by Karen M Cox
“I’m fine, I’m fine.” He schooled his features into his trademark cocky grin. “Better?”
“Much. You’re one of the hosts after all.”
“You’re absolutely right.” He tossed a glance over his shoulder. “You’re always keeping me on the straight and narrow, aren’t you? Let’s mingle.”
Grateful that Frank was determined to be in a better humor, I dug into the pleasantries of party-going. I’d always loved talking with people and was good at it, if I do say so myself. George used to say, “Emma can get a wall to talk.” Whether that was a compliment to my social skills or a commentary on my ability to find out everything about everybody, I wasn’t sure.
George. I looked around for him and caught him looking right at me. He had moved across the room to speak to an attorney, leaving Mary Jo in the very capable company of Nina. Sometimes, he baffled me. Elegantly dressed, in an understated suit and tie, he really did draw every female eye in the place, and he didn’t need fads and fashion to make a statement. Talk about je ne se quoi! George Knightley had it in spades. His genuine smile and the way he moved through the crowd, without looking like Tim Elton working the room, was compelling. My heart swelled with pride as I followed him from speaking with Dr. Perry to old Mrs. McKinney with…well, masculine grace—there was no other phrase so apt. Our eyes met again for one long second, and I smiled, gesturing with my head toward the dance floor, but he only returned my smile and shook his head.
What was going on with all these silly men today? First Frank, and then George, and now, I realized, Mary Jo hadn’t had a man ask her to dance yet. I exchanged glances with Nina, who led Mary Jo close to a group of men standing near the bar. When that didn’t elicit an invitation, I saw Nina heading toward Tim and Edie, whispering together at the side of the room, and thought, No, no, no! He’ll never ask Mary Jo to dance with that shrew standing right there! I expected he would escape into the other room, but he left Edie talking to a judge she knew and crossed paths with Nina and Mary Jo. I wasn’t quite close enough to hear, but a few steps brought me within earshot. It soon became apparent that Tim had no intention of escaping the room. His plan was much more nefarious.
“Tim,” Nina began, “why aren’t you dancing? We need to find you a partner.”
“I had to get permission from my gal.” He gestured with his thumb toward Edie. “But she’s given me the go ahead, so I’ll be glad to take you to the floor, Nina.”
“Me? Oh. I’ve got no time to dance. I’ve got to check on about ten things with the bar and catering staff. But Mary Jo is free.”
“Mary Jo? Oh, you mean Knightley’s secretary?” His face turned stony cold acknowledging Mary Jo at Nina’s side with a curt nod. “Oh, I didn’t see her there. She blends right in with the wait staff. Think I’ll forego dancing for now. Any other chore you need me to do, I’m happy to help, but… Excuse me.”
Nina stood with abject shock on her face. I was enraged. This was Tim Elton, who had always seemed so friendly and nice! Shallow perhaps, but this? Plain meanness! And here I’d thought he was above such things and even considered him worthy of a sweet girl like Mary Jo.
Tim had stepped over to settle into a conversation with George, who stood there with a grim expression, a muscle ticking in his cheek. Tim and Edie exchanged looks of malicious glee. Mary Jo looked down into the drink the bartender handed her, her cheeks flushed, shoulders stooped in embarrassment.
That horse’s ass! I wanted to march over straight away and give Tim a piece of my mind, but I knew that would only embarrass Mary Jo further. Heat and righteous indignation bubbled under my skin as I realized I was powerless to help her.
George took one glance at my fuming expression and left Tim in mid-sentence. He walked straight to Mary Jo, took her wineglass, handed it to the bartender, and leaned close to speak in her ear. Her up-turned face changed from red mortification to white shock to a glowing peachy pink, as she smiled and nodded. George led her to the floor as the band began to play.
I didn’t think it was possible to be more proud of George than I was earlier, but I was wrong. Such chivalry was rare these days. How lucky Mary Jo was to work for such a gentleman! How lucky I was to have him as a friend. My heart filled to bursting as he turned Mary Jo so he faced me, his perfect eyebrow raised and a jaunty grin on his face.
