Worth

Chapter 16 (cont.)

"Shall I rig the raffle for you?"

"No, my lovely, a dance will do."

"Yes, there's plenty of me to go around in the mean time."

"Oh, by all means, go around." Bob twirled her.

They say a pretend smile eventually becomes a real one. What was to become of a brave face? The crowd applauded the end of the second dance.

"Bob, since it's you, I'll just say move over," John said. He was standing behind Violet with a crisp twenty dollar bill.

Bob tipped his Santa hat to them both and left to search for his next partner.

"Ready?" John asked.

Violet the brave was.

The jazz standard spinning was something slinky and ironic. John folded Violet's hand in his and positioned her like he would a doll. He put his arm around her and slowly they moved together. 'I love Paris in the springtime.' Violet rested a weary cheek on his shoulder, her face away from his. 'I love Paris in the winter when it drizzles.' John squared his shoulders and whispered for her to look at him. He smiled just a little, just enough. She wanted it all for herself which is why she couldn't bear to look at it. She pressed her face to his, temple to jaw. They weren't dancing anymore so much as embracing to the music. 'Oh why, oh why do I love Paris? Because my love is near.'

"Hey," he said. "You've got stars in your hair."

Another couple bumped into them knocking them together clumsily. They recovered with John clutching her more tightly. He turned her wrist so that the back of her hand rested against his chest, making them more compact.

"This was a very clever idea you had," she sighed.

"It was, wasn't it? I'm glad there are so many witnesses." He pulled away only so he could see her face. "Uh oh. There's that look again. What's on your mind?"

"Nothing," she said less than convincingly, despite her best effort. She would not deny him a friendship just because she wanted more.

"I've got it. You're drunk."

"Not nearly enough."

"That's New Year's Eve talk. You're early. Is this about His Majesty's Mutton? 'Cause I fully intend on getting tickets for us when I come back from my consultation in Sydney if it's still running."

"So you are going to Australia?"

"For a couple of weeks. I leave tomorrow."

"Well," she said hanging on to the last bit of him, "as long as you don't leave just yet."

"I hate that timing is everything."

A shrill shriek broke above the music. It seemed a few dancers stopped. Then a few more. Then the crowd parted for Elsa, leaning on a gentleman's shoulder as she hopped feebly off the dance floor. It was passed back in mumbles that she had twisted her ankle. John and Violet split apart and sped to her to see that it wasn't serious.

"No refunds!" John shouted.

"I'll be fine," Elsa said a bit breathlessly. "But I've got to get off it."

Bob Fellows was there to lend a hand. "You girls are so fragile. None of you can make it through a whole party anymore."

"Would you like to go to the lounge?" Violet asked.

"Sure, or we could bring a chair for you here," John suggested.

"No, no. I'm very warm. I think I might be having a mild reaction to something I ate. No, I think you should take me home, John."

"No problem."

"Too bad, Buddy," Bob said. "What can I do? You know if I ask for an Epi-pen it'll look like an auction in here. Do you need an extra shoulder to get her to the car?"

"Could you get her to coat check?" John asked. "Elsa, hon, I've just got to say goodnight to a few people."

"Of course," she said weakly. She let Bob take over. "Merry Christmas, Violet. Hope I haven't ruined your dance."

"Not at all. Take care Elsa. Merry Christmas."

John waited until they were alone again. "Now I know for a fact that that couldn't have been your doing, but I'd still like to take you in for questioning."

"It isn't my style."

"I'll call you when I get back?"

"If you're not too busy. That would be nice."

John's mouth formed the beginning of a number of words, but none of them were spoken.

"What?"

He kissed her cheek softly and gave her hand a little shake. "Merry Christmas, Violet," he said and a moment later he was gone.

After the lasts guests had left, clean-up commenced. Violet helped removed all the chair covers for laundry service even though it wasn't technically her job. Stacking the bare chairs wasn't technically Cheryl's or Ingrid's job either so they hung around to flirt with the waiters in charge of the chore.

"Who won the big cake?" Cheryl asked, sampling a plate of leftover hors d'oeuvres.

"The person who won it gave it to someone with five foster children. Wasn't that nice?

"I hope they like it. It wasn't very sweet."

"I don't want to know how you know that." Violet said.

Ingrid put another glass of champagne down and started spinning on the dance floor.

"Careful, you," Violet warned.

"These kids," Cheryl said, shaking her head and filling a glass for her and Violet. She whistled for one of the cuter waiters to take the empty bottle.

"I've got it," Violet said to him with a chastising look for the check-girl.

"I wish I had studied some kind of dancing," Ingrid said dreamily.

"If wishes were fishes then this place would stink," Cheryl toasted. "That's four years of ballet lessons talkin'."

"Didn't like it?" Violet guessed over a sip.

"Growth spurt!"

"Maybe I'll take up Latin Ballroom," said Ingrid with a fake Flamenco stomp.

"This champers is kind of flat," said Violet.

Cheryl volunteered to open a new bottle. "What shall we drink to now?" she asked.

"To screwing it all up!" Violet cheered.

"I like it!" said Cheryl who gulped her glass whole.

"You know what always looks cool?" said Ingrid, stepping backwards carefully, lining herself up to a corner. "When someone slides on their knees across the dance floor. It's usually a guy, but..."

"Oh, don't," Violet said.

"Do it! Do it!" chanted Cheryl.

Ingrid took a running start. Violet couldn't watch. She cringed when she heard the scrape and thud. Cheryl laughed wickedly. "I guess she's not used to wearing skirts," she said.

"Or not wearing pantyhose," said Violet.

Ingrid groaned in a heap and rubbed her knees before pretending to collapse. She pointed under a table. "Someone left their Santa hat."

"Give that to me," said Violet. "I'll see that he gets it."