Chapter Seven #2
“Me too!” Cynthia sat up suddenly and threw her legs over the side of the bed. “Oh, Melody, I just have a feeling about tonight. Something big is going to happen; I’m sure of it.”
Melody did not say so, but she had the opposite feeling.
That nothing at all would come of the evening.
She was, in fact, dreading it. It was the first time, probably in her whole life, that she was attending a dance without an escort.
Her fantasy about resurrecting the old foursome—as friends only—had immediately been dashed when Cynthia had reported, on her very first day back, that Douglas was now dating Vivian Anderson in earnest.
“The nerve!” Cynthia had exclaimed, referring, of course, to Vivian, not Douglas.
“She’s only doing it to rattle you. As soon as she heard you were coming back, she dug her claws into poor Dougie and won’t let go for heaven or earth.
It’s too, too terrible! Are you sure you don’t want Charlie to speak to him?
I think he’d take you back in a second, Mel.
He hasn’t been the same at all this semester.
Just mopes. Oh, do let Charlie talk to him! ”
“No, Cyn,” Melody had said with a frustrated sigh.
“It’s all over between us. I’ve told you all this.
Douglas is a chum. And nothing else,” she added pointedly as she tilted her head at Cynthia in warning.
And besides, she realized now, it wouldn’t have been fair to ask him to reform the foursome, even as friends, when she knew how he felt about her. It would be too cruel.
Cynthia had eventually accepted, begrudgingly, Melody’s changed feelings, but it did not stop her trying to find Melody a date for the ball.
She had Charlie ask all of his fraternity brothers, but, unfortunately, at this late date, everyone already had a partner.
Melody—somewhat grateful that Charlie had come up empty-handed—had insisted she was happy enough to stay behind.
Cynthia, however, would not hear of it and insisted that she come with her and Charlie.
“It’ll be just like old times,” she had gushed.
“Well. Sort of. Come on, Mel! That’s why you’re here!
To have fun. You’re turning into Elsie these days—studying half the day and night. ”
In the end, Melody had agreed to be the third wheel to Cynthia and Charlie’s twosome, realizing that it would probably take less effort to simply attend for an hour than to continue to come up with excuses that Cynthia would inevitably continue to knock back.
Melody stood up and stretched. “Well, I suppose we should get dressed. If we’re going, that is.”
“Goodness, yes!” Cynthia exclaimed, hopping up from Melody’s bed. “It’s nearly seven o’clock!”
***
Loyola’s annual Winter Ball was held each year in the campus auditorium inside Cudahy Hall.
Maroon and gold banners hung from the ornate plastered ceiling, and paper streamers in the same colors crisscrossed the room.
On the curved proscenium stage with its triple illuminated arches, the college’s orchestra was playing a mix of traditional waltzes and a variety of the increasingly popular swing tunes.
Taking in the ornate hall, Melody felt glad she had decided to come.
It was, after all, as Cynthia had reminded her earlier, one of the reasons she had looked forward to returning to school.
She hadn’t realized, however, how similar the auditorium was to their own little Merriweather Opera House, though no “operas” were performed there anymore.
In fact, it was more of a movie house these days, though she had seen a production last summer of You Can’t Take It With You put on by the Merriweather Players.
It had really been quite good. It was the last thing she had seen with her father before—
“There they are!” Cynthia hissed in her ear. “See them?”
Melody blinked. She was not sure who Cynthia meant by “them,” but she obediently followed her friend’s gaze to where Vivian Anderson stood with a gaggle of girls and guys, some of whom had been part of Melody’s former circle, or “court” as she had been fond of calling them.
She had never liked Vivian Anderson, and it frustrated her that not only had she essentially taken over Melody’s former role as social queen, but she was doing it so very badly!
Vivian, she knew, had a mean streak and delighted in excluding anyone who didn’t meet her elite standards, while she, Melody liked to think, had tried to use her influence to include the lost and the lonely—Elsie Von Harmon the best case in point.
