by Mary Pearson
guess that’s now.” She dabbed at her eyes before continuing. “Before I wasn’t sure which necklace to give to each girl.” She caressed the velvet of Stacy’s dress. “I guess that’s been decided for me. Emily will receive the emeralds.” She handed the box to Stacy, who opened it with trembling fingers. She gently lifted the strand of rubies and pearls. It sparkled in the morning light which was flowing through the kitchen window of their bungalow.
“I’m afraid to wear it,” Stacy said with near reverence. “I’ve never seen anything more beautiful.”
“Just be careful with it,” Rose cautioned.
But Grandma Annie interjected, “What good is jewelry that stays in a box? These are meant to be worn, not hidden. I just ask one thing of you.”
Stacy looked up quizzically.
“Pray for my mother, Josephine, when you are wearing them, or anytime you think of her. This necklace is only a thing. Our souls are what matters. You know, when we die, we’re not all that dead!” She ran her fingers through Stacy’s curls. “I know someone who will be watching you tonight from above. I know she would be proud of what a wonderful, kind person you have turned out to be.”
Stacy didn’t feel worthy of her grandmother’s praise, but she knew she could always try harder to live up to her glowing opinion.
The remainder of that day was spent primping. After Stacy showered with jasmine-scented body wash, Emily helped her to straighten and then elaborately curl her dark brownish-auburn hair. When Emily was done and with the better part of a can of hair spray keeping each perfect curl in place, Stacy examined the result with satisfaction using a hand held mirror to see it from every possible angle. The top was piled high, but ample curls cascaded down below her unblemished ivory shoulders. Then Emily helped her to put on subtle, but glowing makeup. She applied a lining of light brown under and above her soft brown eyes and added a glossy lip color which was just the right shade of red to match her dress.
Then it was time to put on the dress. With the heels and purse, and especially with the lovely addition of her grandmother’s rubies, they all had to admit the only thing lacking to complete the perfect picture of a princess was a crown.
It was time for Darius to pick her up. He was a bit late—no doubt he considered this fashionable—but when he saw her, even smooth tongued Darius could think of nothing better to say than “Wow.” He continued to stare at her as though he had never seen her before. Eventually he breathed out. “You know, we might even win this thing.”
Stacy looked up sharply. “It’s a contest?”
Darius laughed at her naivete. “Haven’t you ever been to a winter formal before?”
Stacy shook her head.
“There are about twelve faculty chaperones and they vote each year on who they feel is the best dressed couple. Then they dance with the likely candidates to determine who has the poise to be selected as honorary king and queen. You carry yourself extremely well,” he spoke quietly, as if calculating her attributes,”you are a good conversationalist. It goes without saying that I am… “ he took her elbow confidently and twirled her to get the full view. “You know Stace, I think we’ll win.”
Stacy experienced instant butterflies. She had no idea she would be judged on her appearance. If she had known she might not have been so eager to go. But Darius’ confidence in her was reassuring. She could tell he was honestly impressed by her beauty and with someone like Darius by her side she really felt beautiful.
When they entered the ballroom of the posh Lincoln Plaza, which was where the dance was being held this year, the Great room had been elaborately decorated in gold and white. Balloon sculptures cascaded from the ceilings and twinkling lights were everywhere in the room which was otherwise dimly lit. There was nondescript piped in music softly playing in the background. Later, when everyone had arrived, there would be a contemporary soft rock band playing. Was it Stacy’s imagination, or was every eye in the place fixed on the two of them? They descended the stairway into the plaza to take their place in line among the other couples who were waiting to check in at the head table.
Before the dance began, there would be a grand march. There was a viewing area above where parents and other interested onlookers were beginning to gather. Stacy scanned the people and quickly located her mother, grandmother, Emily and Reecie. Reecie saw her, too, because she squealed and pointed. Stacy smiled. She could not remember any time in her life feeling more excited. Every time Darius leaned toward her to whisper in her ear, she felt her heart flutter. He wore a tux about as well as anybody could and she didn’t know what kind of cologne he was wearing, but it was intoxicating.
