Fanny Bower Puts Herself Out There

by Julia Ariss

  "You make it sound seamless."

  "But... "

  "But I doubt Jack would be tempted to jump into the mire with us." She was astounded Tish had the temerity to ask. "What makes you so sure he'd buy into this?"

  "For you he might. Don't you see, Fanny? You have his ear, especially now. And it's not lost on him that you share family connections. There's a level of ease and trust that comes with that."

  "Having his attention isn't the same as having his ear. Or did you say ire?"

  "Either way, he won't ignore you."

  "On the other hand... I suppose there is a proud history of giving in his family."

  "Exactly. This is his chance to redeem, to look heroic, on his own terms. Homeless Youth Initiative or some such thing. Can't you just see it?"

  "Really?" Fanny said, tipping her head to the side, "Seems so-"

  "He's all about stealth wealth," Tish interrupted. “He doesn't go in for diamond-encrusted Rolex watches, but he wears his Bike for the Cure shirt like a badge when he deigns to cycle into work. He's the lead sponsor," she added, curling her lip and looking askance.

  "It's unlikely there's a seamy underside to his generosity."

  "Plenty of questionable ethics come under the banner of charitable works. It's par for the course. Ours is not to reason why... " Tish trailed off, philosophically.

  It didn't sit well and Fanny departed the lounge largely unconvinced but leaving Tish none the wiser and assuming that, having reached their agreement in principle, Fanny would broach the subject with Jack, in due course. Tish's judgement was faulty, impaired, reeking of sour grapes, she decided; she'd made a flimsy case by overlooking the obvious motive - that Jack might wish to donate simply because it was right. And good.

  9

  Fanny had been dawdling and fretting about explaining things to her father when an opportunity presented itself that forced her hand. Katherine sent her a note on rich card stock in beautifully hand written script, composed with the perfect meld of cheeriness and decorum in response to her thank-you note about the gift basket. An invitation to dinner was extended at a Supper Club in Little Portugal, on a date neatly coinciding with her last day of work. A chance for her and Robert to practice their Salsa steps, she wrote, noting with regret that Jack would be unable to join them. Katherine's regret was to Fanny, sweet relief. She looked forward to sitting back and enjoying the entertainment, at her leisure, uninhibited. Watching her father bust a move on the dance floor was not to be missed.

  It was only in the final hours, on that last day of work that Jack's assistant was able to shuffle things around and squeeze her in for their meeting. She and Tish had worked tirelessly in the off hours on a proposal which she'd forwarded on to Jack, for his review. Jack leant back in his chair with his arms crossed, casting a withering stare.

  "Endowment Foundation," he said leadenly, "who came up with that one? George?"

  "Yes."

  "Not exactly a ringing endorsement."

  "Have you given it any thought?" Fanny enquired, ignoring the barb.

  "Your outreach project with Erasto? The Homeless question? I've given it a great deal of thought but this proposal of yours," he said, fanning the air with her folder, "doesn't wash."

  "Why not?"

  "It's ill-conceived and it smacks of desperation. I would never consider this kind of collaboration," he said, waving the suggestion away with a hand flap, adding, "Why would you come to me with this Fanny? Why now?"

  It can be rejigged, she wanted to insist. After a weighty pause she managed to draw out the words, "Because I thought..." Uncertain how to proceed, she stalled for time, scouring the far reaches of the ceiling for inspiration, then finally said, "because I thought you cared about such things. Because you seem to care about corporate stewardship. Because it's the right thing to do."

  "The right thing to do?" he repeated, his eyes smouldering in their sockets. He breathed a troubling sigh as though preparing to launch into a full-scale scolding, and then surprised them both by instead, calmly asking, "So you're determined to leave us to work with this... this Foundation."

  "Yes."

