I Dream of My Lady in Red

by Freda, Paula

  Adriana Dellaporta was the Lady in Red in David's life. That he loved her was undeniable from the manner he'd retreated into himself, dispensing to the main character in his books all the happiness he silently wished for himself. As for Adriana, she was enduring a similar fate, hibernating in her parents' home, refusing to date, or talk to anyone about her stay in New York City. When Cassandra read David's final installment in the series, and left it in her sister's room for her to find, Adriana, in a fit of misery threw the book in the garbage. Early the next morning she scoured the trash bins for it before the sanitation trucks could claim it.

  That night she read the book, crying the whole time.

  Kurt and Helen wholeheartedly agreed to Mrs. Spinetta's plan, a last ditch effort to bring these two lonely people to their senses and into each other's arms.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  Crystal chandeliers hung from the ceiling. Their tear-drop prisms sparkled with the light from the candelabra bulbs. Guests and honorees from the publishing world filled the tables on either side of the dance floor. A podium occupied the front end. At the back end a DJ in a midnight blue tux played CDs of current movie themes. At the center of the ceiling, hung a crystal disco ball, with varicolored mirrored facets.

  David, Kurt and Helen located the table with their name tags and sat down. "Who else is joining us?" David asked as he noted the three untagged place settings on the table.

  "Not sure," Kurt answered. "Probably spare settings, should they be needed."

  The spokesperson for the event climbed the podium and gave the opening speech, congratulating the honorees and thanking the CEOs and editors for their presence. The reporter and her cameraman arrived.

  One by one the spokesman for the event presented a glass plaque in the shape of a hardcover text, honoring each best selling author and their book/s.

  David received his, thanked the Publishing House and acknowledged the invaluable advice and help of his editors, Kurt and Helen Lance.

  The evening wore on. Dinner and Dancing.

  When the celebration was close to ending, the room darkened except for a spotlight in the center of the dance floor. The DJ made an announcement. "Tonight we have a special treat for our guests. Most of us here have read, or at least are aware of David Santangelo's murder mysteries and the success of the eight-book series. If you are a fan like I am, you will have followed the subplot in each book of the protagonist's search for his Lady in Red. And his reunion with her in the final installment."

  A brief recorded fanfare and the DJ added, "Well, tonight, folks, you are all invited to watch a reenactment of David's fans most talked about chapter — the detective's original meeting with The Lady in Red at a disco club. David, if you would do your fans the honor of entering the spotlight?"

  The room grew silent and all turned to view David's table. In the darkened room no one saw the pained look in his eyes, or the somber tightening of his lips. Helen rested her hand on his arm and entreated, "Please, humor your fans and your publishers. It will only take a few minutes of your time and be a token of your appreciation for their part in making your books a success. Channel Seven News is filming." She pointed to the cameraman near the podium.

  "Don't ever do this to me again," David warned, relenting and standing up. The room broke into applause as he entered the spotlight.

  The DJ asked everyone to turn their attention to another spotlight opening to illuminate a corner on the opposite side. An intoxicating beauty in a red dress stepped into the light. A hushed silence filled the room as the beam followed the dark-haired beauty until she reached David and both lights blended into one.

  Adriana swallowed nervously, as their gazes met, hers pleading for understanding and tolerance, if only for the next few moments; his. moving over her, dark and angry, while at the same time, desperately unhappy.

  Impossible to blind himself to her dark hair, wavy and silken, caressing her lovely face, radiant and pleasing to behold. Impossible not to read the ardent affection in her dark brown eyes entranced and glistening with tears bravely held back. Mrs. Spinetta had been right. It was her, the woman he dreamt about and met in flesh and blood on that evening in Florence. His arms ached to hold her.

  The CD played, Lady in Red, with the same charismatic songwriter/singer, lyrics and melody. Chiding himself as a fool, David drew Adriana into his arms and began to lead her across the floor. The spotlight followed them.

