Prohibition

Chapter 37

One week later, Raymond met Helen outside the Collins' home. It was a clear, cold night with stars, twinkling like the lights of the city high rises, dotted across the dark sky—much like the night Raymond had first met Evelyn.

"Hello," Helen greeted Raymond, taking his arm as they entered the house. "How are you?"

Raymond swallowed hard. "Nervous. How are you?"

"I'm great." Helen's eyes glowed as she held up her left hand. On her ring finger, a small diamond glittered. "Roy proposed to me yesterday."

Raymond smiled down at her, trying—without success—to ignore the sudden lurch in his gut. "That's wonderful. Congratulations."

God, how tired and bitter his voice sounded! Was he really such a jealous louse that he couldn't wish his friend well without sounding resentful? What had he come to? Helen, however, hadn't noticed the tone of his voice. She was still smiling blissfully, twisting her ring around and around her finger.

"May I take your wraps?" a footman asked, coming up to them. "The ballroom is just down that hallway," he said once he had removed Raymond's and Helen's coats and handed them off to another footman. "Jimmy will guide you in the right direction."

With a nod to the footman, Raymond and Helen joined the crowd of people, all streaming towards the ballroom. Inside the unbelievably spacious ballroom, dozens more people were milling about. Some were dancing to the merry jazz tune the four-piece band was playing, but many were simply standing around, talking.

Raymond could feel his breath coming in short, shallow bursts. Balling his hands into fists, he could feel his palms were slick with sweat. Hurriedly, he wiped them on his pants. God, why did he have to be so nervous?

"Let's dance," Helen said, leading Raymond towards the dance floor.

"I don't know, Helen," Raymond hesitated. "I'm not a very good dancer."

"Baloney," Helen said firmly. "You're a fine dancer. Come on—it'll take your mind off your nerves."

"Fine," he agreed, allowing Helen to pull him onto the floor. But, as they got into frame, he realized he couldn't remember a single dance step. "Helen," he hissed. "I can't remember anything—not a single step."

"Raymond," Helen sighed. "It's just a foxtrot. Slow, slow, quick, quick. Nothing to it."

"You're right." Taking a deep breath, Raymond started to dance. Once his feet started moving, they seemed to remember what they were doing. Whether he was doing the right steps or not, he didn't know—nor did he care. Around and around the ballroom they traveled, Raymond's heart pounding more and more violently with each rotation. Where was Evelyn? Was that her over there with her back turned to him? No, that was a much older woman. What about that flash of dark hair? No, that girl wasn't Evelyn either. Around and around the room, Raymond's gaze travelled, searching more and more desperately for her. He barely noticed Helen leading him off the floor when the dance was over or the people they greeted in passing. All he could think of was Evelyn—and Charlie. Where was she? Had he cornered her already? Was Raymond too late?

Struggling to make his way through the mass of people, Raymond bumped into someone, almost knocking them off their feet. "Excuse me," he apologized, turning back to face them. "I—Evelyn?"

It was, indeed, Evelyn standing before him. Raymond felt as though he had been turned to stone. Standing just inches away from him, she stared at him wide-eyed and unmoving. Raymond, too, stood unmoving, staring and staring. Unlike many of the women in the room who were draped in all manner of rich fabrics and dripping jewels, Evelyn was dressed simply in a midnight blue dress with a single strand of pearls around her neck. But she was all the more beautiful for her simplicity. Against the rich blue of her dress, her pale skin—the softest skin Raymond had ever touched—seemed to glow. Raymond's eyes drank up the sight of Evelyn, the graceful curve of her neck, her delicate cheekbones, her dark, shiny hair framing her face. Then, as he slowly began to regain some of his senses, he noticed more things: the quick, shallow rise and fall of Evelyn's chest; the unnatural, teary brightness of her red-rimmed eyes; the trembling, nervous movements of her hands as they twisted the necklace around and around her fingers. What had happened? Had Charlie done something to her?

"Evelyn..." Without fully realizing what he was doing, Raymond's hand reached out toward her.

"Stop." Evelyn jerked away, her face suddenly hard.

"Evelyn..." Raymond's voice was pleading now, almost tearful. "Please..."

"No." Evelyn's voice shook, her eyes misting over. "I can't do this—not now. I have to go."

Turning, she rushed away, melting into the blur of people almost instantly. Raymond stared after her, his throat tight and aching with suppressed tears. He had wanted to see Evelyn again so much, he had barely been able to function this past week for the thought of seeing her once more. Now...

"Raymond?" Helen asked, coming up to him from where she had been chatting with some old school friends. "Are you alright?"

"No." Raymond tried to steady his breathing, feeling as though he might hyperventilate.

"You saw Evelyn?"

"Yes." Raymond's eyes met Helen's. "This past week, I couldn't stop thinking about seeing her again. I couldn't tell if I was anticipating or dreading this moment more. And now..." he searched for the right words, "it was more wonderful and horrible than I could ever have imagined."

"I'm sorry." Helen touched Raymond's arm gently. "Maybe I shouldn't have asked you to come here."

"Maybe not, but I'm glad you did. Do you know where Charlie is?"

"No." Helen smiled apologetically. "I'm sorry."

"I have to find him. I have to talk to him."

"I understand." Helen smiled again. "I'll be in the corner, talking to some friends." Then she walked away.

Raymond turned and made his way through the throngs of people, moving towards the ballroom doors. As he neared the doorway, he stopped short. Against the doorframe, a lazy figure lounged, cocktail glass slung idly through his fingers. Charlie.

"Mr. Adler," Charlie said, straightening and coming towards Raymond. His voice was cool and drawling. "Fancy seeing you here."

"I could say the same thing for you." Raymond glared at Charlie. "Have you spoken to Evelyn tonight?"

"Why would I tell you?" Charlie took a sip from his drink. "Why don't you ask her yourself, if you're so eager to know?"

"I..." Raymond wracked his brains for a sufficiently cutting response.

Charlie smirked, his smile reptilian and cold. "I see. You've had a falling-out." His smirk widened. "I told you it was bound to happen."

"Fuck you," Raymond said through gritted teeth. "Just tell me—did you talk to Evelyn or not?"

Charlie turned away from Raymond. "Ask her," he called over his shoulder. Then, like a cobra slithering back into its basket, he slipped into the crowd and disappeared.