Part IX
After what seemed like miles and miles, Lily finally stopped running. Her feet ached and her chest throbbed as she doubled over to gasp for air. Her deep breaths not able to take in enough oxygen quickly enough, she began to cough and choke. Her deep coughs shook her small body, causing the pain in her chest to increase. As she stood still bent over, tears stung her eyes, and she began to cry for the pain in her body and the pain in her heart. She put her hand to her mouth as though that simple action could cease her crying, could smother and silence it. When she was finally strong enough to pick herself up and continue walking, her sobs had been reduced to quiet whimpering as she allowed the hot tears to cascade over her face.
She looked a fright. Her hair was disheveled; her skirt and shoes soaked from running through puddles, her face red and tear streaked. But she did not care. Her pace quickened as she moved through the streets, seeing nothing and no one as she continued on her path. "What is it that you want, God?" she asked silently, "What do You want? Have I done something to deserve this? Have I offended You somehow, in some terrible way that You feel that I must be punished for?" It was a prayer, though she hadn't prayed in years. She hadn't prayed since that moment when her world crashed down around her and she cursed God for forsaking her. But now, in her dire desperation, she felt as though she had no one else to turn to.
"I don't understand, God," she continued, "I'm sorry, but I don't. Are you repaying me for denying your existence? Since I first told You that I did not believe in You, have You abandoned me? Perhaps I deserved to be abandoned. But I was angry, God. I'm still angry. But I'm also very weary. I'm so sick and tired of, of everything..and I haven't the strength to fight You any longer. I haven't the strength or the will to deny you. You've taken everything I've ever loved from me, God. First my mother, then my father's love, and now...and now Spot. And I can't bear it. I know it is weak of me, but I give up. God, You must help me. I can't do this alone anymore. Help me please. I'll do anything you want. Anything! Please just help me!"
"Oh." It was the voice inside her head. It had returned and was speaking to her again. "So now you believe in me?" She stopped suddenly. The maddening pace of her step had immediately come to an abrupt halt. "Isn't it convenient," it continued, "that you have finally come to me when you have fallen into a horrible mess and are in need of a way out?"
~***~
"Yes, my child?" the priest said softly through the grate of the confessional.
"Forgive me, Father......for I have sinned," Lily slowly spoke in response. Her eyes were closed and her head bowed. She remembered coming to the church every Tuesday with Great Aunt Helaine and being forced to confess. She remembered how the church smelled of the smoky incense and how it was always dimly lit. She remembered its silence, and how she would be accused of sinning if she dared to utter a single word inside of its holy halls. How she'd hated it! She hated the church and she especially hated Confession. She was afraid of going into the dark box that was the confessional and being forced to talk to the priest that frightened her with his low, harsh whispering that seemed to condemn her with every word. But she was an August! And Augusts were good Catholics who cared about their mortal souls and their family name, so they went dutifully and happily to confession every Tuesday and to service every Sunday morning.
"How long has it been since your last confession?" the priest asked.
Lily paused, her mouth poised, open and ready to answer, but the words would not come. Once again, as so many years before, the fear welled up within her. She dreaded answering him. She was ashamed of her response, so ashamed that she did not want to utter the words. It wasn't true unless she spoke it. One more deep breath. How could she delay the inevitable? How long would it be before he asked her again? "Three years," she finally uttered and waited in silence to for condemnation.
~***~
Lily had just come out of the church. As she crossed its threshold, she felt relief wash over her like a cool and comforting breeze. It had not gone as she had expected. For once, she had not left the holy structure with feelings of guilt and remorse. Instead, she felt as though an enormous burden had been lifted off of her shoulders. She stood on the grand porch of St. Augustine's, pulling on her gloves and fussing with them in an effort to straighten them. As she was finally getting them fastened, she heard a male voice call out to her.
"Why Ms. Fox! Fancy seeing you here! I did not know that you were religious."
She looked up and found herself staring into the smiling blue eyes of Henry Brannick.
She smiled back slightly as she murmured, "Neither did I," under her breath. "Why, Mr. Brannick, so nice to see you again," Lily said more brightly, descending the steps of the church to stand beside him.
"I believe that the pleasure is mine," he replied, still smiling. "May I ask where you're headed?"
"Just back to the theatre, I suppose."
"Well, what a delightful surprise! I, too, am going that way. Will you allow me the pleasure of escorting you?" Henry smiled again and raised his arm, offering it to her.
Lily wanted to say no. She wanted to decline his offer and tell him that she was perfectly able to make it back alone, but something in the way that he continued to smile at her bade her to accept. "That would," she said, pausing, "that would be lovely. Thank you." She took his outstretched arm and allowed him to lead her back in the direction of the theatre.
They walked along in silence for a piece until the discomfort of walking in silence provoked Lily to speak. "I'm sorry that I'm not saying much," she said, "but I fear I don't know what to speak about." She laughed nervously.
"It's quite alright," Henry offered, "We've only met once, and only a few words were exchanged."
