A Promise Given Page 13

  “Is it free?” Stan asked, Lucy and Lynn … no, Gwen … suppressing a giggle at his question.

  “It is complimentary, yes, sir,” the waiter said with a curl of his lip and retreated in apparent disgust.

  “I think you’ve offended him,” Lucy said.

  “Who cares?” Stan said roughly and stood up. “I’m getting a drink. Anyone want one?” he asked.

  The girls shook their heads, dismissive of him now, and turned their attention back to the dance floor. Just as well, thought Stan. As he squeezed his way into a spot by the bar, he wished Eugene were here. Eugene could be a bit rough around the edges, but he wasn’t a bad chap, not really. Stan actually found him a bit sad more often than not.

  He tried to concentrate on his drink and, for lack of anything else to do, listen in on the conversations near him which concerned football, mostly, and some politics, his eyes wandering against his will every so often to the dance floor. Henrietta and Clive were no longer dancing, it seemed, but were mingling with their guests, never very far from each other, however. Elsie appeared to be dancing now with one of the Exley uncles. He turned back toward the bar and was just trying to decide about whether to order another drink or no when he felt a tap on his arm. Somewhat blearily, he turned and saw that girl, Rose (it was Rose, right?), standing beside him.

  “It’s Stanley, isn’t it?” she asked quickly, to which Stan gave a brief nod.

  “Yeah?”

  “I know this is terribly forward, but could I ask you for a very big favor?” she said, looking behind her in a distraught sort of way.

  “What is it?” he asked suspiciously.

  “Would you dance with me? Just for a couple of songs?” she said, looking over her shoulder again, during which time Stan took the opportunity to quickly assess her. Not bad, he thought. Just his height, blond hair, green eyes, a bit on the thin side, but well endowed. She was dressed in a black-and-white striped dress with a black hat. Her scooped-neck collar was a bit too revealing, but she could pass for respectable, he decided. Still, he wasn’t sure …

  “Well, I don’t know,” he said, glancing at the dance floor. “I’m sort of with someone.”

  “You are?” she asked, confused, looking around to find his apparent date. “Well, it doesn’t matter. It’s just … just to get away from that Al that was at our table. He won’t leave me alone, and I just thought that if he saw me dancing with someone else for a while …” she sniffed.

  Was she about to cry? Stan wondered uncomfortably. He had no interest in dancing with anyone at the moment, especially one of those Marlowe girls, but his sense of chivalry was unfortunately piqued and was already beginning to work against him. He couldn’t just leave this distressed girl to the lecherous overtures of some drunken buffoon, could he? What would his mother say? He looked around. “Well, maybe just a couple; I’m not very good, you know,” he said hesitantly. He stiffly held out his arm to her, then, to begin the rescue.

  “Oh, I don’t mind,” Rose said, taking it gladly. “I just need a warm body.”

  She seemed to brighten considerably as he led her away from the bar. He could have sworn he saw her wink at Lucy and Gwen as they passed by them, but he couldn’t be sure.

  Out on the dance floor, which seemed much smaller now that he was on it, he respectfully took Rose in his arms, keeping a fair distance between them as he began to concentrate on his steps. A waltz was playing now, and he wasn’t the best at waltzes, though he thought the large amount of alcohol that he had consumed was definitely aiding in his technique, at least it seemed that way anyway. He looked up and saw Elsie swirling by with the lieutenant again. Damn it! He made it look so easy! Howard seemed to be a particularly skilled dancer as well, he fumed. Is that what the army taught its officers these days, how to dance well and impress young ladies? Shouldn’t their focus have been on killing Krauts? Shouldn’t …

  “So, who are you here with?” Rose was asking him, bringing him back to the here and now.

  Stan looked at her, puzzled.

  “You know … you said you were here with someone,” she said again.

  “Oh,” he said, shaking his head. “I’m … I’m here with Elsie, the maid of honor, but she’s been a bit busy, as you see.”

  “Oh, her?” Rose asked, nodding her head to where Elsie was dancing now, the lieutenant’s head bent toward hers, smiling and listening to what she was saying.

  “Yes, her,” he said firmly, looking beyond her to the large windows. The sun was beginning to set now.

