 
## Spoleto

by

Meredith Morgan

Smashwords Edition

Copyright 2010 Meredith Morgan

All Rights Reserved

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For anyone who lives honestly, loves passionately

and follows their heart

Chapter 1

Daddy and I were sitting on the front porch drinking sweet tea with mint when a tall, stoop-shouldered man turned into the front walk and shuffled up the steps. He wore a felt hat. I had not seen a man wearing a hat like that in years; it looked old-fashioned but somehow elegant. His suit was well-made and well-cared for but very old. His hands were stuck deep in his pockets; I imagined he had them balled up into fists. He focused his gaze at a point on the ground about four inches in front of his toes. He struck me as one of the saddest people I had ever seen.

Daddy cleared his throat and said, "G.T., come over here and meet my daughter, Shelley. I told you she was coming to take care of me."

The man stopped half-way across the porch. It seemed to me he was having difficulty forcing himself to look up and make eye contact with us. Eventually, he managed to rouse himself from whatever melancholy reminiscences that were haunting him. He looked up and smiled at Daddy. The smile did not reach his eyes, but it was very pleasant.

He walked over to us and greeted my father. Then he turned to me and took my hand in an old-fashioned gentlemanly gesture. He inclined his head and shoulders slightly in what could very easily have become a courtly bow. For a second I thought he was going to kiss the back of my hand.

Courtly is the right word. He was courtly, in the old-fashioned sense of someone with impeccable manners and class that revealed generations of breeding, old money that was all gone and a good education that never managed to translate into a living wage. He was perhaps only ten or fifteen years older than me, but he seemed much older.

I smiled and shook his hand daintily, "Rochelle Hammond-Jones. It's a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Tomlinson. Daddy speaks very highly of you. I hope you don't mind my staying in his apartment. If necessary we could pay a bit more rent to make up for the extra water and electric, at least until I can find an apartment nearby."

He smiled and said simply, "Please call me Guinyard. I'm very pleased to make your acquaintance.

"Finding an apartment could take you a while, Miss Rochelle. Every apartment that I know of in the historic district has a very long waiting list. In the meantime, you're welcome to stay here with Benny. He's always been a perfect tenant. Frankly, I've been afraid for a long time that he would move out because of the stairs. I'd rather have you move in with him, despite the extra water and electric, than to lose him as a tenant, and neighbor."

"It would seem to me you could rent the apartment to someone else on your waiting list at a much higher rent."

He nodded. "The next person on my list has offered to pay me twice what Benny pays."

"I'm surprised you don't evict him," I laughed.

Guinyard smiled; this time his smile was real and it lit his face. I noticed that he had beautiful aquamarine eyes. "Benny's lived here a long time. We're used to each other. I think Benny thinks of this house as his home, and I certainly think of him as a part of the household.

"Besides, I am too old and too set in my ways to break in a new tenant. Just as importantly," he shrugged and looked almost playful just for a second, "in the fifteen years he has lived in this apartment, he has never once been late with the rent or paid me with a bad check. I don't know any other landlord in Charleston with a tenant who is so quiet and clean and who has such an impeccable credit history."

I smiled at Guinyard, and then winked at Daddy, "Daddy's a peach! That's for sure."

Daddy offered Guinyard a glass of tea, but he declined saying, "You two have lots of catching up to do. I don't want to butt in."

Daddy poured him a glass anyway and said, "Don't be silly. You and I have tea every afternoon. If anything, Shelley is the one crashing the party," he winked at me, "but I think we can learn to tolerate her, don't you?"

Guinyard accepted the glass of tea and raised it towards me, "I imagine we can."

The men fell to chatting about the neighborhood goings-on in a familiar way that I could tell was their regular late-afternoon ritual. I leaned back in the glider, rocking absently and watching the tourists who meandered along the sidewalks of Bay Street. Horse-drawn carriages competed with cars for ownership of the street and the horses were winning. I found it to be something of a surreal experience, sitting there watching tourists snapping pictures of us. I wondered how many families would take home photos of the three of us sitting on the porch. I was tempted to fetch my camera and take my own retaliatory photos of the tourists.

I had not visited Charleston in many years. For most of the last two dozen years my father visited me in New York. My excuse for our failure to come to Charleston was that my family was very busy, what with with the kids having dance classes and sports practice nearly every night. The real reason we did not visit Charleston, at least in the beginning, was because my ex-husband hated the South and taught our children to despise it as well. As with so many other things in our relationship, I'd given in to him. A fat lot of good that did in the long run!

Sitting there soaking up the sounds, smells and aura of the city of my birth, I felt myself beginning to relax, shedding layers of anxiety I had built up around the prospect of coming back here alone after so many years. I hoped it would not be long before I was roaming the city as I had done as a youngster, discovering amazing and wonderful sights, smells and sounds on every corner.

I was uncertain how I would take to being the care-giver for my father, but I thought it might not be such a difficult transition. I loved him, as did virtually everyone else who had ever met him. He was not yet in need of constant care, so I would be free to roam at will for at least a part of every day. On the other hand, after so many years of separation, I rather looked forward to the opportunity to spend a lot of time with him.

Sitting there on the porch that afternoon, I realized that I might not be as alone in the task of caring for Daddy as I had feared. I was sitting in the shadows where people on the sidewalk couldn't see me. While Daddy and Guinyard talked, one by one the neighbors stopped to chat and to check in on their way home from work. It was very clear that the full-time residents of the Battery were a close-knit bunch. If I needed anything, I probably could turn in any direction and find neighbors who would be ready to pitch in and help. I don't know why that had not occurred to me before, other than the fact that I'd been away from the South too long.

The South was changing. It was becoming more like the rest of the country. It was becoming urban and industrialized. The towns and cities of the South were filling with WalMarts, which more or less fit in culturally, but also with chain restaurants and other "big box" stores that made them look like towns and cities everywhere else in America. Fortunately, thanks to the ossified and backward-looking tendencies of one of the last bastions of the Old South, Charleston was one of the last places to experience the changes.

The Historic District, with its rigid building codes and preservation-minded residents, was all but untouched by the New South that was rising all around it. Some of the residents' families had occupied the same homes for generations and they resisted virtually all change. They may not have been very welcoming to outsiders but they cared for their own. My father had become one of them, at least as much as was possible for someone whose family had not lived in Charleston for several generations.

Fifteen years before, my dad sold my mother's family home to her younger sister and moved into an apartment on the East Battery. The Hale House, where I was born, stood on the western side of Charleston, with a view of the Ashley River – from the second floor, anyway. It was a magnificent old antebellum mansion, but Daddy had always wanted to move to the East Battery with its fabulous views of Charleston Harbor.

When the apartment in the Beaulieu House on Bay Street came available, Daddy jumped at it. At the time, I told him I thought he was nuts. Indisputably, the house was beautiful, and the East Battery is the loveliest part of Charleston, but it was in the heart of the Historic District. The traffic congestion and parade of tourists were incessant. I couldn't believe he would give up my mother's family home in its quiet neighborhood that was off the beaten path for a rented apartment in someone else's house.

He did it anyway because he loved the East Battery and because he never listened to anybody else, anyhow.

It was apparent from the behavior of the folks who stopped to chat that afternoon, his new neighbors had come to love him as well. I was happy for him.

I was happy for me, too, because I was home. I was somewhat surprised to discover that it felt wonderful.

Guinyard went inside and came out a few minutes later, carrying two glasses of amber liquid. He handed one to my father and sat on the porch rail, warming the other glass in his palm. I loathed bourbon, but I resented the fact that it never occurred to the men to ask me if I wanted to join them in their toddies. My sentimental reverie about the joys of Southern life, was interrupted momentarily by a brief reality check regarding the patriarchal and, to an extent, misogynistic elements of Southern society.

I knew that, while the gentlemen were having their afternoon cocktails, I would be expected to hie my ass into the kitchen and rustle up some dinner. A part of me rebelled at the notion, but we "Girls Raised In The South" know our place. Despite my pique, I stood and announced my intention to start dinner. I invited Guinyard to join us. He inclined his shoulders and shook his head, "No, ma'am. Thank you for asking, though."

I shook Guinyard's hand again and turned to Daddy, saying, "I'll call you when dinner's ready. If you want to come up earlier, call me. I'll come down and help you up the steps."

Daddy snorted irritably, "I can still get up the stairs under my own power."

I chose not to argue with him on my first day home, but I did virtually stomp up the stairs, slamming the door behind me. I hoped my stride and demeanor registered my displeasure. I heard the men chuckling behind me, which only irritated me more. Their laughter underscored the futility of my objections to such ingrained Southern folk-ways. I rattled around my father's tiny and virtually unused kitchen in an almost hopeless effort to put together an edible meal. Obviously, he ate most of his meals out. I decided the first order of business tomorrow would be a visit to the grocery story, and – by the looks of the pitiful collection of pans and dishes – to the kitchen gadget store as well.

I managed to find a piece of ham in the freezer to which I added a can of green beans (canned vegetables -- yuck). I cooked some rice and opened a can of black eyed peas. I wouldn't eat canned green beans, but I would eat canned peas in a pinch. I found a box of Jiffy cornbread mix, added an egg and water and popped it in the oven. Daddy walked into the kitchen just as the buzzer went off. He looked astonished. "How did you do that?"

"Do what?"

"Make a meal out of the odd collection of crap in this kitchen."

"It wasn't easy, and it won't be what you could even remotely call a 'good' meal, but it's food and you need to eat, so sit down and tuck in."

He chuckled and sat down. "Your accent's coming back already."

"It is not."

"Is so."

I laughed and decided to humor him. I could tell he was trying to get under my skin. I had spent years of determined effort ridding myself of my Low Country drawl. I couldn't believe it could begin to creep back into my speech so quickly. I admit I was a little alarmed at how readily that 'tuck in' comment came to my tongue. It was not an expression the average New Yorker would understand, much less use.

Daddy ate his dinner obediently if not precisely with enjoyment. I played with my peas and rice. After dinner, Daddy dozed in front of the TV for a little while, and then he went to bed before 8:30. I finished cleaning up the kitchen, straightened up the living room, and unpacked my suitcase. I finished by 9:30, but I was far from ready to go to bed.

It was a beautiful late spring night in Charleston. The summer humidity had not yet settled over the area for its three- or four-month period of suffocating misery. The scent of gardenia reminded me of the overpowering floral perfume my mother wore on special occasions. The traffic seemed slightly less snarled. Most of the horse-drawn carriages had quit for the night except for the few that offered "evening tours of America's most romantic city," sometimes complete with champagne. I heard the occasional clopping of hooves as I puttered around in the kitchen. I decided to sit on the porch while I still could do so without being eaten alive by mosquitoes, no-see-ums, and the other nocturnal beasties that made sitting outside on summer evenings more trouble than it was worth.

I rummaged around in Daddy's liquor cabinet in search of a night-cap. He evidently really liked his bourbon, but not much else. After fumbling around a bit, I selected a very old and dusty bottle of Kalua. It wasn't what I would have preferred, but it was the best option I found. I poured three fingers in a glass, crept down the back stairs and slipped onto the porch. I headed for the glider where I had spent the better part of the afternoon, and was almost there when I realized it was already occupied. I jumped and gasped out loud.

A deep, low voice said, "It's okay, Miss Rochelle, it's just me. Please have a seat."

I looked for someplace else to sit besides next to Guinyard, but then I realized he had quietly given up his seat in the glider and was sitting in the chaise Daddy occupied earlier that day. I sat on the glider and said, "Thank you. I didn't mean to run you from your seat."

"It's quite alright. I like this seat, too, although I rarely sit in it anymore because it has sort of become Benny's chair."

I sipped my drink. He took the glass from my hand and sniffed it. I felt rather than saw the nasty face he made. I giggled, "I take it you are not a fan of Kalua."

"That would be an understatement. When it comes to hard liquor, if it wasn't made in Kentucky or Scotland, I won't drink it. I will drink wine with meals occasionally, particularly if I'm fortunate enough to be invited to an event where they are serving decent wine. Other than that, I stick to tea."

"The sweeter the better, I'll bet."

"Yes, ma'am."

"Well, I am not much of a drinker, but after today, I felt the need for a belt or two."

"You have had a long day. Are you sure you wouldn't like some decent bourbon?"

"No thanks. I reckon eventually I may have to develop a taste for it, since that's about all Daddy keeps on hand, but I'm not quite that desperate yet."

He chuckled. We sat companionably in silence for a while. I noticed, with some surprise, the silence was not uncomfortable.

After a few sips, I abandoned the Kahlua and put the glass on the floor at my feet. Guinyard chuckled and asked, "Want some tea instead?"

"If it's no trouble."

"I was just going to refill mine anyway."

He went inside and came back a few minutes later with two frosty glasses of tea with fresh mint. I took a sip and giggled.

"What's so funny."

"I lived in New York for a long time. I finally got used to drinking unsweetened tea. It's disgusting, but I guess you can get used to about anything. I've been back home less than a day and here I am drinking syrupy tea. I'm gonna get fat!"

Guinyard laughed, "It may not be as bad as you think. That tea is sweetened with 2/3 saccharine and 1/3 sugar. I have never been able to learn to drink it with all saccharine. It needs just a little real sugar for some reason, but over the years I've gradually increased the saccharine."

I laughed, too, "Well, I guess that helps a bit. I'll still get fat, but it'll take longer."

After a while, I said, "You spend a lot of time with my dad. I was very surprised that he invited me here to take care of him. I thought he was doing very well. How is he, really?"

He pondered a while before he answered, "Actually, I think he's doing pretty well. As you can tell, he's getting feeble. I wasn't kidding when I told you I was afraid he would move because of the stairs. I worry about him going up and down by himself. He can't see too well anymore. I finally convinced him to quit driving after he had that accident a couple of years ago. He doesn't share with me the details of his doctor visits, but I know he sees the doctor about once a month. His mind's still alert, and there's nothing wrong with his sense of humor. I think he'll thrive having you here."

