by Arlene James
He grabbed the lapels of her coat and yanked her forward. “One more word about her and I toss you out on your expensive fanny. And while we’re on the subject, let me assure you that marriage to me will be anything but flattering to your image. I couldn’t care less about your pride. Why should I, when you’ve stripped me of mine? Not that you have any, holding an entire family’s welfare hostage in order to force a man who despises you to the altar! I promise you you’ll regret this lunacy.”
“Oh, really? And just how do you think to manage that?”
“I’m not completely powerless, Betina, whatever you may think. I may have to marry you, but I won’t dance to your tune ever again. Let the world make of that what they will.”
For the first time Betina looked worried. “What do you mean?”
Paul dropped his hands and backed away. Smiling, he beckoned toward Cassidy. “For starters,” he said to Betina, and then he pitched his voice loud to address the room at large. “Can I have your attention, everyone? We find ourselves faced with yet another change.” He smiled and lifted his arms as if to say that it couldn’t be helped. “Miss Lincoln finds that she is unable to play the part of Jane, after all.” Beside him, Betina gasped, but a glance in her direction showed him that, though pained, her smile was in place. She would not protest. She couldn’t afford to. He looked to Cassidy and knew with no contrition at all that he’d just been waiting for an excuse to do this, any excuse to be close to her again. “Cass,” he said evenly, “I guess you’ll just have to fill in.”
For a moment he held his breath, wondering if she would exercise her good sense and refuse, but she merely nodded and turned away, speaking softly to Hoot. Paul clapped his hands together. “Excellent. Well, now that that’s settled, let’s get to work.” He pointed at his friend, noting that he still stood protectively at Cassidy’s side. “Hoot, you’ll enjoy this. Pull up a chair.” He turned a raised eyebrow at Betina. Would she stay and watch, or would she go? She spun in a swirl of white fur and made for the door, calling over her shoulder, “I’ll see you later...darling.”
“Not if I see you first,” he muttered through his teeth. When he looked down again, it was to find Cassidy at his side, a worried expression weighting her lovely eyes. He recognized the look. She was worried for him. Impulsively he found her hand and squeezed it, saying softly, “It’s all right, love, as all right as it can be.”
She studied him a moment longer, and then she nodded and turned away. “Everyone to your places. Let’s move it! This is our last chance to iron out the wrinkles. Next rehearsal is dress rehearsal.”
His lady had risen to the occasion again, God love her. It was certain that he already did. Oh, yes, he did, and he no longer cared who knew it. Betina’s pride be damned.
Cassidy didn’t know what to think. Was Paul having second thoughts? Was this self-imposed estrangement as difficult for him as for her? She prayed it was so and feared that it was at the same time. Even if Paul relented and spent time with her again, private time, what good would it do? They could not be together without wanting completion, without tumbling into each other’s arms and bed. Would Paul abandon his lofty principles and love her during the little time they had left? How would she bear it, then, when it was over? She had walked through the days and nights without him like a zombie. It was as if her nerve endings had been seared and she could feel nothing but the emptiness, nothing but the loss.
And yet, here she was, standing next to him as if it was where she belonged, oddly at ease as they pantomimed the motions required by the narrative. She felt strangely at peace, as if all had come right with her world, and knew it for the calm before the storm. She would lose him irrevocably, and then she would die, if not in body, then in spirit. She neither fought nor railed against the probability. She welcomed it in a bizarre fashion, praying that if she could not feel joy she would simply not feel at all. It seemed the only way to survive what was coming.
The first scene drew to a close. She stood next to Paul, feeling his arm come around her, laying her head against his shoulder in a gesture of trust and support. He looked down into her eyes, and she saw there all the love she could ever hope to possess and knew she was without hope to possess it. The narrator increased the volume of his voice to a crescendo. In moments the stage would grow dark and the scene would end.
