Gilded Age by Claire McMillan Page B

straws and sinking. “Where’d you get it?”
    Ellie winced. It was one thing for a woman to quietly inquire about a dress’s provenance, but a man? It was strange and aggressive. It put her on the spot if the dress was from Target, even worse if it was from Prada. “From my parents’ attic, actually. It was my grandmother’s.”
    Leforte laughed heartily, trying to cover his discomfort. “Digging in the attic, huh? The fancier the family, the more you’re allowed your eccentricities, I guess. Or maybe you just can’t afford a new one?”
    Ellie smiled a tight, close-lipped smile. He’d never understand the gradations of old Cleveland, she thought. Never be able to parse that the Hays were the tippity top, though they had no money, because they had given it all away. The Dagonets remained at the top because they retained their money, though one rung under the Hays. The Harts were just a nice old family that had produced some pretty women. Ellie’s dress was so old she kept hoping the seams wouldn’t disintegrate and cause the whole thing to fall off her. Her cousin Jack gave Ellie an apologetic smile. Selden shrugged off fromthe doorjamb and raised his empty glass at her, leaving to find another drink.
    Looking at Leforte’s bright lapis cufflinks compared to her cousin’s dull onyx shirt studs, Ellie was conscious then of an overwhelming need to find P. G. Gryce. She’d seen his broad shoulders moving through the crowds earlier.
    “Mr. Leforte,” Ellie said.
    “It’s Randy, please.”
    “Have you had any cake yet?”
    She took Leforte’s arm and started walking toward the terrace in search of Gryce. Leforte kept up a litany of questions and comments that she volleyed back with charm and wit. She was conscious of eyes following them questioningly and with amusement. And she was conscious of her companion’s satisfaction in being seen with her.
    The terrace was empty, and the whole place had the air of dispersal when she saw Viola Trenor slicing through the thinning crowds and heading right for them.
    “Come get a drink with me after this,” Leforte said low in Ellie’s ear.
    Before Ellie could answer, Viola swept her up in a breathless hug.
    “I just had to find you and tell you. P. G. and I, we’re engaged! He just asked me. It’s all so fast, but when it’s right, it’s right. I think cousin Vivian’s wedding just carried him away. I wanted you to be one of the first to know since you and P. G. are such friends. Look …” She flourished a massive emerald-cut diamond offset by two dark blue sapphires. “He even paid extra to make sure it wasn’t a blood diamond. The gold is recycled.”
    Ellie smiled her most brilliant smile. Viola’s face floated in front of her, red with joy and victory. P. G. hung in the background accepting congratulations from the people who would no doubt approve of joining two of Cleveland’s richest families. Ellie hugged her friend in congratulation. She widened her smile until her face hurt, telling herself that not all options were yet closed to her. There was still door number two. She turned to Leforte. “Yes,” she said. “I’d love to have a drink with you.”

• 10 •
    The Downtown
    I drove downtown on an overcast fall day, nearly winter, to meet Ellie at her new job. She’d been sending me e-mails asking me to come see her and her new boss, the fashion designer, for lunch in a renovated building across the street from the Cleveland Plain Dealer . The building had been a textile mill but now was filled with artists’ spaces, a theatrical company, a Pilates studio, and an Internet café. The building next door was a decaying warehouse, the windows smashed out and boarded up from the inside, the mortar crumbling.
    I’d rummaged together a pregnancy outfit. I’d only just outgrown my normal clothes, and now my choice was either to highlight the bump or wear a fashionable tent. I’d recently been rocking my mother’s djellaba from the seventies