alterations.”
Clearly he was not going to divulge anything more. Tailor-client privilege, she supposed.
“Say,” Harry said, veering off the subject, showing no further sympathy for her lovesick yearning, “I’m delivering something for Jack Riley.” He gestured at the big parcel. “He around?”
Her eyes widened. What business would Jack Riley have with a “gentlemen’s clothier”? She smiled apologetically. “I’m afraid he just left.”
Harry frowned. “Drat it! He needs these items right away.”
She studied his parcel. “Could it be some sort of emergency?”
“That depends.” Fodgother lifted the lid of the big oblong box. “He needs this for a Christmas party.”
Madeleine found herself looking at the most beautiful, luxuriant Santa Claus suit she had ever seen. “Perhaps, I could help,” she said without thinking.
Harry raised an eyebrow. “You’re a lovely lady, miss, but I don’t think you’d ever pass for the Fat Man.”
“I meant, maybe I could take it to Ja—Mr. Riley.”
“You’re just the person to do it,” Harry declared. He put the lid back on the box and scribbled a Brooklynaddress on the parcel. “That’s awfully nice of you, Miss Langston. You won’t be sorry. Trust me.”
* * *
Jack shared a table in the rec room with Sister Doyle. While kids played pool or chess or did homework, Jack and the director combed through the center’s finances, looking for a ray of hope.
They found none. Santiago Youth Center was deep in debt and had zero cash reserves.
“So we’ve got three, maybe four days before we’re flat broke,” Jack explained to Sister Doyle. “Unless Miz Butter-Wouldn’t-Melt-in-My-Mouth prints my story and we get a big surge in donations.”
“What makes you think she wouldn’t print the story, dear?” Sister Doyle asked.
“‘We’re a Manhattan newspaper.’” He mimicked Madeleine’s snooty East Coast accent.
“Did you explain why it needed to run?”
“Oh, sure. Tell her she needs to run a story about the greed of her own board of trustees? Cute.” Jack took a sip of the hot tea Sister Doyle was always making.
He couldn’t believe how much it hurt to learn what Madeleine was really like. She drove him crazy. He wanted to think of her as a fragile woman with sad eyes and an amazingly bold touch. But common sense told him she was too rich and spoiled to be amused by any one man for long. “How’s Maria, by the way?”
“Very well, under the circumstances.” Sister Doyle glanced at the girl, who sat with an afghan in her lap and paged through an illustrated child-care manual. “I just don’t understand José. I always considered him a responsible young man, one of our success stories. But he just up and left her.”
“Where’ll she and the kid go?” he asked in frustration.
“If the center closes and José never shows up, that’s anyone’s guess.”
Jack slammed the ledger shut, removed his glasses and wearily rubbed his eyes. “Hang in there, Sister. We’ll figure something out. It’ll probably involve me groveling on my knees to Madeleine Langston, but I’ll do what has to be done.”
He ambled over to join a pair of boys whose geometry study had degenerated into dueling practice with pencils. With good-humored ease, Jack settled down with them and got them back on track. He had always loved the moment when a kid’s interest was engaged. That “aha” look was beyond price.
And now his work here would soon be over.
Suddenly Marco, at the pool table, gave a low whistle.
“¡Ay, mujer!”
Raul said. Both boys stared at the door.
Looking like one of the snowflakes in
The Nutcracker
, Madeleine Langston drifted in. She wore a white faux fur and soft boots and white gloves. The cold wind had nipped a coral hue into her cheeks and lips. Her blue eyes scanned the room. Jack had never seen anything more beautiful. Why did she have to have such a cold heart? Beauty was wasted on her.
She looked a bit
Clearly he was not going to divulge anything more. Tailor-client privilege, she supposed.
“Say,” Harry said, veering off the subject, showing no further sympathy for her lovesick yearning, “I’m delivering something for Jack Riley.” He gestured at the big parcel. “He around?”
Her eyes widened. What business would Jack Riley have with a “gentlemen’s clothier”? She smiled apologetically. “I’m afraid he just left.”
Harry frowned. “Drat it! He needs these items right away.”
She studied his parcel. “Could it be some sort of emergency?”
“That depends.” Fodgother lifted the lid of the big oblong box. “He needs this for a Christmas party.”
Madeleine found herself looking at the most beautiful, luxuriant Santa Claus suit she had ever seen. “Perhaps, I could help,” she said without thinking.
Harry raised an eyebrow. “You’re a lovely lady, miss, but I don’t think you’d ever pass for the Fat Man.”
“I meant, maybe I could take it to Ja—Mr. Riley.”
“You’re just the person to do it,” Harry declared. He put the lid back on the box and scribbled a Brooklynaddress on the parcel. “That’s awfully nice of you, Miss Langston. You won’t be sorry. Trust me.”
* * *
Jack shared a table in the rec room with Sister Doyle. While kids played pool or chess or did homework, Jack and the director combed through the center’s finances, looking for a ray of hope.
They found none. Santiago Youth Center was deep in debt and had zero cash reserves.
“So we’ve got three, maybe four days before we’re flat broke,” Jack explained to Sister Doyle. “Unless Miz Butter-Wouldn’t-Melt-in-My-Mouth prints my story and we get a big surge in donations.”
“What makes you think she wouldn’t print the story, dear?” Sister Doyle asked.
“‘We’re a Manhattan newspaper.’” He mimicked Madeleine’s snooty East Coast accent.
“Did you explain why it needed to run?”
“Oh, sure. Tell her she needs to run a story about the greed of her own board of trustees? Cute.” Jack took a sip of the hot tea Sister Doyle was always making.
He couldn’t believe how much it hurt to learn what Madeleine was really like. She drove him crazy. He wanted to think of her as a fragile woman with sad eyes and an amazingly bold touch. But common sense told him she was too rich and spoiled to be amused by any one man for long. “How’s Maria, by the way?”
“Very well, under the circumstances.” Sister Doyle glanced at the girl, who sat with an afghan in her lap and paged through an illustrated child-care manual. “I just don’t understand José. I always considered him a responsible young man, one of our success stories. But he just up and left her.”
“Where’ll she and the kid go?” he asked in frustration.
“If the center closes and José never shows up, that’s anyone’s guess.”
Jack slammed the ledger shut, removed his glasses and wearily rubbed his eyes. “Hang in there, Sister. We’ll figure something out. It’ll probably involve me groveling on my knees to Madeleine Langston, but I’ll do what has to be done.”
He ambled over to join a pair of boys whose geometry study had degenerated into dueling practice with pencils. With good-humored ease, Jack settled down with them and got them back on track. He had always loved the moment when a kid’s interest was engaged. That “aha” look was beyond price.
And now his work here would soon be over.
Suddenly Marco, at the pool table, gave a low whistle.
“¡Ay, mujer!”
Raul said. Both boys stared at the door.
Looking like one of the snowflakes in
The Nutcracker
, Madeleine Langston drifted in. She wore a white faux fur and soft boots and white gloves. The cold wind had nipped a coral hue into her cheeks and lips. Her blue eyes scanned the room. Jack had never seen anything more beautiful. Why did she have to have such a cold heart? Beauty was wasted on her.
She looked a bit
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