The Cotillion

Gus deftly pulled the limo around the main fountain missing the other vehicles by inches. The building was called 'The Fountains.' Though I had driven past the front gate before, I could never see over the hedge grove that bordered the property. It was luxurious. Three story high roman columns stood sentry along the long stone porch. To each side of the grand entry steps, lay expertly trimmed bushes that were dotted with red flowers. Light shone through the tall windows, driven by elegant chandeliers that I could just make out since the main floor was raised a good ten steps higher than the drive. Finely dressed people, mostly couples were climbing the steps and heading toward the entrance.

Jag moved quickly to open my door. He was smiling as I exited, happy that his father's eyes were finally pointed elsewhere. I straightened my dress as I stood and did a quick turn around. "How do I look?" I asked Jag.

"Beautiful, Ms. Thompson," Jaq replied, with a tinge of desire. More flirting. For his benefit and because I couldn't stop it, I smiled honestly. I saw his cheeks go red again. It was all the encouragement I needed. "We will be parked near the walkway," Jaq added, pointing off to the side where a brick walking path terminated.

"Thank you, Jaq," I replied. I took a deep breath, straightened my shoulders and started up the stairs.

There is something about walking into a new experience where past knowledge was useless and perceived scrutiny is high. It raises the heart rate and increases stupidity. My heart went into overdrive as I pulled my phone from my purse. It took three tries to type in the long password that I no longer thought humorous. A well-dressed doorman scanned the invite off the phone and waved me inside with a smile. I almost tripped over the threshold.

I bypassed the coat check table and walked slowly into the ballroom. I was a fish out of water. People were gathered in small groups around the rim of the dance floor. There were small waist high tables scattered about that most of the groups had gravitated to. Waiters and waitresses roamed taking orders and delivering drinks. I had thought myself lonely before. I was desolate now.

Standing in the entryway seemed conspicuous and the last thing I desired was to be seen as obviously lost. I fought off the idea of running back to the limo. I moved slowly into the room, fighting the fear I knew was irrational. I set a goal. Find the bathroom I would eventually need. It let me move with more of a purpose.

"What a lovely dress." The comment came as I passed one of the small occupied tables. I questioned whether it was directed to me and turned my head late in response.

"Truly lovely," A second speaker stated. She was a mature woman oozing sophistication. Her smile seemed honest though her posture was starched proper. Her friend, I suspected the initial speaker, stood a little more cavalier though her jewelry spoke of years of wealth. Both were in conservative, but appealing gowns.

"Thank you," I stammered. My feet stopped oddly out of sync with my turn. I was both happy that someone had spoken and nervous that I may enter into a conversation out of my league. The cavalier women smiled and covered a small chuckle with her hand.

"Stop it, Betty," Ms. Sophistication scolded, "she is nervous enough." She turned to me, gracing me with a warm smile. "You look like you may need a friend. Would you like to join us for awhile?" I had never heard kinder words in my life.

"Yes, very much," I said with more enthusiasm than appropriate. Betty's smile became inviting as she made room for me to slide up to the table. I saw they both had glasses of wine untouched in front of them. They may have just arrived.

"I am Ruth and this, of course, is Betty," Ms. Sophistication said, "and you are?"

"Cindy," I replied, happy that I had enough sense to not say Ella.

"I gather this is your first shindig," Betty said, ignoring the scowl on Ruth's face. Betty was a straight forward woman who didn't hide her intentions. She moved quickly to the point and wasn't overly concerned with niceties. I liked her.

"Yes," I said, more in my element with Betty, "this event is a lot nicer than I am used too."

"Well you certainly dressed for attention," Betty complimented. Another scowl from Ruth. "you'll have those boys eating out your hand." I suppressed a laugh.

"I'm not really here to find a man," I admitted, "it is more of a small revolt. I was told I couldn't go and I decided I could."

"Never let them tell you no," Betty insisted, jabbing her finger on the table to emphasize the point. "I like you already."

"But be pleasant when you do it," Ruth said softly, trying to counter Betty's aggressiveness.

"Would you like something to drink?" A waitress had snuck up behind me.

"Yes," I replied. At $5,000 a ticket, I should drink a few gallons. "some wine would be nice."

"Red or white?" The waitress queried. I had no idea how to answer. It depended upon how sweet the wine was. I was always partial to whatever was on sale and had a screw off top. I knew I was thinking too hard when Ruth jumped in.

