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“What do you think?” she whispered.
The crooner stood on the stage, which, during the live performance, would circle slowly on a small elevation in the middle of the room. He checked and rechecked lights and tapped microphones, some of which squealed until he made adjustments.
“He seems a lot more conscientious, maybe even responsible, than I would have expected from a singing star,” Van said. “Testing the equipment — that’s something I’d do before a performance.”
Responsible, huh? It wasn’t a characteristic she usually associated with singers either, but it did sound like a great attribute in a husband candidate.
“Those people you called about him — what did they say?”
“Great conversationalist, for one thing.”
“That’s a big plus.”
So,Van,too,hadvividmemoriesoftheunrelenting verbal assaults that passed for conversation with Professor Breckenridge. “What else?”
“They said he was great eye candy in that hunky older guy kind of way, like fine wine aged to perfection. Much better looking in person than in his photographs, even in his publicity shots. Now I see it’s true.”
Van snorted. “Aunt Cynthia wouldn’t be bowled over by good looks alone. Who did you contact about this guy, anyway? Were they all women?”
“Nowyoumentionit,yes.”Marystudiedthesinger and his charismatic aura. Reluctantly, Mary had to concede her all-female informants might have been biased.
Cauldron wore a sensuous blue silk shirt that contrasted deliciously with worn jeans hugging his lean hips and clinging to one of the most magnificent butts Mary had ever seen. Short of Van’s, of course. To see Van’s butt was to want to touch it, which led in turn to wanting to touch every other part of his …
Ahem. Okay, the crooner couldn’t hold a candle to Van, but who could? Mary could imagine Buzz Cauldron as a come-on incarnate to most women when he was resplendent in black tie during the glitz and glamor of a performance.
“Well, this one’s going to at least be a lot more interesting than the professor,” Mary said.
Van’s nod looked heart-felt.
She and Van picked their way through the dark toward the stage. “Mr. Cauldron,” Mary called. “A word with you, if we may.”
“Who’s there?” The singer shielded his eyes and peered into the darkness.
“Mary Samuel and Francis Van Deventer.”
“Mary Samuel!” Buzz scooped both of his arms toward himself in an enthusiastic gesture of welcome. “Come on over here, honey. Tell me what I have to do to find my name in your column tomorrow, and I’ll do it.” He scrunched his lips in an elaborate kissing motion and leered, but with enough of a genuinely laughing smile to make his exaggerated expression — cute. “I give great kissing lessons, if I do say so myself. It would make a great column.”
Vanrumbledwordlessly.Marydecidednottoderail the conversation she wanted to have by explaining she’d lost her column and her job.
Mary let Cauldron seat her at the nearest table. He sidled his own chair over as close to her as he could get, and then some. Van seated himself across the table with admirable if reluctant control over his simmering testosterone.
“What, my dear lady, may I do for you?”
Cauldron’s hand covered hers, and he all but batted his splendid eyelashes. The crooner did beat Mary’s tycoon in the eyelash department, but Van’s luxuriant pair were quite enough for her. Besides — she leaned over to peer more closely — Cauldron’s eyelashes could be false.
Oops, maybe she shouldn’t have leaned over. Cauldron took it as an invitation to clasp her hand in both of his hands, crush it to his chest and gaze into her eyes with all the avid aplomb of a lion scenting its prey.
Oops, maybe he shouldn’t have done that. With grimdeliberation,Vanstood.Hereachedouttoclasp Cauldron’s hands and pull them down to the table with a thump. He placed a finger on Cauldron’s chest andpushed.Backward.Untilthesingerwasstraining to keep all four of his chair’s legs on the ground.
“Let’s get one thing straight.” Van paused, a muscle jumping at the side of his face. “We’re not here to ask you to hit on Mary. We’re here to ask you to hit on my aunt.” He stopped. He clamped his jaw shut for a moment. “I mean — That is — ”
Mary gasped, not sure which statement to jump down his throat for first.
None of them, she decided. It was more important to cover up Van’s little excess of truth. They sorta kinda did want Cauldron to maybe eventually hit on Cyn, but only if she found him to be an interesting candidate in the first place.
MaybeifMarytalkedfastenough,thesingerwould forget what he’d almost heard, or think he hadn’t heard it in the first place, or decide he’d heard it wrong, or something.
“What my friend means is we’d like to hire you to sing some of your hit songs for his aunt’s birthday party and make her feel like the belle of the ball.” Mary gave him the date and time.
