All Through The Night

“Don’t call me that!” Nora sighed, surprised by her reaction to Ellie’s gentle teasing. She flopped down in her office chair and gazed up at her friend. “When you think of me, do you really think of me as Prudence Trueheart? Or as Nora Pierce?”

Ellie frowned and sat down across from her, her gaze fixed on the letter. “I don’t get it,” she murmured. “What’s the difference?”

“There is a difference!” Nora cried, leaning over her desk and snatching the letter from her friend’s hand. “Don’t you see?” She crumpled the paper and tossed it aside, then began to pace the width of her office. “I’m not Prudence Trueheart. I put words in her mouth, but she’s not me. And I’m not her.”

“Is something wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong,” Nora said, unwilling to explain further. But she couldn’t hold in her frustration any longer. “It’s just that sometimes I get sick of Prudence. She’s so…prissy!” Only after the word slipped from her lips did she realize it was Pete’s word again, his description of her. “People expect me to be her. And it’s getting awfully hard lately to figure out where she ends and I begin.”

“A lot of people have trouble separating work from their personal life,” Ellie offered.

“I—I just expected things to be different. When I first got a job at the Herald, I thought my life was going to change. I moved out of my parents’ house, away from my mother, and I found that little apartment in the Castro. I expected my life to be more exciting. Look at me now. I dress in these suits and ride around on my high horse all day long, looking down my nose at ordinary mortals and scolding them for falling short of their moral and ethical duties.” The last was said with a hysterical edge, and Nora took a deep breath to calm herself. “How can I advise people about passion when I have no passion in my life?”

The question caused Ellie to pause before answering. “You’re very passionate about your work…about etiquette.”

“A person can be passionate, but still have no passion in their life. Look at these letters.” She picked up a stack and tossed it across the desk. “These people have passion. They live by their hearts, not their heads. I’ve never had that. Sure, there have been men in my life. Lovers, even. But I’ve never felt passion so overwhelming that it dissolves common sense. That it makes me crazy. And the longer I’m Prudence, the worse it gets.”

Nora yanked open her desk drawer and pulled out a bag of peanut M&Ms. Shoving a handful into her mouth, she waited for the chocolate to soothe her. “I should just quit,” she mumbled, her mouth full. Prudence never talked while she ate, but Nora was past caring about good manners. “I could go back to school. Get my doctorate in art history. Find a job in Paris or Rome.”

“You can’t quit. You’re the heir apparent to both Dear Abby and Miss Manners. And you make more money than anyone at the Herald, except for maybe Pete Beckett. And someday, you’re going to be a multimedia goddess, just like Martha Stewart.”

“Don’t say that name in this office,” Nora said, popping another handful of candy into her mouth.

“Martha Stewart?”

“No, Pete Beckett. He is the antithesis of everything Prudence Trueheart values in a man. He’s fickle and shallow and unscrupulous and—and because of him, I have this black eye!”

Ellie squinted to examine Nora’s injury. “And how does Nora Pierce feel about him?” she asked pointedly.

Nora stopped cold, realization hitting her like a sharp slap to the face. She coughed slightly, an M&M lodged in her throat. “That—that is how I feel about him. The way he treats women is appalling. Promiscuity is a trait that both Prudence and I detest.”

“Now you sound like your mother!”

Nora groaned.

“You also sound a little jealous,” Ellie observed. “Just how much time do you spend thinking about Pete Beckett’s romantic life?”

“None at all,” Nora lied. She thought about evading the subject, but Ellie was her best friend, and they never held back anything from each other. “It just that after he hit me with the baseball, he—”

“He hit you with a baseball?”

“A whiffle ball. And it was an accident. He came into my office to apologize and he—he touched me. It was completely innocent, but I realized that I haven’t been touched by a man—I mean, not in that way—for three whole years. Exactly the same amount of time that I’ve been Prudence Trueheart.” She sighed. “I don’t think I could attract a man if I danced naked on Nob Hill.”

Ellie patted her on the shoulder. “That’s not true. You’re a very desirable woman! You could have any man you wanted, if you’d just put a little effort into it. When was the last time you went out?”

“Prudence Trueheart doesn’t frequent singles bars,” Nora said, her voice dripping with sarcasm.

“Well, maybe it’s about time you got back into the swing of things,” Ellie said.

“How?”

“I don’t know,” Ellie said with a shrug. “You’re the advice columnist. Answer an ad, join a church group, take a class. Isn’t that what you tell your readers?”

“That will take too long. I need immediate gratification.”

Ellie gasped. “Don’t you think you’re taking this a little too fast?”

“Not that kind of gratification,” Nora replied. “I just need to know that I’m still attractive. That men find me alluring and intriguing.”

