The Flapper's Fake Fiancé

by Lauri Robinson

  He shut the car door. “Why?”

  She shrugged. “Why not?”

  He held out his elbow for her to grasp. “Why not, indeed.”

  Giggling, she took a hold of his arm.

  They crossed the parking lot and entered the building through a set of glass double doors held open by an aging doorman dressed in a red-and-gold suit.

  “Mr. Cox,” the man said. “Mr. Klein is expecting you.” With a nod toward a young man wearing a matching uniform standing near an elevator cage, he added, “Jacob will show you the way.”

  “Thank you, Donald,” Lane answered, having met the man on numerous occasions. As the doorman for the building, Donald Wallace knew more about the lives of popular stars and celebrities than anyone else in the city, and prided himself for never making a single comment about anyone.

  With Libby still holding his arm, Lane proceeded to the elevator. “Good evening, Jacob.”

  The man slid back the iron cage door of the elevator. “Good evening, Mr. Cox. I hope all is well.”

  Jacob Wallace was Donald’s son, and though his father had instructed him about keeping his lips closed, Jacob’s eyes were another thing. They had settled on Libby the minute they’d walked through the door. Lane couldn’t blame the young man. Libby was eye-catching, but it was more than that. She had a carefree air about her that was far more enticing than her beauty alone. Having her on his arm was even more enjoyable than he’d expected it to be, and they had yet to arrive at the party. It had been a long time, a very long time since he’d been excited to attend a party, yet he was now. Because of her.

  “All is very well,” Lane answered, guiding Libby into the elevator. “Thank you.”

  Chapter Six

  Patsy had seen glamorous homes, including her own and many of those in Hollywoodland. When construction was completed on new homes, she and her sisters were given the tasks of making them sparkle and shine before the new owners moved in. However, she rarely saw those homes furnished. Not like this, anyway.

  Everything in the apartment sparkled like jewels in the sunshine, from the highly polished wood to the gold-colored brocade curtains, draped across the span of windows that covered one entire wall, and the huge swan ice sculpture that sat in the center of a table full of food.

  She tried to take it all in at once, and to lock it in her memory so she’d be able to write about it.

  Write an article about it!

  Although it had been her dream for years, she was still trying to grasp the idea of Lane actually printing one of her articles. It was surreal. So was the fact that he actually understood how she felt. No one understood that. Not even her sisters, who supported her idea of becoming a reporter. They merely understood what it felt like to be caged up like a bird. Lane understood how she wanted to experience life, and like he said, tell others about it.

  The room was full of people, couples cozied together on the velvet-covered sofas and standing side by side, talking with others. The men were dressed in fancy suits and the women wore gowns so glamorous they took her breath away.

  “Lane! You made it!” a tall man with curly blond hair shouted and waved from across the room.

  Lane returned the man’s wave and, as the man made his way toward them, whispered, “That’s Raymond.”

  Patsy nodded, while whispering in return, “Why is everyone staring at us?”

  Lane grinned. “Because you are the most beautiful woman in the room.”

  “Horsefeathers,” she whispered. “It’s because I’m with you.”

  “My guess is they are wondering who you are.”

  “Oh, dear.”

  He chuckled and settled a hand on her back. “It’s part of being a reporter. You have something people want.”

  Excitement bubbled inside her at knowing what he meant. “An article about them.”

  He winked at her.

  Biting her bottom lip, she drew in a deep breath. She did understand so much more about writing what people want, now, because of him, and thankfully, because of her nightly excursions as Libby, she knew how to work a crowd.

  “So glad you made it, Lane,” Raymond Klein said.

  “I said I would,” Lane answered, shaking Raymond’s hand as he stopped directly in front of them.

  “Ruby, you know Lane Cox,” Raymond said, looking at the woman at his side.

  Patsy couldn’t believe she’d missed noticing Ruby Lancaster. She was as beautiful as her pictures.

