There was a knock on the door and Theo's voice. “You're very, very late. You've missed the receiving line.”
Anna glided into the ballroom, followed by Clara, followed by Theo, and they were promptly announced. Anna beamed. Everything was pink. The flowers were blush, the tablecloths grapefruit, the napkins carnation. The food was puce and cerise and coral. Most of the women, those who could arrange it, wore gowns in raspberry, salmon, melon, or mauve, and the men wore rose boutonnieres. Anna herself wore green, as she wanted to stand out.
It was a glittering affair, attended by all the important people. Half of the guests were strangers to Anna, some of them vulgar, all of them rich and invited at the discretion of Mr. Blanc for business purposes. Anna was busy fulfilling her obligation to dance with every jowly gentleman on her card. She barely saw Edgar, as he was similarly busy shaking hands with business associates and dancing with their dowdy wives.
A man from her card dragged Anna to the floor for a waltz, lumbering largely, in triple time. Anna bore his painfully exaggerated moves, trying not to make a face. Clara giggled at her from the arms of a man who had managed to secure pink tails on short notice. Anna sighed in relief when the musicians finally took a break and Edgar stole to her side. He dabbed his brow with a handkerchief. “This is torture.”
She gave him a teasing smile. “Don't you like balls?”
“Not when they are in my honor.”
“Surely you like dancing with all those women?”
He took her arm. “I like dancing with you.”
Anna harrumphed. “How could you possibly know? You've never danced with me.”
“I'd like to change that.”
“Good luck.” Anna glowered over at her father, who was sidling up to a woman. She raised her eyebrows. “Who's that lady?” The woman stood smoking a cigarette by a potted orange tree. She wore a pale yellow gown, painted with roses, in a style Anna had never seen. She was old, maybe forty-five, slender, and not wearing a corset.
“Now, she's a story.” Edgar lowered his voice. “Her name is Emma Summers. She's a piano teacher, and one of the wealthiest, most powerful people in the state.”
“Taffy!” Anna smiled.
“It's true. They call her the Oil Queen of California. She invested in oil wells, early on. Needless to say, she no longer gives lessons. She's selling 50,000 barrels of crude oil per month. She hires the men, buys the equipment, and is supervising the whole operation.”
Anna was intrigued. “Will you introduce me?”
Emma Summers was walking away when Mr. Blanc summoned Edgar with his eyes.
“Ah. Excuse me, darling. I'll only be a minute.” Edgar joined Anna's father by the orange tree where they whispered conspiratorially, sober and unsmiling.
Clara glided to Anna's side towing a pink satin train and a glass of blush champagne. Anna watched the men. “I really think the two of them should marry. They're always together.”
“They have business, dearest. It's not our world.” Clara took Anna's hand and held it.
“Women can do business. Emma Summers does business and has been very successful.”
Clara looked at Anna quizzically. “Emma who?”
As the musicians reassembled and began playing a waltz, something dreadful happened. Louis Taylor appeared at Anna's elbow looking tentative. “Good evening, Anna. Will you honor me with your hand for a waltz?” He mooned at her with aching eyes, like a wronged but devoted lover. For once in her life, Anna wished that Mrs. Curlew-Taylor were there.
Clara spoke with all the venom of a rattlesnake cupcake. “Who let you in?”
He coughed and pulled an invitation from his pocket. “I was invited, and I believe this is my dance.”
Anna dropped her eyes to her card, and there, written in English, was the name, Louis Taylor. She paled. Not only had her father invited the faithless peacock, he expected her to dance with him. Mrs. Curlew-Taylor must have a lot of money for Anna's father to do something so cruel and so desperate. Anna turned to Clara, eyes full of despair. “Edgar couldn't possibly have agreed to this.”
As Clara was shaking her head, Theo Breedlove grabbed Anna from behind and twirled her onto the dance floor. He waltzed like a prince. “You looked like you needed to be rescued.”
“Can't you take him out back and beat him?”
“Isn't that Enid Curlew's job? From what I hear, she's good at it.”
“Yes, but where is she?”