Something drew her gaze to Paul’s mouth. She recognized in the way he flattened and set it what was on his mind and mechanically turned up her face. His mouth settled on hers with all the drama and poignancy of the scripted moment. Her senses came alive. Like Sleeping Beauty throwing off the paralysis of sleep, she was plunged into a world of reality so sharp and focused that the perception of it was very nearly painful—and dearly welcome. Just before the lights went down to dark, a collective gasp penetrated the aura of sensation that suddenly bound her. People began to applaud. Paul broke the kiss but threw his arms around her, holding her close.
“Cassidy,” he whispered. “Aw, sweetheart, forgive me.”
She sobbed a little laugh. “For what?”
He never answered her. The lights suddenly snapped on, all of them. Cassidy lifted a hand to shield her eyes and peered past the tables to the flimsily constructed control booth, glimpsing William, his harried expression almost comical. Poor William. How many times must he deal with the same crisis? His boss was in love with his little sister and vice versa, a fact none of them seemed capable of outrunning. It was Tony’s voice that snagged the lion’s share of her attention, however.
“What the devil was that? That isn’t in the script!”
“It is now,” Paul answered vaguely. Cassidy turned her head to find him looking at her with those worshipful eyes, and she merely smiled, sadly, resignedly.
So human, her Paul. Despite his best intentions, he couldn’t let go any more than she could, but one of them had to. Another scene with Betina like the one just played out and Paul would lose everything most dear to him...because of her. How could she let that happen? She couldn’t, of course, not to the man she loved. She just couldn’t.
He made up his mind, and the relief was staggering, not that it was a perfect solution. Far from it. He would be going back on his word and giving up his life’s work, but to do otherwise would mean sacrificing Cassidy and her love, and that he simply could not do. So he was resigned. But still a chance remained, and honor demanded that he wait for it. Never again would he deny what he felt for Cassidy or attempt to hide it. Tonight, in fact, he would all but proclaim it. Let Betina try to cover that with her friends, if she could. His hope was that she could not. Perhaps if his preference for Cassidy became common knowledge, Betina’s pride would be so stung that she would forget her scheme to marry Barclay Bakeries and settle for a generous buy-out instead. It was worth a shot, and his plan had the added bonus of allowing him to keep Cassidy close by his side all night.
It had been two days since he’d seen her. During that time, every moment had been given to the private appointments scheduled with the representatives of national grocery chains and their distributors. Those meetings, though brief, had gone quite well. He had made certain to include Cal Thomas, Cousin Joyce’s husband, in as many of those meetings as possible. Cal, after all, might well find himself unexpectedly manning the helm of Barclay Bakeries one day soon.
Arriving early, Paul rigged himself in his costume for the evening and anxiously awaited Cassidy. Hoot was already there with his staff, banging pots and pans in the makeshift kitchen set up for him. The security team and parking valets were next on the scene, and right on their heels the band began to filter in. Paul wandered over and spent a nervous quarter hour plinking on the piano before the keyboardist arrived.
Betina came in wearing her white fur. Beneath it she was garbed in pale pink beaded with gold, her bare arms adorned with long matching gloves and heavy bracelets, her swirling skirts worn without petticoats or hoops. Her blond hair had been rinsed with a champagne pink tint and piled elaborately atop her h
ead, pink ostrich plumes growing out of it. She looked like a character out of a Mae West movie with her dangling earrings and exposed cleavage, just a bit tawdry even with a fortune on her back. He ignored her and fiddled with the watch fob and chain looped across the front of his vest, er, waistcoat.
The moment Cassidy entered the building he knew it. Even before she stepped into the brightly tented and draped “ballroom” he was aware of her movements. She took his breath away. Her dark gold hair had been styled in a flattering Gibson Girl, the front a froth of curls, with two long tendrils left to cling lovingly to her neck in the back. She wore no adornment in it other than a black comb covered with jet beads. Her gown was made of a dark purple satin accented with black lace edging and tiny pink rosettes, the skirt gathered into an elaborate bustle of softly ruffled layers in the back. The long, leg-of-mutton sleeves tapered to points that extended past the bottom knuckles of the middle fingers of her hands, rendering gloves unnecessary. The tight wedding ring collar accented the graceful length of her neck. Tiny rosebuds clipped to her lobes called attention to the delicacy of her dainty ears. She could have walked off the pages of a history book and done justice to the name of Vanderbilt or Morgan, so much did she look her part. He walked straight past Betina and offered Cassidy his arm, exactly as a gentleman of nearly a century past would have done.
