Fancy Pants (Wynette, Texas #1)(112)

His sister walked past him, and he once again leaned over to address her stomach. “This is Uncle Gerry speaking. If you're a male child in there, guard your balls because there are about a million women out here waiting to cut them off.”

“Don't joke about it, Gerry,” Naomi said, dropping down into one of the armchairs.

His mouth twisted. “Why not? You've got to admit this whole thing with Holly Grace is pretty goddamn funny.”

“You're really screwing up,” she said.

“It's impossible to argue with someone who doesn't make sense,” he retorted belligerently. “She knows I love her, and she goddamn well knows it's not just for her famous name.”

“She wants a baby, Gerry,” Naomi said quietly.

He stiffened. “She just thinks she wants a baby.”

“You're such a jerk. Every time the two of you get together, both of you go on and on about your political differences and who's using who. Just once, I'd like to hear one of you admit that most of the reason the two of you can't get it together is because she desperately wants to have a baby and you still haven't grown up enough to be a father.”

He turned on his sister. “It doesn't have anything to do with not being grown up. I refuse to bring a kid into a world that has a mushroom cloud hanging over it.”

She regarded him sadly, one hand clasped over her rounded stomach. “Who do you think you're kidding, Gerry? You're afraid to be a father. You're afraid you'll screw up as badly with your own kid as Dad did with you—God rest his soul.”

Gerry didn't say anything, and he damn well wasn't going to let Naomi see him with tears in his eyes, so he just turned his back on her and stalked right out the door.





Chapter

23



Francesca smiled directly into the camera as the “Francesca Today” theme music faded and the show began. “Hello, everybody. I hope all of you have your television snacks nearby and that you've finished any urgent bathroom business, because I absolutely guarantee that you're not going to want to move from your seats once you meet our four young guests this evening.”

She tilted her head toward the red light that had come on next to camera two. “Tonight we're broadcasting the last show in our series on the British nobility. As you know, we've had our high points and our low points since we've come to Great Britain—even I won't try to pretend that our last program was anything short of a giant bore—but we're back on track tonight.”

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw that her producer, Nathan Hurd, had planted his hands on his hips, a sure sign that he was displeased. He hated it when she admitted on the air that one of their shows wasn't wonderful, but her famous royal guest on the last program had been incredibly long-winded and even her most impertinent questions hadn't livened him up. Unfortunately, that program, unlike the one they were now taping, had been broadcast live, so they hadn't been able to redo it.

“With me this evening are four attractive young people, all of them children of famous peers of the British realm. Have you ever wondered what it would be like to grow up knowing that your life has already been mapped out for you? Do young royals ever feel like rebelling? Let's ask.”

Francesca introduced her four guests, who were comfortably seated in the attractive living room arrangement that approximated the New York studio set where “Francesca Today” was normally taped. Then she turned her attention to the only child of one of Great Britain's most renowned dukes. “Lady Jane, have you ever thought about chucking family tradition and running off with the chauffeur?”

Lady Jane laughed, then blushed, and Francesca knew she had the beginnings of an entertaining show.

Two hours later, with the taping finished and her young guests' responses lively enough to keep the ratings up, Francesca stepped out of her taxi and entered the Connaught. Most Americans regarded Claridge's as the ultimate London hotel, but as someone who didn't want to be away from home in the first place, Francesca felt that the better choice was the tiny Connaught, which had only ninety rooms, the best service in the world, and a minimal chance of running into a rock star in the corridor.

Her tiny frame was swathed from chin to midcalf in an elegant black Russian sable, which was set off by a pair of perfect pear-shaped four-carat diamond stud earrings that sparkled through the windblown chestnut of her hair. The lobby, with its Oriental rugs and dark-paneled walls, was warm and inviting after the damp December streets of Mayfair. A magnificent staircase covered by a brass-bordered carpet circled upward six stories, its mahogany banisters gleaming with polish. Although she was exhausted from a hectic week, she managed a smile for the hall porter. The head of every man in the lobby turned as she made her way to the small elevator located near the desk, but she didn't notice.

Beneath the elegance of the sable and the expensive dazzle of the pear-shaped studs, Francesca's clothing was frankly funky. She had changed from her more conservative on-camera outfit into the clothes she had worn to the studio that morning—cropped, tight-fitting black leather pants accompanied by an oversize raspberry sweater appliquéd with a taupe teddy bear. Matching raspberry socks, neatly folded over at the tops, set offa pair of Susan Bennis flats. It, was an outfit that Teddy especially liked, since cuddly-looking bears and leather-clad motorcycle gangs were among his favorite things. She frequently wore it when they went out for the day, whether to raid F.A.O. Schwarz for a chemistry set, to visit the Temple of Dendur at the Metropolitan, or to pay a call on a slimy-looking pretzel vendor in Times Square whose wares, Teddy insisted, were the best in Manhattan.