City Girl

by Arlene James

  Tonight she would be the sophisticated city girl, and let them look down their noses at her if they chose. She applied her makeup carefully, not because she really cared to get it perfect, but because she had lots of time. She spread a soft shade of green over her eyelids, added moss-green eyeliner, then mascaraed her long lashes and curled them with an eyelash clamp.

  Next she smoothed a coral-pink blushing cream over her honey-colored cheeks, adding delicate roses to highlight her fine facial structure. Her pretty valentine mouth was outlined with a lip pencil and shaded with a creamy coral lipstick. A stroke of transparent lip gloss added a sultry look to her mouth. The last touch was a generous dab of the French perfume Jerry had given her as a birthday present.

  That done, she slipped into pantyhose with a chic pattern of tiny florets woven into the nylon at the ankles, the latest thing in sophisticated fashion circles. The dress she had chosen hugged her full-breasted figure suggestively. The overdress softened that effect somewhat but nipped in neatly at her tiny waist and flowed in silky, clingy swirls about her shapely hips. The elbow-length, kimono-style sleeves were unrestricting and sheer, lending a grace to her movements.

  She slipped her dainty feet into high-heeled, delicately strapped sandals of shiny blue patent leather and fastened the tiny gold buckles at her ankles. For accessories she chose a simple gold chain and dainty mother-of-pearl earrings carved in the shape of tiny rosebuds. She brushed her hair and left it hanging loose, catching up one side and pulling it back behind her ear with a blue silk rose on a comb. She transferred her few things to a long, slim envelope bag that perfectly matched her shoes, tucked it into the crook of her arm, and surveyed herself critically in the mirror.

  She had never looked better. It was ironic, since she was not looking forward to the evening. Well, she might have a miserable time, but she would certainly look good while doing it.

  And besides, this was the real Crystal Gentry, the girl that had somehow gotten lost out here in the wide-open hill country. This was the Crystal Gentry that had danced away the nights in Dallas' flashy discos, that had carved a place for herself in the hubbub of busy city life, and had by some quirk of fate become sidetracked from the career for which she had prepared herself. Let these cowboys look down their noses at her. She didn't care anymore. She was a city girl, and it was time she stopped pretending otherwise.

  There was a small informal gathering awaiting her when she made her grand entrance into the courtyard. Gloria was the first to see her. Crystal noted with satisfaction that the girl dropped an unhappy glance to the red jeans and satiny white blouse she wore. Other eyes followed Gloria's, and an appreciative silence ensued.

  Flippantly Crystal cast a quick, lazy gaze around the gathering. There were a couple of cowboys whose names she scarcely knew; Cleave; a big, tubby fellow named Austin; Lupe; Petie; and Rick. Garrett was nowhere to be seen.

  Rick gave her a once-over, smiled and came to his feet. "You look nice," he said simply, hardly the compliment she had expected from him. "But how are you going to dance in those shoes?"

  "I'll manage," she returned dryly. "I've danced in them many times."

  He shook his head and settled a clean straw cowboy hat upon his gleaming cinnamon hair. He wore clean stiff jeans and a white shirt with a bolo tie. They would certainly make an odd couple.

  "Ready?" he asked, offering an arm, and Crystal sensed that he was no happier with this arrangement than she. For one flashing moment she considered calling a halt to the whole farce, but one look at Gloria's scowling face erased that thought, and she nodded and took his arm.

  "Uh, wait a minute," said Cleave. "Aren't we going to wait for Garrett?"

  A chill passed over Crystal. She wanted very much to avoid Garrett if that were possible, and she thankfully saw Lupe shaking her head. "He said to go on without him, something came up."

  Crystal realized suddenly that she was holding her breath, and she let it out in small inconspicuous sighs. Thank goodness! Had something really come up? Or had he decided that the decent thing to do was to spare her his company? Whichever explanation was correct, she was thankful.

  She allowed Rick to lead her out to his personal vehicle, a dilapidated old pickup that had once possessed a shiny coat of green paint. He had spread a clean white sheet over the threadbare seat, but it did little to keep the springs from sticking through. Smiling apologetically, he assisted her up and into the truck. She pretended not to notice the spring that prodded her.