“Name…?” The smiling lady looked up as Darius and Stacy took their turn at the sign-in table .
“Darius Vincent with… “ he paused and looked at her as if she were a rare jewel, “Anastasia Greenwood,” he said softly. Then they took their place in the Grand March line.
“Anastasia Greenwood, escorted by Darius Vincent.” Stacy felt her knees go weak when she heard the announcement, but she fixed her gaze on an imaginary point in the center of the wall at the end of the aisle, which suddenly seemed ridiculously long. She tried to remember to walk as though there were a book on her head and she fixed a pleasant, but enigmatic smile on her face. When they finally reached the end of the runway the applause seemed thunderous and there were even some appreciative whistles she was sure did not come from her family. Stacy felt herself blush.
At the end of the runway was a rectangular table where were seated the faculty of which Darius had spoken. With a lurch of her stomach, Stacy picked out several of the teachers from whom she had taken classes and some who were teaching her now. She saw them making notes in the ledgers on the table. When she and Darius had completed their walk they joined the many couples who were already gathered, awaiting the completion of the march, eager for the dance to begin.
The first dance was “no cuts”. The couples were to dance with their own partner. After that there would be a period of a few dances, during which faculty would be allowed to dance with possible queen candidates. For their first number, the band played Chris DeBurgh’s Lady in Red and Stacy couldn’t help feeling that, for Darius and her, this would forever be their song. (Never mind that one third of the girls at the dance that night were wearing some shade of red.) Stacy was quietly grateful for the six years of dance classes to which her mother had insisted on sending her and Emily. Although there was no ballroom dance in her repertoire, this experience, combined with the occasional sleepover dance party that she had attended during junior high, sufficed to render her more than adequate on the dance floor.
It didn’t take long into the following number before one of the male faculty cut in on Darius, and Stacy suddenly found herself dancing with her ninth grade algebra teacher, Mr. Gunderson. “Well,” he paused a moment, looking her over, “You certainly have turned out to be a beautiful young lady. Let’s find out if you’ve kept up with your studies.” Although her heart lurched at this suggestion—he may as well have said,”pop quiz!”—Stacy maintained a pleasant visage. “If there are roughly four hundred ladies on the floor, and one-third are wearing red, what is the percentage wearing black?”
Stacy tilted her head to look at him. He didn’t say anything else, so she shrugged. “I’d love to answer your question,” she said, “but I don’t have enough information.”
“And that, my dear, is the answer.” He gave her a twirl and handed her back to Darius. “You pass.”
The next faculty member to dance with Stacy was Mr. Clancy, the gym teacher. It was a faster number and he was actually quite good. “Clance, you can cut a rug!” she exclaimed breathlessly.
Mr. Clancy grinned. “Although I had to take a lot of dance classes for my phy ed degree, I actually enjoy dancing—a lot more than my wife does. I sign on for these events because it gives me a chance to get out on the floor for a bit. You know,” he spoke mischievously, “for being ‘almost a guy’, you’re not so bad yourself!” W
hile Stacy was dancing with male faculty, she noticed Darius was dancing with some of the female teachers. He appeared to be charming them. Stacy had no doubt he was holding his own.
The last teacher Stacy danced with during her alloted time was Mr. Smith, her counselor. “So, Stacy,” he said after the obligatory pleasantries, “Have you decided upon a slant for that Shroud of Turin presentation?”
Stacy had thought about this quite a bit and she was ready to commit. “I want to discuss the historicity of the Holy Grail. I’m planning on exploring three possibilities of what the Grail may have been, one of which is the Shroud.”
Mr. Smith paused, considering the idea. “Fascinating,” he eventually said. “A very intriguing idea. I’d like to look over your notes as soon as you have them prepared.”
Stacy nodded, pleased that her concept had passed muster. She was also grateful that the faculty portion of the dance was behind her. When Darius made his way back and bowed low before taking her arm for the next dance, she was convinced she had died and gone to fairy tale heaven. He was a considerate partner, never leaving her side for very long, although they did each dance with other people a few times. When Stacy was refreshing her makeup in the rest room she ran into Libby, who
