Escapade (9781301744510) (11 page)

"Of course," she said, "in our own country,
balloons have been used extensively to—"

Zeke interrupted her with a laugh."Do you
ever think of anything else, Aurora Rose? What do you do with
yourself when you are not risking your neck in a balloon?"

"Why, I-I-that is—" The question took Rory so
much aback, she had to take another drink of wine to gather her
thoughts. What did she do when she wasn't working down at the
warehouse? No one had ever asked her such a thing before. It took
her a moment to realize she had no answer. When she wasn't flying,
she was planning flights, designing new balloons, thinking of ways
to raise money. Except for her company, there wasn't much else in
her life. Especially since her father had died.

The realization both startled and saddened
her. She took a sip of the wine in a rather melancholy fashion.
When she didn't reply, Zeke continued to prod. "A pretty young lady
like you must have some other interests. Perhaps you walk out on
occasion with one particular fellow?”

Aha, Rory thought. So that's what he was
getting at. She peered at Zeke owlishly over the rim of her glass.
"I'm not promised or anything if that is what you mean."

"Good."

Rory blinked. The man was nothing if not
direct, but she rather liked that about him. Still she had a
feeling she was drifting into dangerous waters and that she needed
to steer back to the safer ground of her balloons. Yet she could
not resist asking, "And what about you? Are you courting that Mrs.
Van Hallsburg?"

“Good lord, no. Not her or anyone else. I'm
not the marrying kind."

"Neither am I," Rory replied.

He smiled and held up his glass. "Then let's
drink to that."

Rory clinked her glass against his although
she was not exactly sure what they were toasting. He had a glint in
his eyes that made her feel more tingly than the champagne bubbles.
She drained her wineglass and warmth coursed through her to the
very tip of her toes. It was a most delicious sensation.

I'm getting a little drunk, she thought. She
had enough sense to realize that, but not quite enough to resist.
Zeke began to question her again, about her home, her family. She
found herself telling him the most absurd things about life on
McCreedy Street, how she slept on the fire escape when the weather
got too hot, about spearing fresh pickles from the big barrel in
front of Hoffmeier's Deli, how she liked to ride her bicycle on
Riverside Drive of a Sunday.

She knew she was talking too much, but he
seemed so interested, drinking in every word. Interested and
something more. That odd sad stillness had crept into his eyes
again, a look almost of longing.

When her dessert was placed before her, Rory
left it untouched. She had drunk too much and eaten too little, but
she didn't care. She was feeling exceedingly mellow and strangely
tender toward Zeke Morrison. When he urged her to tell him more
about ice skating in Central Park with her father, she shook her
head.

"You can't really want to know about all the
simple things I do. It must be completely different from life on
Fifth Avenue."

"Yes, it is," he said. "It all seems so far
away."

Far away? That was a peculiar way of
describing it. But she let that thought go, more touched by how sad
he sounded.

"It doesn't have to be that way," she said.
"You're a millionaire. You can do anything you want to. You don't
have to waste all your time in places like this—"

She broke off, horrified. She didn't want him
to think she was ungrateful, criticizing. But he was quick to take
her up on her unfinished remark.

"You mean Delmonico's? You don't like
it?"

“It's very grand. But the waiters do tend to
hover a lot and all the other people-"

"Yes?" he prompted.

She hesitated before blurting out, "They
remind me of a flock of turkeys all stuffed and dressed for
Christmas."

She feared he might be offended, but he
laughed, his eyes twinkling with amusement.

"You astonish me, Rory Kavanaugh. I thought
all girls dreamed of being wined and dined at Delmonico's."

"No, that's not what I dreamed of. She
propped her chin on her hand. "I always imagined supping at some
quiet little restaurant, then going to the theater to see a
melodrama. And after, perhaps going to one of the music halls,
dancing my feet off until the sun came up."

"The night is still young yet, Aurora
Rose."

The suggestive note in his voice snapped Rory
out of her fantasy with a start. "Oh, no, I couldn't stay out any
later. I have to get down to the warehouse. Tony, my balloon-"

But Zeke didn't appear to be listening. He
signaled the waiter to bring him the check, and then stood,
extending one hand down to her. But it wasn't his fingers that
beckoned so much as the smile lurking in his eyes.