  Adriana whispered as they danced, "I am so sorry I didn't tell you the truth. I was afraid you wouldn't believe me, and send me away. I only learned who you were this past year, and I wanted to know what the person I'd spent three years unable to forget, was really like. As I learned more about you, your kindness and your generosity, your gentle soul, and how faithful you'd been to my memory, I felt ashamed of my plan, and afraid what you'd think of me in the end. I told Mrs. Spinetta to tell you the whole truth, and hoped against hope that you'd come looking for me, so I could beg your forgiveness and accept your proposal, and spend the rest of my life with you."

  David whirled her under his arm as the refrain played. He saw again the exhausted girl with the pony tail and the damp wisps of hair that clung to her temples. She was his Lady in Red and he hadn't recognized her. No wonder he'd been attracted to her the moment she walked into his apartment, comparing her to a Viking Braun Hilda until he followed her into the kitchen, and saw through the bravado, the sweet young woman hiding her apprehension and her loneliness. He saw her again in Church adoring the Blessed Sacrament and silently reciting the Rosary of the Blessed Lady. They were all her, his Lady in Red, the intoxicating beauty in a dress that generations of her family reputed to hold magical powers. If indeed the red dress had cast a spell on him that evening in the Florentine disco, the spell had long since faded and in its place had grown an ardent and sincere affection for the young woman who cared for him deeply, and needed him as much as he loved and needed her.

  Adriana saw the coldness in David's gaze warm to adulation. Where a moment ago his arms had held her stiffly as the those of a stranger might, now they tightened ever so gently, fitting neatly about her and overwhelming her with the remembered feeling of secure contentment. Enfolded in his arms, she followed his lead, a fox-trot step reminiscent of a waltz,

  Someone wise switched on the crystal disco ball. As it rotated slowly, multicolored flakes filled the darkened room. A concerted awe-struck gasp issued from the guests as the scene before them took on a surreal aura.

  A sense of exhilaration spiraled through Adriana as David twirled her under his arm, several times during the song's most romantic refrains. As it had that magical evening, three years ago, the room and its occupants appeared to vanish. Once again, Adriana was in an elegant ballroom, with a tuxedo-clad orchestra on a dais, playing the charismic notes to the smooth silken voice of the famed songwriter-singer.

  Adriana and David continued to dance until the titillating notes crescendoed to the final refrain. Slowing along with David's steps, she felt his arms gently press her backwards as he bent over her, and placed a kiss on her lips.

  In unison the crowd burst into a loud applause, bringing her and David back to the reality of the present.

  Adriana waited for the coldness to return to David's gaze, on the chance he had only been acting for the sake of the audience. But to her relief and gratification, the stranger was gone. David had understood and forgiven her. The man who held her and smiled at her with ardent affection, was in love with Ady, alias, the Lady in Red.

  EPILOGUE

  To Adriana, the old adage about time flying when you are experiencing happiness, was never truer than when she stood with David in front of the Priest. She felt as if transported from that surreal moment under the crystal disco ball to a hilltop alive with the colors of spring. Roses trellised the arched pergola under which she and David exchanged their vows as their kin and friends watched from white folding chairs and cheered when the Priest declared the couple, man and wife.

  O
n the groom's side of the aisle, Mr. and Mrs. Spinetta sat behind the proud parents. Through Adriana's intervention and urgings, David had grown close to his parents again. Mrs. Spinetta's happiness for the couple was especially grand. David and Adriana had bought a beautiful home in the suburbs and hired her and her husband to help care for it. And they had expressed their fervent hope, that one day soon, Lord willing, Mrs. Spinetta would go on to be their children's nanny.

  FINE

  Thank you for reading my inspirational romance.

  Wishing you all the best, and peace of mind and spirit.

  Dorothy Paula Freda

  If you''d like to know how Kurt and Helen fell in love...

  LILAC IN THE SPRING

  By Paula Freda

  Plain Helen, frumpy, dumpy, frizzy haired freshman Helen, who will love plain Helen? Certainly not the handsomest, smartest, even-tempered, good-humored High School Senior, scholar, football athlete, hunk, Kurt Lance. Though he notices her kind innocent sweet nature, he is quickly tempted away by other girls, some just as sweet-natured, and prettier. Like many of the girls in school, Plain Helen has a crush on Kurt and never quite forgets.

