Beneath the Attic Read online

  “Oh, I love this,” Garland said. “I recently had a Steinway Victorian C delivered to my home. We have a ballroom, too, and my parents once hosted many galas as big as if not bigger than this one. Do you dance, Corrine?”

  I shook my head. Dance? In the Wexlers’ grand ballroom, with all these people watching? How do I get out of this?

  “I’ve never attempted a waltz.”

  “Oh, the waltz is easy. Will you permit me to show you?” he asked, and stood as if he wouldn’t take no for an answer.

  I immediately turned to look for my parents. My mother could literally charge across the room and drag me off the floor if I rose. I saw them way to the left with some other executives and employees of the bank and their wives. Their attention was fixed on the pianist and the dancers in front of the piano, however. Should I chance it?

  “Really, I’ve never really danced the waltz.”

  “How surprising, but don’t worry. It’s easy,” he said again, crossed to me, and held out his hand. “You’ll see. Please. It will be the highlight of the evening for me.”

  What made me hesitant was the fear that we would surely attract attention. Someone, one of the younger girls, perhaps, would approach us and either accidentally or enviously mention how young I was. What kind of a scene would that be? My outrage could easily bring my mother.

  But really, what was I to do? Any more hesitation might get him suspicious anyway.

  I rose, and he took my hand and led me to a clear space that was really away from most of the others dancing. Then he placed my left hand in his and raised it. He turned so we would face each other.

  “Put your right hand on my shoulder,” he said. “Go on,” he urged. “I’m not that hot to the touch . . . yet.”

  Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Emma and Elsie smothering a laugh. How childish, I thought. Don’t look at them and encourage them, I warned myself.

  “Keep your elbow up like so,” he said. “Perfect. Now, just follow what I do. We’re going to do the basic box step.”

  He announced each move just before he did it, and I followed, holding my breath. I felt like his eyes, this close, were exploring every inch of my face, fixing on my lips.

  “Yes,” he said. “I knew you’d be good at it. Just bend your knee a little more as you step.”

  The music continued.

  “See? You’re dancing the waltz,” he declared. I was afraid to look anywhere but his face. I sensed there were lots of eyes on us, but hopefully not my mother’s.

  When the music stopped, the audience applauded the pianist. Everyone but my immature friends had their eyes elsewhere. I breathed relief.

  “They’re really applauding us,” he whispered, leading me back to our table.

  Simon Wexler and his wife were announced and walked to the front of the ballroom as the applause began again. The pianist started a new waltz, and they took to the floor. Lucy was very graceful, but Simon looked uncomfortable and awkward.

  Garland remained standing after he had pulled out my chair for me. He stood just behind me, his hands on the back of my chair, and watched the Wexlers. After a few moments, he leaned over to whisper, his lips touching my ear.

  “We’re already better than that,” he said. The guests were clapping. He still made no effort to return to his seat. Was he done with me? “It’s a bit stuffy in here suddenly. Care for some air?” he asked.

  Again, I looked for my parents, but they were dutifully glued to the Wexlers. Did I dare walk out with a complete stranger unchaperoned and without asking permission? If he realized that was a concern, he’d surely withdraw the invitation. But shouldn’t he realize how daring that was, and was he even a true gentleman to ask it?

  The chance that he wasn’t actually excited me. I quickly swallowed back any hesitation and nodded.

  He helped put on my cape before he took my hand. While everyone’s attention was on our hosts, I and Garland Neal Foxworth slipped out of the front of the house and stepped down to walk along the path to the right that twisted around the variety of beautiful flowers, including common yarrow, red columbine, and swamp milkweed. There was a whole section of yellow wild indigo and marsh marigold. To the right was white turtlehead.

  “It’s a regular botanical garden, isn’t it?” he said as we continued down the path.

  Enjoy this while you can, Corrine, I told myself. As soon as my mother and my father discovered that I had left the gala with a stranger I had barely met, my mother would surely send my father to fetch me. It could be even more embarrassing than I had imagined inside. But the champagnes, the dance, and the excitement had me ready to risk anything.

