“I suppose you’re right.” He sighed. “In any case, I’d forgotten we’d also have to find you proper clothes.”
Sara looked down in her lap. This morning, knowing she’d be performing an inspection of the basement rooms, she’d worn her gray day dress, her shabbiest outfit, and shame flooded over her. There was no use pretending to be Mr. Camden’s equal, exchanging witticisms and teasing him, when really she was no better than a scullery maid in appearance and social ranking.
Yet the man ought to be put in his place. “I’ll have you know that I own a lovely ball gown.”
He slapped his knee. “Of course, I forget that you’re the daughter of nobility. How awful of me to assume otherwise. Then it’s settled, we must.” He didn’t give her an opportunity to answer. “It’s a masked ball. I will introduce you as my second cousin from England. We will enter, I’ll give you a quick tour, and then we’ll leave. It’s the perfect opportunity. Perhaps the only one.”
True. Other than being hired as their housekeeper, Sara would never set foot in a house like that in her life.
“Please go with me. Sara.”
The use of her Christian name stopped her cold. What on earth was she thinking?
“I couldn’t.”
“One night, for ten minutes. We’ll leave in separate carriages, then I’ll join you nearby.” His face grew serious. “I think we both know this time next week our friendship will be swallowed up by society’s dictates. Shall we enjoy it now, while we have it?”
He held her gaze. “No one will know, I promise.”
Had her mother heard the same words, at some point?
No. Sara was wrong to romanticize her mother’s relationship with his lordship. That wasn’t the case at all. The man was known as a beast throughout the county, one who whipped the boys who poached on his land. Her mother had been tricked, seduced against her will. The offer from Mr. Camden was nothing like that. He was American, for a start, and believed that all people, regardless of standing, deserved a chance. He’d seen something in her back in London and given her the greatest opportunity of her life. And now he was asking her to the ball, but not as Prince Charming. As a co-witness to the madness of the elite. This was the class of people the residents of the Dakota wished to be like, in their heart of hearts. By attending, she’d gain a deeper understanding of the resentments, frustrations, and aspirations of the very people for whom she worked.
Ten minutes out of her life. Ten minutes of being on Mr. Camden’s arm.
Only ten minutes.
CHAPTER TWELVE
New York City, September 1985
“Where the fuck is everyone?”
Melinda tore through the apartment like a well-coiffed whirlwind, dropping her Birkin bag with a thud on the floor.
Bailey had been in the kitchen, furiously trying to reach the contractor on the phone, with no luck, when she heard the front door slam and knew exactly who it was. Now, as they faced off down the long gallery, Melinda reminded Bailey of a bull in a bullfight, about to charge. A bull wearing Candie’s high heels.
“So, where are the workers?”
Bailey’s footsteps echoed through the empty apartment. “I’m trying to reach Steve to find out. I don’t remember him saying anything about taking the day off; they know we’re on a tight schedule.”
“You bet we are.”
“I have to ask, did you pay their bill, for the next installment?”
Melinda rolled her eyes. “I think so.”
She had her answer. “My guess is they’ve been pulled away on another job.”
“Why is that?”
“Because they’re due the next installment on their payment, and they haven’t gotten it yet.”
“Jesus Christ. Steve knows I’m good for it. I told him my situation.”
“I’m sure you did. But they don’t only work for you. If another job comes along, they jump if they aren’t happy.”
Melinda’s shoulders dropped a few inches. Progress. Bailey kept talking. “I’ll try calling them today, see if I can entice them back. But right now the only thing we know for sure will work is a big fat check.”
“Fucking Fred won’t give me anything early. I’ve tried already, trust me.”
“Then maybe it’s a good idea to wait until you have the money in hand to continue.” Bailey hated saying this. It meant she’d be at loose ends, and broke, for an extra month. Unlike Melinda’s idea of broke, hers actually meant it.
“I’ll ask Tony. He’ll front me the cash.”
“How soon can you get it?”
“I’ll go by his office today. Tonight we’re hitting the Limelight, so he’ll be in a good mood later even if he’s cranky when I ask for the money.”
The Limelight. Bailey’s jaw tightened and her heart raced. Like Pavlov’s dog, she only needed to hear one word. The many nights they’d spent dancing and drinking and doing coke until dawn had imprinted themselves on her.
She’d hit an AA meeting at a small church on Sixty-Ninth Street a few nights ago. The place had been packed and the coffee strong. She listened to the stories and nodded encouragement, but felt like a fraud, like an actor in a movie about recovery. Playing the role of the penitent sinner. Until one woman brought her to tears with her story about waking up in an apartment in the Bronx, beaten and sore, not remembering how she’d ended up there. The bruise around her eye had faded to a shadow, but her words and anguish were still raw. So many nights, especially during the last year, Bailey hadn’t been sure how she’d gotten herself home. She’d dodged a bullet. Maybe a whole cartridge of bullets.
As she’d turned to leave, she spotted Renzo standing in the very back. He disappeared in a flash, but she was sure it was him. It made her feel defenseless and small, knowing that he had stared at the back of her head the past hour. Knowing that he knew.
A couple of days later, when she’d been showing Kenneth the wallpaper choices for his bathroom, Renzo stopped by to inspect the work the plumber was doing. She tried to shape her expression into a smile that meant Your secret’s safe with me, but he had barely made eye contact. Maybe none of the other tenants knew he had a problem, and he wanted to keep it that way. That was fine with her. Still, he could have been nicer.
Melinda picked up her Birkin and brushed imaginary dust from her denim culottes. “You should come with us tonight, Bails. It’ll be like old times.”
“Are you kidding? I just got back from rehab. The Limelight is the last place I need to be.”
“Fine, then come to dinner with us beforehand at the Odeon. You don’t need to drink and it’ll be better than sitting in this tomb. You look so pale; have you had any fun since you’ve been back?”
“I don’t have the funds for fun right now.”
“It’s on me and Tony tonight. Okay? Our treat.”
If Bailey had another slice of pizza for dinner, she’d lose her mind. The thought of a real meal, with cloth napkins and waiters, seemed like an exotic expedition. She could use the change of scenery.
“What time?”
“Nine o’clock.”
So late. “I’m not sure. There’s no way I can go back to partying like I used to.”
Melinda punched her playfully on the arm. “I know. I don’t mean to push you. I just want to get you back in my life. I’ve missed you.”
“You have me. I’m not going anywhere. Unlike your contractor.”
“And I’m so happy about that, and I want you to join us. Okay?”
Bailey agreed, touched by Melinda’s insistence.
Her choice of clothing for the evening was limited. She had some indigo jeans and a pair of high heels, but the only “nice” item for going out to dinner was a sequined top that tied around her neck and exposed much of her shoulders. She found it wedged into a corner of her suitcase, underneath the sensible T-shirts she’d brought with her to rehab. It was risqué for the Dakota, but not for Odeon.