Dare to Dream

by Modean Moon

  "How do you know about that dress?" she stammered.

  He was back on easy footing now, smiling broadly. "Today I was called a, quote, intrepid visionary—"

  "That's awful." Laughter bubbled from her. "Simply awful."

  "I know," he admitted, "but as one, whatever one is, I feel I am entitled to a few visionary secrets. Oh, yes. Tomorrow night you will not sit alone. I will pick you up and escort you. In case you didn't recognize it," he added, "that's the intrepid part."

  "Did anyone dare to call you an idiot?" she chided.

  "No. That's a term I reserve for my personal use."

  Dani dressed with special care the following evening, feeling curiously inept as she did so. "Stop acting like a lovesick schoolgirl," she scolded, because she felt that was how she was acting, but if she hadn't been able to stop herself so far, why should she think she could now? After Nick left the night before, she had turned on the television to watch the late news, knowing that his day's activities would be highlighted. She sat with her knees tucked under her chin and her arms wrapped around her legs, watching enthralled as he moved so confidently among the dignitaries gathered for the occasion, listening to his voice as he explained his plans for renovation of other property in North Tulsa and reiterated that no structurally sound buildings of historic significance had been destroyed for the Brady Center. But she saw all the time the glow in his eyes as he had said good night, and she heard along with the televised sound his voice saying, "Damned if I know." She had retrieved the business section of the newspaper from the trash, and even now it rested beneath lingerie in her dresser.

  She slipped on the russet silk, smoothing its long folds and studying it with fresh appreciation. It was a deceptive dress, appearing demurely prim on the hanger. On her, though, it was anything but prim. She had bought it on a rare impulse and had worn it only once, to an opening night performance of the Tulsa Theater League, before deciding that it was much too seductive to be worn by an unescorted woman who wanted to remain unescorted.

  But Nick had requested— No, Nick had commanded that she wear this, and she was glad that he had. But how had he known about it? She felt a blush rising as she realized he must have seen it in her closet that first night. So much for his visionary status. He was right, though. With her hair coiled, she hadn't noticed, but with it hanging loose she could see that its burnished highlights matched the color of the dress.

  She draped the dress's matching fringed shawl over her arms and walked into the bedroom to examine herself in the full-length mirror. A frown puckered her brow as she wondered, momentarily, about her motives for being so pleased with her appearance, but she didn't have time to wonder long, because she heard footsteps on the sidewalk outside, followed by a purposeful knock on her door.

  She was prepared for his striking good looks this time, but still the sight of him in the black suit the occasion demanded and the white-on-white silk shirt with gold cuff links did strange things to the pit of her stomach. She clutched the doorknob as she opened the door and stepped back for him to enter.

  "Lovely," he said as he met her look with an equally intense one of his own. "Are you ready?"

  "Almost."

  Dani caught a whiff of the subtle scent of his after-shave lotion as he walked past her into the room. She swallowed. Suddenly she was not at all sure that going out with him again was a good idea. "I just have to finish changing purses," she said as she closed the outer door and hurried into the bedroom.

  She threw the few necessary items into her evening bag—lingering over the task would give her too much time to think—and returned to the living room in less than a minute. Nick sat on the couch, leaning over the coffee table, his slender, capable fingers idly tracing the rim of the oversized alabaster ashtray she had purchased that afternoon.

  "I was running out of dishes," she said a little defensively.

  "I'd feel singularly honored," he said as he smiled up at her, "if I hadn't seen the new dish you bought for your cat on the front porch."

  "He's not my cat," Dani insisted. "He just won't go away."

  "So you're feeding him to make him leave? Are you that bad a cook?"

  Dani felt the laughter growing within her as she watched a mischievous smile play across Nick's features. It was going to be all right. This evening was going to be all right.