I was reassured. I had feared my father asked me to come back to Charleston to take care of him because he had some dire medical condition. I surmised that was still possible, but I believed that Guinyard would know if there was anything serious. His reassurance was comforting.

He interrupted my thoughts, "I think the main reason he invited you to come here was because he was worried about you. He said he thought you worked too hard. He thought once your youngest child was away at college, it would be a good time for you to make some changes in your life and maybe have some fun."

"He told you that, did he?" I felt the skin on the back of my neck grow warm. I hated when people talked about me.

He chuckled, "Yes, he did. He also told me that you'd be really mad if you found he said that. So, in his defense, I have to tell you that was the one and only time he ever talked about your personal circumstances. He didn't tell me why he thought you needed a break or even what your occupation is. I'm telling you this so you don't clobber him for spilling your secrets to a stranger. He honestly didn't do that."

I laughed and relaxed. "Thanks for clearing that up. However, I have to say, I don't think you qualify as a stranger. You're more like his best friend. I have the impression that virtually all of his contemporary buddies are gone."

"Most of them are. There are two of the old fellers he still gets together with. Mr. George Birdsall lives a few blocks away. He and Benny get together almost every day. They walk along the Battery when the weather permits. They sit on one or the other porch when it's too hot or too cold to walk.

"The other man lives in a nursing home down on Edisto Island. Mr. George and Mr. Benny go to see him about once a month. Either Mr. George's daughter takes them or I do.

"A couple of times a year, Mr. Clyde-Earl Bertram comes to town for a visit. His daughter and her husband live in Richmond. They come down to visit a couple of times a year and they bring Mr. Clyde-Earl up to town with them. It is the high point of the year for all three of those old guys. Mr. Clyde-Earl is in a wheel chair and your dad and Mr. George take turns pushing him all over town."

I laughed. "You should read my dad's descriptions of those outings. They are a hoot."

"He writes you letters?"

I smiled,"My dad was a lawyer. He used a Dictaphone during his entire career. A couple of years ago, I bought him a computer and he started using e-mail. He couldn't type, so at first his letters were cryptic and almost indecipherable. Last year for Christmas I bought him software that allows him to dictate and the computer types the words. I have almost come to regret giving him that present. I created a monster! I receive long, long e-mails several times a day describing to the minutest detail every little experience of his life." I paused and smiled to myself, then winked at Guinyard, saying, "I save and cherish every one of them."

"How special!"

We were quiet for a while. Eventually he asked softly, "What are your plans?"

I thought about that and then I heard myself reply, "I don't have any."

"You gonna make any?"

I paused again for a long time and then I smiled, "Not for a while. It's springtime in Charleston. For the first time in my life I don't have the responsibilities of either school or work or family. For the first time in decades, I do not have children at home who need me. Daddy needs me now, but he's still pretty independent and if I hover over him too much, I know it will make him mad. I plan to savor being home for a while. I plan to walk every inch of this city and reacquaint myself with my roots. I plan to take day trips to nearby places that I loved as a child. I want to visit the Ashely River plantations and wander through the gardens. I want to visit all the barrier islands and walk the beaches. I want to take the ferry to Ft. Sumter early on a summer morning. Most of all I want to walk the Battery at every hour of the day and reacquaint myself with the most lovely neighborhood I have ever known or can imagine.

"Eventually, I am sure I'll want to make some kind of permanent arrangements, but for now, my plan, if you can call it that, is to simply drift for a while." I chuckled, "I need to recover from almost three decades of living in the North. I need to learn to slow down. I can't think of a better place to do that than in Charleston."

He chuckled, too, "Actually, Charleston can be a busy place, but we're busy in the Southern way as opposed to the full-court-press busyness of Yankees."

"Exactly. I need to relearn that."

He nodded and added with enthusiasm. "You've come at at a perfect time! The Spoleto Festival is in full swing. You might start there."

"I plan to. Daddy has tickets to some of the events. I understand that there are a lot of other things that go on during Spoleto which are not strictly part of the Festival, but which are also a lot of fun. I love music of all types and I am especially crazy about dance of any type from ballroom to out-there-experimental modern stuff."

"Then you are in for the treat of your life, Miss Rochelle! The Spoleto Festival is a magical time. The only problem is that it is so crowded. A lot of the old-time locals sort of resent that."

I laughed and said, "I seem to recall that a lot of the old-time locals have resented anything that brings Yankees to town since, oh, I guess along about early 1865."

He leaned back and laughed out loud. "You would be right about that. Interesting that I never asked Benny this. Is your family an old Southern family?"

"My mother's family is. They were originally from up in the Piedmont. My grandaddy used to love to tell folks that his family had lived in that area since before the War ... the Revolutionary War, that is. Nobody ever believed him until one of the cousins did some genealogical research and found out it was true. My family backed the losing side in both the Civil War – er, I guess around here I'm supposed to call it the 'War of Northern Aggression' – and the Revolutionary War. Sad but true."

He laughed. "Actually most of the people I know refer to that event as 'The Great Unpleasantness'.

"What about your dad? He talks a good game, but I have never figured him for having really deep Southern roots."

"Oh, God, don't ever say that to him. You are very perceptive, however." I looked at him out of the corner of my eyes and giggled, "I guess it's those ante-bellum genes of yours, or something, but you're correct. Daddy's family came to South Carolina when he was a baby. He was actually born in Rhode Island, but you did _not_ hear that from me and don't ever say it out loud in front of him! I am not sure exactly what brought his family here. Grandpop set up practice as a doctor in Columbia."

"I imagine there were some interesting conversations in your mother's house when she and Benny got together."

"I suspect there probably were. There would have been a lot more resistance to that marriage except for one very significant factor."

"Which was?"

"Daddy's family was loaded. The Hale family was one of those genteel old Southern families that lost their money in the Civil War, and were left with only a whole lot of beautiful land and way too much pride for their own good. Even when I was a kid, they were still playing the aristocratic role. My grandmother did a mean Blanche duBois when she wanted something. She objected virulently to Mama marrying a 'Yankee' (never mind he had lived in Columbia since he was a baby and had never been north of Asheville that he would have recalled) until about 10 seconds after she found out he was rich. Somehow that seemed to make it okay. Mama always said her mother spent the last years of her life trying to bag Daddy's father for herself."

"Did she ever manage to do it?"

I shook my head and held out my fist with my thumb down. "Mama told me once that Grandpop couldn't stand her mother because he thought she was a leech. Mama admitted to me that she thought Grandpop was right about that."

"Let me guess. Your mother's family hit your dad's family up for money to fix up the old home."

"They probably tried, although I never heard stories about that. Actually, what happened was that after my mother's dad died, Mama and Daddy supported my grandmother for a few years while she traipsed around the state trying to land a rich husband. When she got too old for that, they put her in a very nice rest home here in Charleston and – you're suppose to gasp now –, they sold what was left of the family land in Orangeburg County."

"'Gasp.'"

"They used part of the proceeds to buy a beach house on Edisto Island and the rest they put into a trust fund for me. They kept the Charleston house over by the Ashley River. I was born and grew up there."

"Do you still have the beach house?"

"Oh, yes! I love that house. I love Edisto more than anyplace on earth, but I am very afraid I may have to end up selling it because property values have gone up so high the taxes are killing me."

"I can only imagine. Have you been there lately?"

I sighed and shook my head. "I used to bring the kids down once a year for several weeks. The last time we visited was several years ago after a gap of a few years. The changes upset me so much, I spent most of my visit in the government offices raising hell. I haven't been back. The caretaker is getting old and wants to retire. I should go down there soon to look for someone else to take care of it. Failing that, I'll have to put it up for sale."

"I hope it doesn't come to that."

"You and me both! I should do that soon. Are Daddy and Mr. George due for a visit to their friend? Perhaps we could take a road trip."

"That sounds like fun. You know, you don't have to include me."

"I want to. I know how abominable Daddy is about directions. I have not driven to the island in a long time and I had no idea there was even a nursing home out there. We might get lost in the swamp if you don't come along to help us."

I was tired of talking about myself. It was late and my curiosity got the better of my manners. I turned in the chair and faced him, "Now that I've told you my pedigree, please tell me about your family."

He leaned back in his chair and laughed, this time his laughter was soft and gentle. "Checking out pedigrees is so uncouth but it is a hallowed Charleston tradition! Okay, here goes:

"My family is Old South on both sides. Not pre-Revolutionary like yours, but you are right, my genes are definitely ante-bellum. This house was my mother's family's winter home. It was built in 1837. Their plantation outside Columbia was destroyed by Sherman's troops, so the family moved to Charleston full-time. Daddy's family, on the other hand, was one of the old Charles Town families. They never owned a plantation. Before the War, they made their living shipping cotton. During the War, they amassed a fortune."

"Blockade runners?!"

"Precisely. That being Charleston's cleaned-up term for smugglers. Mama always said that her granddaddy was the person on whom Margaret Mitchell based the character of Rhett Butler. There is some evidence that there may have been some truth to that story. Some people who know my mother believe that the 'evidence' was manufactured by someone in the family, quite possibly the old gal herself." He paused long enough for both of us to savor fond memories of the marvelous old ladies of the South who lived in a past that was frequently a figment of their over-active imaginations.

"In any case, the Tomlinsons made quite literally boatloads of money during the War. Amazingly, they managed to hold onto most of it during the awful years that followed the War.

"Unfortunately, my father was afflicted with the gambling gene. He lost the entire family fortune before I was born. Mama's family fed us and paid the taxes so we didn't lose our house, but they would never give us any cash. That was wise of them because Daddy would have just pissed it away. After he died, Mama and I moved in here with her mother. This home is all that remains of the fortunes and heritage of two of Charleston's very oldest families. Like you, I am considering selling it because of the taxes and the immense cost of maintaining such an old money pit."

I laid my hand on his arm and whispered, "How awful!" Without stopping to consider about how nosy and ill-mannered it would sound to him, I asked, "What do you do for a living?"

He chuckled, "I work for the Chamber of Commerce. I am a sort of dinosaur. I'm kind of the ambassador of the residents of the historic district to the City of Charleston."

"Oh, my. You are an honest-to-God-for-real-Southern Gentleman."

"Yeah. Pitiful as that sounds, I am."

"I didn't mean it to sound pitiful."

"Trust me: it is."

I sighed, "Well, Mr. Chamber-of-Commerce Southern Gentleman, how do you recommend I go about getting rid of all the bad habits I've developed from living amongst Yankees for the last three decades so I can take up Southern Living again?"

"Why would you want to do that?"

"I figure since I live here now, I should re-adjust."

"Personally, I think you'd do better to keep your Yankee-fied ways and not try to turn back the clock. The Old South died in the Civil War. The Reconstruction South died in the Sixties. The New South ain't nothin' like anything you've ever seen."

"You sound resentful."

"I try not to be. There are very, very few of my kind left. In the big scheme of things that is probably a good thing. The Old Families who have adjusted and learned to walk the line between cherishing their heritage and moving forward are thriving. The Old Families who cling to the past and refuse to face the real world are doomed. The South is filling up with Yankees who think that they have become Southerners simply because they moved to the South."

I laughed. "How many generations does it take to become a true Southerner?"

"You know perfectly well that in these parts, ma'am, if you can't trace your genealogy back to before 1860, you are a Newcomer. If you can go back that far on both sides of your family, you get extra credit."

"By that standard, sir, you are a thoroughbred. I suppose I qualify on the Hale side, but I will always be under suspicion due to my Yankee father, and even worse, my Yankee children. Right?"

"Exactly so."

"I am sure that drives Daddy positively nuts. He loves Charleston more than anybody I've ever known."

Guinyard nodded. "He does for a fact. That man knows the history of every building in this city. He knows the genealogy of every Charleston family. He knows just about everything there is to know about both the social and political past of this place. He's an absolute treasure. Despite the fact that he lived his whole life here and married into a prominent Old Family, he is still considered to be an outsider by some people. Fortunately, those people are in the minority."

"I always had the impression that in Columbia the rules are a bit different. Even though Grandpop was a Yankee, I think his family was much more accepted in Columbia than Daddy was here."

"That may be true. Columbia has its pockets of Confederate Crazies, too, but I don't think any place is as bad as Charleston. Charleston has never gotten past the Civil War. It has traded on its tragic past ever since."

"Talk about 'Blanche duBois'!"

He laughed out loud and said, "Your dad and I developed a theory a few years ago – I think we were drunk at the time – that the cities of the South are like women. We chose female types from literature. Charleston is Blanche duBois. Atlanta is Scarlett O'Hara. Richmond is Melanie Hamilton. You get the idea."

"What about New Orleans?"

"I have never considered N'Awlins to be really a Southern city. It is too cosmopolitan and diverse. You have to travel a good distance north from the bayou to reach 'the South' in Louisiana. That's another of your daddy's theories that I think is correct. He says a similar rule applies in Florida, by the way. In Florida 'the South' stops along a line that begins just south of St. Augustine and then dips to around Ocala in the central part of the state and ends just south of Apalachicola."

"What lies south of that line?"

"Baja New Jersey."

I could not stop laughing. "You and Daddy should write a book."

"Actually I think your Daddy has been working on one for a while. That dictating software you gave him unleashed his creative juices or something."

"That's awesome! I hope he lets me read it. ... Oh, my. It is late. Is Daddy still an early bird?"

"Oh, yeah. I hear him rummaging around at the crack of dawn every day."

"I should turn in."

He stood up and shook my hand. I noticed the intoxicating smell of gardenia wafting up from the yard. He went inside and I stood on the porch alone for a few minutes. I hated the thought of going to bed. I love the night. For me, the best hours of the day are the hours between midnight and sunrise. I sighed. I was living with a person who got up at sunrise and went to bed at sunset. That part would be a challenge to my vampirish ways.

