The Last Dance

by Nan Ryan

  And she sure hadn’t told Kitty that she was to meet a man. Kitty would never have believed it anyhow.

  Lucy’s face flushed with color. She could hardly believe it herself. She was on her way to a rendezvous with a stranger. The prospect of it was so exciting it made her heartbeat quicken, her mouth go dry. She felt quite daring and adventurous. And free. Free in a way she’d never been free before.

  What the next two weeks might bring, Lucy had no idea, but she was ready and eager to find out. And she was certain of one thing if of nothing else, the two weeks she was to spend in Atlantic City would be a welcome change from the orderly life she led in Colonias.

  Lucy gawked at the tall buildings when the steamer moved into and out of the wide, busy harbor of New York City. She had lived all her life in New York State and had never been to the city. Maybe next summer she would spend her holiday here. Lucy laughed, feeling almost giddy. Maybe she and Theodore D. Mooney would spend their holiday together in New York City next year.

  The steamer picked up speed. The big city was left behind. The warm, lazy afternoon was a pleasant, restful one for Lucy. She watched the Jersey shore glide past as she lolled in a comfortable deck chair and spun lovely daydreams.

  But when finally the steamer docked in the bustling port of Atlantic City late that Sunday afternoon, and Lucy Hart stood on the dock beside her valises waiting for transportation to the hotel, she found she had lost some of her earlier enthusiasm.

  Suddenly, and without warning, she began to feel apprehensive. She had never taken a trip alone, never stayed overnight in a hotel, never agreed to a clandestine tryst with a total stranger.

  But she quickly reminded herself that Theodore was no stranger. Once they were together, everything would be fine. Just fine. Lucy smiled again and drew a slow, steadying breath, feeling a little calmer.

  An omnibus rolled up. People swarmed forward carrying heavy luggage, brushing rudely past her, quickly taking up all the seats before she could get on board. She would have to wait for another. Lucy made a face, looked about.

  A carriage for hire was parked a few yards away. Lucy wondered how much he would charge, decided she didn’t care. She was thrifty fifty weeks a year, for the next two she wouldn’t be. She was spending five dollars a night for a room; she would ride to the hotel in style.

  Lucy waved to the driver. He nodded, hopped down, and came running. He handed her up into the covered conveyance, scooped up her luggage, and said, “Where to, Miss?”

  Calmly; “The Atlantic Grand.”

  Lucy was dazzled with the sights and sounds and scents of Atlantic City. The carriage moved slowly southward down traffic clogged Atlantic Avenue and Lucy found herself tingling with anticipation. Eyes shining, stomach tied in knots, she stared at the unending row of imposing, multi-storied hotels lining the shore and wondered which one was hers.

  Lucy’s heart beat in her throat when the carriage turned the corner at Indiana Avenue and headed straight toward the ocean. This was it! She was here at last. She could hardly wait to see everything there was to see, to do everything there was to do.

  “My goodness gracious,” Lucy murmured aloud when the carriage rolled to a stop before an enormous, white, ten-story hotel whose tall twin towers rose to meet the clear blue sky.

  She stepped out in a daze of delight to admire the imposing white palace. Her gaze slowly climbed the huge structure, and she gaped at the huge letters mounted on the hotel’s rooftop between the twin towers.

  ATLANTIC GRAND

  Ten foot tall letters spelling out the hotel’s name were fashioned from hundreds of Edison’s electric light bulbs. The carriage driver, noting where Lucy’s attention was directed, told her, “Wait ’til nighttime, Miss. Those letters glow bright as day after dark.”

  Too overwhelmed to reply, Lucy paid the carriage driver and was immediately whisked by a smartly uniformed doorman up the stone steps to the hotel’s main entrance. She swept eagerly through a massive set of revolving glass doors framed with burnished brass. When she stepped out of the heavy, whooshing doors, she was in a large, elegant, atrium-ceilinged lobby where oriental rugs graced floors of gleaming white marble.

  Lucy attempted to act blasé. She didn’t want to appear overly impressed and have the other guests thinking she was a country bumpkin who’d never been anywhere.