  The ride into town was harrowing. Rick was as careless behind the wheel as he was in his flirtations. Crystal was fearful that the steering mechanism would snap at any moment and send them plummeting out of control. At several points along the narrow, winding road she asked him to slow down and drive more carefully. At no time did he take her seriously, and finally she was forced to speak more sharply to get him to let up on the footfeed.

  By the time they reached the town, an uneasy pall had settled over both of them. Rick's usually cheerful, easygoing mood was subdued, and Crystal wished fervently that she had stayed home. Neither of them was enjoying their date. Crystal sensed that her dress embarrassed Rick. It was definitely out of place among the jeans and casual T-shirts and boots. It was clearly apparent that this was going to be a long and trying evening.

  The dance hall was a big barn of a building that needed a fresh coat of whitewash. A row of open windows laced its walls. Cars and trucks of every description were parked helter-skelter around the building, most of them on the dirt parking lot, others on the grass. A fast-moving line of people disappeared through the single door.

  The interior of the building was ringed on three sides with two rows of long tables and chairs, leaving a huge square dance floor. The band was tuning up on the platform against the far wall. Ceiling fans whirled lazily, stirring only the slightest breeze. The place was ablaze with light and humming with friendly chatter.

  Rick chose a table near the dance floor and went off to buy them drinks, instructing Crystal to save places for the rest of the Heritage gang. Fortunately, the rest of their group caught up with them only minutes later and she was spared the embarrassment of having to fend off other patrons who might have wished to occupy their table.

  The place was packed, and just when Crystal thought the din might become unbearable, the lights went out. There was howl of delight. A single spotlight came on, and a slim middle-aged cowboy in flashy western garb stepped into it, microphone in hand. "Ladies and gentlemen," he announced in a strong, practiced voice, "I am please to present…" He waved his hand, and soft lights went up, revealing the band set up behind him. "… Our own Debonair Cowboys!"

  The band roared into its first number, barely audible above the applause and whistles of the crowd as it converged onto the dance floor.

  "Yeeehaaw!" went out the call, and it was picked up all around the room. "Yeeehaaw!" The crowd was gearing up for a rip-roaring night of country dancing.

  Rick reappeared with a tray of mixed drinks, which he slid across the table to waiting, eager hands. His toes tapped to the beat of the music. His hands slapped his thighs rhythmically. "Okay, lady, get your dancing boots on. We're about to trip the light fantastic!" He pulled Crystal to her feet and shuffled her out onto the dance floor. "Just follow me!" he called above the din, and swept her into his arms. Around and around the dance floor they went, practically running to a lively two-step. Crystal stumbled repeatedly, but not once did Rick offer to slow his pace or even pay particular heed to her ineptitude.

  The number finally ended on a rousing note, and when the crowd stopped to applaud the band, Crystal made for the table. When she turned, Rick was not following her. Going up on tip-toe, she caught sight of him, still in the middle of the dance floor, his hands around the waist of a bleached blond in jeans and boots and a skimpy halter top. Feeling both deserted and relieved, Crystal made her way through the throng back to the table.

  She took her seat, smiling and nodding uncomfortably as one by one
the others rose and headed for the dance floor, leaving her feeling conspicuously out of place. She sat there, hands folded around a drink she would never finish, eyes watching but not seeing the milling bodies on the dance floor.

  Dance after dance played, and Rick still did not return to their table. Occasionally a stranger would come by and ask her to dance, but Crystal politely refused each invitation, saying quite truthfully that she could not dance the particular steps involved.

  She was miserable, even more so than she had imagined she would be, and longed for the evening to end.

  At long last there was a break in the music. The dance floor emptied as the revelers returned to their tables for drinks and a short rest. Gradually the table filled up once again with laughing cowpokes and their dates. Lupe and Petie, who had been wandering about the tables talking and joking with friends, returned to do the same with their own group. Only Gloria and Rick were absent, and Crystal knew that both had stayed away on account of her—Gloria because she resented and hated Crystal, Rick because he was embarrassed to be seen with her in her sophisticated city garb. She yearned for the earth to open up and swallow her.