Chapter 2

The next morning I got up about 7:00 a. m., which was incredibly early for me. I could tell Daddy had been up for hours. He had eaten his breakfast, read the paper and dressed. When I walked out of the guest room he was sitting in his rocking chair reading a book. He looked up as I shuffled into the room, yawning and rubbing my eyes, and said, "Still a sleepyhead, I see! Eat your breakfast and get dressed. We have an appointment at the bank at 9:30 a. m. After that we need to buy you some new clothes. I feel sure you didn't bring any evening wear. We're into the Spoleto Festival and you have some catching up to do. We have tickets to the ballet tonight."

"Daddy this is the 21st century! I brought a couple of nice suits. I don't need evening wear."

"It may be the 21st century everyplace else, but this is Charleston, my dear. The women here dress to go to the Piggly-Wiggly. Spoleto is an ultra-special occasion. It provides Charlestonians an opportunity to dress up and show off. We like to do that as you may recall."

I rolled my eyes and made a face, but I knew better than to argue with him. What was more, Daddy had dazzled me with tales of the fabulous music and dance at Spoleto Festivals over the years. He had invited me to come to the Festival every year almost since its inception. I loved arts festivals and I was passionate about dance. My mother had loved any kind of dance, especially ballet. My daughter was a dancer. I felt a surge of delicious anticipation at the prospect of attending the Festival this year, even if it meant I had to dress up.

I took my time getting dressed, but I was ready well before the time I thought we would have to leave for the bank. I poured myself a cup of coffee and flipped through the newspaper. A few minutes before nine Daddy announced that it was time to go.

I grumbled, "You said your appointment is for nine-thirty. The bank is around the corner. What's the rush?"

"The appointment is not at the local branch; it's at the main office further uptown. The 9:03 bus will get us there."

I put my head down on the table. I had lived in suburban New York for more than twenty years. I took public transportation only when we visited Manhattan, and even then most of the time I traveled by taxi. My dad had given up driving some years before. He asserted he did it not because he was old and unable to drive (despite what Guinyard had told me) but because it was increasingly difficult to find a place to park in Charleston. When it reached the point that the closest rental garage he could find was a fifteen minute walk from his house, he sold his car to the owner of the garage and started riding the bus. Public transit gave him an independence many elderly people in other cities did not have. He rode the bus everywhere, but increasingly he needed assistance walking to and from the bus stops.

We hopped on the 9:03 and headed uptown. My dad introduced me to the bus driver and several of the regular riders whom he knew. I was amused by the Southern ritual of introductions and small talk. When I was a kid it irritated the hell out of me. I was certain that, after a very brief interlude of finding it amusing and quaint, I soon would revert to annoyance. I hoped I had matured past the point of making faces and acting out my annoyance with my father's ways, as I had done when I was a kid.

At the bank, my father conducted the ritual introductions with several people, beginning with the manager and moving down the organizational chart to his favorite teller. Just about the time I was ready to scream, we were ushered into a cubicle where an account manager, according to his badge, pulled out a folder of papers. On top were signature cards. He pushed them across the desk and handed me a pen. In a voice that reminded me of an airline stewardess giving the pre-flight safety talk, he said, "Your father requested to add your name to all of his accounts. You will have check-signing privileges, access to the safety deposit box, and a credit card."

I looked from the bank employee to Daddy and held my hands out from my sides with my palms up, "Please explain to me what this is about!"

Daddy looked irritated, "If you are going to take responsibility for taking care of me, you need access to my money. You will be the executor of my estate when I die, but my lawyer and my accountant both tell me it will be a lot simpler if we put your name on all the accounts now."

"I understand that. I will be happy to pay your bills and manage your affairs. I don't need a credit card. I have my own savings for my personal expenses."

Daddy waved his hand in front of my face, "You also have three kids in various stages of college and graduate school and you have a life expectancy of another 30 years or so. Spend your money on your kids' education. Let me pay for your living expenses here. Call it my way of compensating you for the sacrifice you are making."

That made me mad. "First of all my being here is not a 'sacrifice'. If you recall, I intended to move back here after Denise went to college anyway. Secondly, even if you were putting me out, I am your daughter whom you raised, clothed, fed and educated. Taking care of you is not something for which I require 'compensation'. I am hurt that you would think so."

He smiled at me and patted my hand, "Which is precisely the reason I feel safe in giving you access to my money. If I thought for a moment you were a money-grubbing, greedy and selfish wench like the children of some of my friends, I would put my checkbook under lock and key instead of giving you signing privileges."

I took his hand between mine and said in a hoarse whisper, "What you are offering me is a huge and marvelous gift, not compensation."

"Call it what you will, but please accept it." He squeezed my hand and smiled again.

We finished our business. The clerk handed me a shiny new credit card and activated it.

We walked out of the bank into the sunshine. It was still early in the day, but the sun was strong and I knew it was going to be a very warm day. It was not as humid as it would get in a few weeks, but it portended to be a sticky day. Suddenly I rather dreaded shopping for clothes with an old man on such a hot day, riding buses around town with our purchases. He looked at me as if he were reading my mind and arriving at the same conclusion. Then he glanced at his watch and looked up the street, apparently waiting for someone.

Soon a lady hurried up to us, greeting him warmly with a hug and a kiss in the air on both sides of his face, so as not to mess up her lipstick. I'd seen that maneuver done many times but I had never managed to pull it off. Every time I tried to buss somebody's cheek without actually kissing them, I ended up getting lipstick smeared all over me and my victim.

The woman appeared to be the stereotypical Southern Lady. I assumed she was a prominent denizen of Charleston society. For a minute I thought I should know her, but I didn't think I had ever met her. She was perhaps a decade or so older than me. She managed to be elegant and imposing at the same time. She was somebody I would have remembered if I had met her. I stood there sweating in the sun, feeling stupid and inadequate, while the two of them did their small-talk ritual. Eventually, Daddy turned toward me and said to the lady, "Amelia, I want you to meet my daughter, Rochelle Hammond-Jones. Shelley, this is Amelia Beauchamps."

I stuck out my hand and stammered, "I am very pleased to meet you, Mrs. Beauchamps."

Daddy explained, "Since I know nothing of shopping for women, I thought we needed help. Amelia is the shopping queen of the South. She graciously agreed to help you spend my money."

She made a face at him and then waved her hand at me, saying, "Please, dear, call me Amelia. I hope we shall become friends."

Amelia Beauchamps certainly was able to shop whenever and where ever she pleased. I had never met her, but I had known about her my entire life. She was a Charleston legend. Each of her three husbands had been richer than his predecessor. The last one had been quite simply filthy rich. I couldn't recall if he had made his money in real estate or shipping, but it was something big.

On top of the money she inherited from her husbands, Amelia descended from one of the few of the Old Families that had managed to hold onto at least some of its money and virtually all of its land. Her father's family had invested the little money they had left at the end of the Civil War in land. During the dreadful years that followed the war, the Beauchamps spent every spare dime they made buying land at tax sales. Incredibly they held onto most of it even through the Depression.

"There were rumors, bordering on legend, to the effect that her father often let his family go with little to eat in order to pay the taxes on their vast real estate holdings. During World War II, when the military ramped up operations all along the coast, he made millions selling and leasing land to the government. He plowed most of the profits into more land further inland, including some choice parcels along the Ashley River, and huge tracts on some of the barrier islands.

After the War, his wife left him because she was fed up with living from hand to mouth while sitting on top millions of dollars in real estate. He paid her divorce settlement in real estate. She sold the land and moved to North Carolina, where, as a multi-millionaire divorcée she promptly found a new husband.

During the building boom of the 1950's and 1960's, Amelia's father suddenly began selling off most of the land his family had been accumulating for nearly a hundred years. Developers were buying land at ridiculous prices. Mr. Beauchamps made millions.

Toward the end of her father's selling spree, Amelia married her first husband who, conveniently, was a real estate broker. Amelia's husband represented her father in many large transactions. Her father and that husband died within a few months of each other, making Amelia a fabulously wealthy 26-year old widow. She wasn't gorgeous, but she was so rich she didn't need to be beautiful. Two other marriages followed. I think she had one or two children. Ultimately, by mid-life she had settled into the role of reigning queen of Charleston society and a major patron of the arts not only in Charleston, but in South Carolina generally. Her reputation as a dragon-lady was known in arts circles throughout the South. I found it interesting that she was using her maiden name. I guessed that name got her the biggest bang for the buck in Charleston.

I was astonished to learn that my dad had anything to do with her. My father held my mother's memory in almost saintlike reverence, and my mother and Amelia Beauchamps had mortally hated each other.

I suddenly burned to know the story behind the both the famous feud and, also, how it was that my father and Amelia appeared to have become friends. I was determined to pry the information out of both Amelia and Daddy. There is hardly anything I love better than a good story. I was intrigued and excited at the opportunity to dig up some Charleston lore. I reckoned that, even if it included a dreaded clothes shopping expedition, my day was about to get very interesting.

Amelia hustled Daddy and me to her limo which waited, double parked, at the corner. She asked, "Benny, where do you want to wait until time for lunch?"

"Drop me off at George's."

The two of them chattered for the few minutes it took to reach my dad's friend's home. The limo pulled up in front and Daddy started to get out of the car. He turned to Amelia and said, "Try to keep in under about five grand."

She made a derisive noise in the back of her throat, "Don't be ridiculous! This is Spoleto. We can't have your daughter showing up at these events in clothes from Target!"

He looked at her and I could tell he was beginning to think he had made a terrible mistake. He made a face, "Do what you need to do, but for God's sake stay out of the jewelery stores! We'll stop at the bank later and look through Elise's jewels. Surely we will find something there."

She smiled with her lips, but I saw a glint in her eyes when he mentioned Mama's jewelry. It occurred to me that she would enjoy getting her hands on Mother's jewels just a little more than I liked, so I interjected,"I feel sure we can."

After Daddy got out of the car, she looked me up and down with a practiced eye, and said, "I'd say your dress size is about a size 8 or 10 depending on the brand. Shoes, a 7 ½ or so. We should start with foundation garments. You'll need decent bras of various types before trying on the other stuff."

I didn't respond. I hate shopping, and I knew arguing with her would only prolong the agony. My best hope for getting through the day was to cooperate fully in every way possible and only to put my foot down if she tried to talk me into buying something totally unacceptable.

She gazed at me for a long time and said, "Tell me what you like in clothes."

I made a face, "Amelia, I wear off-the-rack clothes from local department stores. I buy a few sale items at the end of each season. Until recently I worked as an underwriter for an insurance company. I wore conservative business suits – you would probably call them frumpy – to work, and pretty much every place else. I like clothes that are comfortable, conservative and functional. I still wear a few suits that are close to twenty years old. For everyday, I tend to choose conservative colors like navy and charcoal, but for dressing up, I like jewel tones. Turquoise is my favorite color."

She nodded. "What about shoes?"

"Strictly functional. Plain, unadorned pumps for work. Casual slip-on flats for everyplace else. I think I once owned a pair of evening shoes; my daughter used them when she played dress-up. I got rid of them years ago."

"You don't go out much."

I laughed. "I don't go out at all!"

She shook her head and shot me a we'll-deal-with-that-issue-later look. I almost laughed. I recognized that expression. My mother had used it all the time. I used it on my kids so often they referred to it as "Look #2." (Look #1 meant knock-it-off-this-instant-or-else.) Southern women communicate as much with their eyebrows as they do with their voices. Maybe more.

Amelia muttered, "First things first." The car stopped in front of the clothing boutique where my mother had shopped. That store had been dressing the ladies of Charleston society for a couple of generations. I knew they sold mostly the kind of very conservative fashions that appealed to society ladies. I relaxed in the knowledge that there was likely to be nothing wildly unacceptable in the clothes they would show me.

They were waiting for us. The store manager supervised the proceedings personally. She and her minions ushered us to the back of the store, settled us in comfy chairs and offered us tall glasses of iced tea, in Waterford crystal glasses. I shuddered to think what my dear old dad was going to pay for this little shopping expedition. Soon the parade of clothes began. Amelia told the store manager I needed several outfits: long dresses; evening suits; and, one or two relatively casual items. I was surprised to discover that Amelia seemed to be able to zero in on very appropriate things for me. She pushed me to the edge of my comfort zone on a couple of the dressier frocks, but she never crossed the line. I was amazed. Her own fashion style appeared to lean toward the flamboyant. I was surprised she could switch gears and see clothes through my eyes, particularly since she had only just met me.

We picked out a bunch of things for me to try on. Then we moved into the dressing room. I balked when both Amelia and the store manager moved to follow me into the fitting room, but they barged in anyway. We used one of the large dressing rooms designed for fitting wedding gowns. I stripped down to my underwear and both Amelia and the manager made sputtering noises.

Amelia said, "Oh, my."

I glared at her and said, "What?"

The manager shook her head and screwed up her face like a cranky old librarian puffing up and preparing to yell at somebody for talking. Amelia attempted, without success, to stifle a laugh. She said, "I have two words for you, my dear: foundation garments."

I rolled my eyes and put my hands on my hips. "You had better not be talking about a girdle!"

The manager looked me up and down very slowly with a not-too-disapproving expression. She remarked, "Actually your body is in very good shape. You must get plenty of exercise. I don't think you have any unwanted jiggles. You don't need a girdle, but you desperately need a better bra."

Amelia chimed in, "And new panties! My dear, what were you thinking?"

I wanted to be mad, but the whole scene was just too damned funny. I was standing in the dressing room of a very up-scale clothing store, about to try on thousands of dollars worth of fancy evening wear, and I was wearing a ratty old bra with a pin in the strap and white cotton panties that came six-to-a-pack from WalMart. The store manager looked as though she had never seen such a horrendous sight, and I was pretty sure Amelia would never have even imagined such a thing.

I laughed. "OK, ladies. I'll grant that I really do need some new bras. I fail to understand why I need new panties, however. These are brand new and perfectly fine."

