Perfect Stranger

by Duncan, Alice

  “Isn’t whist akin to bridge?” Somerset asked eagerly, culling from a memory nearly lost in the convolutions of his brain. “It will be a snap to teach Mrs. Golightly bridge.” Provided he could remember the game himself. Somerset wasn’t much of a card-player.

  Balderston nodded, as if he’d let bridge-playing slide for the nonce.

  Again Isabel spoke. “What types of dances do you expect your dancers to know, Mr. Balderston?”

  He waved a plump hand in the air breezily. “Oh, all the latest. The fox trot. Ragtime. Waltzes, polkas, schottisches, the usual. People have been requesting the Peabody lately, and the Lambeth Stroll, and the Castle Walk, of course. That’s very popular.”

  Isabel nodded. “I see.”

  She seemed relieved, although Somerset didn’t know why. He learned a second later.

  “And the tango.” Balderston squinted doubtfully at Isabel. “Can you tango, Mrs. Golightly? The dance has taken San Francisco by storm.”

  She swallowed. “Er . . . yes, I can tango.”

  Balderston’s doubtful expression vanished. “Excellent! That’s excellent. Then let us retire downstairs to the dining room. Jorge will join us there.”

  “And who, pray tell, is this Jorge character?” Somerset hadn’t meant to ask the question in exactly that way.

  “Jorge Luis Savedra,” Balderston elaborated.

  Loretta turned to him with a slight frown marring her vivid countenance. “I thought we already discussed that. He’s the male dancer who works here.”

  Feeling a good deal sillier than was comfortable, Somerset sat up straighter. “Well, yes, but who is he? I mean, is he a gentleman of character? I’m sure you don’t want to risk Mrs. Golightly’s reputation.”

  Silence filled the luxurious office as they all stared at him. Defensively, he said, “Well, we don’t, do we?”

  Balderston rose from the chair behind his desk and smiled at Somerset. “Don’t worry about Jorge, Mr. FitzRoy. Mrs. Golightly’s reputation will be safe with him.”

  “Good.” Somerset stood, too, and pulled his coat tails down with a jerk. He couldn’t recall the last time he’d been this embarrassed. And for what?

  Damned if he knew. All he knew was that suddenly, as he listened to Joseph Balderston and thought about Isabel Golightly dancing with this Jorge character, not to mention countless male guests of the Fairfield Hotel, night after night for the foreseeable future, he had felt an intense compulsion to make certain she was protected.

  That, or knock somebody’s block off.

  # # #

  Isabel was still nervous—indeed, she was even more nervous than before—when Mr. Balderston led them into his own private lift operated by his own private elevator operator and connected to his big, elegant office. She glanced down to make sure Eunice was appreciating this, her second ride in an electrical elevator, in one day.

  She was. Her big brown eyes gleamed like polished agates, and her step fairly bounced. “I hope you get to work here, Mama,” she whispered.

  “So do I, sweetie.” But she didn’t, really. What she wished was that she was rich and didn’t have to work anywhere at all. What she was, was scared.

  “I want to be an elevator operator when I grow up,” Eunice announced in a whisper.

  Blessing her for providing a distraction, Isabel laughed softly. “I thought you wanted to be a journalist and a biologist.”

  “Those, too.”

  They left the elevator, and Balderston guided them down a long hallway. He pushed a door open, stepped aside, and they all entered the dining room.

  Isabel tried to suppress her gasp of pleasure as she imagined herself dancing amid all of this opulence. She had just formed a mental image of herself swirling about the large dance floor in the arms of a refined gentleman with waxed mustaches to the tune of a lively waltz, when another door burst open, and a man who was the epitome of the cinematic Latin-lover type thrust himself into the room.

  “Ah,” cried Balderston, “there you are, Jorge.”

  As the two men charged towards each other and greeted one another with hearty handshakes, Balderston with a huge smile and Jorge with an insolent smirk, Isabel watched with interest tainted by apprehension. Balderston she’d already pegged as big and boisterous and rather taken with himself and his position as proprietor of this grand hotel. Isabel figured she might have to avoid his advances, but that he’d probably accept a rebuff with good humor.