  “Yes. Far more than we have at our home,” I said.

  “But not far more than I have.”

  “Really?”

  “Currently, I have two full-time gardeners.”

  “You live alone or with your parents?”

  “My parents are unfortunately deceased,” he said.

  “I’m sorry. Both?”

  “My father had heart failure when he was in his mid-forties, and my mother suffered consumption.”

  “And what of brothers and sisters?”

  Was I being too forward asking so many personal questions?

  “A younger sister who died giving birth. Her husband remarried and moved to England with their child. I have some cousins on my mother’s side. They used to visit us, but we don’t see each other very often now. Family . . . family is a drifting memory.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “No reason to be. Perhaps being alone so young is why I’m so driven to be successful,” he said. “When your parents entered, I saw only you. Are you an only child, or is there an older brother, sister living away from Alexandria?”

  “I am an only child.”

  “We have so much in common,” he said.

  “Do we?”

  “Oh, I think so, and I think we’ll discover much more.”

  He paused. I wondered if he sensed how nervous I was. Was he toying with me? Discover much more? When? How?

  “Do you smoke?” he asked.

  “No,” I said, shocked at the question.

  “That’s good. I know some women who think it makes them look sophisticated, but to me, there’s nothing more revolting than the stench of tobacco on a woman’s lips. Turns my stomach,” he added.

  How forceful he was with his opinions, I thought. I wasn’t sure I liked that. What if I had said I did smoke secretly or something? Would he have still been so critical, maybe turned us around to return to the ballroom instantly?

  “I think the same is true for men,” I countered. “Thankfully, my father doesn’t smoke, or if he does at some meeting, he changes his clothes before he confronts my mother, who would let him know if he didn’t. I would do the same, sir.”

  Garland laughed. “So you’ve inherited your spunk from your mother, then?” he asked, or really concluded.

  I paused. Had I? Funnily, I rarely thought about what I might have inherited from my mother besides her high cheekbones. I was too busy confronting her or avoiding her.

  We turned when we heard peals of laughter off to the right, definitely coming from a young woman. We saw the couple hurrying deeper into the garden.

  “Apparently, we’re not the only ones who have taken air,” he said. “Do you have many friends attending?”

  What would I say? I would practically die on the spot if Emma or Elsie, looking like they did, approached me when I was with him.

  “No,” I said quickly, and then thought, what did that say about my friends that they weren’t here at such an elegant and important affair? “I mean, there are some acquaintances, but I don’t have very close friends at the moment. Most are . . . too immature.”

  “For you? I bet so,” he said, and paused. He looked at me and then up. “Magnificent sky tonight. Cloudless, splattering constellations everywhere. Have a favorite?”

  “Aries,” I said too quickly. I knew what question it would l
ead to.

  “Ah, because your birthday is?”

  “April tenth.” I held back the year.

  “Yes, I might have guessed Aries.”

  “Why?”

  “Aries people are ambitious, like to be number one. You might like to be popular, but I venture to guess you also like your independence and don’t cater closely to the opinions of others. It’s in your sign.”

  “Surely an ambitious and successful man doesn’t really believe in all that,” I said. “You have a lot to do with who you are.”

  He shrugged. “I don’t read horoscopes, but I do have faith in significant coincidences. Luck, as you might have it, but luck,” he added, stepping closer, “is only valuable if you have what it takes to exploit it.”

  He was inches away.

  “Luck has come my way again. To meet you and to treat it as just a delightful moment, nothing more, is to throw back a fish not really too small.”

  “Am I a hooked fish?” Usually, I was the one casting the line.

  “Not yet, but hopefully soon,” he said.

  “And how do you intend on exploiting your present luck, sir?” I asked.

  “Like this,” he said, and then astounded me by bringing his lips to mine, gently but with determination.

