by Chana Keefer
“I thought you French only drank wine.”
“If you will believe I am French, then I will believe you are from Dixie, no?”
“Fair enough,” he drawled with a smile. “I take it you were about to sit out a few?”
I replied “Yes,” and he led the way to a table on the patio just outside the solarium doors.
“Won’t this Scarlett be jealous if you spend time with another woman?” I queried.
“My Scarlett is a hussy. It’s part of her charm. She’ll flirt with every man in the room, just you watch.”
I laughed at the thought of referring to the refined Helena as a hussy, but knew she would enjoy the joke.
It had been a bit warm with all the dancing so the night air was refreshing and cool. I gazed up at the velvety black sky with bright stars and a full moon coating the gardens with a brilliant dimness and gave a contented sigh. “This is a beautiful place, Lester, excuse me, Rhett.”
“So, ya know my real name, but I still don’t know yours.”
“You may call me ‘Blue’ if you like. That is what my friends have always preferred.”
“I see.” He leaned back in the chair to stretch long booted legs before him. “So ‘Blue,’ do ya know any of these other strangers?”
“A very few.” I studied the crowd for a moment. “I am, of course, acquainted with your Scarlett and Mary Poppins as well as the Queen and Monsieur Boone, but as for the rest, I am ignorant.”
Just then, a portly gentleman in a chair across the room pinched a young woman dressed as a tavern wench. “I would guess this must be ‘Cousin Rupert’.” I indicated the man who now guffawed at the woman’s reaction. “Scarlett warned me about him.”
“Ah yes, our friendly neighborhood masher.”
“And, she also told me of, let me see?” I scanned the crowd for a buxom woman in a low-cut dress, finally spying a good candidate dressed as a Grecian maid. “Am I correct in assuming this is Inez?” I nodded in her direction.
Lester laughed out loud, “I see Scarlett taught ya well.”
“Yes, she tells me many interesting things.”
“Well now. That makes me just a mite nervous.”
“Why? You have something to hide?” I asked. “Personally, I think a man handy with needle and thread could be most useful.”
“Oh no. Not the crosstitch.” He groaned. “I’ve gotta have a chat with Scarlett.”
“Your secret is safe with me,” I assured him.
“Surely you can imagine what woulda happened if word got around I was stitchin’ flowers. Never woulda made it outa grammar school alive.”
We spent the next twenty minutes or so laughing and talking together in our bad accents. We understood each other’s sense of humor and I was amazed at how quickly I felt at ease with him. In the anonymity of my French persona and thrill of the festive atmosphere, I teased and flirted in a manner that, I’m sure, would have impressed even Marti.
I recovered my shoes and we strolled among the roses, comparing notes on fads that had come and gone through the years, ranking pet rocks and mood rings among our favorites. I gave my opinion that nose and tongue rings would be hard to explain to future generations.
Lester agreed. “I can see it now, Gramps has a grandson on his knee goin’ through old photographs of himself, dentures and pierced tongue waggin’.”
“While the Grandmother tries to explain why ‘Wild Child’ is tattooed upon her hip,” I added.
I enjoyed my time with him. A great deal. Yes, we both played a role, but I sensed the genuineness in his personality and sense of humor. Sadly, I was leaving the next morning, but it was a relief to finally feel drawn toward someone besides Sky.
“Why, I do believe they’re playin’ your song,” Lester observed as “Blue Moon” filtered out to the gardens. “Might I have the pleasure?” He bowed and reached for my hand. “I remember some formal trainin’ from second year I’m sure would leave ya speechless.”
I curtsied as he held his arms out in a stiff, childish manner. “One, step, two, step, three, step,” he teased as we moved among the roses.
“I think, at this time, you should sweat a great deal and tread upon my feet.”
“I’m sure that’s why they make children dance so far apart. Less chance for broken toes.”
