The Last Dance

by Nan Ryan

  The Colonel’s countenance, like his fine figure, bespoke proud masculine power. His shoulders hunched ever so slightly; other than that his stance was majestic and his six-foot three-inch frame was that of a vital, much younger man.

  He was nattily attired in signature pearl gray, his suit’s fashionably cut trousers sharply creased, tailored jacket unbuttoned, the snugly fitting vest double breasted. A red carnation in his lapel was matched by the healthy rosy hue of his ruddy cheeks. His flowing silver hair was brushed straight back and his mustache was neatly trimmed.

  He was a handsome, self-assured gentleman and it was easy to envision him the valiant southern knight on horseback, masterfully commanding divisions of loyal confederate troops.

  Lucy lifted the skirts of her yellow poplin dress and started toward the tall, compelling man. The long legged Colonel Mitchell was to her in seconds, beaming, greeting her warmly, offering her his arm.

  “My dear, I’m flattered you’ve agreed to join me,” he said in that pleasing southern accent. “Thank you so much for brightening my evening.”

  “My pleasure, Colonel,” she said and meant it.

  The Colonel tucked Lucy’s hand around his bent arm, then frowned down at her, his gray eyes questioning. “I understand you considered leaving us today.”

  Lucy nodded. “I did, sir. Yes.”

  “You must tell me the reason.”

  Lucy smiled, but made no reply. She had no intention of telling him about Theodore D. Mooney and of her humiliation at being stood up by the Cooperstown bachelor.

  But Lucy was hardly seated across from him in the paneled dining hall before she began to feel totally comfortable in the company of the easy going Southerner. In no time she was confiding in him as if she had known him all her life.

  She was, she told him, proud of her position as Colonias’ postmistress. She explained why she had been offered the coveted post. She told of her father’s tragic accident and talked about her mother’s lingering illness. She told him her two older brothers lived so far away she rarely saw them or her six nieces and nephews.

  By the time coffee and desert arrived the Colonel knew a great deal more about Lucy Hart than she had intended to reveal. Lucy, in turn, had candidly questioned the friendly southerner. She learned that he was a cotton broker who looked after the interests of several southern cotton producers. He lived permanently at the Atlantic Grand, but traveled to England two or three times each year to deal with his London cotton buyers.

  Lucy kept waiting for him to mention a wife, a family. He didn’t, so finally she said, “You live here alone at the Atlantic Grand and sail to England several times a year.” She smiled at him and stated, “You are obviously a bachelor, Colonel Mitchell.”

  The Colonel smiled back at her. He lifted his half-full cup of coffee and took a drink. He lowered the cup.

  “I suppose I am.” He placed the fragile coffee cup in its matching saucer. “Now.”

  “Now?” Lucy’s arched eyebrows raised. “You’re getting married soon?”

  He chuckled good naturedly. “No, no, child. I like my life just as it is.”

  “Then you were married once?”

  “I’ve been married twice,” he said and the smile never left his lips, the expression in his gray eyes never changed. Lucy waited expectantly, but he said no more.

  “Colonel, please,” she prompted, realizing it was rude to continue questioning him, but unable to stop herself. “Surely you know you can’t tell a curious woman that you were married twice and leave it at that. I must know what happened.”

  Nodding almost imperceptibly, the Colonel told her, but in the briefest terms possible. Offering few details he said that, unfortunately, both his wives had predeceased him. What about children, Lucy asked. Were there any? Three, he said calmly. Lucy gazed unblinkingly at him.

  “Where are they now? Do you see them often?”

  His face devoid of emotion Colonel Mitchell softly stated that all three of his children—two boys, ages nineteen and twenty, and a girl sixteen—had perished in the deadly New Orleans yellow fever epidemic of ’75.

  “Oh…Colonel,” Lucy said, horrified, wishing now she hadn’t pressed him so intensely. “I’m sorry. Such a terrible tragedy.” She bowed her head. “Please forgive me for so stupidly…”

  “Now, there’s no need for that,” the Colonel interrupted. “Look at me, Lucy.” Lucy lifted her head; her eyes met his. He said, “One day you’ll learn an invaluable lesson, as I have. The human memory is an amazing and a marvelous thing. We remember that which we wish to remember and we forget the bad, the unbearable. I have more than my share of beautiful memories; no sad ones whatsoever.” He reached over, gently patted her hand. He smiled then and said, “Now you came down to Atlantic City for a two week holiday and I’ll wager you’re hoping take home some nice memories. Am I right?”