"Yes, that's true," Lily returned, "And I also fear that I don't remember much of that night. And for that, again I must apologize."
Henry laughed, "I cannot blame you for forgetting. Besides, had you not forgotten anything of the night, all you would have remembered of me would be my mother's quick and brief introduction of me and then her rambling on and on about Eddie and Tom." He slipped into a falsetto voice and began to speak dramatically, "Ah, yes, here is my oldest son, Edward.. Edward Brannick III, the pride and joy of our family. He's a lawyer, don't you know? And quite a successful one at that! Oh, and here is Tom! Dear, sweet Tom! He's my youngest, and my favourite, at that! Did I mention that he is at Harvard? Yes, he's at Harvard, studying finance. He's going to be terribly, terribly rich! And oh, yes, I almost forgot - this is Henry. But as I was saying, Tom is doing wonderfully well at Harvard.."
Lily laughed at Henry's impression of his mother. "Don't laugh!" Henry said, laughing along with her, "It's true! You know it's true!'
"Oh, it can't be that bad!" Lily reasoned through her laughter, "You're lying to me. It can't be that bad!"
"Oh, but it can! And it is!" Henry returned. "All my mother knows about me, and cares to know is that I draw pictures for buildings. I've tried to reason with her. 'Mother, it's called Architecture. Architecture!' I've told her a thousand times, yet when she speaks of me to anyone, it's always, 'Well, Henry's been making more pictures of houses..' The entire situation is completely impossible. She's completely impossible! I've nearly given up and stopped trying entirely."
"So you're an architect?" Lily asked. Henry nodded. "Good, now I know something about you and can attempt a decent conversation..well, Mr. Brannick-"
Henry scoffed and interrupted her, "Oh, it's Henry, please. Mr. Brannick is my father. And Edward, maybe. He's certainly stuffy enough."
"Alright," Lily replied with a quiet laugh. "Henry," she said more decidedly, "What sort of buildings do you make pictures of?"
Henry chuckled in response to Lily's comment. "I like that. What buildings have I made pictures of.Ha!..Well, it's houses mostly. I'm just starting out, so I've accomplished nothing big yet. Not like Martin Lovell, my chum from university. The ol' boy's as young as I am, but he's so brilliant, so bloody brillaint that's he's had several big commissions already. In fact, he's got a building going up in Midtown right now. Think of it: he's erecting huge structures and being completely productive, while I wander the streets and unsuccessfully attempt to make witty conversation with beautiful ladies. I've accomplished nothing! Maybe Mother is right...if only I could be more like Eddie.."
"Well, perhaps that will be you someday, if you give it time," Lily reassured him.
"Yes, perhaps," he replied, "but frankly, I am absolutely sick of talking about myself. What I would like to talk about is you, actually."
"Me?"
"Yes."
"Well, there's really nothing to talk about," Lily said, suddenly becoming shy.
"Well, there certainly must be something," Henry said, trying to sound encouraging, "The world is wide and you are in it, so surely there must be something!"
"What would you like to know?"
"Oh, nothing much - just something vastly interesting!"
Lily wrinkled her brow at his comment, causing him to quickly retract his words. "No, no! I'm merely joking! Do tell me whatever you want! But know that in my mind, if it comes from your lips, it cannot help but be vastly interesting."
She rolled her eyes in mock frustration and sighed. "Flattery." As she uttered the word, they came upon their destination. "Well, here we are," Lily said nervously, releasing her hold from his arm and walking toward the entrance. She thought she'd somehow, perhaps avoided Henry's question. After ascending two steps, she turned back toward him to thank him and bid him goodbye. As she opened her mouth to do so, he interrupted her yet again.
"Oh, so soon. But you haven't even told me anything about yourself."
Caught and trapped. She'd thought she'd escaped, but his words confirmed that she was wrong. She searched her mind for some meaningless thing to tell him about herself that would seem meaningful enough to satisfy him.
Whilst she was thinking, he continued talking. "How do you expect us to become acquainted if I know nothing of you, Miss Fox?"
"There! That's it!" she thought. The idea came to her at the mention of her name. "You're right," she told him. She paused, pretending to search her mind for something to tell him. "Hmmmmm...alright I've got something."
"Alright! Out with it!" he declared, eagerly awaiting her response.
"My name," she revealed, "my name is not Lily Fox."
"Really?" he replied, looking disappointed, "That's a shame. It's is such a lovely name...well, what is your name then, if not Lily Fox?"
"Josephine," she answered, "Josephine August."
"Ah, francais, non?" he asked, lowering himself to one knee and reaching for her hand. He kissed it and said, "Enchante, Madamoiselle August." Climbing back to his feet and returning to his native language, he stated, "I wonder, Ms. August, if you would do me the honor of joining me for dinner sometime, say, this Thursday, seven o'clock?" After thinking quickly, he did not hesitate to add, "Oh, don't worry, we shan't be dining at my home. I shall take you someplace lovely, and someplace far away from my mother, so please do not let that small trouble affect your decision!"
