Chloe

by Lyn Cote

  “Respect for women?” Mrs. Kimball was too genteel to snort, but her tone and expression together were the equivalent. “I can’t vote, Mr. Jackson. So don’t try to electioneer me. Chloe is a lady and ladies have nothing to do with politics.”

  Chloe wished she could second this idea. But she wasn’t a participant here, just the captive witness.

  “Chloe’s a lady,” Mr. Kimball blustered. “No one can doubt that. She’s your daughter after all, a Carlyle. And make no mistake, Lily Leigh, I’m going to win this election, so don’t bother tryin’ to persuade me not to take advantage of every ace I got.”

  He turned to Chloe. “You did a good job today, sugar.” With a smile, he drew out a small jeweler’s box from his waistcoat pocket. “This is for you.”

  Chloe accepted the small box and opened it. Inside the deep-blue velvet was a ring of dainty pearls and diamonds, set in platinum. The sight didn’t thrill her, but she knew better than to violate her father’s expectations. She looked up with a delighted smile in place. “Why, Daddy, you didn’t have to.”

  “I know I didn’t.” He beamed his Santy Claus smile. “But you came through like a trooper today. At first, I thought Jackson had made a mistake. But he said you only learn to swim by being tossed into the river.” He chuckled deep in his throat, the sound like pebbles rolling in a wood box. “Today my little girl swam back to shore all by herself.”

  Chloe pictured herself tossing Jackson into the nearby Patuxent River, swollen with spring rain and runoff. But she gave another false smile and slipped the ring onto her finger. “Thank you, Daddy.” She rose and kissed his jowly cheek, another part of the ritual.

  Her mother rolled her eyes. “I don’t want Chloe put on display any more—”

  “She’ll do what I say and that’s that.” Mr. Kimball glared at his wife, bringing the discussion to an end.

  “You never did understand how to treat a lady.”

  Jackson stiffened next to Chloe. Her father scowled. Chloe concentrated on swallowing her second orange section. How much did Mother have to drink before dinner? Is that why she’s stepping over the line?

  Her parents’ bickering tonight had followed the usual pattern. Jackson was such a frequent visitor during Mr. Kimball’s election campaigns that they no longer treated him like a guest. But why had her mother persisted tonight? According to custom, she should have subsided after Chloe received the ring from her father. Why hadn’t she?

  “I want Chloe to make a good match, Mr. Kimball,” her mother declared, her voice beginning to slur slightly. “What gentleman wants his future wife making political speeches? That’s as distasteful as Kitty McCaslin marching with the suffragettes in New York City last year.”

  “Kitty was there today,” Chloe said, making an attempt to sidetrack her mother.

  “That doesn’t make it any better.” Mrs. Kimball shuddered with refinement. “That McCaslin girl is never going to make a credible match—”

  Mr. Kimball snorted. “Only if her daddy loses his bank.” Jackson chortled behind the back of his hand.

  “Oh, someone will marry her.” Mrs. Kimball waved her hand in the air. “But no man of distinction, of breeding.”

  “Maybe she doesn’t want a man of . . . of breeding.” As if from a distance, Chloe heard the words come out of her mouth. Shocked, she fell silent. Why did I say that? Why didn’t I keep my mouth shut?

  “Chloe,” her mother began in a scandalized tone.

  “Miss Chloe’s got a point,” Jackson interrupted. “This is the twentieth century.”

  “Jackson’s right,” her father cut in. “I wouldn’t want my daughter going to college, but McCaslin’s no fool. If he thinks Kitty needs college, college is what she’ll get.”

  “He knows,” Jackson continued, “that men and women are going to be judged by their education in the future.”

  “You’re both mistaken,” Mrs. Kimball said haughtily. “Men don’t like brainy girls and never will. A man of breeding gets an education but does not want his future wife getting her head turned by all these modern ideas. Voting, indeed. Soon you’ll tell me that you want Chloe to learn how to drive a car.”

  Chloe kept her eyes lowered. Would they go back to the usual routine? Had mother finished at last?

  Her father laughed. “Now that’s a flight of fancy. Why stop with an automobile? Why not fly an airplane?”

  Jackson laughed, too.