"Why not try both," Ruth said, nodding to the waitress, "then you can decide your flavor for the night." I didn't even know that was an option. I looked up hopefully at the waitress, but she had already moved on, Ruth's suggestion taken as the order.

"Thank you," I said, smiling at her diplomacy.

"Excess is always the main theme at these things," Ruth instructed, "never fear to ask for what you want. It is expected."

"Ugh, those Tremaine girls are here," Betty said, her eyes pointing to the entrance. I took a quick look at my stepsisters and their mother. I had to admit they looked good. If they kept their mouths shut, they might attract a few men. "Those two have been hunting for gold the last four events," she continued. My face reddened. How much of my money were they using to fund their safaris?

"Hunting?" I asked, keeping my back to my sisters. I knew the answer, but I wanted to keep the conversation going. I enjoyed stepsister gossip.

"Husband hunting, my dear" Ruth replied quietly, "they aren't very good at it. Hard to get is not in their repertoire." I stifled a laugh. Betty didn't quiet hers.

"Sorry, Love," Betty apologized into Ruth's scowl, this time hiding her smile. I was surprised how she said it. It sounded like she meant it. "It's their mother that eggs them on," Betty continued in a whisper, "she was somewhat successful in her hunting," she shrugged her shoulders, "like mother like daughters." That was an astute observation. My stepmother was very successful. Too successful. Maybe I owed my stepsisters some slack. Like me, it's not their fault they were saddled with Agnus.

A waiter stopped by offering small plates with mixed hors d'oeuvres. Ruth accepted one for the table along with a set of cloth napkins. The waitress followed a moment later with my red and white wine. I sipped the red, cringed at the bitterness I wasn't expecting. The white was a lot sweeter with a nice fruity finish.

"Looks like the white appeals to you," Ruth said, smiling at my taste testing. I must have made quite a face when I tried the red.

"I guess my palette is uneducated," I said, trying to sound suave in my ignorance.

"Nonsense, " Betty said, "your tongue knows what it likes." I saw Ruth send a smile Betty's way. I began to notice they shared a lot of special looks. They must be friends from way back.

The snacks were to die for. All were finger food, the napkin your only plate. I watched Ruth bite into some kind of roll, holding the napkin daintily under her chin. I copied the movement when I bit into a cracker with some kind of seafood concoction. It melted in my mouth. A tangy mix with a hint of sweetness, crab I think, offering a soft texture against the cracker. The real problem with assortments of hors d'oeuvres, there isn't enough of the ones you really like. The seaweed and rice roll was pretty good, but the crab cracker was my favorite.

While we were sampling the food, Ruth and Betty were giving me an education about the families present. The Gildersons, old money made prior to the civil war in the slave trade. They gathered as a group after pushing three of the small tables together. The Wilkersons, newer money made by owning many local radio and television stations. They were a rather loud crew and seemed to be laughing more than talking. The list went on as I began to lose track of the names and occupations. Ruth and Betty were an encyclopedia of family knowledge.

"Excuse me, Miss," Betty said, waving down one of the roving waitresses.

"Yes, Ma'am."

"Those crab crackers, what are they called?" Betty asked.

"Crab on a Cracker, Ma'am," the waitress replied with a smile that wasn't insulting.

"Of course," Betty smiled back, "can we get a plate of those and another glass of white wine." Betty and Ruth were handling me. It was going to be a better evening than I thought. "and thank whoever is making the Crab on a Cracker."

"Yes, Ma'am," the waitress nodded before she headed off.

"Thank you," I said to Betty. Ruth beamed at Betty with pride. My mouth moved before my brain could stop it, "are...you two...a couple?" I wished I could take it back as soon as I said it. I was sure my cheeks were turning red.

"For thirty years, dear," Ruth said with a soft smile. I was so thankful I was right. Some might find the insinuation insulting. Ruth and Betty shared a look that only a couple would understand. I raised my almost empty glass.

"To thirty more years," I toasted. Ruth laughed and didn't scowl when Betty joined her. I was at the perfect no-pressure table. Our glasses clinked and we drank to their years. I was then treated to their history, difficult courtship, family trauma and finally the inevitable acceptance by all. It was a good tale that we were able to share many Crab on a Cracker over. More than once they had me laughing. The third glass of wine didn't hinder the amusements.