  It was a moment of possible fateful decision. Kiss him back, instantly retreat, or just stand there like one of my childish friends, shocked and nothing else.

  I had made my decision months, maybe years, ago. There was no exploration more exciting than my own sexuality. Yes, I wanted boyfriends, but I wanted them to be grown men, and here, with his hands on my shoulders and his lips on mine, was my first real man, perhaps the first of many. Maybe it was evil for me to think it, but I believed that a woman could have more than one sexual partner, too. I was no Susan B. Anthony or Elizabeth Cady Stanton. Nothing was as boring to me as politics and this whole debate about a woman’s right to vote. No, the equality I sought was in the bedroom.

  I kissed him back as strongly and as passionately as he was kissing me, perhaps surprising him. He did look speechless and then smiled.

  “For a moment there, I thought I might have been lifted to the stars.”

  “Who says you were not?” I asked.

  How he roared at that.

  When he stopped laughing, he looked at me more seriously. He could see that I had self-confidence and wasn’t afraid of being touched, being kissed, but perhaps he also saw that there was something about me that did not support simple promiscuity. Maybe I was convincing myself or maybe being too hopeful, but he looked like he was quite smitten with me, and I so much wanted him to be. My first real test in the sophisticated social world, I thought, and I was doing so well he’d never know how innocent I really was.

  I glanced back at the mansion’s front entrance, anticipating my mother shooting out from the doorway like a cannonball and ruining all this with a few sharp phrases, some directed at him.

  “Perhaps we should return,” I said. “My parents might grow frantic.”

  “Oh, then, perhaps we should. I don’t want to get on the wrong side of them now.” He took my hand and started back.

  “You’ll have to be careful, then, when and if you meet my mother.”

  “Oh? Why is that?”

  “She’s old-fashioned, too formal. That’s my kindest way of putting it.”

  “Not necessarily a fault,” he said.

  “In her case, it is. She was born old-fashioned. My father says she threatened the doctor who slapped her rear when she was born. He calls me ‘her handful.’ ”

  He laughed so hard that he had to pause a moment. “Something tells me you are more than a mere handful.”

  “I should hope so,” I said.

  We continued to the steps.

  “Do you ever get to Charlottesville?” he asked.

  “On occasion. I have a great-aunt there, Nettie Lloyd. She’s a widow who lost both her sons in the war.”

  “Ah, yes, the stupid war,” Garland said. “Many lost so much, but some exploited it. I’m ashamed to say my father was one. He was quite the clever importer.” He leaned in to whisper, “And sold to both sides discreetly.”

  “Ashamed, you said. Did you give all the money to charity?” I teased.

  He laughed. “Haven’t you heard? Charity begins at home.”

  I smiled. It wasn’t something I didn’t believe; it was simply something I’d never say.

  We started up the stairs. Before we reached the entrance, I let go of his hand. My mother could be just inside the doorway.

  “About Charlottesville,” he said. “Any chance you’d visit your aunt in the near future?”

  “Yes, I’m sure I will,” I said. “I am expecting an invitation from her any day now.”

  “Please, then,” he said, reaching into his pocket to produce a card. “Do write to me to warn me so I can anticipate your coming. I’d very much enjoy taking you to lunch and perhaps, if your great-aunt permits, showing you my home, Foxworth Hall. She would come with us, of course.”

  “Foxworth Hall? Sounds impressive.”

  “Oh, it is. I promise you.”

  “My great-aunt is quite old. She doesn’t venture about much, from what I understand. However, I might find a way to visit your home unchaperoned. It doesn’t have to be in the social columns.”

  “I do avoid that quite well,” he said, maybe warned.

  “Something I’d prefer, too,” I replied.

  It was as if there were fireworks exploding. I saw light flashing in his eyes as they would reflect it. Had I turned him speechless?

  I looked at the card. “We’ll see,” I said. “I don’t want to make promises and then disappoint you.”

  “Not very possible,” he said.

  “What?”

  “Your disappointing me.”

