but she rather liked that about him. Still she had a
feeling she was drifting into dangerous waters and that she needed
to steer back to the safer ground of her balloons. Yet she could
not resist asking, "And what about you? Are you courting that Mrs.
Van Hallsburg?"
“Good lord, no. Not her or anyone else. I'm
not the marrying kind."
"Neither am I," Rory replied.
He smiled and held up his glass. "Then let's
drink to that."
Rory clinked her glass against his although
she was not exactly sure what they were toasting. He had a glint in
his eyes that made her feel more tingly than the champagne bubbles.
She drained her wineglass and warmth coursed through her to the
very tip of her toes. It was a most delicious sensation.
I'm getting a little drunk, she thought. She
had enough sense to realize that, but not quite enough to resist.
Zeke began to question her again, about her home, her family. She
found herself telling him the most absurd things about life on
McCreedy Street, how she slept on the fire escape when the weather
got too hot, about spearing fresh pickles from the big barrel in
front of Hoffmeier's Deli, how she liked to ride her bicycle on
Riverside Drive of a Sunday.
She knew she was talking too much, but he
seemed so interested, drinking in every word. Interested and
something more. That odd sad stillness had crept into his eyes
again, a look almost of longing.
When her dessert was placed before her, Rory
left it untouched. She had drunk too much and eaten too little, but
she didn't care. She was feeling exceedingly mellow and strangely
tender toward Zeke Morrison. When he urged her to tell him more
about ice skating in Central Park with her father, she shook her
head.
"You can't really want to know about all the
simple things I do. It must be completely different from life on
Fifth Avenue."
"Yes, it is," he said. "It all seems so far
away."
Far away? That was a peculiar way of
describing it. But she let that thought go, more touched by how sad
he sounded.
"It doesn't have to be that way," she said.
"You're a millionaire. You can do anything you want to. You don't
have to waste all your time in places like this—"
She broke off, horrified. She didn't want him
to think she was ungrateful, criticizing. But he was quick to take
her up on her unfinished remark.
"You mean Delmonico's? You don't like
it?"
“It's very grand. But the waiters do tend to
hover a lot and all the other people-"
"Yes?" he prompted.
She hesitated before blurting out, "They
remind me of a flock of turkeys all stuffed and dressed for
Christmas."
She feared he might be offended, but he
laughed, his eyes twinkling with amusement.
"You astonish me, Rory Kavanaugh. I thought
all girls dreamed of being wined and dined at Delmonico's."
"No, that's not what I dreamed of. She
propped her chin on her hand. "I always imagined supping at some
quiet little restaurant, then going to the theater to see a
melodrama. And after, perhaps going to one of the music halls,
dancing my feet off until the sun came up."
"The night is still young yet, Aurora
Rose."
The suggestive note in his voice snapped Rory
out of her fantasy with a start. "Oh, no, I couldn't stay out any
later. I have to get down to the warehouse. Tony, my balloon-"
But Zeke didn't appear to be listening. He
signaled the waiter to bring him the check, and then stood,
extending one hand down to her. But it wasn't his fingers that
beckoned so much as the smile lurking in his eyes.
"Come on, Aurora Rose," he said. "Let's get
out of here."
The dance hall that Zeke escorted Rory to was
located at the lower end of Twenty-second Street. It was not one
that he had ever frequented, but close enough to his former haunts
to render him a little edgy. Chances were good he might run into
someone who would recognize him from the old days.
So what, he thought with a shrug. He was
hardly a wanted criminal or anything. As he leaped down from the
carriage, he stared at the dance hall's brick
feeling she was drifting into dangerous waters and that she needed
to steer back to the safer ground of her balloons. Yet she could
not resist asking, "And what about you? Are you courting that Mrs.
Van Hallsburg?"
“Good lord, no. Not her or anyone else. I'm
not the marrying kind."
"Neither am I," Rory replied.
He smiled and held up his glass. "Then let's
drink to that."
Rory clinked her glass against his although
she was not exactly sure what they were toasting. He had a glint in
his eyes that made her feel more tingly than the champagne bubbles.
She drained her wineglass and warmth coursed through her to the
very tip of her toes. It was a most delicious sensation.
I'm getting a little drunk, she thought. She
had enough sense to realize that, but not quite enough to resist.
Zeke began to question her again, about her home, her family. She
found herself telling him the most absurd things about life on
McCreedy Street, how she slept on the fire escape when the weather
got too hot, about spearing fresh pickles from the big barrel in
front of Hoffmeier's Deli, how she liked to ride her bicycle on
Riverside Drive of a Sunday.
She knew she was talking too much, but he
seemed so interested, drinking in every word. Interested and
something more. That odd sad stillness had crept into his eyes
again, a look almost of longing.
When her dessert was placed before her, Rory
left it untouched. She had drunk too much and eaten too little, but
she didn't care. She was feeling exceedingly mellow and strangely
tender toward Zeke Morrison. When he urged her to tell him more
about ice skating in Central Park with her father, she shook her
head.
"You can't really want to know about all the
simple things I do. It must be completely different from life on
Fifth Avenue."
"Yes, it is," he said. "It all seems so far
away."
Far away? That was a peculiar way of
describing it. But she let that thought go, more touched by how sad
he sounded.
"It doesn't have to be that way," she said.
"You're a millionaire. You can do anything you want to. You don't
have to waste all your time in places like this—"
She broke off, horrified. She didn't want him
to think she was ungrateful, criticizing. But he was quick to take
her up on her unfinished remark.
"You mean Delmonico's? You don't like
it?"
“It's very grand. But the waiters do tend to
hover a lot and all the other people-"
"Yes?" he prompted.
She hesitated before blurting out, "They
remind me of a flock of turkeys all stuffed and dressed for
Christmas."
She feared he might be offended, but he
laughed, his eyes twinkling with amusement.
"You astonish me, Rory Kavanaugh. I thought
all girls dreamed of being wined and dined at Delmonico's."
"No, that's not what I dreamed of. She
propped her chin on her hand. "I always imagined supping at some
quiet little restaurant, then going to the theater to see a
melodrama. And after, perhaps going to one of the music halls,
dancing my feet off until the sun came up."
"The night is still young yet, Aurora
Rose."
The suggestive note in his voice snapped Rory
out of her fantasy with a start. "Oh, no, I couldn't stay out any
later. I have to get down to the warehouse. Tony, my balloon-"
But Zeke didn't appear to be listening. He
signaled the waiter to bring him the check, and then stood,
extending one hand down to her. But it wasn't his fingers that
beckoned so much as the smile lurking in his eyes.
"Come on, Aurora Rose," he said. "Let's get
out of here."
The dance hall that Zeke escorted Rory to was
located at the lower end of Twenty-second Street. It was not one
that he had ever frequented, but close enough to his former haunts
to render him a little edgy. Chances were good he might run into
someone who would recognize him from the old days.
So what, he thought with a shrug. He was
hardly a wanted criminal or anything. As he leaped down from the
carriage, he stared at the dance hall's brick
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