Aladdin (New Modern Wicked Fairy Tales) Read online

  “Wait a minute.” Realization dawned on Eddie’s face. “That’s Fogler’s car, ain’t it? You mean he left it to you?”

  “Yup.”

  “Well, how about that.” The look in Eddie’s dark eyes grew hungry. “ I don’t suppose you’d mind if…”

  “You drove it some time? Of course you will.” Bart grinned. “After all, you’re my chauffeur now. Well, my butler, but I’m not particular.”

  Bart got out and slammed the door shut. They were instantly surrounded by a cloud of small boys who hovered around the car, all of them fluttering with excitement.

  He gave each of the two largest boys a quarter. “Take care of it for me would you, boys? Make sure nothing happens to it, eh? If it’s still okay when I get back, there’s another quarter for each of you.”

  “Thanks, mister!”

  “Chauffeur? Butler?” Eddie took off his cap and scratched his head as Bart clapped him cheerfully on the back. “What’s goin’ on, Bart?”

  “Let’s go inside. I’ll explain everything. Sorry folks,” Bart said to the loafers around Eddie’s portable card table as Eddie folded it up. “Mr. Vizard has a very important business meeting with yours truly.”

  In the apartment, Bart told Eddie about his afternoon with Libby as he packed their belongings in several suitcases.

  “So you’re going to come with me,” Bart said.

  “So I can play butler?” Eddie mused. “While you romance the heiress?”

  “You should have seen all the food. It was enough to feed us for a month! And they just packed a picnic for two!”

  “But what’s the end game here?” Eddie pressed. “You can’t just let this opportunity slip through your fingers like you did with Fogler.”

  “I got a car out of that con.”

  “It wasn’t a con and you know it. He gave it to you out of the goodness of his heart.” Eddie looked like he’d been sucking lemons. “Just think what you coulda got! We can’t make that mistake again. We gotta make the best use of this dame.”

  “Well, we’ll take it one day at a time. See what happens...” Bart snapped the last suitcase closed. “At the very least, we’ll get a week or two of a nice feather bed and some great meals. And you’ll get to drive the Duesenberg.”

  “Bart, remember the rules... don’t get too close to the mark.”

  “I’m not,” Bart replied, defensive. “We just have to be careful, that’s all.”

  “Yeah, careful not to get too close to the mark. I can tell you like her.”

  “Well, if you want me to marry her, shouldn’t I like her?”

  “You know what I meant.”

  A loud banging on the door stopped their argument.

  “It’s the landlord,” Eddie stage-whispered.

  “Eddie...” Bart shook his head. “I gave you the money to pay her the rent…”

  “I had a tip on a horse. I couldn’t lose.”

  “Except that you lost, right?”

  “Yeah.” Eddie shrugged.

  The banging on the door came again, this time followed by a voice. “I know you’re in there!”

  “It wasn’t my fault,” Eddie insisted. “The horse was in the lead and suddenly died of a heart attack. And do you know what the horse’s name was?”

  “Eddie’s Folly? Vizard’s Vision? Fuck Me, I’m a Dead Horse?”

  “No.” Eddie laughed in spite of himself. “King of Hearts.”

  “I should’ve known.”

  The pounding wouldn’t stop, so Eddie went to answer it. Just as he reached the door, he turned and winked at Bart. Then he shouted loudly so that the landlady could hear through the door.

  “Bart, you ass, I’ve told you a thousand times to check your pockets before you take things to the laundry! The rent money better not have been in that damned coat…” Eddie opened the door.

  “Why, Mrs. Fitzpatrick!” Eddie smiled broadly. “We were just looking for the rent money.”

  “I know the feeling,” said Mrs. Fitzpatrick, hands on her hips.

  “I’m sure it’s here somewhere.” Eddie lifted a sofa cushion just to make the point. “Bart, did you check that lower drawer?”

  “Just a minute…” Bart made a show of pulling out the drawer and rummaging through the various decks of cards and pens and papers. “Hmm... no, it’s not here.”

  “Where could it be...” Eddie tapped his chin with one finger. Then he waved that finger at Bart. “I know! I remember! You left it in the car, Bart!”

