Read Online Bailey's Irish Dream by DEBBY CONRAD - Free Book Online Page A

since he was ten years old.  “Maybe later.”  After a few more drinks, or at gunpoint.
    “I’m sure my wife would like to hear something now , before she passes out.”  Doyle looked at Mimi who had already downed her whiskey.  To Quinn, he said, “I’ll hold your drink while you play.”
    Quinn tried again to dissuade the man.  “I’m kind of shy in small crowds.”
    “Shy?”   Doyle laughed.  “Stanley, you’re about as shy as Lady Godiva.  Why don’t you play Beethoven’s Fifth Symphony ?”
    Snorting, Quinn said, “Everyone plays that.  How about something more original?”
    “Sure.  Whatever.”
    Bailey gave him the eye as if to say , ‘Are you out of your mind?’ Quinn met her look with one of his own.  His said, ‘I must be.  I’m here, aren’t I?’
    Taking a seat on the white bench, Quinn stretched his fingers, stalling.  Then, with his index fingers, he struck the keys two at a time.  Chopsticks was one of the only two songs he knew how to play.  The other was Happy Birthday .
    Doyle nodded, his lips tilting slightly upward in a snarl, as if he knew some secret.  “You certainly have talent, Stanley .”
    “I try.”
    “Yes, you certainly do.”
    “Bravo!” Mimi shouted and clapped her hands together, her empty glass lying on its side on the floor by her feet.  “Did you write that song, Stanley?” 
    “No, ma’am.  I’m afraid not.”  The Maguire women certainly couldn’t hold their liquor, Quinn thought, remembering Bailey the night before.  “Do you need some help getting Mrs. Maguire upstairs?” he whispered to Doyle, forgetting to act like Stanley the Jerk.
    “Nah.”  Doyle returned Quinn’s glass.  “I don’t want to spoil her fun.  This is the happiest I’ve seen her in months.  How about another drink, Mimi?”
    “I’d love one.”  She looked at Quinn and smiled sweetly.  “You know, Stanley, I’m starting to see why Bailey finds you so attractive.”
    Jesus.  Quinn shook his head, stealing a look at Bailey.  She’d tried to warn him at the bar last night that she was crazy.  But she’d failed to mention that her parents were shy a few bricks as well.  Unless this was Mrs. Maguire’s way of using psychology on her daughter.
    What did he have to do to make these two hate him?  Well, whatever it was would have to wait.  If he spent another minute pretending to be Stanley , he was going to shoot himself.  Now there was a good excuse to call off the wedding.  Why didn’t he think of that earlier?  If he’d shot himself then he could have avoided this bad dream gone worse.
    Mimi pointed a finger at him.  “I think you did the right thing insisting that Bambi work.”  Her words were slightly slurred.  “I wish now that I’d had a job when I was younger.”
    “Uh, huh.”  Quinn glanced at his watch.  Ten after ten.  He wondered how much more of this he could take.
    “Mimi, what are you saying?” Doyle went to stand by his wife.  “I would never have allowed you to work.  You had plenty to do raising the girls and taking care of me.”
    “Well,” Quinn said, standing, anxious to avoid a domestic squabble.  “I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but I’m going to call it a night.  I have to get up early tomorrow.”
    “Oh, poo-poo.”  Mimi thrust her bottom lip out.  “We were just starting to have fun.”
    Poo-poo?  That was a new expression.  “You stole the word right out of my mouth,” he lied.
    * * * * * * * * * *
    “I’ll walk you out,” Bailey offered, rushing to catch up to Quinn in the foyer.  Quinn kept walking, ignoring her.  He was certainly in a hurry to leave for some reason.  Opening the door he stepped out onto the porch and into the night, heading toward the drive.  At least he hadn’t slammed the door in her face.  “Would you please wait a minute?”
    He stopped then, but didn’t turn around.  “This isn’t working, Bailey.  And please don’t ask me to do it again.