“Maybe she doesn't like his company.” They glanced over to where Louis stood and saw Clara winding up for a violent sneeze. On the exhale, she dumped pink champagne on the crotch of Louis's trousers. He stood frozen as it dripped down his legs like a toddler's accident. Theo grinned. “She's a darling, my wife.”
A smile returned to Anna's lips. She blew Clara a kiss. “What would I do without her?”
Police chief Nobel Singer still had all his hair and the lean body of a younger man. He entered the ballroom grinning as if it were a parlor full of his favorite cousins. Beside him, Officer Joe Singer took in the colored room with raised eyebrows. He wore a tuxedo better than he wore a frock.
The Singers were hailed by a graying man with salmon pâté in his mustache. They sauntered over to say hello. “Evening, Mayor,” the chief said, and made a gesture of dabbing his mouth.
The mayor quickly reached for a pink cloth napkin and smeared the salmon pâté. “Ah. Thank you.” He slapped Joe on the back. “Didn't expect to see you here, my boy.”
The chief donned a serious expression. “A man's been bothering the Blanc girl. I told Christopher I'd bring Joe along to handle him if he shows up. We've been walking the grounds.”
“Is he a threat?” the mayor asked.
“Maybe not.” The chief laid a hand on his son's shoulder. “But I view it as another opportunity for Joe to see how business is done.”
Joe's smile dimmed. He knew how their business was done. The mayor tugged on one handle of his mustache and smiled. “Well, that's one way to get your son an invitation. How are things down at the station?”
“Hunky dory,” the chief said.
Joe laughed. “Don't you believe it. He's not around much since you made him chief. You'd do better asking him about his golf game.”
The mayor chortled. “I know all about his golf game. I'm his golf partner.”
As the men laughed, Anna waltzed by in the masterful arms of Theo, whirling in tight circles, her lovely shoulders bare, her lips blushing, her lashes dark with walnut stain. All three men were sucked into her vortex.
“Now there's a girl who makes me wish I were twenty years younger,” the mayor said.
Joe took in this vision of a girl, this tended, unattainable, spun-sugar girl dancing like someone out of a storybook. As make-believe as she seemed, something about her was familiar, and he searched his mind for an association. He wanted to place her in rags by a hearth, like a Cinderella.
Or in a matron's uniform.
His freshly-shaven jaw dropped. It was the aloof, tattletale matron whose shoes he had sprayed with whiskey and undigested corn.
“Oh, my Lord. Is she a friend of the groom or the bride?” Joe asked.
The mayor and the chief shared an amused look. The chief licked his lips. “Joe. She is the bride.”
Joe's large eyes popped. “That's Anna Blanc?”
His father grinned. “It could be difficult to guard a girl if you don't know who she is, Son.”
The mayor slapped Joe on the back. “I'll make sure you get a proper introduction. Just don't fall in love.” He hailed the man with the tray of pâté.
Chief Singer excused himself and charmed his way around the room with a grin and a glass of grapefruit punch. Joe went to work guarding Anna. He barely took his eyes off her, and only partly because he was paid to watch her. He kept asking himself why a renowned beauty, engaged to one of the richest men on the West Coast, would lie about her name and get a job at a police station. He studied her person for a clue t
he way he studied a dodgy witness—examining her expression, the set of her jaw, the way her eyes moved beneath those feathered lashes, her impossibly red lips, her bare shoulders…
He never spoke to her and maintained a discreet distance, but, for her security, he never stood more than ten feet away. Once, she caught his eye and gave him a dazzling smile. He laughed at her. She didn't recognize him. She made a dignified toss of her slighted, pretty head and went on dancing.
Periodically, Joe scanned the room for signs of the stalker. He caught Edgar Wright staring at him. Joe nodded and raised his glass, but Edgar didn't smile. Joe sipped his strawberry punch and assessed the unfriendly man. He looked like what he was—an East Coast society dude. He had style, looks, old money, and, apparently, an attitude. Joe felt sorry for him. Poor Mr. Wright was marrying Matron Holmes.
A flock of ladies, pretty ones, too, flew up to fawn over Edgar, and Joe saw his winning smile. He felt less sympathetic, and went back to watching Anna spinning around bare-shouldered with her feathers and her old money and nouveau riche partners.
