by Tamie Dearen
“Aren’t you wearing those super sexy black strappy sandals Emily gave you? They go perfectly with Giselle, and they are sooooo cute.”
“Yes but the heels are sooooo high. And I’m sooooo clumsy.”
“Yep, you are a bit clumsy. I forgot what you looked like trying to walk in those heels. But you just need practice. Nobody is born with the ability to walk in spike heels.”
Anne squinted one eye as she considered practicing. “That might work, or I could just wear my black flats.”
“No way. That’s the reason Emily and I bought that dress, remember? It’s extra long. You have to wear heels or you’ll walk all over it. And you’re shorter than both of us. Here’s what you do… carry the shoes until you’re in the taxi. You can hold on to Henri for balance while you’re at the party until you get to a chair.”
“Fine, I’ll just cling to Henri tonight. I can think of worse things.”
“I can’t wait for a report. Get someone to take a picture of you and Henri and text it to us.”
“I’ll do it. I feel like I’m getting ready to go to prom.”
“It’s more like you’re Cinderella going to the ball with the prince.”
Anne stared at herself in the mirror, or at least she thought that was her face. The woman in the mirror looked nothing like the woman that got up at five a.m. to run on the treadmill. Her hair was the same soft brown color, but the new highlights gave it a healthy shine. The tresses hung in loose curls, framing her face. Her eyes looked huge and exotic—the wonders of an eyelash curler and mascara, combined with some smoky eye shadow. Her lips looked fuller with a light pink sheer gloss.
The halter top of the black silky dress was cut deeply in front, but the girls had sent her with a special tape to keep everything securely in place with no gaping. Anne was self-conscious about the plunging neckline, although she was small enough nothing was revealed. The back of the dress dipped low on her spine, her back looking smooth with its recent spray tan. She leaned forward and backward and raised her hands experimentally, making sure nothing important was exposed. The material fell in curve-hugging swaths with a side slit that bared her leg from the knee down. Satisfied with the modesty of the dress, such as it was, she picked up her wrap and headed for the lobby.
She entered the lobby to find Henri chatting and flirting with Rayna. She observed he was even more handsome—if that was possible—in his tuxedo.
When he spotted Anne, his mouth fell open. “Mon dieu! I am in heaven. Vous êtes un ange. An angel from heaven.”
Anne felt her face flush with embarrassment. She walked slowly toward him, attempting to look stately, but actually working to keep her balance. Henri crossed the room to her side, and she gratefully took his proffered arm.
Rayna was practically jumping up and down. “Anne, you look great—like a movie star.”
Anne started laughing. “I can’t keep up the pretense. I’m so awkward in these shoes. If you just knew—” She stuck out a foot to exhibit the spiky heel. “This is not me. I’m so much more comfortable in jeans and a tee shirt with flat sandals.”
“But you look amazing. You were just hiding all this in those frumpy clothes,” said Rayna.
“And I am happy to stay so close to you so you will not fall. It will be our secret, notre secret. This way I can touch you all night.” Henri tucked her hand in the crook of his arm. “And no one can steal my angel, mon bel ange.”
Anne felt the flex of Henri’s strong arm and realized she felt secure with him. She wondered at the irony of feeling safe on the arm of a notorious French playboy.
“Rayna, would you take our picture?” Anne held out her phone. “I promised the girls I would text them a picture.” Rayna snapped a few photos, and Anne sent the texts to Charlie and Emily.
“Please. Will you send a picture to me? Moi et mon bel ange.” Henri entered his cell number. “This is a new number. This number will reach me in Paris.”
Anne flushed as Rayna silently mouthed, “O.M.G.”
“Madame,” said Henri. “You are ready?”
Anne took a deep breath and returned a shaky smile. “Let’s go.”
Henri had ordered a limousine rather than a taxi, like before. There was a small group of society reporters gathered at the hotel entrance, snapping pictures and snagging interviews as guests departed the limos. Anne tried vainly not to be noticed, the task made more difficult because Henri basked in the attention. He stopped to converse with several of the journalists he knew, while Anne attempted to be inconspicuous. Henri unrepentantly told them his date for the evening was “an angel from Texas.” When one of the reporters joked he didn’t know there were angels in Texas, Henri declared there was only one angel from Texas, and she was in New York with him now. He flashed his white smile, while Anne burned crimson with embarrassment.
