Last year, Father had invited some cattle baron to sit with us, and I’d learned more than I ever wanted to know about the artificial insemination of cows and the correct technique of how to castrate a calf. Mother had turned a lovely shade of green to match her salad, excusing herself halfway through the meal.
Family vacations, in my opinion, were highly overrated. At least with going off to college, I’d have a small sense of freedom in between visits home. Planned, of course, by Mother.
Sliding my keycard alongside the panel beside my door, all I could think was I thankfully had my own room or else I’d be stuck wearing what I had on to the dance. It was a small oversight of my father’s. Or so he said when Mother found out about it.
“It’s really not a big deal, Amelia,” Father had said as she ranted about me being in my own room. “Besides, he’s a man now and should be doing manly things.” The look on my father’s face said that she could scream the walls down and he still wouldn’t change his mind.
She’d cried, of course, carrying on like she always did when she didn’t get her way. “Phillip, you can’t be serious! How will I know what he’s doing and who he’s doing it with? I’ve spent eighteen years watching over him and now this!”
Father’s eyebrow hitched slightly. His steely gaze zeroed in on her. “And you’ve done a wonderful job. However, if you ever expect him to find a respectable wife and have children, I would suggest you give him a little breathing room.”
“Breathing room… why I never!” Mother stomped her foot for emphasis.
“Yes. Breathing room. Or are you planning on holding his hand when he takes his bride to bed? Surely, there are limits to your coddling.” Father’s words felt like a slap through the air, but I couldn’t help but be grateful.
Mother’s face went a mottled shade of red. Her lips pinched together as a look of pure hatred shadowed her face. “I will not put up with your vulgar talk, Phillip.”
“Then let it be, Amelia. I’ve made the reservations and I’m done talking about it,” Father snapped at her before giving her his back.
I’d left the room, not willing to see any more of their argument. Giddy that my father had put his foot down. What I hadn’t thought of, and really should have, was that he might have bought me a slice of independence by having my own room, but Mother made up for it by planning out my entire vacation activity to activity.
DRESSED AND READY TO GO, I wondered just what a 1950’s-themed party would be like. Would there be dance instructors or would the attendees litter the floor and dance however to the music? I’d never been one for dancing. Mother had tried by hiring an instructor, but the most I’d ever learned and retained was the waltz.
Inwardly shrugging, I let myself out of my room and headed to the sanctioned dance hall. I’d get there early, but it beat waiting in my room and having Mother drop by unannounced, hauling me off for dinner with Sophia.
My stomach gave a low rumble, reminding me that lunch had been several hours ago. I needed to eat. Not wanting to take the risk of being seen, I willed myself to hold out a little longer. Maybe they’d have food at the party.
The door to the hall was left wide open. Inside, there was a flurry of movement as the room was transformed from a rec room to a 1950’s hop. Black checkered tablecloths were spread out along the tables against the walls, giving the partygoers the feeling of a malt shop diner. Against the far back wall, the DJ was setting up.
And then I saw her.
The girl from the basketball court. And she still had her roller skates on.
My palms slickened at the sight of her, and my foolish heart bumped against my chest as if I’d run a full-on sprint. She and another girl were chatting away as they disappeared toward the back of the room, out of sight.
Disgusted with myself, I wiped my hands down the front of my black chinos, mentally berating myself for whatever weird emotion had passed through me.
She was definitely intriguing. I’d give her that much. Anyone with two eyes could see that. And with her gypsy smile, she would definitely turn heads wherever she went.
Did she do it on purpose? I wondered.
Stuffing my hands in my pockets, I headed outside and paced in front of the building, debating on if I should stay or go. Knowing if I stayed, then surely I’d bump into her again. Did I want to bump into her again?
If I left, Mother would find me, and then I’d find myself sitting across the dinner table from Sophia. But… if I stayed, at least I’d have witnesses to where I’d been, and it was an approved activity that Mother could not deny.
Sighing, I knew the answer without having to think further about it. I’d do my best to make the most of the situation I’d put myself in because, honestly, I wanted to be there. I just wondered how much of it had to do with not wanting to be at dinner, and how much was from wanting to see the girl with the soft smile again.
Before too long, I was shaking hands with people as they made their way inside, trying to gather the courage to go in myself. She was in there somewhere, and I didn’t want her to think I was stalking her. I remembered that she had told me this was her job, so what would she think when she saw me… at an elderly party.
Get to it, Phillip. You’re standing out here like the official greeter of the party. Run into Sophia, or the mystery girl. Your choice, I thought.
The choice was simple.
Loud chatter filled my ears as I made my way inside and sought out a place to sit. The speakers crackled to life, and the crowd focused on two girls in the center of the dance floor. All eyes were on them, making it a great time to scope out the table of finger foods against the back wall.
As hungry as I was, I tried my best not to load my plate, lest I look like a glutton. Finger foods were my downfall, and I had a plate full of them. Mother would have a conniption fit if she saw. But Mother wasn’t here, so I added one more deviled egg to my haul and went back to my seat, listening to a game of heads or tails as I made short work of clearing my plate.