When he next scanned the room, Edgar was watching him again. This time, the man glared. Joe lifted his eyebrows, and blew out a whistle. In between handshakes, banter, and dance steps, Edgar Wright was watching Joe watch Anna.
Anna took the floor with another businessman. His hands were slippery with sweat. She was bored, had a blister, and wanted champagne. At the end of the dance, the string quartet took another break. “Can I get you something, Miss Blanc?” her damp-palmed partner asked. She declined, despite her thirst, and went to dry her hands.
Anna noticed Emma Summers leaning out an open window, a breeze ruffling her hair. The sight was doubly refreshing. Anna glided over, slipping off her hot, damp gloves, and extended her hand. “Miss Summers. I'm Anna Blanc.”
Miss Summers's gloves were lamb soft, tinted butter yellow. The lady gave Anna a gracious smile. “I had a dance with your betrothed. He's charming.”
“Then I'm jealous. We haven't danced together all night.” Anna leaned her back against the windowsill and basked in the cooling breeze.
For a moment, the women stood in silence watching the sea of whirling color. Miss Summers took out a cigarette case and offered a stick to Anna. Anna waved it away. “No thank you. The last time I smoked, I was arrested.”
“Really? Good for you.” Smoke streamed from the center of Miss Summers's smile. Her tobacco smelled of cloves.
Anna's lips parted slightly and her shapely eyebrows lifted. “That isn't what my father thought.”
Miss Summers chuckled. “I'm not surprised.”
The woman's easy dismissal of her father's opinion encouraged Anna. She interlaced her fingers. “Miss Summers, I know this is the first time we've met, but Edgar told me about you and I wanted to say that I admire you very much.”
“Thank you.”
“If I may presume to say so, I think we may be kindred spirits. You see, you're out in the world of men, and I would like to be.”
Miss Summers perked up. “Oh. So you're interested in business?”
“Yes. That is, I believe I should know something of the bank if it is to be mine someday.”
Miss Summers pressed her lips together. “What you need to know now is that banks all over the country are failing.”
Anna's eyebrows jumped. “They are? Why?”
“It's a chain reaction, my dear. There was a failed takeover. Wall Street dropped by fifty percent. Do you know the Knickerbocker Trust Company?”
“No.”
“They're the third largest trust company in New York City. When they collapsed, everybody panicked. People lost confidence. They're taking their money out of the banks and burying it in the garden. And when there is a run on a bank, well, few banks have the capital it takes to survive. That's why everyone's so twitchy tonight.”
For the first time, Anna looked at the faces of the men populating the ballroom. She really looked. Miss Summers was right. They did seem twitchy. Her father was among the twitchiest. Anna felt twitchy herself. “And Blanc National Bank? What about Blanc National?”
Miss Summers inhaled on her cigarette, and when she spoke her words were formed in smoke. “That's a sit-down conversation, but your father has a powerful ally now.”
“Who's that?” But Anna already knew.
“Here he comes.”
Edgar strolled over to the breezy window, smiling, and linked his black tuxedo-sleeved arm through Anna's. “Excuse me, Miss Summers. I'm in desperate need of my fiancée.”
Anna peered into his face for a hint that the sky was falling, but she saw no sign of it. So, she glared at him. Miss Summers stepped back and flashed him a crooked smile. “Far be it from me to stand in the way of love, Mr. Wright.”
Anna placed her bare hand on Miss Summers's yellow sleeve. “May I call on you? I'd like to have a sit-down conversation.”
The older woman dug in her purse for a card and handed it to Anna. She smiled. “I'll be disappointed if you don't.”
Edgar bowed to Miss Summers and swept Anna off toward a cluster of laughing men, who all looked the same from behind in their black tails. Both Anna and Edgar were scowling.
Anna snapped. “You let father invite Louis Taylor!”
“Of course not. I was in San Diego, remember? I knew they were doing business, but I never dreamed…” He rubbed one eye and then exhaled in a huff. “He left before I could throw him out. Did he wet his trousers?”
“Yes. He has a medical condition. I want you to kill my father.”
“Oh, I will. Once he's walked you down the aisle. And starting right now, Louis Taylor won't be coming anywhere near you. But, Anna, you can't care about him anymore. He's nothing to you. That was seven months ago. You have me, now.”