Lily smiled. "Very well," she said, "I will have dinner with you."
"Dinner," she thought, "it's only dinner. Perhaps he's satisfied now. And besides, it couldn't be so very bad. He's a nice man. Amusing, even. Josephine, you'll be fine. Stop worrying. Just go to this one little dinner."
~***~
The room fell silent with Blink's unfortunate slip of the tongue. The boys that had been laughing and chattering suddenly hushed and turned their eyes toward Spot. It had been nearly two weeks since Spot had stormed out of the theatre, cursing Lily and swearing that he wished to never again set eyes on her. Blink had been rambling on, telling the others about a girl he had met on 47th. She was a chorus girl at The Royale. "Yeah, guys, you'se should see dis one. She's got dis long red hair, and dese big brown eyes. And did I mention dat she's a dansah? Hey, Spot," he yelled across the room, "she's kinda like you're goil Lil-" That was a far as Blink had got before he'd realized his mistake and immediately clamped his jaw shut.
Now, as the room still retained its uncomfortable silence, Blink felt as though he needed to say something to relieve the tension. "Hey, Spot, I'se sawwy. You knows I didn't mean nothin' by it, right?"
"Yeah, shoah, Blink," Spot returned, looking up from his hand of cards and shrugging carelessly as though the situation held no importance. "Hey, why da hell's everybody lookin' at me dat way? I'se fine. See? I ain't gonna cry or nothin'. I ain't no liddle goily. Now, quit starin' at me already foah I gots to bust some heads!"
Though he pretended to be untouched by the statement regarding his former beloved's name, in actuality, the mention of her had jolted him. He saw her face flash in his mind, she was smiling, and the tinkling of her laughter rung in his ears. When the memory of her resurfaced, he felt a twinge in his stomach and his heart went into his throat as he looked up at Blink and tried to conceal his startled expression.
The truth was that he did miss her...a little. Well, maybe more than a little, but why should he not? He had spent four, nearly five months of his life with her. Moment after moment, night after night, week, after weeks, after months. ... He'd built his world around her every movement, so when finally he tore himself away from her, he'd found her absence a bit difficult to bear. It was as though every moment was a painful reminder, mocking him, and constantly resounding of what was not and what could be no longer.
But it was too late now. She'd betrayed him, and that was a crime that he could not forgive. So, Spot instead filled his days and nights with others. Other beautiful girls who were willing to dote on him and considered themselves the most fortunate women in the world to simply hang on his arm for one night. His bed was never empty, but his heart could not help but be. As he lay awake at night in the arms of women who were not Jo and could never measure up to her, he wondered if somehow he'd ever find another who could come close. He wondered how long he'd have to wait before he found her. Sometimes, when he could not help himself, he'd mulled over thoughts of making amends with Lily. Perhaps, if he asked her forgiveness, she'd consider taking him back. But no, who was he kidding? Jo could be as stubborn as he was, and Spot Conlon never asked to be forgiven.
"Hey Race, deal me anudder," Spot said, nodding in Race's direction. The boy passed out another round, and all the boys around the table sat in solemn silence, looking over their hands. "Ah, I'm outta dis one," said Spot in disgust, throwing his cards on the table. He'd had a pair, but his mind was elsewhere, and he could not concentrate on the game.
~***~
The curtain rises. Look out - though dimly lit, the theatre is quite crowded. Wait. Wait for the cue. The first few notes from the piano can be heard. They cease. Smile. Open your mouth. Sing.
"You said to write you a song
So here this is for you
So as you toss through those lonely nights
Jjust know there's someone thinking of you
Everyone's waiting for the timing to be right
And we hope it's coming soon
So just rest your eyes and we'll be in love again"
The audience cheers. Smile wider. Feel their love and adoration. Second verse:
"We talked and the moon was bright
Your words were glowing as they drifted out of sight"
Look to the left. Henry. He sits at the foot of the stage. As he makes eye contact, he smiles. Waves. Brings his hand to his heart.
"And now the change of season sets in
Nothing nothing feels just right
We fear these nights and then we compromise
And the morning always comes
So just rest your eyes and we'll be in love"
Instrumental break. Smile. Wave to the audience. Blow them kisses. Another wave. They are on their feet. Henry stands with them. See something fall at your feet. A red rose. More roses fall. Everyone is tossing them. Henry smiles again, a rose in hand. He tosses it. Catch it. Don't let it touch the ground. It falls into your hands. As it does, a single thorn pricks. Startled. A trickle of red blood runs from your finger. The music plays on. Look at Henry. He still smiles and waves. A white lily falls at your feet. Singular. Perfect and pure. Look at it. You can't take your eyes from it.
