Chapter 8
“Merry Christmas, Gerard,” his mother, Althea Albright, greeted as soon as Gerard stepped into the formal dining room of her gracious home. “Goodness, don’t you look handsome!”
Gerard smiled politely at his mother, gave her the required kiss on her weathered cheek, then glanced around the room at the others. He’d been warned to be his charming best today.
“Hello everyone,” he said as one of his mother’s staff stepped forward with a tray filled with cocktails. Gerard selected the one that he hoped had the most alcohol and walked over to one of the chairs. His mother would perform the introductions soon and he didn’t want to be standing when that happened.
Of the fourteen people his mother had invited to dinner, Gerard knew none of them. He recognized a senator and his wife, someone who’s name sounded vaguely familiar but he couldn’t place it, and a bunch of others. He knew, deep down in his soul, that Emily would never fit into this social circle. She’d have to become his mistress, he thought with resignation. Unfortunately, that meant that he still needed to select a wife. It was expected of him and, because of his family’s wealth, Gerard knew that he would also need to produce an heir.
Towards that end, there were two single women present today. Gerard observed the two ladies objectively, making a mental list of the pros and cons based on their outward appearance and their manners. He noticed that both women conversed with the guests around them, both had adequate smiles and laughter. Both women demurely crossed their legs at the ankles in ladylike fashion instead of at the knee like hussies.
Gerald emitted a disgusted snort of disapproval when he thought of all the American women who didn’t follow the Duchess of Windsor’s delicate way of sitting.
Dismissing the single ladies, assuming either would be adequate as his wife, he continued to peruse the other guests, wondering who he should speak with first. His mother only invited the best of society to any social gathering, so he supposed he could choose anyone.
How had so many people not had a family to share their Christmas dinner with? Or had they merely accepted his mother’s invitation because she was a powerful bitch and would destroy anyone who rejected her?
That was probably the case. Gerard knew better than to ignore a summons to his mother’s home. Summons sometimes came in the form of an “invitation” to dinner, such as today, or in the form of a phone call “requesting” that he join her for tea.
Those were the worst, he thought. Joining his mother for tea meant that she was going to lecture him about something. He sat through them, enduring her lectures while he waited for each to end. Then he would obediently nod his head and assure her that he would do better, kiss her wrinkled cheek, and walk away. Then he would drive back to his home and get drunk.
Looking around, he ignored the conversations happening around him. No one interesting was here. Today, his mother had invited very appropriate, but very tedious guests. In other words, Gerard decided that he was going to get completely drunk today. It was the only way he could endure these mind-numbing social obligations. Oh, he wouldn’t get too drunk! He glanced over at his mother, hoping he kept his sneer off his face. Gerard knew better than to embarrass the old bird. She’d cut off his allowance without a second thought if he did anything that even hinted at a scandal.
Glancing over at the two single women again, he tilted his head slightly. They were both blond with straight hair, both wore pearl earrings and a pearl necklace. One wore a pink sweater set while the other wore a rust colored silk blouse. Both women wore brown skirts, although one was silk while the other was a tweedy material.
Still, neither really interested him. Not like Emily!
What was it about Emily that made her so utterly fascinating? Gerard found himself wrestling with the question as if trying to solve an enigmatic puzzle. Was it the allure of the forbidden that drew him to her? She moved through his club—his personal domain, as he liked to think of it—although, in reality, his mother footed the bills and paid the dues. Yet, Emily navigated the space with a certain quiet ownership, as if she wished to become a part of the very walls she slipped past.
She seemed to desire invisibility, and yet, Gerard couldn't help but notice every subtle shift in her presence. He adored her, and every time she entered a room, he felt her impact like an electric current running beneath his skin. The thought of her traversing the secret hallways that led to the hidden recesses of the club set his imagination ablaze.
He envisioned tracking the warmth of her body, each step a clandestine journey through the mysterious corridors. He thought of finding her alone in a closet or in one of the back hallways, forbidden to the club members, but not to him. Gerard imagined Emily giving him a longing, “come hither” glance before she slipped through one of the “staff only” doorways, drawing him into the dangerous, illicit corridors.
Gerard would love to follow her, to slide behind her, and tease her into one of the forbidden closets. He imagined making passionate love to her in one of those dark, hidden enclosures. She’d be on her knees, her sweet lips wrapped around his…!
“Gerard!” a shrill voice broke through his contemplation of a very heady fantasy.
Gerard blinked and looked around. For a stunned moment, Gerard nearly snapped, “What?” but caught himself before the belligerent word escaped. Looking around, he wasn’t sure why everyone was staring at him. His eyes found his mother’s and…damn! What had he missed?
That’s when he realized that his slacks were tented. Gerard quickly grabbed one of the glossy magazines on the table beside his elbow, slapping the papers over his lap.
“I’m sorry, Mother,” he croaked, leaning forward as if he could somehow placate her. “I was thinking about something someone said to me yesterday.” He thought about dropping a name, someone important who was also a member of his club. But the only name that came to mind was, “Emily”.