And look how that had turned out! Elsie was now happily married and living in a big house in Palmer Square!
Though maybe, Melody reflected now, she was giving herself too much credit.
She looked at Vivian again, laughing coquettishly with those nearest her, all of whom were hanging on her every word.
Maybe she had been just as superficial and vain as Vivian.
She let out a sigh. Where was Cal when she needed him to put her in her place?
She smiled a little at the thought as she looked out over the dance floor and wondered what everyone at home in Merriweather was doing.
She chanced another glance at the little group and now saw that Douglas Novak had joined them.
He was dressed smartly in his black tuxedo, but he kept shifting awkwardly from foot to foot, as if his shoes were too tight.
Noticing him, Vivian put her arm through his and briefly rested her head on his shoulder before shooting a dart directly at Melody, as if she had been aware all along that Melody was staring.
Vivian made a point, then, to turn her head in favor of the person standing nearest her and laughed at whatever was being said.
“What a crumb,” Cynthia muttered. “Just ignore her. She’s just doing it to make you jealous!”
The odd thing, however, was that Melody didn’t feel jealous.
Just a little sad perhaps. A little bit for herself, but more so for Douglas.
It was clear he wasn’t at all interested in Vivian Anderson, nor was she with him, but he was somehow now entwined with her.
Yet another scrape he had gotten himself into.
Perhaps, Melody considered, if she put her mind to it, she could help him get away from Vivian and match him with a nice girl who would be perfect for him .
. . someone perhaps like . . . She thought for a moment.
Maybe Susan Hastings? But, no! What was she thinking?
The idea of matching her old beau with someone new was absurd!
As if on cue, Douglas suddenly caught her eye.
She smiled at him, but he did not return it and instead gave her a hasty frown before looking away again, as if his current predicament were her fault, on top of everything else.
Clearly, he was still angry, either because of her rejection of him or because of the lost ring.
Maybe both. She wished she could talk to him alone to at least tell him her plan to pay him back . . .
“I believe this dance is mine,” Charlie said cheerfully, holding out his arm. Melody hadn’t even noticed him approach.
“Oh, Charlie, do you mind if I sit this one out?” Melody begged, suddenly not in the mood to dance. “You and Cyn go.” She tilted her head toward her friend.
“Cyn?” He let out a pretend scoff. “I can have her any old time! How often do I get the chance to dance with the prettiest girl in school?”
“Hey!” Cynthia exclaimed.
“Just pulling your leg, old girl.” He kissed Cyn on the nose. “How ‘bout it, Mel?”
Melody gave a little smile. “No, honestly. Go on. Maybe the next one.”
“You sure?”
“Sure, I’m sure.”
“Well, come on, then, Cyn. Guess I’m stuck with you.”
Cynthia laughed and took his arm. “You mean I’m stuck with you!”
Melody watched the two of them begin to jitterbug and then let her eyes roam the room.
Everyone seemed so young. Some of the girls looked younger than Bunny!
She tried not to look in Vivian and Douglas’s direction, but she couldn’t but notice that they were now on the floor, too, Douglas looking miserable.
“May I have the next dance?”
Melody turned, surprised. Beside her stood a dashing young man she had never seen at any Loyola gatherings or parties.
He was tall and thin, with perfectly combed blond hair and a trim mustache.
There was something authoritarian and mature about him.
He couldn’t possibly be a student . . . Was he a professor?
But fraternization between professors and students was strictly forbidden, she knew.
And even if he were attempting a clandestine encounter, he would not be so clumsy as to suggest it at a school event.
He held out his hand in a way that did not expect rejection.
Intrigued by his confidence, she laid her hand in his.
Gently, he led her to the dance floor just as the jitterbug ended and a waltz began.
He put his hand gently on her back and, after pausing for a moment to join the rhythm, began elegantly twirling her around the room.
His command of the waltz was impressive; she was quickly becoming interested in tall, mysterious stranger.
“Might I know your name?” he asked without looking at her.