  “Why not?” a new voice interjected, startling the occupants of the dining room into silence. Grinning, Kitty McCaslin walked into the dining room. She winked at Chloe. “I think being a pilot would be fun.”

  Chloe fumbled with her water glass and rescued it just before it spilled onto the tablecloth. “Kitty, I didn’t expect to see you tonight.”

  “My apologies for comin’ in unannounced. We’re all such old friends and I was sure Haines would be busy servin’ dinner. I’m home just for a long weekend and wanted to see y’all.” Kitty advanced on Mr. Kimball. “Mr. Kimball, how’s the election going?”

  “I’m going to be the first elected senator in this state,” he said as he rose and accepted Kitty’s polite kiss on his cheek.

  “Good evening, Miss Lily.” Kitty nodded to the other woman. “Mr. Jackson.”

  Chloe wondered if Kitty had overheard anything her mother had said about her. She hoped Kitty had just arrived.

  Jackson had risen and now waited for Kitty to be seated. Kitty eyed Chloe. “Mr. Kimball, Miss Lily, I’ve come to steal your lovely, speechifying daughter away with me. Roarke’s out in the car. We’re on our way to the Palace. We’ve got to hurry or we’ll miss the first evening showing.”

  “But Chloe hasn’t had her dinner yet,” Mrs. Kimball objected.

  Rejoicing at this chance of escape, Chloe popped up. “Daddy,” she began, knowing she needed his support.

  “You go right ahead, sugar,” he said without glancing at his wife. “Take a wrap. It’s still chilly at night.”

  “Wait—” Mrs. Kimball held up a hand.

  “You best hurry, sugar.”

  With a smile, Chloe’s father waved her and Kitty out of the room. Behind them, an undercurrent of angry, slurred words poured from her mother.

  In the hallway, Chloe tugged on her hat and gloves in front of the mirrored hall tree as Haines appeared with a light coat. And then she was running after Kitty down the front steps, between the white, ivied columns into the deepening twilight. Roarke’s new Model-T was parked in front. Roarke, also a good friend, was leaning against its driver’s side door, waiting with a smile. Beside him lounged the dark stranger.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Roarke stepped forward, removing his hat. “Evening, Miss Chloe.” He towered above her, broad-shouldered and large, unassuming and familiar. And, at the moment, totally overshadowed by the stranger. But with a conscious effort, she looked up at her friend and smiled. “Evening, Roarke.” Then, of their own accord, her eyes drifted back to the stranger.

  “Chloe.” Kitty took her arm, tugging her forward. “This is Theran Black. Theran, this is Miss Chloe.”

  “Are you kidding me?” For the moment, the young man ignored Chloe and gave Kitty an amused glance. “We’re barely south of the Mason and Dixon line. Do you really call young ladies ‘Miss So and So’?”

  Chloe was surprised that he’d ignored their introduction. Why? From under her low brim, she studied Kitty and Theran, trying to divine how they felt about each other.

  “You should be addressing my sister as Miss Kitty,” Roarke spoke up in his deep, lazy voice. “And you haven’t yet acknowledged Miss Chloe.”

  “Well, I do declare,” Theran mocked. “Evenin’, Miss Chloe. And I apologize, Miss Kitty, for my gross misconduct.”

  Kitty shoved his shoulder. “Don’t talk nonsense. You call me Miss Kitty on campus and I’ll black your eye. Let’s get going. I don’t want to be late for Mary Pickford.”

  “Oh, yes, we mustn’t be late for America’s Sweetheart.” With a sno
rt of laughter, Theran opened the car door and allowed Kitty to slide into the backseat before joining her. Roarke escorted Chloe around to the passenger side and ushered her into the front seat, then returned to the driver’s seat and started the car. They were off.

  In the short walk around the car, Chloe had gone numb inside. Theran and Kitty evidently must be an item. Kitty taking a seat beside him and Roarke claiming Chloe to sit up front with him made that a certainty. And Roarke had had to force the northerner to even say hello to her.

  Then a slim hope flickered and flared. Maybe Kitty just didn’t want to sit beside her brother? Perhaps that was it. But . . . perhaps it wasn’t. She stared out at the maples and poplars spinning by, biting her lower lip and trying to rationalize things. Why did I think a college man from New York City would even look twice at me with Kitty around? At least there’s one good thing: being invisible is better than an evening at home with Mother and Daddy.

