Perfect Stranger

by Duncan, Alice

  Mr. Benedict, the master of ceremonies, was talking, and Isabel listened closely. She didn’t want to miss her cue—not that Jorge would let her.

  He left off worshiping himself in the mirror, came to her side, took her hand and nodded at her. He never smiled unless a smile was required for the dance. Since this was a tango, the dance of love, and since evidently the composers of tangos all considered love a serious business, he wouldn’t have to exercise his cheek muscles during this number. That was all right with her. This was her debut, and she was as nervous as a mouse in a herd of cats.

  Then she heard Mr. Benedict say loudly and with extravagant enthusiasm, “And now, ladies and gentlemen, the marvelous dancing duo known and loved internationally: Isabel and Jorge!” The piano thrummed out the first sultry notes of “Ojos Negros,” Jorge took a deep breath. She did, too, and they were off.

  Riotous applause greeted their entrance. Jorge was such a splendid dancer. He slithered here and slithered there, leading her along masterfully. This dance was interesting, because the way Jorge had choreographed it, they never once looked each other in the eye. Jorge’s eyes were always looking one way, and hers the other, as if they’d had a lovers’ quarrel or something.

  When they performed a series of intricate twirls in the middle of the floor, she caught a glimpse of Loretta, Marjorie, Somerset and Jason seated at a table on the edge of the dance floor, and her heart gave a tremendous leap. She’d known they would be here, of course, but she hadn’t realized how very glad she was to have them as her friends until that minute.

  The dance ended with a crashing piano chord and with Jorge on one knee and Isabel looking as though she were pulling away from him. The reaction from the crowd was almost overwhelming. Isabel wasn’t accustomed to being applauded when she danced.

  But Jorge, who was, in his own way, an admirable instructor, had prepared her for that, too, and they took their bow as if they’d been dancing together for decades, rather than days. Then Jorge led her from the floor, and Isabel hurried behind the dressing screen to change into her dancing-with-the-customers gown, a pretty blue brocade one that, according to Eunice, matched her eyes. Now her job would entail intermingling with the paying guests until half past eleven, when she’d dress for the second dance demonstration of the night. They had a medley planned for that performance, featuring a ragtime number and a lively foxtrot.

  Her heart was rattling like dice in a cup when she took a last glance at herself in the mirror and decided she was fit for company. She’d even dabbed cologne under her armpits in case she’d perspired from nervousness. She’d never had to think about things like sweat before this, her opening night as a professional dancer.

  “All right,” she told herself firmly. “Let’s go.”

  Thanking her lucky stars that her friends had come and that she could start her job by socializing with them, she met Jorge, and the two of them walked out from behind the band together, each taking off in the opposite direction. That, too, had been choreographed, so that they wouldn’t look like a couple once they stopped dancing together. The notion of dancing with many strange gentlemen, especially having just exposed her bare shoulder in the tango, had been giving Isabel some anxious moments, although she wasn’t sure why. Surely, no gentleman would try to take advantage of her on the dance floor!

  “Isabel! Isabel! Over here!”

  The sound of Loretta’s voice carried to her over the music of the band, and Isabel started off toward the table where she’d last seen her friends. She didn’t get there. All at once a strange man loomed before her and almost made her gasp until she remembered her job. Then she smiled at him instead.

  “May I have this dance?” he asked politely.

  “Of course. Thank you.” Was she supposed to thank gentlemen for asking her to dance? There was a lot she didn’t know about this job. She wished she could take notes.

  He took her in his arms and they waltzed off. He was rather graceful, although not so graceful as Jorge. And he held her a trifle too closely for her comfort. Isabel wasn’t sure what she was supposed to do if a gentleman became too friendly on the dance floor.

  Suddenly the man stopped dancing. Isabel was confused until she saw that another man had tapped the first man on the shoulder to cut in. Gratefully, she slipped from the too-tight embrace of the first man and into that of the new stranger.

  “You’re a wonder, you and your partner,” this man told her. He had a friendly grin and a bouncy step.

  “Thank you,” Isabel said breathlessly.

  “I don’t think I’ve ever seen such grace in motion.”