Search the audience. Where did it come from? Your eyes scan the crowd and are met by gray-blue eyes of another. Spot. He holds another lily. He nods. Dropping Henry's rose, you bend. Pick up the lily. Bring it to your chest. The audience becomes displeased. Hear their dissenting restless murmurs. They grumble and boos escape their lips. Why? Confusion. Though their displeasure, you sing again. Your eyes never leave Spot. Finish the song. Softly, slowly...
"So just rest your eyes and then we'll be in love
Just rest your eyes and then we'll be in love again.."
The lily. A single, white lily. Perfect and pure.
Lily awoke breathless. She sat in bed, trying to make sense of the world around her. She looked at her hands, expecting to find the lily on one of them. Upon finding nothing, she closed her eyes again. It had been another dream. Just another one of her nightmares. They had been coming more frequently lately. Each one becoming more vivid, more real. She took a deep breath and opened her eyes. Looking around her empty room, they fell on the bouquet of red roses that Henry had sent backstage that evening. It now rested on her dresser, staring at her. From across the room, she could make out the corner of the white envelope that she had tucked under the vase. Henry's letter.
She had been seeing Henry for nearly two months. They'd dined at expensive restaurants, and he'd taken her to the theatre, the opera, the ballet. They'd spend quiet evenings chatting with his "dreaded parental figures," as he'd liked to call them, and took long strolls through Central Park. He taken her to see the houses he'd designed, and made her laugh uncontrollably with his tales of their imperfections and disasters he'd had in constructing one or two of them. He'd been the perfect gentleman and won Lily over with his abundant charm and quick wit. His warm and ready smile, golden red hair, and blue green eyes made him quite attractive, and Lily found herself growing more than accustomed to his face. She was taken with him, to say the least. She thought him utterly dashing and romantic, and found herself eagerly anticipating the moments when he'd steal a kiss while no one was looking. Henry was in love with her. He took every chance given to him to tell her how beautiful she was, how clever her jokes were, how intelligent her insights were, and most of all how much he'd fallen in love with her. His devotion could not be questioned.
He was perfect. She couldn't help describing him as anything but. He was everything she thought she could ever wish for in a man. And most importantly, he fit into her plan. He was a fulfillment of her goals and aspirations - an answer to her prayers, perhaps. It seemed as though life were finally falling into place. Finally. Wasn't it time? Hadn't she struggled enough? Hadn't she fought hard enough for it?
But the dream? What did it mean? And Spot. She thought about Spot. She thought about him constantly. Try as she may, she could not prevent herself from doing so, or stop herself once the thoughts entered her mind. She shouldn't though. She shouldn't think of him. He certainly wasn't thinking about her. She would never see or speak to him ever again. He was lost to her now, and he'd wanted it that way. What was the sense in considering anything more? What was the sense in causing the pang of hurt in her chest to reappear? To flood her mind with memories that made her long for things she would not and could not have? No. There was no sense in that. There was only sense in Henry. Only Henry.
She sighed as she thought about the white envelope and what was inside. "No," she said to herself, "Not tonight. I'll think about it tomorrow."
~***~
The band finished off the last three notes of the song. Lily smiled and waved to the crowd. She took her bows and then hurriedly walked off the stage. As soon as she was behind the curtain, she quickly reached down and yanked off her left shoe. Angrily she threw it to the floor and began to unbuckle the right. When her feet were finally free of the shoes, she breathed a deep sigh and leaned against the wall behind her.
"What happened out there?"
"Huh?" Lily said questioningly to the inquiries of Faye who had appeared before her. "What do you mean?"
"You were off. Couldn't you tell? What's wrong with you?" Faye asked with a worried look in her eyes.
"Oh, nothing, it's just these shoes." Lily gestured to the shoes strewn on the floor. "They're completely horrid! They're at least two sizes too small. I tried to ignore them, but all I could think about was finishing so I could take them off!"
Faye's eyes narrowed. "Do you take me for an idiot? Really, do you honestly believe that I am a fool?"
"God, my head hurts Faye. What the devil do you mean by that?" Lily returned.
"You're lying to me. There's something you're not telling me and you're attempting to cover it up with a story about your shoes. Blame the shoes all you want, Lily, but they're not the real cause. Now, I'm going to ask you again, and I expect you to answer with something a bit more honest. Is something wrong?"
Lily sighed in frustration. "Faye, I told you! Nothing is bloody wrong with me! Nothing! Now, would you...would you just leave me alone?"
She turned to go, and as she did, Faye crossed her arms and shouted angrily at her, "I do not believe a word of it!"
Lily stopped and turned back toward her friend. She could see the hurt in Faye's eyes. She hadn't meant to lie to her, not to her dearest friend. She'd only wished to, well, simply not speak of it. Not yet. But Faye's expression convinced her that she had to, whether she wanted to or not.
"Faye," she said slowly, her dark eyes meeting Faye's green ones. "Faye, I'm going to marry Henry Brannick."
"What?" Faye asked, incredulously.
"Henry Brannick...." Lily's voice trailed off to a mere whisper, "He's asked me to marry him and I've accepted."
~***~
To be continued in the Conclusion...
