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When it came time to leave, the spell broke. I’d had my magical moment, now reality was calling. Cinderella had to go back home and turn into a pumpkin. At least I’d have this memory to look back on; the best birthday I’d had since I was a little kid.
We stood outside the restaurant, caught in that awkward moment when neither person quite knows how to say goodbye. Should I thank him? He probably didn’t even know what he’d done—made a curvy girl feel normal, like someone actually wanted to spend time with her on her birthday.
Then there was the singing. I would never have had the courage to do that on my own... or to stand up to Dan either. Though Chase hadn’t even been there, just knowing there was someone in the room who thought I was worthwhile—who wanted to buy me a drink, not the other way round, and supported my dreams, not tore them down—well, I’d had a taste of what real relationships must feel like.
A stranger had been kinder to me than my own boyfriend ever was. Though Chase might be out of my league, it had made me realize that I was out of Dan’s. How could I thank him for that?
I wished I had the courage to say what was in my heart. I wondered if there was a way to express myself without sounding like an idiot. He was so much more sophisticated than I was. He must have heard it all, seen it all, done it all before.
“So...” I shifted my weight from one foot to the other, hands in my coat pockets.
Chase smiled. “I’m glad I happened to run into you at the bar tonight. You’ve given me a memorable evening.”
“You? Your evening has been memorable?” I laughed, throwing my head back. It might have been the champagne, but suddenly he was hilarious.
“What’s so funny?”
“Think about everything I’ve done tonight. I sang! In public! For the first time ever. And sure, it might not have been on a Broadway stage, but still—I didn’t die of fright. That’s huge!” I looked down, hands still in my pockets. “And... well, more than that too, I guess. You took a pretty lame birthday and made it really special. Thank you.”
He smiled. “You deserve it.” A cab pulled up in front of us, and his face fell. “I guess this is yours.”
I nodded, standing on my toes to kiss him on the cheek, then opening the door. “Thank you, again,” I said, moving to climb inside.
His hand suddenly grabbed the doorframe. “Wait!”
I looked up quickly. “Yes?”
“I have Judy Garland on LP, back at my house. Would you be interested in listening to it with me?”
A huge smile broke out on my face. “I’d love to.”
* * *
Chase’s brownstone was as beautiful as I’d imagined it would be. It faced Central Park, one of a long line of similar buildings. I’d always wondered at the sort of people who must live here. What sort of lives did they lead, that they could afford to have a home in such a beautiful, ritzy area? Now I knew at least one person that did.
The size of the manor made me do a double take. These things didn’t come cheap. What did Chase do for a living? Who bought an entire townhouse on Central Park to only visit occasionally?
“This is beautiful,” I said, as we walked inside. We were in a small foyer, with a gorgeous old coatrack in one corner, polished timber floors and those beautiful patterned cornices that you just didn’t get in modern houses, nowadays. It looked like much of the original architecture had been preserved.
“Do you want to take a look around?”
“I’d love to.”
Chase led me from the foyer through a formal dining room into the kitchen. It looked like it had been renovated, but when I asked he shook his head. “Actually, in these buildings the kitchen was originally in the basement. So it’s less renovated and more ‘brand new’. Cooking on the first floor would have been unthinkable when these were originally built—it would have been much too hot.”
The second floor was devoted to bedrooms. The bathrooms had obviously been renovated, but the bedrooms still had much of their original charm. Each had parquetry flooring in subtle patterns of dark and light timber, and that same beautiful plasterwork on the ceiling. The beds were modern, and the rooms were surprisingly large for a building so old. I eyed the master bedroom with just the smallest spark of hope when Chase led me to it, but we moved on quickly, as I’d known we would.
The third floor, when we walked up a broad staircase, Chase explained had once been a ballroom. We both laughed at that—the concept of a house having its own dance area. Then again, when I looked out the window at the lights of Central Park, this wasn’t a normal house.
Chase used the ballroom as an office and listening room, now. A desk piled high with papers looked out over trees and flowers. I giggled when I saw the kitten calendar sitting on a shelf; Chase explained with pride that his niece had given it to him for Christmas.