  “Thank you.”

  “And you’re no bigger than a minute, either. Say, is that dancer fellow your husband?”

  Sweet merciful God. Wondering if it would be better to lie or tell the truth, Isabel said, “Well, actually—” and got no further, because this man, too, had been tapped on the shoulder. Her feeling of relief intensified when she realized the new man was Somerset FitzRoy. She practically fell into his arms, and he whirled her away with practiced ease.

  “Thank you for rescuing me, Mr. FitzRoy. That man just asked me if Mr. Savedra and I were married! That seems rather forward to me, although I suppose my position might give people the wrong impression.”

  “I was afraid something like that might happen.”

  Isabel glanced up quickly, because Somerset had sounded grim. “I’m sure he didn’t mean to be rude.”

  “Hmmm.”

  “Perhaps I should prepare answers to impertinent questions and have them handy for future use.”

  “Good idea. Tell ‘em all you’re married.”

  “You mean lie?”

  “Why not? It’ll keep them all away.”

  “Hmmm. That is a good idea.”

  Somerset deftly eluded a man who was poised to tap him on the shoulder, and Isabel giggled. “Very adroit of you, Mr. FitzRoy.”

  “Thank you.” He grinned at her and went off into a series of swirls that left her breathless and laughing. “Say, I’m not bad at this sort of thing,” he said, and he was laughing, too.

  Later on in the evening, she got to sit with her friends for a few minutes, and they enjoyed themselves making up replies that Isabel could use to respond to questions she didn’t want to answer.

  “If anybody else asks if you’re married to Savedra, tell ‘em no, that your husband is a boxing champion,” Jason suggested.

  “Or a policeman,” offered Loretta.

  “And if he asks you to dinner, you can say it’s against the rules for you to consort with customers.”

  They all turned to stare at Marjorie, from whom this sensible suggestion had come. Naturally, she blushed. “Well, that’s what we were supposed to do when I worked for White Star.”

  “I’ll be hornswoggled,” said Jason.

  “Whatever does that mean?” Loretta laughed.

  “It means I’m betwaddled. Our own Miss MacTavish just offered a brilliant suggestion, Mrs. Golightly. Who’d have thought?”

  “I would,” said Isabel stoutly, smiling at Marjorie. “That is a brilliant suggestion, Marjorie. Thank you!”

  “Oh, ta!” said Marjorie, but Isabel could tell she was pleased.

  Her friends stayed through her second dance demonstration with Jorge, which was a courtesy greatly appreciated by Isabel. The exhibition went splendidly, although it wasn’t quite as dramatic as the tango had been. That was all right with Isabel, who still worried about her earlier bare shoulder. For the ragtime-foxtrot number, she was fully clothed.

  After she retired to the dressing room and put her dance-with-the-customers gown back on, she returned to find Loretta, Marjorie, and Jason having departed. She was delighted that Somerset remained behind.

  “I thought it would be best for you to have a ride home,” he told her. Isabel thought he seemed a trifle embarrassed.

  “Thank you. I had planned to take a cab, but if you’re willing to drive me, I’ll be happy to accept.”
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  “I’m glad you didn’t think of walking at this hour of the night.”

  “Walking?” She blinked a couple of times, because he’d sounded testy. “I’m sure I’d be all right, but no, I promised Loretta that I wouldn’t walk home from work.” Besides that, even though San Francisco was an easy city to get around in, Isabel didn’t particularly feel like tackling all those hills after having danced all night.

  “I’m glad she thought of it.”

  With a trace of asperity, Isabel asked, “Did you think she wouldn’t? Or that I would blithely trot into possible danger without giving a thought to what Eunice might lose should something happen to me?”

  It was his turn to blink, evidently not having considered that his hints might be taken amiss. “Oh . . . why, no. I mean, I just didn’t want you to have to worry about how you were going to get back to Miss Linden’s house.”

  Relenting, Isabel said, “Thank you. It’s very kind of you to care about my welfare.” Plus, she’d get to see how it felt to be driven in a Maxwell sedan. She was quite taken with Loretta’s Runabout, although she didn’t think she’d care to drive herself, primarily because the front of the automobile looked wider than the road when one sat inside it. The Maxwell was even larger and more luxurious than the Runabout.