  "Don't forget your ticket," he reminded her as they started out the door. She snatched it off the desk, puzzled about why she would need it, unless he planned not to sit with her, and that didn't seem at all in character. However, once they arrived at the Performing Arts Center, she understood why he'd asked her to bring it. There was a long line of students in front of the box office.

  Nick paused at one side of the lobby instead of leading her directly inside. "It's what I usually do with my extra ticket," he told her. "Which one do you think is most in need of a free dose of Rachmaninoff?"

  Dani studied the line. A number of students were obviously together. One isolated seat wouldn't help them. Nor would it help a young couple who stood arm in arm. She finally decided on a painfully thin young man in sneakers, frayed jeans, and a Windbreaker.

  "Do you want to take it to him?" Nick asked.

  "Oh, no," Dani said in dismay. "I'm afraid I might come off like Lady Bountiful, and that wouldn't do at all."

  Nick took the ticket to the boy, and the two of them exchanged a few words before breaking into laughter. The young man smiled broadly at her as he accepted the ticket.

  "You made a good choice," Nick told her as they waited to be seated. "He's a piano major."

  "What did you tell him?" Dani asked, remembering the laughter.

  "Never mind." His lips twitched as he glanced down at her.

  The usher came for them then, and she was forced to be silent until after they were seated.

  "What did you tell him?" she insisted.

  He leaned toward her and whispered against her ear. "I told him that you were threatening to use your own ticket, and that I couldn't bear to be parted from you. I asked him to do me a favor by removing any possibility you would escape from me."

  She shot him a mock grimace. "But how did you know I had the ticket?"

  Nick gestured with his program. "There's our studious young friend," he pointed out. "You always sit in that seat. That indicates a season ticket."

  She always sat in that seat? Never mind that she did always sit in that seat, but how did he know? She turned in the seat to face him and found him looking maddeningly secretive. "But I haven't worn this dress to a symphony performance."

  "Remember my mother's insistence on acquiring social graces?" he asked.

  "Yes?"

  "Some of it took." He grinned openly now. "I recognized you in the hallway at your office. I just didn't know who you were except the woman I'd seen at the symphony, the theater, and the ballet."

  Dani felt vaguely uncomfortable and not at all sure he was being truthful. "Not the opera?" She tempted him with one thing that would tell her he lied.

  "I'm afraid I'm not that cultured." He looked at her sharply. "Do you enjoy it?"

  Applause greeted the entrance of the conductor. Dani toyed with the thought of not answering Nick but couldn't resist chuckling. "I don't go either."

  She leaned back in her chair in anticipation as music filled the room. Soon she was lost to all but the sheer sensory enjoyment of the music playing over her, washing through her, filling an emptiness within her as nothing else ever had. She looked down once, at her hand resting in Nick's. She glanced at him to find he was as lost in the music as she had been. Smiling contentedly, she once again succumbed to the orchestra's magic.

  Dani always left the symphony hall in a state of mild euphoria, but tonight, with Nick at her side, his arm around her as he guided her to the car, the world was not one inch short of perfect.

  "Would you like to have dinner now?" he asked as he started the car.

  "Not right now," she murmured.

  "Then
what do you want to do?" he asked softly.

  "Would you think I was terribly silly if I said I wanted to walk in the night air and feel the music?"

  "Not at all." He pulled smoothly out into the traffic but instead of merging with it on its suburban-bound journey, he turned, circled a few blocks, and pulled up at a parking meter on the outer edge of Main Mall.

  "Our private boulevard," he said as he helped her from the car. "There's not another soul in sight."

  "It's different at night," Dani mused aloud as they walked, arms entwined, among the plantings in the center of the landscaped pedestrian mall that had been Main Street.

  "Without the rush, the press of people having to be somewhere and not wanting to be where they are?" he asked.

  "Something like that." She collected a stray thought. "How often have you just strolled through here for the sheer enjoyment of it, or to feel the breeze on your face, or to admire this city for the beauty it is?"

  "Not often enough," he admitted, "but I have done it."

