What Matters Most (13 page)

“Can we have dinner together?” he asked her. “I have a place in mind that’s really nice.”

“I’d love that. How do I dress? Long, short or micro-mini?”

“Wh-what?” he stammered. “You in a
micro-mini?
You’re probably pulling my leg, but I’m tempted to say that a mini would be great, because I’d like to see you in one. Long would be nice.”

She couldn’t help grinning. “Surprised you, didn’t I? I’ll have pity on you. Long it will be.” She would have preferred to wear a short dinner dress, but she couldn’t wait to see him in a tuxedo.

“I’ll bet you don’t own a micro-mini.”

“I don’t, but only because my father would have confined me to my room if he saw me wear one. In those days, having peace at home was my priority.”

“Fortunately, that’s behind you. Have you seen him since you moved?”

“No, but I will as soon as he finds my address. He wouldn’t miss blasting me for leaving home.”

“It may be easier if you get in touch with him.”

“I know, and I’m thinking about it.”

When they reached her apartment, he said, “I’ll be here for you at seven,” kissed her cheek and left.

She had a figure-revealing, melon-red, strapless chiffon evening gown, a sheath that she had bought at greatly reduced price for the graduates’ ball before deciding not to attend it. She hadn’t had a date and refused to use a service as some of the students did. But now she had a date for this evening, a forty-carat knockout of a man.

Chapter 6

I
hope he doesn’t come here expecting to see me decked out in wide-skirted baby-blue. I may not get another opportunity, so I’m going to use this one. I wish I had some designer perfume, but I don’t, and I’m not going to ruin things with the flowery-smelling soap I usually use.
She showered and pampered her body, gave herself a manicure and a pedicure, set her clock alarm for six o’clock and got in bed. Maybe she’d sleep, but with her heart racing and her head filled with images of what could be, she doubted it. Suddenly, fear gripped her, and after thrashing and turning for half an hour, she sat up. Suppose she’d been misreading his signals. Just because he wanted to help the poor wasn’t an engraving in stone that he didn’t mislead women.

She got out of bed, poured a glass of ginger ale and sipped it as she watched the six o’clock news without seeing or hearing anything. What was wrong with her? He wouldn’t be the first man she’d dated, for Pete’s sake.
Get your act together, girl, or you may fall flat on your face.
Tall order! She had to admit that she was enamored of him. With a shrug, she put her hair up in a French twist, brushed her teeth, put on the little pearl earrings—Jack called them little white balls—because they were the only appropriate ones she had, and shimmied into the sheath that transformed her into a siren.

When the bell rang at seven, she stood as if glued to the floor. Unable to move. When the bell rang a second time, more forcefully—not surprising in view of Jack’s impatient nature—she told herself to move and to calm down. With her hand on the doorknob, she looked down.
Oh, Lord, I hope I’m not showing too much cleavage.

She opened the door with a shaking hand and stared up at Jack Ferguson, eyebrows raised and wearing a white tuxedo, pleated white shirt and red-and-blue paisley tie and cummerbund. If she gaped at him, she didn’t care. “Lord, you look g-gor-gorgeous,” she stammered.

His grin didn’t help things, nor did his whistle. “Good evening. Is Ms. Sparks at home?”

“Is…” A few seconds passed before the comment sank in. She tried to limit her reaction to a smile, but within seconds, laughter poured out of her. “She’s here somewhere. Come in.”

“You are so beautiful, Melanie. I wasn’t sure that I should wear this tux, but I decided that if you said
long
you meant that. I’d love to hug you, but it’s too tempting—you look like a sumptuous feast. An elegant one. I’m ready when you are.”

She got the little silver purse that matched her sandals and handed him her key. She wished she had a pair of elbow-length white gloves, but she didn’t. Indeed, she’d never given a thought to wearing them. Her lifestyle had never included pretensions to elegance. She’d been content if she had a place to stay, transportation, tuition and enough to eat.

Jack parked in front of a restaurant, gave his car key to the doorman, took her elbow and walked with her to an elegant lounge where they seated themselves in beautifully upholstered chairs. She told herself not to let her jaw drop.

