“Lucid dreaming?”
Eunice nodded. “I’m sure the word was lucid because I had to look it up in Miss Pinkney’s dictionary.”
“My goodness.” By this time Isabel herself had almost forgotten about the bathroom, so intrigued was she by her extremely young daughter’s mental ability. “And it worked? You still woke up.”
“Yes,” Eunice agreed. “I woke up, but that was by way of rescue. Once I realized I was dreaming and that the dream was one that would only terrify me, it woke me up. I was scared, but not so badly as usual.” She gazed pensively at the wall. “Maybe I can train myself to interrupt the dreams as they’re happening and turn them into happy dreams so I won’t wake up. I could get more sleep that way.”
Although her daughter was probably the most extraordinary person Isabel had ever met in her life and she didn’t understand her or how she ever could have given birth to her, Isabel only murmured, “Er . . . yes.”
“Children need lots of sleep,” said Eunice soberly. “Miss Pinkney said so.”
Isabel hugged her hard. “If anyone can do it, you can, dearie.”
Eunice’s little forehead furrowed. “It smells funny in here, Mama.”
Good Lord. Isabel felt another strong surge of guilt. “Uh, yes. I . . . uh . . . noticed it, too. I don’t know what it is.”
“Hmmm. Maybe you ought to sprinkle some cologne around your room. That’s what Miss MacTavish does.”
Did she, indeed? Interesting. Isabel never would have guessed. “Good idea. Here, sweetie, let me carry you to your bed.”
Eunice consented, Isabel thanked God that she hadn’t had a nightmare that would induce her to want to spend the rest of the night in her mother’s bed, and took her back into her own room.
She deposited her gently on the bed, and Eunice pulled the covers up to her chin. “I hope I have another dream,” said she with an elfin grin. “I want to see if I can direct them.”
“I hope you succeed, sweetie.” Laughing softly, Isabel kissed her daughter’s forehead. “Sleep well, Eunice.”
“Thank you, Mama.”
“I love you, dearie.”
“I love you, too, Mama.”
Isabel contemplated the nature of love as she returned to her room and closed, but did not lock, the door connecting it to Eunice’s. Then she tiptoed to the bathroom, discovered that Somerset had unlocked it, and peeked inside. But he was gone. With a deep sigh, she went back to bed, and wished she could be like Eunice—only instead of directing her dreams the way she wanted them to go, she wanted to direct her entire life. It was a dirty shame she didn’t have a magic wand or something.
# # #
Isabel didn’t know whether to be overjoyed or frightened when Somerset invited the whole gang—Loretta, Marjorie, and Dr. Abernathy—to dine at the Fairfield the next night. He announced to them all that he and Isabel were to be wed, and there was quite a celebration. Isabel felt like the meanest of traitors when they toasted her after her first number with her new partner, Geoffrey Gardener.
Geoffrey, on the other hand, was ecstatic when he heard the news. Clasping his hands to his breast, he said, “What fun! Isabel, darling, I had no idea you’d snagged such a gorgeous man!”
Embarrassed, Isabel smiled and tried to look as if she were as ecstatic as he. “Yes. I’m a very lucky woman.”
“And he’s a lucky man.” Dr. Abernathy lifted his glass and winked at her.
“I’m so happy for you both.” Loretta drew out a hankie and had to wipe tears from her eyes.
“I am, too. It’s is a vurra brilliant match.” Marjorie, too, appeared somewhat misty-eyed.
Isabel stared at her. She’d come to like and appreciate Marjorie, who wasn’t nearly as aloof as Isabel had at first believed. Still, she hadn’t dreamed the woman would ever overcome her class-consciousness enough to consider a marriage between the low-born Isabel Golightly to the upper-crust Somerset FitzRoy a “brilliant” match. Smiling fondly upon her friends, she said, “Thank you all very much. I wish I deserved your good wishes.”
They all rushed to correct her assessment of herself. Only Isabel knew why she felt like a cheater and a fake, and that the feeling was fully justified. She also knew that Somerset would hate her when he learned the truth. She already hated herself.
