Evan let himself into the small suite of offices he and his partners maintained early Saturday morning to find Ted already there, grinning from ear to ear.
"She said yes?" he asked.
"She did."
"Congratulations. Kristen's a lovely girl. You're a lucky man," he stated. "When's the wedding?"
"Next summer, most likely," Ted answered, "Probably a week or two after your brother's."
Both men had been hard at work for the better part of an hour, passing papers back and forth when their youngest partner strolled in.
"I see you're ready for a hard morning's work," Evan laughed at the sight of Cody in white trousers, striped jacket and a straw boater.
"At least I don't dress like my father," Cody retorted, eyeing Evan's dark sack-suit, stiff collar and sober tie. "No, I take that back. You dress like your grandfather. If you didn't already wear glasses I swear you'd be sporting a monocle by now."
Evan shrugged and went back to work. Cody and Ted were the public faces of the business: where Cody's exuberance and charm failed, Ted's quiet persuasion usually succeeded; he preferred to remain in the background. The three had become friends at college and discovered a common bond: sons of rich men, they wanted to make their own mark on the world. Cody was a born salesman, his insouciance and light-heartedness masking a shrewd brain; Ted had the knack of spotting a promising opportunity that others had written off, and he had the ability to plan a project through from the original idea to its completion; a combination that was making them rich.
Of course, the Fair had presented them with many opportunities. He had listened carefully to the members of the St Louis Club as they discussed the plans. These older men, the pillars of the business community, had been gratified by the attention that he had paid to their comments, warmed to his courteous questions and finally, had begun to treat him, the Club's youngest member, as an equal. So, if he dressed like his grandfather, as Cody had accused him, it paid dividends.
He was distracted from his thoughts by Cody's enthusiastic congratulations upon learning of Ted's engagement.
"Well done!" he exclaimed, slapping Ted on the back. "But maybe you should move the wedding up. Don't give her too much time to change her mind," he grinned.
Ted swatted him affectionately, "She has a sister, you know."
"Not for me," Cody laughed. "There are still far too many pretty girls out there. But what about you, Evan?"
"No thank you," he leaned back in his chair and smiled. "I'm a confirmed bachelor."
"Then come to the Fair with me this afternoon. We'll take a couple of girls on the Big Wheel. When you rock the car at the top they get so scared that they hang on to you for dear life." He wiggled his eyebrows ferociously.
"I think I'll pass. I promised my mother I'd stop by for tea this afternoon."
Cody rolled his eyes at this statement and set off, hopping on a passing trolley to join the throngs at the Fair.
Later that night he returned home. As he had promised, he stopped by his parents' home for tea. And, as he had suspected, his mother had unearthed another distant cousin, who he was expected to squire around the Fair. He sincerely hoped that the entire summer was not going to be like this. In the few weeks since the Fair had opened it seemed every distant relative and offspring of his mother's friends had come to town; all suspiciously female, all expecting him to escort them to the Exposition. Hopefully, as his mother became absorbed in his brother's impending wedding, her ceaseless attempts at matchmaking would end.
He shrugged off his jacket and went to his study. Fetching water and seed for the bird, he opened the cage and gave a low whistle. The little bird hopped onto his finger and chirped.
"How sweet," drawled a voice behind him.
Whirling around, he saw Randy lounging against the doorframe. "How did you get in here?" he asked.
"I have my ways," he said with a slight smile.
He closed the door to the cage. "Then why are you here?"
"Maybe I came to say thank you," he said padding across the room to stand very close to Evan. He leaned his good hand against the wall and bent his head down so close that Evan could feel his warm breath on his face. His silvery-blue eyes held Evan's for a long moment.
Finally, Evan ducked beneath his arm and crossed over to the sideboard. "You're welcome," he said far more calmly than he felt. "Would you like a drink?"
"Whiskey, if you have it." He took the offered glass from Evan and sat in a wing chair by the small fireplace. "How very cozy this is," he said with a sardonic smile. "I can just picture you sitting here in the evening, reading the newspaper, wearing a smoking jacket."
"I don't own a smoking jacket," Evan replied, taking his own drink to his desk and sitting down. He sipped slowly at it, looking at Randy over the rim.
"Aren't you going to ask?"
"Ask what?"
"Why did I come back to St Louis? How did I hurt my shoulder? Where have I been for the last few years?"
"It's none of my business," Evan stated. "If you need a place to sleep you can stay here again."
"Will I have to sleep out there?" Randy asked the corner of his mouth quirking up.
"Yes," Evan answered, carefully keeping his voice level.
"Then I'll be on my way," he said putting his glass on Evan's desk. "Thank you for the drink." His fingers brushed Evan's causing him to look up abruptly. Again, their eyes met. Randy smiled down at him, his look quizzical, tender and pitying. "Good night," he said and left the room.
Randy appeared in his rooms every night the following week; sometimes he materialised from nowhere as he had the first night, on a couple of occasions he was waiting for him, leaning against the streetlamp in front of the house and, one night, his landlady tapped at his door and told him that a Mr Keith Randal wished to see him. Every night he had a drink, sometimes he asked Evan questions about his day, sometimes they drank in silence, but at some point, every night, he would smile down on Evan with the same look he had given him the first night, his fingers resting on his arm, shoulder or hand for just a second and wish him good night.