Amelia obviously thought I was some kind of moron. "Sugar, they're _cotton_."

"I know they are cotton! I intentionally bought all new panties before I came home. If I am going to spend the summer in the heat and humidity of Charleston at least I intend to avoid prickly heat."

They both laughed. The store manager asked, "How do you feel about silk?"

I thought about that for a minute. I used to wear silk underwear. Silk is a natural fiber that breathes in the heat like cotton. Silk panties would work better than cotton under some of the slinky dresses we had chosen. "Alright. Silk panties. No lace, however. Too scratchy."

They both shook their heads as though I had said something insufferably stupid but they didn't argue. The manager left the room and came back a few minutes later with several bras. I tried them on and chose three that fit.

For a minute I thought the manager expected me to try on the panties, too. I grimaced and said, "That'll be fine. Just put three pairs or so in the pile."

Amelia pursed her lips and narrowed her eyes, "Make it seven. One lace."

"I said no lace."

"My dear, every woman needs a pair of lace undies."

I glared at her and said in a low voice, "I don't."

She met my gaze. Something in her eyes told me she knew exactly what I meant, in all its nuance. She tilted her chin down and looked at me over her glasses. "You should."

I merely rolled my eyes. I had no intention of engaging in that particular conversation with her. Not then. Not ever.

I was amazed to find we had beefed up my wardrobe sufficient for the Festival in less than two hours. Next we moved on to the shoe store.

Shoes were a bit more difficult for us to agree on, but we ultimately settled on three pairs that would work with various outfits. Despite her best efforts, I refused to buy gold or silver shoes. Amelia huffed. She insisted on at least one strappy number I said looked like prostitute shoes. I puffed.

We ended with a compromise I thought would work well. Since several of the evenings involved dancing, I bought a pair of black leather dance slippers. I love ballroom dancing. I was uncertain if I would have the chance to do much dancing since my escort would be my 87-year-old father, but I wanted to be prepared in the event an opportunity to dance arose.

By 1:00 p. m. we were finished. We picked up Daddy and Mr. George and headed off to lunch at the Planter's Club. We did not dally over lunch because Amelia said she needed plenty of time to get ready for the evening. Suddenly she looked at me with horror. "Your hair. We should get it styled."

I waved my arm in a dismissive gesture. "It's okay. Since tonight is formal, I'll wear it up in a French twist or something. I know how to do that. Don't worry about it."

She pursed her lips and raised her eyebrows. "Do you want me to send over a make-up person?"

I had exhausted what little patience and forbearance I possessed, "No, you do not. I will be a good girl and wear make-up tonight for the ballet so as not to shame my father. I will not apply it with a putty knife like most of the Belles will do, but I will not show up with my bare, nekkid face hanging out. OK?"

She laughed and leaned back in her chair, "I suppose we have accomplished as much as we can do for one day. In the next few days if you like I'll get you an appointment at my salon. My hairdresser no longer takes new customers, and, frankly, he specializes in old dames like me with over-dyed hair. His main claim to fame is managing to keep it from falling out, I think. He has several other employees who take new business." She paused and then added, almost as an afterthought "You have beautiful hair. You have never colored it, have you?"

"No, ma'am. I've never even permed it. Occasional hairspray and mousse are the only chemicals that have ever touched it. I have fired many a hairdresser who got too aggressive trying to talk me into dying it. I like the feel of healthy, real hair. I don't mind the gray. I think it's pretty."

She nodded her agreement. "On you, it is. You could use a trim, though. Let me know if you want an introduction."

"OK."

We finished our lunch and Amelia offered to drop us at home. Daddy asked me, "Do we need to stop at the bank for jewelry?"

Before Amelia could butt in, I replied, "No. The dress we selected for tonight needs nothing fancy. I have that pair of diamond studs you gave me when I graduated from college. I think they'll do."

Amelia narrowed her eyes and appeared to be ready to object, but I met her gaze with a firm stare. The barest hint of a smile twitched at the edges of her mouth and she inclined her head slightly. I wanted to cheer. I had made a stand and Amelia backed down. I felt a thrill. I could not have explained why that seemed important.

When we got home, I put away my purchases and took my shower before Daddy. I was afraid that putting my hair up was going to take some time and probably several attempts. Eventually, I abandoned the idea of a classical, smooth French twist. Instead I just piled my hair loosely on top of my head and secured it with some jeweled combs I found in the bottom of my make-up bag. I thought it looked great.

I slipped into the black sheathe evening gown with an intricate bodice. I hated to admit it, but the dress did slide much more smoothly over the silk underwear than it would have over cotton. I giggled to myself. I would never admit that to Amelia Beauchamps!

I applied what I considered an acceptable level of evening makeup and winked at myself in the mirror. I probably would look pale and washed out next to the other painted-up Southern gals at the party. My only defense was, having lived among Yankees so long, I had lost my knack for dolling up in the manner of big-haired Southern women.

When I felt I had done all the damage I could, I took one last spin in front of the mirror and decided I hadn't looked so good in years. My mother always told me the single most important beauty secret was that if a woman feels beautiful she will look great. I can't say I felt exactly "beautiful", but I felt pretty damned good. That was far better than the way I typically viewed my appearance. It would have to do.

Daddy was waiting for me in the living room. When I walked in, he was sitting in his chair looking out the front window, which overlooked Charleston Harbor. When he heard me, he stood and turned toward me. I was taken aback. He was in his late eighties and he was very frail, but, as he stood there decked out in his tuxedo, I saw a clear reflection of the handsome man he had been.

We simultaneously blurted, "You look fabulous!"

He walked over to me and spun me around. When I stopped, tears glimmered in his eyes. He cleared his throat and said softly, "You look like your mother."

I patted his hand and attempted to avoid crying by wise-cracking, "And you, my dear father, look like Hollywood's version of the dapper and oh-so-elegant ambassador to Someplace Important."

We headed toward the stairs and I stopped. "Are we riding the bus?"

He laughed. "Don't be silly. This is Spoleto. I hired a limo."

I turned my head to keep him from seeing my expression. I had not moved in "society" circles since I decamped to New York. I was not eager to resume that role. Unfortunately for me, Charleston society figured prominently in my father's life. I realized I'd better get used to it.

The front of the King Street Theater was awash with spotlights and the marquee blazed with smaller bulbs. Decked-out gentleman attended bejeweled women who wore an amazing rainbow of colors. The fragrance of expensive perfumes and floral sprays in the lobby almost made me feel ill. After the first few minutes, I gave up trying to remember the names of the people I met. Daddy knew everyone there, and he introduced me to all of them it seemed.

I simply concentrated on smiling my best Cotillion smile, not tripping over my skirt or stepping on someone else's dress and making sure that the Southern drawl I had spent the last thirty years trying to eliminate was strong and pronounced when I said, "I am just sooooo delighted to meet you!" to dozens of my Dad's closest friends.

I encountered some old friends and acquaintances of my own. My conversations with those folks all involved promises to get together soon to catch up. I prayed to God every one of those women would get really drunk and forget about those conversations. Catching up with high school girlfriends was the last item on my non-existent agenda.

Just before we went inside the theater to take our seats, Guinyard walked up and shook Daddy's hand. Then he turned to me and bent over my hand with the same old-fashioned gesture he had used the night before. In that anachronistic setting, it would not have seemed out of place for him to have actually kissed my hand. He looked both at ease and elegant in a black tux that was well-worn but not shabby. He smiled at me and said, "You look radiant, Miss Rochelle. I do hope you enjoy the ballet."

"You know I have not bothered even to ask anyone what they are performing."

Guinyard replied, "It is a new piece choreographed by Twyla Tharp specifically for this event. Her work is somewhat out-there. I am amazed that Charleston society seems to like it. Truth is, I don't think we really do like it much, but having Charleston serve as home to an internationally renowned dance troupe like hers helps to counter our otherwise stodgy image."

Daddy laughed and chimed in, "We'd need a whole lot more dancers like her to get rid of that well-deserved image. I agree with you, though. Personally, I'm not much of a ballet fan at all. I'm here primarily because of my position as past chairman of the Committee. My attendance is sort of mandatory."

Guinyard grinned and said to me, "I'm a more or less permanent member of the Committee. I plan to make this my last year."

Daddy laughed, patted Guinyard on the back and said to me in a stage whisper, "Guinyard has been saying that for years."

I grinned and clasped my hands in front of me. "Oh, how exciting! I love Twyla Tharp's work! She is Denise's absolute idol!" Without even thinking about it, I whipped my cell-phone from my jacket pocket and pressed the speed-dial. I reverted to the mentality of a teenager for just a second, "Honey, you'll never guess where I am!"

"Where? What's all that noise?"

"I'm at the King Street Theater with PawPaw. We're going to see a new work by Twyla Tharp. Can you believe it?"

Denise squealed so loud I had to hold the phone away from my ear. Daddy and Guinyard laughed. Daddy grabbed the phone and yelled over the din, "Denise, this is PawPaw. I didn't know you like this kind of thing. Next year, you come to Spoleto, too!"

We ended the conversation abruptly because the noise from the crush of people moving toward their seats was too loud. Guinyard disappeared into the crowd and Daddy and I were carried along by the current of people. Our seats were in the center of the orchestra section.

"Whoa, Pops. Great seats! What did they set you back?"

"I have a universal pass to all events. It's expensive, but not as much as you'd think. I was a member of the Committee for several years. They sort of cut a deal for members-emeriti. Of course, they hit us up for contributions every time we turn around, also."

When the performance began, I was swept away by the music and the magic that happens when great dancers take the stage. I enjoyed the performance much more than Daddy did. In fact, I absolutely loved it.

During intermission, Daddy steered me around the lobby, meeting and greeting and "being seen." Amelia was holding court in one corner of the lobby. Daddy pushed me in her direction and muttered in my ear, "Mandatory obeisance to Her Highness. It's the least we can do. She was kind to help with the shopping."

I shrugged and said, "OK."

Amelia saw us coming and smiled with her arms outstretched. She hugged me as though we hadn't seen each other in years. She declared I looked fabulous and then she flirted outrageously with Daddy for a minute, declaring him to be just the most gorgeous man in Charleston. Just about the time I was ready to scratch her eyes out, she turned to introduce us to her circle of courtiers, sycophants and hangers-on. We chatted just long enough to be polite but not long enough appear to be part of her group. As soon as we politely could, we moved on.

"You are creating something of a sensation. Do you have any idea how lovely you look?"

I stuck out my tongue at him, "Come on, Daddy, don't get carried away. I guess I can clean up okay when I have to. My goal is to avoid embarrassing you."

He shook his head and looked at me with sad eyes, "Your mother died too soon. She did not have the chance to finish your training. A woman who feels beautiful looks beautiful. A woman who is excited, regardless of the reason, acts like an electro-magnet. Men notice and respond. The women hate you, already."

"That makes for a fine re-entry to my home town, don't you think?"

"Actually, it is. Women will gravitate to you if they think you'll continue to attract that kind of attention from men."

"What happens when they all find out I'm really a boring old poop who just happens to be having the time of her life tonight?"

"They will drift away. To avoid that, we need to make sure this kind of evening is not such an exceptional experience in your life."

"Why would we want to do that?"

He put his arm around my shoulder and said, "Because you spent fifteen years keeping house for a selfish bastard who did not appreciate you and who, to my knowledge, never once did anything to try to make you happy. You spent the last ten years of your life maintaining that household by yourself and raising three wonderful children. During that entire time, you worked long hours at a job that I always thought sounded like hell on earth. When you were not working, you ferried kids to sports events and various clubs and classes. In between all that, you managed to keep yourself in nice shape and to maintain your looks. I never heard you mention dating or doing anything else strictly for your own pleasure. I think you deserve to have some fun."

He had summed up the last two and a half decades of my life just a little too succinctly for my comfort. For a second, I was afraid I might cry. Instead I quipped, "Well, I guess I'm in good hands. I've never known anyone who knew how to have fun like you do." I took his arm and we headed back into the theater.

We took our seats for the second act. I found it every bit as magical as the first. When the show was over, I longed to go dancing myself or possibly to simply float away propelled by sheer joy. I turned to Daddy intending to suggest we go out for a late dinner, and I noticed how tired he looked. I forced myself to slump a bit, and I said, "I'm tired. You ready to pack it in?"

He pulled a face. "You are a very bad liar. You know you really must do something about that; no self respecting Southern society lady can afford not to know how to lie like a rug. Anyway, I expect you are good for several more hours. That is why I made arrangements to hand you off to a younger man for the rest of the evening."

"You _what_?!"

"Oh, relax. It isn't like that, although actually I think a young man would do you good. The Committee is hosting a dinner party. I bought a ticket, but I am ready for bed. Go in my place. Impress the pants off them. Next year you can be on the Committee and attend on your own behalf."

"But I won't know anybody there."

"Actually, you will find that you know quite a lot of them. Guinyard will introduce you around. Two of the senior partners from my firm are on the Committee; you will recognize them when you meet them. You originally met both of them when they were wet-behind-the-ears pups. I'd love it if you would rattle their cages a bit. Amelia will be there, of course. I have to warn you that, unfortunately, your aunt Gina will be there, too."

"Aunt Gina? Is she here?"

"Oh, no. Regina would not be caught dead at an event like this. In fact I suspect she probably fought tooth and nail to prevent this production from being part of the Festival. She does that every year, and everybody ignores her. She attends only classical ballet and high-brow classical concerts. The fact is the woman has no taste whatsoever."

"Sounds to me as though this dinner portends to be a wonderful event what with Amelia in one corner and Aunt Gina in the other."

"Precisely. Welcome to Charleston society."

"Do you think you should tell me why those two families square off in that manner? I think I might need that information for my own protection. And while you're at it, why did you have Amelia take me under her wing instead of Aunt Gina?"