  “Well, I have to thank you for helping me,” Rose said, more sweetly now. “You’re a real gentleman; I can see that.”

  Stan bristled with pride despite himself.

  “You live in the city, don’t you?” she asked. “What part?”

  “Logan Square. You?”

  “Wicker Park, on Damen?”

  “Oh! Nearby, then,” he said, smiling for what reason he knew not. “I’m at the electrics on Western.”

  “No!” she exclaimed. “So’s my brother! Do you know him? Billy Whitman?”

  Stan had never heard of him, but that didn’t mean anything. The electrics employed hundreds of men on different shifts. “I might have heard the name,” he fibbed. “I’ll look out for him.”

  “Oh,” she said, as if considering something. “Well, you … you might not mention that we danced,” she said, smiling up at him apprehensively. “He wouldn’t understand.”

  Hmmm, Stan surmised, protective brother—must be a good family despite the Marlowe connection. After all, Henrietta had gotten mixed up there as well, and it hadn’t really been her fault. It had been Clive’s, actually, but he didn’t want to go over all that again. Maybe something similar had happened with Rose. Personally, he wouldn’t put it past Clive … Rose’s eyes were very bright; he couldn’t help notice. Very pale, pretty skin with just a smattering of freckles. She was an interesting combination of homespun and provocation. She reminded him of someone …

  “You don’t still work at the Marlowe, do you?” Stan asked with narrowed eyes.

  “No, I just did that for a little while for the money,” she explained hastily. “But it wasn’t a nice place,” she said, looking away. “I work at the Melody Mill now … just as a waitress.”

  That’s better, thought Stan. Least she came to her senses. He felt her hand slip a bit lower on his back now. It was a seemingly innocent movement of her hand, no matching look registering in her face—in fact she was looking at another couple—but he felt an odd jolt of electricity run through him just the same. He found himself staring at her lips and was awash with panic, then, suddenly aware that he should not be feeling the way he currently was. It must be the alcohol, he thought desperately. He increased the space between them and looked around for Elsie. He could not initially see her, but instead surprisingly saw that Henrietta was actually quite close by, dancing with her new brother-in-law. Randolph was his name, wasn’t it? He was about to look away when he saw that Henrietta’s face looked upset and quite distressed, actually, so he looked closer. Randolph was holding her, he saw now, quite close and quite tightly, whispering something to her. Her face looked flushed and angry now, and he could see that she was trying to pull away. Stan was just about to intervene, to make a show of congratulating her or cutting in if he had to—poor Rose would just have to understand—but before he could make a move, the inspector had cut in, glowering at Randolph as he did so. Henrietta seemed relieved, relaxing into Clive’s arms and whispering to him, after which Clive glided them to the other side of the floor. For the first time, Stan was glad that Clive had been there, that he was up to the job of protecting his Henrietta, and he felt a strange release then, a crack finally occurring in the burden he had been carrying around for so long, and the whisper of relief it brought made him feel strangely light and almost giddy. For the first time he was beginning to feel happy that she was happy, and it felt blessedly good.

  “Everything all right?” Rose was asking h
im now.

  “Yes, I just … I thought that guy was bothering the bride.” (Why hadn’t he said “Henrietta”?) “Probably just drunk.”

  “People usually drink too much at weddings, don’t they?” she said, her eyes twinkling.

  Why were her eyes so sparkly? “Would you … would you like to get a drink?” he asked, nodding back toward the bar. Why had he said that? How stupid! “I mean …”

  “Hey, bub! Give a guy a chance, will you?” said a voice behind him as a finger tapped him, harder than need be, on the shoulder. Stan turned to see Al, standing behind him with a somewhat leering grin.

  “Well, actually, I was just getting the lady a drink,” Stan said stiffly, straightening up.

  “Good! You go on and get her a drink, and I’ll keep her company,” he said, trying to step between them now.

  “Hey!” said Stan.

  “Oh, all right, Al, just one dance,” Rose said, looking at Stan forlornly with a small shrug.

  “I’ll wait right here for you,” he said, crossing his arms and standing on the edge of the dance floor. “Then we’ll go get the drink together.”

