Swan Dance

Dale wasted no time in finding Jennifer, once his wife was stolen from him by Susan Ritter with the excuse that she had to introduce her to some important people. He found Jennifer standing on the outskirts of a circle of people, like a red glowing star watching the planets rotate. He pretended to accidentally bump into her, causing her to spill a little of her wine on her hand.

“Excuse me,” he said. “I hope no wine spilled on your dress. It would be a crime if it was damaged in any way.”

At first, she was angry at the near disaster, but when she realized that Dale was the culprit, her angry changed into anticipation. “No, the dress is safe. But my hand isn’t.”

“You should wash the wine off. I’ve been told by our dear hostess that there is a bathroom upstairs in their oldest son’s room. The last door on the right. It’s private. Very few of the party guests are aware of its existence.”

“Thank you. I’ll go now. I don’t want to smell like wine all evening.” Jennifer walked to the doorway, pausing a moment to look over her shoulder at Dale. He didn’t hide his desire and lucky for him that a noise in the entry way of the house diverted attention from Jennifer, as she ran up the stairs.

Elijah Ritter’s voiced boomed as he greeted guests. Many people were in the hall, watching his antics and whispering to each other. Dale was three steps behind Jennifer and not one person noticed them escaping upstairs. He made a mental note to send Elijah a box of Cuban Corona cigars sometime next week.

The bathroom was small, but size didn’t matter to them. Dale knew how to work around small spaces. He embraced Jennifer, speaking guttural between kisses. “Damn, I’ve missed you. It’s been a crazy week. Susan Ritter’s taken every free moment with her excessive demands regarding their new house.”

“Forget her and kiss me.” Jennifer said. Their kisses led to intimate touching, which led to skin exposed, mainly on Jennifer.

“You’re driving me crazy in this red dress. Red is for wanton women. What’s underneath this dress, wanton woman?” Not waiting for a reply, he pushed the hem up to the tops of her thighs. “Oh my god, garters and stockings.”

“That’s all you’ll find. Nothing else but…me. Now, let’s see what you’ve got on under those finely tailor trousers.” A sound caused them to pause in mating ritual.

Elijah’s drunken voice raged, but they couldn’t make out the words. A masculine voiced answered in quieter tones. Dale put his finger against Jennifer’s lips. He whispered, “They’re in the master bedroom. We’ll still need to be quiet.”

“Then kiss me,” Jennifer commanded. They continued their clandestine carnal activity. The possibility of exposure fueled the intensity of their sex. The air was heavy with breathy moans and skin hitting skin. A moment before their mutual climax, Jennifer cried out “I love you.” Dale silenced her with a kiss, as they ended their reached mutual goal of satisfaction.

When Dale pulled away from her in unusual abruptness, Jennifer realized she had made a mistake in losing herself in the heat of passion and verbally exposing her heart. “Dale, I don’t know why I said that. I don’t love you. I...I love us together…like we just were.” She couldn’t think straight and felt like a fool for stumbling over words.

He didn’t say anything, as he stared in the mirror, looking to see if her lipstick was smeared anywhere. She wished she could take back her words. Jennifer read his body language and she didn’t like what it said.

“Dale, I…” She was interrupted by the bathroom door being rudely opened without so much as a knock, and then suddenly closed in a muffle of “so, sorry.”


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Pink Champagne

Waiters with trays of hors d'oeuvres were everywhere. Georgette reported the stained carpet by the front door and asked that a cup of black coffee be sent upstairs. She went in search of Susan. The crowd was very thick. She wondered how Susan would be able to seat everyone for dinner. In the room that was once Elijah’s study, Georgette found Susan talking to a tall blonde woman dressed in pale pink.

“Georgette, you’re the one who bought the mermaid dress! I wanted it. But look at you. Why it’s perfect on you.” Susan made Georgette turn slowly in a circle. “Oh, it looks like a second skin. You could pass for a mermaid. I read somewhere that there really are mermaids in Scotland. The Loc Ness Monster breeds with lone women swimming in the loc.”

The pink lady laughed, “Susan, you’ve got to stop reading tabloids and listen to my show instead.”

“You’re right. Elijah loses patience with me. Oh, pardon my rudeness. Georgette do you know Theresa Champagne? She has her own show on the talk radio station. ‘Complain with Champagne.’”

“I don’t listen to talk radio very often. Sorry.” Georgette hated talk radio. It put her to sleep.

“You should listen. My show is the Oprah of radio.” Theresa Champagne flipped her long hair, like a mare tossing her mane.

Susan said, “Oh, Georgette is a busy lady. She owns the Bucket of Daisies—the garden center and nursery. Georgette, Congressman Redden told me that you were a part of the downtown renovation effort. How exciting! Isn’t he the greatest man you’ve ever met? He’s my new neighbor, by the way.”

