Saturday, May 1st, 1954
7:25 p.m.
Why were these dinners so boring, thought Therese. Granted, it certainly wasn't Carol's company that bored her. The food was excellent, but everything from the aperitifs to the seven-courses to the coffee to the digestifs felt so… dated. The people, at least most of them, were pleasant, yet, something underneath it all was so terribly phony and droll. Carol said this was similar to all the soirées and dinner parties she used to go to; only difference here was the established old money versus the nouveaux riches types trying to prove themselves traveling in First Class. Not that Therese understood the difference between the two: rich was rich in her eyes.
She missed their private dinners out in Manhattan at local trattorie, biergarten, or on rare occasions, roadside seafood shacks or Chinese carry-out. Therese smiled at the memory of teaching Carol to use chopsticks one summer night, trying for a good thirty minutes to get her to pick up a sautéed slice of green pepper. Or Carol showing her how to crack into a steamed lobster. Maybe when they actually got to the Continent, things would return to that normal for them, albeit with a far different scenery than that of New York.
Whenever they were out among the throngs of First Class passengers, Carol and Therese could see all those inquisitive minds trying to figure out who the two ladies were based on the published passenger list. The mysterious Miss Belivet, whom no one seemed to have met, and this illusive Mrs. Aird, whose name was misprinted in the passenger list as the divorce was not yet finalized at the time of booking. Carol recognized, but hadn't been introduced to, some of the people she saw listed. Probably better that way, she rationalized.
For the most part, they kept to themselves, either dining alone or taking a leisurely stroll after dinner. They went to the movies at the small on-board cinema, watching Salome and Call Me Madam, sharing a bag of popcorn or, Carol's preferred treat, Junior Mints. There were always some busybodies, but they mostly didn't need to worry about letters.
Therese was late getting to dinner after spending time on the Main Deck taking photographs; another example of Carol's influence rubbing off on her, most likely. While she took photos, Carol either lounged in the library or was a common fixture in one of the smoking rooms. She spent hours undertaking her own photography project of capturing images of the ship and its crew at work. She was daycares by the number of people it took to keep the floating city plowing forward across the Atlantic. As she entered the dining room, she was startled to see Carol not sitting alone. There, seated at the table where they had been dining for the past three nights, was a well-dressed man, perhaps in his mid-forties. Therese couldn't accurately tell from the angle at which she approached as his back was to her. Carol made eye contact with her as she came closer, noticeably widening and rolling her eyes as Therese advanced toward them. When Therese was next to their table, she could finally hear exactly why Carol had been rolling her eyes and inwardly groaned to herself. Carol pointedly greeted her, stopping the gentleman's endless discourse.
"Miss Belivet, thank you for joining me." Therese could tell from Carol's voice something was amiss, for she never called her Miss Belivet unless they were out in public or along strangers.
"The pleasure is all mine."
The man sitting at the table turned to look at Therese then stood to properly greet her. He was at least six-feet tall with slicked back hair that all the men had in the 1930s plus some grey around the edges, and wearing a navy pinstripe suit. "Harry Stevens."
"How do you do, Mr. Stevens."
"I'm sorry, I seem to have taken your place here." He played off that he was bewildered about his position at the table, but Therese instantly discerned that he knew damn well what he was doing. Not to mention the Maryland accent grated on her nerves.
"Oh, you haven't taken it." Therese dryly commented, and took her usual seat across from Carol at the table. She placed the napkin across her lap, waiting for one of the waiters to stop by. "I missed the hors d'œuvres?"
"Salad and entrées as well." Mr. Stevens added, quickly turning his attention back to conversation with Carol. "Now, Mrs. Aird, what kind of work did you say your husband was in again?"
Not as if Carol could possibly have her own work apart from a man in her life, Therese thought. Therese couldn't understand why she was in such a mood, so fussy over some preening businessman with greasy hair.
"I didn't." Carol placed a wedge of lemon in her ice water and swirled the glass around. "By the way, it's Mrs. Reed Aird. There was an error on the passenger list printing." Mr. Stevens looked very pleased by this error, getting cozier in his chair. "Miss Belivet, would you like me to have them bring you something?" Carol asked in a seemingly futile attempt to shift away his attention from her.
"No, thank you. I had some sandwiches and cake at tea."
"You sure?"
Therese nodded then had a sip of water. One of the ice cubes hit her front teeth while she sipped and caused her to cringe.
"Like I was saying before Miss Belivet arrived, the future is plastics, if you know what I mean. Everything's gonna be plastic - no more wood, glass or even bakelite: Plastic." Mr. Stevens just didn't give up. He kept droning on, incessantly speaking at Carol, not really paying any attention to Therese. "Surely you don't want to hear about all that," he chuckled, "but if you want my advice, ladies, plastic is where to invest, why I could…"
Therese ignored the noise of Mr. Stevens who could never stop talking if his life depended on it; on and on about containers and packaging or materials and shipping costs. The glories of Monsanto and its synthetic products and scientific achievements with biochemicals. Forever cordial, Carol finished most of her dinner and listened, nodding, occasionally getting one or two words in between Mr. Stevens' bites.
"Could I interest you in a stroll around the deck tonight? Nothing like seeing the stars at sea."
"Here we go." Therese murmured as soon as Mr. Stevens took a mammoth bite and could probably not hear her over his loud chewing.
There was a brief rustle under the table, followed by Carol jumping in her seat, then laughing at whatever it was, "I apologize, Mr. Stevens, but I'm otherwise taken for the evening."