The following Saturday he found Evan struggling to insert his studs into his boiled shirtfront, wearing a pair of evening trousers with the braces dangling behind him.
"Let me," he said, deftly inserting the studs into the shirtfront and cuffs. He watched Evan don his white tie, but after watching him make three attempts, he calmly tied it himself and helped him on with his swallow-tailed coat.
He handed him his white gloves and silk top-hat. "Very elegant," he said. "Going to a ball?"
"No, a picnic," he rolled his eyes. "It's my brother's engagement ball, but I suspect you already knew that." He had no idea what Randy was doing to fill his days and stubbornly refused to ask, but from their brief, nightly conversations, he knew that he had very quickly become familiar with all the comings and goings of what used to be his world.
"Yes, I did." He ran his finger down Evan's shirtfront, tapping the onyx studs. "These are very smart. I used to have a set of diamond studs. My father said they made me look like a pimp."
"What did you say?" Evan was surprised out of his usual discretion by Randy's mention of his father.
"I didn't say anything," he grinned. "I went out and got a new set with even bigger diamonds." As Evan laughed he continued, "I imagine he'll be there tonight?"
"I would think so. He and my father have done a fair bit of business together over the years."
"Perhaps you'd like to give him my regards?" Randy smiled wolfishly.
"I don't think that would be appropriate."
Randy traced Evan's cheekbone with his fingertip, "Poor Evan. It must be so difficult having to be that good all the time. I hear you're the perfect son, the perfect brother and the perfect business partner. What do you suppose would happen if you let that halo slip?"
"I have no idea what you are talking about," he said stiffly.
Randy gave a mordant chuckle and left the room. He knew his words had found their mark; there was no mistaking the flash of anger that had crossed Evan's features.
Within half an hour he was kissing his mother's cheek as a voice in his head whispered, "I hear you're the perfect son." As he shook his brother's hand and kissed his fiancée the voice spoke again: "The perfect brother." And as he approached Ted and Kristen, the voice mocked him again, "The perfect business partner." And for a moment, he found himself envying Randy Orton, who didn't care what people said of him; he might be penniless and homeless, but in that moment, Evan would have gladly changed places with him.
Carefully squashing those feelings, he did his duty: dancing with his mother and aunt, dancing with his brother's intended, dancing with Kristen and her sister and several others, all the while feeling like he could throw his head back and scream if one more person effused to him about what a suitable match this was. What about love, he wanted to shriek at one matron. He knew they were in love, but he also knew that would have counted for nothing if it hadn't been considered a suitable match.
Finally, he decided that he had earned a break from the dance floor and withdrew to the billiards room. Snatching a glass of champagne from a passing waiter, he drained it too quickly and took another. He spotted Cody at the billiards table and crossed the room to speak to him. "I see you're looking particularly dashing tonight," he said, eyeing Cody's sapphire studs.
"If one more girl tells me they match my eyes, I'm going to tear off my shirt and run screaming from the ballroom," he grinned tossing back a glass of champagne.
"Get a set of rubies. They'll match your eyes tomorrow," Evan chuckled as Cody missed an easy shot.
Cody stood straight and leaned on his cue, "For heaven's sake, Evan, it's a party. Go dance with some pretty girls. Sneak off to the conservatory with one and steal a kiss. Stop acting like an old man."
Turning on his heel, he stalked out of the room and returned to the ballroom. From his vantage point he watched the dancers whirl around the floor, the men's black and white evening attire in stack contrast with the brightly coloured gowns of the women. It was a pretty scene, but all at once, he was tired of it: tired of the noise, the heat and the pretence. Just as he was deciding it was time to tell his hostess he had a headache he spotted a small figure sitting on one of the sofas that dotted the perimeter of the room. His cousin Lucy: she sat fanning herself with the slightly fixed smile of a wall-flower, who was determined to look as if she were enjoying herself. Her wistful expression was more than he could endure; he crossed the room swiftly.
"Lucy, there are you are. Could you spare me a dance?" he asked, carefully not looking at her empty dance card. The gratitude in her eyes pierced his heart as he led her onto the floor. Maybe she was small, thin and plain, but she was also sweet-natured and intelligent; he found himself enjoying the dance more than he had expected. As the music drew to a close, he caught the eye of Cody, who had just re-entered the ballroom, and Cody, who very carefully hid a kind heart, had no trouble interpreting his message, and hurried to her side to ask for the next dance.
"That was very nice of you," said a voice beside him. He turned to see his brother, Don, flushed with wine and dancing, standing next to him. "But then, you always were the good one."
Evan managed to smile at his brother without comment, determined to say nothing that could spoil his night and beckoned a waiter over to get another glass of champagne. That was a mistake, he realised as soon as he had drained it. The heat and the wine were making him feel sick and dizzy. He spotted his host on the other side of the room with a group of older men and decided he would pay his respects and leave.
Approaching the men somewhat unsteadily he saw Randy's father among them. Bob Orton was a big man, but most of his bulk was muscle, only slightly allowed to run to fat. Although he was dressed in evening clothes like every other man in the room, he appeared larger-than-life. He was smiling, his expression genial, but his eyes were cold and blank, like a rattlesnake.
And in that moment, sick to the core of the pretence and hypocrisy, wearied to his very soul of the expectations that surrounded him, he tapped Bob Orton on the arm and, smiling blandly, said, "I saw your son, Randy, earlier. He asked me to give you his regards."