  But she found it next to impossible not to stare in open-mouthed wonder at the huge, hanging crystal chandeliers and gleaming mounted mirrors and elegant, comfortable furniture.

  The giant lobby was a beehive of activity and she was at once enveloped in the atmosphere of excitement. Porters and bellmen hurried about. Two uniformed concierges sat at matching mahogany tables. Mail and key clerks were kept constantly busy.

  Lucy was guided through the throngs of employees and guests toward the long, marble-topped front desk. On the way she noticed, directly across the vast lobby, a pair of tall French doors that opened onto a broad back veranda. She was tempted to rush out for a quick glimpse of the city’s famed Boardwalk and sandy beaches beyond.

  At the front desk, Lucy casually leaned on the marble topped counter and tried to affect aplomb. It wasn’t working. Her hand shook as she signed the guest register and was given her room key. She was then promptly ushered to the elevator and accompanied to her third floor room by a courteous bellhop in a purple uniform trimmed in gold braid with gold buttons down his chest. On his blond head was a small, purple pillbox hat banded in gold braid.

  Inside the large, comfortable room fronting onto the Atlantic, the bellman deposited Lucy’s bags on the luggage rack at the foot of the four-poster bed. He followed an enchanted Lucy out onto the small private balcony and, making a grand, sweeping gesture with his arm, said proudly, “The Atlantic Ocean, Miss. Have you ever seen anything like it?”

  “No. No, I haven’t,” Lucy replied truthfully.

  “Lived here all my life,” said the friendly bellman, “and I never tire of the splendid view.” He started back inside. Lucy followed. He said, “You’ll find ice water in the pitcher on the bureau.” He pointed. “Bathroom is through that door, the wardrobe the other.” Lucy nodded. “My name’s Benny, Miss Hart. You need anything, you let me know, okay?”

  “There is something, Benny,” Lucy ventured hopefully. “A fresh white gardenia. Do you suppose you could find one for me by eight o’clock this evening?”

  Benny snapped his gloved fingers. “A snap,” said he, nodding confidently. “Look outside your door at eight. You’ll find a florist box containing one fresh white gardenia.”

  “That will be wonderful. Thank you ever so much, Benny,” Lucy handed him a coin.

  Benny took the coin, pocketed it, and backed away, grinning. “I hope you have the time of your life in Atlantic City.”

  “So do I, Benny.”

  When the door closed behind Benny, Lucy lifted and looked at the face of her gold cased watch. Only two short hours to go until she was to meet Theodore.

  Lucy reviewed their well-laid plan one last time.

  The two had agreed to meet in the Atlantic Grand’s lobby at exactly 8:30 p.m., Sunday evening the 20th of August. Today was the day. The hour was fast approaching.

  From their exchange of letters Theodore Mooney knew he was to look for a tall, rather thin woman with unruly chestnut hair, a fair complexion, and wide set green eyes. Lucy, in turn, was to expect a tall, spare man with dark hair and dark eyes.

  To ensure that they would recognize each other, Lucy had told Theodore that she would be wearing a beige linen dress with a square cut neckline, balloon sleeves that reached just below the elbow, and a gored skirt. She would be holding a white gardenia in her left hand.

  Theodore was to be dressed in a summer suit of navy linen with a white dress shirt and a wine silk tie. A white gardenia matching the one Lucy carried would be tucked into the buttonhole of his lapel.

  Foolproof.

  Lucy again looked at her watch and decided there wasn’t a moment to spare if
she was to get everything done. First she had to unpack. Then she would take a nice, long, refreshing bath, shampoo and dry her curly chestnut hair, and be dressed and ready to meet Theodore at the appointed time.

  And she sure didn’t want to be late!

  Lucy self-consciously stepped out of the elevator and into the hotel lobby at 8:25 that Sunday evening. A fresh white gardenia was clutched tightly in the stiff fingers of her left hand. Her searching green eyes made a long, slow sweep of the crowded Atlantic Grand’s marble floored lobby.

  She saw no gentleman fitting Theodore Mooney’s description. She stood about feeling awkward and anxious, a false smile frozen on her tight face. Long minutes passed. Ten. Fifteen. Twenty.

  No Theodore.