  “Yes.” Ruby stepped forward and kissed Lane’s cheek. “It’s so nice of you to come.” Ruby then cast a sweet smile at her. “And I’m assuming this is your date?”

  Without an ounce of fear, Patsy held out her hand to shake Ruby’s. “Yes, I’m Libby.”

  Lane’s smile grew as he said, “Libby, this is Raymond Klein and Ruby Lancaster.”

  “It’s so lovely to meet you,” Ruby said, resting her hand on Raymond’s chest. “We are honored to have both of you here.”

  Patsy couldn’t help but notice the gorgeous engagement ring on Ruby’s finger.

  “We sure are,” Raymond said, snapping his fingers in the air. A split second later, a waiter dressed in a tuxedo arrived with a tray of drinks. Taking two drinks off the tray, Raymond handed a stemmed glass to her. “Champagne for the women.” Handing the other glass to Lane, he said, “And whiskey for the men.”

  “Thank you,” she and Lane said at the same time.

  Their eyes met then, and her stomach swooped at the shine in Lane’s eyes.

  Raymond handed a drink to Ruby and then took one for himself, and held it up.

  “Allow me,” Lane said. He held his glass in the air. “A toast to the happy couple!”

  “Hear, hear!” filled the room as everyone held up their glasses.

  “May they forever be as happy as they are at this moment!” Lane said.

  Another round of “Hear, hear!” still echoed off the walls after Patsy had taken a sip of her champagne. She hoped the same for herself, that she could forever be as happy as she was at this moment.

  Raymond waved a hand. “Let us show you around.”

  A sense of pride filled her as Lane kept his hand on her back as they walked from room to room. Each one was beautifully furnished and decorated with large ferns and vases filled with fresh flowers, gorgeous paintings and draped brocade curtains.

  Every room was full of people she recognized from Jane’s magazine that they’d scoured through after returning the rug to the living room this afternoon.

  Lane never left her side and drew her into conversations as if her opinion was as important as his on many different subjects. It was quite uplifting, to be at the side of someone who was sought out by so many. Lane’s laughter and quick wit made it fun, and soon she was so caught up in the liveliness of the party, she was chatting with celebrities like she’d known them forever.

  She discovered one thing for certain. Lane was the most handsome man in the room. Not even the famous actors looked as debonair as he did. He was also more popular. Everyone in every room made it a point of saying hello to him.

  Being his date was amazing. The entire party was amazing. Including the champagne. It was delicious and she savored each sip. Because it was for the most part imported, Betty claimed it was the only alcoholic beverage that could safely be consumed.

  They eventually ended up in a room where the furniture and rugs had been removed, exposing the thickly varnished floor for dancing. A man played the piano, and another the saxophone, and couples whirled around the dance floor.

  A tall man with black hair winked at her as he sashayed another woman past where she and Lane stood. Unimpressed, she turned away.

  “Do you know who that is?” Lane asked.

  “Who?”

  “The guy on the dance floor.”

  She shook her head. “No.
Should I?”

  “You don’t go to many movies, do you?”

  “No.” She and her sisters had gone to a movie one night, instead of a speakeasy, and though it had been enjoyable, the speakeasies were much more exciting. They snuck out to be with people, not sit in a dark room.

  “That’s Karl VanBuren, a very famous actor,” Lane said.

  Karl VanBuren had been in the magazine Jane had, which made her frown. “He doesn’t look like the picture I saw of him.”

  Lane chuckled and whispered, “That’s because he had his nose broke a while ago for sticking it in a place it didn’t belong.”

  She giggled at the amusement in Lane’s eyes. “I hope he learned a lesson.”

  “Probably not.”

  She truly didn’t care about the actor. “Lots of people at this party are famous,” she said. “Including you.”

  He leaned closer. “You’ve heard the old saying keep your friends close, and your enemies closer?”

  Curious as to what he meant, she nodded. “Yes.”

