by Amber Brock
“She looks familiar,” Hen continued.
“We met her at Marcela’s, remember? Let’s go say hello.” Kitty stood, but Hen grabbed her arm.
“At Marcela’s? And she’s here?” Hen hesitated. “Should she be here?”
“She has an invitation, doesn’t she? Look.” Kitty pointed at the ivory rectangle poking out of the side of Daniela’s clutch. A flicker of uncertainty passed over Daniela’s face as she paused to look for an open chair in the back, but the expression was gone so quickly, Kitty thought she might have imagined it.
“Where do you think she got an invitation?” Hen asked.
“The same place we got ours. Come on.” Kitty made her way toward Daniela, intent on keeping her promise to Max. She worried Daniela might not remember her, but the concern vanished when the girl’s face lit up.
“You’re Kitty, right?” Daniela said.
“That’s right.” Kitty wasn’t sure why she’d thought Daniela had an accent. Her English was as unaccented as Kitty’s own. “It’s so nice to see you.”
Daniela looked over Kitty’s shoulder. “And that’s your friend Hen?”
Hen walked up a bit warily. “Hello. Good to see you again.”
Light music came from a speaker in the corner, and a woman fiddled with the microphone stand.
“It looks like they’re about to start,” Kitty said. “We should probably take our seats.”
Daniela smiled. “Yes. But let’s talk afterward, all right?”
“We can compare notes,” Kitty agreed. “I love your dress, by the way.”
“Thank you.” Daniela settled into her seat, and Kitty and Hen returned to theirs.
Hen leaned in to Kitty. “Where do you think she got a dress like that?”
“I think she made it. I haven’t seen anything like it.”
“It is something else.” Hen craned her neck to get another view.
The woman adjusting the microphone stopped when someone came up to whisper in her ear. She nodded and disappeared back behind the screen. Kitty checked the front rows. Sure enough, several of those seats were still vacant. She rolled her eyes. Some VIP must be holding up the process. They wouldn’t start and risk having someone waltz in and steal attention from the clothes on display.
Whispers swept the crowd as a stunning redhead entered the ballroom, flanked by two friends. Kitty didn’t recognize her, but it was clear this was who the Miami set had been waiting for. She must be the singer Marcela is hoping will notice Daniela, Kitty concluded. Miami famous—too bad. Kitty had been hoping for a real celebrity sighting. And she wasn’t sure how the woman was supposed to notice Daniela when the poor girl was stuck in the back. Maybe that was why Daniela was hoping to linger a bit after the show.
A sudden commotion at the door stole everyone’s attention from the redhead. The man who had checked Kitty’s invitation was blocking the door as a woman waved a piece of paper at him. Kitty caught a glimpse of the woman’s face when the man moved his shoulder.
“I think that’s Marcela,” she said.
“Are all of Sebastian’s friends coming to this thing?” Hen asked.
“I don’t know. It looks like they won’t let her in.”
Again, Marcela’s face popped into view. This time, she spotted Kitty. She gestured violently. The man pointed at the spot where Kitty sat, then turned and stomped toward the chairs. Marcela stayed in place at the door.
As he came nearer, his face relaxed from its grimace. “Ma’am, I’m sorry to bother you,” he said in a low voice to Kitty. “There’s a woman at the door who says she knows you.”
“She does. I mean, I do know her.” Kitty kept her eyes on the man’s wristwatch. She couldn’t look at Marcela.
“She has an invitation, but…ma’am, she can’t come in here.”
“Why not? If she has an invitation, she should be able to come in.”
“I don’t know where she found that thing. It’s real. But she can’t come in here.”
Kitty’s face burned. People around her were now staring. She looked the man in the eye. “Why can’t she come in?”
He huffed. “You know why. What, is she your maid?”
Select Clientele. Always a view, never a Jew. Marcela might be allowed to clean this room once everyone left, but she was not welcome to sit beside Kitty. A flare went through Kitty’s chest. This heavy-lidded bully was standing beside her, asking her to tell a woman who had welcomed Kitty into her home to leave Kitty’s hotel. She stood and marched across the ballroom.
“Hello, Marcela,” she said, trying to breathe normally. “How are you?”
“I’m…I’m okay,” Marcela said. Her brow wrinkled as she studied Kitty’s expression.
“Good. Will you please wait here for me? I need to talk to someone.”
Marcela agreed. The man returned to the doorway, ready to escort Marcela out, but Kitty held up a gloved hand.
“You wait too,” she said, her tone far icier. He took a step back and nodded. She stormed into the lobby, heading down the hallway toward the offices. Andre’s door was open.
“I need your help,” she said, not bothering to knock.
He didn’t look up from his paperwork. “Kitty, I’m sorry, I’m in the middle of something.”
“A guy—I suppose he works here—is trying to kick my friend out.” She folded her arms over her chest.
“Who? Hen?”
“A woman we met through Max and Sebastian.”
At this, Andre looked up. “Your friend, huh?” He sighed heavily and pushed his chair away from the desk. “Let me see.”
He followed her to the ballroom, where Marcela and the man stood waiting in the hall. The door to the ballroom was now closed, and the muffled sounds coming from inside indicated that the show had started. When the man saw Andre, he straightened his tie.
