by Gary Smalley
“You think I should send her a letter?”
“I don’t know, the idea’s not that clear to me yet. But I just think you should do it. Take some time—you got plenty of that—and start practicing.”
“Okay, Uncle Henry. I will. Say, do you want to come inside? Don’t have anything fancy for dinner. Just some premade dish I bought at Sam’s for Doug and me, but you’re welcome to join us. There’s plenty.”
Uncle Henry took a step back; it looked like tears were forming in his eyes. “I’d love to, Jim. But I told Myra I’d be home by seven. Going to take her out to dinner. But you know something? In all the times I’ve stopped by over the years, this is the first time you ever invited me in.”
“Really? I’m sorry, Uncle Henry. That’s terrible.”
“Don’t worry about it. It’s just one more answer to prayer. You go on in there and give Doug a hug for me. I better get home.”
They hugged again, and then Jim stood there and waved as Uncle Henry drove off.
A few minutes after he got in the house and set his things on the counter, Doug came running in kitchen. “Dad, you been watching the news?”
“No, what’s up?”
“Some big tropical storm has formed in the Caribbean. The track has it clipping the Keys in a couple of days then heading into the Gulf.” He walked over and picked up the remote, clicked to the local station, one that constantly gave updated weather reports.
“You know those things hardly ever come here, Doug. Not to central Florida.” Jim watched the TV as the anchorwoman turned things over to the weatherman. The weatherman pointed to a map of Florida and the Caribbean. The familiar hurricane symbol appeared just south of Cuba with the name “TS Harold” beside it. A half-dozen colorful lines had it tracking a half-dozen different locations. The farthest one to the right had it coming across the state.
“See that one?” Doug said, pointing to the track. “Coming right our way.”
“Doug . . . that’s just speculation. The last time a hurricane hit here was in 2004. I can’t even remember the last one before that.”
“You’re probably right,” Doug said. “But don’t you think we ought to call Michele? Even if it misses us, look at the days they’re projecting. Won’t that mess up her wedding? It’s outside, down at Riverfront Park.”
Jim looked at the TV screen again. “It should be well past us by next week,” he said. “If it goes where most of the tracks take it, we might not even get any rain.”
44
Marilyn wasn’t at all sure about this. The fact that she’d all but lied to Charlotte about where she was going tonight also bothered her. It was clear by Charlotte’s probing questions that she’d become increasingly nervous about Marilyn’s private dance classes with Roberto.
But she had no reason to be, Marilyn kept assuring her. Here it was Tuesday night, their final dance lesson, and Roberto had been the perfect gentleman all along. This was the first time he’d asked to see her outside of the studio. At first, she’d said no. But Roberto had told her it was appropriate for them to celebrate their achievement. This Saturday was the big contest, and he was amazed at how well she’d done. He was confident they would either win or place very high in the scoring. He wanted to thank her tonight, the night of their final practice, by buying her dinner.
What was wrong with that?
She saw the restaurant up ahead, an upscale bistro in the historic downtown section of Sanford, maybe twenty minutes away from River Oaks. As she got out of her car, she saw Roberto standing by the doorway. He carried a gift box under one arm.
“Ah, my dear, you’ve made it,” he said. “I have reservations. They just called for us.” He escorted her to the front, where the maître d’ greeted them and led them to their table.
“This is so nice,” she said.
“Have you never been here?”
“No. I’m sure I would have remembered.”
He placed the gift box under his seat then came around behind her and pushed her chair in after she sat. “I hope you didn’t mind the little drive,” he said, taking his seat. “I know you are . . . sensitive about such things, not wanting to give others the wrong impression. River Oaks is such a small town, I thought—”
“I didn’t mind the drive at all. I’m glad you thought of it.” And because he had, she hadn’t worried the whole way here about someone catching her doing something she had no reason to feel guilty about in the first place.
The waiter came up and took their drink orders. “Would you care for an appetizer,” he said, “or do you want a few minutes to look over our selections?”