Nevertheless, she allowed herself to pretend that all was well, and she enjoyed dancing with Somerset that evening. He was ever so much better a dancer than Geoffrey. In fact—Isabel hoped she wasn’t deceiving herself—he had become so confident in himself and his skill, and so relaxed in his presentation, that he would be a match for Jorge Savedra himself, should Jorge ever return to San Francisco.
Isabel spared a pang of remorse for Jorge. She hoped that, wherever he was, he was able to tango with a partner worthy of him.
As for herself, she couldn’t remember the last time she’d felt so wretched.
# # #
The day of the contest dawned foggy and drippy. The weather matched Isabel’s mood. The only good thing about the mess she’d gotten herself in to was that she honestly believed that she and Somerset had a good chance of winning the dance contest. If they did, she’d be able to support herself when all of her friends turned against her. She and he moved together beautifully, and they had choreographed special maneuvers for every type of dance they’d have to do, no matter what the music turned out to be.
She hadn’t had the chance to be alone with him since the night they’d made love, but she guessed that was for the best. The more she allowed herself to succumb to her love for him, the harder and more painful their eventual parting would be.
Of course, there was a chance that Somerset would turn out to possess a forgiving nature, but Isabel knew better than to count on it. So few men did. She stared out the parlor window, wondering what it would feel like to be dead. Then she chided herself for being a defeatist and a coward. Whatever happened, she would survive, and so would Eunice. And if Somerset couldn’t tolerate the truth, so be it.
She glanced at her daughter, who was curled up on a chair, her nose in Wuthering Heights. She’d been concerned about Eunice reading such sensational literature, but Miss Pinkney had assured her that Eunice was up to the challenge and that such books as Miss Bronte’s and Mr. Freud’s wouldn’t warp her brain. Isabel imagined the good woman was right. If anyone could survive such reading material, it was Eunice.
Loretta clattered down the front staircase, stabbing a pin into a cunning confection of a hat. “Are you ready, Isabel? Is Jason here yet? Where’s Somerset?”
Laughing a little, Isabel said, “It’s early yet, Loretta. Somerset is on his way. He telephoned a few minutes ago.” It seemed odd to her that she should have already become accustomed to such luxuries as the telephone, but she had.
Next to rush down the staircase was Marjorie MacTavish. She was brandishing something Isabel couldn’t see clearly, although it appeared to be a piece of jewelry. “You mun wear this, Isabel! It’s a lucky piece I got in China when I worked with White Star.” Panting, she thrust the item at Isabel, who took it slowly, astonished that the conventional Marjorie would offer such a whimsical token as a good-luck charm.
“You’re all too good to me.” She peered at the lucky piece. “This is beautiful, Marjorie.” A small carved ivory fish hung on a silver chain. The workmanship was splendid. “It’s so delicate. I’m afraid to wear it. It might break.”
“Dinna be daft,” said Marjorie, back to being her pragmatic self. “Wear it under your gown if you don’t want it to bounce up and down while you dance. It’s codswallop, of course, to believe in lucky charms, but I thought of it when I was getting dressed.” With a grin the likes of which Isabel had never thought to see on that face, she added with a shrug, “It canna hurt.”
“It’s awfully pretty,” Eunice observed, peering over her book. She, too, was dressed up today, in a pretty blue frock, black patent-leather Mary Janes, and with blue ribbons tied around her blond braids.
“Ye
s it is.” Isabel impulsively leaned over and kissed Marjorie on her cheek. “Thank you so much.” She fastened the chain’s clasp and decided she liked the looks of the pendant against her black organdy gown. “I’ll wear it out, if you don’t mind.”
“It’s grand with me.”
Isabel had opted for simplicity, comfort, and ease of movement in her gown for the contest. The one she’d chosen featured a wrap-over bodice that formed elbow-length sleeves, a high waist circled by a not-too-tight organdy cummerbund, and a hip-length overskirt. She’d already worn it once, in what she’d thought of as the dress rehearsal, the evening before, and it had performed as well as she had, which was the whole point.
“This is charming, Marjorie.” Loretta lifted the fish and squinted at it. “I’ll have to wear my spectacles at the contest. I don’t want to miss anything.”
A knock came at the door. Mrs. Brandeis answered it, and Jason Abernathy marched straight to the parlor. As soon as Marjorie saw him, she headed for the other side of the room. Isabel sighed and wished Marjorie weren’t so shy.
