Anything You Can Do

chapter TEN



"No way am I going out in public dressed in that thing," Bailey protested as Paula held up a black leather skirt that appeared to be made for a Barbie doll.

"It'll be shorter and tighter on you than it was on me, but that's all to the good," Paula mused, ignoring Bailey's protestations and continuing to rummage in her closet. "Now for a blouse. Let's see, we need to show some skin."

"Oh, I don't think so." Bailey held the skirt in front of her. It was a good six inches above her knees. "This should be about maximum on the skin."

Paula tossed a fuchsia tube top and a short teal blouse with waist ties onto her bed.

"Do you actually wear these things?" Bailey questioned.

"Of course I do, and so do lots of other women. It's very trendy." She opened a dresser drawer and pulled out a pair of black nylons. "Just the right touch," she approved. "Now come on to the bathroom so I can make you up."

"This is still in the supposition stage," Bailey balked. "I don't really think I can walk in that bar, made up like a floozy, and spy on Candy Miller."

Paula folded her arms and rolled her eyes. "You said you wanted to get in that bar and find out what she's up to since there were no clues in your omnipotent files. You'll stand out like a sore thumb dressed in your own clothes."

Bailey eyed the costume dubiously.

"So make up your mind. I haven't got all night. I have to get ready for my date with the real Prince Channing. "

"I told you Gordon would come through."

Paula shrugged. "We'll see."

"He sends you a flower arrangement so big it's obscene, and invites you to dine at the Peppercorn Duck Club. What else do you want to see?" Bailey took the stockings from Paula and added them to the pile of clothes on the bed. "Let's do my face and then determine if I can carry off this crazy scheme of yours."

Thirty minutes later Paula turned Bailey to the mirror to see her handiwork. Bailey gasped, peered closer, laughed. A heavily made-up face batted false eyelashes beneath curly blond hair.

"Your own mother wouldn't know you," Paula promised.

"She wouldn't claim me, that's for sure. Where did you get this awful wig?" She touched the short curls tentatively.

Paula leaned into the shower to turn on the water. "It's part of a Halloween costume I wore a few years ago."

"That does it. I will not go out in public dressed in a Halloween costume."

"Relax. Those clothes aren't part of the costume. The wig goes with a Shirley Temple pinafore. But you do what you please. Just get out of my bathroom so I can shower. Go try on the clothes and sit and think for a while about how badly you need this information. Then we'll talk about it while I get dressed."

An hour later Bailey was sitting on a barstool in the dimly lit B&B Lounge, sipping a screwdriver and feeling ridiculous. In spite of Paula's reassurance, she didn't exactly blend into the woodwork. Every man in the place had given her the once-over, and a few had made suggestive comments when she walked in.

"Hi, babe." This latest voice came from right beside her. The troops were closing in. She turned to see a bulky, bearded male on the next stool. "You sure are looking good," he said.

"Thank you," she said tentatively, unsure if it was the proper response.

It must have been. The man grinned hugely.

"Haven't seen you in here before."

"I haven't been in here before." Getting picked up by King Kong wasn't part of her plan, but she didn't suppose she could afford to alienate a regular who might know Candy.

"How 'bout another one?" He indicated her drink.

"Ah, no, thanks. I'm fine. My boyfriend's due before long, and he doesn't like me to drink too much." That should cool him down.

"Your boyfriend, huh? Too bad."

"Say, if you come in here a lot, maybe you know a couple of my friends, Candy Miller and Alvin Wilson. I was kind of wondering if they'd be in tonight."

"Sure I know Candy and Al. She ought to be here pretty soon, but he don't come in with her since they got that car wreck thing going. Don’t want anybody to find out they know each other."

The man drained what remained of his beer in one gulp and slammed the empty can onto the bar, causing Bailey to jump at least six inches.

"Ready for another one, Mike?" the bartender asked as he replaced the can with a full one.

Bailey's heart raced as she clutched her own drink in both hands and made a pretense of sipping. She had obtained some vital information, but where did she go from here? This wasn't quite the same thing as examining a witness in the courtroom.