  Jorge was another matter entirely. The man reeked of vanity and self-importance. His wasn’t a particularly imposing physique, being slender as a reed, although he was tall enough to make a decent partner for her. Isabel herself was approximately five feet, four inches tall, and she preferred dancing with men who didn’t tower over her. Offhand, and at first glance, she couldn’t see anything else about Savedra that inspired her to believe they’d make a comfortable couple. He didn’t look the sort who would accommodate a partner readily. He’d want the limelight at all times.

  But that wasn’t the point. The point was that if they looked well together and didn’t actually trip over each other’s feet, Isabel might have found herself a job. And, what’s more, it was a job doing something she enjoyed, which would be a pleasant change, especially as this was a first-rate hotel. She doubted that the male guests would be inclined to pinch her bottom, as they might do in a lower-class establishment. Of course, she didn’t actually know that. But she had confidence in her ability to take care of herself.

  Because she was making herself nervous, she left off watching Savedra and Balderston and surveyed her surroundings. They were truly something.

  The place was breathtaking, even now, with chairs stacked upside down on the tables and a cleaning crew puttering about with mops and rags. A crystal chandelier glittered like the sun over the dance floor, which was polished parquet and gleamed like gold. When Uncle Charlie had been teaching Isabel the steps to various dances, she’d learned them to Uncle Charlie’s singing in her own small parlor at her home in Upper Poppleton, which would fit quite nicely into this one room. The home, not the parlor.

  “Our guests enjoy the finest dining and wining,” Balderston said, laughing with gusto at his little witticism, as he led a surly-looking Jorge Luis Savedra up to the quintet waiting for him. Isabel noticed that Loretta, Marjorie, Eunice, Somerset, and herself had formed a huddle. Maybe she wasn’t the only one who was nervous.

  “And we have a first-class dance band to entertain our guests before, during, and after their meals,” Balderston went on. “Our guests expect only the best, and that’s what we deliver.”

  That excluded, Isabel thought grimly. But she wouldn’t let Loretta down for anything, so she vowed to do her best.

  “Anyone who works for the Fairfield has to be top of the line. Our guests expect nothing less.”

  “I,” declaimed Jorge, thumping himself on the chest, “am the best.”

  “You sure are, Jorge!” Balderston cried, slapping the dancer on the back and sending him staggering several steps forward. Jorge caught himself and glared at Balderston, who didn’t notice.

  Rubbing his hands together, Balderston said, “As soon as Hank gets here, we can begin.” He turned to the huddled group. “Hank’s our piano player. He doesn’t generally play for the dancers. He’s in the bar. But since I didn’t want to get the whole band here for this audition, Hank agreed to play.”

  Feeling about two inches tall, Isabel tried to remain serene when Balderston pinned her with a smile that showed no mercy. She knew, because she’d seen that look on other people’s faces, that he was willing to give her a chance to prove herself, but he wasn’t going to hire her for friendship’s sake. If she couldn’t pass his test, she’d . . . she’d . . . well, she wasn’t sure what she’d do. Train for a nurse, perhaps.

  “I’m sure Isabel won’t disappoint you,” Loretta said bracingly, for Isabel’s sake. Isabel appreciated it.

  “Huh,” said Luis with a sneer that would do a dyed-in-the-wool vill
ain proud.

  “My mother is an excellent dancer,” Eunice piped up, nettled by Jorge’s skepticism. Isabel took her hand, just in case.

  “Is that so, little lady?” Balderston patted Eunice on the head. Eunice stiffened. “Well, that’s just swell, that is.”

  Isabel prayed that Eunice, who was usually well-behaved but had never been patted on the head like that before, would remain polite.

  Eunice didn’t have time to disappoint her mother, even if she’d had the inclination, because the door opened again and a middle-aged black man with a slight limp and a huge smile entered the room. “I’m here,” he called cheerily.

  Jorge’s sneer got bigger.

  “Good, good,” bellowed Balderston.

  Hank headed over to the piano without waiting to see if he’d be introduced. He didn’t anticipate an introduction, Isabel saw at once. He knew his place, as she’d known hers for years until she’d made this mad dash to America, where everything she thought she knew about social positions was being knocked cockeyed.