"The answer to your first question is too long a story for now. Suffice it to say, the feud between the Hale women and Amelia Beauchamps dates back to a childhood three-way squabble between Gina and your mother and Amelia. I'll tell you what I know of that story later. Frankly, it isn't much.

"As to the second question, you'll know the answer when you see Gina. As I said, the woman has no taste whatsoever. She has not aged well, and ... well, you'll see. Amelia may be an Amazon, but she has great taste in nearly everything."

"Let me make sure I understand this. You are planning to pawn me off on poor, unsuspecting Guinyard and send me into the maw of the Beast while you go home to bed."

He grinned and nodded, "More or less."

"Gee thanks, Dad."

As it turned out, Guinyard was not as unsuspecting as I thought. In fact, he and Daddy apparently had worked out all the arrangements in advance. We put Daddy in a limo headed for the East Battery and then joined several of the Committee members for the ride to the Planter's Club for dinner. Daddy was right. I knew quite a few of the people at the party. Guinyard escorted me into the foyer, whereupon my Aunt Gina spied me. As she steamed across the room like a battleship, Guinyard whispered behind my ear, "When you are ready to move on, give me a signal and I'll rescue you."

Then he was gone and I stood face-to-face with my mother's younger sister. I steeled myself and gave her my biggest Southern-gal fake smile. I had not seen her in a decade. Daddy was right. She was not aging well. She looked something like a caricature of the Southern society woman: just a little "too" everything. I felt that I owed it to her to give her the benefit of the doubt because the last time I had seen her was shortly after my husband left me with three small kids. She flew to New York as soon as she heard of my predicament to offer her support. That visit had been something of a disaster for everyone, but I recognized, even at the time (when I wanted to kill her for being such a pain in the ass), that her heart had been in the right place. The problem with Aunt Gina had never been her heart. The problem with Aunt Gina was her mouth.

"Oh my God! I will for sure just have to clobber that Benny Hammond for not telling me you were in town. Where is the old devil?"

"He went home. He was tired."

Aunt Gina looked surprised, and not pleasantly so. "You came here alone?" The word 'alone' came out to be about a four syllable word. I tried to avoid laughing. Part of me wanted to say 'yes' just to see if she would collapse with the vapors or something.

Instead I said with a lot more serenity than I felt, "No, I did not come alone. Daddy gave me his ticket and then pawned me off on his landlord who is apparently a member of the Committee?"

"Do you mean to tell me you are here with Guinyard Tomlinson?" She giggled in the way of adolescent girls and shot me a very strange look. "Oh."

Before I could ask her what the hell she meant by that, we were surrounded by her coterie of old biddies who all were "just dyin' to meet" me. I tolerated that for as long as I could stand it, which wasn't long. Then I decided I wanted a drink. I looked around and spied a guy I had dated in high school. It wasn't the ideal solution, but I knew enough about the rules in this crowd to know that I couldn't just walk up to the bar and order my own drink.

I waltzed up to his group with what I hoped was some semblance of a flirty gesture and said, "Why, Buford Robertson, how are you?"

He obviously did not recognize me. I interpreted that as a good thing. I smiled again and held out my hand, "Rochelle Hammond." Doctor Jones had ditched me years ago. I decided to ditch his name now that I was back on my home turf where the Hammond name meant something.

He tossed his head back and laughed. He pumped my hand and said, "I'll be damned. I never thought I'd see you in this lifetime again. I heard you went off and turned Yankee or something."

I laughed, too and replied, "Well, I guess an old Southern gal can only take so many years of that. How about buying me a drink?"

He looked around and said under his breath, "I'll be glad to but I have to introduce you to my wife first or there will be hell to pay."

I responded, "I've got an idea. Introduce me to your wife if you have to and then find some safe feller to pass me off to."

He looked shocked, "You're here alone?"

I wanted to smack him, but instead I started to explain, "Well, not exactly...."

At that moment, Guinyard materialized at my side with a glass of wine in his hand. He greeted Buford and handed the wine to me, saying, "I thought you might be ready for a glass of wine after visiting with your aunt."

I looked at him and then at Aunt Gina's loud and expanding circle. I winked and asked with what I hoped was an innocent-sounding voice, "They got any scotch?"

Guinyard and Buford laughed. Bufe said, "Actually they do. Would you prefer that?"

I took the wine and said, "This will do for now." Then I sighed and looked toward the other end of the room where Amelia stood, surrounded by her entourage. I said, "Now, I have to go over there."

Both of the men looked surprised. Bufe asked, "Why?"

I smiled and said, "Number one because my mother always told me I should be a 'bigger person' and not get caught in petty spats. Apparently my mother did not always take her own advice. Be that as it may, the real reason I have to talk to her is because I owe Amelia a huge debt of thanks for a kindness she did for Daddy and me today. I just hope this doesn't piss off Aunt Gina too much."

I handed the glass back to Guinyard, saying, "I think I'll need both hands for this. I wouldn't want to spill wine on somebody's expensive gown. Give me five minutes and then rescue me, please."

The men stood there looking befuddled while I charged off in Amelia's direction before I lost my nerve.

I allowed her to introduce me to her circle as though we hadn't just met at the theater. I was impressed that she did not tell them she was responsible for making me look respectable. I found myself liking the old gal in spite of my desire to be loyal to my mother. I forced myself to refrain from so much as glancing in Aunt Gina's direction to gage her reaction. Some things you just don't want to know.

I visited with Amelia's group for a few minutes. As requested, in a few minutes Guinyard once again appeared at my side and announced it was time to go in to dinner. Since I had Daddy's ticket, I was seated next to one of Daddy's old partners whom I remembered from his early days at the firm. The artistic director of the Charleston Ballet Company sat on my other side. I teased the lawyer about some of his awkward early days at the firm and I genuinely gushed to the latter about how much I had enjoyed the evening's performance. The food was fabulous, and I had a completely wonderful time.

It was quite late by the time the dinner ended. A few hardy souls headed for the bar. Guinyard appeared at my side for the final time and said, "If you're ready, the car is waiting."

"I'm way past ready."

We said our goodbyes to the Committee members who were milling about waiting for their cars. Both Aunt Gina and Amelia threatened to invite me to lunch one day. I attempted to make my responses as vague as possible.

It was after 1:00 a. m. when the car pulled up in front of the house. Guinyard and I walked up the stairs to the porch and he glanced at his watch. "I know it is very late, but I owe you a drink. Want a nightcap?"

I grinned at him in the dark and said, "I am an incorrigible night owl. After all that excitement, I will be up until nearly dawn anyway. If you don't mind the company, I'd love to sit on the porch for a while. With or without a drink."

"I am going to have one. I'll be right back."

I slipped off my shoes and settled into my spot on the glider. Guinyard came back in a moment with two glasses and a bottle of what I knew to be an excellent single-malt Scotch. I whistled.

He looked impressed. "You know Scotch?"

I chuckled, "My rat-bastard ex-husband left me with a few good things after fifteen mostly miserable years of marriage. He left me with three wonderful children and a couple of social skills I didn't pick up in Charleston. One of those was an appreciation for good Scotch."

He started to sit in the rocking chair. I patted the seat of the glider next to me. "There's room here and it's much more comfortable."

He joined me, and poured us each a drink. We clinked glasses and took the first sip in silent appreciation. I felt the warmth of the whiskey traveling down my throat. We found a slow, easy rhythm with the glider and sat in easy silence for several minutes.

Guinyard did not look at me; he said softly, "I hope you don't think I am nosy. Would you mind telling me about your kids."

"You mean Daddy has not bored you with bragging about his grandchildren?"

"Truth of the matter is that Benny hardly ever mentions your children."

I thought about that for a while. "I guess that makes sense. He barely knows them. That is sad, but true. They are New York Yankee kids. He's a Southern gentleman. Their father raised them to believe that anyone from south of Baltimore is a hopeless hick, present company included. I suppose they never took much of an interest in keeping in touch with their grandfather."

"You have three children, right?"

"Correct. Stanford Junior is working on his master's degree at MIT. His dad wanted him to follow in his own footsteps and become a doctor. Ford, however, was totally uninterested in the patients. His fascination and all-consuming passion is with the equipment. He wants to develop tools for micro-surgery. I do not understand about 98% of anything he says, but he is the happiest person I know and that's all I care about. I derive additional satisfaction from the fact that his love of pure science and lack of interest in money pisses off his father.

"Ted is in medical school. He made it through college mostly on his charm. He seems destined to take after his old man both as to a career in medicine and a penchant for whoring. I hope I am not shocking you....

"Denise seems to be some kind of genetic throwback to my mother. She has no interest in science or medicine or boys for that matter. Her one and only all-consuming passion is dancing. I took her to her first dance class when she was four. I still can see the look of transcendent ecstasy on her face when she walked out of that class. She still has that look after a particularly good class.

"This summer she is participating in an intern program at the New York City Ballet. Come September, she will be off to Julliard. I can't believe that Daddy has been on the Committee of the Spoleto Festival all these years and he has never invited her to come. I suppose we never made it clear to him how central dance was in our family's life. I guarantee that next year she'll have front row tickets to every dance performance."

He poured himself another drink. I sipped mine and waved the bottle away. He said, "If your husband thought Southerners were such hicks, why did he marry you?"

I made a feeble and completely unsuccessful effort to laugh. It came out somewhere between a groan and a growl. "I was at Columbia studying chemistry and art history. Apparently he heard about my potential inheritance...

"Excuse me: chemistry and art history? That is an interesting combination. What was that about?"

"I planned to be an art restorer. Don't ask me why. I think I read a book about it once, or something. I have no idea."

"Sorry, go on...."

"Anyway, Stan heard that my family had money. His family's business was on the skids and he needed a source of cash to help him finish medical school. Apparently he figured a naive hick from South Carolina, who happened to be a potential heiress, would fill the bill just fine."

I laughed somewhat bitterly. "He didn't count on my smart and perceptive father. Daddy didn't want me to marry Stan, but he knew he couldn't talk me out of it since I was such a bull-headed and stubborn Hale woman. He did manage to do some fast behind-the-scenes legal maneuvering to revise the terms of my inheritance from my mother so that the trust paid me only enough to keep us barely alive. Daddy's solution reminds me of the arrangement you described the other night whereby your mother's family kept your family afloat without giving your father any money.

"Stan and I got married and I went to work. Between my salary and my trust income, I put him through medical school. Do I need to finish this? It is such a common tale....

"For the first five years or so, things were okay provided I never asked him for anything, material or emotional. For the next five years, I stayed home and produced three children. By the time his cheating and lying became so bad that I knew that someday I would have to kick him out, I went back to work. I knew all I had to do was ask Daddy to give me more money, but I never liked the idea of living off my trust fund. I wanted to earn my own way.

"Exactly a week before my 40th birthday, Stan served me with divorce papers and moved in with his office manager who looked like Anna Nicole Smith. She was 27."

"I considered coming back to Charleston at that point, but my kids were Yankees and they had been raised with their father's anti-Southern prejudices. The divorce and its aftermath would be a terrible trauma and upheaval in their lives. Uprooting them and hauling them across the country to a new environment might have been good for me, but I think it would have been too difficult for them.

"I decided to stay in New York until Denise graduated from high school.

"I hired a lawyer and extracted a sizable but not especially punitive settlement from Stan. After that, I worked as an underwriter for an insurance company eight hours a day and I devoted virtually all the rest of my time and energy to my kids.

"The boys are well launched. Denise graduated from high school two weeks ago and she is now in Manhattan studying with the NYC Ballet for the summer. Daddy's request for me come here to stay with him was timed perfectly. Knowing my father, I am sure the timing was completely and totally intentional."

"And so, here I am."

"Do you miss him?"

"Who? Stan?"

"Yes."

I thought about that question for a while. Nobody had ever asked me that before. It was actually a very good question. "I missed him often in the years when he was out catting about all the time and was never home. After he left for good, no, I never missed him. I was more or less relieved to have him gone. The coming and going before that was hard for me and for the kids. Stan would be gone sometimes for days, then he would come home and criticize both me and the kids about every little thing. He was just mean. It broke my heart when I once overheard Ford tell Ted that he thought their dad needed a new girlfriend because he was coming home too much.

"I never missed him, but I was angry and very bitter for a while."

"Forgive me for asking, but would you mind telling me how you got past that?"

I chuckled and held out my empty glass. Guinyard poured me another drink. I said, "You'll either laugh or think of me as a mean, petty person. I've never told anybody this story.

"Supposedly Stan lost his wedding ring very early in our marriage. He did not replace it because he said surgeons shouldn't wear rings anyway. I didn't make much of that at the time. Silly me!

"When he moved out, Stan left a lot of his stuff behind. He left things he didn't need or didn't want. As he had done for fifteen years, he did his own thing and left me to clean up after him. One day, while I was cleaning out his bureau I found an old change purse in the back of a drawer. His wedding ring was inside. I am pretty sure he took it off in a bar someplace, put it in the change purse and forgot about it. Anyway, there it was in my hand, still shiny, the decorative engraving was not even worn."

I paused and took a swig of scotch, giggled and said, "I'm a little embarrassed to tell you this."

"What did you do?"

"I took his wedding ring out by the pool and smashed it repeatedly with a hammer until it was flat like a penny. Then I flushed it down the toilet." I paused, laughing, "I paid $7500 to repair the damage to the pool deck, but it was worth it. That little tantrum was the catharsis I needed. I managed to leave my anger behind from that night on. I flushed it with the ring. Since then I've been sad often. Occasionally, I have been lonely. Stan is a selfish son of a bitch but I have never wasted any energy being angry with him since that night.

"How many drinks have I had? My God, how I'm bending your ear!"

"You just took the first sip of your second drink, and please recall that I asked you to tell me the story. I may be pushing my luck here, but I have one more question."

"What is that?"

"Your tantrum, as you call it, took care of the anger. What did you do about the hurt?"

