“Oh.” Clearly disappointed, Eunice subsided onto her chair.
“But don’t despair!”
Dr. Abernathy’s sudden outburst made them all start. Afraid to hope, Isabel offered him a tentative smile.
“I have an idea.” The doctor leaped up from the sofa, making Marjorie bounce again. Isabel got the feeling he did it for that very reason. What a strange man he was. But pleasant. Very pleasant.
“It’s about time someone got an idea,” muttered Marjorie, glowering at the doctor’s back.
“What is it, Jason?”
The doctor turned to face Loretta, who had asked the question. For the first time since he’d entered the room, he appeared serious. “Do you remember Joseph Balderston?”
Frowning as she sought through the files in her mind for the reference, Loretta said slowly, “Joseph . . .”
“Lived down the block from us. We grew up together. You must remember him. Shortish. Fattish. Family’s richer than Midas and all his kin. In the hotel business.”
Suddenly, Loretta’s countenance cleared. “Of course! Why didn’t I think of that?”
“Because you never think,” the doctor said with a wicked grin, sitting down hard on the sofa. Marjorie, bouncing, frowned at him. He paid her no mind.
Naturally, Loretta, leaning way out of her chair, smacked him on the arm. “That’s not true. It’s because I didn’t remember that Isabel was so talented until Eunice reminded me.” She bestowed a happy smile upon Eunice and Isabel.
Talented? Because she could dance? Isabel wished someone would explain this to her, because she was totally confused. She did manage to return Loretta’s smile, but feared it was a feeble effort.
“Balderston owns the Fairfield Hotel now, you know, Loretta.”
“That’s right. He does.” Loretta sat up straight, as if stricken with a dazzling notion. “What a brilliant idea!”
Feeling dazed, and because they were, after all, discussing her future, Isabel ventured faintly, “Um . . . what’s a brilliant idea?”
“The Fairfield! It would be perfect, if he needs someone.”
Isabel licked her lips and didn’t speak again, praying that all would be made clear soon.
“I’ll talk to him,” declared Dr. Abernathy. “I’ll make him need someone.”
To do what? Dance? Isabel didn’t ask because the concept was so bizarre, and she didn’t fancy being laughed at. Perhaps Mr. Balderston needed housekeeping help in his hotel.
“In fact, I’ll telephone him right this minute,” the doctor cried, again leaping from the sofa and again making Marjorie bounce. She grabbed a sofa arm and clung on as if to a life preserver.
Isabel swallowed hard. A telephone? Good God. There was a telephone in Loretta’s house? Well, of course, there would be. Loretta was rich, after all. Isabel had never used a telephone in her life.
“Marvelous!” cried Loretta, clapping her hands. “Mrs. Golightly won’t be able to begin work until next week, however. We have things to do first.”
They did? Isabel blinked, wondering what those things could be.
“Be sure to tell him that,” Loretta called after Dr. Abernathy as he hurried from the parlor.
“I will.”
After a moment of silence, Isabel cleared her throat. “Um . . . what is Dr. Abernathy going to ask Mr. Balderston?”
“Why, if he needs a dancer, of course.” Loretta beamed at Isabel.
“But—” Oh, dear. This was so confusing. “But I’ve never danced professionally, Loretta. I’m not a . . . a ballerina or anything.”
“Of course not! But oftentimes hotels hire people to dance with guests in the evenings. It’s perfectly respectable. San Francisco has become a favored spot for holidays. And we always have businessmen visiting and staying in town for business purposes. Hotels do the same thing in London. Why, when I was staying at the Clarendon—”
Isabel’s mind fastened on the name for a second and she lost a couple of Loretta’s words. The Clarendon was probably one of the most expensive hotels in the entire world. Oh, my. She was truly in exalted company now.
“—had a gentleman and a lady hired to dance with the guests. They also performed an exhibition dance once or twice an evening. They were wonderful, and they were applauded by all. I believe a dancer would earn much more than a cleaning lady, too, and their clothes are ever so much nicer. I wouldn’t be surprised if that’s how Vernon and Irene Castle got their start.”
“Um . . .”