  "Well, we're probably better off this way. As you said before, it's for the best... "

  Fanny drifted in and out as Jack droned on at length about potential conflicts in what sounded to her like indecipherable corporate double-speak, until they were interrupted by his assistant announcing his next appointment. He was not in a listening mood anyway, she decided, and this was not the time to push an agenda. She got up to leave without ceremony, brusque and efficient, leaving her folder behind, then turned quickly from him to conceal her disappointment. Upon exiting his office she gasped involuntarily when his assistant ushered in an unwelcome figure, the lizard-lidded tabloid reporter, toting his gear and making jolly as he sidled on past. He offered her a sheepish nod when he realized, a little late, just who she was.

  She exhaled hotly after the door closed behind them, and marched crossly down the hall toward the elevator. She could think of no other reasonable explanation than an attempt by Jack at damage control, which didn't surprise her particularly. What flummoxed her was how the reporter had managed to give Evie and her network of spies the slip; it was just the sort of security breach that would work her into a tizzy. But upon reaching her floor and opening the grey door, all was explained.

  "You really have to start reading your texts," Evie screeched above the revelry. "You're late for your own surprise party!"

  "Surprise!" the crowd echoed noisily, en masse.

  "You didn't think you were going to duck out quietly, without a proper leave-taking did you?" Evie shouted, giving her a playful shove.

  Fanny surveyed the room in astonishment; amidst the well-wishers, streamers and balloons there was a heavily laden snack table bearing pitchers of sangria, and a spectacular butterfly cake. "The pièce de résistance," Evie said, following her gaze.

  "But you said we were just meeting for a quick drink," she murmured under her breath, all the while grinning gamely at the sea of faces.

  "So trusting. If I've taught you anything it's that we don't do things small here. We don't roll like that. Not how we operate."

  "Thank you, Evie," she said in a hushed voice, giving her an affectionate punch and scanning for familiar co-workers. "Gawd, I'm lame. I really have no idea who most of these people are."

  "No. Neither do I. Mostly curiosity seekers from the other departments, but then there's our H.R. crew, of course. Amazing turn out really."

  "Yes, the numbers are outstanding. You've outdone yourself."

  "It's what I do. People will look for any excuse to celebrate," she chortled. Without mentioning their H.R. director by name, she added guardedly, "She's at another boondoggle for at least another hour. The stars aligned."

  "And when the cat's away...," Richard chimed in, handing Fanny a glass of sangria.

  "Oh, and you'll be wearing these for the duration," Evie trilled, pulling a jumbo butterfly costume over Fanny's shoulders and clipping on the headpiece. "You're spreading your wings," she effused, with a loopy wink.

  "Do feel free to flutter back to us from time to time," her supervisor suggested, as he approached with a cheese tray.

  "Oh, and Jack's assistant sent his regrets," Evie informed her. "I thought it would be wise to extend the invite, just on the off chance. Tied up in meetings the whole day she said, but I somehow doubt your little feelers are hurt, eh Fanny?"

  Her new antennae bobbed up and down in agreement, but she felt the slight. No hard feelings, she wanted him to say. I'm spreading my wings, she would respond as she passed him some butterfly cake. She envisioned that slow grin of his, wiping the slate clean. It occurred to her that he hadn't offered as much as a handshake.

  Fanny moved toward the well-wishers with Richard attending closely behind, rearranging her wings periodically as though she were a bride. She had hoped to leave with little fanfare but low-key was not an option with Evie in charge. It was exhaus
ting being belle of the ball, though people were kind, in the end. Farewell parties brought out the best in human nature, but all the good wishes and benevolent parting words were wearing her out. Plus, her back ached. No more piloxing, she thought cheerfully, disloyally. Her supervisor said a few words then commenced distributing the cake. Her co-workers sought her out one by one to say their good-byes, but the delicate question of whether she'd been coldly packaged off by Barrington hung in the air so she found inventive ways to mention her bright new career opportunity at every turn, to set their minds at rest.

  After fielding their impassioned, booze-fueled, pleas to keep in touch, she departed the party, knowing with certainty that her friendship with Evie was the one most likely to endure over the passage of time, that she was the keeper. As she approached the elevator she noticed the H.R. director had returned and stood leaning against a door frame at the far end of the corridor conversing with Jack, thick as thieves. At the sound of the elevator doors opening they looked up from their discussion and peered down the corridor at her curiously. She hastened into the jam-packed compartment but remembered her wings which drooped lifelessly behind her, then yanked them inside moments before the door closed shut.