I considered my answer carefully for a long time. It seemed important to be absolutely honest with this man, although I couldn't have said why at that moment. Also, I needed a few minutes to muster the courage to speak the answer without dissolving into sobs. I swirled my drink around in the glass, but suddenly I didn't want it. I set it down on the floor and clenched hands in my lap. I closed my eyes and whispered, "I don't think there's a cure for that."

He half turned toward me and took my hand between both of his, "I will not take the time to tell you my story tonight. You may have heard it from Benny. If not, I'll tell you another time. I do want to tell you this: You have just offered me the most wonderful gift I have received in a very long time."

I could see his face in the glow of a street light. His cheeks were wet. He leaned over my hand and this time, very gently and just for an instant, he kissed the back of my hand. "Good-night, Rochelle. Stay out here as long as you like."

He went inside, leaving the whiskey on the table.

I don't know how long I sat there. Before I went upstairs, I dumped the my unfinished drink in the flower bed and put the bottle and the glass between the screen door and wooden door of Guinyard's downstairs apartment.

I heard my father get up as I crawled into bed.
Chapter 3

I awoke around noon. Daddy was sitting at his desk dictating into his computer. I poured coffee and joined him.

He looked at me with a combination of amusement and disapproval in his eyes and asked, "What time did you get home?"

"Oh, we got home a little after 1:00. We sat outside and talked, or, more accurately, I talked and Guinyard listened for awhile. Eventually I bored him to the point he went to bed. I spent the rest of the night rocking alone in the dark."

"I think you're a vampire."

"I fear you may be right. What's on the agenda for today?"

"You should rest for one thing. Tonight we have tickets to a jazz concert at the Auditorium. There are several acts lined up including the Stan Kenton combo and Spira Gyra."

"Really!? Fantastic! I love both of them. What's the dress code?"

"I recommend one of those quasi-casual outfits you mentioned. Black pants or a skirt and something that sparkles. Check with Amelia."

"I think I'll wing it. What are we doing for dinner? I feel bad that you didn't eat yesterday."

"I ate a snack while you were dressing so I didn't exactly starve. As for tonight, we could either fix a bite here before we go, or we can go out to eat after the show."

I laughed. "You go to bed at dark! You would fall asleep in your food if we tried to go out afterwards. Tonight, we'll eat here before we go, and tonight I will come home with the one that brung me."

We grinned at each other.

That afternoon, I went for a long, head-clearing walk. Charleston has the well-deserved reputation of being one of America's most beautiful cities. Most tourists see Charleston from the back of tourist trams or horse-drawn carriages. I believe the best way to experience Charleston is on foot, especially if you venture off the main streets. Even during my years living in the north, I recalled springtime as the time when my hometown smelled of Confederate jasmine and gardenia. I was delighted to verify the accuracy of my recollection.

When I returned home, Daddy was preparing dinner, which would consist of real food since we had stocked the larder by putting in an order from a grocer who delivered. We ate and got dressed. We called a taxi to take us to the theater and requested the cabbie to pick us up again afterwards. I saw some of the same people in the crowd, although the crowd was much larger because the venue was bigger than the King Street Theater. I waved to Amelia. She looked at my outfit and gave me a very subtle thumbs-up. I did not see Aunt Gina and I mentioned that to Daddy.

He said, "I told you she only shows up for the really high-brow stuff. She'll be at the after party tonight, but she wouldn't be caught dead at a jazz concert."

The show was every bit as spectacular in its own way as the preceding night. I leaned back in my seat, closed my eyes and allowed my soul to be carried away on the music. At one point I wondered how much musical bliss I would be able to stand in one week.

While we were waiting for our taxi, I watched the Committee people drifting off toward their limos to go to the after-party. Guinyard was among them. I half regretted promising Daddy I'd go home with him. I longed to make the evening last but, true to my word, I went home with Daddy. He was asleep before 10:30. I puttered around the house, too keyed up to sleep, too excited to read and yet not desperate enough to watch TV.

It began to rain. I love rain, so I made a cup of instant coffee and rushed outside. I sat in the dark listening to the rain and smelling fresh wet dirt along with a hint of salt-air coming in from the harbor. A gardenia bush somewhere nearby contributed its heady fragrance to the night air. I finished the disgusting coffee and rocked slowly, feeling utterly and completely content.

Just before midnight, a limo pulled into the driveway front and Guinyard stepped out. He had reached the top step before he saw me. He looked startled. I said, "I'm sorry. I seem to have taken up more or less permanent residence on your front porch. You should charge me rent."

He recovered quickly and smiled at me. He leaned against the railing and asked, "How did you like the concert?"

I gushed, "Oh my God, it was beyond wonderful! I love Stan Kenton. Spyra Gyra has been a favorite of mine for years. I enjoyed thoroughly!"

He closed his eyes and laughed. I couldn't see his face, but that was the first time I had heard him haul off and really laugh. It was like music. He said, "You have no idea how neat it is to see the Festival through fresh eyes! I've been attending Spoleto Festivals since their inception and I have served on the Committee for most of those years. I've witnessed more fabulous musical and dance performances than a person should be allowed to see in a lifetime. In a way I think I have begun to take the whole thing for granted. Thank you for your enthusiasm."

"Not that you have any choice in the matter! When I get excited, everybody knows it. Would you care to join me?"

"Sure. Do you want a drink?"

"No thanks. I had some coffee a little while ago."

He laughed, "Like father, like daughter. Benny drinks coffee before he goes to bed. Do you?"

I raised my hands in a gesture of surrender, "Guilty."

"I intend to have a real drink."

He disappeared into his apartment and came back a few minutes later, minus his coat and tie, with a glass of bourbon in his hand.

I asked, "How did you like the show?"

"Jazz is not my favorite. I enjoy virtually all kinds of dance and I love the classical concerts. It was a good concert, though. The after party was rather interesting."

"How so?"

"Well, evidently somehow your Aunt Regina got wind of the fact that you went shopping with Amelia the other day. Regina was waiting for you and Benny. It was probably a good thing you weren't there."

"Was there a scene between the two of them?"

"A scene between Regina and Amelia? Lord sakes, no! Neither of them officially recognizes that the other exists. They would never stoop to an open spat because it would require them to actually speak to one another. Think of it as something like Queen Marie-Antoinette and Madame de la Pompadore: they do not acknowledge one another.

"The bad thing is that by going shopping with Amelia, you sort of gave her the upper hand."

"Is there anything I can do to even the score?"

He thought about that for a while and shook his head. "I can't think of anything off hand, but I do recommend you have lunch or go shopping with your aunt very soon."

I leaned my head back against the seat and sighed. "There are many wonderful things about moving back here. There are a few things that are a pain in the ass. Aunt Gina is one of the latter. Why do they hate each other? Do you know?"

He scratched his chin, "Actually I have heard multiple versions of about three different stories. The feud has become part of the local lore. I doubt that very many people, including perhaps the principals, remember the actual origin of the dispute."

"Daddy told me he knows. He promised to tell me."

"I'd love for you to share that story with me!"

I giggled. "I will tell you if he doesn't extract some kind of secrecy oath from me.

"Speaking of stories...." I picked up his hand and looked at his watch. It was a little past midnight; that was still relatively early for me. "You promised to tell me one."

He was quiet for a moment. Then he sighed and wrinkled his forehead. He stared at me with an almost stern look. "I know I promised you a story, but my story is a serious downer. It seems inappropriate to tell it at the end of a lovely evening."

I considered that a warning. I said gently, "It doesn't have to be tonight, but I would be privileged to hear your story." I shrugged and raised my hands, "I'm going to be up for hours, anyway."

He was quiet for a long time. About the time I concluded he was not going to say anything, he began, "I've never told the whole story to anyone. I think Benny has pieced it together for the most part, but we have never discussed it. I don't think I know how to tell it."

I didn't look at him. Instead I leaned back and closed my eyes. "Forget I'm here. Just say it out loud as it comes to you."

He was quiet for a minute, then he asked, "How did your aunt react when you told her you were at the party with me the other night?"

I thought about that for a minute, "She seemed surprised."

He chortled, "Boy, what I wouldn't give to have seen the look on her face!"

"Why was she so surprised?"

He blurted, "Because I'm sort of Charleston's most prominent fag."

I literally jumped, "What does that mean?"

"I think you understand perfectly well what that means. For more than thirty years until two years ago, I was in a relationship with another man."

He sounded so sad, I wanted to take his hand or touch his arm, but I hesitated not knowing whether or not he would consider that inappropriate. Instead I sat there with my heart aching for him and twisted my hands helplessly in my lap.

He continued, "I told you last night that you had given me a special gift. That gift was validation of my feelings. Nobody has ever opened up to me in that way before. I suppose that would be partly my fault. I have been a very private person. Most people probably think I am just one of the South's weird old bachelors, and I have never done anything to disabuse them of the notion. Nobody ever shared a story like you did with me, and nobody ever invited me to talk about mine.

"This is your last chance to stop me if you don't want to hear it."

I reacted on instinct. I laid my hand on his forearm and said, "Everybody needs to talk about it when the worst-thing-that-can-happen happens to you."

He gasped. Then he cleared his throat a time or two. When he finally started to speak, there were tears in his voice. "It's late. This is the Readers Digest abridged version of the story. I dated women when I was young, and even fell in love a time or two, once with Regina Hale, of all people. Until my late twenties, I had never even once found myself attracted to men. Quite honestly, my actual preference for women was a point of contention between my partner and me for many years.

"My situation did not result from a particular gender preference. It was the result of an encounter with a particular person, a person whom I came to love beyond all reason. I met Clay when I was in my late 20's. I won't burden you with the details of living in a relationship like that in the South. You've been around the dance world a long time. You must have at least some gay acquaintances, so you should have some notion of how society views that whole thing.

"Anyway, we were together for 30 years. Clay had his own house and I lived here, but we managed to spend some time together for at least part of every day, at least when he was in town. I loved him in what seemed to me to be the best possible way. He loved me, too, or at least he did a damned fine job of convincing me he did.

"Two years ago, he just disappeared. He failed to check in one evening when he was supposed to have returned from a business trip. I drove by his house. I rarely visited his home; he generally came here. Anyway, I found a 'sold' sign in the yard and the house vacant. His telephone was disconnected. He simply abandoned the stuff he kept at my house. Last night, you told me that your ex-husband left his mess for you to clean up. Clay left quite a lot of crap here for me to deal with as well.

"He failed to show up for a bunch of social engagements. A few people who knew we were 'friends' called me to inquire about his whereabouts. They didn't believe me when I told them I didn't know.

"We never went public with our relationship, so most people did not know the affect it had on me. He was prominent in the arts community, so his sudden departure generated a lot of talk around town. The people who knew about us generally have avoided the subject in my presence. I swear to God, for a while I considered becoming a hermit. To this day, I can't decide which was worse: listening to discussions on the topic among people who were oblivious my involvement, or confronting the silence of people who knew about it but refused to acknowledge that anything had changed in my life.

"I sincerely hope that you are not offended by the fact that I liken my situation to yours. Yesterday, for the first time since Clay left, I felt as though someone else truly understands what I have been through."

I took his hand between mine and whispered almost more to myself than to him, "Dear God, how much more of a burden have you carried than I did!? Stan dumped me publicly so I had the luxury of being publicly angry. I hauled the bastard to court and I won. Most of all, I had love and support from my family and some very dear friends. How on earth have you carried this burden all alone?"

No wonder he had looked so sad when I first met him!

He chuckled, soft and low, and put his other hand over mine saying, "You told me how you coped. I'll tell what I did. I saved his stuff for several months in the vain hope he would come back for it. After I accepted the fact he was not coming back, I sorted through his stuff. I gave most of it to Goodwill. I kept a few personal items I had given him including a pair of pajamas that were his favorite. I burned them one night in the back yard. I can't say that it eliminated my anger, but it helped a lot." He laughed uncomfortably.

I squeezed his hand. My only other alternative would have been to put my head on his shoulder and sob. We sat quietly for a while. Eventually I said, "It is none of my business, but it is late and I'm shamelessly curious, what have you done since then?"

"I go to work. I come home and talk to Benny. I increased my social and community organization work a bit. That's about it."

"You haven't seen anyone else?"

He shook his head. "Have you?"

I hesitated. "Actually after a couple of years I did go out a few times with some people my friends set me up with. Married women can't tolerate a single women. Some of my friends were pretty obnoxious about it. Anyway, to shut them up I went out on a few dates, and each one was a disaster. One of these days you can break out that bottle of scotch and I'll tell you about some of them. We can laugh until we throw up.

"Anyway, eventually, I put my foot down and told my friends that hell would freeze over before I'd take up with another man." I laughed nervously and continued, "One of Denise's dance teachers at the time also taught several adult classes. I signed up for the exercise and for something to do. Dan is a gay man in a long-term relationship. I took classes from him for several years. He and his partner were my anchors. They invited me into to their home and I became almost a part of their family. I ate their food and drank their liquor – mostly tequila, straight shots. They encouraged me to cry and swear and yell. We actually had some great times together in between my tantrums. They have been wonderful friends to me. They moved away a few years ago, but we touch base occasionally."

"You haven't dated anyone since those early fiascoes?"

"I had a busy job and three teen-agers. I did not have time or energy for a man. Actually, I more or less lost contact with most of my girlfriends as well because I didn't have the time or energy to maintain those friendships either. I decided they weren't worth the effort. I resented the fact that most of my girlfriends were bothered by my divorce. People who are in relationships don't like to be reminded of how suddenly things can change. I also have to tell you a couple of my girlfriends took a very dim view of my friendship with Dan and Roger. Faced with a choice, I chose the friends who loved me as I was over the friends who wanted me to conform to their ideas of how I should be."

We did not talk for a long time. He went inside for another drink. I asked for one, too. He returned in a minute. I found it very comfortable simply to sit quietly with him. It was rare for me to be able to share such comfortable silence with someone I had only just met. On the other hand, Guinyard and I had so much in common both in terms of background and experience it seemed as though we had known each other for a lifetime.