A rich red Turkish rug decorated the center of the room. Beyond it, and toward where we now headed, an old Chesterfield lounge set was grouped around a gramophone. This was where his sound system was located, obviously.
One entire section of the wall at this end of the house was lined with records; Chase strode toward it, pulling out the LP he had been telling me about on the cab ride here—the Judy at Carnegie album. He placed it on a turntable set into a corner. “What’s your favorite song?” he asked.
“Over the Rainbow,” I responded immediately. “No contest.”
“You have excellent taste.”
I closed my eyes as the song began, letting the sound wash over me. It was intoxicating. Her voice! I’d heard this song a hundred times before, but never like this on vinyl. There was so much emotion, so much power.
I leaned my head against the back of the sofa, soaking it all in. I didn’t care if I looked silly. By the time the song was over, I was nearly breathless. I opened my eyes slowly, as if waking from the most delicious spell. “Wow,” I breathed. “That was something.”
“Have you ever tried to sing that one?” he asked.
“Sure,” I laughed. “Tried being the operative word—no way I could touch her performance.”
We continued listening—a surreal experience. I’d never been with someone who could enjoy music just like I could—sitting with an almost euphoric expression, lost in the moment and the melody. “That note! That effing note!” Chase cried out when Judy Garland hit the finale of Swanee.
“She was still so good, even toward the end of her career,” I said, in awe of her. I looked at him, and we shared another smile.
I’d never felt so connected to someone before. Not Dan, certainly—we hardly had a thing in common. The only surprise there was why it had taken us so long to break up. Dan was... cute. Attractive, in a frat-boy type way. He was the sort of guy you paid attention to at a party, but not because he was quietly demanding your attention—rather, it was because he had a lampshade on his head and could chug a beer faster than anyone else. Anything for a laugh, that guy. The walking, talking posterchild for the theory that ‘life of the party’ and ‘huge embarrassment’ was only two beers apart.
Chase, now he was different. He laughed at life. He laughed at himself! He was secure in himself, too—the sort of person who didn’t have to prance around to get attention. He had a natural way of reaching out to a person, getting to know them. And he was genuinely interested in me! It had been a long time since anybody had been like that.
“What are you thinking?” Chase asked. He was looking at me with a quirk to his lips. “You just smiled—it lit up your face.”
I flushed. “Nothing you would be interested in.”
“Then maybe we could dance?”
“Oh.” This was something new. Did I want to?
He stood and pulled me up before I had had a chance to think any further. He moved the needle to play The Man That Got Away, a soulful jazz number that started brassy but soon settled into strong powerful lyrics about the power of a man to undo a woman. How appropriate. Shivers ran from my fingertips up to the nape of my neck. I was under his spell, now.
We kept our hands clasped, my right in his left. His other hand went around my waist, holding me tight. I laid my left hand on his shoulder.
I couldn’t look at him. I was too embarrassed and breathless all at once. We started moving, slowly, swaying back and forth. God, he was an amazing dancer. He led me, using pressure on my back to guide me to and fro. I found myself falling into step with him, holding him closer so I could keep up. I’d never danced like this before, didn’t even know what to call it. It felt like heaven, floating in his arms.
“Why do you keep looking down?” he whispered.
Because I’m afraid if I look at you I’ll melt, right here. Because nobody’s ever treated me like this before—like they want me, like I’m pretty, like I’m special. Because I’m afraid that if I look at you, I’ll fall for you. “I don’t know. I guess I’m shy.” I was blushing again, I knew.
“You can look at me. I won’t bite.”
I slowly, slowly raised my head. First, eye-level with his shoulder, then looking into his eyes. What I saw in them took my breath away.
We moved slowly around the floor, but I wasn’t concentrating on my feet any more. Gradually we slowed. And then we both drifted to a stop, still looking into each other’s eyes. He was holding me, his arm firmly around my waist.
He tightened his arm, drawing me in. Then he took my hand, still clasped in his, and draped it around his neck.
He touched my hair, so gently, running his hand over it. He stroked my cheek with the back of his fingers. I was breathless, now giddy on my feet. He whispered something to me, but I couldn’t hear it over the blood rushing through my ears. My heart was racing so fast I thought it might explode. Something was about to happen. Something huge.
When his face came closer to mine, I stopped breathing.