“Thank you,” I mouthed silently.
It was as if we were the only two people in the room.
Thirty-One
Long after Bold Forbes had won the Run for the Roses, and deep into the revelry of the evening, George walked the perimeter of the party. He was itching for home, the quiet, the dark, the ability to hear his own thoughts, but he wasn’t leaving without Emma, and she was still having the time of her life. She got few chances to attend parties and enjoy herself, and he didn’t have the heart to suggest she end it and head home.
And he’d be damned if he’d leave her to the clutches of Frank Weston after what he saw in the men’s room about an hour ago.
Frank was talking with Michael Otway, the bourbon king’s heir with too much money and a nose for cocaine, and George became suspicious when they looked around before heading into the restroom one after the other. When they didn’t return after about five minutes, he followed them. Michael stared at himself in the mirror, eyes bright and red. Frank brushed something off the mirror shelf and slipped a plastic bag in the pocket of his vest.
Otway took one look at George and made for the restroom exit. Frank acknowledged him in the mirror with a nod and splashed some water on his face like aftershave.
“Having a good time, Frank?” George asked quietly, as he straightened his tie.
“The best. Love Derby. I could party all night.”
“I’m sure you could. Just make sure you make it someplace safe by morning.”
Frank laughed. “I certainly will.” He clapped George on the shoulder. “You too, old man. You too.”
After that, George kept one eye on Frank, the other on Emma. She danced with those who asked her, nursed a glass of wine while she chatted with old schoolmates, earned some lustful stares from young men that made his blood boil. Still, he couldn’t fault their taste. He was used to seeing Emma in running clothes, jeans and peasant tops, the occasional dress for some event. But that royal blue halter number she was wearing stunned him: the slope of her shoulders, the curve of her back displayed to perfection in that dress, the way her hair floated around her and settled like spun honey about her face, and those legs that ran right up to her neck. No, he couldn’t blame the young men in the crowd for following her around the room. He even admired her restraint given all that male attention. One thing about Emma, admiration for her looks alone didn’t turn her head; the poor fellow also had to flatter her brains and her sparkling personality to stir her vanity. She was going easy on the drinks too, which was wise, in his opinion, and when he complimented her temperance, she looked at him like he was an eight-year-old who had tugged her pigtail.
“Of course, I’m taking it easy on the alcohol—in case you’ve forgotten, and I do hope you haven’t, since you’ve planned a brunch at the country club—I have graduation tomorrow.”
“I know, Em. I just…”
“I’m not a child.”
“I know.” Boy, did he ever. Tonight’s events had been a constant series of reminders.
“Just because I’m not standing in the corner half the night doesn’t mean I’m being irresponsible.”
“That’s not what I—”
“You really ought to take the opportunity to enjoy yourself, instead of loitering about with the older generation. The only time I saw you out there was when you rescued poor Mary Jo. Good job, by the way.”
“Thanks.” He felt sheepish. “I don’t know if it was the right thing or not, but Tim really ticked me off.”
“It was absolutely the right thing to do! Tim is a jerk.”
“It was incredibly rude on his part, almost vicious. Not his typical M.O.”
<
br /> “I know it.” Emma bit her lip.
“Must be a little Edie Bitti snobbery sneaking in.”
“Perhaps.”
“It’s almost like they aimed the snub at more than just Mary Jo. What’s with that, Emma? Why would Tim and Edie have anything against you? And why take it out on Mary Jo?”
“Well…” She seemed shy now, and he narrowed his eyes at her, his penetrating look accompanied by a small smile.
“I’d guess he might have been discouraged after last year’s Christmas party?”
She looked away, refusing to answer.
“Water under the bridge, though. That’s none of Edie’s business, nor mine, for that matter. You wanted to pair him up with Mary Jo, right? Fess up. Is that what fed this meanness tonight?”
“Oh, you’re right, as usual, and they’ll never forgive me for it.”
“I won’t say I told you so. I’m sure you’ve chastised yourself enough.”
“I’m a know-it-all sometimes, George. Will I never learn?”
He put an arm around her shoulders, then took it back abruptly. “When you reflect on it, you do learn, honey.”