“Do you like calamari?” Roberto asked her.
“Yes.”
“They have the best I’ve ever tasted here. Lightly battered, with this delicious spicy sauce to dip it in.”
“Sounds wonderful.”
“We’ll have that,” he told the waiter, who wrote it down and walked away. Looking back at her, Roberto said, “Let’s look over the menus before we start to chat. Pick anything you like, my treat.”
As Marilyn looked over the menu, the prices shocked her, which was a funny thing. She and Jim rarely went out to eat, but when they had, he’d always go to high-end places like this and would often spend a great deal of money. Her mind had already adapted to eating cheaply, entrees that cost less than even the appetizers here. For that matter, she had even grown to enjoy eating Lean Cuisine dishes with Charlotte around the dinette table.
“See anything you like?” Roberto asked.
“Too many things.”
“Are you more in the mood for beef, chicken, or seafood? They also have some amazing pasta dishes.”
“I think seafood.”
“Are you allergic to anything, like shellfish?”
“No.”
“Then allow me.” He waved to the waiter, who was already heading in their direction. “You’re going to love this.”
“Are you ready, sir?”
“Yes, Albert,” he said, reading his name tag. “I’ll have the bronzed sea bass with lemon shallot butter. And she’ll have a dozen—make that two dozen—of the broiled rock shrimp.”
“I can’t eat two dozen,” Marilyn protested.
“Have you ever had them?” She shook her head no. “They’re pretty small, actually. They taste like little lobster tails.”
“Two dozen then?” the waiter said. “Would you like melted butter with that?” he asked Marilyn.
“Of course,” Roberto answered for her. “For our sides, rice pilaf and Caesar salad. Is that okay, Marilyn?”
“Fine,” Marilyn said.
The waiter wrote this down and walked away. Roberto turned toward her with that full, deep gaze of his, the one he clicked into whenever they danced. “You look lovely. Really, that dress is amazing on you. Heads were turning the moment you walked in the door till you sat down.”
She didn’t know what to say. “Thank you.” Surely, he was exaggerating. And she was wearing the same red dress she’d worn at every practice, because they were going back to the studio right after. He was looking at her as if he’d never seen it before.
He took a sip of wine. “These past weeks with you have been a total joy for me. You have completely exceeded my expectations.”
Again, she was taken aback by his words. He had always been complimentary during their lessons, but now he seemed different somehow.
“I’m actually dreading the thought that our time will be coming to an end,” he said. “That is, after this weekend.”
“Well, the other class, the group one, doesn’t end until next Thursday.” She remembered this because Friday, the very next day, was Michele’s wedding rehearsal and rehearsal dinner.
“That’s not what I’m talking about,” Roberto said. “I’m talking about the times we’ve been alone.”
There was that look in his eyes again. She didn’t know how to respond, but she was starting to feel uncomfortable.
“I wish there was som
e way it wouldn’t have to come to such an abrupt end,” he said. “You’ve become like a habit for me. A good one. One I would rather not break.”
The waiter walked up to refresh their drinks and drop off a basket of fresh bread. “The bread smells delicious,” she said, trying to change the subject.
“I have something for you.” He reached under his seat and pulled out the gift box. It was light brown with a dark burgundy ribbon. Handing it to her, he said, “Go ahead and open it. You won’t be able to see it properly here, of course.”
“What is it?” She took the package and untied the ribbon.
“Open it and see.”
She lifted the lid and saw an article of clothing. At first, she thought it was a bright red scarf, but there was far too much material. Was it a blouse?
“It’s a new dress,” he said. “I want you to wear it this weekend at the contest. You will simply blow them away in this.”
“But I already have a red dress.”
“Yes, and it’s lovely. You know how much I like it. That dress is fine for the studio. Or even for a fine restaurant like this. But the contest, it’s . . . like a Broadway stage. You need a costume that fits the occasion. You’ve seen the dresses dancers wear on TV.”
