No More Lonely Nights (56 page)

They whirled about the room, effortlessly attuned to each other’s rhythm. The slightest movement of his hand told her when to turn, when to pause, when to move forward. This is how it was meant to be, he thought. Except… except she wouldn’t meet his gaze. She looked over his shoulder, at his tie, his hair, anywhere but his eyes.

“Dominique…” he said. His voice was soft, appealing. If he said her name, she would have to look at him.

And she did.

Dominique, feeling strangely tentative, looked up from under her lashes. She expected to see the familiar laughter in Mark’s eyes, but for once they were serious. Her heart raced as she saw the determination there. She opened her mouth to speak. Then, flustered, closed it again. His unexpected intensity disconcerted her. She tried for a light laugh, but it sounded false. There was no place for it in the atmosphere between them. Her smile faded and she gazed squarely at Mark. His eyes pulled her in. She hadn’t the power to look away.

As the last note of the song faded, Mark held Dominique firmly in his arms. For a second, they stood that way. Then, reluctantly, he let her go.

Even after they stepped apart, their eyes remained locked.

Mark had to speak now, to seal the moment between them, before it faded from her memory, before she could shrug it off. “You’ll see me again, won’t you?” he asked. His voice sounded raspy, as though he were speaking for the first time that day.

Dominique thought of all the reasons why she shouldn’t. He was her friend. This would complicate their relationship. He might be trifling with her. It was a momentary attraction. She couldn’t bear being hurt again. She was better off on her own.

She looked into his eyes and said, “Yes.”

Monday morning, and Dominique basked in the praise of a circle of co-workers. They were intoxicated by the success of the gala and what it would mean to the company’s revenues. In the quarter hour before the meeting officially began, they clustered around Dominique, balancing cups of coffee and doughnuts as they patted her on the arm or shook her hand.

“I hope you saw the society page yesterday!” Felice told her. “You should cut it out and frame it!”

“It was on the TV news, Saturday and Sunday!” exclaimed another co-worker.

Dominique, flushed with gratification, thanked them. Best of all, she knew that Sylvia Brussels had to be pleased, despite the fact that the woman had avoided speaking to her on Saturday. In the rush and confusion of the good-byes and final cleanup, Dominique hadn’t noticed the omission. Then, shortly after two a.m., she had turned to look for Sylvia and found her engrossed in conversation with a diamond-draped platinum blonde whom Dominique recognized as one of Washington’s rich young matrons. Dominique knew that Sylvia would not welcome an interruption, so she had finished her business and gone home.

Now Sylvia was forgotten as Dominique laughed with her co-workers and relived the victories of the gala.

“Did you see the line at the realtor’s table? That was a stroke of genius!” said Frank Collier, one of the firm’s two male employees.

“The dinner was divine!” said the catering manager.

Dominique barely had time to respond to one compliment before another issued forth.

Suddenly the atmosphere in the room changed. One by one the voices of praise fell silent. Dominique saw that the others were looking at the door, and she turned and looked also, her neck already beginning to tense.

Sylvia’s petite frame seemed to fill the doorway like a beacon of ill-boding. When all eyes were on her, she strode into the room and dropped a pile of folders heavily on the conference table. “Let’s begin,” she ordered in a crisp voice. She opened one of the folders and propped her glasses on her nose. “First order of business: the reception for the Yves St. Laurent boutique.”

The meeting passed brusquely, efficiently, and without a word about the gala. At the end of the hour, Sylvia snapped closed the final folder and stood. “Thank you. That’s it,” she said, and marched from the room.

Dominique and her colleagues exchanged stunned glances. Dominique felt hot with embarrassment, though she knew she had the support of those around the table. With her silence, Sylvia had undermined Dominique’s entire effort.

“Well…” breathed Felice. She gave Dominique a look of commiseration. “You can be sure that Mrs. Filmore knows how wonderful the gala was. I mean, we had as much media coverage as a state dinner at the White House.”

Dominique nodded feebly, trying to take comfort in the words.

One by one, her colleagues rose from their chairs, murmuring about appointments and work to be done.

Dominique remained seated, too shocked and hurt to move.

Felice came behind her chair and put a comforting hand on Dominique’s shoulder. “Hey, don’t take it personally. She’s one of those people who can’t get a compliment past her lips.” She patted Dominique on the back.