“I learned more than I wanted about Tim Elton, I can tell you that. He’s a self-absorbed social climber. You saw that in him before. But I didn’t, not until it was too late to keep Mary Jo from being hurt.”
“Well, I have to say, you chose for him better than he has chosen for himself. Mary Jo has a sweet brand of charm that Edie definitely lacks. While we danced, I had a pleasant conversation with my front office help.”
“Was that your only turn around the dance floor this evening?”
“I’m not much of a dancer.”
“I disagree. Besides, you’re young, George, you should be dancing, meeting people, breaking hearts—being the charming, handsome devil you are.”
“What?”
“It’s late in the evening, and it looks like I’ve missed my chance to be charmed by Lexington’s best-looking man-about-town.” She grinned. “Or perhaps you’re a bit rusty.”
He stood, agog, as a slow, sultry Clapton number began. Emma flipped her hair over her shoulder and tossed some young stud a winning smile. The kid started over, but George stepped in between the two, took Emma’s elbow and leaned into her, speaking low in her ear, “Whom are you going to dance with?”
She hesitated a moment, a brief, almost star-struck expression traveled over her features. “Um…” Then her lips curved. “With you, if you will ask me.”
His hand slid down her arm to grasp her fingers. “Let’s dance a slow one, Emma Kate. What do you say?”
“You’ve sweet-talked me into it. I saw you on the dance floor earlier with Mary Jo, and your secret is out. You’re quite the dancer. According to Edie Bitti, that’s a…fine and useful quality in a man.”
He laughed as he led her to the floor, turned her under his arm, and pulled her against him in one fluid motion.
She gasped a little as he held her close. “And besides, we’re in-laws, not siblings, so it won’t look weird. It’s not like we’re brother and sister.”
“Brother and sister?” Strange, that idea hadn’t occurred to him in months. “No, that’s one thing we certainly are not.”
Thirty-Two
May 2, 1976
I stood in front of the mirror, humming as I primped in the country club ladies’ lounge. Guests were assembling downstairs, and I had to admit George (or whoever he hired to do these things) had done a fine job arranging the brunch. He made me feel accomplished and celebrated. I felt happier and easier than I had in a while. First of all, a comment from Mary Jo last night led me to believe she was finally over Tim Elton. After the near disaster on the dance floor, Mary Jo barely spared Tim a glance the rest of the night, and from all outward appearances, she enjoyed the party. Amazing, really, after Tim put her down like that. I so admired Mary Jo’s ability to bounce back from disappointment. Perhaps she’d had a lot of practice in that area. Regardless, it was good to see her heart on the mend.
Second, the Derby party had been a smashing success; there were even pictures in this morning’s Sunday paper, which pleased Bob to no end.
Frank was still partying the night away at 2 a.m. when I turned to George and said with a yawn, “I’ve had the best time.”
“I’m glad, Emma Kate.”
“I’m ready to go home though. It’s a big day tomorrow.”
“We can leave anytime.”
“Let me get Mary Jo, and we’ll head out.”
I found her in conversation with Nina, and after getting her purse, we stopped at the bar to tell Frank goodnight.
“Miss Woodhouse!” His voice was a little too loud, his eyes unbelievably sharp for so late in the evening. “Leaving so soon?”
“I am.”
“Aww!”
Looking around, I said. “I believe the party’s over. You’re one of the last holdouts, Frank.”
“At least you didn’t turn into a pumpkin at midnight, like the Fair Jane Fax.”
“Don’t be too hard on her. She had Helen in tow.”
“Right, right.” He took a sip of something amber-colored in a lowball glass and gave me a speculative glance. “If y’all want to stay, I’ll give you a ride home.”
“I’ve got it covered.” George cut in. “No problem.”
Frank pointed to George and flashed a sly smile. “Hey, man, you’re the best.”
“How are you getting home, Frank?” I asked.
“Who cares?” George muttered. I narrowed my eyes at him.
“I’ll catch a ride in Otway’s limo. Or ride home with Dad and Nina. Don’t you worry about me.”
“Okay, then. Goodnight, Frank.”