  Lucy smiled, nodded. “Yes, you are.”

  “Then why did you consider leaving today before you’ve had an opportunity to gather any?”

  Lucy’s shoulders lifted, lowered. “I’m afraid there’s little chance of collecting many memories and if you really want to know why I say that, I will tell you.”

  Lucy related to the Colonel exactly what had happened. He listened attentively, a look of concern and understanding on his face. She told him about Theodore D. Mooney and the exchanged letters and their agreement to meet in Atlantic City to share their two-week holiday. She concluded with Theodore’s being a no show.

  “And there you have it,” she spoke softly so fellow diners wouldn’t overhear. “Theodore never came nor did he bother to send a message of explanation. Naturally, I was both disappointed and embarrassed, so I thought it would be best if I returned home at once.”

  Colonel Cort Mitchell said exactly what Lucy needed to hear, what a father might say to a daughter whose tender feelings had been bruised.

  “Forget about Theodore Mooney.” His gray eyes twinkled with warmth when he added, “You’re a bright, sweet, and pretty young woman, Lucy Hart. Something better surely awaits you.”

  Lucy’s response was immediate. So spontaneous, so unguarded, the Colonel felt his heart kick against his ribs in quick alarm.

  Her wide set, green eyes suddenly glowing with an inner light, Lucy asked, “Colonel, do you know Blackie LaDuke?”

  Chapter Fourteen

  “Sure, I know Blackie,” said the Colonel evenly. A short pause, then, “So you’ve already met the infamous Blackie LaDuke from New York City?”

  “Yes. Yes, I have. We met quite by accident Sunday afternoon shortly after I arrived.” Lucy smiled, shrugged, glanced down at the table, and toyed with a silver spoon. “Blackie’s…that is, Mr. LaDuke is…well he’s a wicked tease, isn’t he, Colonel?”

  “That he is, my dear. He certainly is.”

  “Is he always like that? Does nothing upset or worry him?”

  The Colonel smiled. “If life is ever serious for Blackie, he has the good grace never to let us know it.”

  Lucy nodded. “He seems always to…I’m not sure…I wonder…” She looked up. “What do you think of him, Colonel?”

  “I like Blackie,” he said without hesitation. “He’s an incredibly charming young man, always entertaining and easy to be around.”

  “He is, I agree. But that isn’t what I mean,” Lucy said, hoping to learn more about the handsome, dark-haired New Yorker. “What’s your opinion of him? As a man.”

  “Blackie’s all right,” the Colonel said. “Or he will be one day.” Smiling easily, he shook his silver head. “Blackie has a great penchant for getting into scrapes. He’s been coming down to Atlantic City every summer for as long as I’ve been here and I’ve never known him to make it through an entire week without getting into a fist fight.”

  “I can’t say that I’m surprised.” Lucy frowned, recalling Monday morning when she’d stepped onto elevator to see the disheveled, unshaven Blackie with a tear in the knee of his trousers. “Likely he’s t
he instigator in such fisticuffs. His behavior is outrageous.”

  “Sometimes it is, yes,” the Colonel agreed. “Blackie’s trouble is that he’s brilliant and restless. He has no real purpose, no objective. Nothing to sap the boundless energy he possesses. He’s never found the proper channel for all that excess power.”

  Left unsaid was that unless he did, it would burn him up. Blackie LaDuke was as yet unmarked by the dissipations in which he relieved his constant restlessness, but neither his brilliance nor his beauty would last if he continued to live his life the way he now did. Blackie LaDuke was slowly, surely destroying himself, liquor and women being his favored agents of annihilation.

  “Perhaps you’re right,” Lucy said. “But I sincerely doubt that Blackie LaDuke will ever aspire to any greater goal than the endless pursuit of his own personal pleasure.”

  “A distinct possibility,” said the Colonel, nodding, heartened to find she was so astute.