The maître d’ appeared and bowed to Jack. “Your table is ready, Doctor Ferguson,” he said and showed them through a room softly lit by chandeliers that glowed onto cream-colored linen cloths on which were set fine crystal, porcelain and silver. They reached the table, and as she sat down, she saw a large bowl of red and yellow roses nestled between tall, cream-colored candles.

“I hope madam enjoys the flowers that Doctor Ferguson ordered,” the maître d’said. “Enjoy your dinner.”

“Jack, this place is exquisite, and the flowers are beautiful,” she said after the maître d’left them. “You’re making me feel like royalty.” He didn’t have to know that he was the first man to give her flowers.

His wink unsettled her. “You deserve royal treatment,” he said, “at least in my estimation. Melanie, I haven’t previously known a woman like you. You have so many interesting facets, and I want to experience all of them. I know you wanted to be a nurse when you were little and that you wanted to learn to play the piano. What else did you want that didn’t quite come off?”

“Friends,” she said and stopped herself as she was about to clamp her hand over her mouth.

He looked up at the sommelier, accepted the beverage menu and asked her, “Would you like a drink now? I expect we’ll have wine with dinner, and since I’m driving, I’ll wait for the wine.” Still mortified from the slip she’d made, she told him that she didn’t want a drink. He handed the menus to the sommelier and focused on her.

“Are you telling me that you’ve never had friends?”

“Not real close ones. I couldn’t bring people home with me, because I was always afraid my father would create a scene or be angry, so I shied away from close relationships. I didn’t want anyone to know how mean he could be sometimes.”

He shook his head from side to side as if bewildered. “That’s awful. So you were always alone?”

“I was friendly with my classmates and people with whom I worked, but I’ve never had real buddies.”

His brow wrinkled into a deep frown. “I’ve never thought about this before, but maybe Providence or God has a way of fixing things that are so outrageously bad we humans accept them as irreparable.”

She sipped some water. “I guess being an only child made it worse than it would have been if I’d had siblings.”

“Tell me about it. I used to wish I had a sister. I never wanted a brother, because I thought my dad might like him better than he liked me, and I guarded jealously the few crumbs of affection I got from him. Did you take up any sports?”

She shook her head. “I couldn’t afford it. Besides, Daddy wanted me to work, take care of the house and cook for him. I went to school in spite of my father. He made it very difficult, but I didn’t let him stop me.”

The waiter brought a plate of tiny Maryland crab cakes, small pieces of barbecued spareribs, thumbnail-size quiches and a bottle of white burgundy. She looked at Jack inquiringly.

“I ordered the dinner in advance,” he said. “This restaurant fills up, and I didn’t want you to starve while waiting for the meal.”

“If I tell you again how thoughtful I think you are, you’ll probably think I don’t know any other words.”

“I try to be. I have enough shortcomings without adding thoughtlessness or insensitivity to them. You know, as I reflect, I also don’t have a close buddy, a pal with whom I share practically everything. I hadn’t considered myself a loner, either. I wonder why that is.”

“Maybe you didn’t need it.”

“I don’t think that’s the answer.” He raised his glass to her. “Here’s to the loveliest, kindest, most gracious woman I know, and positively the sweetest. Congratulations. I hope this success will be followed by many more.”

His lips were not in sync with his eyes, for they told her what she knew he was not prepared to say. She shifted in her seat, steadied her hand and raised her glass. “Thank you for making this such a memorable day for me.” Clicking her glass against his, she said, “To the man—the person—I admire most in this world.”

She’d swear that he almost dropped his glass, but his recovery was swift. “I hope you never want to take that back, and I’ll do what I can to be sure that you don’t.”

She didn’t respond to that, for she knew she stood at the edge of a precipice, and that one false move could ruin her life. She sipped her wine, bit into one of the miniature crab cakes and said, “This could not possibly taste better.” She smiled at him then, because he made her happy.

“I’m sure you were a letterman in college, Jack, but I don’t imagine you played basketball or baseball. Which sports?”

“I didn’t. How’d you figure that out? I played football and tennis, and I was on the swimming team. I got three letters.”

“Your personality. I’d be surprised at your playing football if I didn’t think you were a quarterback.”

He stopped eating. “Good heavens! Are you clairvoyant or something like that?”