"Reckon they'll still remember their old friends after they get all that money?" she finally asked, affecting a drawl.

"Shoot, yeah. Don't you remember a few years back when Candy and that other guy, Murray, I think his name was, got a big settlement on his neck after he let her run into him? His golden neck, he used to call it."

Mike guffawed, and Bailey squeezed out a smile in an effort to join him.

"No, I don't remember that," she said when Mike settled down. "Candy had just run old Murray off when I met her."

Mike laughed with his whole body this time and swigged another portion of beer. "You women," he said. "Old Murray run off and left her one fine day is what really happened, but don't you tell her I told you so."

"I won't. Don't worry. So he left her, you say? What a jerk." Bailey wrapped both hands around her glass to keep them from trembling. "Uh, that wasn't Murray Anderson, was it?"

"Nah. I think old Murray's last name was Ferritt or Ferrell—that's it. Murray Ferrell."

"Oh, yeah. I remember now." You asked for it, you got it. "Would you excuse me?"

"For what?" He looked at her quizzically.

"I need to go to the ladies' room." She had to be alone for a minute and assimilate this new information.

"Over there," he advised, pointing to a dark corner.

"Thanks." Bailey slid off the stool and tried to avoid eye contact with any of the men who looked, whistled, or made other obscene noises.

The ladies' room wasn't exactly conducive to thinking. It hadn’t been cleaned in at least a century, and someone had used it for a private smoke recently, not the kind of smoke purchased from a vending machine. Since she didn't dare sit anywhere or even lean against one of the walls, she paced back and forth in the small room.

The evidence was overwhelming that Candy Miller was a fraud. She'd been involved in an insurance scam before, and she didn’t want anyone to know she was acquainted with Alvin Wilson.

Okay, Bailey thought, you've got the information. Now what on earth do you do with it? Drop the case? The accused was presumed innocent until proven guilty. She hadn't really proven that Candy was perpetrating a fraud. But the circumstantial evidence was pretty incriminating.

An impatient knock sounded on the door, and the knob rattled.

"I'll be right out," Bailey called. She flushed the toilet, washed her hands after touching the knob, then felt she needed to wash them again after turning off the faucet.

As she strode back into the bar, the low murmurings and whistles broke into her concentration, irritated her. With her haughtiest gaze in place, she raised her head to confront the creeps and shut them up. They smiled at her, completely undaunted. And coming in the door, as luck would have it, she saw a man who looked vaguely familiar though she couldn’t quite place him.

She slid back onto her stool and turned to look again.

He definitely reminded her of somebody. He was attractive in a rural sort of way. Great bod, as Paula would say. Slim hips, dark hair bristling out of his unbuttoned shirt. As he momentarily turned away from her, she saw the name "Bubba" on the back of his belt.

"Somebody you know?" Mike asked.

"No. He looks familiar, but I don't know anyone named Bubba."

Beside her, Mike slammed another empty beer can down. At the far end of the bar, Bubba slid onto a stool. The bartender handed Mike another beer, then moved on to the new customer. Bubba looked up at the bartender, in Bailey's general direction.

It wasn't possible, but even in the dim light and behind the glasses, she couldn't mistake those eyes.

Austin was here, which meant Austin was suspicious.

He'd be even more so when he noticed her, and it wouldn't take him long to find out what she'd already found out.

But the panic that seized her dropped her just as suddenly, and Bailey relaxed for the first time since entering the bar. He'd never know she was here. All he'd see was a blond floozy. And if she looked as desirable as the men in the bar seemed to think…

"You know, I believe I do know that guy. Think I'll just mosey over there and see," she drawled.

Mike grinned through the tangle of his beard. "You be careful now, darlin'. Your boyfriend come in and catch you—we don't need no more fights in here."

"I think this is a business acquaintance."

Mike winked suggestively. "You never did say what kind of business you're in, sweetheart."

She was halfway around the bar before she realized what Mike was suggesting.