“Melody Merriweather.”
“Allow me to introduce myself,” he said, finally meeting her eyes. “Eustace Sinclair. Enchanted to meet you, Miss Merriweather.”
His eyes were a dark gray. She had never seen this color before, but they were mesmerizing.
“Yes,” she faltered. “The same.” The same? What kind of comment was that?
“You are obviously a Mundelein student?”
“Yes, I am. Are you? A student, I mean? Here? At Loyola?” She was babbling like an imbecile!
She felt tongue-tied and nervous, which was an utterly new feeling for her around the opposite sex.
Usually, she was in command with any boy she spoke to (besides Cal, of course, who didn’t count), but then again, this was not a boy she was dancing with; this was a man.
Eustace let out a little laugh as he peered down at her with those arresting gray eyes.
“A student?” He sniffed. “No, my uncle is on the board. We dined this evening, and he suggested I attend the ball in his stead. Daft, really, but I didn’t want to disappoint.
Not quite my thing, though.” He glanced around at the paper streamers, which now seemed cheap and childish.
“I promised I would dance one dance, and so I am.” He returned his gaze to her.
“And I must say, I’m very glad now of my promise. ”
Maddeningly, Melody felt herself beginning to perspire. “Well, if you’re not a student,” she said slowly, trying to not sound ignorant, “what is it that you do? Are you a professor?”
Eustace laughed in full this time. “Do I look like a professor? No, I am an art critic.”
An art critic? Melody was certainly intrigued. How did one make money as an art critic? “How very interesting,” was all she could think to say.
“It can be. Are you fond of art?”
“I . . . well, yes. But I confess I don’t know very much about it.”
The dance ended then and the two of them politely clapped. Eustace bowed elegantly. “It was an honor, Miss Merriweather, but, having fulfilled my obligation—”
Obligation?
“—I really must go. I’ve made arrangements with friends downtown. Meeting you, however, was an unexpected surprise. I had not anticipated you.”
Melody felt herself blush.
He bowed again and lightly kissed her gloved hand. “Adieu.”
Melody watched him walk away, wishing that he wasn’t, when he suddenly turned back. Melody’s pulse quickened, and she suddenly wished had a paper fan in her possession. Why was it so warm in here?
“You must forgive the impertinence, Miss Merriweather,” Eustace said, approaching her again, “but might I inquire if you are otherwise engaged tomorrow evening? I have tickets at the Blackstone, if you would be so kind as to do me the honor.”
Melody’s mind went blank. Tomorrow? Tomorrow? Was she engaged tomorrow? Did it matter? She would cancel whatever it was. “No, I’m fine. I mean, yes, I’m free. I think.”
Eustace smiled. “Splendid. Romeo and Juliet is playing. The reviews have been exceptionally positive. Where might I call for you?”
“I’m at Philomena Hall. Just across the way on Sheridan?”
“Yes, I know it. I’ll pick you up at seven. We’ll dine at the Empire Room first, yes? And then on to the theater.”
The Empire Room! Melody had always wanted to go to the Drake Hotel and had had many fantasies about having a wedding reception there. Indeed, back when she had crafted elaborate fantasies for her gang, a reception at the Drake had frequently figured in.
“Yes, alright,” she tried to say coolly, elegantly, but she couldn’t stop from smiling. Like a little girl! she admonished herself. “Seven o’clock.”
He took her hand in his again and kissed it. “Until tomorrow then, Miss Merriweather.” He gave her a final tilted bow of his head and elegantly disappeared into the crowd.
“Who was that?” Cynthia exclaimed breathlessly, coming up behind her.
“I’m not exactly sure,” Melody murmured. But she was sure about one thing—for the first time since returning to Chicago, she felt hopeful, almost happy.
Later that night, when she eventually returned to her solitary room, it was lovely to drift off to sleep thinking of something other than the dusty old Merc and a certain cantankerous someone—and by that she did not mean Mrs. Haufbrau.