  Al quickly whirled Rose out of sight, and as Stan craned to keep his eyes on them, they rested instead on Elsie, standing by herself, also looking out at the crowd. Regrettably, she caught his eye and excitedly waved. He sighed, knowing what he should do. Reluctantly he left his vigil and went over to her. This might be his only chance to talk to her. He looked around for the lieutenant and saw that he was dancing with Henrietta now. Was everyone going to dance with Henrietta? he wondered.

  Elsie held her hand out to him. “Stanley! I’ve been looking all over for you! I was getting worried!”

  “Gee whiz, Els, I didn’t want to get in the way. Besides, the sarge seems to be keeping you company well enough,” he said in a more aggrieved voice than he really meant.

  “Stanley!” Elsie smiled. “He’s just filling in for his uncle. The major finds it hard to dance with his leg, poor man. The lieutenant,” she corrected, “is obliging me.”

  “Obliging? Is that what they call it?” he said sorely.

  “Don’t you want to dance?” she asked shyly, obviously trying to change the subject.

  The thought hadn’t occurred to Stan. “Yes, I suppose so,” he said, looking around for Rose and Al as he led Elsie to the dance floor. “I didn’t realize we could, though this one’s almost over.”

  Stan waited to catch the rhythm and then carefully guided Elsie as they began dancing. They were silent for the first few moments, Stan trying to concentrate.

  “I saw you dancing,” Elsie finally said quietly. “She’s very pretty.”

  “Yes, she is … I mean … I was just doing her a favor … it wasn’t really like a real dance … she’s … it’s just that … she’s trying to get away from that guy …” He saw Rose now and inclined his head toward her and Al. “See?” he explained to Elsie, “That guy’s a bit of an ass.” He continued to watch them.

  “Well, that’s nice of you,” Elsie said and then remained silent, waiting for him to turn his attention back to her.

  Finally Stan seemed to realize that no one had spoken for a few moments and that Elsie was patiently looking at him. He returned her gaze now and asked, “How’s … how’s it going? All this?”

  “Oh, you mean the wedding?” Elsie said, perking up now. “Isn’t it beautiful, Stanley?” she gushed suddenly, as if she had been just waiting for him to ask about it. “I’ve never seen Henrietta happier in all my life! Clive has been so sweet to her today! You can’t imagine! Every whim of hers he’s fulfilled. Even getting Helen Forrest to sing! Can you believe it? That was his doing! Can you imagine anything more romantic? Even Mrs. Howard didn’t know about it, apparently. I heard her tell one of the Exleys that it was pretentious in the extreme, is how she put it. She pulled Clive aside and told him that several of the older guests were complaining that the music was too modern, but Clive just laughed. I actually heard him laugh! But he must have had a word with the orchestra because they started playing more waltzes, then. Still, Henrietta was thrilled. She’s cried at least half a dozen times today, I’m sure! She seems so very happy. Ma seems to be relaxing a little bit, too. She finally found some older women to talk to that she hasn’t seen for years. She’s hiding out with them at a table in the back somewhere. Clive asked her to dance, but she had the rudeness to say no! Can you imagine? The shame of it, Stanley!”

  But Stan was only half listening to Elsie as he watched Rose and Al leave the floor now. Where was he taking her? he wondered. “I don’t know, Els! He’s just trying to show off, I reckon.”

  “Who?”

  “The inspector, of course, hiring a big-time singer. It’s a bit much, if you ask me,” he said, moving them to the right a bit to try to see Rose and Al.

  “You don’t have a romantic bone in your body, Stanley Dubowski!” Elsie said mournfully, though her tone suggested that she hoped she was wrong.

  Just then, however, Stan finally spotted Rose and Al. Al had her by the hand and was now corralling her into a darkened corner near the main doors. He was obviously drunk. On instinct, Stan twirled Elsie, lurching to the side quickly to get a better view.

  “Ow! Stanley! I …” Elsie stopped dancing now and gripped his hand through her glove. “I think I’ve hurt my ankle. You turned so suddenly …”

  “Gee, Elsie, I’m sorry!” he said genuinely, but still taking a quick glance at the corner. Could no one else see a woman in distress? he thought, panicking. “Are you all right?” he said to Elsie, helping her off the dance floor now. “I … I think that Al guy is attacking that Rose woman … I just saw …”

  “Might I be of service?” came a drawling voice from behind them. “I have some experience with injuries, you know.”

