It was champagne pink with little glass beads, a very pretty little dress, but I hadn’t worn it in years. I’d thought I’d feel strange wearing it—as though I was betraying Hamp—but I didn’t. I did feel a renewed sense of his presence, but in a good way, almost protective.
What would he have thought of Sam? What did I think of him?
Seeing him with Selena had made me jealous. I’d never considered myself a jealous person, so sensing it now, especially after so many years of disinterest in men, was a surprise. But maybe that’s why I was so easily provoked, because I’d been alone so long.
Jealousy—or any emotion like it—was the last thing I needed. Being alone wasn’t fun, but it was simple. My life was uncomplicated and I wanted to keep it that way. Whatever was developing between Sam and me, I had to nip it in the bud.
Having decided, I quashed the pleasurable little thump my heart gave when the doorbell rang. I looked through my window to see him standing outside and told myself it didn’t matter what he thought about my appearance.
But I checked myself in the hallway mirror just the same.
The Savoy was uptown’s answer to downtown’s Roseland Ballroom. It had opened that March and become known as the “Home of Happy Feet.” The place was big. It took up the whole block between 140th and 141st Streets on Lenox Avenue and it held around four thousand people. But it wasn’t all that much to look at—not from the outside and not during the day. But at night, it was really something. You could see the bright, glowing lights of the marquee blocks away. It attracted all the majors: Cab Calloway, Fess Williams, Louis Armstrong, Duke Ellington, and King Oliver—they all played there.
It was nice inside, too. Had a real elegant lobby and the stairway to the ballroom was made of marble. Can’t get much nicer than that. The main room had a huge maple wood dance floor and twin bandstands. The bands swapped sets and the music never stopped.
That night, Fess Williams and his Royal Flush Orchestra were on one stage, Cab and his boys on the other. Fess was on at the moment, wearing a diamond and-ruby-studded suit and blowing his clarinet.
Sam had reserved one of the round-topped tables a step up from the dance floor, so we had a perfect view of the showstoppers. They used to call Saturday night at the Savoy “Square’s Night” because the place was packed with downtowners. The Saturday crowd was pretty ritzy all right, but Sunday’s had the real eye-catchers. On Sunday, Hollywood came to Harlem and the international jet set stopped by for a landing. It was a work night, and not so glamorous as the weekend, but the place was packed.
“It’s a good crowd,” Sam said with a practiced eye. Between us, we spotted Emily Vanderbilt, Princess Violet Murat, Peggy Hopkins Joyce, Osbert Sitwell, and Richard Bartholomew. We had a little contest to see who could spot the most high-hatters. Sam did well, but I did better.
With a smile, he said, “You do like your job, don’t you?”
“‘Course, I do. The glitter, the glitz—I love it—and the dirt underneath it doesn’t scare me.”
He raised reassuring hand. “Hey, it’s okay. I didn’t bring you here to probe your motives or try to get you to change jobs.”
“All right, then why did you ask me here?”
“Because I like you.”
He paused to see how I took such a blunt statement. I took it pretty well. Hid it well, I mean. Deep down, my stomach was doing the butterfly shake. I waited to see if there was more.
There was.
“Look. I know what went on before, with the last editor, how he …” He shifted uncomfortably. “Anyway, what I want to say is that I’m not like that.”
“I know.”
He looked relieved. “Good.”
“Why’d you feel the need to tell me that?”
“Well, I sensed you weren’t too happy about me giving Selena that cup of coffee.”
“She likes you.”
“Selena likes herself. No,” he reconsidered. “She loves herself.”
We chuckled. The waiter arrived with our drinks. Sam waited until the waiter left, then picked up where he’d left off.
“Selena’s got nothing that interests me. At the most, she’s entertaining.”
“And you like that kind of entertainment?”
“I’m a red-blooded male. What do you think?”
“I like men who know what they want … and who don’t dabble along the way.”
“Is that what you think might happen between Selena and me?”
“It’s none of my business.”
“Of course it is.” He paused. “At least, I’d like it to be.”
He saved me from my embarrassment and an awkward silence by saying, “Look, why don’t we stop talking and start shaking?”
“Oh, I don’t know. I—”
“C’mon.”
“Well, I … okay. But …” I cast a doubtful glance at a teenage girl and her boyfriend doing the shimmy on the dance floor. “I don’t think I can shake it quite as fast as she does.”
The Savoy attracted incredible dancers. In many ways it was better than a Broadway show, because it was improvised and ever changing and right up close. People cut loose, moving from pinwheel spins and breakneck turns to lifts and dips that made me dizzy just looking at them. It had been years since I cut the rug, so I knew I was rusty. But Sam turned out to be a good partner. He whipped off his tie and put it in his pocket. Before I knew it, we were laughing and working together to hit that downbeat.
When we dropped back into our seats, we were exhausted but grinning. The waiter had held our order while we were on the floor and now he brought it straightaway. Sam and I finished our drinks quickly and he ordered more. Conversation was light, just chitchat about the band and the dancers and Oscar Micheaux’s latest film.
It was good to talk about and think about something besides the Todd case. But the minute I realized we weren’t talking about it, I started thinking about it again.
“A penny for your thoughts,” Sam said.
“Oh, I’m sorry,” I said, realizing that I’d drifted off.