“Like Dancing With the Stars?” she said.
“Yes. Like that. Only this . . . this one is even more amazing than anything I’ve seen on TV. I can already picture you in it, both of us, dancing our routine before the judges. They won’t be able to take their eyes off you.”
Marilyn was stunned. She had watched that show before. There was no way she’d feel comfortable wearing most of the costumes the women wore. And the way Roberto was looking at her now . . . she was almost certain she didn’t want to wear the red dress nestled in this box.
What she wanted to do was set the box down, get up, run out the door, and forget all about the “big contest” this weekend.
45
For the next two days, Marilyn was in torment.
She was standing in front of her dresser mirror in Charlotte’s apartment, wearing the flashy, skimpy red dress Roberto had given her Tuesday night.
Her bedroom door was shut. And locked.
The dress did make her feel beautiful, and she had to admit . . . it did look good on her. It made her feel at least twenty years younger. Roberto’s comments on Tuesday—first at the restaurant then later throughout their last practice—not only flattered her but stirred feelings inside she hadn’t felt for a long time. But she didn’t want to feel those feelings. At least not with Roberto.
Why couldn’t Jim treat me like this? she thought.
She spun slowly around in the mirror. It was Thursday evening, group dance class night. She would see Roberto again; he was certain to ask her what she thought of the dress. The big dance contest was this Saturday, just two nights away. “You can’t wear this,” she said aloud.
At the restaurant on Tuesday, he had continued to imply he wanted to keep seeing her after the contest. Every time he said something, she quickly changed the subject, hoping he’d get the hint. He was a handsome, incredibly charming man, at least ten years younger than her. Dancing in his arms these past several weeks had thrilled her; she couldn’t recall doing anything else in her life that had made her feel so alive.
But she knew what she really meant to him. She was nothing more than a conquest. He looked at that young dancer, Angelina, the same way he looked at her. And every attractive woman in the restaurant on Tuesday night. Roberto was a ladies’ man to his core. And she was sure he’d had plenty of ladies willing to play his game, if only for the pleasure of enjoying his undivided attention while it lasted. Until he grew bored and moved on to the next conquest.
She regretted ever saying yes to being his partner in this contest. She’d have to face him tonight, tell him at the very least that she was not about to wear this dress. If he still wanted her to dance with him, he’d have to be content with the red dress she wore at the restaurant and during practice.
But she needed some help. She walked to the bedroom door and unlocked it. Opening it slightly, she called out to Charlotte, who was putting the finishing touches on their dinner. “Charlotte, can you come in here a minute? There’s something I need to show you.”
“Sure, hon,” she said. “I’m just trying to get this thing finished. Don’t want to make you late for your class.”
“That’s all right,” Marilyn said. “It won’t take a minute.”
“Be right there,” she said.
Marilyn closed the door but didn’t allow it to latch, then stood in the center of the bedroom. Just for effect, she struck the pose she was supposed to use at the opening of the dance.
Charlotte walked in. “Oh my goodness,” she said. “Oh . . . my . . . goodness.”
Marilyn couldn’t read the look on her face. Was she horrified? Was she—
“So does this mean you and Jim are getting back together?” Charlotte said.
“What? No . . . why would you say that?”
“It’s lingerie, right? It’s gorgeous. I mean, you look gorgeous. I just figured . . .”
Marilyn stopped posing. She felt like grabbing a blanket and covering up. Lingerie? It was worse than she thought.
“It’s not lingerie, is it?” Charlotte said. “I’m sorry. I thought it was some slinky little outfit you got for . . . well, never mind. So, what is it? It’s a dress?”
Marilyn nodded.
“No, don’t tell me. This isn’t your dress for the contest Saturday night?”
“It’s supposed to be,” Marilyn said. “It’s what Roberto wants me to wear. But I’m not going to.”