The back of my dress tugged. I stopped to inspect. My skirt was snagged on a protruding rose branch, but when I reached to disengage myself, the heel of my shoe sank in the soft earth next to the walkway. I stumbled, but Lester’s quick reaction saved me from becoming a human pincushion. However, the velvet of my dress was now firmly attached to several branches and anything I tried to do made it worse.
“This is how a fly feels in a web,” I muttered as Lester began attempts to remove the barbs. It developed into quite a delicate operation to detach me without ruining the dress. Lester hummed to himself in between his outbursts of “Ow!” when one of the thorns poked an unprotected finger.
“What song is that?” I inquired.
“Just somethin’ that seems appropriate at the moment.” He sang a few bars of Elvis’ “Caught in a Trap.”
“Impressive. But I was thinking more along the lines of ‘Everybody Plays the Fool,’ or ‘Baby Don’t Get Hooked on Me’.”
Lester jumped in with a country twang to croon about love being a rose you’d better not pick. I threw in a bar or two of Lionel Ritchie’s “Stuck on You.” We finally laughed so hard we were both in danger of falling into the bush.
“Well,” Lester triumphantly detached the last velvet snag, “it’s a good thing that’s done because I’m all outa fingers ta prick and I’d hate ta bleed on your lovely gown.” He bowed and draped the short train of velvet over my arm. “I was beginnin’ to hope you’d be a permanent fixture in Scarlett’s garden.” Lester grinned as he sucked briefly on a digit.
Removing a glove, I reached for his hand. “I am so sorry.” I gave it a maternal kiss. “Better, no?”
He was silent a second before holding out his other hand. “I think there’s a splinter in this one.”
I dutifully kissed that finger as well. He flipped the hand over. “And there’s a painful gash, right here.”
I smoothed the unscathed skin with my fingers and glanced into his grinning face. “And, a scratch here.” He pointed to his cheek and leaned forward.
“Just like Pinocchio. I will need to make room for the nose.”
“Can’t blame a fellah for tryin’.” He smiled and reached for my hand, encouraging me to the center of the path. “Besides, I believe I deserve some reward for removin’ ya from a sticky situation. How ‘bout tellin’ me your rightful name?”
I tried to sound as lighthearted as possible despite his distractingly warm hand. “You will have to be patient until midnight.” I pulled my hand away.
The sound of a reed pipe signaled the beginning of a Scottish jig. “I always wanted to try that,” I said.
I took Lester’s hand and pulled him back to the solarium. We re-entered the boisterous atmosphere of Helena’s party.
Captain Hook seemed to have a handle on this, so we stationed ourselves close to him. I imitated the one arm over the head, other hand set at the hip and quick, ballet-style motions of the feet. A small group gathered around Mary Poppins and the spry Captain as they demonstrated proper jig technique. I kicked off my shoes and joined in.
The rhythm of pipe and drums sped up and we danced faster. The hopping motions became so quick Ms. Poppin’s feet were a blur.
I was having the time of my life, one arm around the waist of the Captain, the other arched over my head, when a sharp pain pierced my injured ankle.
The dance ended with a flourish of drums and hugs from Monsieur Hook. “A fine job me beauty!”
I bit my lip, desperate for the nearest place to sit down.
The notes of the next song began just as Lester returned to my side. I recognized the simple guitar of “Changeling” as my partner reached to put an arm arou
nd my waist.
The familiar melody brought it all back in a rush; laughing together in the hotel room, the ride in the limousine, the amazing time we’d had together a few weeks before.
“Is something wrong?” His eyes studied me and his mouth was set in a grim line.
“Actually, I’d better sit this one out. I think I… over-jigged,” I stammered and stumbled. The pain in my ankle matched the knife in my heart.
“Lean on me.” He pulled me closer as the song continued. The suit coat to his costume had been removed along with the middle-aged paunch.
The memories were so strong, I recalled Sky’s scent, hovering like a phantom, and the warm sense of belonging when I was close to him.
I glanced up at Lester, trying to sort truth from the confusion of feelings. Was this how it would be for the rest of my life? I would meet someone new only to find I saw in him the one person I truly wanted? That wouldn’t be fair to anyone.
