their sensitive parts and she knew it. People sucked up to Blair Whitman.
“Well.” Blair sidled up to Helen. “Meet the press.” She took a long drink from her glass and her eyes narrowed. “Are we the next anecdote for your column, Ms. Townsend?”
“I failed Gossip one-oh-one,” Helen said and scanned the room to see if Cory had arrived. “That’s not why I’m here.”
“People like you make me nervous.” Blair walked a slow half circle around Helen as though sniffing her prey and readying to devour her.
“I’m not holding you hostage. You’re free to leave,” she said calmly, knowing that Blair was capable of going off the deep end when feeling threatened.
Marty walked over. “Cut it out, Blair.”
The others watched in silence. Helen’s eyes followed the arc that Blair walked. “Why are you afraid of me?” she asked.
Blair stopped abruptly, her brown hair jerked about her shoulders. “I don’t want a Michael Jackson done to me,” she said with a chill to her voice.
The heavy smell of Scotch caused Helen to take a step back, and she raised her hand slightly to keep Stacey from coming closer.
“Then act like an adult,” Helen said as the front door swung open and Cory walked in. Among snickers and cheers, Helen left Blair standing red-faced, apparently stunned with the remark. “Hey, baby.” She kissed Cory and glanced at the woman that had arrived with her.
“Hello,” the much too attractive Japanese woman said to Helen.
“Who’s your friend?” Helen asked.
“Kim Lee. She’s a cellist from the Philharmonic. Kim”—she slipped her arm around Helen’s waist—“this is Helen.”
“Hello.” Kim smiled. “It isn’t any wonder why Cory cut off Reinhardt’s balls tonight.” Without explanation of her comment, Kim joined Marty at the bar.
“Care to dance with me, Ms. Townsend?” Cory asked.
“I would.” Helen led her to a less crowded area of the room and pulled her close. She moved her hands gently against the back of Cory’s corduroy jacket. “So tell me about the castration.”
“Reinhardt, the conductor, called me a pompous nobody. He kept stopping us, saying I was sloppy and not paying attention to his direction. After the sixth time, the entire orchestra was angry enough that I told him I had a date waiting and he could find himself a lesser-known nobody for Friday’s concert, if he liked.”
Helen was astounded. “You didn’t say that.” Cory nodded. “What did he say?”
“I would never play for an audience again.” Cory emphasized the end of the sentence with a quick nod to her head.
“Does he have that much power?”
“No. He’s the pompous nobody. I left the building and I’ll have an apology from him on my answering machine before morning.”
Helen ran her hands through Cory’s hair. “You did that for me?”
“Especially for you.” She touched her fingertips to Helen’s lips.
Helen felt a tapping on her shoulder. “I gotta steal your woman, Chambermaid.” Stacey wedged herself between them.
Cory relinquished her hold on Helen and joined Kim in front of Warhol’s Marilyn Monroe . Stacey began a pep talk, but Helen wasn’t listening. She watched them, their heads together. Cory pulled something out of her pocket and flashed it. Kim’s eyes widened when she looked closer at the object and then she hugged Cory. Cory seemed to enjoy their embrace and hugged Kim with as much enthusiasm.
Helen didn’t like it or the feeling of jealousy that it provoked. Jealousy, a wasted emotion, as useful as rice in a drought.
“Are you ready?” Stacey asked. “Hey! Yoo-hoo!”
Helen snapped to attention. “What? I’m sorry, Stacey. What were you saying?”
“I said it’s time you made your pitch to my pals.”
Helen watched Cory place the object back into her pocket and Kim hugged her again. “I’m ready,” she said.
“Let me get their attention. Good luck, Blondie.” Stacey turned down the music, hopped up onto the bar, and
“Well.” Blair sidled up to Helen. “Meet the press.” She took a long drink from her glass and her eyes narrowed. “Are we the next anecdote for your column, Ms. Townsend?”
“I failed Gossip one-oh-one,” Helen said and scanned the room to see if Cory had arrived. “That’s not why I’m here.”
“People like you make me nervous.” Blair walked a slow half circle around Helen as though sniffing her prey and readying to devour her.
“I’m not holding you hostage. You’re free to leave,” she said calmly, knowing that Blair was capable of going off the deep end when feeling threatened.
Marty walked over. “Cut it out, Blair.”
The others watched in silence. Helen’s eyes followed the arc that Blair walked. “Why are you afraid of me?” she asked.
Blair stopped abruptly, her brown hair jerked about her shoulders. “I don’t want a Michael Jackson done to me,” she said with a chill to her voice.
The heavy smell of Scotch caused Helen to take a step back, and she raised her hand slightly to keep Stacey from coming closer.
“Then act like an adult,” Helen said as the front door swung open and Cory walked in. Among snickers and cheers, Helen left Blair standing red-faced, apparently stunned with the remark. “Hey, baby.” She kissed Cory and glanced at the woman that had arrived with her.
“Hello,” the much too attractive Japanese woman said to Helen.
“Who’s your friend?” Helen asked.
“Kim Lee. She’s a cellist from the Philharmonic. Kim”—she slipped her arm around Helen’s waist—“this is Helen.”
“Hello.” Kim smiled. “It isn’t any wonder why Cory cut off Reinhardt’s balls tonight.” Without explanation of her comment, Kim joined Marty at the bar.
“Care to dance with me, Ms. Townsend?” Cory asked.
“I would.” Helen led her to a less crowded area of the room and pulled her close. She moved her hands gently against the back of Cory’s corduroy jacket. “So tell me about the castration.”
“Reinhardt, the conductor, called me a pompous nobody. He kept stopping us, saying I was sloppy and not paying attention to his direction. After the sixth time, the entire orchestra was angry enough that I told him I had a date waiting and he could find himself a lesser-known nobody for Friday’s concert, if he liked.”
Helen was astounded. “You didn’t say that.” Cory nodded. “What did he say?”
“I would never play for an audience again.” Cory emphasized the end of the sentence with a quick nod to her head.
“Does he have that much power?”
“No. He’s the pompous nobody. I left the building and I’ll have an apology from him on my answering machine before morning.”
Helen ran her hands through Cory’s hair. “You did that for me?”
“Especially for you.” She touched her fingertips to Helen’s lips.
Helen felt a tapping on her shoulder. “I gotta steal your woman, Chambermaid.” Stacey wedged herself between them.
Cory relinquished her hold on Helen and joined Kim in front of Warhol’s Marilyn Monroe . Stacey began a pep talk, but Helen wasn’t listening. She watched them, their heads together. Cory pulled something out of her pocket and flashed it. Kim’s eyes widened when she looked closer at the object and then she hugged Cory. Cory seemed to enjoy their embrace and hugged Kim with as much enthusiasm.
Helen didn’t like it or the feeling of jealousy that it provoked. Jealousy, a wasted emotion, as useful as rice in a drought.
“Are you ready?” Stacey asked. “Hey! Yoo-hoo!”
Helen snapped to attention. “What? I’m sorry, Stacey. What were you saying?”
“I said it’s time you made your pitch to my pals.”
Helen watched Cory place the object back into her pocket and Kim hugged her again. “I’m ready,” she said.
“Let me get their attention. Good luck, Blondie.” Stacey turned down the music, hopped up onto the bar, and
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