  Ten years later, slightly less frumpy dumpy but still plain rainy day frizzy-haired Helen, employed in a publishing firm, is offered a promotion to an editorial position. But first she must apprentice with a full-fledged editor. She accepts and the following morning walks into the office of her new boss who turns out to be Kurt. Of course, she sighs, he doesn't remember her. Why should he? Or does he?

  (Here is the first chapter of their romance...)

  CHAPTER ONE

  Helen sat quietly, eyes cast down, studying the round tips of her black leather pumps. Her feet tapped to the beat of the music coming from the stereo on the stage of the school auditorium. She had turned fifteen yesterday, and her parents had finally allowed her to attend the monthly school dance with her classmate and friend, Jenny, a ruby. That's what she and several of her not-so-popular schoolmates called the pretty, popular girls, the ones whose hair always looked as if they had just stepped out of a beauty salon.

  Ruby Jenny was the right height for her fifteen years, and slim and athletic. Her outfits were always Teen Vogue. She was almost never cast as a defense on the girl's basketball team. Helen couldn't make a basket if her life depended on it. Defense was all — out of compassion — that the gym teacher allowed her.

  Weight-wise, she wasn't obese, not in the real sense of the word. Overweight, yes, some. Baby fat, that's what her parents still called it. As for height, in her estimation, five feet was short. Her parents assured her she would grow at least another three inches by the time she was twenty-one.

  A mirror with a balancing bar anchored across it, covered the gym wall on her right. The ballet class met here. Helen cringed, although she was spared that humbling activity. It was optional and voluntary. Bad enough to spend two hours scrounging through her closet for an outfit that would make her look a bit self-assured, cool, fashionable, mod — she'd never been able to keep up with the high school lingo. She was not stupid, not laid back or dense. But neither was she super-smart, or up on all the teen slang. Blame it on being raised by old fashioned grandparents on her father's side, substituting most of the time for both her mother and father who worked long hours in a local bank (her mom, a bank teller, and her dad, a guard) to keep up mortgage payments on their home. They wanted the best for their only daughter. A college education and a chance at a career, if she wanted it.

  The disc jockey on the stage — Patrick, from room 205, a junior — trying his very best to imitate the disc jockey who had managed the entertainment and music at his older sister's wedding, applauded the dancing couples on the floor, and announced the next tune, a slow oldie, It Had To Be You, No one else would do.... Okay, Helen thought, resigned. Why did I bother? I could have stayed home and watched an old romance on AMC. Sapphires (the tall, handsome, smart and athletic young men) never asked a wallflower to dance a slow dance when there were so many rubies afloat to hold in their arms, even if they were as nice as Kurt Lance.

  Jenny had a crush on Kurt, as did more than a few girls in school. Helen didn't blame them, as she had a crush on him, herself. Leading Quarterback, Senior Class, Academically top-notch, Full Scholarship winner to a prestigious college. Her mother, attending a football game at the high school with her on one of those rare occasions when she didn't have to work overtime, had remarked, "Now there's a guy you could go for."

  Helen had glanced at her Mom non-plussed. "What makes you say that? You know him?"

  Her mom had smiled that knowing smile Moms like to sport. "Oh, I've known his mom for years. He's a good kid."

  "Yeah, mom," Helen laughed. And thought, but he's a sapphire.

  The oldie tune, slow and melodious, floated across the dance floor. Helen sighed and lifted a hand to adjust the lilac spray clipped to her hair at her right temple. She had used a straightening cream hoping to acquire that long flowing smooth look, but all it had accomplished was to make her hair thin and slippery. The curls in her hair had minds of their own.

  Humid or rainy days were her worst hair days. Curls turned to unmanageable frizz. She felt certain her ego had scarred for life, when some weeks ago in the hallway changing classes, one of the nastier rubies pointed to her and called out for all to hear, "There goes frumpy, dumpy, frizzy Helen."