Henri talked animatedly as they walked through the lobby toward the Grand Ballroom. But Anne tugged on his arm. “Wait, Henri… I’m not ready. I’m nervous.”
“No need to be nervous. I will not leave you, and my arm is yours.”
“And we’ll avoid Steven Gherring?”
“We will stay far, far from Steven Gherring.” Henri smiled and led her into the ballroom.
As they entered the ballroom, Anne was filled with trepidation. Why had she agreed to go to this event with Henri? She would make a fool of herself and Henri as well. Anne knew more than 900 people had responded affirmatively for the gala, but she was somehow still overwhelmed by the mass of people, all clad in tuxedos and evening gowns.
The ballroom was large and separated into distinct areas. On one side was a buffet and adjacent to that an open bar. Sixty round bar-height tables with tall chairs were available for guests to utilize. However, the majority of the guests were milling about in the main center area, which provided a multitude of tall tables on which they could stash their refreshments. Waiters filtered through the crowd, offering trays of red and white wines, sparkling waters, and various hors d’oeuvres. In the back of the room a jazz band played on a small stage adjacent to the dance floor, their melodies a soft background in the vast hall.
True to his word, Henri spotted Gherring across the large hall and guided Anne away to the other side. He walked slowly, allowing Anne to navigate smoothly through the room. Henri stopped to talk with friends and associates, always introducing her as Anne, his angel from Texas.
Her nerves gradually dissipated, and soon she was laughing and talking, as a rather large group joined in their banter. The international visitors were curious about Texas and particularly intrigued with her drawl. She gave tourist advice to several couples who were planning to spend time in Texas before leaving the country.
“My favorite places are in the Hill Country. You’ve got to go to the River Walk in San Antonio. You should visit SoCo in Austin.” She ticked off the sites on her fingers. “And y’all should go to Fort Worth and see the Botanical Gardens. It’s even pretty in the winter.” She forgot her earlier worries, enjoying the chance to meet interesting people from New York and around the globe.
As one gentleman was recounting a humorous story, he stopped in mid-sentence, his eyes riveted over Anne’s shoulder. She heard a deep voice behind her. “Good evening, Ms. Best, Henri.” She turned to see Steven Gherring standing directly behind her. His smile didn’t reach his eyes. “Are you enjoying the party?”
Henri’s voice was stiff. “Your reception is magnificent, as usual.”
Anne twisted toward Gherring while frantically clutching Henri’s arm, trying to still her shaking hands.
“Ms. Best, I hope your family emergency is much improved?”
Anne’s cheeks burned like fire. “I’m sorry, Mr. Gherring. I didn’t want to lie to you. Katie said she could handle everything, so I took the day to go to the spa. You should fire me. I can’t even believe I did it. It’s really not like me to lie or skip work. I never even played hooky from school—not one day. I’m sorry—”
“Ms. Best—” Ghe
rring interrupted. But Anne continued in her apology.
“I really am sorry. It was just a waste of time—”
“Anne! You’re not fired.” He continued softly, “And your day at the spa was certainly not a waste of time.” His eyes raked up and down appraisingly with a hint of a smile on his lips. “Not a waste at all.”
Anne felt the blood rush to her face. He’d called her by her first name. And was he complimenting her? Surely not. He must be teasing her.
She searched her mind for a way to control the conversation. “Where’s Ms. Milan?”
Gherring glanced about the room and shrugged. “Oh she’s here somewhere, networking and publicizing.” He turned to Henri who’d been silently on guard. “Henri, can you spare a moment? I need to speak with you… privately.”
Henri caught Anne’s eyes with a silent question. “I’ll be fine,” she said, carefully releasing his arm. She joined back in her former conversation, standing unsupported while watching Gherring and Henri from the corner of her eye. The discussion was earnest, but she was relieved to find neither party seemed agitated. Gherring walked back with Henri who took his place at Anne’s side.