  Her heart started hammering like crazy when Loretta reached for Eunice’s hand and murmured, “Come with me, dear.”

  As her friends and her daughter deserted her, Isabel was left on the dance floor with Balderston and Jorge Luis Savedra. Balderston took a couple of steps back, off the parquet flooring, and Jorge, with two giant but exquisitely graceful steps, loomed in front of her. He bowed and held out a hand, and his face didn’t so much as crack a grin. In fact, his expression reminded Isabel of a locked door.

  “Start with a waltz, Hank,” Balderston said.

  “Sure thing, boss.”

  And as Isabel took Jorge’s hand and offered him a pretty curtsy, the opening bars of “The Merry Widow Waltz” filled the room.

  How appropriate, Isabel thought insanely. And then she melted into Jorge’s arms and he swirled off with her.

  She was stiff at first, until she and Jorge found each other’s rhythm, and then they danced as a unit. He was wonderful. So was she. Together they fairly floated across the floor. Isabel’s heart rose. She knew they were meant to dance together. How strange. She didn’t even like the man, yet they might have been created to dance with each other.

  “Good, good!” Balderston called out after a minute or so.

  Jorge whirled her one last time and they stopped. Applause rippled from their tiny audience. Isabel gave Jorge a grateful smile, but he only nodded curtly. Oh, well.

  “Let’s try a fox trot next,” said Balderston.

  Hank instantly played the opening bars of “I’m Always Chasing Rainbows.” Again Jorge bowed and Isabel curtsied. And then he bounced her off in a lively fox trot.

  Isabel absolutely loved to dance. That she might actually be able to dance for a living almost made her stumble, but Jorge’s frown and her own ambition made her cover the mistake with a flair. She was proud of herself. A glance at her partner told her that he wasn’t proud of her. Or anyone else in the world but himself. Well, that was all right. He danced like an angel, and if he was a devil instead, so be it.

  Balderston ended the dance earlier this time. “Good,” he said, sounding pleased. Isabel hoped she wasn’t hallucinating that part. “Now how about a polka.”

  From Jorge’s sneer, Isabel deduced he considered the polka beneath him, but she rather enjoyed a lively polka. Jorge made her work for this one. Once Hank began playing “The Fire Brigade Polka,” and they established their partnership, he led her into a series of flourishes that left her breathless.

  But she enjoyed herself hugely. And that was in spite of Jorge’s animosity—if that’s what it was. Isabel couldn’t tell. Perhaps he disdained anyone who hadn’t proved herself as worthy to dance with him. She hoped she’d qualify, mainly because it would make her job more enjoyable, but she wouldn’t repine if he never warmed to her. As long as they could dance this well together, all would be well. She hoped.

  “Splendid!” This time Balderston clapped, too. “I’m sure you two can perform an admirable schottische. I’d like to see you do something to ragtime, though.”

  “I’m in my element now,” Hank said with a wink for Isabel.

  Now Hank, unlike Jorge, was gloriously likable. His fingers picked out the opening bars of “That Hindu Rag,” and Jorge and she leaned toward each other and took off dancing. Isabel loved ragtime. The music always sounded happy, and it made her happy. It didn’t seem to have the same effect on Jorge as it did on her, but she presumed he wasn’t as bored as he looked. It would be difficult to be bored while dancing to a ragtime melody.

  “Good, good!” Balderston called out after a minute or so. “You two look very good together. Now let’s try the tango.”

  Oh, Lord. This was the one Isabel had been trying not to think about. The tango was so . . . so . . . sensual. So voluptuous. So . . . entangling. The dance was scandalous, was what it was, and Isabel had never even dreamed of dancing it with anyone except her paunchy uncle Charlie, who was a hundred and ninety years old if he was a day.

  That, however, was not the point, she reminded herself once more. The point was that she had to tango with Jorge right this minute, for the sake of herself and her daughter. He did look the part. A good deal more than she did, if it came to that.

  Hank struck a chord and Jorge turned so that his shoulder was to her. Isabel sucked in a deep breath and turned so that her shoulder was aligned with his. He took her hand in one of his and placed his other hand on her waist—low on her waist. Practically on her hip, for heaven’s sake. Then he looked down his nose at her as if he intended to eat her for dinner. He was absolutely perfect for the role of a Latin lover.