“Thinking about Esther Todd?”
I shook my head, hoping he’d drop the subject.
The band had slowed down the tempo and now swung into a soft, romantic tune.
“Let’s dance,” he said. He pushed back his chair, stood up and offered his hand.
I hesitated.
“C’mon,” he said gently. “Trust me.”
I looked up at him, and put my hand in his.
Only couples were on the dance floor now: men and women—some men and men and a few women with women—moving closely together as they swayed in place. Sam led me to a small circle of space at the heart of the floor. He guided me into a two-step and I rested my hand on his shoulder. He tried to draw me into his embrace, but I held myself away.
“Lanie, what is it? What are you so afraid of?”
I forced a little laugh. “According to you, I’m not afraid of anything. Aren’t you always telling me that I’m fearless?”
“You’re afraid all right. Of letting someone get close.”
I swallowed hard, but said nothing. With a gentle pressure in the small of my back, he urged me closer. “Relax, I’m not going to bite you.” He looked down and added mischievously, “Not yet, anyway.”
“Very funny.”
“There’s nothing funny about it. I’m quite serious.”
I decided to play along. “You bite women?”
“Only the sweet ones. It’s taking all my strength not to take a nibble off of you.”
“You wouldn’t dare.”
“Try me.” He smiled. “Now, come on, relax.”
His pressed my head against his chest. His shirt was damp with perspiration, but it was warm from his heat and his breast felt both strong and soft. He was the perfect height for me. My gaze traveled up to his throat. It was a strong pillar glistening with moisture. Then I caught myself dwelling on his lips and lowered my gaze again. This moment … was wonderful. Closing my eyes, I relaxed against him. He hugged me close and softly kissed me on the top of my head.
Two songs went by, two slow ones, before we sat down again. Unlike the last time, we weren’t giddy with laughter, but quiet and happy and maybe even relieved. Baby steps. That’s what we were taking. Baby steps. I swung an eye over the room of laughing couples, admiring how easy they found it to interact. I’d never dated before. With Hamp at my side, I’d never had to. Now, here I was, so ill at ease with what these kids took for granted. Then again, they didn’t know what was at stake, but I did and so did Sam.
The waiter appeared and asked if we’d like desert. I had a sudden yen for chocolate and Sam indulged me. He ordered a slice of chocolate cake for me, but nothing for himself.
“Can’t we share?” I asked.
He shook his head. “I’m fine. I’m getting all the pleasure I need from watching you.”
“Sam Delaney, I didn’t know you could be such a flirt.”
He shrugged. “Like I said, you should get to know me.” He offered me a cigarette, then lit himself one. We smoked quietly, our eyes on the swaying bodies on the dance floor, but conscious of each other. After a time, he got up. “Would you excuse me for a minute?”
“Sure.”
He disappeared into the crowd.
Watching him go, I realized that, baby steps or not, the sensations Sam inspired were unsettling. What had happened to my resolve to nip everything in the bud? And what was I thinking of, going out with my boss? Suppose things went wrong? I’d be out of a job. I stopped picking at my cake and laid down the fork, having managed to killed my appetite.
When he returned, I gazed up at him and knew he wasn’t the kind of man to fire me if something happened. But I was the kind of woman who might not want to stay. I couldn’t risk my job. It was all I had.
One look at my face and he said, “What’s the matter?”
“I’ve been thinking …”
“Lord help us,” he said. “My mother used to say that and whenever she did, my daddy knew he was in for it. What did I do wrong? Good grief, woman, I was only gone for a minute.”
It was hard not to smile. “Don’t make me laugh. This is serious.”
“I can tell. Now let me see. I’ve been gone exactly three minutes, just long enough for you to start worrying. Am I right?”
I nodded.
He continued. “What you want to say probably goes something like this: Maybe it wouldn’t be too smart for us to start something, because ‘A’...” He held up a hand and ticked off the points on his fingers. “I’m your boss and I might take it out on you if the relationship sours; ‘B’: I’m your boss and you’re thinking that even if I didn’t make you quit, you’d want to if the relationship sours; and ‘C’: It’s too soon after your husband’s death. Three years is just too soon. Thirty might be all right, but three is just out of the question.”
“All right. You’ve made your point. You must be a mind reader. I refuse to believe I’m that predictable.”
“You, predictable? You’re one of the most mysterious women I know, and if we were together for a million years, you’d still find ways to surprise me.”
It was hard not to feel touched. “But my concerns, they’re legitimate, aren’t they?”
“Sure they are. To be honest, they’re mine, too. And I’m not saying we should ignore them. I’m just saying we shouldn’t let fear be our guide. Now am I right?”
He was making me feel incredibly immature. He waited for my answer and I nodded. I had to agree with him.
“Let’s dance,” he said. He swung me out onto the dance floor and the magic took hold. This man knew how to move and my body moved along with him. All my fearful thoughts and sad memories faded in a whirl of motion. And when the music slowed, he spun me into his arms for a gentle swaying rhythm around the floor.
Thoughts of Esther Todd receded. But when I went home that evening, it wasn’t thoughts of Sam or of even Hamp that I took to bed. Nor was it their image that walked with me in my dreams.
It was Esther I saw, Esther and the dark shadow of a figure that stalked her.