Suddenly, Margo Milan materialized beside Gherring, locking arms with him. The arrival of the beautiful model brought murmurs from the group. Men jockeyed for the opportunity to meet her and shake her hand, while their wives and dates stared at the willowy woman with flawless olive skin and black silky hair that fell in a straight edgy cut, just brushing her shoulders. Henri smiled at Margo, but made no move to meet her, remaining next to Anne as promised. However, Margo recognized Henri and coaxed Gherring to make introductions. “Steven, you haven’t introduced me to this handsome Frenchman.”
Gherring obliged her, with slight irritation edging his voice. “Margo, this is Henri DuBois. Henri… Margo Milan.”
Henri moved toward Margo, pulling Anne with him. “So nice to meet you, Ms. Milan.” Then in a particularly un-Henri move, he grabbed her hand and gave it a firm shake. “Enchanté. Gherring, as always, you find the most beautiful women. Perhaps someday you will learn how to keep them.”
Gherring looked daggers at Henri, while his muscles flexed along his jawline.
Henri continued. “And may I present mon ange from Texas, Ms. Anne Best?”
Anne held out her hand, but Margo ignored her, addressing Henri again. “Henri, you are from Paris, right? Perhaps I’ll run into you next month when we do our shoot in France.”
“Perhaps,” said Henri with no enthusiasm. “S’il vous plaît, if you will excuse us, I am suddenly thirsty.” Henri led Anne away to a table near the bar and snagged two sparkling waters from the waiter’s tray.
“She seemed really interested in you,” Anne said.
Henri rolled his eyes. “Those models, they are too skinny.”
“Ha! I don’t believe you for a moment.”
“Yes, they have sharp bones. The bones, they poke you. Who wants a boney woman?”
“So you must think I’m fat, then,” Anne accused playfully.
“No, you are perfect, as I tell you with the chocolates. Hmmm… There is one thing I can think. One thing is wrong with you.”
“What’s the one thing?”
“You are too far away from me.”
Anne’s face fell at the mention of the ocean that would soon separate them. “Perhaps you could come back and visit—”
“I mean now. You are too far away now. All the way across the table. I like having you stand close to me all night. In fact, I think we should get closer still.”
Anne’s eyes grew wide.
“I think we should dance,” he said.
Anne giggled in relief. “I don’t think I could dance in these shoes.”
“This song is slow, and I will hold you up.”
Anne glanced at the dance floor near the stage. “There’s no one else dancing.”
“That is even better. If you fall, you will not hurt anyone.” A mischievous smile lit his face. “Come dance, mon bel ange.”
Anne felt like a million eyes were watching as she danced with Henri, but gradually, a few couples joined them on the dance floor. He held her right hand between them and pressed her close with his other hand on the small of her back. She felt the warmth of his hand on her skin. He whispered in her ear, and she felt intoxicated by the power of his persuasive words.
As she turned in a slow circle, her eyes locked with Steven Gherring’s. He stared intently. What was the emotion in his eyes? Was he angry she’d lied to him? Was he embarrassed his secretary was at this important event with his business associate? Was he disgusted she was going out with Henri, a man that was a source of irritation for him? Henri turned her further and she lost sight of Gherring. Then Henri began to hum the song. His deep voice resonated in his chest, and she felt the vibrations in her own body. She was lost in relaxed reverie, when Henri stopped abruptly.
She looked up, only to see Steven Gherring standing behind Henri. “May I cut in?”
Henri glowered at Gherring. “I do not think the lady desires to change partners.”
Gherring returned the glare and spoke through his clenched teeth. “Perhaps you should ask the lady in question.”
Both men turned their scowling faces to Anne, who felt as if she might pass out right on the dance floor. Gherring softened his expression. “If you’d do me the honor, Ms. Best? Just one dance?”
“Okay,” Anne hated the shaky sound of her voice.
Henri surrendered her hand to Gherring. “Qu'une seule fois. Only one. Seulement!” He backed away, keeping his eyes on Anne.