  After what seemed like an eternity of indifferent glances and polite but distant conversation, the music started up again in an organized routine dance called the cotton-eyed Joe, a favorite with the crowd. As before, the table emptied, and Crystal found herself alone and unwanted.

  Every so often she caught a glimpse of Rick, still occupied with his bleached blond, and quickly turned away, angry and insulted. She tried telling herself that there was no need to be angry with him. She had sensed his reluctance to go through with their date after Garrett's interference, and again when she had showed up in the courtyard dressed to the nines. In a way, she had asked for the treatment she had received. Still, no gentleman would have so completely abandoned her. She clenched her fists beneath the table. He could at least put in an occasional appearance, but something told her he would not. She even wondered if he would be around to take her home when the time finally came… At the very height of her misery, the music changed pace. One slow waltz after another wafted across the room, increasing her despair and anger. Surely he knew she could dance to this music! Not that she wanted to dance with Rick Benson, but anything would be preferable to sitting here abandoned and embarrassed. She wished Cleave would show up and ask her to dance, but even he seemed to be keeping his distance, and that, too, hurt her feelings.

  All at once a bone-colored suede hat with a wide brim and a high, deeply creased crown landed on the table next to her. With a start she turned to see where the hat had come from, and found Garrett towering over her.

  He was dressed in a three-piece tan suit with western detailing. A brown silk shirt opened at the neck to the top of the V where his vest came together across his wide, muscled chest. The indentation at the base of his throat was clearly visible. Short straw-colored hairs curled into it.

  Crystal felt the breath catch in her throat as the neat blond head bent to her and those enthralling blue eyes settled appreciatively upon her face.

  "Dance with me," he directed softly, and she felt his strong hands close around her shoulders, lifting her gently, insistently to her feet.

  She was in his arms, unaware of the crowd pressed against them on all sides, gliding with the music, dangerously enraptured by the feel of him, the sight of him, the clean, woodsy smell of his after-shave.

  Just for now, she thought vaguely. Just for one sweet dance.

  She was unconscious of Garrett steering her away from the press of the crowd, leading her to a secluded corner of the dance floor. The jumble and confusion of the other couples moving about the floor fell away. It was as if they were alone, as if the music played for the two of them only.

  They were a good-looking couple, he in his immaculate tan suit, so tall and blond and handsome, she in her swirling dress of blues and greens, dark and petite and, tonight, very lovely. His hand pressed firmly against the small of her back as he led her easily through the steps, their fingers intertwined, their bodies coming together and separating again, their feet moving together in perfect unison.

  It was a dream Crystal hoped would never end. She threw back her dark head in sweet, pleasant laughter, and he joined her, his eyes flashing a message that caused her to ache with happiness.

  All too soon the music ended, and they came apart, hands clasped firmly together. Dreamy with happiness, Crystal allowed Garrett to lead her back to the table. He seated her just as the music started up again, and occupied the chair next to her, Rick's chair. His blond head bent to her as he whispered something unintelligible, drowned out by the music and the loud buzz of conversation.

  They were alone at the table. The others were trying their luck on the dance floor.

  "Why don't we get out of here?" he said suddenly. Crystal felt herself tremble with mixed emotions. One part of her wanted nothing more than to get up and leave with him, but her fears warred with her desires, telling her to leave well enough alone, to settle for those brief moments of unhampered joy that she had experienced on the dance floor.

  A curious string of events saved her from having to make a reply.

  Out of nowhere, Gloria suddenly appeared. She hurried up to Garrett, ignoring Crystal, and whispered urgently into his ear. He nodded gravely and pushed his chair back, flashing an apologetic glance at Crystal. "Come on," he ordered gruffly. "I'm getting the two of you out of here."

  "No!" Gloria refused emphatically and backed away.

  Crystal watched, stunned and puzzled, as Garrett argued quietly with the girl. "What do you think you're going to accomplish by staying?" he demanded, but the girl only shook her head stubbornly.