“Or perhaps they started in vaudeville, but I don’t suppose you have that kind of experience, and you’d probably need to have a partner already. But the hotel would be just the ticket. Oh, this is so exciting!” Unable to contain her enthusiasm, Loretta popped up from her chair and twirled around the parlor a couple of times to the tune of an imaginary waltz before stopping in a flurry of skirts in front of Isabel’s chair. “I’d love to learn to dance better. Could I talk you into teaching me?”
Dumbfounded, Isabel whispered, “Of course.”
This was incredible. It was probably a figment of her imagination. She was most likely dreaming and would wake up and discover that she was going to go to work in some rich lady’s house, cleaning out the scullery and sweeping floors. Maybe she could work her way up to parlor maid if she tried hard enough. It wasn’t possible that she, Isabel Golightly, might actually be hired to dance, of all things.
Why, she loved to dance. How wonderful it would be to get paid for doing something so jolly . . . .
“Done!”
Isabel had no sooner turned to see Dr. Abernathy, who had shouted the word, before she discovered herself lifted from her chair and hugged soundly by the much shorter Loretta Linden.
“Marvelous! Oh, Isabel, I’m so glad. What a wonderful job!”
It would be, if this weren’t a dream, which it was, so she wouldn’t celebrate yet. Released by Loretta almost as suddenly as she’d been plucked up, Isabel sat with a plop onto her chair.
“I should have said it’s almost done,” amended Dr. Abernathy.
Aha. Isabel knew it had been too good to be true, even for a dream.
“Mr. Balderston wants to meet you, Mrs. Golightly. And I expect he’ll want you to perform a dance or two with the male dancer he has on staff.”
“Oh,” said Isabel, feeling numb. “Of course.”
“Who is it?” Loretta giggled. “The man dancer, I mean.”
“I think his name is Jose something-or-other. Or maybe it’s Jorge. He’s from the Argentine.”
“Oh, my,” whispered Isabel, thinking of the tango. The only man she’d ever done the tango with was her uncle Charlie, and he was so old and fat and merry, besides being a relative and all, that it didn’t count. She couldn’t imagine dancing such a sultry dance with a stranger.
“You’ll do wonderfully,” Loretta assured them both.
Isabel wished she were that confident.
“So.” Dr. Abernathy rubbed his hands together. “Mr. Balderston would like to see you tomorrow afternoon, if you can manage to be at the Fairfield then, Mrs. Golightly.”
“I’ll be happy to escort you, Mrs. Golightly.”
Isabel started, having almost—but not quite—forgotten about Somerset. Her mouth opened, but since she couldn’t think of anything to say, she shut it again. She’d like him to escort her, but she wouldn’t say anything so brassy.
“There’s no need for that,” Loretta assured him. “I can drive her there. I’d love to see the dance demonstration.”
“So would I,” declared Eunice.
Somerset frowned more seriously than Isabel had heretofore believed him capable of. “I don’t think either of you should appear at the Fairfield without a male escort, Miss Linden.”
It was the wrong thing to say to Loretta, as Somerset ought to have learned by that time. She straightened up to her full five feet and a little and glowered at him. “If there’s one thing neither Isabel nor I need, Mr. FitzRoy, it’s a male escort. Anywhere.
We—” She pounded herself on the chest. “—can take care of ourselves.”
Somerset huffed.
Dr. Abernathy, lips twitching with what Isabel felt sure was a repressed smile, said soothingly, “Nobody thinks you can’t take care of yourself, Loretta. But to assuage everyone’s feelings, we’ll all go. I want to see the dance demonstration, too.” He turned a devilish squint upon Marjorie. “And I’m sure Miss MacTavish is dying to see it, as well.”
Without allowing Marjorie to utter the words teetering on the tip of her tongue, Loretta cried, “Perfect!”
Eunice went so far as to clap her hands.
Somerset smiled as if he approved of the turn of events.
Marjorie gave the room a general, all-purpose frown once she quit bouncing after Dr. Abernathy again sat, hard, on the sofa.
Isabel wasn’t sure, but she thought she was happy.
# # #
Somerset found himself reluctant to go back to his own home after Loretta’s “simple” dinner, which had been nothing of the sort. His reluctance caught him off guard. As a rule, he loved the house he’d built on Chestnut Street and would have been eager to return to it after his long sojourn in Europe and the eastern states.