  "I never have," she told him. "Not once in the years I've been here, until tonight. And that saddens me."

  They stopped at the fountain that dominated the center of what had once been a busy intersection and stood side by side, his arm over her shoulder, hers around his waist, in the fresh April air. No stars twinkled in the inky sky overhead, but scattered lights in the towers rising on all sides glittered instead. The fountain created its own music, and occasional droplets of water, caught by the gentle breeze, kissed their faces.

  "It is a magical night," she said, sighing as she rested her head against him.

  His arm tightened cautiously on hers. "I want to hold you, Dani."

  Her breath caught, and her heart seemed to stop in midbeat. "I want you to hold me, Nick," she whispered. It tore something within her to say the words, but she knew she had to. "But I'm still afraid."

  "I know," he said, breathing deeply as he turned to enfold her in a tentative embrace. "And I don't know what to do about that."

  He twined his hand in her hair at the back of her head and pressed her cheek to his chest. "I don't know what's happened to you. I can't begin to understand what happened Wednesday night."

  "Nick…"

  "No. Hush," he murmured. "I'm not asking you to try to explain. Let's do something else." He spoke guardedly, as though having to find words to fit half formed thoughts. "Let's begin again and try to forget Wednesday night ever happened. I promise I won't push you any farther than you want to go, and I won't pry into areas you don't want me to know about. I think we can have something good together, Dani, if we're careful."

  Dani shook her head against his chest, wanting to believe that what Nick said was possible but knowing her private hell would never let it happen. "I can't make any promises."

  "The only promise I'm asking from you is that you do your best not to close yourself off from me. Can you go that far?"

  It sounded like so little when he asked it that way, and yet—she pushed the and yets from her mind and leaned against him in surrender. "I'll do my best."

  She felt him release pent-up breath, but his arms retained their gentle hold on her as if he, too, recognized the fragility of the moment. They leaned against each other for countless minutes with only the splashing of the fountain and the rare sound of a distant car horn penetrating the silence that enveloped them.

  He spoke first. "I don't want to let you go, but if we stand here much longer, I'm going to break one of my new promises."

  She laughed a little shakily at the exaggerated regret his voice carried and stepped back from him. He held out his hand to her, and she clasped it. They turned and wandered toward the car, silent until they neared the end of the mall.

  "I know a little all-night cafe in south town," he said in a voice that resembled his normal tone, "where we can get eggs Benedict, if you don't mind sitting at a counter."

  "With real hollandaise sauce?" she asked in a voice that resembled hers. "Not a mix?"

  "Not a mix."

  "I might be willing to sit on the floor for that."

  He stopped and pulled her to his side. She waited breathlessly, not knowing what to expect. He bent to her and placed a light kiss on her lips. A satisfied smile danced in his eyes.

  "I knew you'd say that."

  She felt an answering smile on her face. It was a magical night.

  "Can you run in those shoes?" he asked in another of his abrupt shifts.

  "I don't know." She felt laughter starting to rise in her again.

  He still held her hand. "Well, pick up your skirt and let's find out. I feel like running. Do you feel like running?"

  Her laughter bubbled over. "Why not?"

  Chapter Five

  What followed Dani could only describe as a courtship, an old-fashioned, concentrated courtship. Recognizing it for what it was, she felt a secret surge of pleasure.

  Nick had no way of knowing that she had never been courted before. There had been no need for it. She and Rob had grown up together, had known each other since they were twelve and she had been placed in the last of a long line of foster homes, next door to his mother's house. They were fast friends before they started dating, finding with each other a warmth neither had in their homes, sharing everything from sand-lot baseball to dreams of a home where love flowed openly. It seemed only natural for them to be with each other through adolescence. By their senior year in high school, each had known that they would spend their lives together, in spite of Rob's mother's disapproval of her background, and in spite of the fact that once Dani reached eighteen her foster parents would willingly relinquish any lingering social responsibility they might once have felt toward raising a needy child.