  In no time at all, Roarke was parking the car on the main street of Croftown. The First National Bank—Kitty’s father’s bank—stood imposingly on the street corner. Nearby, a glittering marquee blazoned “THE POOR LITTLE RICH GIRL.”

  Chloe let Roarke help her out of the car. With a solicitous arm under her elbow, he walked her up to the ticket window. She smiled at him fondly. Roarke never made her feel uncomfortable or uncertain. He was a rock in her life, the closest thing to a brother she had. She glanced from him to Theran, who was chuckling over some joke with Kitty behind them. Chloe was surprised at how much she wanted him to notice her. But what could she do about it? Was she the kind of girl who’d steal a friend’s beau? Unfortunately, no.

  With only moments to spare, the four of them entered at the rear of the crowded auditorium. The aroma of buttered popcorn, the chatter of a hundred voices, and the hurry to get seats together compounded Chloe’s uneasiness. Roarke found four seats in a row. He entered the aisle first, knowing Chloe hated sitting next to a stranger, and she smiled up at him for remembering. She expected Kitty to follow her in, putting herself next to Theran. But instead Kitty motioned Theran to precede her. Why? Why would Kitty want Chloe to sit next to her beau?

  Chloe glanced surreptitiously at Theran and was startled when he winked at her. Confused, she sat down. Pins and needles raced up and down her arms at his nearness. On her other side, Roarke opened the box of candy almonds he’d purchased at the snack counter. He proffered the open box with a subtle rattle. She tried to say no, but the words wouldn’t come. So she just shook her head and tried to smile naturally. Then the organist began to play urgently, loudly from behind them. The theater went inky black and flickering light flashed on the screen at the front.

  She trained her eyes forward. She didn’t want to embarrass herself with a wrong move, so she propped one elbow on the armrest between her and Roarke and tried to follow first the newsreel about the war in Europe and then the movie. But she couldn’t focus on the flickering images. Her entire body was waging a battle to hide her interest in Theran. One thought filled her mind: if the dark stranger was interested in Kitty, then why had he winked at her?

  Theran scanned the dim, barn-like interior of the roadhouse as Roarke ushered the four of them inside to a table at one end. Theran was accustomed to much smaller honky-tonks in New York. He’d never been to a place quite like this one. But here, just as in the city, society types like Kitty and Chloe mingled with painted ladies and some slick-looking customers. The addition of redneck farmers and their fresh-faced sweethearts added a new note.

  Near them, a banjo player, a fiddler, and a piano player—the only black faces in the crowd—were pouring out excellent syncopated ragtime. Couples dancing the turkey trot crowded the floor. The place smelled of cigarettes, dime-store perfume, and liquor. “This sure isn’t the Harlem,” he said to Kitty.

  Kitty gurgled. “No, but this place hops.”

  Theran glanced at Chloe. The pretty blonde had spent the evening looking everywhere but at him. Very classy, very cool. He wanted to get to know her. He wondered, would he be able to break through the aloof distance she maintained? He’d enjoy trying. “Would your parents disapprove of your coming to a place like this, Miss Chloe?” he teased as she and Kitty sat down at a tiny table.

  She flashed a look at him. Huge blue eyes edged with dark lashes and such white, white skin. Mary Pickford had nothing on Chloe Kimball. His mouth went dry just looking at her.

  “I’ve never been here before, Mr. Black,” she replied, her chin down.

  Her low, sweet voice in that southern-belle murmur did things to him. He looked over at Roarke, who was at the bar placing their drink orders. Did the banker’s son have an interest in Miss Chloe? If so, too bad.

  Kitty giggled again. “Call him Theran, Chloe. Your mama isn’t here.”

  Roarke came back with four glasses clutched in his hands. “Allow me.” He handed glasses of amber liquid topped with white foam to Kitty and Theran. But the one he set in front of Chloe was darker and matched the one he kept for himself.

  “What’s that?” Theran pointed at the darker brew.

  “Root beer,” Roarke replied without hesitation, taking a sip. “I’m driving tonight.”