The lady beside me snorted, reaching for her drink as the crowd at the dance floor laughed. “Really, you’d think the Kennedys would have hired more reputable people to host these parties.”
I flicked a glance at her, wondering if she was speaking to me, but found her looking down her nose at the front of the room.
Beside her, an elderly man chuckled. “It’s for fun, Martha. Do you even remember what fun is anymore?” he asked, slipping out of his chair and joining the lineup of people along the dance floor.
She hissed at him when he left, but she kept her thoughts between her pinched lips.
Mother never made those sorts of faces and, when she saw someone else doing it, she was quick to point out the wrinkles that making such expressions would cause.
Annoyed that Mother had once again infiltrated my thoughts, I pushed myself from the table to throw away my plate, schooling my thoughts not to think of what Mother would say about the dinnerware.
The trash can was along the far wall, giving me full view of the dance floor. I dropped the plate, hoping it made it inside the receptacle as my eyes locked on the girl from the basketball. In the whirlwind conversation we’d had hours ago, I hadn’t gotten her name, but she knew mine because of Sophia.
Brushing off thoughts of Sophia, I moved to the wall, not taking my eyes off her. Her dance partner, an elderly man, swept her along the floor, talking to her the entire time as she smiled along with what he said. She was enjoying herself, oddly enough, in the arms of a man old enough to be her grandfather.
It bothered me, not knowing her name. Calling her the girl with orange hair seemed rude. Of course, telling her I’d mistaken her for a basketball had been even ruder. What else was I to think, seeing a splotch of orange on the ground between the basketball hoops?
Hoops.
Yes, that nickname fit her perfectly.
It was as if I’d called out to her because, right at that moment, her sights locked on mine. Eyes widening briefly, she turned
her attention back to her dance partner.
Busted. She knew I was there. The question was… what would she do?
Would she ignore me or approach me? Or should I approach her? What was wrong with me? Did it matter either way? We were just two people at the same place. There was no prior friendship, therefore, no reason to worry over social etiquette.
Turning away, I headed back for my seat, hoping I could get through the next hour and forty-five minutes without making a complete and total ass out of myself.
“You must be the youngest one in the room,” a feminine voice said directly in my ear as she leaned over into my line of sight. It was the girl I saw earlier with Hoops. “How about you come save me from Mr. Codwell’s wandering hands? Because after this song, he’ll come looking for me next and eww.”
“Um…” I swallowed nervously as she held out her hand to me.
“Come on. You can’t say no to a pretty girl in desperate need of a knight in shining oxfords. Can you?”
I stood, ignoring her hand. Instead, I gave her my arm. “That would be completely rude of me if I did.”
She stuck her arm through mine, keeping a respectful space between us as we made our way to the dance floor. Whoever the girl was, she didn’t want anything more than a dance partner, and I could at least be that for her.
As I put my hand on the swell of her hip and cupped my hand around hers in a perfectly respectable dancing position, the music rolled along the air, guiding our feet.
“You’re pretty smooth on your feet,” she said, smiling up at me.
“Years of practice,” I answered, turning her in my arms.
“And a gentleman too.” She beamed, double stepping to the side in avoidance of a collision with another couple encroaching on our small area of the floor.
The smile slipped from her face as she looked over my shoulder and said, “Damn it. I’m sorry; I need to take care of something.”
She ducked out of my arms and wove her way through the throng of dancers over to where the girl, Hoops, was squared off with her dance partner.
I followed behind, intending to step in if she needed help, noticing for the first time who Hoops had been dancing with and nearly swallowed my tongue.
Arthur Gentry—oil tycoon and good friend of my father—had his hands clasped in an ungentlemanly hold against his dance partner’s derriere. The lecherous old man was a pervert and didn’t care who he offended.
Immediately, my hackles rose and I moved past my dance partner, stepping up to Arthur. “If I may?” I said, pulling his unwilling dance partner into my arms. I set us spinning across the dance floor at such a fast rate, she had no choice but to follow my lead.
When we made it a safe distance across the room, I looked down at her. She flicked a glance at the spot Arthur had been and sighed when she realized he was no longer there.
“Twice in one day we’ve bumped into each other. How’s that for fate?” she said with a shimmered look of what I could only imagine was amusement, adding, “Don’t tell me, you’re the kind of guy who steps in when he thinks he’s saving damsels in distress?”
“From people like Arthur Gentry… yes. He’s a lecherous old bastard. You should be wary of him.”
She smirked at me. “I know exactly what he is. This isn’t my first go round with him. Usually, a good, hard step on his toes helps.”
“That actually works?” I couldn’t help but admire the way she thought to handle Arthur.
“Well, I usually follow it up with a threat or two. So far, it’s worked. Although, it’s hard to say if it would have this time because…” She quirked her eyebrow at me, insinuating that I’d handled it for her.
“Well, it’s good to know you can handle yourself so well. Something does bother me though…”
She followed through our quick turn with a breathless laugh, saying, “And what might that be?”
“I don’t have the pleasure of your name,” I said, holding her through the song change.