After what seemed like miles and miles, Lily finally stopped running. Her feet ached and her chest throbbed as she doubled over to gasp for air. Her deep breaths not able to take in enough oxygen quickly enough, she began to cough and choke. Her deep coughs shook her small body, causing the pain in her chest to increase. As she stood still bent over, tears stung her eyes, and she began to cry for the pain in her body and the pain in her heart. She put her hand to her mouth as though that simple action could cease her crying, could smother and silence it. When she was finally strong enough to pick herself up and continue walking, her sobs had been reduced to quiet whimpering as she allowed the hot tears to cascade over her face.
She looked a fright. Her hair was disheveled; her skirt and shoes soaked from running through puddles, her face red and tear streaked. But she did not care. Her pace quickened as she moved through the streets, seeing nothing and no one as she continued on her path. "What is it that you want, God?" she asked silently, "What do You want? Have I done something to deserve this? Have I offended You somehow, in some terrible way that You feel that I must be punished for?" It was a prayer, though she hadn't prayed in years. She hadn't prayed since that moment when her world crashed down around her and she cursed God for forsaking her. But now, in her dire desperation, she felt as though she had no one else to turn to.
"I don't understand, God," she continued, "I'm sorry, but I don't. Are you repaying me for denying your existence? Since I first told You that I did not believe in You, have You abandoned me? Perhaps I deserved to be abandoned. But I was angry, God. I'm still angry. But I'm also very weary. I'm so sick and tired of, of everything..and I haven't the strength to fight You any longer. I haven't the strength or the will to deny you. You've taken everything I've ever loved from me, God. First my mother, then my father's love, and now...and now Spot. And I can't bear it. I know it is weak of me, but I give up. God, You must help me. I can't do this alone anymore. Help me please. I'll do anything you want. Anything! Please just help me!"
"Oh." It was the voice inside her head. It had returned and was speaking to her again. "So now you believe in me?" She stopped suddenly. The maddening pace of her step had immediately come to an abrupt halt. "Isn't it convenient," it continued, "that you have finally come to me when you have fallen into a horrible mess and are in need of a way out?"
~***~
"Yes, my child?" the priest said softly through the grate of the confessional.
"Forgive me, Father......for I have sinned," Lily slowly spoke in response. Her eyes were closed and her head bowed. She remembered coming to the church every Tuesday with Great Aunt Helaine and being forced to confess. She remembered how the church smelled of the smoky incense and how it was always dimly lit. She remembered its silence, and how she would be accused of sinning if she dared to utter a single word inside of its holy halls. How she'd hated it! She hated the church and she especially hated Confession. She was afraid of going into the dark box that was the confessional and being forced to talk to the priest that frightened her with his low, harsh whispering that seemed to condemn her with every word. But she was an August! And Augusts were good Catholics who cared about their mortal souls and their family name, so they went dutifully and happily to confession every Tuesday and to service every Sunday morning.
"How long has it been since your last confession?" the priest asked.
Lily paused, her mouth poised, open and ready to answer, but the words would not come. Once again, as so many years before, the fear welled up within her. She dreaded answering him. She was ashamed of her response, so ashamed that she did not want to utter the words. It wasn't true unless she spoke it. One more deep breath. How could she delay the inevitable? How long would it be before he asked her again? "Three years," she finally uttered and waited in silence to for condemnation.
~***~
Lily had just come out of the church. As she crossed its threshold, she felt relief wash over her like a cool and comforting breeze. It had not gone as she had expected. For once, she had not left the holy structure with feelings of guilt and remorse. Instead, she felt as though an enormous burden had been lifted off of her shoulders. She stood on the grand porch of St. Augustine's, pulling on her gloves and fussing with them in an effort to straighten them. As she was finally getting them fastened, she heard a male voice call out to her.
"Why Ms. Fox! Fancy seeing you here! I did not know that you were religious."
She looked up and found herself staring into the smiling blue eyes of Henry Brannick.
She smiled back slightly as she murmured, "Neither did I," under her breath. "Why, Mr. Brannick, so nice to see you again," Lily said more brightly, descending the steps of the church to stand beside him.
"I believe that the pleasure is mine," he replied, still smiling. "May I ask where you're headed?"
"Just back to the theatre, I suppose."
"Well, what a delightful surprise! I, too, am going that way. Will you allow me the pleasure of escorting you?" Henry smiled again and raised his arm, offering it to her.
Lily wanted to say no. She wanted to decline his offer and tell him that she was perfectly able to make it back alone, but something in the way that he continued to smile at her bade her to accept. "That would," she said, pausing, "that would be lovely. Thank you." She took his outstretched arm and allowed him to lead her back in the direction of the theatre.
They walked along in silence for a piece until the discomfort of walking in silence provoked Lily to speak. "I'm sorry that I'm not saying much," she said, "but I fear I don't know what to speak about." She laughed nervously.
"It's quite alright," Henry offered, "We've only met once, and only a few words were exchanged."
