“No such luck.” She laughed. “Oh, well, it’s over, anyway, and just as well that nothing regretful happened. I have to run, I’m shooting a TV commercial this morning. Wish me luck. I’ve worked with this turkey before, and he had me do fifty-five takes on one sentence in the last commercial he filmed with me!”
“Yes,” Jack said absently. “Yes, good luck.”
She got her things together and started for the door.
“Gabrielle?” he called suddenly.
She turned, smiling. “Yes?”
“If things had been different,” he said, “you’d have married that grease monkey?”
“Yes, even if I had to live in poverty above his garage and have ten kids.” She smiled, remembering. “Who knows? See you later.”
“Yes. Goodbye.” He watched her go out the door, and then he slumped in his chair like an old man, staring around the empty room. Empty, like his life. Like Gaby’s. All because he’d listened to his wife one time too many instead of following his instincts. He sighed wearily and finished his coffee while the lines of a song flashed through his brain. “What do I say, dear, after I say I’m sorry?” But it was years too late to say that. He got up and went to work.
* * *
BACK AT THE STUDIO, Joe was waiting for Gaby. He watched while they shot the commercial and then took her to a late lunch in a nearby restaurant.
“Poor baby,” he commiserated as she sipped iced tea. “Thirty-five takes! Wow!”
“He’s killed me,” she murmured. “I’ll have them put his name on my death certificate under ‘cause of.’”
“Want me to get Uncle Michael to go visit him for you?” he whispered under his breath.
She laughed. “I’ll bet Uncle Michael is four feet tall and wears red striped ties.”
“He’s nearly six feet tall, silver-haired and wears a diamond stickpin,” he corrected. “And in his day he was what is known as a ladies’ man.”
“My, my, and here I am with you,” she teased.
He laughed, delighted. He sat with his face propped in his hands, staring at her worshipfully. He had a pleasant face, Gaby thought. It wouldn’t stop traffic, and it wasn’t as hard and chiseled as Marc’s, but it was nice all the same. He’d really blossomed in the few weeks she’d known him, and he hadn’t acted jealous since the night of Marc’s party. He kidded with her. He seemed to enjoy her company, but he’d apparently decided not to push their relationship any further than that. She was glad; she had nothing more to give him.
“Well, I’m no ladies’ man,” Joe confessed. “But I’m rich and good-lookin’ and overstocked with charm.”
“You forgot to mention how modest you are,” she prompted.
“Yeah, that too. I’m extremely modest.”
She burst out laughing. “You nice man, you.”
“I try, I try. How about dinner tonight?”
She smiled at him. “Sure, but you’ve taken me out so many times already. Why don’t you come to the house for dinner about five and you can meet my dad.”
“Taking me home to the old man, huh? Well, I guess I can survive. Okay.”
“You’ll like Dad. He’s nice too.”
“He’d have to be, to have a lovely daughter like you.” He chuckled at the face she made. “Five, then.”
“I’ll be ready,” she promised, and wondered what Marc would have to say when Joe told him, as Joe certainly would.
Her father was more nervous than she’d ever seen him that night when Joe arrived promptly at five.
“Hello, hello, so nice to meet you,” he said, acting flustered and shaking hands with the younger man. “I’m glad you could come.”
Gabrielle smoothed down her white sundress and studied her father with a frown, curious at his lack of poise, his red cheeks. It wasn’t like him to be upset by company.
“What can I get you to drink?” he asked, leading them into the spacious living room.
“I’ll just have some Perrier,” Gabrielle said. “Joe?”
“Vodka and soda,” Joe returned. He sat down beside her on the sofa while Jack Bennett poured their drinks. “You have a beautiful home,” Joe remarked, glancing around the expensively furnished room.
“My wife’s, not mine,” Jack said, smiling as he dropped into an armchair across from them. “She was very talented.”
“She died several months ago,” Gabrielle volunteered, staring into her glass. She smiled. “She was quite a lady, wasn’t she, Dad?”
He nodded, and the nervousness seemed to go as he sipped his own drink. “Yes, she was. A little naive in some ways but charming.” He glanced at Gaby. “How’s the modeling coming along?”
“Ask me,” Joe said, chuckling. He winked at Gaby. “She’s doing just great. We’ll sell millions of dollars’ worth of stuff, all because of Gaby. I couldn’t be more pleased about having her represent us.”
“Uh, how does your brother feel about it?” Jack asked suddenly.
Joe shrugged. “Marc doesn’t bother to acquaint me with his feelings. He hasn’t said a word about the ad campaign. Well, maybe one word,” he added, and he looked guilty.
“He tried to have me thrown out, I imagine,” Gaby said, taking a shot in the dark and watching Joe clear his throat as if he’d choked himself on his drink.
“It was nothing personal,” he said quickly, his dark eyes apologetic. “He just thought we should have a blonde.”
“I could always have dyed my hair,” she reminded him, grinning.
“Of course.”
Jack got up quickly and announced that dinner was waiting, as if he felt the sudden tension and was determined to obliterate it. They talked about politics and taxes all through the delicious meal Jack’s cook had prepared, and what had begun as a trying evening became a jovial one.
“Come again anytime,” Jack said when Joe was about to leave. “Glad to have you.”
“Thanks,” Joe replied, shaking hands at the door. “I enjoyed it.”
“So did I. I’ll say good night,” he added with a grin, and went upstairs.
She walked out the door with Joe in silence, and he seemed to be brooding about something as they stood beside his Mercedes convertible on the street. “I wanted to ask you something,” he began.
“Yes?” She smiled up at him.
“I wanted to invite you out to the Hamptons with me,” he said. “We—the family, that is—have a beach house there. It’s nice and private, and we’re having a few people down for the July Fourth holidays. I’d like you to come as my guest.”
Her heart stopped. “You and Marc, you mean,” she asked bluntly.
“Yeah,” he grumbled. He stuck his hands in his pockets with a rough sigh. “Don’t worry. He wouldn’t be around much,” he added coaxingly. “And, besides, the place is huge. We could always keep out of his way.”
Yes, and it would irritate him beyond bearing, Gaby thought. She hesitated but only for a minute. Marc would hate it. That appealed to her. It appealed a lot. Maybe she could even bear seeing him with Lana.
“Okay,” she said. “I’d love to. What shall I pack?”
“Something