  “I did?” Bart blinked, looking from Eddie to Mrs. Fitzpatrick. “Oh yes, you’re right. I think I did!”

  “Let’s just take these things down and get it.” Eddie grabbed two suitcases and Bart did the same.

  “Going somewhere?” Mrs. Fitzpatrick asked, crossing her arms.

  “Just a little vacation,” Eddie told her. “You stay here, Mrs. Fitzpatrick. I’ll send Bart back up with the rent.”

  “Oh no, you don’t.” Mrs. Fitzpatrick followed him. “I’m coming down with you.”

  “That’s very kind of you, Mrs. Fitzpatrick,” Eddie replied. “But no need to help us with the bags.”

  She snorted. ”You can carry your own bags.”

  Bart and Eddie dragged suitcases down the stairs, Mrs. Fitzpatrick following close behind.

  “I can’t believe you misplaced the rent money again, Bart!” Eddie made a point of yelling at Bart the whole way down.

  “It’s in the car, Eddie,” Bart insisted, playing dumb. “I left it in the glove compartment, I swear.”

  “Well, good, because poor Mrs. Fitzpatrick has waited long enough, don’t you think?”

  “I’m sorry, Mrs. Fitzpatrick,” Bart called over his shoulder. “But don’t you worry. You’ll have your money in two shakes.”

  “You two better have it,” she huffed as they arrived on the landing.

  Bart was in the lead. He tossed two quarters to the boys who’d promised to watch the car and they ran off.

  “Let me just get these loaded,” Eddie said, throwing the bags into the back seat as Bart got into the driver’s side and started the car.

  “Where did you get this thing?” Mrs. Fitzpatrick frowned. “Steal it?”

  “Mrs. Fitzpatrick! For shame!” Eddie exclaimed. “It was an inheritance. Alas, Bart’s poor, long lost uncle has died. He left Bart this lovely vehicle.”

  “Hmph.” Mrs. Fitzpatrick snorted again, walking around to the front of the car to stand there, arms crossed, waiting for the rent.

  “I’ll just get the money out of the glove box,” Eddie assured her, opening the passenger door to stand on the running board and lean in .

  He spoke to Bart lowly, out the side of his mouth. ”Looks like she’s gonna stand there in front of the car. And there’s one parked behind us.”

  “I’ll just have to run her over then, won’t I?”

  “For God’s sake! We’ll get in trouble for sure!”

  “Don’t worry, old sport.” Bart laughed. ”There’s room behind. I’m gonna have to pull a fast one.”

  Bart turned the wheel sharply and put the car in reverse. He gunned it and swung the rear end of the car out into the street, one front wheel jumping the curb.

  “Hold on!” Bart yelled when Eddie was almost jolted off the running board. He just managed to hang on.

  Bart swung the wheel the other way, flooring it and driving backwards, racing toward the intersection.

  “Get in!” he called to Eddie as he swung the car the right way around in the empty intersection.

  “Get back here!” Mrs. Fitzpatrick yelled, shaking a fist at them. “I want my money! I’m calling the police!”

  “Toodleloo!” Eddie waved his hat cheerfully at her before hopping into the car.

  Bart floored it and they sped off.

  ~*~

  “You think she lives in a castle?” Eddie mused as they stretched out beside the Duesenberg.

  “I’m sure it’s an estate,” Bart said, putting his hands behind his he
ad and looking up at the stars. There were millions of them out here in the countryside.

  It was a hot night, so they didn’t really need any shelter. They’d sleep here. Then, tomorrow, they’d shave and get dressed, Bart in his nicest suit and Eddie in the chauffeur outfit they’d picked up at the second-hand store. Eddie would take the wheel and drive his “boss” to the Bancroft estates.

  “I’ll have to sleep in the servants’ quarters,” Eddie complained, sounding petulant. “While you loaf around on settees eating grapes.”

  “Even the servants’ quarters will be better than the roach motel we’ve been living in,” Bart reminded him. “And think of the food! It’s going to be stupendous, Eddie. I promise.”

  “But what about this girl?”

  “What about her?”

  “The plan. You’re gonna marry her, right? Inherit all the money?”

