The Benedict Bastard (A Benedict Hall Novel) by Cate Campbell Read Free Book Online

respectful to the paunchy little man who was the father of the house. Why not? He had an entire evening to kill in this tedious town. There was certainly nothing better to do.

C HAPTER 4
    Bronwyn drank another Fallen Angel, and then another, determined to drown the memories that swam in her head. She danced again, and again, until unladylike perspiration ran down her sides and soaked her beaded headband. Johnnie gave up, retreating to their table to nurse his gin and wait for her to tire herself out. She danced with anyone who would join her, and when there wasn’t a man free, she danced alone.
    At length the player piano emitted a final tinny chord, and ceased playing. Bronwyn had no money with her, and it seemed no one else wanted to put in a nickel. The room spun gently around her, as if she had been doing somersaults, and reluctantly, she teetered back to Johnnie. He had ordered another drink for her, and it waited on the table. “You’re some hoofer, kiddo,” he said. “Get off your dogs, there. Have one more jolt!”
    His slang grated on her ears. There had been a day when she wouldn’t have dreamed of spending a moment in the presence of someone like Johnnie Johnson, but that day was a memory now, added to all the other uncomfortable ones. Johnnie had spent a lot of money on her tonight, and not out of sympathy, or even admiration. As she picked up the cocktail, she tilted her head and gave him an exceedingly polite smile, as if they were having tea instead of overpriced, illegal liquor. “Thanks so much, Johnnie. It’s been a swell evening.”
    She saw by the sudden narrowing of his eyes, the forward thrust of his head, that he understood she was saying good night, and good-bye.
    He wanted more, of course. That was why his wallet was wide open. It was why he had tolerated her dancing without him, why he was still waiting at this table when most of the bleary-eyed crowd had disappeared into the night. He put out his rough workingman’s hand, and seized her wrist. “Think again, kiddo .”
    This time the word carried both disdain and danger. She heard it clearly, and she saw it in the slackness of his mouth, the flush of his heavy face. He was no more than a year, perhaps two, older than she, but anger and resentment and lust made him look infinitely older, nothing like the young man she had agreed to come out with.
    With effort, she pulled her hand free, and his thick fingernails scraped on her skin. “I’m tired, Johnnie. I want to go home.”
    “You’re tired? Now you’re tired?” He leered at her, and thrust a thumb in the direction of the dance floor. “You weren’t tired thirty seconds ago!”
    Bronwyn shot to her feet. “I’m tired now, Johnnie Johnson. I said thank you for the nice evening, and if you’re the gentleman you pretend to be, you’ll now see me home!”
    He lurched up from the table, sending his chair flying. The barman glared at them both, as if Bronwyn were as guilty of the interruption as Johnnie. Maybe she was, but it was too late to worry about that now.
    Johnnie snarled, “I took you where I was takin’ you already, Miss High and Mighty! You got that bitty nose in the air, you can just follow it home on your own!”
    Bronwyn put her hands on her hips. “You’re going to just leave me? Do you know what my father would say about that?”
    Johnnie gave a bark of derisive laughter. “I don’t think your father has anything to do with it,” he said. “Those days is past for you, my girl.” He laughed again.
    Bronwyn picked up her cocktail glass and flung the remnants of her Fallen Angel at his face. There wasn’t much left, and only a few greenish drops reached him, but it felt good just the same. “Don’t you ever call on me again, Johnnie Johnson,” she spat at him. “I’m still an Uptown girl, whatever you may think.”
    “Ha,” he said, wiping the drops from his cheeks. “You can’t kid a kidder, my girl! What do you think all your snooty girlfriends