Diva (The Flappers) - By Jillian Larkin Page 0,84
Palm Court, and an incredible band. So please stay and enjoy the near death of my bachelorhood.”
The crowd laughed and a few of Marcus’s college pals stood, ready to kick off the party downstairs.
“It was a close call, friends. I almost married the wrong girl. But now I’ve got the right one back and I’m never letting go. And if that isn’t a reason to celebrate”—Marcus met Clara’s eyes and grinned—“I don’t know what is.”
LORRAINE
Rescuing Marcus had been a lot more glamorous in Lorraine’s imagination.
When she’d pictured saving him from Deirdre—and she had pictured it—she’d imagined hundreds of flashbulbs igniting in her direction, reporters asking, “Lorraine, how can one woman be both so beautiful and intelligent?”
All the Barnard girls would cry how they’d been wrong, and wasn’t Lorraine the zebra’s spots, and she would instantly be invited to every collegiate party for the next four years, and she and all of her new best friends would sip gin fizzes and remark at how many boys there were for them to choose from, and Lorraine would say things like “My oh my, I can’t pick just one—that’s why I’m dating five!” And all of her new friends would laugh and laugh and laugh, and she would graduate summa cum laude and marry someone tall, dark, and handsome and somehow, some way, befriend Gloria Carmody again and they’d dance together at Marcus and Clara’s wedding.
But fantasy was much more engaging than reality.
And here she was, minus the flashing lights and newfound friends, alone with Melvin while everyone else raced to follow the Golden Couple to the reception—even though there wasn’t a wedding, who’d turn down a free party?
All anyone could talk about was Deirdre, Marcus, and Clara.
No one even mentioned Lorraine.
“Oh, that was so romantic!” Ginnie Worthington exclaimed, clinging to her pudgy husband’s arm. Her pale blue frock looked like it was wilting under the candlelight. “Why don’t you ever do anything romantic anymore, Wally?”
Wally raised his eyebrows. “You want me to leave you for a con woman so I can come back? Let’s just get some wedding cake so we can go home.”
Lorraine sighed—sure, she’d love a piece of cake. But it didn’t exactly go with fitting into her dress. No, water would have to do. Well … and a teensy bit of vodka.
“You feeling peachy, Raine?”
She whipped her head at the sound of Melvin’s familiar voice. He’d put his glasses back on—thank God—and was turning his white handkerchief gray trying to wipe the drawn-on mustache off his face. But without a mirror he was really just smearing dark smudges all over the lower half of his face.
Lorraine reached over and took the handkerchief. “Let me do that. You look like some kind of deranged chimney sweep.”
Melvin smiled and let her scrub his face. “But a chimney sweep who dresses very well for work.”
She laughed, continuing until his face was as clean as it was going to get without soap and water. She handed the cloth back to him, and there was a slight spark when they touched. Lorraine felt something rush through her—was it just static energy, or something else? “Listen, Melvin … you did a good job earlier. Really great. You were a very believable Southerner. Nice improvisation with all the finger raising!”
“Think so?”
“I do.” She reached up to push his hat back on his head a little so that his flaming red hair waved over his forehead. He needed to wear newsboy caps more—the hat gave him a real scholarly-yet-dangerous look. “And I love that hat on you!”
Melvin ducked his head and gave her a bashful smile. “I know I told you not to get me wrapped up in any of your schemes after the incident at the bridal shop, but this one was pretty … copacetic. Definitely a change of pace from all that reading at Columbia.”
“And how!” Lorraine said. “It’s ducky to get up to some mischief on your own once in a while! The characters in books shouldn’t have all the fun, right?”
“Right. And we were able to help Marcus avoid a terrible fate. Which means we both deserve some overpriced finger food and at least one dance, wouldn’t you say?”
Lorraine took Melvin’s arm and they moved through the nearly empty ballroom down the stairs to the Palm Court. Most of the crowd was already seated at tables beneath the domed glass ceiling; a group of black men dressed in white suits sat on a raised platform at the far end of the room, playing