  Lucy Hart, he decided, had a good head on her shoulders. She was an unsophisticated young lady, but a wise, well-brought-up one. Then, too, while she was, in his view, quite attractive with her slender girlish figure, arresting emerald eyes, slightly tilted nose, and determined chin, she was hardly the type Blackie LaDuke or the other hot-blooded young swells down for the season would eagerly pursue.

  “Colonel, do you know what I’d like to do?” Lucy said, curbing her desire to ask more about Blackie LaDuke.

  “What’s that, child?”

  “I would love to take a short stroll down the Boardwalk this evening.” Lucy picked up her crystal water goblet and took a sip. “Could I impose on you to chaperon me?”

  The Colonel smiled broadly. He needn’t waste time worrying about Lucy Hart. She wouldn’t, like many an unsuspecting young lady visiting Atlantic City for the first time, get herself into trouble.

  Trouble walked through the door at precisely that minute.

  Neither Lucy nor the Colonel noticed Blackie LaDuke, handsome and immaculate in a beige summer suit of cotton poplin, step into the dining hall’s open archway.

  Other diners did.

  Heads immediately turned and low whispers began and unattached females blatantly smiled his way as Blackie walked through the crowded dining hall. The buzz of excitement that accompanied him momentarily attracted the attention of Lucy and the Colonel.

  They simultaneously glanced up and saw Blackie coming toward them. Once Lucy caught sight of him, she didn’t look away. Her wide-eyed gaze remained fastened squarely on the approaching Blackie.

  After spotting Blackie, the Colonel turned his attention back on Lucy. Caught unawares, nothing was hidden. It was all there in her emerald eyes. A warm glow of excitement flashed and her face was flushed as though some potent drug had suddenly been released inside her.

  Blackie reached their table.

  “Evening, Blackie,” greeted the Colonel and started to rise.

  “Don’t get up,” Blackie said, placing a hand on the Colonel’s shoulder.

  “Mr. LaDuke,” Lucy quietly acknowledged.

  “Miss me?” he said, and as he spoke he looked directly at Lucy.

  “Terribly,” she replied sarcastically, but her emerald eyes continued to glow.

  Blackie smiled at her, drew up a chair, and sat down. Only then did he ask, “Mind if I sit down?”

  The Colonel said, “If we twist your arm, Blackie, can we persuade you to join us?”

  “Why, thanks, Colonel. Be happy to,” Blackie replied, grinning, and winked at Lucy. He took from his lapel a fragrant ivory gardenia. He held it out to Lucy. Lucy automatically took the gardenia and the Colonel noticed, as her fingers brushed Blackie’s, her hand trembled slightly. “You stayed,” Blackie stated the obvious, looking at her as if they shared a secret. “Good for you, Lucy Hart.” He leaned closer. “And good for me?”

  “My decision to stay had nothing to do with you, Mr. LaDuke.”

  “Then why did you stay?” His dark dancing eyes said he didn’t believe her.

  Lucy didn’t answer. She glanced at the Colonel. “I’m ready if you are, sir.”

  The Colonel nodded, laid his white dinner napkin on the table. “Sorry you didn’t get here sooner, Blackie. You’ll have to dine alone, I’m afraid. Lucy and I were just leaving.”

  The Colonel pushed back his chair, stood up. Blackie sprang to his feet. He easily beat the older man to Lucy’s chair, pulled it out for her.

  “Fortunately I’ve already had dinner,” Blackie said. “I dined with Lady Strange an hour ago.” Helping Lucy to her feet, he addressed the Colonel. “That’s why I’m here. Her Ladyship sent me to find you and give you a message.”

  Skeptical, Colonel Mitchell arched a silver eyebrow. “Oh? And what’s on her mind?”

  Blackie shrugged wide shoulders. “Beats me. All I know is she needs to see you right away. Pronto. Immediately.”

  The trio started from the room, the two men flanking Lucy. Over Lucy’s head, the Colonel said to Blackie, “Kindly tell Lady Strange I will be up in an hour.” He put a hand to the small of Lucy’s back. “I promised Lucy a stroll down the Boardwalk.”

  They exited the dining room, moved down the carpeted corridor toward the lobby.

  “Oh, never mind that, Colonel.” Lucy was understanding. “Some other evening will do just as nicely.”