“Are we ready?” Jason asked in his booming voice. He rubbed his hands and looked Isabel up and down. “You appear to be ready. Where’s your partner?”
“He’ll be here in a minute,” Isabel assured him.
Sure enough, not five minutes later, Somerset showed up at Loretta’s front door. He carried four corsages, one for each lady and Eunice. “Sorry I didn’t get here sooner. I saw a flower vendor on the corner and couldn’t resist.”
“Oh, my,” murmured Marjorie. Then she shot a suspicious glance at Jason. When he didn’t look as if he aimed to say anything that he would consider humorous, she took the pretty white chrysanthemum corsage from Somerset. “Thank you.”
“You’re more than welcome.” Somerset beamed upon his companions. “I thought we might as well look festive.” He sported a boutonniere in his lapel.
Isabel loved him passionately. “Thank you, Somerset.”
He pinned a white orchid to the shoulder of her gown. “Do you think we’ll squash it while we dance?”
“I don’t think so. It’s just lovely.” Again succumbing to impulse, she got up on her tiptoes and kissed him. It was a chaste kiss on his cheek, but she noticed her friends all smiling at her afterwards.
“What a splendid idea,” Loretta said. “Thank you, Mr. FitzRoy. Will someone pin this on me?”
“I’ll help you,” Marjorie volunteered at once. “Then you can help me with mine.” She pointedly ignored Jason, who chuckled.
“Here, Miss Eunice,” said Somerset. “Allow me.”
Eunice obediently trotted over to him, Wuthering Heights tucked under her arm, and he pinned a pretty corsage to her shoulder. “There. That looks very nice,” he said, standing back and smiling down at her.
“I’ve never had a corsage before,” Eunice said, trying to see the flower on her shoulder. “Thank you very much, Mr. FitzRoy.” She stuck out her hand, and Somerset shook it gravely.
“You’re very welcome, Miss Eunice.”
Somerset, Eunice, and Isabel rode in Somerset’s Maxwell to the Palace. Loretta, Marjorie, and Jason braved Loretta’s Runabout.
“Marjorie doesn’t look very happy,” Isabel said as she watched the woman climb into the Runabout’s front seat. “At least she won’t have to sit next to Dr. Abernathy.”
“I asked him why he likes to tease her, and he said it’s because she needs to loosen up.”
“Hmmm,” said Eunice. “I doubt that will work.”
“It sounds crazy to me,” agreed Somerset.
“It might work,” mused Eunice, again entering into the conversation as if she were an adult talking to the other adults. “Miss MacTavish really does have a sense of human.”
“A sense of humor, sweetie?”
“That’s what I meant. Humor. It’s just hard to find most of the time.”
“I’ve noticed that.” Somerset’s voice was dry.
“She’s a lovely person, really,” said Isabel. “She’s only shy. I get the feeling she liked being a stewardess because she knew all the rules. America is so new and different, she’s not sure what to do.”
“That could be,” murmured Somerset.
Isabel sensed he wasn’t much interested in Jason and Marjorie. “Are you nervous, Somerset?”
“A little. You?”
“Very.”
He glanced at her. “I’m surprised to hear it. You’re such a superb dancer. I can’t imagine any other lady holding a candle to you. Providing, of course, your partner doesn’t stumble or fall down.”
“Thank you.” She gave him a smile she hoped conveyed her love and appreciation.
“There might be other profane—profuse—I mean professional dancers in the contest.” Eunice was staring out the Maxwell’s window, observing with interest the hustle and bustle of San Francisco’s busy Geary Street.
Isabel and Somerset exchanged a glance. “I hadn’t thought about that,” admitted Isabel. “I suppose it is possible.”
“Daunting idea,” said Somerset dryly.
Isabel got the impression that he’d be just as happy if Eunice had stayed at home today. “We can only do our best,” she said, trying to sound optimistic.
“You’re awfully good,” Eunice said. “I think it would take a very good couple or one who’s very lucky to win any contest with you in it.”
“Hope you’re right,” Somerset muttered. “I probably should have bribed a judge or something.”