  It was the lieutenant, of course, Stan realized, turning to look at him now, and he did not like the way Elsie’s face lit up at the sight of him. Elsie hobbled to a chair and sat down, the lieutenant going down on one knee in front of her.

  “May I?” he asked her, as if Stan wasn’t there.

  “If … if you wish,” Elsie said, and, even in the darkened room, Stan could see her blushing.

  “Hey, bub! What’s the big idea?” Stan said, his hands on his hips.

  The lieutenant gave him an exasperated look. “There is no big idea, my man. Just that I’ve had some training as a medic, if you must know.”

  “You’ve never seen any action!” Stan said, hotly.

  “Neither have you, I presume,” the lieutenant said coolly.

  “Stanley! He’s just trying to help,” Elsie put in obligingly. “He’s sort of like a doctor …”

  As if he didn’t know what a medic was! And why did she have to say it so dreamily? He rolled his eyes. Maybe it wouldn’t hurt for the lieutenant to check her out, though, while he went to investigate …

  “All right, fine … I’ll be right back!” he said, dashing off now toward the front doors, hoping he wasn’t too late. He could still hear Elsie calling “Stanley!” from behind him as he made his way through the crowd.

  When he finally got to the corner, breathing a bit more heavily than he would have liked, Rose and Al were nowhere to be seen. Where could they have gone? he wondered anxiously, spinning around and searching the room. He took a few steps toward the bar, but he didn’t see them there, either. He wouldn’t have taken her outside, would he have? he worried. He went to the nearest window and looked out but could see nothing in the quickly descending darkness. He hurried back to the doors and burst through them, crossing the lobby in a rush, where the coat-check girls lolled, smoking. He went through the main doors to the outside now where he could instantly hear the lap of the waves from the lake.

  “Rose?” he called, not seeing her in the immediate vicinity. “Rose?” he called again, walking toward the side of the building.

  He heard a shuffle and then a startled, “Stanley?”

  He came upon them, then. Al had her aga
inst the wall, though her arms, which she quickly dropped now, had been oddly entwined around him as if not in the least bit of distress. They had apparently been kissing, from what Stan could tell. Rose looked quite disheveled, and she instantly slipped out from under Al’s arms, who let them drop sluggishly as he stepped back. Casually, as if nothing had happened, he pulled out a cigarette from the box in his jacket pocket.

  “That was a long time getting a drink, Mack,” he said, putting one to his lips and lighting it.

  “Are you all right, Rose?” Stan asked, ignoring Al and taking a step closer to her.

  “Yes, I’m okay,” she said hurriedly. “Let’s go inside, shall we?” she said, taking his arm.

  “That it, then?” Al asked her, likewise ignoring Stan and taking a deep drag.

  “Of course that’s it!” Rose said angrily.

  “Seemed pretty eager just a few minutes ago. Before this dope showed up,” he said, flicking his ash at Stan.

  “How dare you!” Rose said. “Don’t listen to him, Stanley!”

  Surprisingly, Al laughed. “Better watch this one, pal. She’s pretty foxy. She knows what she’s doin’ all right. Might just find yourself trapped. I reckon she’s that type.”

  “Hey! You don’t talk to a lady that way!” Stan said, incensed now but trying to reign in the anger that had been brewing all day.

  Al held up his hands in a show of innocence. “Sure she’s a lady?” he said with a little laugh.

  Something in Stan just cracked then, and before he knew it he drew his arm back and punched Al right in the nose. It felt surprisingly good, though it hurt his hand horribly.

  “Hey!” Al yelled, momentarily stunned by what had just happened as he held his nose and stared incredulously at Stan. A look of fury crossed his face, then, and he lunged at Stan, shoving him backward so hard that he nearly fell. Rose let out a little scream. Quickly Stan got his footing and rushed toward him again, raising his fist to smack him when two doormen from the yacht club seemed to appear out of nowhere and pulled them apart.

  “No fighting!” one of them said, pinning Stan by the arms.