  “No need to wait,” Blackie quickly put in. “Luckily I’m free this evening. I’d be honored to stand in for you, Colonel.” He gently drew Lucy away from the Colonel, adroitly maneuvered her to his other side.

  They had reached the lobby.

  “You can go on up to Lady Strange,” Blackie coolly instructed the Colonel. “I’ll take Lucy for that walk.”

  Colonel Mitchell had been smoothly finessed and knew it. But there was little he could do but stand helplessly by while Blackie skillfully guided Lucy across the spacious lobby, through the beachside double doors, and out into the summer night.

  As soon as they were on the hotel veranda Lucy stopped short, turned to the tall, dark man she considered too handsome for his own good or hers and said, “Tell me something, LaDuke.”

  “Sure. Anything. Ask me and I’ll answer.”

  “Did this lady with whom you supposedly dined…”

  “Lady Strange,” Blackie interrupted. “A dear friend to both the Colonel and to me. You must meet her.”

  “Did Lady Strange really tell you to send the Colonel up?”

  “You’re questioning my word?”

  “That’s exactly what I’m doing. Now answer me.”

  Blackie grinned, said nothing.

  “I knew it,” she accused. “You made the whole thing up! Didn’t you?”

  Blackie’s grin grew broader. “Nolo contendere.”

  “I think that’s deplorable.”

  “How else was I to get you alone?”

  Shaking her head, Lucy said, “I just don’t how to take you, LaDuke.”

  “Swiftly,” he told her, moving nearer. “Right now, tonight, before it’s too late.”

  Lucy felt her face grow warm. “I mean I…”

  “I know what you mean.” He clutched her wrist, drew her closer, and looked into her eyes. “Let me tell you what I mean.”

  “No. I don’t want to hear it.”

  “Yes you do.” He guided her toward the steps. “If you didn’t, you’d have gone home this afternoon.”

  “I told you, my staying on in Atlantic City has nothing to do with you.”

  Blackie ushered her down the steps, stopped at the bottom, and turned her to face him. “Who said it did? Did I?”

  “No. Not exactly.”

  “Whatever your reason, you stayed.” He took back the ivory gardenia he had given her, tucked it into her hair at the side of her head, leaned close, and inhaled its sweet fragrance. “Are we going for that walk?”

  “Well…”

  “You got something else to do?”

  “Not exactly.”

  “Then you’re coming with
me.”

  “But…”

  “Why not?”

  “Well…I…”

  “What, Lucy? Let’s have it.”

  “To tell the truth I can’t understand your interest in me.”

  The simple, honest statement touched Blackie. Lucy Hart was not yet thirty, yet she was so spinsterish, so self conscious and unaware, she couldn’t imagine a man being physically attracted to her. She had no idea of her own passionate nature; it was hidden deeply within her.

  “Want me to show you?” he said, and before she could answer Blackie clasped her upper arms, drew her up onto her toes, and kissed her fully on the lips.

  Caught totally by surprise, Lucy was stunned into helplessness. His lips, hot and smooth, smothered hers and she felt as if all the breath was being sucked from her lungs. The unexpected kiss sent a meteor shower rocketing through her brain and Lucy felt weak in the knees. She anxiously clutched at his lapels for support.

  Blackie pressed her against him, holding her gently within the protective arch of his tall, lean body. He felt her tremble. His lips left hers. He released her.

  Instantly Lucy’s hand reached out and slapped him hard across the cheek. The mark of her five fingers outlined on his tanned face, Blackie stood stock still, a dangerous sparkle flashing for a second in his dark, expressive eyes. It faded fast and was replaced with a satiric grin.

  “Next time I start to kiss you,” he said, rubbing his stinging jaw, “I’ll tell you first.”

  Green fire flashing from her angry eyes, Lucy said, “There will be no next time, LaDuke!”

  “You’re wrong, Lucy. There’ll be lots of next times.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  Eight a.m. Thursday. August 24th.

  The morning after Blackie kissed Lucy and Lucy slapped Blackie.

  Blackie was downstairs waiting when Lucy stepped off the elevator. He gave her no chance to evade him. He was up out of his chair and to her, blocking her path, before she had time to advance or retreat.

  Smiling down at her, he said, “Good morning at last. I was beginning to think you meant to stay in bed all day.”