“See you at the thingy. Tomorrow.”
I had no illusions that I would see anything of Frank Weston tomorrow. He would most likely be nursing the mother of all hangovers. That was fine with me.
So, Mary Jo’s heart was on the mend. Frank didn’t seem any more interested in me than I was in him, so that gave me some peace of mind. Finally, for the first time in a while, I didn’t feel like I was at odds with George Knightley.
George…
His image took my imagination into flight—impeccably dressed in his suit, his blue eyes twinkling with humor, the warmth of his hand on my back when we danced last night.
A shout from downstairs snapped me back from my daydream. I ran to the balcony overlooking the front entryway, and saw of all people, Frank, with his arm around a limping Mary Jo.
“Oh my goodness!” I cried, racing down the stairs. “Whatever happened?”
“I was driving out here,” Frank began, “when some jerk comes out of nowhere, passing me and every other car in a line of them, then scooting back in the lane at the last minute. Just barely missed having a head-on with a box truck. I thought, well, that’s just some asshole in a hurry, but then I saw a car up ahead of me veer into the ditch. Not a person stopped to help. Can you believe that? So, when I got up there, I pulled off the side of the road, and there was Mary Jo getting out of her car.”
Mary Jo took a step, then winced as her ankle gave way. “I feel so stupid. I overcorrected when that guy passed me and ran into the ditch, and then right when Frank pulled over, I got out and turned my ankle on a rock. Landed right on my rear-end. How embarrassing is that?”
“I’m just glad you aren’t seriously hurt.” I grasped Frank’s hand. “Thank you so much for stopping to help!”
“It was no problem at all.” Frank stood back, letting me close to fuss over my friend.
“Mary Jo, do you need to go to the hospital?”
“Oh, heavens, no! I just turned my ankle. I can move it and everything. See?” She winced again.
“Let’s get Dr. Perry over here to take a look at it, at least. It would make me feel better.”
After applying some ice and some tape to wrap the injury, I motioned for Frank, already half-way through a Bloody Mary.
“What’s up,
Miss Woodhouse?”
“What about Mary Jo’s car? Do we need to have it towed or something?”
“Oh, I don’t think so,” Frank replied. “Didn’t seem to be damaged.” He paused, sipped. Then, as if it had just occurred to him, he added, “If someone can run me back down there, I think I can drive it right out.”
I turned around, looking for George, and saw him speaking to one of the valets on staff. He pointed over to Frank, and the boy nodded. It seems as if Mr. Knightley and I had the same thought. We exchanged looks, and I sighed a breath of relief before sending Frank off with the valet.
“You and your car troubles, Mary Jo…” I shook my head.
Cringing, Mary Jo looked around, seeing the staring faces for the first time. “I’m so sorry to ruin your party.”
“It’s hardly ruined. As soon as we get your car up here—”
“Do you think I’ll be able to drive?” Mary Jo’s forehead creased with worry, glancing toward George. “It’s a standard shift.”
“Let’s just see how you feel after brunch.” I handed her a glass of water brought over by the waitress. “We’ll decide then.”
Later, as I sat at the big round table, watching Mary Jo and Frank telling the tale of their adventure, I was struck by how they laughed, exchanged glances, finished each other’s sentences. At first, Mary Jo spoke of her fright, but in response to Frank’s expression of quietly amused relief, followed by outrage at the recklessness of the other driver, she began to perk up considerably.
The revelation hit me like a ton of bricks. Mary Jo and Frank! Holy cow, they are perfect for each other! Why did I not see it before? She, on the rebound from ghastly Tim Elton—he, sort of aimless and in need of a steadying influence. And look how they interact, how they smile and speak to one another. They’ve been thrown together by this accident. It’s kismet. It’s fate. It’s…
I glanced across the table and discovered George gazing at me, like I was his pride and joy.
No, no, no. I won’t interfere. It’s their business, not mine. I’ll wish and hope, but no…more…matchmaking. People just don’t behave the way I want them to, and it ends up being a disaster. I smiled into my iced tea. Wouldn’t George be proud of me, if he knew?