“Maggie,” she said, turning her lips loose with a smile that lit up her face. “So Phillip, you’re a rich guy.”
I couldn’t help but laugh. “How very astute of you.”
Her hand bumped against my chest as her lips pulled into a flat smile. “What I was going to ask, before you so rudely interrupted me, was what is it with these old men thinking they can just grab two handfuls of ass or tits, and think it’s okay? Money really goes to the head like that?”
I almost choked. Almost. I knew my face had to have turned a brilliant shade of red, because she rolled her eyes at me.
“I’m sorry. No filter here,” she carried on, bringing both our hands toward her as she jerked her thumb at her chest. “I’ve learned to brush it off for the most part, but when guests think they can manhandle the help, I get somewhat annoyed. It’s like they think that they’ve paid for my time and they get carte blanche because of it.”
I knew exactly what she meant, because I’d seen it happen more than once myself, and every time, I was as equally disgusted as she was.
“I don’t know. But I can assure you that not every man thinks that way. Or, at least I don’t in any case. I’d never treat you that way,” I said, unsure if that was in any way the answer she was looking for. Hoping she didn’t see me in that light.
She relaxed a little in my arms. “For some reason, I believe that.” After a brief moment of silence, she added, “I wonder, what is it about you, Phillip, that’s so different from the rest I’ve encountered while working here?”
I enjoyed how she said my name. How it rolled off her lips in a way that said she was really seeing me for me, and not commanding me to pay attention to her or do something for her.
“I guess it just comes down to who the person really is, money or no money,” I said, seeing my reflection in her eyes. “People are either decent, or they’re not. Having money doesn’t make me any better than anyone else, Maggie,” I drawled out, testing out her name. “I like that name, by the way. It’s better than thinking of you as the girl with orange hair.”
She giggled. “I’m glad you approve. My father would be too, since he’s the one who named me,” she said, smirking as I lowered her into a dip. Her neck extended back, and I couldn’t help but notice that she smelled of salty air and exotic fruits. A scent that made my head spin a little.
What is going on with you? I thought to myself, shaking away the sensations Maggie awoke in me. You’re just dancing. She’s just a girl.
“I did give you a nickname,” I rattled off as I lifted her back up, unsure as to why I’d let that thought past my lips. Nerves. They were like strings on a guitar being plucked by the will in her smile.
One eyebrow lifted as she searched my eyes. “Oh, now you have to tell me,” she answered, bumping our entwined hands lightly into my chest.
I kept our hands there, liking the small connection it made between us. I felt more at ease with her than I had with anyone in a very long time. The scary part was I felt like I could talk to her with unguarded words and complete honesty. She might judge what I said, but she’d judge it fairly and not hold it against me.
It was the oddest, most amazing feeling, and yet, it scared me too. To be that open. That free. I just didn’t know if I could.
“I’m pretty sure you’ll kick me in the shin and toss me out,” I joked, but she leaned in, brushing the length of her poodle skirt against the material of my pants with a giddy smirk on her face.
“You can’t not tell me now!”
“Hoops,” I said, not giving myself the chance to back out of telling her.
“Hoops?” A look of confusion rolled across her face before she threw her head back and laughed, showing me the long, slender column of her delicate white throat.
Her full-bodied laugh caused numerous heads to turn in our direction. I wanted to immediately crawl under the closest table and hide. The outburst lasted less than five seconds before she squeezed my hand, bringing my eyes back to meet hers.
Wait. She was thanking me? “Um… you’re welcome.”
“So, what are you doing here anyway? Is your girlfriend here too?” I could feel her body stiffen as she asked me that. As if she’d realized a little too late that I might be there with a date. A date that would raise a stink about me dancing with the hired help.
“No, just me. And Sophia is not my girlfriend,” I answered, feeling her limber up in my arms again.
“Good. She’s a real piece of work, that one,” she said with a roll of her eyes.
“I know what you mean. I actually came here tonight so that I didn’t have to have dinner with her.”
Her eyes widened, clearly shocked that I’d do such a thing. “So, the boy born with a silver spoon has a sense of humor and a bit of a rebellious side? I do believe I may have been wrong about you.”
I chuckled and pushed her back far enough to spin her in my arms, uncaring who heard her exuberant laugh when I pulled her back in.
After the song ended, I made my way over to the drink table, getting two waters. When I returned, Maggie was standing beside the girl who’d invited me out on the dance floor.
Noticing me, she dipped her head, saying, “Nice save out there. Who would have thought you could dance too?”
I handed Maggie her water and gave the other meant for myself to her. “Phillip Warrington, and you are?”
She startled for a brief second, but held out her hand, shaking mine, “I’m Maggie’s best friend, Hannah. Nice to meet you.” Something skittered across her face, but it was gone just as quickly as it came. “So, Phillip, you want to come to a bonfire later with Maggie and me?” She looked between us. “It’ll be a lot of fun. A bunch of us are going.”
The corner of Maggie’s mouth twisted as if trying not to smile as she said, “Hannah, Phillip might already have other plans.”
Love Always, Page 4