"Come on, Aurora Rose," he said. "Let's get
out of here."

The dance hall that Zeke escorted Rory to was
located at the lower end of Twenty-second Street. It was not one
that he had ever frequented, but close enough to his former haunts
to render him a little edgy. Chances were good he might run into
someone who would recognize him from the old days.

So what, he thought with a shrug. He was
hardly a wanted criminal or anything. As he leaped down from the
carriage, he stared at the dance hall's brick frame structure, the
light and laughter spilling through its open windows on the second
floor. Zeke squared his shoulders like a prizefighter about to
enter the ring.

He turned to help Rory down, only to discover
she had already leaped from the steps herself and stood at his
side. He wanted to tell her that maybe this wasn't such a good idea
after all. But the lamplight haloed the radiant contours of her
face, her eyes so bright and eager. He hated the thought of
disappointing her. It had been a long time since he had wanted so
badly to please anyone as he did this whimsical girl. He already
felt bad that he hadn't been able to gratify her wish of attending
the theater.

Most of the plays on Broadway were well into
their third act by now. He had thought of buying out one of the
theaters, hiring the actors to start the show all over again, but
he supposed that too would be showing off. The theater would have
to wait for another night, but for now at least he could give her
her dance.

Inhaling a deep breath, he offered her his
arm. "I probably should have warned you. It's been a long time
since I did any dancing. I'm likely pretty rusty."

"That's all right," she confided in a stage
whisper. "I'm not so very good at it either."

The night breeze tickled the curls alongside
her flushed cheeks. She was a little tipsy from the wine at
Delmonico's. If he had any conscience at all, he would take her
home right now, but the thought of doing so caused him to feel
strangely empty.

Instead he tucked her arm through his,
tightening his grasp as though she was some wayward Cinderella who
might disappear at the stroke of twelve. He led her beneath the
striped awning and into the dance hall. The restaurant on the lower
floor was already closed up, the waiters upending chairs upon
tables. But up on the second floor the sound of thumping feet could
be heard, a band blaring out a polka.

As Zeke ascended the stairs with Rory in tow,
he wasn't prepared for the wave of nostalgia that washed over him.
Stepping across the threshold, he felt he could have closed his
eyes and still mapped out that room. He'd been in dozens like it
before with its bare-board floor, a little bar tucked at one end,
the platform for the band. No, they weren't exactly Landers
orchestra, but they could belt out a tune that set Rory's toe to
tapping.

Beyond the couples prancing across the floor,
making the rafters shake, were a group of young lads lined up along
the wall, trying to look smart in their straw hats, their slickly
shined shoes, their best coats cleaned and pressed. Zeke had held
up the wall in that same fashion himself once, ogling the pretty
girls, casting contemptuous glances at the swells in the black
tailcoats who sometimes came downtown to see how the lower orders
went on.

Only now, he was one of the stiff-necked
swells and the scornful glances were for him.

"Zeke?" Rory cut into his reflections.
"Hadn't we better dance before we get trampled?"

With a start, he realized he had led her out
so far they were interfering with the dancers.

"Yes, I'd guess we'd better," he agreed with
a laugh, clasping her hand, placing his other at her waist. As they
circled the room, Zeke felt awkward, even though some of the
movements were coming back to him.

As for Rory, she was poker stiff in his arms.
It amused him to note her intense look of concentration as she
counted out the steps. Amused him and opened the floodgates of
another memory as well, a rainy afternoon in the sitting room of
the old apartment on Pearl Street.

All gangly arms and legs, he had been trying
to master the polka under the tutelage of his youngest adopted
sister, Agnes. So sweet, so patient, lisping out the count in her
childish treble while the eldest sister, Caddie, plunked out the
song on the old piano, badly out of tune.

The middle sister, Theresa, had been
reclining on the sofa, critical as always. "Ha. You'll never get
the hang of it, Johnnie. You've got two left feet."