“Hello,” Andre said, shaking the man’s hand. “I’m Andre Polzer.”
The man’s face was red. “Steve McLaughlin.”
“I’m the manager here. What’s going on?”
“I’m sorry, sir, I can’t let this woman in,” Steve said.
“She has an invitation,” Kitty cried. “If she has an invitation, she can come in.”
Andre took Kitty’s arm and pulled her aside. “This guy doesn’t work for me. He works for whoever organized the show. They make the rules about who comes in and who doesn’t.”
“But it’s our hotel.”
“I know that. What, was she causing trouble or something?”
“No. She just wanted to come in.”
Andre looked from Kitty to Marcela, then back again. He turned to Steve. “Hey, buddy, I know you’ve got your orders. But this girl’s father owns the hotel. If she wants this lady to come in, I gotta make sure that happens.” When Steve hesitated, Andre shot him a conciliatory smile. “She won’t make a scene. If she does, I’ll answer for it. All right?”
Steve thought for a minute, then opened the door to the ballroom. Marcela walked in, head held high, but stayed to the shadows and took a seat in the back.
“Is that all?” Andre asked Kitty.
“Tell me the truth. Is that our hotel’s policy, or is it theirs?” she asked.
“It’s not policy,” Andre said. “It’s just Miami.”
“And what about New York?”
Andre shook his head. “Don’t worry about it, Kitty.”
She pinched her lips together, unsure what else to ask or say. She gave him a halting nod, then entered the ballroom herself. Careful not to draw attention, she crept around to her seat beside Hen.
“What in the world was that about?” Hen whispered.
“I’ll tell you later.” Kitty wasn’t even sure she could articulate what had taken place. She knew why Marcela wasn’t admitted, but it wasn’t the sor
t of thing one talked openly about. Worse, she wasn’t sure Hen would see the problem. The thing that stymied Kitty most was that Marcela had been stopped, but Daniela had walked right in.
Then it hit her. Those who couldn’t hide being Cuban, or Dominican, or Jewish, didn’t. They had to live with the restrictions or face consequences. Those who could hide, on the other hand, had to choose to bury part of themselves to be accepted. It was more than pretending to be part of the elite. It was pretending to be someone you weren’t. Disowning and disavowing your memories, your home, your family.
I’m proud of who I am, no matter what doors close on me because of it.
Kitty missed all the elegant dresses, all the playful rompers, and all the daring bathing suits as Max’s words echoed in her head. After the show, she noticed that Daniela and Marcela didn’t speak. Instead, Daniela fell into conversation with the redheaded chanteuse after bumping into her in a way that seemed accidental but was likely carefully choreographed. Marcela watched from the edge of the room, a satisfied smile on her face. Had she come merely to make sure the fruits of her effort paid off? Did she come prepared to engineer another avenue toward meeting if the first gambit didn’t work? What had she had to do to get the invitations to the show in the first place? Kitty would never know. Marcela caught Kitty’s eye, mouthed a silent thank you, then slipped out of the ballroom.
The evening after the fashion show, Kitty flagged Max down with her purse at the end of the show. He nodded. An hour later, they met on the outdoor patio.
“Where’s Loco?” he asked, pulling Kitty into his arms.
“No need for a ruse,” she said. “Hen was falling asleep walking in the door.”
He drew back, studying her face in the low light. “Marcela told me about the fashion show.”
“Oh.” Kitty dropped her gaze to the concrete beneath her feet.
“That was great, what you did.”
“Don’t sound so surprised.”
“I’m serious.” He cupped her chin in his hand. “She said you stuck up for her.”
“She had an invitation. I don’t know what all the fuss was about.”
“Yes, you do.” He kissed her. “Thank you.”
Kitty smiled. “Well, did she see anything she liked?”
“Nah, that stuff is not her style. But she did want me to tell you that Daniela got a tryout with Rose Wilson’s group. Rose really liked her.”
“That’s the redhead?”
“Yep.”
“Daniela must have made a big impression.”
“I’m sure she did. But, as it turns out, Rose is really Rosa. Guess she wants to give Daniela a break.”
He said it with a chuckle, but Kitty couldn’t laugh. How long would it be before Daniela was Danielle?
“So what did you want to meet about?” he continued. Kitty was relieved at the change of topic.
“Only this.” She wrapped her arms tighter around his waist.
“Hey, I wanted to ask you something.” He cast his gaze downward. “My aunt was at my mom’s house today, and she said she hoped she hadn’t said too much to you. What did you talk about, exactly?”
“It’s nothing to worry about,” Kitty said.
“I knew it. She told you about Joan, didn’t she?” He slid his arms from hers and ran a hand through his hair.
“I didn’t catch a name. But yes, she mentioned—a girl.” Kitty couldn’t bring herself to say girlfriend. “If you’re thinking it upsets me to know that you existed before we met, it doesn’t. I assumed I wasn’t your first kiss.”
“I wish Aunt Gail hadn’t brought it up.”
“I know it’s none of my business. But are you still…do you ever…” Kitty picked at a fingernail.