"Yes, that's true," Lily returned, "And I also fear that I don't remember much of that night. And for that, again I must apologize."
Henry laughed, "I cannot blame you for forgetting. Besides, had you not forgotten anything of the night, all you would have remembered of me would be my mother's quick and brief introduction of me and then her rambling on and on about Eddie and Tom." He slipped into a falsetto voice and began to speak dramatically, "Ah, yes, here is my oldest son, Edward.. Edward Brannick III, the pride and joy of our family. He's a lawyer, don't you know? And quite a successful one at that! Oh, and here is Tom! Dear, sweet Tom! He's my youngest, and my favourite, at that! Did I mention that he is at Harvard? Yes, he's at Harvard, studying finance. He's going to be terribly, terribly rich! And oh, yes, I almost forgot - this is Henry. But as I was saying, Tom is doing wonderfully well at Harvard.."
Lily laughed at Henry's impression of his mother. "Don't laugh!" Henry said, laughing along with her, "It's true! You know it's true!'
"Oh, it can't be that bad!" Lily reasoned through her laughter, "You're lying to me. It can't be that bad!"
"Oh, but it can! And it is!" Henry returned. "All my mother knows about me, and cares to know is that I draw pictures for buildings. I've tried to reason with her. 'Mother, it's called Architecture. Architecture!' I've told her a thousand times, yet when she speaks of me to anyone, it's always, 'Well, Henry's been making more pictures of houses..' The entire situation is completely impossible. She's completely impossible! I've nearly given up and stopped trying entirely."
"So you're an architect?" Lily asked. Henry nodded. "Good, now I know something about you and can attempt a decent conversation..well, Mr. Brannick-"
Henry scoffed and interrupted her, "Oh, it's Henry, please. Mr. Brannick is my father. And Edward, maybe. He's certainly stuffy enough."
"Alright," Lily replied with a quiet laugh. "Henry," she said more decidedly, "What sort of buildings do you make pictures of?"
Henry chuckled in response to Lily's comment. "I like that. What buildings have I made pictures of.Ha!..Well, it's houses mostly. I'm just starting out, so I've accomplished nothing big yet. Not like Martin Lovell, my chum from university. The ol' boy's as young as I am, but he's so brilliant, so bloody brillaint that's he's had several big commissions already. In fact, he's got a building going up in Midtown right now. Think of it: he's erecting huge structures and being completely productive, while I wander the streets and unsuccessfully attempt to make witty conversation with beautiful ladies. I've accomplished nothing! Maybe Mother is right...if only I could be more like Eddie.."
"Well, perhaps that will be you someday, if you give it time," Lily reassured him.
"Yes, perhaps," he replied, "but frankly, I am absolutely sick of talking about myself. What I would like to talk about is you, actually."
"Me?"
"Yes."
"Well, there's really nothing to talk about," Lily said, suddenly becoming shy.
"Well, there certainly must be something," Henry said, trying to sound encouraging, "The world is wide and you are in it, so surely there must be something!"
"What would you like to know?"
"Oh, nothing much - just something vastly interesting!"
Lily wrinkled her brow at his comment, causing him to quickly retract his words. "No, no! I'm merely joking! Do tell me whatever you want! But know that in my mind, if it comes from your lips, it cannot help but be vastly interesting."
She rolled her eyes in mock frustration and sighed. "Flattery." As she uttered the word, they came upon their destination. "Well, here we are," Lily said nervously, releasing her hold from his arm and walking toward the entrance. She thought she'd somehow, perhaps avoided Henry's question. After ascending two steps, she turned back toward him to thank him and bid him goodbye. As she opened her mouth to do so, he interrupted her yet again.
"Oh, so soon. But you haven't even told me anything about yourself."
Caught and trapped. She'd thought she'd escaped, but his words confirmed that she was wrong. She searched her mind for some meaningless thing to tell him about herself that would seem meaningful enough to satisfy him.
Whilst she was thinking, he continued talking. "How do you expect us to become acquainted if I know nothing of you, Miss Fox?"
"There! That's it!" she thought. The idea came to her at the mention of her name. "You're right," she told him. She paused, pretending to search her mind for something to tell him. "Hmmmmm...alright I've got something."
"Alright! Out with it!" he declared, eagerly awaiting her response.
"My name," she revealed, "my name is not Lily Fox."
"Really?" he replied, looking disappointed, "That's a shame. It's is such a lovely name...well, what is your name then, if not Lily Fox?"
"Josephine," she answered, "Josephine August."
"Ah, francais, non?" he asked, lowering himself to one knee and reaching for her hand. He kissed it and said, "Enchante, Madamoiselle August." Climbing back to his feet and returning to his native language, he stated, "I wonder, Ms. August, if you would do me the honor of joining me for dinner sometime, say, this Thursday, seven o'clock?" After thinking quickly, he did not hesitate to add, "Oh, don't worry, we shan't be dining at my home. I shall take you someplace lovely, and someplace far away from my mother, so please do not let that small trouble affect your decision!"