“Somerset!” Isabel glanced sharply at her daughter to see if she had an opinion on bribery, but Eunice’s face was impassive. Just to make sure, she said, “He was only joking, Eunice.”
Somerset said, “Hmm.”
Eunice eyed her mother. “Yes,” she said noncommittally.
Isabel’s heart crunched a little when Somerset pulled up the Palace’s drive and stopped the Maxwell in front of the grand entrance. A uniformed attendant rushed over to help the ladies alight. Somerset handed over his key and some coins, and shepherded the ladies into the hotel.
Geoffrey met them at the door. Isabel was glad to see him and gave him a peck on the cheek. “Thank you so much for coming, Geoffrey.”
“I had to come,” he said in his breathless voice. “I just know you’re going to win.”
“I hope you’re right.”
They waited in the magnificent lobby for Loretta and the others to arrive. “I hope she didn’t hit anything,” Isabel said under her breath. She’d started fidgeting with her gloves, and commanded herself to stop it at once. There was no reason in the world for her to be so nervous. She danced virtually every day of her life, and Somerset and she had established a perfect and graceful unity in motion. A glance at Geoffrey informed her that he was every bit as nervous as she. What’s more, he didn’t try to hide the fact.
Telling herself not to fret didn’t work, so she was glad when Loretta screeched the Runabout to a halt in front of the entrance, scattering a couple who were walking across the drive, and terrifying the attendant into jumping up onto the curb. Happy and as oblivious as a lark, Loretta bounded out of the machine. Marjorie opened her eyes, her face as white as the proverbial sheet, and allowed the attendant, who had recovered himself, to open her door for her. Jason Abernathy, who had, Isabel presumed, long since become accustomed to Loretta’s driving, got out of the tonneau, laughing. He took both ladies’ arms and guided them into the hotel.
Spotting Somerset, Isabel, Eunice, and Geoffrey, he cried heartily, “Here we are, unscathed and only slightly daunted.”
Loretta smacked him on the arm. “I don’t know why you’re always carrying on about my driving, Jason. I’ve never once had an accident.”
“Thanks to the sharp eyes of the other drivers on San Francisco’s streets,” Jason told her with a wink.
“Fiddlesticks.” Loretta patted her hat back into place—the wild ride had knocked it askew—and said, “Where do we go now?”
“The grand ballroom
, according to the announcement.” Isabel took a deep breath. “I guess we’re ready.” Casting a questioning glance at Somerset, she lifted an eyebrow.
“The grand ballroom it is,” he said heartily. “Away with us.”
He took Eunice’s hand, Isabel placed hers on his other arm, and they set off to their doom. No, no. Isabel meant to their certain victory.
She only wished she believed it.
Chapter Eighteen
“There are a lot of people in here,” Somerset said, sounding as if he were trying not to convey disappointment or worry.
“Yes,” agreed Isabel. “There certainly are.”
“Are they all contestants?” Loretta wondered in a bewildered voice.
“I hope not,” grumbled Somerset.
“You’ll outshine them all,” said Geoffrey, sounding as if he didn’t quite trust his assessment.
“I think there are as many spectacles as dancers,” Eunice piped up.
They all turned to look at her. Isabel said doubtfully, “Spectators, do you mean?”
Eunice nodded. “All the other dancers probably brought friends and family along, just like you did.” She smiled brightly at her mother.
Jason said, “You’re probably right.” He started suddenly. “Hey! I forgot something.” Whipping a packet out of his coat pocket, he presented it to Eunice with a flourish. “For you, my dear. I believe they’re bath salts.”
Eunice’s bright eyes shone. “Thank you ever so much, Dr. Abernathy.” She sniffed the packet. “Oh, it smells so good.”
“Honeysuckle,” said the good doctor. “One of—”
Loretta finished the sentence for him —”his patients gave it to him in payment for his medical services.”
Somerset chuckled. “You’re going to go broke if you keep doing that, Jason.”
Jason shrugged. “At least my friends will smell good.”
“It’s very kind of you to offer your services for such payment, Dr. Abernathy. I believe every one of us should be humiliated by your goodness.”
They all turned to look at Eunice, who had uttered the pompous sentiment. Isabel cleared her throat. “Um . . . do you mean humbled, dearie?”
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