Page 33 of The Daring Times of Fern Adair
“Today?” Patrice asked.
Fern remembered the time. It was already noon. “Well, maybe not.”
The line went quiet again. This had been a mistake. She wrung the cord around her finger, heat rushing to her ears.
“What about tonight?” Patrice offered. Fern pictured them sitting down to dinner somewhere in a fancy, well-lit restaurant and suddenly felt like closing her eyes and crawling into bed. What had she been thinking? She couldn’t do this.
“My friend’s fella is playing the bass at a cabaret,” Patrice explained. “If you like jazz.”
“Sure,” Fern answered. She could have said her friend was going to be the lead act in a circus juggling show, and she would have agreed. “That sounds like fun.”
At least, it had the potential to be. But already her nerves were itching.
“I can pick you up on my way,” Patrice said, sounding excited.
“What do I wear?” Last night, her dress had been too somber and plain. What did someone wear to a cabaret?
“Whatever glad rags you’ve got,” her cousin answered. “Do you still have that violet dress from a few months ago?”
Fern knew which one Patrice meant—the drop-waist, orchid silk dress was long-sleeved and unfashionably long, skimming her shins, but the peacock beading made up for it.
“I’ll wear it,” she told Patrice.
“Good. I’ll be by around nine.”
If Fern was going to back out, now was the moment. But there was no reason other than cowardice for her to call it off. Patrice would have known.Poor Fern,she’d tell Shirley, who was no doubt standing right there, listening.She’s too scared.
“Thanks, Patrice,” she heard herself saying.
“Sure thing. It’ll be a bang.”
They hung up, and Fern sat back in her mother’s chair, her fingers numb and white from where she’d wrapped the cord so tightly. Shewasscared. But there was something more behind the sick swell of nerves already churning in her stomach. A strange yearning. She didn’t know what to call it, but she’d felt it last night when Cal had taken her hand and pulled her along the Pier, ignoring every curious eye.
Fern bit the inside of her lip and launched out of the chair.
The orchid silk dress had come with a matching silk wrap, and as the clock struck nine, Fern brought it around her shoulders. With a shortened breath and her black beaded clutch, into which she’d put her tube of lipstick, money, and a key to the house, she left her room.
Fern worked hard to convince herself that she wasn’t nervous—and even harder when she met her mother on the staircase. Taking in a loud, surprised breath through her nostrils, her mother paused on the steps to stare at Fern’s dress.
“You’re going out?”
Fern stepped smoothly past her. “Patrice is picking me up in a minute.”
“Patrice?” Her head turned to follow Fern, but she remained rooted on the step. “Your cousin, Patrice?”
“Yes,” she said as blithely as possible. “I’m not sure when I’ll be back.”
“Oh.” Surprise turned her mother’s voice breathy. “All right. Well…do have a good time. But Fern…”
The staircase curved, bringing her mother back into view. Fern licked her lips and halted, waiting for her mother to speak.
“You…” Her mother blinked, her mouth opening and closing a few times. Then finally, she remarked, “That dress is divine. You look very pretty.”
Fern stared, shocked. She didn’t know when her mother had last told her she looked pretty. Had she ever?
“Thank you,” she said. “Goodnight, Mother.”
She didn’t know why, but her eyes filled with tears as she took the rest of the stairs into the foyer. The hallway that led to her father’s study was dimly lit. Fern hadn’t seen him in three days. Her bruised undereye had turned a sickly shade of yellowish brown, and it had taken a bit of makeup to cover it up tonight. A balloon of dread inflated beneath her ribs. Today had been the deadline for him to decide what to do about the photographs. Inan all-too-real possibility, tomorrow could be ushered in by her mother’s screams as she opened the morning paper.