Gherring took her hand in a gentle clasp and placed his hand on her back. Her skin tingled beneath his fingers. His blue eyes gazed so intensely Anne closed hers to escape them. He started to move in time to the music when Anne stopped him. “Wait… I forgot. I have to tell you something. Before we can dance—”
Gherring’s expression was taut. “What? Tell me.”
Anne blushed. “I can barely stand up in these shoes. You have to move slow and help me keep my balance.”
Gherring’s face broke out in a smile, a rare genuine smile that revealed his deep dimples. “I’ll hold you up. You won’t fall with me.”
He moved her across the dance floor in a slow smooth motion, while she kept her eyes downcast. Anne was intensely aware of his touch. Although he held her firmly, he didn’t press against her. His firm chest brushed lightly across her as they glided around the floor, every contact searing.
Anne felt lightheaded and faltered for a moment. But Gherring reacted quickly, bringing her close as he supported her. Anne’s heart was racing, and she feared Gherring would notice the thudding against his chest. If he noticed, he said nothing.
Why had he asked her to dance? Was he trying to prove something to Henri? Was he making a fool of her? She drummed up the courage to speak to him, to ask him what he was doing. But when she looked up, his gaze held her captive, her breath catching in her throat. She opened her mouth and her lips moved, but no words emerged.
Gherring spoke. “I want you to know…” He paused, a pained look crossing his face. “That—that I enjoyed the dance… very much.”
They’d stopped moving, and Anne noticed a lull in the music. She tried to understand Gherring’s motivation. “But why—”
Henri deftly stepped between the pair, reclaiming her hand. He gave Anne a warm smile, ignoring Gherring completely. “Would you like to dance more? Or sit for a moment?”
“I think I’d like to sit.” Anne took Henri’s arm, but glanced up at Gherring. His expression was inscrutable. “Thanks for the dance, Mr. Gherring.”
“Yes, thank you, Anne. I’ll see you bright and early on Monday.” Gherring narrowed his eyes at Henri. “When is your flight back to Paris, Henri? Do you need a lift to the airport?”
Henri stared grimly at Gherring and started to retort, when Anne interrupted. “Actually, Mr. Gherring, I was the person who arranged for Henri’s transportation, alo
ng with the other international executives. And I’m sure I can make alternate arrangements in case his flight plans change.”
Henri cracked a smile at Anne.
“And yes, I’ll see you on Monday,” Anne continued. “No more spa days for me.”
Gherring gave a stiff nod. “Thank you for the dance.”
Henri led Anne toward the tables. Just as they arrived, Anne looked over her shoulder. Gherring was still standing on the dance floor, watching their departure as other couples swirled around him.
Henri retrieved a glass of wine for himself and a grapefruit soda for Anne. He left her at the table while he went to stand in the buffet line. Anne was contemplating her straw when she heard a familiar voice.
Johanna Klein slipped into a chair beside her. “You must tell me everything. I saw the scene on the dance floor—I must know what has happened.”
Anne told the whole story, starting with the surprise lunch date with Henri, filling in details as Johanna questioned her. When she was explaining how Gherring asked her to dance, she stopped the story.
“Why do you think he asked me to dance?”
“Why do you think he asked you?” Johanna questioned.
“I think Gherring still dislikes Henri, even though he explained himself. He still hasn’t forgiven Henri, and I think he was trying to put Henri in his place. He acts like he owns me. Maybe he thinks he’s taking the place of my father, withholding approval of my boyfriends.”
“Hmmm,” Johanna mused. “I believe you may be mistaken. I saw him dancing with you. He did not look at you like a father would.”
“What do you mean?” Anne felt the blood rushing to her face.
“I simply think he could be jealous, don’t you?”
“Jealous? Of me?” Anne was incredulous. “Believe me, you’re wrong. I know the kind of women Gherring likes, and they’re nothing like me. He likes women like… like Margo Milan. Young, sophisticated, beautiful, society types. Women who’ve traveled the world.”
“Perhaps, but you are just as beautiful as that model.”
