Josie Day Is Coming Home Read Free

white-haired woman.
    “Are you choking?” she asked.
    By now, the woman was on her feet. Gesturing toward her
martini glass on the table in front of her, she nodded. Her eyes widened with
alarm.
    “Let me help you.”
    Decisively, Josie maneuvered her way behind the woman. She
apologized hastily as she whacked a few onlookers with her costume’s booty
frill. Music clamored all around. Show lights flashed. She wrapped her arms
around the woman and caught a whiff of expensive perfume. Dimly, she realized
the show was still going on above them in all its glitzy glory. Then there was
no time to notice anything else. She concentrated on performing the Heimlich
Maneuver.
    The last time she’d practiced it, she’d been working on a
plastic dummy in first aid class. Squeezing a real live woman was a lot
different. With frantic intensity, she kept at it.
    Two-handed fist, below the rib cage, quick upward thrust .
Again and again. She had to keep going. This woman was somebody’s grandmother,
somebody’s sweet elderly wife, somebody’s sister. Feeling panicky, Josie thrust
upward again.
    “That’s enough!” the woman barked. “One more
thrust and I’ll cough up my spleen along with that damned martini olive.”
    Roughly, she twisted away from Josie’s arms. In shock, Josie
watched as the woman rounded on the onlookers.
    “And you ! Standing there like a bunch of idiots
while an old woman chokes to death. Shame on you!” Even in competition
with the music of the Glamorous Nights Revue, her husky voice carried. “I
got up to Heimlich myself on the table edge, but this nincompoop”—she
gestured to a gawking businessman—“wouldn’t get his lard ass out of the
way.”
    Red-faced with fury, she snatched her cocktail. Drained the
whole thing. Winced. She banged her empty martini glass on the table, then
swiveled her luxuriously clad, barrel-shaped body in a hasty arc. Looking for a
fresh target.
    Never one to cower in the face of a challenge, Josie lifted
her chin. “You should sit down.”
    Calmly, she reached for the old woman’s arm to help her.
    “Mind your own business, Red!” the woman snapped.
“I’m not decrepit.”
    But she wobbled slightly as she leaned in the banquette. Her
wrinkled hand trembled as she retrieved her envelope-shaped silk purse from the
velvet cushion. Clearly the martini olive incident had affected her more than
she wanted to admit.
    All around them audience members murmured, getting resettled
at their own tables. The show lights flashed. The music from the opening number
reached its crescendo.
    “I’ll call security for you,” Josie said.
“You shouldn’t be alone right now.”
    The woman stiffened. For an instant, her demeanor
softened—as though she’d glimpsed a friend in the crowd. Then she morphed back
to her curmudgeonly self.
    “Look. They’re continuing the show without you,”
she pointed out, eyeballing the stage knowingly. “It’s almost as though
they never even noticed you were gone.”
    Stricken, Josie glanced up. It was true. Parker and Thad and
all the rest of the dancers posed in perfect position on the darkened stage.
One by one, the spotlights popped on, illuminating the principals in the second
number—a “Chicago”-style jazz routine.
    The show was all she had. If she lost her place there….
    “I’ll comp your drinks and your show ticket,” she
blurted, hastily straightening her headdress. “Dinner, too, if you want.
Just leave your name at the door and I’ll take care of everything. And next
time, I recommend a cosmopolitan.” She couldn’t help but grin. “No
olives, plenty of kick.”
    The woman humph ed. Taking that as her exit cue, Josie
left her behind. Awash in a sea of curious gazes, she hurried backstage to
rejoin the show. It wouldn’t be the first time she’d bailed out on an awkward
situation.
    Given her track record, it probably wouldn’t be the last,
either.
     
     
    Tallulah Carlyle had seen a lot of things in her