“Thank you,” Charlotte said. “I’m so relieved. Because I was gonna say—”
“Your reaction is just what I needed.” Marilyn sat on the edge of the bed.
Charlotte sat on the small upholstered chair in the corner. “I mean, it makes you look really beautiful, but—”
“I know. It’s totally inappropriate.”
“You gonna tell him tonight?” Charlotte asked.
Marilyn sighed.
“He’s going to be upset, I take it.”
“I think so. But I don’t care. I wish I’d never agreed to do this.”
“What’s happening, hon? You were so excited before. I was the one getting concerned about it. He starting to pressure you? Putting on the moves?”
“He wasn’t before. Not until Tuesday. I didn’t tell you, but we met at a restaurant before class.”
“Oh.”
Yes, oh, Marilyn thought. “He said it was just to celebrate our last class and the upcoming contest. Then he sprung this dress on me, said he wanted me to wear it Saturday. Of course, I didn’t know then what it looked like, but I had an idea by the way he was talking.”
“What’d he say?” Charlotte asked.
“The kinds of things a guy says when he’s ‘putting on the moves’ as you said.”
“What’d you do?”
“I kept changing the subject. But I can’t keep putting him off.”
“No, you can’t. A guy like that needs a two-by-four right in the forehead. That’s the only kind of hint he’ll pick up.”
Marilyn smiled. “Well, I’m putting an end to it tonight, after practice.”
“You’re not going through with the contest?”
“I might go through with it,” Marilyn said. “If he agrees I can wear the red dress I’ve been wearing. If not, then I’m backing out.”
“Good for you.” Charlotte sniffed the air. “I smell something burning. I better get back to the kitchen.”
“And I better get changed. Thanks so much, Charlotte. You’ve been a great friend.”
“No big deal,” Charlotte said. “And you be strong when you get to class. Stick to your guns.”
“I will.”
Just as Charlotte left the room, Marilyn’s phone rang. She picked it up. It was Michele.
“Mom, have you been watching the news?” Sh
e sounded almost frantic.
“No, I haven’t. Why? What’s the matter?”
“Tropical Storm Harold has just been upgraded to a hurricane!”
“What tropical storm? I didn’t even know one had formed. Is it supposed to come here?” She instantly began to tense up, remembering 2004. Charley, Frances, and Jean. Three hurricanes that bombarded central Florida in the span of six weeks.
“Some of the tracks say it might,” Michele said. “Some say it will hit the Panhandle, maybe Pensacola or Mobile. A few take it west, out into the Gulf toward Louisiana.”
“Well, Michele, you know hurricanes almost never come here.”
“I know, but they can. And two days ago, none of the tracks had it coming across the state. Now three or four of them do. They’re saying everyone should keep watching the news for updates. They might be putting us on a hurricane warning by midnight or morning.”
“Oh my,” Marilyn said. “Is it that close?”
“They said there’s a chance it could be here by the weekend.”
“This weekend?”
“Yes! By Saturday or Sunday.”
“That quick?”
“It depends which way it turns. If it turns east in the next day or two, it could be here by then. Oh, Mom, this could ruin my wedding.”
Marilyn tried to get hold of her fears. They were piling up inside and felt like they were about to run free any moment. She took a deep breath. “We might be fine, Michele. There’s still a chance it won’t hit here, right? And even if it does, your wedding’s not till next weekend. It will be here and gone way before then.”
“But Mom, you remember what Charley and Frances did? All the trees they destroyed? The damage to all the buildings? Riverfront Park will be a mess. The power could still be out. Out of town guests might not be allowed in because of the damage.” She was starting to cry.
“It’s okay, Michele. Let’s don’t go there yet. None of this may happen.” But inside the same thoughts were right there, staring at her. “We have to trust the Lord,” she said. “God will take care of us. We made it through the last time just fine.” She wanted to ask her a question but was afraid it might stir up more fears in Michele. But she had to ask. “If it does come, where will you go?”