  That being the case, and because Isabel really, really needed this job, she gazed up at him as if she aimed to marinate herself in chocolate in order to make his meal more interesting. Hank hit the piano keys, beginning a tune that Isabel later learned was “La Chitita,” in an Argentine rhythm that all but smoldered. They were off across the dance floor, virtually pressing their bodies together and staring into each other’s eyes with hot intensity.

  Isabel knew that anyone watching would see two people who looked as if they were madly in love with each other, or at least madly lusting after each other. Jorge was so good at this. She could do no less than prove herself worthy of him. It was a pity he was such a crosspatch. Ah, well, perhaps Somerset could dance.

  Now where, she wondered, had that thought come from?

  Before she figured it out, Jorge dipped her as low as she’d ever been dipped in her life, turned her in a tight circle, flung her away from himself whilst maintaining his grip on her hand, then drew her to him and pressed her close, and then, in one last, passionate flourish, dropped to one knee and deposited her on his leg as Hank’s piano crashed to a stop.

  Before Isabel had caught her breath, Jorge dumped her off his knee and tossed her hand away. “She’ll do,” he said.

  Well, how nice.

  She didn’t have a chance to think about it because Balderston and all of her friends, and Eunice, leapt to their feet and roared their appreciation. Even Hank, sitting on the piano bench and grinning from ear to ear, clapped.

  Balderston thundered toward her, bringing to her mind the image of a charging elephant. “Wonderful! You two are perfect together! I’ve never seen Jorge look better.”

  Jorge, who had marched off a few yards, folded his arms across his chest, and taken to staring at the far wall, glanced over his shoulder, his eyebrows drawn into a V of disapproval. “Huh!”

  “Thank you,” Isabel said, short of breath. It had been a long time since she’d done that much dancing.

  “You two will be the rage of San Francisco before the week’s out!” declared Balderston. “When can you start?”

  Loretta rushed up to her. “Oh, Isabel! I had forgotten you were so talented. You were wonderful!”

  “Thank you,” panted Isabel.

  “She can’t start until next week,” Loretta announced.

  “Next week?”
Balderston frowned, but not heavily. Isabel decided to let him and Loretta battle for her time. She still had to catch her breath.

  “Mama, that man dances better than Uncle Charlie.”

  Laughing, Isabel picked up her daughter and hugged her hard. “Yes, he does, doesn’t he?”

  “I must say, that was beautifully done,” said Marjorie MacTavish, who had joined Isabel and the rest of them on the dance floor. “I don’t believe I’ve ever seen a more impressive performance.”

  Her heart full of love for her new-found friends, even the usually stiff and aloof Marjorie, Isabel gushed, “Thank you very much, Marjorie.”

  The only one of her friends who didn’t appear to be ecstatic for her was Somerset. He walked over to the group, but he didn’t smile. She glanced at him expectantly, hoping for a compliment, although she knew she shouldn’t expect one. After all, he was a very new friend, and a gentleman, too. Perhaps he didn’t feel comfortable making flowery speeches about her audition, even though it had been spectacular, if she did say so herself. Because she wanted to know what he’d thought of her talents, she lifted her brows at him.

  He cleared his throat. Isabel smiled harder.

  Loretta said, “You simply must teach Marjorie and me how to dance like that, Isabel. Not that we can ever be as good as you, but I’d love to learn the steps.”

  “I’ll be happy to,” Isabel said, waiting for Somerset to speak.

  “I’ve never danced very much before,” admitted Marjorie. “It looks like an enjoyable exercise.”

  “Oh, it is,” Isabel assured her, still waiting.

  “Mama taught me how to dance,” Eunice announced proudly.

  “Yes, I did, and you’re very graceful.” Isabel hugged her daughter. And waited.

  “I must say you’re much better than Jorge’s old partner,” said Balderston.

  “Thank you.” Isabel felt herself blush. And she waited.

  “That one,” said Jorge, referring to his old partner and flipping his hand in a dismissive gesture, “she was a spotted cow.”