Page 4 of Letters From Victor

I raised an eyebrow, intrigued. “An actress, you say? I can certainly picture that. You have a face made for the camera.”

Frank chuckled nervously. “Yes, well, Barbara’s put that life behind her now that we’ve settled down.” He reached over and patted her hand.

Barbara’s smile tightened. She gently pulled her hand away under the pretense of reaching for her champagne glass. “It does feel like another lifetime,” she agreed, taking a delicate sip. Her eyes met mine over the rim of her glass, and I swore I saw a flicker of wistfulness in their blue depths.

3

BARBARA

Amber light glinted off the ice in Victor’s bourbon. The cubes spun around each other, stirred by his strong but oddly supple fingers wrapped around the glass. He tossed back the rest of his drink in one swift motion. The glass clinked against the table as he lifted a cigarette to his lips with his other hand. Eyes closed, he took a long drag, the ember flaring orange at the tip. Then he leaned back and flicked the cigarette with his index finger, gray ash falling into an ornately carved white marble ashtray.

“Barb?”

Startled, I glanced to my right. Frank looked at me expectantly, his eyebrows slightly raised. “Sorry,” I replied, shaking my head. I smiled sweetly at him. “I was lost in thought.”

“Dorothy was asking about Frank Junior,” Frank summarized, placing a hand on the back of my chair.

“Oh, of course.” I shifted my gaze across the table to Dorothy, Victor’s wife. She was a brunette with a heart-shaped face. Her green dress was a shade small and hugged her bust a little too tightly. “Frankie is two now. He eats everything in sight and is outgrowing whatever I put him in.” I paused, desperatelysearching my memory of our earlier conversation for their daughter’s name. “And Margaret?”

Dorothy beamed. “She’s becoming quite the young lady. She’s in the third grade now, and I don’t know what I’m going to do with myself.”

The five-piece band across the dining room started another song. Our waiter, tuxedoed with white gloves, approached the table. Frank ordered something for the two of us, along with another drink, and I excused myself to the ladies’ room.

Once there, I let out a long breath through pursed lips. The ladies’ room was empty, save for me, and quiet, save for the muted music and ambient chatter filtering in from the dining room. I leaned back against the black-and-cream brocade wallpaper, closed my eyes, and let out another long, controlled breath.

The door squeaked quietly, and I jerked my body upright and my eyes open as Dorothy entered, her drab brown pumps unsteady on the high-pile crimson carpet. “You all right, Barbara?”

I smiled. “Yes, just needed to freshen up a little.”

Dorothy plopped her clutch on the counter and pushed at the bobby pins in her hair. She made eye contact with my reflection in the mirror. “You know every man in this place can’t keep their eyes off you.”

“Hardly.”

“It’s true. You’re blonde with one hell of a figure. How on earth did you manage to get your waistline back after the baby? Margaret’s eight, and I’m still trying to find mine.” She dabbed her forehead and nose with pressed powder.

“I guess I’m just lucky.”

“I’ll say!” She clicked her compact closed and tossed it back into her clutch. “There’s bound to be a lot of jealous wives everytime you walk by.” She surveyed me in the mirror before digging out a lipstick tube from her bag.

I walked over to the sink to stand beside her. Even in heels, her head only came up to my shoulder. I smoothed my black dress and adjusted the leopard-print belt and matching wide lapel. “I’m sure I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

She leaned in close to the mirror to apply her grapefruit-colored lipstick.

I stared at my reflection, meeting Dorothy’s gaze in the mirror, as a woman’s rendition of Bing Crosby filtered through the closed restroom door. The air between us crackled with tension. I knew what she was implying, but I refused to acknowledge it.

I smiled tightly. “We should probably head back. The boys will be wondering where we are.”

Dorothy smacked her lips and dropped the lipstick back into her clutch with a clatter. “Of course. We wouldn’t want to keep them waiting.” Her tone was saccharine, but her eyes were hard, calculating.

I led the way out of the ladies’ room, feeling Dorothy’s stare boring into my back. As we wove through the tables, I was acutely aware of the appreciative glances from the men we passed. I held my head high, ignoring the whispers and the envious looks from their dates.

4

VICTOR

Barbara glided across the dining room floor with a natural grace, the satin of her black dress shimmering and shifting over her lithe figure. The fabric clung to the soft curve of her backside, drawing admiring glances from the men she passed. My stomach tightened at the thought of lesser men’s eyes on her.

Frank nursed his martini, fidgeting with the olive spear. He didn’t even give Barbara a second glance as she walked away.

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