  Chloe gave the junior banker a tight, grateful smile and took a polite little sip. Her every movement caught at Theran, made his pulse spike. He chuckled to show Roarke he appreciated the joke. Who would have thought Kitty McCaslin would have a teetotaler for a big brother? But Theran didn’t want Kitty. She was cute and fun, but . . . In the dimly lit room, the blonde next to him glittered like a Roman candle.

  She looked at him over her glass. “Is this your first visit to Maryland, Mr. Black?”

  “Theran. Call me Theran. Mr. Black’s my dad.”

  Ever since this afternoon when he’d seen her back-talking Kitty from the bed of that truck, he’d wanted to touch Chloe Kimball, hold her close and breathe in her perfume. But how could he get her away from her arch protector, the banker’s son? “Kitty thought I should see something besides New York for a change.” He played for time. “This is my bold adventure south of the Mason and Dixon.”

  Chloe blushed and sipped again. The turkey trot ended and the couples moved back to tables or the bar.

  “Hey, Kitty, Roarke.” Breathless from dancing, another couple dragged over chairs and plunked down at the small table, crowding everyone closer together. Theran wished Kitty had maneuvered him next to Chloe like she had at the movies. He didn’t pay much attention as Kitty introduced the new couple, giving them no more than a nod. Then he realized the new arrivals had solved his problem. Now he could ask the blonde to dance without leaving Kitty to sit here or dance with her brother.

  Theran stood and motioned toward the piano player. “Hey, Mac, how about a tango?” The pianist nodded and hit the ivories. The fiddler joined in. “Let’s dance.” Theran claimed Chloe’s gloved hand.

  “I can’t tango.” She held back.

  “You can.” He pulled her to her feet and then onto the dance floor. “Easy as pie. Just step-step-step-step-close. You’ll be doing it in no time.” He tucked her close to him, pressing her against him in the provocative tango posture. “Just follow my lead.”

  As her body learned the sensual movements of the Latin dance, Chloe’s senses reeled—shocked, thrilled. She clung to the dark stranger, moving with him. Within his arms, she’d been plunged into a tropical sea and the swells were carrying her away. She struggled to hear his words above the beating of her heart.

  “Press your cheek to mine,” he instructed. “It’s a must when you tango.”

  Slowly, she let her face drift nearer his until . . . What would Kitty say? She froze, holding to decorum. But he closed the inches between them and firmed his hand over the small of her back. “Relax. This is fun.”

  Chloe surrendered and felt as if her skin had been slipped off. All her senses were heightened, sharpened. Intense sensations she’d never felt bombarded her. They were exhilarating, more devastating than anything she�
��d ever known.

  The compelling two-four beat of the Latin dance pounded through her mind. She clung to Theran and moved in time with him. Through a blur, she glimpsed other couples joining them. Kitty waved as she pressed herself to the other young man from their table. Wondering what her friend was thinking, Chloe misstepped.

  “Relax,” Theran whispered, “you’re a natural. Get ready. I’m going to dip you. Just let go and let me move you. It’ll be great.”

  He dipped her and she reveled in the strength he exerted over her. She felt suddenly that if he wanted to he could levitate her to the ceiling or even outside into the dark sky. He was a magician and he was working his magic on her. He turned her. With a confidence she’d never known, she followed his slightest shift, molding her body to his, letting him carry them through the bold, stylized pauses. He sang to her under his breath. And she felt unlike herself—for once daring and free.

  All day, she’d tried not to imagine what it would be like to have Theran’s arms around her and now she was in his embrace. Surely, he couldn’t hold her like this and be Kitty’s beau. Surely not.

  The final chords of the song vibrated in the air. No, don’t let it end. But the next thing she knew Theran had spun her out the back door and they were alone in the chill moonlight. And the way he looked at her . . .

  “No,” she said, her face suddenly burning. Anyone could have seen them leave. Would this reach her parents’ ears? She tried to pull away. “What will Kitty say?”

  But he still held her in his arms as if about to dance. “Kitty and I are just friends.”

  “Does Kitty know that?” she managed to ask.

  He laughed. “Yes, we dated awhile, but decided we’d make better friends than lovers.”

  Lovers? The concept rocked Chloe. She’d heard all the whispered gossip about Kitty going to college up north. But Kitty wouldn’t take lovers, would she?

  Theran leaned his mouth to her ear. “You’re the most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen.”