"Those are the Charmings, of the Boston Charmings," Ruth said, her eyes leading to the entryway, "Daniel and Rebecca. They are the ones who sponsored this ball. Lots of old money, railroads and stockyards." I looked over at the man and women who entered with strong smiles. Many of the guests turned and greeted them as they entered. They seemed comfortable with each other, every now and again they would find a reason to touch each other, be it hand to hand or hand to shoulder during a chuckle. "That's their son Peter." I nearly spilled my drink.

Peter was my flat-tire Peter. My-breasts-are-beautiful Peter. I felt my face flush as I turned away quickly. I couldn't possible face him. He had seen me practically naked and he knew me as Ella. I tried to suck my breasts into my chest. I downed the rest of my wine and took a deep breath. I wasn't sure I could stay knowing he might see me. Damn he looked good, somehow taller out of the rain.

Thankfully, the band started to warm up. The sounds distracted the ladies from my obvious surprise at seeing Peter. The warm up sounded like the band tended toward a brassy swing. I wasn't sure I could hold my own with that kind of dance. That and Peter, I was as uncomfortable as when I first entered.

"Cindy," Ruth said, waiting for my eyes to acknowledge her "you're looking a bit pale. Are you feeling okay?"

"Fine," I said, after letting out the breath I was holding. I forced a smile to my lips, trying desperately not to look back at Peter. I was waiting for the shout 'Hey, aren't you the naked tire girl.'

"We have to find you a first dance," Betty said, "someone polite who will keep his hands to himself." Sisters - that's how I saw Betty and Ruth. I never really thought of Anastasia and Drizella as sisters. We never really cared what happened to each other. Betty and Ruth seemed to have adopted me as their own.

"George would be happy to do it," Ruth said, "and a nicer guy you couldn't meet. He might spend a few minutes describing his stamp collection, but he'll move on if he sees your bored." Peter's hair looked softer now that it was dry. I glanced back briefly to verify. His eyes met mine. I snapped my head back. "What do you think, Cindy, do you want us to fix your first dance?" George wasn't Peter so it was better than embarrassment.

"Ahh, sure," I agreed, half-heartedly, "I'm not sure if I can dance well to swing."

"Just smile, Dear," Ruth chuckled, "men just want to think you're pleased with them." Ruth headed off, I assume to gather George.

"Peter Charming is not hard on the eyes," Betty said, her eyes alive with humor. She saw right through me.

"Who?" I stalled. I couldn't believe Betty was putting things together so quickly.

"Mr. tall, dark and dreamy," Betty said with a laugh, "the guy who has you all flustered."

"He doesn't know me," I said quickly. Too quickly. The ridiculous statement had a desperate tone to it.

"I could change that," Betty said, her smile turning evil mixed with teasing.

"Please don't," I begged. Betty lost her smile, examining my desperate expression. Her eyes softened and her shoulders relaxed.

"I'm only teasing," Betty said, her voice relaxed, "He's kind of a loner anyway." I knew she sensed my apprehension and was letting her kidding drift away.

"Loner?" I asked. Her statement surprised me. Loners don't pull off to the side of the road in a rainstorm and help people with their flat tires.

"He's some kind of computer genius," Betty informed me, "he isn't living off his trust fund like half the people here. Of course, building a personal fortune requires work and work requires time. From what I understand, he is married to it. Not that a lot of women haven't tried to change that."

"What's he doing here?" I asked.

"Hard to tell your mother no, I suppose," Betty chuckled, "she is still hopeful for grandchildren to spoil." I had to smile. My real mother, had she lived, would have wanted the same. My father would have been satisfied with happy and Agnus would prefer me out of the picture, something I meant to deny her.

"Here comes George," Betty said, pointing with her wine glass. I turned to find a well-dressed man approaching with a large smile. He was escorting Ruth, her arm entwined with his. His nose was speckled with prominent freckles that went well with his neatly cut red hair. More cute than handsome, his smile was welcoming. I found myself trying to copy it.

"Cindy Thompson, may I introduce George Gilder," Ruth said. George's eyes found mine, he held them with confidence.

"Ruth informs me you need a partner for the first dance," George said. His voice was unexpected. Deeper than his face advertised, more like a network anchorman. "I would be honored if you allowed me." Ruth was beaming. I assumed she had a special liking for George. I couldn't say no if I wanted to, and I didn't want to.

