CON MAN

CHAPTER SEVEN

I'd dropped off Mia Cruz's shoes at the cobbler a few days before, so they were ready when I swung by this evening. I'd sent her a text to meet me at the diner of our demise, but she said she wouldn't be available until after eight o'clock. Then she said she'd much rather meet at The Blue Bar, because she'd "had a damn day and needed a damn drink."

So now I was walking around New York City with her shoes in a shopping bag, really regretting my lack of planning. But why would I have thought she'd be busy doing anything else? It's not like guys were banging down her door or anything. What else would a girl like that be doing with her free time?

In any case, it looked like my plans were going to have to change. I called Ainsley to see if she wouldn't mind bumping our appointment back to nine, then walked the length of 44th to cross into the Theater District.

I used my walk to think about the schedule I'd be presenting her with tonight. I had grappled all day over the best course of action to take, and was confident that I had come up with a personalized agenda that would guarantee her success. Every client was different, and I always made sure that my program was custom-tailored to suit their individual needs.

For some of them, it was best to just rip off the Band-Aid. I'd have them on stage singing karaoke during Week One.

For Ainsley, confidence-building would require a more delicate touch.

I made my way through the lobby of The Algonquin Hotel and headed for The Blue Bar. The place was practically a historic institution in this city. Back in the day, it was the most popular hangout for Broadway actors and acclaimed writers to come and throw back a few. Dorothy Parker and her entourage used to hold court right there in the lobby. Hirschfeld's art could be seen hanging on practically every wall. Hell, James Dean used to live at The Iroquois, located right next door.

The building housed a couple of bars and restaurants, but they've all changed over from their original forms since the old days. My father had brought me to The Oak Room on my twenty-first birthday so we could share a few drinks. He bought us a bottle of Macallan Rare Cask, and we put a good-sized dent in it before he checked us into a room where I could pass out. The Oak Room had since been redesigned as The Blue Bar, and I took a moment to appreciate the new look. It used to be a classy, wood-paneled, trip-back-in-time. Now, it was a modernized, neon, smooth-jazz venue. Still classy, though.

There was a real winner stationed in the corner who was way too excited to be playing the piano. Most of the people in the room weren't paying him any mind, but I couldn't take my eyes off the guy. Dude was lost in his own baby-grand world. I chuckled to myself as I took a seat at the bar, watching his hands floating over the keys as if he thought he were a magician, not a musician. Talented, so I could see why The Blue Bar hired him, but Jesus. Take it easy, maestro.

* * *

At 8:05, Mia whirled through the door in a frenzied blur of monochromatic gray. I waved her over to the bar, and she let out with a relieved sigh, greeting me with a breathy, "Glenlivet. Neat. Lots of it."

I chuckled and put in her order as she removed her raincoat and settled herself down on the stool next to mine. She ran her fingers through a damp mass of black hair, fluffing the waves over her shoulders.

"How long has it been raining?" I asked.

She lowered her eyebrows and curled her lip. "How long have you been in here?"

"About two hours."

"Hmmm." She motioned a finger toward my glass. "Drunk yet?"

I couldn't help but smile. "Not yet. But I'm working on it."