Emotions and sensations stirred in me that I hadn’t experienced since….
Lester moved his hand until it was palm-to-palm with mine. Our fingers entwined in a well-rehearsed dance. For one brief instant, all sound ceased as I stared at my hand, pushing the truth away as every fiber of my being yearned toward his touch.
I stopped moving, oblivious to everything but the magnetic pull toward the man before me. As if burned by the contact, I dropped his hand and stepped back, staring at his masked face.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
“Honk!” I jumped at the sound. Harpo stood beside us, indicating a desire to dance. My smile must have been unconvincing because he gave an exaggerated frown, pointed toward my companion, then danced around Lester, jabbing and dodging like a boxer.
This time, Lester did not join in the joke. He turned and walked away without a word.
I had to be alone.
I stumbled toward the exit, refusing Harpo’s arm, and escaped into the darkness of the gardens to limp in a daze through the clusters of roses. The moments in Lester’s arms played over and over in my mind. A small stone bench hid from the light of the moon, canopied by the overhanging branches of a tree. I sat and removed the mask. My ankle throbbed, but I was almost grateful for it. At least that was real, not some delusion brought on by heartache and an unfortunate choice of music.
A hushed conversation came closer. I thought to move away, but my own name brought me to a halt.
“What are you thinking, bringing Esther here without at least warning me?” a familiar voice hissed.
“You would have argued about it. You were being foolish and stubborn and… anyway, I like surprises.”
“Please Gram, you have to take this seriously.”
“I am serious.” Helena’s voice was stern. ”You’ve been given a gift, a second chance, and you’re pushing it away. Somebody’s got to save you from your own foolishness.”
Facts tumbled into place like an avalanche. Lester was Sky? But that was impossible. I peeked over the hedge to confirm the unbelievable.
There he stood, dark wig and mask removed, angry face reflecting the moon’s glow as if framed in a spotlight. How could I have been so blind?
“For once I try to do the right thing… ”
“The right thing for whom?” Helena cut him off. “You’re just scared. Admit it. Why take a risk when you can wrap your pride in ‘doing the right thing’?”
I didn’t understand everything, but rage boiled. He was angry I was here? That was nothing compared to what I felt. I reached to the ground and found a small rock. It wasn’t a rotten tomato, but it would have to do. I took aim.
“Ow!” Sky yelled as the rock hit his knee.
“Enough!” I shouted as their heads snapped my way. “I’ll spare you the trouble of having to ‘do the right thing’.” I nearly choked on anger. “I’m sick of being a toy to play with and toss aside.”
“Esther listen… ” Sky began.
“No.” I stopped him. “Game over. You’re a spoiled brat who doesn’t know his own mind. Well, you’re not going to screw up mine anymore.” I fought back tears as I removed the tiara. The image of Sky dodging that as well was enticing, but the broach was special to Helena so I handed to her instead. “I’m sorry things aren’t the way you want them to be. Thank you for everything.” I gave Helena a kiss on the cheek. “Happy birthday.”
As I lifted the heavy skirt and raced up the path toward the house, Helena’s voice followed me. “So go after her, you idiot.”
I couldn’t catch Sky’s reply, but the lack of pursuing footsteps was deafening.
The romantic atmosphere of the night;--rose-scented breeze, soothing splash of the fountain, festive sounds of the party--were mocking laughter in my ears.
As I hurried up the steps to the porch, a voice called from the shadows.
“Excuse me, masks are to be worn until midnight.” A white-wigged gowned form rose from the porch swing followed by a tall man clad in knickers and waistcoat. They stepped into the light as the woman removed her mask.
“Chloe?”
“Hope I haven’t spoiled the surprise.”
“Esther?”
I turned toward her companion’s familiar voice as he, too, removed his mask. Sky’s brother, James, smiled broadly and pulled me into a hug.
“I, um… ” I stammered.
“What are you doing here? I had no idea.” He looked toward Chloe’s calm face. “But you’re not surprised. What’s going on?”