"That would be lovely," I replied, trying my best to assume the speech patterns from Downton Abbey. George's smile grew.

"How's the family, George?" Betty inquired in her trailer park way.

"Wonderful, Betty," George said and moved himself to the table between us. His eyes traveled from face to face as he talked, seemingly including us all. "My sister had her baby. A girl she named Wilhelmina after our grandmother. So, I'm an uncle now." The conversation went deep into his family that Ruth and Betty seemed to know well. Normally, my mind would have drifted away, but George made it a point to include me and had me laughing at some of the histories. He was a charming guy.

"I think that's our cue," George said as the band started the first song. He held out his hand and I felt more than comfortable taking it. Luckily, it was a slower song, more big band than swing. The sax was nicely melodic. George led me to the floor, taking my right hand in his left and placing his right hand lightly around my waist.

"I have instructions to show you off," George said, "I am thinking I may just keep you for myself." I laughed at the humor in his eyes. "There's a lot of people wondering who you are."

"I'm nobody really," I said, my smile frozen to my lips. He spun me around so I was facing back the way we came. It was easy to follow his lead.

"Take a look at the girls," George said. I knew he meant Ruth and Betty. There was a small crowd around them. "See, your popularity grows. They're all wondering who the beautiful woman is." I looked back at George. He meant beautiful. My face heated up. "Blushing just makes it prettier," he added. His laugh was so forgiving I had to join him.

George was a wonderful dancer. He seemed to know when I might stumble and moved in a way to absorb the errors. He floated me around the floor as he pointed out people, warning me about some and complimenting others. His joke about my stepsisters was most amusing. We danced right by them and my stepmother without an inkling of recognition. Ella wasn't beautiful, but Cindy was.

"You're a wonderful dancer," I said as the song was winding down.

"All due to my mother," George said, "she insisted I take dance lessons for many years." He leaned in close to my ear, "I think she expected it would get her grandchildren quicker."

"How's that working for you?" I joked.

"My tastes don't lean toward women," George said, without a hint of it being uncomfortable.

"Ahh," I said, "and may I say we women are most disappointed." I came to fancy dance and the first three people I meet are gay. It was strange and somewhat comforting. No pressure to be anything but friendly.

"Thank you, Cindy," George said honestly. He spun me around, making my gown billow out in a most wonderful way. "I can see why Ruth likes you." The music stopped and so did we. After a brief applause, he escorted me, arm in arm, back to the ladies. The people surrounding them drifted off as we approached.

"Thank you, George," I said, my smiling emphasizing the point, "I really enjoyed the dance."

"As did I," George replied, "I need to make the rounds, but I would love a repeat sometime later tonight if I may."

"Absolutely," I agreed. I felt so pretty with him leading. I wanted to feel like that again. He nodded with his smile and excused himself.

"George is such a nice guy," I said to Ruth and Betty, "and what a dancer."

"He is perfect for a first dance," Ruth said, "a gentleman who knows how to make a woman look good." It wasn't hard to agree to that. I lost my smile when I saw Peter Charming from across the room. His eyes were on mine and he was walking toward the table. I looked away quickly, pretending I didn't notice, as embarrassment rose to the surface. I was sure he recognized me. I turned away, trying to find a place to move off to and avoid the confrontation. I rotated right into a sharply dressed man who begged my forgiveness even though it was I who bumped him.

"William Douglass," the man introduced himself with a smile, "I understand you are Cindy." Word was traveling fast. William had a set of bushy sideburns that reminded me of some of our ex-presidents from way back. Everything was neat and clean, but I had a strong desire to take a razor to those sideburns.

"Yes," I said smiling. anything was better than facing Peter, "it's very nice to meet you."

"Do you think I might have this dance?" William asked. It was a question, but the way he worded it I don't think he expected a no. With Peter on his way, it was as good an escape as any.

"I would be delighted," I replied. He held out his arm and I wrapped mine through it. Escorted, I moved to the dance floor and away from the impending embarrassment.

The tune was a bit livelier than when I danced with George. William kept it sensible, but did teach me a few spinning moves that were fun once I got the hang of it. He didn't have half of George's dancing skill, but he made up for it by ignoring my mistakes and laughing with me while I learned.