  “That’s what I am. An enemy. People want to keep me close, thinking that will keep me from writing anything bad about them.”

  “You are not. Furthermore, you only print the truth,” she said.

  “Not everyone sees it that way. You’ll learn that quick enough.”

  His words, the way he talked as if she truly was an up-and-coming reporter, filled her with joy. Much like the joyous clapping that filled the room as the music ended. A moment later, someone tapped her shoulder.

  She turned, found herself face-to-face with Karl VanBuren, and bit her lips together at how crooked his nose was up close.

  “I’m going to steal your date, Cox,” Karl said, winking at her again.

  “No, you’re not,” Lane replied.

  “Just one dance,” Karl said. “Didn’t your mother teach you to share?”

  “Some things.” Lane took her glass and handed it to the man. “Have some champagne, Karl.” He then took her hand and led her onto the dance floor.

  The shocked look on the actor’s face made her laugh. So did the way Lane twirled her beneath his arm before pulling her up next to him.

  “I’ll get you another glass of champagne,” he said.

  “I’d rather dance than drink champagne any day,” she replied.

  Lane then waltzed her around the dance floor, making her feel as if she was floating on air most of the time. Dancing with him was so dreamlike, all other thoughts escaped her.

  Until the song ended and the next one started. It was the shimmy. The beat of the music immediately filled her, and she crouched down.

  Lane laughed, threw his arms in the air and stepped backward, giving her room to shimmy upward. Then he grasped her hands, and shimmied along with her. Her laughter joined the shouts of glee that echoed off the walls as dancers shook and shimmied across the dance floor.

  Breathless by the time the song ended, Patsy leaned against Lane’s shoulder while waiting for others to move so they could leave the dance floor.

  They were still waiting when someone shouted, “We can’t let Ray and Ruby have all the fun tonight!”

  Lane’s arm was around her and she kept her hand on his chest as they both twisted toward the shout.

  It was Karl VanBuren. Standing on top of a table, he reached down and plucked a long-stemmed red rose out of the vase by his feet. “The woman lucky enough to catch this flower will become my next wife!” he shouted, and then threw the flower into the air.

  Hoots and hollers filled the room.

  Looking up at Lane, Patsy said, “He can’t be serious.”

  The words had no sooner left her mouth than the flower came tumbling down, and landed on the crook of her arm that was up against Lane’s chest.

  “There she is, folks, my next wife!” VanBuren shouted.

  The room grew eerily silent as Lane seized the flower stem with his free hand. Patsy’s heart thudded so hard it echoed in her ears.

  With a snap of his wrist, Lane shot the flower across the room like an arrow. “Try again, Karl. This one’s taken.” Lane then twisted them both about and placed his hand on the small of her back to guide her forward.

  Laughter and clapping followed them as they crossed the room, along with shouts of congratulations to Lane.

  “Why are they congratulating you?” she asked.

  He shook his head. “For getting one over on VanBuren.”

  She smiled and nodded at a few people still shouting congratulations as they walked out of the room, and down the hallway.

  Then, as they entered the big front room, an older woman approached them and very purposefully elbowed Patsy aside.

  “Lane, darling,” the woman said, kissing the air beside both of Lane’s cheeks.

  A blaze ignited inside Patsy and she elbowed her way back to Lane’s side, and flashed a grin at the older woman as his hand settled on the small of her back again.

  The woman cast her a look of scorn, but instantly smiled at Lane again. “I haven’t seen you in ages, darling.”

  “Hello, Victoria,” Lane said. “This is my date. Libby, this is Victoria Lloyd.”

  Prideful at the way Lane smiled down at her, Patsy kept her chin high as she gave the woman a slight nod. “Hello.”

  The woman didn’t even acknowledge her before saying to Lane, “Darling, I’m having a party tomorrow night, and I insist you be there.”