Lily smiled. "Very well," she said, "I will have dinner with you."
"Dinner," she thought, "it's only dinner. Perhaps he's satisfied now. And besides, it couldn't be so very bad. He's a nice man. Amusing, even. Josephine, you'll be fine. Stop worrying. Just go to this one little dinner."
~***~
The room fell silent with Blink's unfortunate slip of the tongue. The boys that had been laughing and chattering suddenly hushed and turned their eyes toward Spot. It had been nearly two weeks since Spot had stormed out of the theatre, cursing Lily and swearing that he wished to never again set eyes on her. Blink had been rambling on, telling the others about a girl he had met on 47th. She was a chorus girl at The Royale. "Yeah, guys, you'se should see dis one. She's got dis long red hair, and dese big brown eyes. And did I mention dat she's a dansah? Hey, Spot," he yelled across the room, "she's kinda like you're goil Lil-" That was a far as Blink had got before he'd realized his mistake and immediately clamped his jaw shut.
Now, as the room still retained its uncomfortable silence, Blink felt as though he needed to say something to relieve the tension. "Hey, Spot, I'se sawwy. You knows I didn't mean nothin' by it, right?"
"Yeah, shoah, Blink," Spot returned, looking up from his hand of cards and shrugging carelessly as though the situation held no importance. "Hey, why da hell's everybody lookin' at me dat way? I'se fine. See? I ain't gonna cry or nothin'. I ain't no liddle goily. Now, quit starin' at me already foah I gots to bust some heads!"
Though he pretended to be untouched by the statement regarding his former beloved's name, in actuality, the mention of her had jolted him. He saw her face flash in his mind, she was smiling, and the tinkling of her laughter rung in his ears. When the memory of her resurfaced, he felt a twinge in his stomach and his heart went into his throat as he looked up at Blink and tried to conceal his startled expression.
The truth was that he did miss her...a little. Well, maybe more than a little, but why should he not? He had spent four, nearly five months of his life with her. Moment after moment, night after night, week, after weeks, after months. ... He'd built his world around her every movement, so when finally he tore himself away from her, he'd found her absence a bit difficult to bear. It was as though every moment was a painful reminder, mocking him, and constantly resounding of what was not and what could be no longer.
But it was too late now. She'd betrayed him, and that was a crime that he could not forgive. So, Spot instead filled his days and nights with others. Other beautiful girls who were willing to dote on him and considered themselves the most fortunate women in the world to simply hang on his arm for one night. His bed was never empty, but his heart could not help but be. As he lay awake at night in the arms of women who were not Jo and could never measure up to her, he wondered if somehow he'd ever find another who could come close. He wondered how long he'd have to wait before he found her. Sometimes, when he could not help himself, he'd mulled over thoughts of making amends with Lily. Perhaps, if he asked her forgiveness, she'd consider taking him back. But no, who was he kidding? Jo could be as stubborn as he was, and Spot Conlon never asked to be forgiven.
"Hey Race, deal me anudder," Spot said, nodding in Race's direction. The boy passed out another round, and all the boys around the table sat in solemn silence, looking over their hands. "Ah, I'm outta dis one," said Spot in disgust, throwing his cards on the table. He'd had a pair, but his mind was elsewhere, and he could not concentrate on the game.
~***~
The curtain rises. Look out - though dimly lit, the theatre is quite crowded. Wait. Wait for the cue. The first few notes from the piano can be heard. They cease. Smile. Open your mouth. Sing.
"You said to write you a song
So here this is for you
So as you toss through those lonely nights
Jjust know there's someone thinking of you
Everyone's waiting for the timing to be right
And we hope it's coming soon
So just rest your eyes and we'll be in love again"
The audience cheers. Smile wider. Feel their love and adoration. Second verse:
"We talked and the moon was bright
Your words were glowing as they drifted out of sight"
Look to the left. Henry. He sits at the foot of the stage. As he makes eye contact, he smiles. Waves. Brings his hand to his heart.
"And now the change of season sets in
Nothing nothing feels just right
We fear these nights and then we compromise
And the morning always comes
So just rest your eyes and we'll be in love"
Instrumental break. Smile. Wave to the audience. Blow them kisses. Another wave. They are on their feet. Henry stands with them. See something fall at your feet. A red rose. More roses fall. Everyone is tossing them. Henry smiles again, a rose in hand. He tosses it. Catch it. Don't let it touch the ground. It falls into your hands. As it does, a single thorn pricks. Startled. A trickle of red blood runs from your finger. The music plays on. Look at Henry. He still smiles and waves. A white lily falls at your feet. Singular. Perfect and pure. Look at it. You can't take your eyes from it.