  Dani pushed those thoughts from her mind. That part of her life was over. Completely, irrevocably over.

  There was now an excitement in her life that she had never known. With Nick. Whether it was standing in awe before the marvels of nature in a painting by Bierstadt or Moran at the Gilcrease Museum or quietly watching the swans in a small lake nestled only blocks from the heart of downtown, whether it was dining among the glitter of a Las Vegas-type show or grabbing a few moments together for a quick lunch of hot dogs and lemonade on a bench in the Main Mall, Nick was carefully and expertly seducing her back to life.

  What guilt she felt in taking Nick's time and attention while knowing there could be nothing between them she rationalized away as best she could. After all, he wasn't asking anything from her in return, and she had told him that she couldn't make any promises. Cold logic told her that soon he would be gone. What could it hurt to take what he offered for just a short while longer?

  Dani found herself looking forward to being with him, hearing his voice on the telephone, catching first sight of him moving through the crowds on the sidewalk to join her. Of course, it was just the excitement of being courted that caused the flutter of anticipation she felt when she thought of him, just the strangeness of being catered to that intensified that feeling when she was with him.

  Nick's attitude helped to put her at ease. He didn't again mention the horrible ending of their first night together. It was as though it had never happened. When he draped his arm over her shoulder, or they touched, dancing or walking side by side, it seemed so casual, so natural, Dani was almost able to forget. Almost.

  When Nick had brought her home after the symphony, he stopped at the doorway, his hands on her shoulders, and for one agonizing moment, she stiffened at his touch. Grinning, he stooped and picked up the purring kitten that had wrapped itself around his ankles.

  "Hello, Not Dani's Cat," he said softly. "I hate to tell you this, old boy, but I think we're both out in the cold tonight." He placed the cat in Dani's hands and brushed a kiss across her lips. "See you tomorrow," he whispered.

  Since that time, his kisses had been undemanding. He held himself in control, never pushing her to the exquisite torture she had felt with him before, never taking her to the point where her bod
y would chill in rejection.

  And why had it? she wondered angrily. Never before had her body played such a cruel trick on her. But then, never before had it been anyone but Rob making her senses sing. And never before had she spent five years suppressing—no, relentlessly stamping out—all traces of any emotion that managed to surface from the thing that had been her heart. And never before, she admitted to herself during a sleepless night, had she ever attempted to use her body, or someone else's, as an antidote for her misery.

  Nick was consistently understanding, consistently gentle, but once during the following days she had glimpsed a facet of him that frightened her. She shivered involuntarily whenever she thought of the coldness in his voice and in his eyes. They were leaving a crowded late-night restaurant where they had stopped for pie and coffee, and he paused in the lobby to get a package of cigarettes. As she stood beside the cigarette machine, she glanced over the crowd waiting to be seated. She caught sight of a slender dark-haired man who, even though he stood with his back to her, seemed familiar. As she puzzled over his identity, she happened to look at the woman beside him, a stunning, tall redhead whose mass of hair was drawn tightly away from her face in an intricately styled Grecian knot emphasizing patrician features and flawless skin. Her eyes were her most arresting feature. Brilliant green, they flicked a disdainful dismissal over Dani before concentrating on Nick. Dani held back a gasp at what she saw as undisguised hatred. When Nick straightened from the machine and dropped his hand on her shoulder, she nodded toward the redhead. "Friend of yours?"

  She felt his hand clench painfully into her shoulder as his body stiffened and he swore under his breath. "I didn't know she was back in town," he said as he hurried her from the restaurant.

  "Who was she, Nick?" Dani asked in the uncomfortable silence of the car.

  "Marilyn," he said tightly. "My ex-wife."

  "Oh." The word seemed meaningless in the distance between them. Dani stared in confusion at the darkened streets. "She's beautiful," she said in a small voice.