  "What's going on here?" Crystal asked irritably. Why was she constantly the outsider? Neither of them volunteered an answer.

  "Let's go," Garrett directed again, but Crystal balked, snatching her arm successfully from his grasp. "Crystal!" he barked impatiently. She opened her mouth to insist that she be told what was going on.

  As if on cue, there was a crashing sound. A muffled scream was followed instantly by a deathlike silence. The crowd parted swiftly and receded as the lights came up to full intensity, revealing Rick lying in a crumpled heap on the dance floor. He came up on one elbow, moaned, and flopped over onto the floor, his mouth bleeding.

  Crystal heard Gloria's impassioned pleading and Garrett's soft cursing. Her eyes quickly shifted to them. Gloria had a hold on Garrett's sleeve. There were tears in her pretty black eyes. "Do something!" she urged tearfully and fled to the figure heaped helplessly upon the floor.

  Crystal scrambled to her feet, suddenly aware of the tense, electric atmosphere surrounding them.

  "Stay here!" Garrett barked, and started after Gloria, leaving Crystal once again with her mouth open.

  Just as he reached the spot where Gloria knelt and cradled Rick's bleeding head in her arms, a large figure filled the doorway beyond. A troubled buzz of conversation went softly and quickly around the room. Cleave suddenly appeared at Crystal's elbow, lending his reassuring presence to her. "Old Rick's in trouble now," he warned, and laid a cautioning hand on her shoulder. "Best let Garrett handle it."

  Before Crystal could ask what sort of trouble Rick had gotten himself into, the bleached blonde was ejected suddenly into the tense room, followed by a big ugly man whose face was twisted with rage and anger. He was easily twice Rick's size, with shoulders like sides of beef and a squarish head planted atop a thick bull neck. A general murmur of impending disaster went through the crowd as the bruiser advanced toward the trio in the center of the floor.

  Warily Garrett stepped over the prone cowboy still spread on the floor and faced the big man. "Now, hold on a minute, Dermont." Garrett's deep voice rang out in the comparative silence. "We don't need any trouble here."

  Crystal heard a ripple of agreement from the crowd. She fixed her eyes upon the hulking man whose ham-hock fists had sent Rick flying through the door. He turne
d angry red-rimmed eyes upon Garrett.

  "Stay out of this, Dean," he warned, and shook a huge fist at Rick. "He's got it coming! Any man that would fool around with another man's wife…" He left the sentence uncompleted.

  Crystal's head snapped around. Cleave confirmed the man's accusation with a sad shake of his head and a shrug.

  "Oh, no!" Crystal moaned, and her hand went to her mouth.

  "Just doesn't figure," Cleave whispered. "What with a pretty little thing like Gloria throwing herself at him." He inclined his red-orange head toward the floor.

  Suddenly it dawned on Crystal. It was Rick! Gloria was in love with Rick, not Garrett! She would have laughed at her own stupidity if the air had not been so thick with tension and had there not been a real threat to Rick's safety—and Garrett's.

  Her eyes flew to the tall, handsome cowboy who had intervened on Rick's behalf. His hands were stuffed casually into the pockets of his well-fitting trousers. He sauntered closer to his adversary, the picture of calm reason. "Come on now," Garrett said. "So they were outside together. I'm willing to bet nothing happened, and you've more than made your point."

  The blonde wagged her head frantically in agreement, then shrank back as her husband gesticulated angrily in her direction. "That scum needs a good whipping!" the big man bawled, jerking a thumb at Rick, who was now struggling to his feet with Gloria's aid. "And I'm just the feller to do it."

  "Even if you have to go through me first?" Garrett challenged. The big hands came purposefully out of his pockets.

  Instinctively Crystal moved forward, but Cleave caught her and pulled her protectively to him. She cast a worried glance at the two men squared off in the center of the floor and buried her face in Cleave's shoulder.

  "Look," Garrett began reasonably, "you had every right to hit the man. Nobody here is faulting you for it. But you've made your point now, so unless you're willing to tangle with me, let's call it a night."