“You look marvelous!” she said, placing her hand on his forearm.
“You are simply beautiful,” he told her, “inside and out.”
She tilted back her head and laughed. Such a lovely sound! He covered her hand with his.
She was on his arm when the first guest arrived and thereafter for the majority of the remainder. He introduced her to everyone he knew. Before long, however, it became clear that someone else had laid the path for them. People began saying things like, “Ah, so this is the bright young consultant who planned this shindig!” and “I’m so impressed, Ms. Penno! Have you done many of these affairs?” It didn’t take Paul long to figure out that Betina had stationed herself nearer the door outside the “tent” in order to be the first to greet their guests and explain Cassidy’s presence by singing her praises as a hired consultant. Silently he conceded the point. The night, after all, was young.
He kept Cassidy with him during dinner, ignoring the place cards Betina had so painstakingly arranged. He gave himself free rein to enjoy her company, and soon found that she was the delight of everyone at the table, Hoot especially. Only Betina was not delighted, but she kept her displeasure well hidden behind a mask, which none but Paul recognized as a sham. She had scattered the family throughout the hall with instructions to sing Paul’s praises and set their guests at ease. He resented that she used them for what amounted to business purposes but was relieved that no one seemed to object.
When the moment came for the cast members to take their positions backstage, Paul made a point of rising and excusing them both, finishing by saying warmly. “We’re on, darling. Time to go.”
Cassidy shot him a slightly startled glance, and Betina’s smile slipped to a glower before she quickly disciplined it. Paul smiled at the babble of speculation he heard at their exit.
“They seem very much an item.”
“Oh, no, I assure you, just friends.”
“Looks like more than friendship to me.”
“They make a charming couple, don’t they?”
“It’s rather an obligation. She’s the sister of one of our most trusted employees.”
“She’s the love of his life,” Paul whispered as he escorted her through the tables, his hand placed possessively in the small of her slender back.
“What are you up to?” she asked as soon as they were backstage.
“Just enjoying myself,” he said casually. Then he smiled. “I can’t help it when I’m with you.”
They went their separate ways. As the announcement was made and the narration began, Cassidy exchanged her purple satin for a simple calico sacque, white apron and mob cap, while Paul stripped out of his cut-away, waistcoat and snowy shirt, then donned a red-and-white-striped one in its place, tied a kerchief about his neck and pushed up his sleeves and fixed them in place with garters before donning apron and cap. He was standing at a kitchen table, dusted in flour, his hands in real dough when the lights came up. She had her back to him, apron strings tied in a jaunty bow as she stirred a bubbling cooking pot on a massive cast-iron stove. She stopped occasionally to wipe imaginary sweat from her brow, and she and Paul glanced at each other, smiling, as the narrator told how Theo and Jane had sold baked goods from their own kitchen at first, giving up stable jobs in an established bakery to strike out on their own. Together they counted pennies, pondered bills and worked late into the night to make ends meet. The struggle was frightening, but Theo was determined and Jane ever supportive.
As the moment approached for the kiss, Paul hurried into it, obviously eager, and made a thorough job of it, sacrificing the poignancy of the moment for sheer ardor. Andy rushed to bring the narrative up to speed, Paul having jumped the gun on him, but the final words were lost in the roar of applause from an audience who had received a clear message. Cassidy Penno was more than a hireling of any sort and more than a friend to the CEO of Barclay Bakeries.
As soon as the lights were down, Cassidy pulled out of his embrace, whispering urgently, “Paul, have you lost your mind?”
“No,” he said. “In fact, I think I’ve found it.”
“Will you tell me what is going on?”
“I won’t marry her, Cass.”
“How can you not?”
“I’ll find a way.”