Dominique stood up slowly and smiled at her friend. “You’re right.… I should just ignore this. Not let her get to me.”

“That’s the spirit!” said Felice, beaming.

“We’d better get back to work,” Dominique said in a disheartened voice.

Felice gave her a philosophical look. “How about drinks after work?”

“Pardon?” Dominique was distracted, her mind still on Sylvia. “Oh, oh sure.” She paused, gathering her bearings. “Six-thirty?”

Felice made a thumbs-up sign and left the room.

Dominique watched her go, then sat down again, her mind unable to let go of Sylvia’s insult. Dominique had thought that surely this time Sylvia would have to acknowledge her worth. But it was suddenly clear to her that nothing she could do would please her boss. Dominique’s insides churned with tension. Even more stress-inducing was the knowledge that she couldn’t afford to displease Sylvia. If only Mrs. Filmore were in the office more! If only Dominique had been at the firm a little longer, she could have searched for another job. But such a short stay—after a hiatus of a decade—wouldn’t look good on a résumé.

Dominique was trapped and she could think of no way out. She stared blankly at the table in front of her. After a moment, her eyes focused on the newspapers one of her colleagues had brought in. It was open to a page full of photographs from the gala. Dominique reached forward and pulled it toward her. Her spirits lifted as she read the captions. The evening had been an unqualified success! Nothing Sylvia did or said could take that away from Dominique.

With an air of resolve, she gathered up the papers and put them under her arm. She knew from reading the articles that her name was mentioned in none of them. But the clients knew she had been responsible, as did the dozens of people she had worked with to put on the affair.

Dominique’s chin was high as she headed to her office. Just as she reached it, the phone rang. She threw the papers on her desk and hurried to answer.

“Senator Patout on line three,” the receptionist told her.

Dominique inhaled sharply. Her heart pounding, she pressed the flashing button before she even sat down. “Mark, how are you?” She wanted to sound welcoming, but moderate. She kicked closed her office door, then brought the phone cord around the desk and sat down in her chair.

“What a great night! Everyone up here is still talking about it!” Mark sounded like a little boy at the circus.

“It wouldn’t have worked without such an esteemed guest of honor,” Dominique teased lightly. Then, in a tone of sincere gratitude, she said, “I don’t know how I can ever thank you for your help.” She smiled into the telephone.

“You can have dinner with me on Wednesday.”

A short, tense laugh escaped Dominique. The thought of actually going on a date again made her apprehensive. And yet, she enjoyed being with Mark—had always enjoyed it.

“Wednesday?” she repeated. “That… that sounds fine.”

“Good! I’ll pick you up at your place at seven.”

A wave of panic swept over Dominique. What would Gabrielle’s reaction be? Resentment? Outrage? Jealousy? And Solange? She’d probably be pleased, but full of unwanted advice. Dominique was tempted to say that she would meet Mark at the restaurant.

“Dominique, are you still there?”

Dominique swallowed. She wouldn’t be cowed into hiding her actions from her family. If they had objections, it was better to know now. “Let me give you my address.”

“Wednesday!” Felice squealed. “He didn’t waste any time.”

“Sssh!” Dominique quickly looked around. They were just emerging from their office building, and Dominique scanned the people around them to ensure that there were no familiar faces. When she saw there were not, she relaxed.

“Let’s run!” Felice said, pulling her coat around her. “It’s freezing!” She began to trot in the curious, mincing way of women in high heels.

Dominique kept pace beside her, shivering as the wind sliced into her. “Where are we going?”

“Let’s go over to Nathan’s. I have my car today.”

Dominique halted abruptly. “Nathan’s? That singles bar?”

Felice, a few steps ahead of her, jerked to a halt. She turned back to her friend with a startled look. “Haven’t you been there? It’s just a few blocks from your place.”

Dominique didn’t move. “I know.” She met Felice’s curious gaze. “It’s just that… I’ve never been to a bar like that without a man.”

Felice’s expression was, for a moment, frozen with disbelief. Then she twisted her face into a half-smile, put her hands on her hips, and said, “What are you telling me?”