"Hi, cowboy," she said to Austin, trying to keep her voice a husky whisper.

Austin almost fell off the barstool. What, in the name of all that was sacred, was Bailey doing in this bar, dressed like a hooker?

Probably the same thing you're doing, he thought, answering his own question.

"Hi, uh, sugar." Knowing his voice was the only way she could possibly recognize him, he pitched it a few octaves lower and added a drawl.

"Mind if I join you?" she asked, sliding onto the stool next to him.

"I'd be plumb delighted, little lady. I'll even buy you another drink." Austin smiled as he signaled the bartender.

What a stroke of luck! If he worked it right, she'd waste her entire evening prying bogus information out of him, then when she left, he'd get down to business and find out just what she was so interested in.

She returned his smile as she accepted the drink. "I believe you're about the purtiest little filly I've ever seen in here," he said, playing the role. And it was the truth in spite of the makeup and fright wig.

She tilted her head sideways and peered at him coyly.

"I'll bet you've seen a lot of 'fillies' to compare me with." Her voice, always pleasantly low in pitch, was husky, overtly sexy.

Where had she come up with such a corny act? She'd obviously been watching too many movies. Well, he could play that game, too. He reached over and took her hand, pretending to examine the gaudy ring she wore. Without a word, he turned her hand over and stroked the palm, raising his eyes to hers.

She met his gaze boldly and held it while stirring her drink with her index finger, then placed the finger in her mouth and slowly sucked off the orange juice and vodka. The surf began to pound in Austin's ears. He peered closely at the woman, suddenly uncertain it really was Bailey. She couldn't possibly be acting in such a seductive manner, even with the movies for guidance.

As he ran his finger down her wrist, Austin noticed that her pulse was racing. Or maybe it was his own pulse throbbing all the way to the ends of his fingers.

He turned on his barstool to face her. She moved with him, placing her long, bare legs between his. They certainly looked like Bailey's legs. They affected him the way Bailey's legs affected him.

"That surely is a nice little skirt," he told her, molding his hands to her hips. Soft leather covering firm flesh. He squirmed on the barstool. The snug jeans were becoming painfully tight.

"I borrowed it from my roommate," she replied, running her hands over his hands, over the skirt, down her smooth thighs. "Do you think it's too short?"

"I wouldn't mind if it was a few inches shorter or—" he drew a finger across her bare midriff— "a whole lot lower."

She retrieved her drink, sipped, then slowly licked her lips.

The jukebox kicked into a country song, and Austin's eyes narrowed. This was his chance to find out if she'd lied to him that evening at Reilly's when she'd told him she couldn't dance.

With an effort of will, he withdrew his hands from her hips.

"Why don't we do a little boot-scooting, darlin'?" he asked casually.

She reached over to trail her fingers down his neck, then began toying with the top snap on his shirt. "I'm afraid that's not one of the accomplishments in my repertoire," she purred, and undid the snap. "But maybe you could teach me."

The dance floor was about the size of a first-year associate's office, but it didn't matter. Bailey had told the truth about her dancing abilities. She fell all over herself and him, too. Laughing hysterically, they stopped after only a few steps, and with a smoldering look, Austin pulled her tight against him and began to dance in place. She managed to follow that action nicely, swaying her leather-covered hips against his.

Somewhere in the back of his mind, Austin remembered this was all an act and had some sort of purpose, but he couldn't remember what, nor did he care. All he cared about was Bailey—Bailey's sleek body that fit so nicely against his, her faint, spicy scent, her ragged breathing that told him she wanted him too. He needed to be a part of her again, to be united completely, to race together to the ultimate peak the way they had that night in Gordon's yard.

He scanned the room desperately. The jukebox was too small and close to the wall for the two of them to hide behind.

"Bailey, sweetheart," he groaned into her ear, his hands caressing her rounded buttocks, "let's go to my apartment."

She sighed and snuggled closer, and he heard himself moan.

Then she shoved him away, her eyes spitting green fire. "You knew!"