“Sorry, Sweetheart, but you are horrible at keeping secrets, especially from your brother.”
“Sweetheart? Are you two… ”?
Chloe beamed, “An item? Yes.”
James broke in with a grin. “Chloe finally realized she can’t live without me.”
“I do believe it’s the other way around,” Chloe teased as James pulled her close.
“I didn’t know, I mean, that’s wonderful.” I forced the words past the painful lump in my throat.
Chloe sobered immediately and led me away a couple steps. “What happened?”
“He doesn’t want me here. End of story.”
“Ugh.” She rolled her eyes. “I told him he shoulda banged that stubborn head against the wall instead of his fist.”
I had to smile at her candor, but the situation was far too raw and the pity in her eyes was like acid in the gaping wound of my pride. She seemed to get it. “Go. Punch a few walls. I hear it’s therapeutic.”
I raced to my room, slammed and locked the door, then threw belongings into my suitcase. The phrase, “He doesn’t want me here,” pounded in my head like a sledgehammer.
I refused to cry. “He doesn’t deserve it,” I muttered as I peeled away the blue velvet, then slipped on my sweatshirt and pajama pants. There, the “Blue Fairy” was officially gone and I was just plain ol’ me, confused, naïve Esther with some nice curls and a re-broken heart. I stepped out on the balcony trying to breathe, trying to sort out the anger and hurt, wondering all the time why I was being punished.
There was a tap on the door. And another. “Esther?” Sky’s voice called. “Esther, please open the door.”
I crossed the room and stared at the door, wanting so badly to turn the antique, glass knob but determined not to play the fool for him again.
“Please Esther.” I heard a soft thud that must have been his forehead against the door. “I’m so sorry.” His voice caught and a tear trace a path down my cheek. I reached a hand to touch the knob.
There was silence for a moment as I listened to his breathing just a few inches away. Finally he spoke. “I’ll leave you alone, but there’s something I want you to have.” I heard a shuffling sound on the floor, then his retreating footsteps.
I slid back the lock and peeked out. On the floor lay a small book. As I reached to retrieve it I noticed another small volume beneath with a yellow rose tucked in the pages—a simple collegiate notebook filled with writing. My writing. It was the journal I hadn’t seen since the night I met Sky.
I crossed to the bed and flopped down to remove the rose. Flipping through the pages, I skimmed impatiently through my life of two years ago; the classes, descriptions of sunsets and experiences at summer camp, insecurities, frustrations with teachers and assignments, prayers, hopes, dreams… and Sky.
I turned the page, surprised to find Sky’s writing.
May 20, 1987
I meant to return this to you today, but something happened that made me reconsider that decision. Had a short but very pivotal discussion with your father. I’ll record it as faithfully as possible so someday, hopefully, you’ll forgive me.
I was leaning on the fence, calming down after the ugliness with the trespasser, when your father joined me with a “Hey there, young man.”
I greeted him as well, but I could tell he had something on his mind so I waited for him to speak.
“So ya like each other pretty well.”
“Yes, sir.” I replied, though my blood still boiled at the thought of our short tryst in the garage. I hated to think how quickly my host would retrieve that rifle of his if he knew the thoughts I was having toward you.
“So what exactly are your plans in regards to my daughter?”
That was blunt. It deserved a straight answer. I said I wanted to keep in touch with you, call and write, see you as often as possible.
He laced his hands together on the fence. Obviously I hadn’t eased his mind. “I’ll be blunt with ya, son. I’m havin’ a hard time believin’ your version of what happened last night. Seems more likely ya made this trip out here today ‘cause ya feel guilty. Kinda makes me wanna get a shovel and bury ya in the back forty.” He grinned as if the thought gave him pleasure.
“I’ll shoot straight with ya about somethin’ else,” he continued. His use of the word “shoot” made me nervous. “You’re not my first choice of someone for her to get tangled up with. You’ve lived a fast life and I don’t see much ability to handle commitment… ”