“No, but I understand your personality. In individual sports, if you want to be the best, you must rely on yourself alone. In football, the quarterback leads the team, and it more often depends upon his wisdom and skill. Both suit your temperament.”

“And here I thought I was complicated, an enigma that even I didn’t understand.”

She glanced at him, not sure whether he was displeased. “Don’t worry. There’s a lot about you that I don’t understand.”

“Really? I’m disappointed. I want you to understand me.”

“Okay. I will, but you have to help. For instance, why haven’t you kissed me all day?”

“Huh? Oh! When I was a kid, I used to put my ice-cream cone in the freezer, and contemplate it for hours until I was practically foaming at the mouth. Trust me, when I finally stopped torturing myself, I really enjoyed that ice-cream cone. Anything else you want to know?” Her face burned so badly that she put her palm against it to be certain that nothing untoward had happened to her smooth skin. He ate his coconut sorbet with relish. “I have a lot of patience, Melanie, and with you, I know I have to exercise it.”

At the door of the famous restaurant, the maître d’ handed Melanie a bouquet of red roses. “Congratulations on your graduation today, ma’am,” he said. “It has been a pleasure to have you visit us this evening.”

She smiled tremulously, barely able to restrain tears of happiness. “I enjoyed it very much. The food and service were outstanding. Thank you.”

“I’m not done yet,” Jack said, helping her into his car. “Gosh, it’s a good thing I drove this one instead of the Porsche. How’d you get into this dress?”

“Easily. I poured myself into it,” she said with a wink. “What’s the matter, doesn’t it fit?”

Happiness suffused him, for very little pleased him more than bantering with her. “Fit? In some places, there’s nothing to fit. I mean, they must have run out of cloth when they were making the top of this dress. Not that I’m complaining, but I sure as hell don’t want you to wear it with any other man.”

Pretending ignorance, she said, “What’s wrong with it? I haven’t gained or lost a centimeter anywhere since I bought it, and this is the first time I’ve worn it.”

“The first time?”

She nodded. “Right.”

“Thank God for that,” he said. “Not that I’m complaining. But that dress is temptation personified.”

“I’m sorry you don’t like it. I wanted to look my best.”

He parked in front of the Eubie Blake National Jazz Institute. “I probably should ignore that, because you’ve got to be kidding. Any red-blooded man who didn’t like you in that dress would have to be asexual—race, religion, nationality and sexual orientation notwithstanding. Believe me! Let’s go in here for a while.”

He wanted to dance with her, and he couldn’t think of another spot that offered the jazz he loved. The place wasn’t meant primarily for dancing, but if the music moved you nobody complained if you danced. He got a table immediately.

“Would you like a drink or an espresso?”

“I’d love the coffee. Thanks,” she said. He ordered two cups of espresso coffee, and settled back as Johnny Anderson raised his alto saxophone and began blowing the seductive strains of “In a Mist.” He shifted his gaze from the musicians to her, and his heart seemed to flip over when he saw the naked passion in her eyes, as she gazed at him. Unguarded.

He stood and walked around to her chair. “Dance with me?” The words sounded to him like an order, but he hoped she listened with her heart and not with her ears. He held his breath until she stood, looked at him, smiled and reached for his hand. He walked with her to the little nook where another couple danced.

“Are we supposed to be dancing here?” she asked, opening her arms to him.

“Darned if I know. I’ve seen people dancing here, and I want to dance with you.” She stepped closer, moved into him and swung to his rhythm. He’d swear that less than half an inch separated him from her warm, supple body. Her soft, firm breasts nestled against his chest, declaring her femininity. Without a warning, she tucked her head beneath his chin and moved with him as if she had done it daily all of her life. He could hardly breathe.

The music ended, and he stopped dancing, but if there was ever a mist, it surrounded and enveloped him then. He heard the first notes of “If,” and she looked at him expectantly, but he pretended not to notice, for he couldn’t risk the physical manifestation of his desire for her. Only a minute earlier, he’d been lucky to escape it.

“You dance beautifully,” he said when they were sitting at their table again. “Anyone would have thought we’d danced together for years.”

“Really? I consider myself a lousy dancer, but you made it so easy that I enjoyed it.”