  “Think nothing of it.”

  Someone asked her to dance at that point, and she didn’t have another opportunity to talk to Somerset until it was time for her to change into her street clothes and go home. She accomplished this as quickly as possible so as not to make him wait. She was out of breath when she dashed to meet him. He sat at the same table he’d occupied earlier, and the cleaning crew was already sweeping up around him. As soon as he saw her, he rose politely. He was such a polite man. Isabel liked him so well. She thought she’d like him even if he hadn’t rescued her and Eunice.

  “All ready?”

  He had a splendid smile, as well. And straight, white teeth. And very pretty hair that had a slight curl to it, but not so much of one that it got unruly easily. His evening costume, too, fitted him admirably. Isabel assumed he’d had it tailored especially to his measurements. Until she’d got this job, she’d always made her own clothes. And Eunice’s, too.

  “Yes, thank you.”

  He took her coat from where she’d slung it over her arm and held it out for her to don, just like a real gentleman. Well, she supposed, he was a real gentleman, for all that he was an American and the designation didn’t mean the same thing here as it did in Britain. The same went for lady. Which was a good thing, in her opinion, because it smashed class distinctions to blazes, where they belonged.

  “I must say, Mrs. Golightly, that you dance divinely,” Somerset said as he held the door for her to pass through.

  So polite. So genteel. So . . . trite? Well, he wasn’t usually trite.

  “Thank you. My uncle Charlie was an excellent teacher.”

  “You were an admirable pupil.”

  “You should have seen Uncle Charlie and Aunt Maxine, though. They were real professionals. I guess I’ll get better the more I do it, but the stage was their life.” She sighed, remembering her relations back home. Her parents had died of influenza two winters before, but Uncle Charlie and Aunt Maxine were still going strong, given their ages. They’d retired in York, and Isabel wondered if they might like to come to the United States. Probably not.

  Somerset gave the parking attendant a voucher, and the lad ran off to fetch his automobile. Then Somerset opened the door for her, the attendant opened the door for him, Somerset handed him a tip—it looked like a large one to Isabel—and they were off.

  “Mrs. Golightly, I need to ask you something,” Somerset said after they’d been tootling along for a few minutes, uphill and down, heading for Loretta’s grand home on Lombard Street.

  He sounded serious, and Isabel turned toward him. “What is it?” She hoped he wouldn’t begin to lecture her about the way she was trying to make a living. Dancing might seem inappropriate to a man, because men could obtain employment doing anything. Women weren’t so lucky. She considered herself fortunate to have found a job at all. And to have found one she enjoyed was more than she’d ever dreamed of.

  After clearing his throat nervously, he said, “I’ve been thinking a lot about this in the past few days, and I’ve decided I shouldn’t waste any time. After all, you’ll be meeting any number of men now that you’re dancing at the Fairfield, and who knows what will happen?”

  She blinked, confused. Who knew what would what? “Um . . . I’m not sure I understand what you’re saying, Mr. FitzRoy.” His name felt sweet on her lips.

  “Well . . .” he gestured with his left hand, the back of which flapped against the Isinglass window on his side. He quickly replaced it on the steering wheel. “I mean, I know you need to support yourself and Eunice.”

  “Yes.”

  “And it worries me that you have to do it by dancing at the Fairfield.”

  Fiddlesticks. He was going to lecture her. She didn’t need any sermons on the evils of the performance arts. She was so grateful to have Loretta as a friend. Loretta understood that practicality took precedence over propriety. It would break her heart to be preached at by Somerset, whom she liked so well and admired so much. In truth, she adored him.

  With reserve she said, “I was fortunate to have secured this position, Mr. FitzRoy. It pays ever so much more than char work.”

  “I know that. I’m not belittling you for having taken work that pays well, but it still worries me. You never know whom you’ll meet in a place like that.”

  “In a place like the Fairfield?” She goggled at what she could see of him. Night had fallen hours before, and it wasn’t much. But, honestly! The Fairfield was the most exclusive hotel in San Francisco.