But Sadie Marceone had hushed her daughter,
encouraging him. "You never mind what Tessa says, Johnnie. You just
keep trying. You'll learn."

And so he had, going at it with that same
dogged determination he threw into achieving every goal he set.

“Ow!”

An outcry of pain from Rory snapped his
attention back to her. It would seem he hadn't learned so much
after all.

"Sorry," he said, apologizing for having
stomped on her foot. He paused a moment to let her rub her ankle.
When they attempted to resume the dance, they were more miserably
stiff than before.

"Aw, the hell with the steps," Zeke said.
"Let's do it our own way."

Rory glanced up at him, surprised at first,
then flashing an answering grin. Surprisingly enough, they fared
better bounding across the room in their own style. Rory matched
him step for step.

By the time the music ended, their mad romp
was accorded a smattering of applause from the other dancers.
Rory's cheeks flushed a bright pink. Breathless and laughing, Zeke
led her over to the bar for a drink.

Zeke tried to order a lemonade for her, but
the bartender looked at him as though he thought he'd lost his
mind. He had to settle for two champagne cocktails instead. He
watched in some alarm as the thirsty Rory gulped hers down as if it
were water.

"Hey, take it easy," he said.

"It's all right. We Irish have 'credibly hard
heads," she assured him and then hiccuped. He smiled. Taking the
glass from her, he prepared to lead her back out onto the floor as
the band struck up a waltz.

It was then that the inevitable happened. He
spotted someone from the old neighborhood. He could hardly pretend
he didn't know her, for he nearly walked dead-on into the woman.
She was one of Sadie Marceone's neighbors, living in the house on
the opposite corner.

"Good evening Mrs. Jiannone," he said,
suppressing a grimace. "And how have you been?"

She stared straight into his eyes. There was
no doubt but what she knew him, but she turned and walked away
without a word. Zeke didn't like to admit it, but the snub hurt
more than any slight Mrs. Van H.'s fancy friends could have dealt
him. Perhaps the pain came from knowing what Mrs. Jiannone must be
thinking.

It's that worthless boy, the one poor Sadie
Marceone took into her home, the one everyone said would turn out
bad, the one everyone predicted would break her heart.

They had been right. He had.

"Is anything wrong, Zeke?" Rory asked. She
wasn't so tipsy that she hadn't noticed what had happened. Her eyes
were wide with concern.

"No," he said. "I just made a mistake, that's
all." He swept Rory into his arms and into the movement of the
dance. After the abandon of their previous romp, she seemed shy,
dancing at this slower, more seductive pace.

She tried to keep him at a safe distance, but
as the dance wore on, she let him draw her closer and closer, until
if he had bent down, he could have laid the velvety curve of her
cheek against his own. He was aware of nothing but how soft and
warm she felt, the scent of her hair sweet and fresh even in the
hall's stifling atmosphere. He wanted to bury his face against the
silken strands, lose himself in her, lose all past memories as
well.

As her slender frame swayed in perfect rhythm
with his, she roused fierce desires, and a gentler emotion he
refused to examine more closely. He only knew he could hold her
like this forever. He didn't want this night to end. But why did it
have to? He had sacrificed a great deal on the road to accumulating
his riches, lost the respect of the only people he had ever cared
about, lost the only real home he had ever known. If being wealthy
couldn't get you what you wanted, then what was the good of it
anyway?

And he wanted Aurora Rose Kavanaugh. A voice
inside him cautioned him to go slow, to take it easy. But he had
never been a patient man. If life had taught him one thing, it was
that nothing was given freely. If you wanted something, you had to
go after it, take it.

Rory was too caught up in the magic of the
music herself to be aware of the tension coiling in Zeke. She
hummed along with the band. As Zeke whirled her in a circle, a
warning sounded in her mind that she should not let him hold her so
close, but the warnings were getting fainter all the time.

Zeke's arms were so sure, so strong, the only
secure place in a world that spun giddily before her eyes. They
might have been alone, dancing together in the dark, everything
else so far away, the other couples, his mansion on Fifth Avenue,
her balloon company. Only this moment seemed real, this man who
held her so tight.