Therese wasn't supposed to have caught it, but there was no doubt that Mr. Stevens was being untoward with only one hand visible on the tabletop. Carol rustled again in her seat and tried to nonchalantly angle herself a hair further away from Mr. Stevens, grasping her glass of water in one hand and resting the other beside an unused fish fork. It was barely seven-thirty and, in her mind, far too early on a Saturday evening for this sort of thing. Therese was having none of it.
She removed one of her high-heeled shoes and slowly stretched her leg toward Carol. Her small stockinged foot crept up, finding the hem of her dress to slide beneath. Without making too noticeable a fuss, Carol squinted her eyes at Therese, wondering what she was playing at. Therese knew what the slightest contact to her thigh would do, especially to any bite mark bruises remaining from the previous night. Her heel rested between her leg as her toe caught along the side of Carol's garter, slipping under the thin elastic strip that touched bare skin and making delicate circles against her thigh. They adored discreetly caressing one another like that in public, particularly at dinners and always at the restaurants with extra-long table linens; seeing how long one of them could hold out before Carol had to request the check.
Regrettably, it didn't take too long before Therese felt Mr. Stevens' hand right above where her foot rested against Carol, rubbing those little circles. Mr. Stevens quickly removed his hand and turned his head to look at Therese, unconvinced that what he thought was happening was actually happening. She smirked when she then felt his knee press toward her own leg, as though he needed further verification as to what was going on. Without any hesitation whatsoever, Therese angled her head and in an unwavering voice spoke, "Like she said earlier: Taken."
Mr. Stevens abruptly stood and dropped his napkin into his plate. "Ma'am. Miss Belivet." Mr. Stevens bolted from the table, nearly forgetting his hat, which Therese held out without giving him a second look.
"Goodbye," Carol whispered as Mr. Stevens walked away."That's hopefully the last of Mr. Stevens."
Therese paused, looking at the ice now melting in her water goblet. "I'm sorry."
Carol dropped her hand to her lap to find Therese's foot. She lightly squeezed it and left her hand there, lovingly reassuring her. "No, you were perfect, sweetheart," she declared in a low voice. Therese thought that someday, she would grow out of blushing at the drop of a hat; however with Carol, there were moments like these where not turning any shade of red would be utterly hopeless. Carol reached for her wine glass with her free hand, subtly raising it to Therese, "To my noble defender."
"I didn't like him getting so - handsy - with you. And at a dining table, with me here."
"Oh, one gets used to it."
Therese didn't deflect from her gaze into Carol's eyes. Why wasn't she as bothered? She picked up the bottle of Bordeaux and poured herself a glass. Carol pushed hers toward Therese who expertly filled it with the pour-and-twist technique Carol had taught her that spring to not drip onto the linens.
"You shouldn't have to get used to it, Carol. It's disrespectful to you."
Carol didn't say anything else about the matter, but she was undeniably churning it over in her mind. She didn't touch her plate again as the two of them sat in complacent silence for the remainder of the sitting, finishing off their bottle of Bordeaux. As soon as the dessert cart came around and Therese declined any sweets or coffee, Carol reached for her purse, and looked at the door. "Would you like to get out of here?"
Therese looked around her to see if anyone was watching them so she could down the last glass of wine she had just poured. "Yes."
The two of them casually got up and made their way out of the First Class Dining Salon, heading back to their stateroom. With everyone at dinner still, Therese held out her arm for Carol to take as they walked along the vacant corridor. At first Carol declined, arguing someone might see them.
"We need to walk one hundred feet to our room. Just say I drank an entire bottle of wine on an empty stomach. Let them talk."
"Partial truths. You've convinced me." Carol grabbed onto Therese's arm as they walked back to their stateroom.
Upon opening the door to the suite, Therese was surprised by the change in setup.
"What's all this?" Therese exclaimed. The coffee table had been moved against the wall, chairs were out of the way, and a bottle of Champagne on ice sat in a metal bucket, beside it two flutes on a silver tray. "Is this what you get up to when I'm out taking pictures?"
"Well, that and I thought that while everyone else was drinking and dancing tonight, we should enjoy that same." Carol tossed her purse onto one of the side chairs and immediately went to the Champagne. Therese retrieved the two flutes as Carol opened the bottle with an exuberant pop and poured two glasses. They stood next to each other and clinked glasses, Therese with her head tilted to the side and grinning, and Carol eagerly leaning toward her for a kiss on the cheek.
"This is all very romantic, Carol, but you know I don't dance."
Carol smiled, "Nonsense, you've never danced with me." She pushed a final piece of furniture out of the way to create a big enough space for both of them to move around. Her attention soon turned to the record player atop a nearby dresser. She pulled a well-worn record out from the small stack by the record player and put it on the platter. When the music started, Carol stood still with her back to Therese, humming along for a few bars and lightly swaying her hips. Then she turned around, smiling, and held out her hand to Therese. "This arm, line up by my shoulder and rest it on mine." Carol tapped her own right shoulder. "With the other, take my hand."
"Is this with you leading?"
"Yes."
"What if I want to lead?"
"Then you put your arm around my waist and take this hand," Carol replied, "but let me lead this first time."
"How about my feet?"
"Just follow me."
While they didn't quite float around the room like Fred and Ginger, Therese focused on her toes, trying not to step on Carol's larger feet, and felt more and more at ease as Carol guided her around. Carol was an excellent instructor: very direct, very thorough, very patient.
"There should be some space between the two partners, but I think in our case, we can safely rule that out." she said, pressing Therese closer and kissing her forehead. Therese smiled and then veered her head to rest against Carol as they danced.
As she moved in time with the music and to Carol's motions, she realized that she really actually liked dancing. Maybe because it was a woman, and not some boy. Maybe the entire reason she always said she didn't like to dance was because she would have prefered more than anything to be dancing in the arms of the beautiful blonde who was holding her at that very moment.