Max stepped closer once more. “No. I’ve let Joan go, I promise.”
“Well. I think she made a mistake, personally.” Kitty’s face burned.
“It wasn’t—” He caught himself. “We don’t have to talk about her if you don’t want to.”
“Are you sure you want to?”
“It might help to explain things. The way I’ve acted, especially when you and I first met.” He took Kitty’s hand. “It wasn’t her. Her family didn’t approve of me. They’re rich, so I guess they’ve got appearances to maintain. She told me she didn’t care, but…they wore her down, I guess. She just stopped calling. Stopped coming to see me. She never even said good-bye.”
Kitty stopped herself from asking if the issue was money. Of course it wasn’t. “You deserved better.”
He let out a half laugh. “I didn’t plan to tell you all that. I’m worse than Aunt Gail.”
She squeezed his hand. “We should go dancing again.”
“Everything is closed Christmas Day, and I’m playing all weekend. But we could go Monday.”
“Perfect.” She could think of something to tell Hen later. Or maybe she could tell Hen the truth. Kitty was more comfortable every day with the idea of Max, while growing less comfortable with the idea of letting him go.
* * *
The next day was Christmas Eve. Kitty tried calling her father twice, but there was no answer in their suite at the Vanguard all morning. When the phone rang early in the afternoon, she was pleased to finally hear his voice.
“Hello, darling,” he said.
“Papa! How are you?” She settled on the couch, Loco by her side.
“I’m well, how are you?”
“Fine,” she said. “But I don’t think this is a very good connection. You sound so far away.”
“Must be a bad line. So, are you going to midnight mass?”
She sat up, concerned now. “What’s that beeping in the background? Where are you?”
“It’s nothing. Probably the switchboard. Now, if you need help finding a church—”
“Papa, I don’t believe you’re at work on Christmas Eve. You never work Christmas Eve.” Her fingers trembled on the receiver. “Are you in the hospital?”
“Katarina, do you really think I wouldn’t tell you if I was in the hospital?” He sounded as if he was about to laugh. “I’m at work. You’re not here, so there was no reason for me to take the day off.”
Kitty took a deep breath, hoping to slow her frantic heart. He was at work. Her father would never fail to tell her if he’d had an emergency; she knew that. The first time he went, they’d called her as he was leaving his doctor’s office to go to the hospital. She couldn’t remember the exact words the doctor had used to describe what had happened—some fancy medical term. Then he’d said “heart attack.” He may have said “minor.” But how could a thing like that ever be minor if it was happening to the one family member someone had left?
“Did you hear me?” Her father’s voice interrupted the memory. “I’m at work, that’s all.”
“Yes, Papa, I heard you. Sorry. I was just wondering if you would be going to mass yourself.”
“I will be, and I’ll be thinking of you.” He chuckled. “But I know what’s really important to my girl. Don’t worry. We’ll do presents when you get back from Miami, okay? I’m just glad you’re spending Christmas with Andre. I bet he got you something good.”
The knot in Kitty’s throat tightened. He was still counting on her coming home attached to Andre. She tried to keep her tone light. “Nothing he could get me would be better than time with you.”
“Don’t start with the flattery,” he said, amusement in his voice. “I know that means you expect something especially shiny under the tree.”
“You know me too well.”
“Now, tell me. Have you and Andre made things official yet? Or do I need to have a word with him about dragging his feet?”
Kitty gripped the receiver until her fingertips were numb. The last thing she wanted was for her father to force Andre to make his move, but there was no way to ans
wer the question without making him do exactly that. “I-I’ll talk to him,” she said at last.
“I know he’d never string my daughter along. Sometimes a man needs a little extra encouragement, you know? I’ll have a word with him.”
“No,” she said, with more force than she intended. “It will look like you’re meddling, Papa. I’ll talk to him, I promise.”
“Good. The only thing I want for Christmas is to see my daughter settled down.”
After that declaration, Kitty steered the conversation back to midnight mass and presents, then promised to call first thing the next morning. She flopped back onto the bed. Though she’d never entertained the Andre idea with any seriousness, she now recognized that the idea of substituting Charles was equally ridiculous to her. Hen was so close to calling it quits with Charles, and Kitty was still committed to making sure Hen got free. But now, the future she could see with such clarity before was obscured by fog. She understood better that the standing in society she had wanted for so long would mean breaking off bits and pieces of her own identity. Not only that, she would be expected to exclude people who didn’t fit the required mold. Max had shown her that.
Max. She sat up. Max had mentioned meeting her father. He must have seen something he liked in him to make Max the bandleader, to trust him with the show every night in a club he couldn’t directly oversee. Perhaps they’d talked about the piano, about her father’s love of music. Her papa was a self-made man. Maybe he would understand. No, of course he would. She’d talked him into enrolling her in Alastair Prep. She could convince him to let her follow her heart. After all…after all…
She laughed a little to herself. You might as well admit it to yourself, she thought. You’re going to have to tell Papa. Kitty was falling in love. And now, more than anything, she wanted to tell her father the truth and give a relationship with Max a real chance. But first she had to tell Max himself. And no more plans. No more trickery. This time, she was going to do things the right way. She was going to tell the truth.
