Busted

“Quick. Pretend to be my date.” A voice whispered close behind me. An arm wrapped around my back. A hand rested too familiar on my hip. I was pulled snug against a tall, lean body.

“Finally! Jameson, did you not hear me calling you?”

The cultured voice, though too loud for the small room, belonged to a skinny blonde woman, dressed in a deceptively simple black gown.

“Hello Cassandra. I did not see you. How are you?”

“Fine, … fine. Hello? Who are you? I don’t believe we’ve met.”

Her perfectly landscaped eyebrows arched as she looked me over. Trying to control my trembling, I took a steadying breath and forced myself to look at Cassandra Tattersley, the charity chairwoman, standing before me.

“You are correct. We have not met. Did you say this is Cassandra, dear?”

I didn’t turn toward the man holding me plastered to his side, but extended a gloved hand to the blonde, palm down, shoulder height.

“A pleasure to meet you, I’m sure.” My lips were stiff with fright, but I tried to smile.

“Yes, yes. And you are …?” Cassandra barely touched my hand.

“I thought you said you told everyone, darling.” Pouting I looked up at the man holding on to me as if I was his life vest. His dark good looks almost took my breath away.

“I did, dear.” His smile did the rest, I had difficulty remembering how to breathe. “I told everyone. Now, show me which of these auction items you were so interested in.”

He deftly side-stepped the now speechless blonde and steered me to the table holding a variety of items for the silent auction. I had been admiring them, marveling that people could stand to part with any of them, reducing them to a tax write-off, before this man shanghaied me as his date.

“Yes, love. It was this darling little painting. Don’t you think it would look lovely in that small alcove?”

I turned to look at my impromptu date and saw that Cassandra had left the room.

“You can let go now. She’s gone.” I tried to take a step back.

“Oh, no! You don’t know Cassandra. She’s relentless. It’ll be just a matter of minutes before she has the whole ballroom organized to find out who you are. So, tell me. Who are you?”

“Do you know the Balfour family?”

“From Rhode Island? Yes. I do. Went to school with Jock. He was a few years ahead of me, but …”

“Then you know he recently got married, right?”

“Yes, yes. Lovely wife. Glenda somebody, right?”

“Exactly. Well, I’m Glenda’s … cousin … Cindy.”

“Her cousin? Don’t remember seeing you at the wedding.”

“I wasn’t at the wedding. I was out of town.” I wondered if the Bronx was considered out-of-town?

“So, you came with Jock and Glenda. Let’s find them.”

“Well, no. Mrs. Balfour has apparently caught a sniffle and Jock and Glenda were called to Rhode Island for tissue duty, you know? Before they left, they asked me to come in their place. Show support for the cause, and all that.”

“Yes, yes. Of course. How kind of you.”

“I wasn’t, however, planning to stay long, as I don’t know anyone here.”

“I fully understand. These things can be quite boring. May I escort you into dinner? Then you will know at least one person.”

“Oh, please. Don’t bother.”

“No bother at all. In fact, you are the one who is doing me a favor. If I let you go, well, … you know.”

With an exaggerated flourish, he offered his arm and escorted me to table eight. Four of the other six chairs were already occupied. I recognized Mrs. Phillips who was a regular at Glenda’s tea afternoons and stared at the empty plate before me.

“I was told Jock, and his new wife were joining this table. Jameson what are you doing here? Where is your poor mother? And I’m certain Cassandra is looking for you.”

“Good evening, Boots. I have it on good authority that the Balfour’s are unavoidably detained, and my mother has assured me on many occasions that she can function more than adequately without me.”

“Well, I never.”

Jameson took a large swallow of the wine the waiter had just poured and made a face.

“Come darling, I think we can find something better than this.”

Before I realized what happened, we left the table and rushed out of the museum where the gala was held. A town car and driver were waiting at the curb.

“Do you like Maxim’s? Shall we go there? Yes, let’s go to Maxim’s.”

Even as far out of town as the Bronx, I had heard of Maxim’s. One of the more, if not the most, sought-after restaurants in town. Jameson took it as a matter of course that a table was found immediately. A small table in a secluded corner. I was both too awed and enchanted by the busy restaurant that managed to maintain privacy for its customers, to pay attention to what Jameson ordered.

He patiently explained each dish, from frog legs to thinly sliced tongue on toast, and tripe and dandelion salad. All washed down with delicious sips of wine. I think I might have been a little too loud, orgasmic, maybe, over the tiramisu. I believe heads turned, but I had to have another bite. Each time I growled with passion. I listened to the stories he told me about escapades at school and adventures abroad. I told him about my family and life in the small town in Indiana where I had grown up.

After dinner he insisted that we’d go dancing. I tried to tell him no, thank you, but he took no notice and instructed his driver to find a club where we danced for hours. When, at last, we were back in the car, I slipped out of my shoes with a sigh. Jameson immediately reached down, placed my feet I his lap and massaged them.

He wanted to come up, see me to the door, he said, but I assured him that I would be perfectly fine and explained that as a guest in my cousin’s house, I did not feel comfortable bringing guests, especially when she was not at home. He pouted but didn’t press me further, then rallied and promised he’d see me soon. I smiled and nodded, but I knew better. He would forget he met me and move on to another Cassandra.

In the privacy of my room, I carefully put the dress away, ready for it to be sent to the dry cleaner’s tomorrow and slipped into bed.

Glenda returned to the apartment a little after noon the next day. Even though her mother-in-law was much better, Joaquin had decided to stay through the weekend. But Glenda, claiming to have appointments she could not cancel, came back to the city.

I was busy elsewhere in the apartment and did not hear the doorman announce a visitor, nor Glenda welcoming a guest. But when I passes through the hallway, my arms full of my employer’s lingerie, on my way to the laundry room, I saw him. The shoes, that were a perfect match to Glenda’s dress, dangled from his fingers.

And he saw me.

“There she is! Cindy, I came to … bring … the … What’s going on?”

“Cindy? This is Ella, my maid.”

“No, it’s not … Is it?”

Speechless, I stared at him. How could he be here? Why was he holding Glenda’s shoes in his hands? All of last night had been a dream, hadn’t it? Yes, I had found the discarded ticket in the trash after my employers left. Yes, I had looked in Glenda’s closet and fantasized what it would be like to pretend for one night. To see what life in the other lane would feel like. That’s all I had done, didn’t I? I had just dreamed the whole night. It couldn’t have been real.

When the service elevator stopped at the lobby level, I squared my shoulders and brazenly left the building through the Park Avenue entrance. All I had to do now was find another job even though I didn’t have proper references.