  ***

  The original plan was for her to be picked up at her apartment, but she phoned her father to say she'd been delayed and agreed to meet them at the supper club instead. She had taken most of her personal effects home, in stages, earlier in the week, so apart from the wings, now neatly collapsed and hanging from her shoulder like a handbag, she was unencumbered except for a small box in her purse that weighed heavy on her mind. Inside the box was her spider brooch which she had sufficient time to drop off at the jewellery appraiser en route. She was assured the pricey three hundred dollar fee - the charge to archive its authenticity - would prove worth the gamble. Apparently George had an eye for these things.

  Fanny sat at a lounge table at the supper club a couple of hours later, draining her mojito, and tapping her foot; she was daring herself to try the complimentary private dance lessons, which were taught by sinewy, flamboyant instructors who prowled the room, in search of willing partners. After a delicious Latin-inspired dinner, Katherine and her father were back on the dance floor, kicking up their heels.

  Her announcement could not have gone smoother, she felt, nor could they have been more pleased for her. She'd been careful to leave out the bit about The Endowment Fund's proposal to Jack, a piece of unfinished business she trusted would get done, with or without him. Katherine was especially intrigued and peppered her with enthusiastic questions. In deference to (and in awe of) Katherine, her father seemed only too happy to take a back seat and quietly observe.

  "Hola. I'm Hernando," a dance instructor said as he coaxed her out of her seat. "I'm helpeen dyoo. One on one. Ees easy," he assured her as he grabbed her hand and strutted onto the dance floor, towing her behind him, like a wayward child.

  Liquid courage aside, she felt self-conscious, and the steps confounded her. After five minutes had elapsed he said, "Djou've got to dance like no one ees watching djoo. One, two, tree, fibe, six, sebben."

  "What about four?" she asked finally.

  "Don't tink about da four Fanny," he said, wiggling his eyebrows disarmingly, and beaming, "forget about da Math. Math ees estupid."

  Now that... I can manage, she thought.

  Indeed, it was music to her ears. She was never more relaxed than when forgetting about the math; she decided then and there he was a superior instructor, of the finest kind. As the lesson progressed she snuck looks at her father and Katherine, noting technique, and as often as not her father was grinning daftly back at her, diverted by the absurdity of it all, tired but happy. "Djes," Hernando sang out, when he spotted signs of improvement. "Djoo look beeuteeful."

  As the lesson wound down a half hour later she was glistening with perspiration, but her confidence was soaring. "Gracias," she said.

  "My pleasure," Hernando replied, kissing her outstretched hand. "I tink we both need a chower. Adiós, beeuteeful Fanny," he said, sashaying back to the bar.

  She could no longer see her father and was set to return to their table when she flinched from a shock of cold pressed against her arm.

  "Water?" a voice from behind offered. She turned, half expecting to see Hernando, but it was Jack who passed the glass toward her. His tie was gone, his top button undone and his sleeves rolled up. He offered a half smile, but on the dimpled side.

  "Uh, thank you," she said, shuffling back a step, nearly fumbling the pass, and taking a watchful sip. Her stomach fluttered, disobediently.

  "I've been watching your lesson. You looked hot," he said. "I meant thirsty," he hastily restated.

  "Admiring my footwork?" she enquired, placing the glass on a passing tray.

  "Yes. And your panache. Shrewd of you to lose the wings."

  "I wasn't expecting to see you here. I thought you were tied up in meetings all the livelong day," she said, with one brow arched.

  "I cut things short to come here."

  "Because you like the nightlife?"

  "I was just catching up with your father and Aunt Katherine over there, who seemed pleased to see me."

  "Oh, did I sound miffed? It was unintended," she said dimly, averting her gaze and reflecting petulantly on the failed proposal, the awkward departure, and her feelers. It hung between them, unexpressed, now simply a question of who should begin first.