“I thought I was the greatest man you’ve ever met?” Georgette’s mouth became dry and her heart beat rapidly. Trip put his arm around Theresa and said, “You ladies aren’t sharing secrets, are you?” He joked.

Susan said, “Not yet. Trip, do you know Georgette Wit? I got all the floral arrangements for the party from her. She has the best green thumb in the county.”

“Pleasure to meet you, Miss Witt,” he said, mortally wounding her with is pretense and then his dismissal of her from the conversation as he formed a semi-circle with Susan and Theresa Champagne. “Susan, has Theresa told you about our vacation get-away plans for New Year? We’re going to the Bahamas.”

The mermaid skirt hampered Georgette from bolting away like a tearful creature from one of Jane Austen’s books. She stood in the hallway, trying to sort out her thoughts. The echoing sound of Elijah’s drunken voice drifted from upstairs. She followed it slowly, composing herself with each step she took up the stairs. If she didn’t get herself under control, Martin would be enraged and confront Trip. She didn’t want that.

Martin was one of the few people who knew that she and Trip were once in a secret relationship. To expose it to the eyes of Susan Ritter would be devastating to all parties. Georgette was used to bad gossip and finger-pointing. Trip wasn’t. Though they were no longer together, that didn’t mean she wanted bad things to happen to him.

She entered the master bedroom with fingers over her eyes. “Is he decent?” she asked.

“He’s clothed if that’s what you mean. He’ll be decent after two or more cups of coffee,” Martin said. Elijah sat on the only furniture in the room—a straight back chair.

“Where’s the furniture?” Georgette asked. The closet was barren, too.

“Probably at the new mansion. Georgette, can you find a large towel or something? Elijah’s spilling coffee and I don’t’ want him to get burned.”

She watched Elijah, sipping the coffee and saying, “Good stuff, Marty ole chap.”

“He’s calming down,” she said. She thought about how compliant he was to Martin’s stern demands. No one could refuse Martin when he was in court room mode. She looked in the adjourning bath and found one hand towel.

“That one’s too small. Go look in the bath in Chip’s room. The last one on the right.” Martin instructed. “Don’t worry about knocking. He’s away at college.”

Georgette was surprised to see the boy’s room was still intact with its bed, desk and beer posters that covered the walls. She didn’t bother to knock on the bathroom door and was shocked to find a man and woman in various stages of nudity. With her face as red as the woman’s dress, she shut the door and ran out of the room.

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Locked Door

Dale’s face flushed red as he accused Jennifer of forgetting to lock the door. “I have everything to lose, if word of this little fiasco reaches my wife.”

“Fiasco? Let me point out that you followed me in and you shut the door. I assumed you locked it.” They spoke in terse whispers, so forceful they formed a mist over their heads.

“On this is certain. We’re done. No more meetings. I’ll have one of my agents finishing closing the deal on your townhouse. We can’t ever meet again, Jennifer. It’s too dangerous, now.” He smoothed down the ruffled edges of his hair.

“But, I don’t think the person saw much. You’re being paranoid.” Jennifer’s heart refused to go down without a fight.

“Ms. Swann, you’re not exactly invisible in your flaming red dress,” he said in his new voice of ice. Dale put up his hand as she began to reply. “Listen, I think they’re leaving.” They could hear voices, drifting away. “Let’s give them a minute to get lost in that mob downstairs. I’ll leave first and you can count to one hundred and then follow. Good-bye Jennifer.” He stepped out of the bathroom, shutting the door behind him.

Jennifer wouldn’t let the tears fall. She had sworn years ago that she wouldn’t cry over another man. Dale Larkin wasn’t worth the breaking of her oath. Staring at her reflecting, she thought how the shade of her dress changed to a darker red under the bathroom lighting. Instead of being the hue of temptation, it was now a dramatic saturation of anger.

She wanted to run down the stairs behind Dale and slap him. Instead she walked quickly down the hall and stairs. It was easy to fall into the crowd gathering in the hallway downstairs, as Susan tried to assemble order. Dinner was ready and she wanted to make sure that her favorite dinner guests were in the main dining room. Jennifer was one of the lucky ones who dined there, so was Dale.

The table was long with about fifty settings. Jennifer breathed relief, when Dale was placed at a higher spot down the table with his wife on one side and the blonde lady with the annoying habit of flipping her hair over her shoulder. Congressman Redden was seated on Susan’s left and the handsome reporter from WXRZ.

Jennifer was seated beside a dark handsome man, Rod Hutchins. Susan confided to Jennifer, before she was seated. “I’m seating you beside the architect for the downtown renovation project. His name is Rod Hutchins. I think you’ll have a lot in common, darling. He draws house plans. You draw up home loans.” Susan’s laughter at her bad joke annoyed Jennifer, but she smiled politely and shook Mr. Hutchins hand when introduced.