  I wanted to respond, but I thought I had already said too much. Primarily, I had no such invitation from Great-aunt Nettie Lloyd, not yet at least. I put my hand on his arm and leaned toward him to whisper.

  “I’d better see to my parents,” I said. “Be sure my mother is having a good time. My father depends on me to help him with that burden.”

  He glanced at my fingers lingering and then nodded as I rushed toward the ballroom. Had I gotten away with it all? Was my mother truly distracted enough to miss everything I had done?

  I glanced back before I entered the party, but he wasn’t there. Did I commit a faux pas by not bringing him to meet my parents? Did he turn and go? Was his deep interest in me mostly in my imagination? How could he leave such a gala? Then again, I thought, maybe being with me was quite enough. No one else here interested him.

  I scanned the ballroom and saw that my parents were at a table having coffee with the Elliots. As casually as I could, I approached their table.

  “Where have you been?” my mother instantly asked.

  “Just getting a little fresh air, Mother,” I said, smiling at Leroy Elliot. His wife looked amused.

  “Everyone was talking about how pretty you look, Corrine,” she said, “but I didn’t see you until now. You do look so grown-up.”

  “Put her in chains!” Leroy cried. There was brandy beside the coffee the men were drinking.

  “I’d like to,” my mother muttered.

  My father’s eyes were twinkling with delight and maybe a little too much brandy.

  “Where’s our young Mr. Foxworth?” he asked. So he had noticed it all.

  “I really don’t know,” I replied. It was the truth. “He was here one moment and gone the next.”

  “It was longer than one moment,” my mother said.

  “Was it? Time goes so fast when you’re having fun, and this is such a wonderful gala.”

  “Yes, it is,” Leroy said. “Enjoy everything you can while you’re young.”

  My mother gave him a look stern enough to sober him instantly.

  “I think I’ll get a cupcake,” I said. “They look so delicious.”

 
“Indeed, they are,” Leroy agreed. “Sweets for the sweet.” Despite my mother, he was flirting with his smile. I pretended to be oblivious, but I could see his wife was not. It was something I was sure I would get used to and casually ignore.

  I hurried off. Apparently, I had somehow escaped more critical notice, and there was no feeling quite like the uplifting sensation that came with the knowledge I had gotten away with something right under my mother’s eyes.

  But not Emma’s and Elsie’s, I quickly learned. They made a beeline for me the moment they saw me.

  “Glad you left some cupcakes for other people,” I said, not looking at them as I put one on a dish.

  “Where’s the gentleman you were with?” Emma asked.

  “You went outside with him,” Elsie said.

  I bit into the cupcake and turned to them. “Did I?”

  “We saw you. We went to the entrance, too, and we saw you walk off into the gardens. You were holding his hand,” Emma added, as if she was accusing me of murder.

  “So that’s what it was,” I said. “I knew there was something in my hand.”

  Elsie laughed, but Emma kept her disapproving face.

  “So where is he?” she asked more insistently. She could look just like my mother when she twisted her lips like this, I thought.

  I leaned toward them as I would to give them a secret. Both leaned toward me.

  “I killed him, smothered him with kisses, and left his body in the garden,” I said, and walked off laughing at the expression of shock on both their faces.

  I tolerated more than enjoyed the gala after that. My parents’ friends were as dull as usual, and my face felt sore from all the false smiling I had to do. My eyes were continually shifting toward the doorway of the ballroom, hoping Garland Foxworth would reappear, obviously looking for me as well. But he didn’t, and time, which had become annoying for me sitting there and looking as interested as I could in my parents’ and their friends’ discussions about politics and financial matters, seemed to go ever more slowly. A cloud of boredom floated above and around me, so when my father declared it was time to say good night to the Wexlers, I practically leaped to my feet.

  “I saw you dancing earlier,” Lucy Wexler said when I and my parents were saying good night, thanking them, and wishing them ten more years. I glanced at my mother, who looked surprised. “You dance well.”