Lair of Dreams

“Agreed.”


On the walk home, the conversation was all about the Diviners exhibit and the brilliance of Charlie Chaplin. By the time they returned to the Bennington, fifteen minutes ahead of Mabel’s curfew, they’d made plans to go to the Strand to see a Buster Keaton picture.

“There might be people younger than sixty there,” Jericho said, and Mabel laughed.

Mabel strangled the strap of her pocketbook as her stomach fluttered. “Well, good night, Jericho.”

“Good night, Mabel,” Jericho said. He wasn’t precisely sure about the protocol of ending a mostly-but-not-entirely-disastrous first date. A handshake seemed too formal. Kissing a girl’s hand seemed like something only swashbuckler matinee idols could get away with and not feel like a complete fool. And so, rather impulsively, Jericho kissed Mabel sweetly and briefly on the lips and then took the stairs up to his own flat.

Mabel slumped back against the wall feeling summer-light. And even the sight of Miss Addie roaming the halls, trailing salt from her dressing-gown pockets and mumbling about the dead coming through the breach, couldn’t dampen her spirits.

The moment Mabel went inside, she bolted for the telephone, ignoring her mother’s pleas for information. She grinned as Evie’s voice came over the line.

“Sweetheart Seer residence. How may I direct your call?”

“Evie, it’s me.”

“Mabesie! How do you like my secretary voice? Do you think it gives me an air of mystery?”

“I knew it was you.”

“Oh. How disappointing. But you sound out of breath! Are you running from wolves? Do tell.”

“You won’t believe it. I don’t believe it!”

“What is it?”

“I… I’m still pinching myself.”

“Mabel Rose! If you don’t stop torturing me and tell me this instant, I’ll… I’ll… well, I’ll do whatever clever threat I can’t think of just now.”

“Are you sitting down?”

“Pos-i-tute-ly prone and ready to hear this story already!”

“Jericho kissed me.”

There was such a profound silence on the other end that Mabel was afraid she’d lost the connection. “Hello? Evie? Operator?”

“I’m here,” Evie said quietly. “Jeepers. That’s swell news, honey. How… how did it happen?”

“It was after our date this evening and—”

“Wait a minute—you had a date? Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Well, Evie, you’re awfully hard to catch these days,” Mabel said, hoping Evie caught her drift: You’ve been too busy for even your best pal.

“Tell me about the kiss. Did he kiss you a lot?”

“No. Just the once. What happened was—”

“Did he say anything to you first?”

“Not… well, he—”

“What was his expression? Could you read anything in his face?”

“Evie! Will you please let me tell the story?” Mabel pleaded into the receiver.

“Sorry, Mabesie.”

Mabel continued. “We went to the Kiev Tearoom—”

“Ugh. They have such sad little blintzes. If blintzes could frown, those would.”

“And in the beginning,” Mabel said, without stopping for Evie, “it wasn’t going terribly well, to be frank. But then, then he asked me to dance, and, oh, Evie. It was so romantic. Well, to be perfectly honest, it was terrible until we got the gist of it. Why, oh, why didn’t I let you teach me how to dance?”

“One of the great mysteries of our time. And the kiss?” Evie asked, biting her lip.

“I’m getting there. He walked me to my door. He was very quiet and—”

“Regular quiet or brooding quiet?”

“Evie, please.”

“Sorry, sorry. Go on.”

“He said, ‘Good night, Mabel,’ and then he… just… kissed me.” Mabel gave a little squeal.

Evie closed her eyes and pictured Jericho’s face in the first light of morning.

“I can’t stop playing it over in my mind like the best Valentino picture ever, except that I’m Agnes Ayres, and Jericho is Rudy.”

“Well, he’s no Rudy,” Evie grumbled, “but I get the gist.”

Mabel was telling her something else, but Evie didn’t want to talk about it anymore. She’d done the right thing by Mabel and, most likely, by Jericho. She’d thrown him over. Why did doing the right thing feel so awful? Did that mean it wasn’t the right thing, or did right things always feel awful, which would in fact be a terrible deterrent to doing right?

“Evie?”

“Hmm?”

“Did you hear what I said?”

“Oh. Sorry, Mabel. There was a, um, a spider. On the floor. Dreadful!”

“Eek! You’d think such a fancy hotel wouldn’t have spiders.”

“Yes, I’ll… uh… I’ll just call down for a bellhop. Sorry, Mabesie.”

“Wait! What do you think I should do?”

“I wouldn’t rush into anything. Boys like girls who seem to have other beaus. They’re fickle that way.” Evie sniffed. After all, she’d been pretty easily forgotten.

“Jericho isn’t that sort of fellow,” Mabel insisted.