But he’d enjoyed the light, bantering tone of conversation between Loretta and Dr. Abernathy during dinner. More, he enjoyed talking to Isabel and Eunice, between whom he’d been seated, bless Loretta Linden for a saint, even though any other hostess in San Francisco would have fed little Eunice in the kitchen.
The one good thing about leaving his new friends was that, after taking dinner and then coffee in the parlor, the night was too dark for him to make an adequate survey of Loretta’s very large grounds and garden areas with an eye to landscaping. Ergo, he had to make arrangements to visit the house again soon. And he made sure to extract a promise from Isabel that she would assist him with Loretta’s garden’s rehabilitation, even though she’d told him she knew nothing of gardens, thus assuring himself of her company for a good long while. What a sly devil he was, to be sure.
The guests congregated in the enormous hall before the front door as they took their leave of each other. Isabel appeared to be in a state of numbness, which made sense to Somerset. After all, her life had changed drastically in the past few weeks and she was facing a trying day tomorrow.
Marjorie, too, seemed bewildered. She also seemed to have taken a dislike to the doctor, who had teased her a good deal during dinner. Somerset hoped she’d get over it. He thought Dr. Abernathy was swell.
Eunice, as he might have predicted and unlike his sister’s children, had thoroughly enjoyed herself with the adults during dinner. He hoped that she’d be given sufficient opportunity to increase her education now that she was in San Francisco and under the wing of the generous Loretta Linden. He’d like to help her, too, but it would have been outrageous of him to offer his assistance on so short an acquaintance.
“Would you like Mrs. Brandeis to call a cab for you?” Loretta asked him as he gathered his hat and coat from the mahogany hat rack beside the front door.
“That’s not necessary, thank you. My house is only a short walk away.”
“Pooh. I’ll drive you home,” Dr. Abernathy said in his booming voice. “I’ve got to return to the clinic tonight anyhow.”
“You have to work tonight?” Marjorie was appalled.
“Alas! A doctor’s work is never done.” Dr. Abernathy put the back of his hand against his brow as if suffering a spasm. He was a comical fellow. Somerset was pleased to have made his acquaintance.
Marjorie narrowed her eyes and peered at the doctor as if she suspected he was really going off to an opium den or had some other nefarious scheme in mind.
“Thanks.” Somerset tugged on his coat. “I’ll gladly accept a ride, Dr. Abernathy. I have a proposition for you.”
Dr. Abernathy gave Somerset a quizzical look. “A proposition have you? Hmm. I’m not sure I like the sound of that.” He laughed.
“It’s a good one,” Somerset assured him. “I’m writing a book, you see.” It had occurred to him during dinner that Dr. Abernathy might be a good source of information. Somerset was never one to pass over a source without giving it a try first.
“A book, you say?” Dr. Abernathy’s right eyebrow lifted.
“A book about plants and their medicinal properties.”
“Is that so?”
“It’s so. Most of my notes sank with the Titanic, and I’d like you to help me replace them.”
The doctor nodded and took Somerset’s arm in his as they strode toward the doctor’s automobile. “Aha, I see. You’ll have to tell me all about this book of yours.”
So Somerset did.
# # #
The next day began a whirlwind of activity that lasted the week Loretta had predicted that they’d need. Isabel hadn’t overcome her awe at the suite of rooms Loretta had assigned to her and Eunice before Loretta whisked them and Marjorie off to a seamstress to be fitted for skirts and shirtwaist. Loretta deemed such garb more practical than more elaborate day wear, a decision with which Isabel concurred, although she’d rather have made their clothes herself than pay someone else to do it. She made the mistake of saying so.
“Don’t be silly, Isabel,” Loretta told her, flapping her hand in the air. “You don’t have time for that. You’ll certainly need formal gowns too, for your new job.”
“Formal gowns,” Isabel whispered, her mind having mislaid the information relating to her dancing audition, probably in the interest of self-preservation.
“Besides,” Loretta went on happily, as she bustled them all down the porch steps, “sewing is so boring, and we all have many other things to do.”