"What? What's the matter?" Austin struggled to clear the fog from his senses and fathom what was happening.

"You called me 'Bailey,' moron. I never told you my name. You knew all along, you scheming, conniving creep! You come in here in that absurd disguise and—and come on to me, and you knew it was me!" She strode angrily toward the door.

Austin followed her outside, then grabbed her arm and spun her around to face him. "Of course I knew it was you. Do you think I'd want to make love with some bimbo from a bar? You, on the other hand, seemed awfully willing to carry on with a man you'd never met!"

Bailey jerked her arm free and glared at him, her eyes deep and dangerous. "Cretin. I hate to destroy your illusions, but I recognized you the second you walked in the bar. And let's be completely clear about one thing. I wasn't carrying on with you. I was just—"

"What?" he asked, enjoying her sudden discomfort. "You were just what?" He grasped both her arms in case she decided to punch him, and for a brief instant, she seemed to relax. He leaned toward her, his lips parting automatically.

But she jerked free of his hold and whirled away from him. He watched her run across the parking lot toward her car, stumbling in the heels, but nevertheless presenting a most intriguing spectacle in her leather skirt.

As she drove away, he leaned against somebody's car, pulled off the hat and glasses, and considered what Bailey had just said. Setting aside the insults, she had known who he was and had flirted with him outrageously, had made it very obvious that she wanted him. Maybe she'd thought herself disguised, but her emotions had been unmasked and open. Twirling the glasses, he smiled into the night.

"Hey, aren't you that lawyer?"

Austin looked up to see Candy Miller approaching wearing a spandex miniskirt. Everyone but Bailey, he thought, should be prohibited from wearing clothes like that.

"Yes," he answered Candy. "I'm a lawyer." Then, as he came back to earth and reality, he ground his teeth.

"See you inside, honey!" she called, opening the noisy door.

"Damn!" he cursed, throwing his hat to the ground. "Damn, damn, damn!" Bailey had done it again! There was no point in following Candy into the bar if she knew who he was.

He kicked the hat all the way back to his car.

*~*~*

Bailey slammed the front door behind her, threw the wig onto the dining room table, kicked her shoes across the room, turned, and kicked the wall. Samantha scuttled into the room, then tucked her tail and started to scuttle away again until Bailey held out her arms.

''I'm going to kill him," she swore, cuddling the little dog against her face. "I will kill that man in front of a dozen witnesses, and no jury in the world will convict me."

"What are you raving about?"

Bailey whirled around to see Paula standing in her bedroom doorway, wearing a nightgown and yawning.

"What are you doing home?" Bailey asked, then blushed as the implications of the situation dawned on her. "Oh! I didn't realize—I thought—I'm just going to bed. Don't mind me." She grabbed the wig off the table and began scouting around for the shoes.

"The reason I'm here is because I got stood up. Now, what are you looking for and why are you acting so weird?" Paula asked, coming over to join the search.

Bailey straightened. "Stood up? You mean Gordon isn't—?" She waved a hand in the general direction of Paula's bedroom.

Paula flopped onto the sofa. "No, he isn't. I neither know nor care where Gordon is. And judging from your rantings, I'd guess your evening wasn't much better than mine."

"I can't believe Gordon stood you up. There must be some mistake." Bailey sank onto the sofa beside her friend, and Samantha curled into a ball between them. The extravagant floral arrangement was conspicuously absent from the coffee table where it had been earlier in the evening. "Where—?"

"I snipped off all the flowers and put the stems on his doorstep."

"No, you didn't."

"No, I didn’t. They're in your room," Paula confessed with a shrug. "They became suddenly offensive. Set off my hay fever."

"I'm sure there's a logical explanation," Bailey persisted.

"Right. I probably misunderstood the terms. I missed the part where he said we were going to have this date at separate places. In any event, he didn't show, which shouldn't come as a surprise to those of us familiar with the morals of lawyers. Male lawyers, I mean."