She half-listened to the conversation around her. Jennifer could hear scraps of the topics from the head of the table, like the reporter asking Dale if he had sold the house across from his house on Cedar Drive and the sales pitch from the blonde girl around a radio station. If Jennifer could have come up with a reason to excuse herself without Susan’s boisterous concern, she would have left the dinner party promptly.

Rod cleared his throat in an effort to draw Jennifer’s attention. But she was staring at the centerpiece as she mindlessly forked food into her mouth. “What do you think of the flowers? I’m a big fan of chrysanthemums.”

She pulled herself back into the role of a dinner guest. “They’re nice. The cattails remind me of the lake downtown. I hear you’re on the renovation committee with Mr. Redden.” She decided to stop addressing Redden with a title he no longer possessed.

“Yes I am. We’re hoping the new look will draw business back to the heart of town,” said Rod. He pulled a card out of the flower arrangement. Jennifer watched his face, as he read it and smiled in a knowing way. In a voice that could part the town lake, he interrupted the general conversation. “Excuse me, Mrs. Ritter. Did you know that ‘Buckets and Daisies’ was the nursery chosen to perform the landscaping for our downtown project? I can’t help but admire the floral centerpieces that came from there, as well.”

“Oh yes. I’m aware of that. Georgette designed the centerpieces for me. She’s the green thumb of the county.” Susan turned to talk to Redden in a low voice, dismissing Rod.

He snorted and said quietly to Jennifer. “Yet she’s not important enough to join our little cozy group. It’s a shame.”

“Is she your girlfriend?” Jennifer asked, amazed that he would have nerve to boldly, yet indirectly point out the omission.

“No. It just caught my attention that Mr. Ritter isn’t here either.”

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Dinner Spoon

Georgette told Martin that she couldn’t find a towel. She didn’t mention the couple in the bathroom. It wasn’t her business and she preferred to keep it that way. Georgette suggested that they wet a cloth with cold and sponge Elijah’s forehead with it, in an attempt to break through his drunken stupor. After a few cold pats on the nape of his neck and his forehead, Elijah appeared more like himself. But word of his earlier behavior had gotten to Susan who sent a waiter upstairs with a message that Elijah was to dine in his study with the guests scheduled to eat in there and not to drink anything that contained a drop of alcohol in it—not even a glass of wine.

Elijah lost the last of his alcohol induced confidence when he heard the message Susan had sent to him. Martin, taking pity on him told Georgette that he would go down with Elijah, if she would see to the smoking jacket in the sink of the bathroom. She took the wet cloth and tried to blot off the stain but it was no use, only professional cleaning would get the stain out. She hung it on a clothes hanger in the closet and made a mental note to tell Susan about it later.

A tall man walked by the room. His long strides carried him away fast. It was Dale Larkin, whose wife tested Georgette’s patient often. She had the habit of returning dead house plants that were alive when purchased from the nursery. Once she brought back a fern she had purchased six months earlier. She failed to water it and tried to blame the nursery, saying the plant was diseased.

Next a striking blonde in a flutter by dress followed him down the stairs. She definitely wasn’t Mrs. Larkin. But that was none of her business. Georgette went down, too. Susan saw her and motioned her over. “Georgette, thanks for taking care of Elijah. He and Martin are in the study. Could you keep an eye on Elijah? Make sure he doesn’t drink anything else. I’m very upset with him.”

Georgette agreed and sat at the table beside Elijah. Martin and a girl named Celeste were seated a few chairs down and getting along splendidly. She didn’t experience jealousy, another proof that she wasn’t in love with Martin. But watching him with Elijah made her proud to call him a friend.

“This is a dinner spoon,” Elijah said, interrupting her thoughts. He stared at a silver spoon with gold roses embossed on the handle. “’He hath need of a long spoon that eateth with the devil.’”

“I haven’t heard that proverb in a long time. Makes me long for Shakespeare.” Georgette said, trying to keep the atmosphere frothy. She glanced down at the half eaten Cornish hen covered with a candied fig sauce on her plate and said, “’I love long life better than figs.’”

Elijah turned his stare on Georgette, “Anthony and Cleopatra.”

“I read too, Elijah, though I haven’t read any Shakespeare in years. My older brother used to act out some of the plays when he studied them in school. He made me watch.”

Elijah said, “I didn’t know you had a brother.”

“I didn’t know you had a son until tonight.” She didn’t like to talk about her family, so Georgette turned the conversation to the Ritter son.

“Charles. We call him Chip. He’s in his sophomore year at UNC. He’ll be home over the holidays. My wife is planning a Christmas party at the new house. I’ll make sure you’re invited. You can meet him. He’s a talented artist.”

“I admire artist, even the starving stereotypes.” Now that it was clear that Elijah didn’t need a babysitter, Georgette helped herself to the wine. Maybe she could drown out the thoughts of Trip with his arms around another woman.