  “Well, what I mean is that it’s still dancing, you know. With men.”

  “Yes. I know.”

  “And dancing is fine,” he hurried to say. Obviously, he was becoming anxious as he fumbled around with his words.

  Understanding this, Isabel took pity on him. “Why don’t you just say what you want to say, Mr. FitzRoy. I’ll try not to get angry.” She smiled to show that she was a good sport—although if he said anything too outrageous, she might have to fight an impulse to smack him. Men had no idea how difficult it was for a woman alone to make a living.

  She heard him swallow hard. Then he said, “Thank you. I will.” And he stopped speaking entirely.

  Isabel sighed and waited.

  Finally he burst out, “I want you to marry me.”

  Chapter Eleven

  Isabel’s heart leaped even as her body froze on the luxurious bench seat of the Maxwell. She found herself unable to believe what she thought she’d heard him say. He wanted her to what? He couldn’t be in love with her, could he? Isabel didn’t have that kind of luck.

  “I know this is sudden. After all, it’s only been a short time since we met.”

  “Yes, it has.” He must be joking, although it was a dreadful joke. Isabel was not amused—and that almost amused her since it would put her on a par with the late queen. Laughter was very far away from her in the moment, however.

  “But something Jason—that’s Dr. Abernathy, you know.”

  “Yes, I know.”

  She heard him swallow again and guessed she wasn’t making this easy on him. That was fine with her, since it wasn’t easy on her, either. He might have saved her life, and she might be secretly in love with him, but that didn’t give him the right to make bad jokes at her expense.

  “He reminded me that you’re now in a position to meet any number of eligible men.”

  “Eligible men?” As she sat there, she tried to decide the appropriate word to describe her condition. Flabbergasted? Baffled? Bewildered? Confounded?

  Perhaps outraged more nearly hit the mark. “Ah . . . what does meeting eligible men have to do with anything?”

  She barely saw Somerset’s hand lift into the air, a trifle darker th
an the pervading night, then fall again. She gathered this was a gesture of confusion. “You’ll meet men. Some of them might try to sweep you off your feet!”

  “Good Lord.”

  “It’s the truth. You can’t even imagine the kinds of men there are in the world, Isabel. Why, you might meet anyone!”

  “Aha. And you fear that some cad in gentlemen’s clothing will sweep me off to his lair and have his way with me?”

  She sensed his frown. “I wouldn’t put it that way, but . . . well . . . yes. Something like that.”

  “I see.” Both Somerset and Jason were two exceptionally foolish men if they had such a low opinion of her. Did they honestly believe that she could be swayed by pretty words and allow some sweet-talking man to bedazzle her? Little did they know. She’d done that once, and once was too often. Isabel Golightly didn’t need to be taught twice. She huffed loudly.

  “Not that I think you have less than good sense or anything like that.” The words almost tripped over themselves leaving Somerset’s mouth, and Isabel was pleased that she’d managed to get her point across with nothing more than a huff. “But, still, you’re in a difficult position—you know, having to earn your living and that of your daughter and all.”

  “Yes, I’m fully aware of my position, thank you.”

  “And if some millionaire happened to come along and take a fancy to you—which is absolutely possible, you know. You’re a beautiful woman and any man would be a fool not to want to marry you.”

  “Thank you.” The two words sounded as if she’d poured alum on them before delivering them to her companion. Anyhow, what was wrong with marrying a millionaire? Even if she didn’t like the presumed rich man much, a woman could do worse than have money to console herself with.

  He swallowed again. “And I’m quite fond of you, you see, and Jason—Dr. Abernathy—he said I probably oughtn’t wait too long because someone else might snap you up.”

  “Snap me up?”

  “Yes. Because you’re so beautiful and . . . and desirable, and so forth.”

  “Ah.”

  He turned and squinted through the darkness, trying to perceive her expression, she supposed. It was just as well he couldn’t see it. At the moment, Isabel was fighting hysteria. She didn’t know whether to burst out laughing or heave herself to the floor of the car and begin drumming her heels in a temper tantrum.