“Well, that’s easy, then. Tonight, you and I will go out. And we’ll stay out until you meet a man. You’ll flirt a little, maybe even kiss him. And if you really like him, you can give him your phone number.”

Presented with a real plan, Nora suddenly wasn’t sure she wanted to venture into such dangerous territory. What if she went out, and no one even bothered to look her way? “No man is going to want to date Prudence Trueheart.”

“You don’t have to tell him who you are. You could wear that disguise, that wig you bought a few months ago—the one you wear grocery shopping. You told me when you’re in disguise, people don’t recognize you.”

Nora blinked, the simple perfection of Ellie’s plan slowly sinking in. All the fun without any of the consequences. She could say and do whatever she wanted, become a completely different person if she wanted to. “I don’t know,” Nora said. “A disguise in this situation seems a little deceptive, don’t you think?”

“You’re going to flirt a little, not sell national secrets to the Russians. Who will you be hurting?”

Nora considered the plan for a moment. “I—I guess it could be like research. A little experiment. After all, if I’m expected to give advice, I should at least get out there and see what’s going on, don’t you think?” She looked up at Ellie expectantly. “So, are we on for tonight?”

Nora knew that if she gave herself even one more hour to think about this, she’d never go through with it. Her sense of propriety and good breeding would win out. It was time to stop thinking and rethinking every single aspect of her life. It was time to take action!

Ellie smiled and shook her head. “All right. Be dressed by eight.”

“What should I wear?”

“Something provocative, of course. If you wear that suit, you’ll be lucky if the bartender talks to you.”

Suddenly, Nora wasn’t sure action was the best plan. Maybe she should take some time to think about this. “I don’t own anything provocative. And where would we go?”

“You’ve got the whole afternoon. Go buy yourself a new dress. And I’ll ask Sam where we should go. He’ll know a good place with lots of available men.” She gave Nora a hug. “This is going to be so good for you.”

With that, Ellie hurried out, leaving Nora standing in the middle of her office. Nora drew in a shaky breath, then let it out slowly. The only way she’d feel really good tomorrow morning was if she woke up with a man in her bed: a long-limbed, hard-muscled male with nothing on his mind but multiple orgasms—her multiple orgasms.

Though Nora was determined to throw off the Prudence Trueheart persona, she wasn’t sure she could ever go that far. A one-night stand sounded so brazen, so impulsive, so far beyond anything she was capable of. She’d settle for something far less dangerous. Instead, she’d charm and bedazzle some stranger, perhaps even give him her phone number. She’d gather some real-life experience to pass on to her readers and reassure herself that she was still an attractive and desirable woman.

And at the end of the night, maybe she would feel a little more like Nora Pierce and a lot less like Prudence Trueheart.

2

A HAZE OF CIGARETTE SMOKE hung over the noisy crowd at Vic’s Sports Emporium, a popular watering hole near Fisherman’s Wharf. The blare of big-screen televisions, all tuned to different sporting events, mixed with the chatter of voices and occasional cheers. Distractions were plentiful at Vic’s. Even so, Pete noticed the woman the instant she walked in. Determined to keep his mind on the Giants’ game, he wrote off his interest as an instinctive reaction born of so many years on the make.

But his eyes were inexplicably drawn back to her, a slender, raven-haired beauty in a form-fitting black dress. Maybe it was the way she moved, the subtle sway of her hips, the gentle arch of her neck, the oh-so-cool expression. Something about her captured his attention, and he couldn’t help but stare. She didn’t belong in Vic’s, that much was certain. Vic’s was a beer-and-pretzel kind of place, and this woman was champagne and caviar all the way.

The clues were nearly imperceptible, at least to anyone who didn’t bother to look beneath the surface. But Pete had come across a lot of women in his dating days and he could tell real class when he saw it. Her dress—no doubt, designer labeled—fit her perfectly, hugging every curve of her body, yet coming nowhere near vulgar. It revealed only enough to tantalize: a glimpse of shoulder, a hint of cleavage, and just enough thigh to prove she had incredible legs beneath that skirt. No, she didn’t need to advertise her assets. For this woman, a guy could certainly use his imagination.

But there was more—the way her gaze drifted around the room, never resting on one subject for long. She’d caused a minor stir as she made her way to the bar—men turning to watch her pass, jaws slack, eyes slightly glazed—yet she didn’t notice her effect. Had her Mercedes broken down outside? Or had she somehow wandered out of a Nob Hill soiree and become lost in the fog? There wasn’t a guy in the place who wouldn’t give his right arm to help her. But they knew enough to keep their distance, not willing to risk an icy rebuff in front of friends.