  At three minutes of nine an uneasy and disappointed Lucy was ready to give up and return to her room.

  And then she spotted him.

  Chapter Five

  A tall, spare man with blue-black hair who was dressed in a finely tailored, navy linen suit with a snowy white shirt and wine silk tie stepped out of the hotel’s bar and into the spacious lobby. He paused, stood perfectly framed in the open arched doorway. A white gardenia blossomed from his lapel.

  Theodore! Lucy breathed silently.

  He looked nothing like the man she had pictured all this time. He was taller than she had imagined, and far, far more handsome with his deeply tanned skin and strong, classical features.

  And, he seemed not the least bit ill at ease or shy. Quite the opposite. There was about him an inherent confidence. His relaxed stance suggested a cocksure manner, which she would never have associated with her gentle, artistic correspondent.

  Lucy waited on pins and needles for Theodore to make the first move.

  But nothing happened.

  He looked right past her.

  Lucy was left with no choice. She screwed up her courage, waved until she finally caught his eye, and called out, “Here I am. Over here!”

  She thrust the ivory gardenia up into the air for him to see. His midnight dark eyes lighted and he grinned appealingly, nodded, and came directly to her.

  “We agreed to meet at 8:30 sharp,” she said accusingly, her nerves taut, voice almost shrill. “You are late.”

  “Am I?” Continuing to smile easily, he gently took her elbow and commandingly ushered her across the crowded atrium-ceilinged lobby toward the hotel’s beachside double doors. “Then please say you’ll accept my most humble apologies, Miss…Miss…”

  “No. No. Not Miss. Don’t you remember? You’re to call me Lucy.”

  “All right, Lucy. And you can call me Blackie.”

  “Blackie?” she stopped abruptly, frowned at him. “Why on earth would I want to call you Blackie?”

  He shrugged broad shoulders. “Most people do.”

  “Well, not I,” Lucy said as if it were out of the question. “I would never consider calling you Blackie.”

  “Then call me anything but late for dinner,” he teased, and brashly winked at her.

  Lucy was surprised and totally taken aback. She would never have suspected Theodore of being the kind of gentleman who winked at ladies.

  She made a face. “I shall call you Theodore, of course.”

  “Of course.” He nodded agreeably. His long, lean fingers again encircled her upper arm and he guided her outside and onto the wide veranda.

  Even more nervous than she had anticipated being, Lucy found herself chattering up a storm, and likely sounding like a silly schoolgirl with her first beau. She told him she arrived late this afternoon—explaining that she took the first passenger train from Colonias to Port Hudson where she boarded a steamer. Did he get in this afternoon, too, as planned? Yes, he replied, he sure did. Checked into the hotel around three.

  “Three?” Lucy’s eyebrows lifted. “You weren’t supposed to arrive until well after five.”

  “So I was early,” he said, cocking his dark head to one side and smiling as though she had just said something amusing.

  Lucy was becoming increasingly uneasy. Theodore D. Mooney was certainly behaving strangely. The modest, intelligent gentleman with whom she had shared so many letters over the past three years seemed far removed from this forward, flirtatious man-about-town. His brazen manner was even more surprising than his striking good looks.

  He suggested a walk.

  Lucy considered declining, not totally comfortable she’d be safe alone with him. Giving her little opportunity to refuse, he guided her down the steep hotel steps.

  At the bottom step he stumbled slightly, fell against her. His face was an inch from Lucy’s for a split second and it was then she smelled the telltale scent of liquor on his breath. She was shocked and horrified.

  “I knew it!” she said, pushing on his broad chest. “You have been imbibing alcoholic beverages! Have you not?”

  He grinned. “I’ve been drinking whiskey if that’s what you mean.”

  “This is unforgivable!” she said, bristling. She shook her head despairingly. “You have no idea how disappointed I am.”

  “Don’t blame you. Shame on me,” he said. “I certainly should have waited for you. Let’s go have a drink together.”

  “Have a…well, I never!” Her fair face flushed with high color.

  “Then it’s time you did.”

  “Theodore D. Mooney, you are inebriated!”

  He laughed and said, “Him, too? Why, it’s an epidemic.”

