flashed through his mind. Yessiree—a whole lot more.
Zack watched Kate bite her bottom lip as the officer slowly typed on her computer. This unexpected side trip meant the afternoon was shot, but hopefully it wouldn’t be wasted time. With any luck, it would help him figure out a way to convince the professor to relax her historical standards.
She was plenty upset, that was for sure. Her skin was at least two shades paler than it had been earlier, and her eyes were dark and troubled. Right now she didn’t look like a prickly stickler for accuracy who was single-handedly ruining his movie. Right now she looked vulnerable and scared and badly in need of moral support.
What the hell—he might as well provide it. Maybe it would even help resolve their standoff. Zack stepped up beside her and placed his hand on her back. She jumped at the contact and looked up questioningly.
Zack gave her a reassuring pat. “Hey—it’s going to be okay.”
She tried to smile, but her lips trembled and she looked like she was about to cry.
She really cared about this kid of hers. Against his will, the thought eased his animosity toward her. Zack wondered if the kid had any idea how lucky she was, having a mother who cared. Neither of Zack’s parents had ever given a damn.
He watched Kate nervously twirl a strand of hair around her finger. Little wisps had come undone from her topknot, softening her features, and her lips were red where she’d bitten them. Her jacket was unbuttoned, and he glimpsed the swell of small breasts visible through her tailored white blouse. Well, what do you know—when she wasn’t buttoned down, slicked back, starched up, and standing like she had a broomstick for a spine, the professor wasn’t a bad-looking woman. Not bad at all.
The officer peered at the computer screen over her glasses. “Matthews—here it is. Your daughter’s thirteen?”
“Twelve. She won’t turn thirteen for another two months.”
The officer turned her back to them, picked up a phone, and punched in some digits. When she hung up, she turned again to Kate. “You can go on back. Third door on the right.”
Zack walked through the large double doors with her, not waiting to be invited. The corridor was narrow and lined with small offices. The rumble of men’s voices, the squawk of a police radio, and the slow peck of an old-fashioned typewriter seeped out from behind the closed doors. The acrid smell of coffee that had sat too long on the burner hung heavy in the stale air.
The third door on the right was open. Zack followed Kate in, then nearly bumped into her as a long-haired girl hurled herself into Kate’s arms.
“Mom!”
Kate wrapped her arms around her daughter, stroking her dark hair and holding her close as the girl wept uncontrollably. The child—if you could call her that—was nearly as tall as her mother. When her sobs finally quieted, Kate pulled back and looked at her, hands on the child’s upper arms.