"Well, it does come as a surprise. That's not like Gordon. All the things we've done together, he's never let me down. You know how he even showed up for that race when he didn't want to." She shook her head. "No, there's more to the story."

"Right. We'll probably read in the morning paper about how he was kidnapped and held for ransom or spent the night on an alien spaceship." Paula stretched her arm over the back of the sofa and laid her head on it.

"Did you call his house?"

"I tried," Paula admitted. "The first time, it rang, then it sounded like somebody lifted the receiver, but nobody said anything, just a lot of static. After that, all I got was a busy signal. The operator said there was trouble on the line. As in the phone being off the hook, for example."

"Let's go over to his house."

"I will not!" Paula protested, sitting bolt-upright. "And you won't, either. Leave me a little dignity."

Bailey threw her hands into the air. "Gordon could be lying over there dead, and you're worried about your dignity!"

"It seems to me you're being unusually dramatic about this whole thing, possibly to avoid talking about your evening and this man you're going to kill."

Bailey cringed as the remark struck home. She was concerned about Gordon, but the whole truth was, she found his behavior easier to think about than her own. "Austin came to the bar," she said.

"Go on," Paula encouraged, settling comfortably into one corner of the sofa, facing Bailey.

"If you insist on leering like that, I won't tell you a thing. Not that there's anything to tell." Bailey folded her arms over her chest, then quickly unfolded them as she touched her bare midriff and remembered the way Austin had touched her.

"I can tell by the look on your face that this is going to be good," Paula said. "Want me to make some hot chocolate?"

"No!" She wasn't about to confess to the way she'd lost control, practically made love with Austin on the dance floor. "All that happened was, Austin came into the bar wearing this ridiculous cowboy outfit. I recognized him at once, of course, and went over to try to divert his attention so he wouldn't find out what I found out." Suddenly it hit her that she hadn't thought about her recently acquired information since Austin's appearance. His ability to distract her from the important aspects of her life was really frustrating.

She ran a hand through her hair, still sweat-damp from wearing the stupid wig. "I found out that Candy is probably a fraud. She's been involved in another personal injury suit with another man, and she’s hanging around with Alvin Wilson but doesn’t want anybody to know. I got the first guy’s name, and I'll check out the details on Monday, but I have an eerie feeling they're going to be similar to the details of this accident."

"Oh, boy." Paula grimaced. "Austin's going to love it when you have to throw in the towel because your client's a fraud."

Bailey nodded dismally. "I think I diverted him tonight, but he'll find out eventually. Maybe he's known all along. Maybe that's why he got involved in the suit. No, that doesn't compute. If he'd known, he wouldn't have offered a settlement."

"A lot of companies settle to avoid the expense of going to court," Paula pointed out.

"Not Austin. He'd fight to the bitter end. He'd never compromise." Bailey smiled then quickly turned it into a frown. That hadn't come out right.

Not surprisingly, her irritating friend hadn't missed it. "You sound proud when you say that." Paula tilted her head to one side and smirked. There was no other word for her expression. "Tell me how you diverted him tonight."

"Would you look at the time? I'd better get to bed."

She scooped Samantha into her arms.

Paula's laughter followed her even after she closed her bedroom door. Let her laugh, Bailey decided. She'd laugh even louder—not to mention smirk—if she knew the whole story.

Bailey felt incredibly foolish about the way she'd acted. The events of the evening would certainly not go down as a point on her side of the tally sheet. She'd made a perfect idiot of herself. And the really awful thing was, she'd loved every minute of it, had been able to turn loose of her inhibitions and become thoroughly immersed in the erotic overtures she was giving as well as receiving. Worse yet, a part of her regretted her sudden departure, wished Austin hadn't called her by name, that he'd gone on holding her all night, that they could have gone to his apartment and made love again.

*~*~*

Even though it was Saturday, when Gordon hadn't shown up at the office by noon the next day, Bailey started to get worried. When she arrived home and opened the door, however, she was not so distracted that she failed to notice the huge lavender teddy bear occupying an armchair, apparently watching television. Samantha's shaggy head peeped over one of the stuffed legs. Her tail appeared in the air, waving furiously, but she seemed disinclined to leave her comfortable nest.