“Even if it means giving up the company, breaking your word to your family and leaving them vulnerable?”
“Yes.”
There wasn’t time to say more as William hissed at them from offstage to get a move on. Time for another costume change, as well as a change of set. Paul yanked at his kerchief and followed Cassidy from the stage. He was beginning to feel the desperation of this final effort to save all. He realized that the chances of changing Betina’s mind were not good, but his resolve never to marry her or anyone other than Cassidy only deepened, no matter what he had to do to make it happen. It wouldn’t be easy to leave Barclay Bakeries, to confer his stock and his position on someone else, but he told himself that Cal would do a good job. He would protect the family’s interest, perhaps as well as Paul himself.
A pang of deep loss assailed him, but he would not turn back now. Better to live with the loss of his life’s work than the loss of the one woman who meant happiness itself to him. He was not, after all, Theo. Theo had had his bakery and his Jane, too. Paul would settle for the woman he loved. With what, he wondered, would he replace Barclay Bakeries? It was a question better pondered after the fact, one he would face later, with Cassidy at his side. If his heart pounded fit to fly from his chest, it was just in anticipation of the moment he could ask Cassidy Penno to be his wife. He wouldn’t allow it to be anything else, and he would never look back. For Cass, for both their sakes, he would never look back.
Chapter Nine
The drama became a nightmare of endurance for Cassidy. She could not concentrate on the role of Jane and ponder how best to keep Paul from sabotaging himself. She felt helpless and frightened. When he met her backstage after the production, apparently jubilant over the rousing applause, she tried to put some distance between them by pleading that she had responsibilities to attend to. He said only that they should get changed quickly, and she hurried away to do just that, thinking that she might slip away before he could come for her. When she emerged from behind the curtain enclosing the women’s dressing area, however, he was there, smiling and waiting. She tried to beg off.
“Paul, I really should check—”
“Whatever it is will take care of itself. The rest of this evening is ours to enjoy.”
Only this evening, she told herself. Only this one evening. She nodded and allowed him to sweep her out onto the stage
again where, together, to more applause, despite the fact that the band was playing, they descended a set of narrow steps to the floor below.
“No one’s dancing,” he said, though a few couples had taken to the floor. “Well, we’ll see about that.” Avoiding a surge of verbal congratulations with nods and smiles and clever footwork, he literally towed her by the hand through the tables and across the dance floor to the orchestra dais, where he spoke briefly with the saxophonist who doubled as conductor. In short order, the music came to a conclusion and the “conductor” stepped to the microphone to announce that the season’s—that was the 1902 season’s—most popular waltz was dedicated to the memory of Theo and Jane Barclay. A pointed gesture brought the lights down, and Paul hurried her to the center of the dance floor. A spotlight came on, searched the floor briefly and settled on Paul and Cassidy. In the second before the music began, Cassidy understood what he planned.
“Paul, I don’t know how to waltz!” she whispered.
He seemed surprised, then he smiled. “Child’s play,” he assured her as the music began. “Just pick up your skirt and follow me.”
She dipped and swept up her skirt. Paul’s hands settled into place. “Forward in a straight line,” he whispered, stepping off neatly. She managed to follow smoothly. “And now backward... and to the right...and all the way around.” He smiled at her. “There, you see, together we can do anything.”
Together. Her throat closed. Together was the one thing they could not be, whatever he might think at the moment. She lowered her eyes to hide the tears filling them. He pulled her a tad closer, and she bowed her head, giving herself up to this one last pleasure, this one last moment as a pair, a team.
After a few more bars the lights came up and couples flowed onto the dance floor, laughing and chatting. Cassidy stepped further into Paul’s arms and clung to the illusion with all her might. When the waltz stretched to its inevitable ending, the band moved seamlessly into a bluesy rendition of a familiar folk song. Paul pulled her closer still, and they swayed to the music, her head on his shoulder. Song after song, they danced. Paul ignored one attempt to cut in on him, sweeping her around the edge of the floor. Finally he glanced at his watch.