Out of the Easy(31)

Mr. Lockwell guided me into a large corner office. The room was five times the size of my entire apartment, with tall gleaming windows overlooking the city. He closed the door and walked behind his broad mahogany desk. “I was just about to have a drink. Join me.” He gestured to a long sideboard filled with decanters, glasses, and an ice bucket.

“No, thank you.”

“Oh, come on, now. I’ll call Dottie in to mix us up a couple of martinis.”

I set my purse on the chair and walked to the table. “Shaken or stirred?”

He seemed amused. “Stirred. Dirty.”

I mixed his cocktail, feeling his eyes searing through my back.

“Whoa, now that’s a drink!” he exclaimed, taking a sip and sitting down at his desk. “How long have you been making martinis?”

“I just learned,” I told him.

“I wish you could teach Lilly to make a real drink. Sure you won’t join me?”

I shook my head and took one of the chairs in front of his desk. “I know you’re extremely busy.” I pulled a piece of paper from my purse with the address of the Smith registrar on it and pushed it toward him on the desk. “The letter can be brief. Just a recommendation to include with my application.”

Mr. Lockwell leaned back in his chair, not even glancing at the paper. “Oh, so you’re serious about this, are you?”

“Quite.”

He took another sip of his martini and loosened his tie a bit. “Did you tell my niece that you ran into me the other day?”

“No, I haven’t had the opportunity yet.”

“Well, young lady, I don’t really know you, and I can’t write a letter of recommendation for someone I don’t know.” He eyed me carefully. “Maybe you should consult your family about this recommendation. Perhaps your father?”

I feigned a sad expression. “Unfortunately, he’s no longer with us.”

“Oh, no?” He took a swig of his martini. “Well, where is he?”

“I believe you know what I mean.”

“I know what you mean,” he said, leaning over the desk toward me, “but I don’t believe you. You’re trying to hustle me, kid. You’re slick witted. I smelled something wasn’t right when you and your fella came to my home. Richard and Betty are still arguing about your piano-playing friend. I’ve seen him before, sitting in the back of the cathedral in the middle of the day.”

“You’ve seen Patrick at the cathedral?” That was surprising.

“Yes, we sinners frequent the cathedral,” he said sarcastically. He stared across the desk at me. “So, are you proud, poor, or both? My niece, Charlotte, loves to feed strays, but generally they at least have a decent pair of shoes.”

A tight burning flamed within my chest. I shifted forward and folded my hands carefully on his desk. “Well, it was such a fortunate coincidence to run into you and your friend with the pigtails when I was delivering books. I had hoped to ask you—or Mrs. Lockwell—for a recommendation anyway,” I fired back.

He engaged, moving his bishop closer to my queen. “Oh, yes, delivering books. I stopped by your bookshop in the Quarter. Twice. It was closed.”

“Family illness.” I nodded. “But I know that Mrs. Lockwell loves to read. I’d be happy to bring some books by for her.” I put my hands back in my lap.

We sat in silence across from each other, me clutching my purse, Mr. Lockwell perspiring.

“If I write you a recommendation and for some reason you get in, next you’ll ask me for money. That’s how this works, right?”

Genuine shock pushed me back in my chair. I had never, ever intended to ask Mr. Lockwell for tuition money. “I assure you, Mr. Lockwell, I do not want your money.”

“Right. You think this is my first rodeo?”

“I simply want a strong recommendation from you, a name that the application board might recognize and respect.”

“Because your father’s no longer with us,” he said with mock pity. “I imagine your mother’s no longer with us either, huh? You’re taking this Cinderella story to Smith?”

“Really, this is not about money. I want to go to Smith. Charlotte has sent me all the application materials. I had excellent marks in school.”

A clock on the wall chimed. Mr. Lockwell drummed his fingers against the leather inlay on top of his desk. I looked past his hands to the bureau behind him. Silver frames. Family pictures.

“You know, I just might tell my wife about the whole thing. You see, a business associate asked me to meet him for a drink at Willie’s, and when I got there, I didn’t want to stay and insisted we move the meeting to a bar in the Quarter. I’ll tell Lilly. After all, that’s what happened.”

I hadn’t thought of that. “You can absolutely tell her that, Mr. Lockwell, if you like.”

“What I’d like is to never see you again.”

I had him. I could close it.

“Then this works well for both of us. Your glowing recommendation will get me into Smith—all the way across the country—and you’ll never hear from me again. Ever.”

He lit a stub of a cigar from a Waterford ashtray on his desk and drained the remaining liquid from the glass. “Ever, huh?” I could practically see the thought bubble above his head. It had Evangeline dancing around in her short plaid skirt. “Maybe I can put something together,” he said. He pulled the piece of paper with the registrar’s information toward him.