After a while I asked, "So what's on the schedule for tomorrow?"

"You will love tomorrow's main event, the Kibbutz Contemporary Dance Company. They are absolutely magnificent Israeli dancers. They weren't here last year, but we're bringing them back literally by popular demand, including mine. Benny told me he didn't order tickets for it because it is a little beyond his comfort zone. I don't think he realized how much you like modern dance. I have two tickets. I would love it if you would consider going with me."

"Would I ever! I saw them in Manhattan a few years ago. They are awesome! If it is no imposition, I would love to go with you."

"After the performance, there will be a party with the dancers and choreographer. Would you like to go to that as well?"

"I think I could force myself," I laughed.

He stood up and pulled me to my feet. "Well, then, we'd better turn in. I suspect that once I get you to the party, we may be there a while."

I asked, "Will Aunt Gina and Amelia be there?"

"Amelia will be. Regina won't attend the performance. I don't know if she'll be at the party or not. She probably will. She can't stand to miss anything."

"Well, I'd be delighted to go with you if Daddy's okay with it. It's a little embarrassing to say that, but I feel as though I shouldn't go gallivanting off without at least running it by him."

Guinyard said softly, "I think he could do with the rest."

I agreed.

He said goodnight and turned to go. I asked, "What's the dress code tomorrow?"

"Glad you asked, tomorrow is a black tie gala. You should wear the second fanciest outfit you bought. The farewell gala at the end of the Festival is the biggest event of all, but dance is a big part of Spoleto and all the luminaries will be there tomorrow."

I hung my head, "God, I wish Denise were here."

"Do you have a photo phone?"

"No."

"I do. I'll use it tomorrow."

"You're not supposed to do that at the theater."

"I know, but I'm on the Committee. They're not going to throw me out. Besides, I know all the best places from which to sneak pictures. I've been doing it for years."

I giggled, "I don't know if Denise will be thrilled we thought of her or annoyed at not being invited."

We said good-night, and I fell in bed, exhausted. The evening had been a roller-coaster. I loved the concert. Guinyard's story made me sad and angry. I was excited about the opportunity to see the Kibbutz Contemporary Dance Company again. There was also a strange and extremely scary feeling lurking at the edge of my consciousness. I tried to ignore it.

Chapter 4

The next morning Daddy and I went grocery shopping. On the way home, I told him about Guinyard's invitation to the performance that evening. He nodded and studied my face with a strange expression on his, "Are you going to the gala afterwards, also?"

"Yes, unless you think you'll need me."

He shook his head. "No, I won't need you. You enjoy that kind of dancing. Go."

After we put away the groceries, he called a taxi. I was about to begin preparing lunch, but Daddy interrupted me. "Come on. We have to get to the bank soon so we can get back in time to get you ready. I want to get some of your Mama's jewels from the box. Mind if I see what you plan to wear tonight?"

I showed him the rest of the clothes I had purchased. He looked them over and tilted his head from side to side. "You are going to need something else for the final gala. I told Amelia we would not be attending tonight, so she didn't make allowances for it. Wow, you two did some fantastic shopping! Wear the turquoise gown tonight. Dance people look like crows dressed in black all the time. You can put a little color in the crowd. Wear the black gown to the classical concert. We'll have to buy another one for the farewell gala. I think you should wear something very plain to that one. Have you ever worn champagne satin?"

"This is me, your daughter, Rochelle. Earth to Dad! I have never worn satin at all."

"Oh, pardon me. For a minute I forgot I was talking to the only woman in Charleston who doesn't like to dress up. I'll call the dress shop tomorrow and talk to them about what options we may have on such short notice. Anyway, it's the turquoise dress tonight, which means gold jewelry. Let's go."

Daddy asked the cab driver to wait for us. We went directly to the safety box area. Daddy opened the box. I gasped! I knew my mother had a lot of jewelry, but I had no idea how much or how magnificent it was. Most of the jewelry consisted of family heirlooms from both sides of the family. Daddy rummaged through the box, obviously looking for something in particular. "Oh, yes! This will be perfect"

He drew out a velvet bag containing a gold collar-necklace with matching bangle bracelets and teardrop earrings, all set with exquisite turquoise. He held them up. "You think this'll go? It belonged to my mother. She wore these in the 1920's during a period when she fancied herself something of a flapper. I've always loved this set, but Elise would never wear it because it was too big and clunky. I've noticed this kind of jewelry style seems to be back in fashion now. What do you think?" He was babbling and excited. Even if I had hated it, I'd have worn it just to please him. But I most definitely did not hate it. It was the most gorgeous jewelry I'd ever seen!

He continued to dig around in the box and added, "While we're here let's get something to go with the black dress. That one is very simple. You said you have diamond studs. How about this to go with your earrings?" He held up a diamond choker with one very large stone in front.

"Oh, my God. Whose was that?"

"Your mother's grandmother wore it on her on her wedding day. Her mother wore it and so did Elise."

"Why have I never seen it before?"

He gave me a dark look, but didn't answer. We both knew he had opposed my marriage to Stan. He would never have let me wear the family jewels to my wedding.

"OK, then, answer me this: why am I seeing it now?"

He grinned, "Because when I escort you to the concert on Saturday, I want you to turn heads all over the room."

He started to close the box. I stopped him, asking, "Do you have any long strands of pearls and/or drop pearl earrings? I plan to wear that black pants outfit to one of the more casual events, it could use pearls."

He rooted around like the Wizard of Oz looking in his bag. He came up with the perfect long strand of pearls, obviously belonging to the same Flapper grandmother. There were no drop pearl earrings, but he did find a pair of very large pearl studs that I thought would look even better.

"What about for the last night?"

"We'll pick out the jewelry after we get the dress. This will do for now. What are you doing with your hair?"

"Probably the same thing I did the other night."

"A French braid would be beautiful with that dramatic outfit."

"Yeah, right, I'm gonna French braid my hair! I always had to take Denise to the hairdresser to braid hers. I could never get the hang of it."

When we got home, he said, "Go up and wash your hair. I'll be right back."

When I came out of the shower, he was in the kitchen talking to another man. They stood up. "Shelley, this is Ray Montague. He lives a couple of doors down. He's retired now but he was a hairdresser for years. He thinks he could still manage a passable French braid despite arthritis and decrepitude."

"How many people will it take to get me ready for a party?"

Mr. Montague laughed, "Sugar, I used to do your Aunt Regina's hair. It takes an army of people to get her ready for a party. If all you've got is me, I just don't know how you're going to manage."

I said, "I will put on my dress and a robe."

He shook his head. "No dress yet. Just the undies and a robe. You should not put on the dress until the very last minute." He braided my hair, and it looked incredible. I had never worn my hair in such a severe style before. It looked amazing with my wide cheekbones and pointed chin. My face looked heart-shaped instead of angular.

Mr. Montague looked at me and cocked his head sideways. "You want me to do your makeup, too?"

"I've never had my makeup done."

"I can tell. Go wash your face. I'll be right back. I doubt you have the stuff I'll need."

I washed my face and he came back in a few minutes with a large box of cosmetics. I sat down at the kitchen table and he went to work. I cautioned him not to apply it too thick and he told me to shut up. Daddy threw fuel on the fire by encouraging him to bump up the color. He finished my makeup except for the lipstick which he said would go on at the last minute.

Mr. Montague turned to Daddy and said, "You'd better get dressed."

"I'm not going."

"Then who's she going with?"

"Guinyard."

He stopped holding the mascara brush in mid air. He started to say something but Daddy glared at him. I stood and announced, "Time for the finishing touches. Wait here with that lipstick."

I put on the dress and the jewelry without looking into the mirror. Then I turned quickly and looked at myself in the full-length mirror. I couldn't believe my eyes. I had never looked so good. The dress hung well. The jewelry was perfect. The makeup was more dramatic than I would have liked, but it went beautifully with the outfit. I laughed out loud.

A few minutes later, I walked out of the bedroom and I could tell by the looks on their faces that Daddy and Mr. Montague approved as well. I heard Mr. Montague mutter, "Such a waste." Daddy poked him. I managed somehow not to laugh or to smack Mr. Montague.

I heard a limo stop in front. Guinyard knocked on the door at the bottom of the stairs. I blew a kiss to Daddy and pumped Mr. Montague's hand, thanking him for his help. I stopped at the top of the stairs. "I don't have an evening bag! I can't carry my big, old purse."

Daddy handed me the tube of lipstick and the key to the door. "Your mother never carried a purse to a formal event. Ask Guinyard put these in his pocket."

I ran down the stairs floating on air. When I stepped out on the porch, Guinyard and I looked at one another; first we gasped and then we laughed. He looked incredible. He was tall and thin. His silver hair was a little thin on top but he looked elegant and distinguished. I tried unsuccessfully not to notice how handsome he was.

He looked at me with appreciation. "You look beautiful, Miss Rochelle."

I blushed. "No one has ever said that to me before." I leaned toward him and said, "Perhaps because it was never true before. I have to admit I had a whole lot of outside help."

He laughed and said, "I bet you actually had less help than most of the other woman who will be in attendance."

We climbed into the limo, which we were sharing with another couple. Guinyard introduced me to the Chairman of the Committee and his wife. They both registered surprise at my presence. I thought their reaction was rude, not to me but to Guinyard. He didn't react, however, so I played it cool as well.

After Guinyard explained that I was Benny Hammond's daughter, they both perked up and asked me a lot of questions. When they learned that I was very "into" dance and music, they were suddenly very interested in me. I concluded that Guinyard was right: if I played my cards right I could end up on the Committee before the next Festival rolled around.

That thought intrigued me. My train of thought must have been visible. Guinyard kicked my foot. I stifled a giggle. Mrs. Whatever-Her-Name-Was looked at me somewhat disapprovingly. I thought she probably should not disapprove of me too much. I knew a lot about dance and, perhaps more importantly, I had a very large trust fund from my mother and I stood to inherit an even larger fortune from my father. It occurred to me that I would probably be invited to serve on the Committee, or some kind of charity board, no matter how I behaved.

When we got out of the car, I noticed a very concerned look on Guinyard's face. He drew me aside and said in a very worried voice. "I suddenly have the feeling that more people knew about my situation with Clay than I ever imagined. I caught their glance in the car and I overheard a remark Ted Montague made in front of an open window upstairs while I was waiting outside for you. Are you sure you are okay with this?"

I leaned close to him and looked him straight in the eyes, "I have no problems with this whatsoever. I am here with you because I am your friend. The way I see it, we can play this in one of several ways. We can play it camp, which would be a lot of fun in the short term, but it would probably not a be great way for me to reenter Charleston society and it certainly wouldn't help your reputation any. We can play it somewhat, how shall I say, defiant. Or, we can play it totally cool, pretending not notice anything at all beyond how much fun we are having with one another. You choose."

He said, "You're amazing!"

After that he smiled into my eyes for a long time with a strange combination of earnestness and whimsy in his expression. "I pick playing it extremely cool. I also want to remind you that, to use an expression I mortally hate and have never actually used before, I swing both ways."

I leaned in close to him and raised one eyebrow, "I caught that remark last night... Which makes this even more fun. It seems just a little bit dangerous."

"Shall we go?"

I smiled my best Cotillion smile and drawled, "Oh, yes, let's just dooooo!"

He held out his arm and I rested my hand inside his elbow. We sailed into the lobby of the theater. It was quite late by the time we arrived, so most of the audience was already seated. Our seats were only a few rows from the front. I suggested we wait in the back until the house lights went down.

He whispered into my ear, "Oh, no you don't. For the first time in thirty-five years I am attending one of these functions with a lovely woman -- a very lovely woman. I want to make an entrance, -- unless you object, of course."

I was bordering on mortification, but he looked so eager and sincere, I couldn't refuse him. We processed down the center aisle in perfect step, not too slow and not too fast. A lot of tourists and artsy folks from all around the country were present so it wouldn't be exactly true to say that a hush fell. However, to eyes and ears that were familiar with the local voices, I can say with certainty that the low-country drawls fell silent.

As we sat down I could feel Guinyard's body shaking. I looked into his laughing face and whispered, "I thought we weren't doing camp."

"OK. We'll stop. But, I have to tell you that was the most fun I've had ... ever."

I laughed and patted his arm. "Pace yourself, boy."

The performance was amazing. Guinyard took lots of illicit pictures. His phone took video, too, and I think he filled up the memory. I couldn't wait to email Denise the photos.

I would have preferred to spend intermission in our seats reading the program, but Guinyard was obligated to mingle. I asked for my lipstick from his pocket and promised to meet him by the bar in ten minutes. I went to the bathroom and was freshening my lipstick when Amelia walked in and marched up to me. First she looked at me appraisingly from head to toe and she nodded. She clearly approved of the look. Next she did a sort of emotional 180-degree turn. She leaned over and hissed at me into the mirror, "What in the Sam Hill do you think you're doing?"

I blotted my lips and arched my brows in a gesture I had learned from my mother. It was the non-verbal equivalent of "I beg your fucking pardon." Amelia obviously understood the message.

"Don't you sit there and act like you don't know what I'm talking about."

I stood up and turned to face her. She was shorter than me but her stature was so imposing and even regal I felt as though I was looking up at her. Somehow, I held my ground. "Just what are you talking about?"

"Him."

"Who?"

"Guinyard Tomlinson."

"What about him?"

"What on earth are you doing with him?"

"Well, it is not your business, but he is my father's landlord. He's a member of the Committee. Daddy doesn't like modern dance so he didn't buy a ticket to this performance. I, on the other hand, adore even the most far out and experimental modern dance. My daughter is spending the summer at the New York City Ballet right now; in September, she will begin studying dance at Julliard. She's been dancing modern for years. I'm actually a fairly sophisticated fan of the form. Mr. Guinyard was coming to the performance tonight anyway, and he had an extra ticket. He was kind enough to offer it to me. Do you have some kind of a problem with that?"