Search the audience. Where did it come from? Your eyes scan the crowd and are met by gray-blue eyes of another. Spot. He holds another lily. He nods. Dropping Henry's rose, you bend. Pick up the lily. Bring it to your chest. The audience becomes displeased. Hear their dissenting restless murmurs. They grumble and boos escape their lips. Why? Confusion. Though their displeasure, you sing again. Your eyes never leave Spot. Finish the song. Softly, slowly...
"So just rest your eyes and then we'll be in love
Just rest your eyes and then we'll be in love again.."
The lily. A single, white lily. Perfect and pure.
Lily awoke breathless. She sat in bed, trying to make sense of the world around her. She looked at her hands, expecting to find the lily on one of them. Upon finding nothing, she closed her eyes again. It had been another dream. Just another one of her nightmares. They had been coming more frequently lately. Each one becoming more vivid, more real. She took a deep breath and opened her eyes. Looking around her empty room, they fell on the bouquet of red roses that Henry had sent backstage that evening. It now rested on her dresser, staring at her. From across the room, she could make out the corner of the white envelope that she had tucked under the vase. Henry's letter.
She had been seeing Henry for nearly two months. They'd dined at expensive restaurants, and he'd taken her to the theatre, the opera, the ballet. They'd spend quiet evenings chatting with his "dreaded parental figures," as he'd liked to call them, and took long strolls through Central Park. He taken her to see the houses he'd designed, and made her laugh uncontrollably with his tales of their imperfections and disasters he'd had in constructing one or two of them. He'd been the perfect gentleman and won Lily over with his abundant charm and quick wit. His warm and ready smile, golden red hair, and blue green eyes made him quite attractive, and Lily found herself growing more than accustomed to his face. She was taken with him, to say the least. She thought him utterly dashing and romantic, and found herself eagerly anticipating the moments when he'd steal a kiss while no one was looking. Henry was in love with her. He took every chance given to him to tell her how beautiful she was, how clever her jokes were, how intelligent her insights were, and most of all how much he'd fallen in love with her. His devotion could not be questioned.
He was perfect. She couldn't help describing him as anything but. He was everything she thought she could ever wish for in a man. And most importantly, he fit into her plan. He was a fulfillment of her goals and aspirations - an answer to her prayers, perhaps. It seemed as though life were finally falling into place. Finally. Wasn't it time? Hadn't she struggled enough? Hadn't she fought hard enough for it?
But the dream? What did it mean? And Spot. She thought about Spot. She thought about him constantly. Try as she may, she could not prevent herself from doing so, or stop herself once the thoughts entered her mind. She shouldn't though. She shouldn't think of him. He certainly wasn't thinking about her. She would never see or speak to him ever again. He was lost to her now, and he'd wanted it that way. What was the sense in considering anything more? What was the sense in causing the pang of hurt in her chest to reappear? To flood her mind with memories that made her long for things she would not and could not have? No. There was no sense in that. There was only sense in Henry. Only Henry.
She sighed as she thought about the white envelope and what was inside. "No," she said to herself, "Not tonight. I'll think about it tomorrow."
~***~
The band finished off the last three notes of the song. Lily smiled and waved to the crowd. She took her bows and then hurriedly walked off the stage. As soon as she was behind the curtain, she quickly reached down and yanked off her left shoe. Angrily she threw it to the floor and began to unbuckle the right. When her feet were finally free of the shoes, she breathed a deep sigh and leaned against the wall behind her.
"What happened out there?"
"Huh?" Lily said questioningly to the inquiries of Faye who had appeared before her. "What do you mean?"
"You were off. Couldn't you tell? What's wrong with you?" Faye asked with a worried look in her eyes.
"Oh, nothing, it's just these shoes." Lily gestured to the shoes strewn on the floor. "They're completely horrid! They're at least two sizes too small. I tried to ignore them, but all I could think about was finishing so I could take them off!"
Faye's eyes narrowed. "Do you take me for an idiot? Really, do you honestly believe that I am a fool?"
"God, my head hurts Faye. What the devil do you mean by that?" Lily returned.
"You're lying to me. There's something you're not telling me and you're attempting to cover it up with a story about your shoes. Blame the shoes all you want, Lily, but they're not the real cause. Now, I'm going to ask you again, and I expect you to answer with something a bit more honest. Is something wrong?"
Lily sighed in frustration. "Faye, I told you! Nothing is bloody wrong with me! Nothing! Now, would you...would you just leave me alone?"
She turned to go, and as she did, Faye crossed her arms and shouted angrily at her, "I do not believe a word of it!"
Lily stopped and turned back toward her friend. She could see the hurt in Faye's eyes. She hadn't meant to lie to her, not to her dearest friend. She'd only wished to, well, simply not speak of it. Not yet. But Faye's expression convinced her that she had to, whether she wanted to or not.
"Faye," she said slowly, her dark eyes meeting Faye's green ones. "Faye, I'm going to marry Henry Brannick."
"What?" Faye asked, incredulously.
"Henry Brannick...." Lily's voice trailed off to a mere whisper, "He's asked me to marry him and I've accepted."
~***~
To be continued in the Conclusion...