  The thought of marrying Libby didn’t repulse Bart at all. In fact, just the opposite. But he didn’t want to go through with that plan, at least, not as “Barton Kirwin Burnett.” He didn’t want to deceive her. But he knew, if he wanted to even get near her, that’s what he would have to do. Could he spend the rest of his life as “Barton Kirwin Burnett?”

  “That’s the plan,” Bart agreed.

  Marrying Libby. That was the plan. Eddie would expect him to turn on the charm and seduce her. And Bart could do that. Wanted to do that, in fact. But then what? When it came time to watch her walk down the aisle, would he be able to go through with the charade?

  “It’s a good plan.” Eddie propped his hat over his face, voice muffled. “Night, Bart.”

  “Night, Eddie.”

  Eddie was soon snoring, but Bart stayed awake, watching the stars twinkle and thinking about the girl he’d met that afternoon.

  Chapter 3

  “If you keep feeding me like that, I’ll never leave.” Bart pushed himself away from the table, thoroughly and completely stuffed. If he kept eating like this, he’d be a fat man inside a year. But he wouldn’t keep eating like this, of course.

  “Your accommodations are acceptable?” Frances Bancroft asked, sipping her port. The old woman had eyes that missed nothing. Bart had to be careful around her.

  “Indeed.” More extravagant than he could have imagined. This place was like a palace compared to their apartment at Mrs. Fitzpatrick’s.

  “And your man Vizard?” Libby asked, pushing away the last of her tiramisu. “How does he find the servant’s quarters?”

  “Perfectly fine.” Bart smiled, thinking of what Eddie might have said about his new home.

  Divine. Heaven. Pure perfection.

  Eddie was like a pig in mud. If mud was clean sheets and three square meals a day.

  “We’re going to take a walk in the garden, Grandmother,” Libby announced, standing and leaning over to kiss Frances on her wrinkled cheek.

  “No chaperone?” Frances raised her eyebrows.

  “Oh Grandmother, I’m too old for a chaperone.” Libby laughed.

  Bart stood. “I promise to keep her safe.”

  “And who will keep her safe from you?” Frances chuckled, waving them both away. “Go on, you two.”

  Bart stood and went around the table to escort Libby out of the dining room. She hooked her arm through his as they walked down the hallway.

  “You’ve been so generous, Libby,” he said. “I can’t thank you enough.”

  “I had my ulterior motives.” She gave him a sly, sidelong glance.

  “Oh?”

  “I’m going to have to insist we race. You in the Duesenberg, me in the Rolls.”

  He grinned. “You’re on.”

  “I adore you, Bart Burnett.” She beamed up at him. “I don’t know any other man who would agree to race a woman. They’d think I was an unladylike floozy.”

  “Who says I don’t?”

  She laughed and slapped his arm.

  Libby led him out a set of French doors and onto paving stone. The garden was fragrant, full of roses and lilacs. Bart breathed in their scent as they walked the path, arm in arm, the moon full overhead.

  “Vizard will have my head if I wreck the Duesenberg,” he told her.

  “I’ve noticed, you and Vizard seem... close.”

  Bart nodded. “He’s been with me a long time.”

  “Since you were young?” she asked. “You’re almost the same age? How old are you, Bart?”

  “He’s older. We were in the war together.” That much was true. “He came to work for me after that. And I’m thirty-nine.”

  “I’m thirty-two,” Libby told him boldly. “An old maid.”

  He snorted but didn’t comment.

  “So where is home, Bart? Kansas City?”

  “Massachusetts,” he lied. It gave him an air of old money, even if it wasn’t true. “My parents’ estate is there.”

  “And they still live there?”

  “Like you, I’m an orphan.”

  She stopped when they reached the top of a hill. “What happened?”

  “My mother died when I was young. I don’t remember her at all.” Another truth. His mother had been a prostitute who had given him up at birth. He’d spent his first ten years in orphanages until he’d been adopted by a farm couple in Michigan who needed an extra hand. “My father died when I was a teen. Cousin Clay was my father figure after that.”

  “It must have been so hard for you.” She put a hand on his arm.

  “No harder than it was for you.”

  Libby shook her head. “I had grandmother.”

  “She’s quite a character.” Bart smiled.

  “Isn’t she? I adore her.”

  “She clearly loves you very much.”