Anna composed her face. “Yes. He's just a gnat in my lemonade. Let's change the subject.”
“Yes, let's. I see you met Miss Summers. She's an odd choice of companion for you.”
“Oh, but she's lovely. She talked to me about banking. Edgar, banks are failing…”
“Yes, I know. How would you like to do some banking right now?”
“I'd adore it.”
“Good. Charm Mayor Smucker. He's invested a great deal of money in your father's bank, and we'd like to hang on to it.”
“All right.” Anna thought she should be allowed to do more than just charm the mayor, but it was a start.
Edgar escorted her to the huddle where Mr. Blanc, the mayor, and the chief stood along with the staring man. They were eating pink gelatin pudding, molded into the shape of flowers. It jiggled when they laughed. They parted to admit the couple.
Anna glanced surreptitiously at the stranger who had been watching her all night. She had given him her most alluring smile, almost flirtatious, and he had laughed at her. Before she could look away, he caught her eye and smirked. Anna's face flashed recognition, then horror. The staring man was Officer Singer. Her diaphragm constricted and she held her breath. She hadn't known him before, dressed in clothes appropriate to his sex.
He looked like the Arrow Collar Man. She glanced away.
The mayor extended his hand to Edgar, his mustache now frosted with tinted whipped cream. “If it isn't the man of the hour.”
The chief's face stretched in an ear-to-ear smile. “Congratulations, Mr. Wright. She's a lovely girl.”
“Yes, she is.” Edgar directed his gaze at Joe, his eyes amused and patronizing. “Don't you think so, Officer Singer?”
Joe looked amused right back. “She is something.”
“Miss Blanc, I don't believe you know my son Joe,” the chief said.
Anna had no breath for words. Officer Singer was the police chief's son. She closed her eyes. “I haven't had the pleasure.” She tentatively extended her hand, and glanced up at him to see what he would do.
Joe took her hand in his rough fingers and raised his eyebrows. “That's strange, because I could have sworn we've met before.”
An
na forced a smile, though her insides were screaming. He dropped her hand.
“Miss Blanc, I hear you're doing charity work,” the mayor said.
She blinked. “Yes. I've been…helping the orphans at the Orphans’ Asylum. Knitting. Blankets. All day. Every day.”
Joe choked on his gelatin flower.
“Well, that's most admirable,” the chief said.
Edgar beamed. “I'm just glad she's occupied. With this whole bank panic, Christopher and I are working day and night.”
Mr. Blanc put a hand on Edgar's neck and squeezed just a little too hard. “Merging families is easy. Business mergers take a lot of finesse. Isn't that right, Son.”
Anna no longer heard the conversation around her. The vile officer had recognized her. He had not told on her, yet. He just stood there eating his flower and watching her. She very much regretted getting on his bad side. He was like a cat playing with a bird, drawing out its suffering. Soon, he'd bite off her head. She'd rather not be present at her own execution.
The music started—her means of escape. “Edgar, must we talk business? You haven't danced with me once tonight.”
Edgar sighed. “I'd love to darling, but I'm not on your card.”
“To the devil with her card, Edgar. Dance with the girl!” the chief said.
Edgar gave the chief a broad smile. He shot a glance at Mr. Blanc, who frowned. Edgar shrugged. “I don't want to go to jail. Excuse us, gentlemen.” He led Anna to the dance floor.
Edgar whirled her almost as well as Theo. “I told you fathers are better behaved when they have an audience.”
“What?”
“Your father—he didn't stop us from dancing. He would have looked like a heel.”
Anna chuckled nervously. “Oh. Yes.” She wondered if debauched officers were also better behaved when they had an audience. Maybe Joe Singer had better manners than to publicly shame her at her own engagement ball in her father's home. But maybe he didn't. Maybe, any moment, he would tap his champagne glass with a spoon and lead the whole room in a toast to her career with the LAPD.
Anna inhaled deeply and tried to distract herself by thinking about Edgar. He looked manly and handsome. He smelled like petunias. She tried to think about his large, well-manicured hands, which were holding her, but it was futile.
The Secret Life of Anna Blanc Page 11