Dominique was amused at her friend’s reaction. She took a few steps forward until they were standing side by side. With a gesture of her head, she indicated they should resume walking. “I mean…” she said with deliberation, “… that I never went to a bar unescorted.” A smile curved her lips. “That’s not the way things were done in New Orleans. And when I was young…” She let out a merry gasp indicating that such a thing would have been absolutely taboo.

“Are you saying you don’t want to go?” Felice’s tone was challenging.

“Mmm… no,” Dominique said obliquely. She gave her friend a sidelong glance. “But… what’s it like?”

Felice’s eyes sparkled. “Exciting! Music, a couple glasses of wine, and, most of all”—she looked at Dominique as though gauging her reaction—“men.”

Dominique’s eyebrows shot up. “And what do you do with these men?”

Felice gave her a smug smile. “Whatever I feel like, baby!” She turned her face so that she was looking straight into Dominique’s eyes. “You were tied down to that sorry husband of yours for too long.” Her smile turned wicked. “But you got divorced just in time to enjoy the sexual revolution.”

Dominique’s evening with Felice came back to her as she stood indecisively before her open closet. At Nathan’s two nights before, women had perched on bar stools in everything from braless knit dresses to leather miniskirts. They had looked sexy, provocative, commanding, and—Dominique couldn’t help thinking it—a little predatory. Dominique didn’t want to transmit any of those impressions on her first date with Mark.

After much riffling through her wardrobe, she settled on a soft black sweater-dress and crushy suede boots, an outfit that was fashionable, but by no means blatant. When she emerged from her room, she found her mother waiting for her at the foot of the staircase.

As Solange looked up at Dominique, two frown lines creased the space between her eyebrows. “You’re wearing that?”

Dominique kept her voice even. “Yes, Mother, I’m wearing this.”

Gabrielle, hearing their voices, emerged from the kitchen. She cocked her head and looked uncertainly at her mother.

Dominique studied her daughter’s face apprehensively. Gabrielle had said little when Dominique had announced her date with Mark earlier. In fact, she’d immediately changed the subject, as if she had not heard. Was it traumatic for Gabrielle to view her mother as an eligible, single woman? Dominique knew the girl liked Mark, but in the role of Dominique’s suitor?

Dominique met Gabrielle’s eyes. “What do you think of this outfit?”

Gabrielle’s face was closed. “Okay, I guess.”

“Why don’t you wear the red?” Solange’s tone was wheedling.

“Mother!” Dominique said with exasperation. “The red is too dressy.”

Gabrielle broke in, engaged in spite of herself. “I read in the society page that La Bagatelle is supposed to be a real cool restaurant. I think people get dressed up to go there.” She shrugged as if to say, Of course, I couldn’t care less what you wear.

Dominique tried not to show her relief at her daughter’s tacit acceptance.
Don’t get excited. There’s still a long way to go before Gabrielle’s comfortable with this. Handle it carefully.
When she spoke, it was in a casual tone, as though they had this sort of discussion every day. “I know La Bagatelle’s reputation.” She adjusted the high collar of her dress. “And I think this outfit is fine for a Wednesday night.” She gave Gabrielle a nod of acknowledgment. “But if it were a weekend, I’d agree with you.”

“Hmph.” Solange sniffed. With a haughty expression, she turned and went toward the sofa. She sat down and draped her skirt around her legs with elaborate care.

Dominique smiled. “You don’t want me to look desperate, do you?”

Gabrielle gave her a look of adolescent sarcasm. “Yeah, right! Like someone’s going to think you’re desperate.”

Dominique brushed Gabrielle’s cheek with her hand as she passed by her into the living room. “Thank you for the compliment, dear.” She settled into the easy chair near the couch.

Gabrielle came over and perched on the edge of the chair. It was an automatic gesture and Dominique was afraid to regard it with too much optimism. But at least Gabrielle wasn’t hostile. A few seconds of silence ticked by. Dominique held her breath as she waited for her daughter to break the tension. This was all so awkward! Finally, Gabrielle said, “Mark’s nice.” The remark was offered in a cautious tone. She wasn’t sure about the situation, her manner implied, but she liked Mark.

Solange gave Dominique a queenly nod. It was clear that she wanted to add something but was biting her tongue.

Dominique smiled at her mother, then looked at Gabrielle, her smile turning wary. “I wasn’t sure you two would approve of my going on a date…”