The Light of Paris. Элеонора Браун

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СКАЧАТЬ a little more scared, but Emily Harrison simply hissed at her to come on.

      Inside, Margie stood by the door, both terrified and fascinated. Someone put a glass of champagne in her hand and she drank it quickly, the pleasant light-headedness she had felt before rising up again.

      One of the Southern girls sat on the sofa, a cigarette burning in one hand and what looked suspiciously like a tumbler of gin in the other. She had taken off the lace overlay of her dress—Margie could see it draped carelessly over the back of a nearby chair—and was sitting there only in the satin chemise, and Margie was certain she didn’t have anything on underneath it. A man sat on either side of her, one of them also smoking. Ash had fallen onto the cushions of the cream sofa between them.

      In the corner, a phonograph played Al Jolson, and a few of the European girls (and, Margie was shocked to see, Elsie Mills) were dancing with their escorts, who had taken off their ties and tails. It wasn’t dancing of the sort she’d learned at cotillion; their bodies were pressed so close together Margie couldn’t have gotten a hand in between them. One of the men had dropped cigarette ash on the tallest European’s beautiful gown, but no one seemed to notice or care. Elsie and her escort, their eyes half closed, from attraction or liquor, moved more and more slowly, their heads drifting together, and then they began to kiss, at first gently, and then passionately. Margie stared—she had rarely seen anyone kiss, and certainly not with such hunger—and when she finally turned away, her face burned with shame and envy.

      The air was hazy with smoke—in addition to the cigarette smokers, a group of escorts was playing cards and smoking cigars in a dining room off the front room. Emily Harrison had disappeared, and Margie felt immediately self-conscious and overheated, her corset pressing too tightly into her stomach. She walked quickly through the room to one of the side doors—This suite must take the whole floor, she thought—and opened it to find a couple engaged amorously on a bed. Slamming the door shut, she pressed her hand to her chest. Was this what everyone else had been doing while she and Grace were visiting and performing little plays together or reading on Friday nights? Had this been happening all around her and she had just never been invited until now? Or was this part of the new world that seemed to be trembling around them, ready to break open and swallow them all whole?

      She didn’t belong here, she thought. But what could she do? She couldn’t leave now. Her mother thought she was spending the night at Emily Harrison’s, and she didn’t even have cab fare.

      Taking another few steps away from the blur of the living room, Margie found herself in a hallway lined with rich damask wallpaper in cream and silver. Suddenly, one of the other doors opened, and her escort, Robert Walsh, emerged, straightening his vest, an unlit cigar clamped between his teeth, and she blushed. Margie had always had the worst habit of blushing anytime she was in the company of any boy—or now, man—near her age, especially if he was at all good-looking, which Robert Walsh definitely was. Hearing the sound of a commode flushing behind him, she burned even hotter. “Hey there, are you all right?” he asked. Unable to look at him, she nodded.

      “Party rather too much for you, eh?” he asked, and then, accepting her apparently stunned look as a reply, took her by the elbow and steered her away from the living room. “Come on. Let’s get you a little fresh air.” He led her down the hall to the last door, which opened into an enormous, and blessedly uninhabited, bedroom. Guiding her inside, he closed the door behind them and walked over to a long wall, tugging aside a curtain to reveal a pair of French doors. Margie stepped outside gratefully when he opened them.

      The air was icy against her skin, and Margie wished she had gotten her coat from the check after all. Her mother would be furious if she forgot it, especially after she had been reminded. She always complained that Margie was irresponsible and flighty and addle-minded, and most of the time, Margie had to admit, it was true. It was just so easy to get lost in her thoughts, or in a book, or in a story she was writing.

      Breathing the air in deep, grateful gulps, Margie felt her heart slowing and the flush fading from her cheeks.

      “Damn, it’s freezing out here,” Robert said mildly. He shook off his jacket and brought it over to Margie, settling it around her shoulders. She pulled it closer around herself, inhaling the smell of him on the fabric—soap and Brilliantine and unlit tobacco.

      “I’m so sorry,” she said, when the air had done its job. She had begun to shiver, but she didn’t want to move just yet. The champagne giddiness had gone, replaced by a different pleasure. Above them, the stars were sharp and lustrous, and she liked the steady comfort of Robert beside her.

      He was handsome in a careless way, and though he had been raised to be polite, there was something of a rake about him. He drove a sporty Monroe roadster and though he was older than she, almost twenty-five, he didn’t seem to be in any rush to settle down and get married, or even work for a living. She always heard him talking about one party or another, or a trip he had taken to Atlantic City, or Boston, or New York.

      Her parents had selected him to be her escort, and his parents had probably agreed for him. Yet here they were now, alone, and he didn’t seem to want to be part of what was happening out in the party any more than she did. Could it be that he was like her, maybe a little shy, a little dreamy? Maybe he had been misunderstood all this time and all he needed was someone who would allow him to be himself, and he would see that in her and she would look up at him with dewy eyes, her heart pounding, and …

      “No need to apologize,” Robert said. “Your teeth are chattering—you must be frozen. Are you feeling better? Should we go back inside?”

      Startled, Margie nodded, and he gestured politely for her to go in first. He closed the doors behind them, but the chill remained in the air, so Robert strode over to the fireplace, taking the match holder from the mantel and lighting the fire that had been laid there. “Have a seat,” he said, gesturing toward the sofa closest to the fireplace. She settled into the cushions, sliding out of his jacket as he brought over the coverlet from the bed and tucked her in, grinning and winking at her as though they shared a secret. Margie felt the heat in her face again.

      “Thank you,” she said after a few moments, when she was warm again. “I don’t know what came over me.”

      Robert shrugged. He sat down in an armchair by the fireplace, resting one foot on the opposite knee. He took the still-unlit cigar out of his mouth and set it in a large crystal ashtray on the tiny, spindly end table. “You’ve had quite an evening. And this party did go from amusing to outrageous rather quickly.”

      Margie’s heart quickened again, thinking of Elsie and that man kissing passionately, of the couple in the bedroom, a flash of bare arms and legs entwined before she had closed the door. “I hear Europeans are scandalously free these days,” she said, trying to sound worldly, like she went to parties like this all the time, as he apparently did.

      Instead of laughing at her, Robert simply nodded. “They are. But you can’t blame them. They’ve been through a lot. It’s a miracle there’s anyone left, isn’t it? Between the war and the ’flu?”

      “Why didn’t you go?” Margie asked tentatively. “To the war?”

      Instead of answering, he stared into the fire silently for a few moments. “Money,” he said finally, “has all sorts of privileges. My father bought my way out.”

      “Oh.” The idea that he had avoided service on purpose made her feel embarrassed for him. She scrambled for a conciliatory remark. “Of course you’re important to the company. It’s right you should have stayed home, or who would take over the business from your father if you …” she trailed off, realizing she was about to suggest Robert’s tragic demise.

      He СКАЧАТЬ