  "I'll recover."

  "I should... "

  "I once took salsa lessons, as an extra-curricular class in high school," he said, meeting her eye. "My dorm-mate convinced me it would be infinitely more interesting than fencing."

  "And was he right?"

  "I had two left feet but we had our pick of partners," he said, smirking. "I didn't have to face rejection, you see. It appeased my inner nerd... a tongue-tied boy's head trip," he added, stroking his throat and studying her reaction.

  She fought to calm an involuntary shiver, and turned away in the direction of Katherine and her father - who had taken to the floor yet again - and commented, "They look good out there. They have verve."

  "Care to dance, Fanny?" he asked.

  "Erm. I should go freshen up," she said, glancing back at him uneasily. "And you're probably starved. I recommend the red snapper-"

  "Just one dance," he said, grasping her hand insistently, "I'll show you verve."

  "Oh, alright. If you must," she said, exhaling noisily.

  "We'll take things slowly."

  They moved into position, gradually adjusting to the intimacy, easing into it with the basic steps, but the pressure of his hand on her back, the firmness of his grasp, and the sensory rush of their movements seemed in conspiracy to throw her off her game. She turned her focus to her footwork in earnest and concentrated on forgetting about the math. When she ventured a glance at him, he held her gaze, giving rein to his slow grin, and he remarked, "You have good form. I'll give you that."

  "It was my instructor Hernando," she said, rolling the r. "We had a meeting of minds. We didn't think about the four."

  "The form?"

  "No, the four."

  His gaze clouded momentarily and then he shrugged and carried on, leading her expertly.

  Not the tin man tonight, she thought. "Do you practice this stuff at home?" she asked.

  "Nightly," he said, deadpan. "No... but it does come back. Muscle memory, I guess."

  "It's weird. My back's been aching for weeks and it's suddenly improved."

  "You may have discovered the cure," he murmured. He pulled her toward him and she felt her heartbeat quicken and a flush of adrenaline as his thigh briefly pressed against her own. "Now, outside turn," he instructed.

  "Oh, erm... of course." When she twirled back his arms encircled her in a hold for several beats before she was released. A beat too long she supposed, because he was thrown off course, which compelled them to start from the top again with renewed vigour.

  With so mu
ch pride at stake, there was a vested interest in getting the basics down, and so it went on, the quiet victories when their bodies moved in sync, the satisfied smiles, the pleasure in the undulating rhythms, and the postponing of the inevitable. He leaned in twice to talk and was twice drowned out by the Latin drums. She was about to ask him to speak up when they were interrupted by Katherine and her father, who stood a few feet away, all smiles, beckoning to them. Jack languidly released his hold and they moved off the dance floor toward them.

  "Glad you two found each other. There's a dance-off later on that you may wish to enter," her father said drolly, relishing his own wit.

  "You two make such a handsome pair out there. We wouldn't stand a chance against you," Jack countered.

  "I'm afraid we're going to have to make our way back to our hotel for the night," Katherine apologized. "We need to get a bright start. But we're so pleased you could both make it tonight."

  Fanny exchanged looks with her father at the words our hotel for the night; evocative imagery for a modest man. His gaze dropped and settled on his shoes, like an agitated schoolboy. She noted the sheen of sweat on his forehead and bit the inside of her mouth for composure.

  Gradually lifting his eyes, her father managed to mumble, "We'll give you a ride home first Fanny, if you're ready."

  Jack jumped in on cue with an offer to do just that, to which Fanny consented with a nod, thereby relieving her father of the task. After the thank-yous and pleasantries were said and hugs and handshakes exchanged, the elder pair departed, her father dabbing at his forehead with a tissue, looking grateful the whole business of good-byes was behind him.

  "You were saying?" she asked.

  "Saying? Right. I was thinking... wondering, if you were minding the crowd much tonight?"

  "Not really. No. A roomful of strangers is a lot less off-putting when you're not being forced to pal around with all and sundry. It's doable, being among them but not of them."