  Patsy was irritated by the woman in several ways. The pink-and-yellow feather in her hat did not match her dark purple and black dress at all. She also had on way too much makeup. The bright red lipstick was running into the wrinkles around her lips. Most of all, she did not like the way she kept calling Lane darling. “Of course we’ll be there,” she said. “Won’t we, Lane?”

  The smile never left his face, but Patsy swallowed at the way Lane stiffened and he lifted a brow at her.

  “Of course,” he said. “Tomorrow night.”

  “Lovely!” The woman kissed the air next to his cheek again. “See you then, darling.”

  “Sorry,” Patsy said once the woman was out of hearing distance.

  “You don’t know who that is, do you?” he asked.

  “Victoria someone. Lloyd, maybe.” Shrugging, she added, “I don’t recall.” She did recall. The woman’s name would be forever in her mind. Pushing her aside like she had and calling him darling over and over.

  “Yes,” he said. “Victoria Lloyd. I worked for her husband, and bought the Gazette from him shortly before he died.”

  “Oh.” Sensing from the way he’d stiffened and looked at her earlier, she said, “And you don’t want to go to her party, do you?”

  “No.”

  She shrugged. “Then we won’t go.”

  “Yes, we will.” He gestured toward the doorway with his chin. “Let’s go.”

  “Where?”

  He held up his other hand, exposing the watch on his wrist. “It’s after eleven. We have just enough time to say goodbye to Raymond and Ruby and then get to the red line in time.”

  She had no idea it was already that late, and was glad to see the host and hostess standing near the front door.

  Smiling brightly as they approached, Raymond said, “Did I just hear correctly? That you’re engaged?”

  Patsy’s entire being went ice cold.

  “Why didn’t you tell me that the other night?” Raymond asked.

  “Nothing is official,” Lane said, and made a hasty goodbye while nearly shoving her out the door.

  Shoving because her legs were frozen stiff. Once they were in the elevator, she whispered, “Why did he think we are engaged?”

  Lane shot a glance toward the elevator man, and reading the look on his face, she pinched her lips together, holding in her questions until they were outside. “Why—”


  “Because I threw Karl back his flower,” Lane said.

  “But that wouldn’t—”

  “That is exactly how rumors get started,” Lane said, walking faster. “We have to hurry to catch the red line.”

  Once they were in the car, heading toward the boulevard, she asked, “What are we going to do about it?”

  “About what?”

  “That rumor!” She couldn’t be engaged. Not even to him. She wasn’t going to get married. Not ever. An odd inkling made that thought shift slightly. Well, maybe someday, but not until after she became a reporter.

  Lane shifted into another gear. “Rumors are like cars. If they aren’t fed, filled with gas, they won’t go anywhere.”

  She felt a small sense of relief, but was still chilled by the idea of even a rumor of being engaged. That was not what she wanted.

  “Don’t worry about it,” Lane said as he swung the car around the corner near the Rooster’s Nest and pulled it up along the curb. “VanBuren’s already been married five times, so he’s never taken seriously.”

  Patsy’s heart skipped a beat. The trolley was rolling to a stop and her sisters were already waiting to board. Without waiting for him to climb out and open her door, she threw it open and quickly jumped out of the car.

  “I’ll be here at the same time tomorrow night,” Lane said, standing near the driver’s door.

  “So will I,” she shouted, running toward the trolley.

  * * *

  He was there the next night, leaning against his car, looking as handsome as he had the night before. This time, he wore a gray suit, with silver pinstripes, a shimmering silver shirt and red tie.

  Once again, she giggled because they matched. Her dress was gray with layers upon layers of silver fringes. Her floppy-brimmed hat was gray with silver stitching, and hosted a bright red feather. Her shoes and gloves were red, as well.

  “Hello.” He pushed off the side of his car to open the door for her.

  “Hello.” Excitement at seeing him filled her, but there was also a layer of guilt swishing around. “We could just go to the Rooster’s Nest tonight.”