The Devil You Know by Richard Levesque Page A

job.” He turned to Laura, a
venomous look on his face.
    When
the actor had spoken in her defense, Laura had thought she was saved, and she
felt incredibly grateful for his generosity. But the look on Jerry’s face told
her there was no saving her, and she had to fight back tears as she started
turning away. Now she noticed that everyone in the restaurant stared at her,
and she wanted to run from the building.
    “I
insist,” Grant said. “I don’t want her fired on my account.”
    Laura
stopped, her gaze shifting from one man to the other.
    “In
fact,” the actor said, “I’d like it very much if the young lady would join me
at my table.”
    Jerry
looked dumbfounded, and Laura suddenly felt a buzzing in her ears.
    “You
want…what?” Jerry stammered.
    Grant
pulled his billfold from the inside pocket of his soaked jacket. He took out
two twenty-dollar bills and handed them to Jerry. “What do you think?” he
asked. “Will that cover the cost of getting someone else to fill in the rest of
her shift? And a little more for the trouble?”
    “I…yes,
I suppose.” Jerry took the money and then turned to give Laura another
hate-filled glance that Cary Grant was unable to see.
    The
actor met her stunned gaze and gallantly indicated the chair across from him. “Please,
Miss. It would be my pleasure.”
    “Oh
Mr. Grant, I couldn’t,” she protested.
    “Shush,”
he said. “I was just thinking before you spilled those drinks on me that eating
alone was going to be no fun at all. If you don’t sit down with me, you really
will have ruined my meal.”
    “Well…”
She gave Jerry a questioning glance, and when he gave her a reluctant nod, she
moved forward and around Grant’s table. “Okay, I guess,” she said uncertainly.
    “Wonderful,
Miss…?” he said as he pulled a chair out for her.
    “Tremaine,”
she said, a tremor in her voice. “Laura.”
    “Laura,”
he repeated. “Lovely.” Then, before Jerry could step away from the table, Grant
turned toward him. “Why don’t you send us over two porterhouse steaks, Jerry?” He
looked back to Laura. “Medium rare?” When she nodded with a smile, he turned
again to Jerry and repeated, “Medium rare with all the trimmings. And…” His
smiled broadened. “Two iced teas.”
    “Yes,
sir,” Jerry said, sounding as though he would choke on the words.
    The
handsome actor sat down beside Laura, and she felt her heart fluttering. It all
felt like a dream. He leaned across the little table to say, “He’s a bit angry,
I think.”
    “I
think so,” she agreed.
    She
was about to add that it wasn’t necessary for him to buy her dinner, but Grant
spoke instead, his voice just above a whisper. “He’d be even angrier if he knew
I wasn’t really Cary Grant.”
    The
accent was gone, and Laura felt the blood drain from her face. Now she saw that
the man looked slightly different from Cary Grant, his nose a bit more angular,
his eyes a bit wider. He smiled broadly at her.
    “Oh
my God,” Laura said. Again, she covered her mouth, but now it was to suppress a
giggle. At the thought of how this imposter had fooled Jerry and everyone else
in the restaurant—herself included—she wanted to laugh out loud.
“What in the world?” she was finally able to say.
    He
reached a hand across the table, offering it for her to shake. “Taylor
Thompson,” he said. “At your service.” He spoke with an American accent, and
though he was not Cary Grant, he was still terribly handsome and looked
amazingly like the actor.
    “Do
you do this often?” she asked quietly. Once she had sat down, the rest of the
diners in the restaurant had gone back to their conversations, so the buzz of
voices was now loud enough to allow Laura and Taylor to talk freely without
being overheard.
    “Not
on purpose,” he said as a waiter brought their iced teas. When he left, Taylor
continued. “You’d be surprised at how often I get treated to free meals,
though.”
    “And
you don’t