  The clip holding the lilac spray at her temple gave up the fight and slipped to the floor. "Oh, wonderful," Helen grimaced, hoping no one had noticed. She glanced around. Everyone was busy choosing and accepting partners. Quickly she bent over to retrieve the flower, lost her balance, tried to regain it, but only succeeded in tipping the chair sideways and side-slipping to the ground with a loud thump.

  Mercilessly, the slow melodious tune did nothing to mask the noise, and everyone turned in her direction. Helen wished she were dead.

  She heard the snickers as she turned to sit upright. The worst was yet to come, she thought, her face flushing with embarrassment. She had to get up, but that meant getting on her knees and maneuvering herself up. Maybe she should just sit there until everyone tired of watching her. Tears welled up in her eyes, and her lips trembled.

  "Are you all right?" a young man's voice asked.

  Black and white sneakers and blue denim jeans. She gazed up slowly, past a white long-sleeved T-shirt under a black sport jacket. Finally her gaze encountered a strong neck, a pleasing jaw, firm mouth, nicely shaped nose, and a pair of wide blue eyes filled with what seemed honest concern."

  Kurt Lance asked, extending a hand, "Here, let me help you up."

  Tongue-tied, embarrassed and at the same time flabbergasted that Kurt Lance was asking to help her up, Helen stammered a thank you and tried to hide the quiver that ran up her arms when Kurt placed his hands about her elbows and lifted her to her feet in one fluid motion.

  "Okay?" he asked.

  Helen nodded. "I-I lost my balance. My-my hair clip fell." She pointed to the lilac spray, feeling a desperate need to explain that she wasn't normally a klutz.

  Kurt bent and picked up her lilac spray and to her astonishment, clipped it back on her hair. "Looks nice on you," he said, smiling. "Tell you what," let's finish this dance.

  I'm dreaming, Helen thought, as she nodded timidly and heard a definite intake of female breaths when Kurt cupped her elbow and led her on to the dance floor.

  He's a nice kid, her mom had said. Oh yes, mom, he is. But he's not a kid, he's a young man. Helen hoped he did not hear her heart thumping loudly as he placed his arms about her. She noticed some of the dancing couples pause as he began to lead her across the floor. She imagined what the rubies were thinking, Sapphire is taking mercy on a wallflower. His good deed for the day. He might be laughing at her. It could all be a cruel joke, the Carrie plot, except that she didn't have telekinetic powers.

  It took her a few moments to muster the courage to meet his gaze head-on as they danced. She gave him another timid smile. He returned
the smile. She felt her knees weaken, and nearly stumbled, but his arms, strong yet gentle, tightened imperceptibly, just enough to help her keep in step. Oh my God, she thought, he's an angel. She absolutely would never forget tonight!

  The music slowed to a stop, and he let go of her waist. But he kept his other arm about her shoulders. A true young gentleman, he'll probably lead me back to my seat, she thought.

  A fast tune shot out from the DJ's equipment on the stage. Most of the couples on the floor began to shuffle and swing. Helen stood very still. He hadn't moved. Was she supposed to walk away? Did he intend dancing with her again?

  "Come on, let's dance," Kurt said.

  Helen's eyes widened with surprise. He must have understood her hesitation for he nodded. She couldn't restrain the good-natured giggle. Later she would think how silly she must have sounded. She began to dance, letting her body move with the music, her feet stepping lightly to the music beat. Kurt was a good dancer, and his moves natural, not affected or goofy, or inappropriate. She took his lead for the most part, enjoying the freedom of swaying her shoulders and arms and hips to the liberating notes. She forgot to count the seconds and the minutes, thoroughly enjoying her second dance with a handsome young partner, the boy of her dreams.

  It was indeed a night she would never forget. Three more dances — one rock'n roll, one slow, and then a waltz, The Blue Danube. She was glad that over the years her dad had taught her the basic steps whenever they attended family affairs. She felt a worthy partner as Kurt waltzed her across the floor, half empty, as several of the rubies had never bothered to learn the steps to this old and beautiful dance. As Kurt and she glided across the room, the auditorium appeared to vanish from her realm of reality. And for a few moments she was Cinderella at the ball dancing with her dashing Prince.