"Do come in, if you can find room," Paula invited, switching off the television and turning her head to peer over the back of the sofa. "This—" she swept an arm around the room— "has been going on since ten-thirty when the candy arrived."

A large, golden box of Godiva chocolates sat on the coffee table along with a porcelain music box featuring a little boy holding his hat in his hands, eyes pitifully downcast, a jigsaw puzzle with a castle in the clouds beneath a rainbow, and a basket of sloppily dyed Easter eggs, each with one wax letter, together spelling out, "I'm sory."

"What a lousy speller," Bailey observed.

"I ate the other ‘r’ for breakfast," Paula explained. "Help yourself if you're hungry."

"You have the soul of a Mongol." Bailey sank to the floor in front of the teddy bear and scratched Samantha's ears. "So the prince is charming again and all's right with the world."

Paula leaned over, removed the lid from the chocolates, and selected a piece from the half-empty top layer. "Help yourself," she invited. "If eating them won't offend your soul."

"Well, it's not quite like eating the Easter eggs."

Bailey took a couple of the rich candies.

Paula licked her lips and her fingers. "The jerk has good taste, but no, he isn't charming, and all isn't right with the world. I assume your friend has been sending these things—" she spread her arms— "but I haven't heard a word of explanation or apology."

"Don't forget the eggs," Bailey pointed out. "That was an apology before you ate part of it."

"Not counting the stupid, motley eggs."

The doorbell rang.

"Can you think of anything he's forgotten?" Paula asked.

Bailey shrugged. "Want me to get it?"

"Nah. The delivery boy and I are becoming good friends. I think he's just about ready to ask me to his prom. "

Bailey didn't see anyone when Paula opened the door, but she heard Paula say, "This isn't funny," then burst into contradictory laughter.

Standing to get a better view, Bailey could see Gordon's golden head as he knelt just outside the door. "I fell asleep," he said, rising and offering Paula a paper crown from a fast-food chain balanced on one of his sofa pillows. "I was just going to catch a quick catnap. When I woke up, it was nine o'clock. I started to call you to apologize for being late and noticed the phone lying on my pillow. I guess it rang and I took it off the hook without waking up then just snored into the receiver. Anyway, then I realized the sun was shining in my bedroom window, and even with daylight saving time, the sun doesn't shine at nine in the evening. I knew I was in trouble."

Paula motioned him inside and closed the door. "Bailey's neighbors don't need to know she associates with madmen," she explained, crossing her arms and looking defiantly up at him.

"Tell her how exhausted I've been, how I've been working myself to a frazzle," he appealed to Bailey.

"He's definitely frazzled," Bailey agreed, trying to stifle her own laughter.

"I believe you," Paula said. "If you were making it up, surely you could do better than that."

"I considered it," Gordon admitted, "but I didn't think you'd believe judges held court twenty-four hours a day and sequestered attorneys or that I'd been in the emergency room at the hospital all night if I showed up with no cuts or bruises."

"Good thinking."

"You believe me? Can I put this down?" When Paula inclined her head, he set the cushion on the dining room table. "And everything's all right." He sounded a little dubious. Paula hadn't moved, didn't appear to be giving him much feedback. "And we can carry on even if it is a few hours later."

"What, exactly, did you have in mind?"

"I can get these great box seats at the Prairie Race Track. How about we go watch the ponies run, then maybe some Italian food? I know this place in Westport—"

"On one condition."

Bailey didn't like the expression on Paula's face, a cross between a smirk and a sneer.

Gordon held one hand over his heart and raised the other. "I promise not to leave your sight the entire evening. If I fall asleep, you can just reach over and tap me on the shoulder."

"Bailey and Austin have to go with us."

"No problem," Gordon agreed.

"No way!" Bailey exclaimed so vehemently Samantha opened one eye and glared at her.