  “I’m a lucky girl.” Libby’s voice was full of the love she felt for her grandmother. He had to admire a woman who had been orphaned and still counted herself lucky.

  “Your grandmother didn’t seem to mind us coming for a walk out here.” The view down the hill was incredible, even at night. The estate was miniature in the distance.

  “She’ll nap a while,” Libby said. “The servants know better than to disturb her.”

  “You’re not afraid of what the servants will say, walking unchaperoned with a man in the garden at night?”

  “The servants know better than that, too.” Libby laughed. “This is my house. I do what I like.”

  He chuckled. “So that means I won’t have to marry you in the morning?”

  “Not unless you want to.” She looked up at him, smiling. “But you’re a confirmed bachelor, right?”

  “You’re testing my bachelor ways,” he confessed.

  “Am I?” She tilted her face up to his, her eyes bright in the moonlight.

  “A man could get used to this.” Bart realized how close they were standing. Not touching, but almost belly to belly. “Dinner with a beautiful woman at the table every night. After that, a moonlit walk in the garden. And after that...”

  “After that...?”

  Bart leaned in and kissed her. He couldn’t help himself. Libby put her arms around his neck and kissed him back, quite thoroughly. Her enthusiasm instantly aroused him.

  “Would you like to come to my room, Bart Burnett?” she whispered when they parted.

  “Libby Bancroft, I am shocked, I tell you.” He grinned. “Completely, utterly shocked.”

  “The offer is real.”

  “Is it? Are you?” he wondered aloud. “I’m not sure. I think I might be dreaming.”

  “Is it a good dream?”

  “The best.” He nuzzled her pert little nose with his. “But Libby... I know this sounds crazy. I just can’t. Not here, in your grandmother’s house.”

  She sighed. “You’re going to be a gentleman, Bart?”

  “I’m afraid so.”

  “So you won’t race me to my room?” She nudged him.

  “I’ll race you tomorrow,” he said. “Duesenberg vs. Rolls.”

  “You’re on.”

  “Until
tomorrow, then.”

  ~*~

  Bart didn’t race Libby the next day. Instead, they had another picnic, this time on the grounds, with servants pouring wine and keeping a respectable distance as they dined. They talked all afternoon, Libby laughing at his silly jokes. Every time she smiled at him, his heart felt lighter. Libby did challenge him to an archery contest. She beat him soundly and was worried he might turn petulant, but he took it with grace. He didn’t mind her winning. He loved seeing her face light up when she did.

  The next day they went into town together—Eddie, er, Vizard, drove—and spent the day shopping. Libby insisted on taking Bart into a men’s shop and buying him a slew of new clothes. He told her not to—said he could send for more of his clothing, if he were to stay longer—but Libby nudged him and said, “If the clothes are already here, you won’t have any excuse to leave, now will you?”

  It worked out well, because Bart didn’t have any more clothes to “send for”—and the two weeks he expected to stay turned into a month, then into two. Their days were spent leisurely, having lunch with Libby’s grandmother, Frances Bancroft, who seemed to have quite a soft spot for Bart. He knew how to schmooze, it was true, but he enjoyed spending time talking with the old woman. She reminded him of Libby. Sassy, strong, independent, and a little spoiled. Certainly determined to get her own way.

  The two women kept wanting to plan get-togethers, but Bart put them off. He didn’t want the Fogler clan invited to give his ruse away. But he had met several of Libby’s friends individually at various dinners or lunches, all of whom had seemed to thoroughly approve of Barton Kirwin Burnett. And he had liked all of them, as well.

  The rich were usually insufferable prigs. It was one of the reasons he’d liked Clay so much—he wasn’t like that at all. He’d discovered Libby and her friends, and even her grandmother, weren’t the stuffy sort of wealthy. They were relatively humble people who, while not exactly down to earth—it was hard to be down to earth when you had caviar on the table nightly—were quite genuine and honest.

  They were traits that made Bart feel uncomfortable, given his ruse. And the longer the lie went on, the harder he knew it would be to tell Libby the truth. He didn’t know how he might even go about doing so, and if he could get up the courage, then what? She would kick him—and Eddie, by extension—out of the house immediately, and he’d never see her again.