Not for the first time, Isabel, Eunice, and Marjorie chorused, “We do?”
Loretta, who had led the march downstairs and out of the house, into the fog, and up to her automobile, merely contemplated them for a moment, shook her head, then flung her arm out in a gesture of inclusion, and said, “Everybody in!”
Without further questions, the three of them piled into Loretta’s automobile, a bright yellow Oldsmobile Runabout that made Isabel nervous at first. But Loretta knew how to drive the machine, and she did it with flair. If she drove a teensy bit faster than Isabel deemed absolutely necessary, she chalked it up to her own inexperience, although she did notice that Marjorie kept her eyes clamped shut and looked like she was praying during most of the drive.
Eunice, sitting next to her mother in the tonneau, was delighted with the motorcar ride. Eunice, unlike Isabel, was not intimidated by new experiences. Or speed. Or traffic.
“Eeee!” cried Isabel at one point, hunching in the seat with her heart hammering painfully, and squeezing her eyes shut.
Deftly jerking the steering wheel to the left, Loretta swerved around a milk wagon being pulled by an obstinate and extremely slow horse. “There’s nothing to worry about,” sailed back to Isabel’s ears from Loretta’s mouth.
Isabel felt foolish for having given voice to her terror and vowed to remain silent from now on, no matter what. She tried to concentrate, instead, on all the new and interesting sights and sounds available to her in San Francisco.
Nannies in white aprons and caps pushed babied in perambulators. Fashionably dressed women chatted and minced along in their narrow skirts. They were probably going to the vaudeville theater past which Loretta’s automobile roared. How nice it must be to be able to go to an entertainment in the middle of the day.
Merciful heavens, there went another one of those cable cars, whizzing down the street, its bell clanging loud enough to deafen a person, men in suits with newspapers folded under their arms clinging like barnacles to the poles. How in the name of heaven did the conductors collect tickets? Surely, people must have to purchase tickets before they rode the dangerous things.
The fog started to lift, and the air smelled of fish and salt air, with a hint of creosote and some odd sweet aroma, like that of incense. Looking around, Isabel rea
lized she could catch glimpses of the ocean through gaps between buildings. The Pacific Ocean. Imagine that. The ocean on the other side of her former world. She suddenly felt shaky and unsure of herself.
“It’s all right, Mama,” Eunice whispered, taking her mother’s hand.
Feeling foolish, Isabel kept her daughter’s hand in hers. It made her feel safer somehow.
Thus it was that Isabel and Eunice Golightly and Marjorie MacTavish were taken to meet Mrs. Gonzales, Loretta’s seamstress, and were measured for a wardrobe of skirts, shirtwaists, and warm coats. Isabel felt a compulsion to object, or at least to apologize to Mrs. Gonzales for not being Loretta, but she kept her mouth shut.
As they prepared to leave Mrs. Gonzales’s shop, Loretta said, “And now for shoes! You’ll need dancing shoes as well as every-day shoes, Isabel.”
Isabel gulped.
When Marjorie said, “I expect the cost of these clothes to be taken from my salary,” and Loretta objected, and Marjorie insisted, Isabel decided Marjorie had a good idea.
“Yes. And I shall pay you from my salary as . . .as . . . well, whatever work I do.” It was probably silly, but she was reluctant to speak openly about being hired as a dancer. Because she was accustomed to the pittance earned by a charwoman, she added, “I may have to pay you over time.”
“Fiddlesticks! You two are absolutely ruining my gesture of good will!”
Marjorie, her worried frown in place, said, “Codswallop. No one in my family has ever accepted charity, and I willna be the first.”
“Likewise,” said Isabel, although she wasn’t sure about that.
“And I,” said Eunice, as usual causing all eyes to turn to her, “would appreciate being given chores to do so that I may earn my own keep, please, Miss Linden.”
“But you’re only six years old!” Loretta’s protest was vigorous.
Eunice didn’t buy it, a fact that made Isabel proud. “Nevertheless, Mama and I are doubtfulous about accepting so much from you, Miss Linden. We both know that you are a generous lady and don’t look for payment, but we would have squeams if you were not to accept it, even if you don’t need or want it.”
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