  “What are you talking about? You must really be in your cups. You are making no sense.”

  “Ah, well now that’s been said of me before.” He stepped down off the bottom step, turned to face her. “Although I never understood why. I make perfectly good sense to myself.”

  Her brows knitted, Lucy scowled at him. “Mr. Mooney, I am afraid our agreeing to meet here in Atlantic City has been a big mistake on my part. In your letters you were not nearly so…so…”

  “My letters?”

  “Yes! All those wonderful letters you…you…” Lucy caught the amused glint of devilment flashing in his dark eyes and stopped speaking. Then her own eyes widened and a hand flew up to cover her mouth as it dawned on her. She had made an awful error. “Dear Lord above!” she exclaimed miserably, “You are not…you can’t be…”

  “Your Mr. Mooney? No, Lucy, I’m not.”

  Her delicate jaw hardened. “Well, just who are you?”

  “Robert Jeffrey LaDuke, the third,” he said. “Everybody calls me Blackie.”

  Anger mixed with embarrassment seized Lucy. “Mr. LaDuke, I believe you owe me an apology! Pretending to be someone you’re not! Luring me out of the hotel under false pretenses. Leading me to believe that you…that I…that we…”

  “I did no such thing,” he smoothly interrupted, smiling, totally unruffled. “Matter of fact, it was the other way round if you ask me.”

  “I didn’t ask you and I don’t care…”

  “I was bothering no one,” he again cut in. “Just standing in the hotel lobby, minding my own affairs when you brazenly summoned me over. Have you forgotten?” He chuckled at her look of dismay.

  “But that was because I thought you were…I would never have…” She glared at him, feeling flustered and ridiculous. “Mr. LaDuke you are rude, impertinent, and unfeeling and I do not appreciate you allowing me to make a fool of myself!”

  “You didn’t, Lucy.” Blackie looked straight into her snapping green eyes. “If you think you have, then you haven’t lived much.”

  “I beg your pardon. I’ve lived plenty, thank you very much. I’ll have you know that I own my own home, earn my own living and run my own life. I am the postmistress of Colonias, New York and highly efficient at what I do. I am nearly thir…I…I…am well into my twenties. For your information, I have seen a great deal of life.”

  “Really?”

  “Really.”

  “Why is it I don’t believe you?” He gave her a knowing look.

  “Why is it I don’t care what you believe,” she sa
id frostily and turned to leave.

  He caught her arm, drew her back. “Perhaps you ought to care. Perhaps it’s time someone made you care.” He leaned a trifle closer and said in a low, resonant baritone, “Perhaps I’ll make you care.”

  “Don’t bank on it,” she said with firm conviction, choosing to ignore the alarming chill of excitement that skipped up her spine at his arrogant suggestion. “If you’ll kindly release me I shall go and…”

  “Hunt for ole Theodore? Want me to help you look?”

  “Certainly not!” She was almost shouting now, desperate to get away from this suave, insolent man who enjoyed making her uncomfortable.

  She flatly refused to answer when Blackie asked how was it she didn’t even know what her missing Mister Mooney looked like? He was a bit confused. Could she clear it up a little?

  She had no intention of explaining anything to him. Shaking her head angrily, she attempted to free her hand from his.

  Blackie stubbornly clung to it.

  “Okay, Lucy from Colonias, I’ll let you go. But if you don’t find your Mr. Mooney, I’ll be around the Atlantic Grand for the next couple of weeks. Won’t be leaving until bright and early the morning after Labor Day.” He rubbed his long thumb back and forth over her soft palm and teased, “If you decide you’d like to live—really live—ask at the front desk for Blackie LaDuke.” He winked at her once more and made an evocative promise, “I’ll show you the time of your life.”

  Lucy’s face pinkened.

  “You, Mr. LaDuke, could have done with some raising.” She yanked her hand from his. “If you were any part of a gentleman, you could see that I am a lady!” She turned away with those parting words, “Kindly forget that we ever met because I certainly intend to.”

  “Good luck.”

  Chapter Six

  Blackie LaDuke’s low, annoying laughter followed Lucy up the hotel steps where she anxiously disappeared inside.