Having decided that my best course of action was to play dumb, I forced myself to look innocent and I met her gaze, trying desperately to look clueless instead of irritated. She stared at me for a very long time. I prayed that I could hold the look and pull off the innocent routine. Amazingly, I did it! Eventually she sighed, "I hate to tell you, but you are wasting your time."

"I beg your pardon?"

"Guinyard Tomlinson is not interested in women."

I laughed, and said quickly, "I told you I came here to watch the performance. I have no interest in Mr. Guinyard's personal life."

She gave me a long, searching look. Clearly, she didn't believe me. She said, "That's good because you wouldn't have a prayer with him."

I paused for a long time and then said pleasantly, "Well, I guess it's a good thing I'm not in the market for a man, then, isn't it?"

A few minutes later, I joined Guinyard by the bar. He handed me a glass of champagne and looked over my shoulder. My back faced the bathroom door but I could tell by the look on his face that Amelia had followed me out. I was sure she was watching us.

I smiled at him and said, "You have no idea how hard it is not to do something that I might really regret."

He threw back his head and laughed, "I think I would love to know what you have in mind."

I had never played the coquette before and I had no idea what I was doing, but I glanced at him out of the corner of my eye and smiled, "Several things come to mind. Is Amelia still watching?" He nodded slightly. "For one thing, it occurs to me that it would be a whole lot of fun to plant a big old wet smooch right on your face."

He picked up my playful tone and replied, "That would be interesting to a lot of people, including Amelia, who hasn't taken her eyes off us all evening. But, as delightful as that sounds, I caution you not to do anything to tick her off. She could make real trouble for both of us. Besides it would mess up that gorgeous paint-job Ted Montague did. "

I pretended to be deflated, and said, "OK, but remember that I made the offer."

We made our way back into the theater, this time surrounded by the crush of the rest of the audience. As the lights went down I whispered, "Why does Amelia care?"

He patted my arm, "That's a long story."

"Will you share it with me?"

"I think I owe it to you. How about on the porch later?"

"I'm there."

I was as transported by the second half of the performance as I had been by the first half and the party afterwards was every bit as glamorous as Daddy had led me to expect. The food was wonderful and the crowd was filled with dancers, choreographers and artistic directors from dance troupes all over the world. It was the most amazing and interesting collection of people I had ever seen. Even better, Aunt Gina was not there, so I did not have to worry about navigating the tricky no-man's-land between her and Amelia. I was free to wander around the room, listening to the various conversations and soaking up the atmosphere.

Guinyard worked the room as was expected of him. Occasionally, our paths crossed and we exchanged glances or a few words. I didn't spend much time with him because I knew we would have plenty of time to talk to each other later. I could tell that others were watching us. Something told me we were playing it just right. We were attentive enough to each other to arouse curiosity among the few people who knew Guinyard's history, but not so much as to cause comment in wider circles. I periodically checked on Amelia out of the corner of my eye. I could tell that by the end of the evening, she had actually bought my story.

The thing I found most amusing was the fact that my cover story had been true as late as mid-afternoon that day. By the time Guinyard took my arm to escort me in to dinner, however, as far as I was concerned the situation had changed considerably. I did not have time to worry about that, however, because I was having way too much fun.

That night during dinner I was seated between two choreographers. We talked about nothing but dance.

After the dinner, the crowd dispersed rapidly. Guinyard and I shared the same limo with the head of the Committee. He and his wife lived uptown. The limo driver took them home first. After they were gone, I stretched out and put my feet in the seat opposite me. Guinyard laughed, "Oh, my God, you should have been an actress. You put on an Oscar-winning performance tonight."

"How so?" I asked, with eyes closed as I stretched, flexing and extending my toes.

"You flirted with me enough to show interest, but not so much so that you would be embarrassed when the 'truth' comes out. You played it perfectly." There was nothing but admiration in his voice.

I leaned against him and stared up into his beautiful blue eyes. I said softly, "What if it turns out that the 'truth' is a big surprise to everybody except you and me. I meant it when told you that I am not in the market for a man. I have been there and done that and it totally sucked. However, sometimes life sends you unexpected gifts and you should be prepared to accept them, even if the timing, or the packaging, seems weird."

He said softly with a very distant voice, "That would be funny. And wonderful, perhaps."

When we reached the house, we helped each other out of the limo and walked up to the porch, arm in arm. We paused. Guinyard said, "Wait here."

He went inside and came back in a few minutes with the bottle of Scotch and two glasses. We sat side-by-side in the glider and sipped our drinks. We sat there a long time before we were able to settle down and debrief the evening. Guinyard thanked me for what he said was the most wonderful evening he had had in a long time.

I said, "I think this may well have been the most wonderful evening I ever had."

We sat companionably for a while, sipping our drinks and gradually moving closer together until we were sitting side-by-side, touching from shoulder to ankle. He put his arm around me and I rested my head on his shoulder. I do not know how I managed not to tilt my head back a few inches and kiss him. I was terrified of pushing too hard or making a misstep that would ruin that wonderful evening.

Instead, I said, "OK, Mr. Guinyard, you have stalled long enough. Tell me your story about Amelia Beauchamps."

He sighed. Clearly, he did not want to tell it. I whispered, "You can tell me to mind my effing business if you want."

He smiled and touched my cheek. "No, I'll tell you the story. You probably need the information.

"After Amelia's first husband died in a car wreck at a very young age and left her very, very rich, she quickly scouted around for a suitable second husband. She didn't need money. God knows, even then she had more money than even she could spend in several lifetimes. She believed she needed a good Old Family partner. She thought I would be perfect. My family had lost most of its money but we had the right bloodlines. Amelia decided I would make a perfect Prince Consort for the Queen of Charleston role she had already assumed. Initially, I was rather inclined to cooperate.

"For one thing, I always had liked her. She really is an interesting and very culturally sophisticated person. We courted. Charleston society approved of the match. Everybody – including Amelia and me – assumed we were heading toward the altar once a reasonable time passed after her husband's death.

"Then I met Clay, and I was completely swept off my feet. That is a very long story by itself, with which I will not bore you now – or maybe ever. Suffice it to say that the idea of my becoming involved with a man had never once crossed my mind before, and I was as surprised as anyone when it happened. As you said, sometimes life sends you a gift and there is nothing to do but to accept it. In any case, I jilted Amelia for a man."

"Ouch!"

"Ouch is right. She has never forgotten. She's had a couple of husbands in the meantime who have each left her richer than before, but she has never forgiven me."

"Thank you for sharing that. That story explains her general attitude toward you. I consider myself warned."

We sat in silence for a while. We finished our drinks and then I stood up. "Thank you for an absolutely wonderful evening."

He stood, too, and walked me to the side door leading to Daddy's apartment. He wrapped me in his arms and we held each other just for a moment. I leaned my forehead against his chest. He raised my chin with his palm, tilting my head back. In the glow of the streetlight he gazed into my eyes, smiling. "I confess, I wish someone were watching." He kissed me lightly on the lips. I felt my knees start to buckle, but I caught myself.

I winked at him and whispered. "What if I were to return kiss in public one of these nights?"

"I think I'd be embarrassed."

"The offer remains open if you change your mind."

I stood on my toes and kissed him quickly on the cheek. Then I hurried inside before I could say or do anything to embarrass myself further.

Chapter 5

The next morning, I slept very late. By the time I got up, Daddy was ready for lunch. I made him a sandwich and I ate some toast with my coffee. We chewed in silence for a few minutes. He was obviously waiting for me to tell him about my evening. I was strangely hesitant to talk about it. I feared that if I talked about it, some of the magic would evaporate.

Daddy finished his lunch and set his plate in the sink. He poured me more coffee, sat back down across from me and waited.

"I guess you are waiting for a report on last night. The performance was absolutely stupendous. I couldn't begin to describe it. Guinyard took a bunch of photos and video. He's going to email them to me so I can send them to Denise. I'll show them to you, although photos and video cannot do justice to the magic of the performance. I saw the Kibbutz Contemporary Dance Company before and loved them. Last night's performance was even better than the one I saw. I am so grateful for the opportunity to have attended. Thank you for letting me go." That struck me as both lame, and yet true.

I wanted to leave it at that, but he sat there sipping his buttermilk and waiting for me to continue.

I sighed and went on, "The after-party was amazing, too. I talked to choreographers and dancers from all over the world. I even got Denise on the phone and let her talk to some of them. It was positively intoxicating just to be in the presence of all that talent. I felt old, fat and very clumsy, but I had a wonderful time nonetheless."

He nodded and smiled but it was obvious to me he still hadn't heard what he wanted to know. I did not intend to volunteer anything more.

Finally, he asked, "Was Gina at the party?"

"No."

He scratched his chin. "I am sure Amelia was there for both the show and the party."

"Yes."

"How did she like the jewelry we picked to go with the dress?"

"She didn't really say anything about it, but I think she liked the overall look."

He chuckled deep in his throat, "My guess is she reserved her comments for other things."

"Such as?"

"Such as she probably had a thing or two to say about the fact that you were there with Guinyard."

"She seemed to be a bit upset by that, actually."

"Just a bit? Hell, I would have expected her to throw a full-blown hissy fit. Fact is, I considered going last night just to watch the show. Did she tell you why she was upset, or did Guinyard ?"

I considered my answer carefully. "Actually, Guinyard told me some things, and Amelia made a few remarks. I have developed some opinions. Why don't you give me your perspective on the situation."

He laughed out loud and patted my hand, "You are very good, my dear. You are very, very good."

"What does that mean?"

"It means that I am impressed with the way you have handled what must be a very confusing situation for you. I'm a Southern gentleman. The direct and honest approach does not come naturally to me, but you just basically laid down a challenge.

"First of all, let me see if I can summarize what I think you know. I think you know that Guinyard spent many years in a relationship with another man. I knew Clay for some of that time. I liked him. He seemed to be very fond of Guinyard. Guinyard positively doted on him. I thought they had good relationship, or as good a relationship as was possible for them, given the fact that they could never live together, at least not in this town.

"Two years ago, Clay simply disappeared. Guinyard mourned him privately and without any support system. Guinyard was not really hooked into what I guess they call the 'gay community.' I have been involved with the arts for a long time and I have been acquainted with a lot of gay men. Guinyard is very different from most of them. Interestingly, I've always had the impression that most of the gay men he encounters in connection with the Festival seem to think so, too. It seemed to me they were always very suspicious of him.

"Clay, on the other hand, was very tied in with that community both here and elsewhere. He was apparently very much involved with what they refer to as 'the lifestyle'. I am not completely sure what that means and I am absolutely sure that I don't want to know, but it was a big area of difference between Guinyard and Clay. Clay traveled a lot and he never took Guinyard with him. I thought that was odd .... but that is not the part of the story I am talking about now.

"Anyway, Guinyard had no support among the local gays. He had very little support elsewhere around here, either, because he had never officially come out of the closet. That was appropriate given the social and cultural nature of Charleston. But, it meant that during what was probably the worst crisis of his life, Guinyard basically soldiered on alone. It has been heartbreaking for me to witness his pain. I have to tell you, however, that I have been impressed and even inspired by his refusal to bend to it or to become depressed or bitter. I think you know most of that, or have figured out at least some of it.

"I'm guessing that Amelia probably took exception to your being at the party with him. Am I right?"

"She seemed to have a problem with it. Yes."

"Did Guinyard tell you why?"

"He told me what he thinks is the reason."

"Meaning?"

"Meaning, he told me he believes that Amelia is mad at him because he threw her over for a man. He clearly believes that to be the reason. I have a suspicion that it may not be the whole story."

"What makes you say that?"

"I'm not really sure. I just can't shake the feeling there is more to it than that. I have no reason to think so, but I wonder if the the feud between Amelia and Mama's family is at least a contributing factor to her actions last night. It seems to me that if Amelia were mad at Guinyard for jilting her, she'd have simply warned me that he was a jerk or called him bad names or something. I mean, it seems if she was angry with him for dumping her for a man, she'd have attacked him.

"She didn't do that. Maybe I'm being paranoid, but she seemed to be mad at me. In fact, she more or less accused me of being after Guinyard, and she warned me away. If Guinyard's theory is correct, I think Amelia would have warned me that I was wasting my time with him. She did that, sort of, but there seemed to be more to it. Amelia seemed to be pissed at me, not at Guinyard. That doesn't add up. It makes me think there's something else involved. The only 'something else' I know of is the feud between Amelia and the Hales."

He chuckled, "You're pretty warm, I think."

"Do you want to fill in the story?"

He said, "I don't know the whole story, but here's what I think. Amelia, Gina and Guinyard went to high school together. Both girls were after him. Gina and Guinyard were both into theater and they became friends. Eventually they started dating.

Apparently Elise, who was a few years older, had a crush on him as well. Gina didn't care. That was typical for Gina; she never has given any consideration to anyone else's feelings or concerns, least of all her sister's. I don't think Guinyard was ever interested in Elise. She was too old for him, and, quite honestly, I don't think she was smart enough for him. Gina eventually dumped him when she met a rich man, who ultimately became her first husband.

"Amelia subsequently won his attention after her first husband died. Amelia and Guinyard courted for a long time supposedly because she was widowed, but I think it was really because Amelia liked having him squire her around town without the constraints of matrimony. When Guinyard eventually dumped Amelia for Clay, Amelia did kind of irrational mental and emotional contortion that can't be explained but happens more often than it should. Instead of being mad at Guinyard and/or at Clay, Amelia somehow turned the whole thing around and blamed Gina and Elise for pushing Guinyard into the arms of a man. The feud that followed has been raised to the level of local legend.

"For more than thirty years, Amelia has hated the Hale women because, as she saw it, they somehow stood between her and the only man in this town who could keep up with her culturally, challenge her intellectually and who is on a par with her socially. Frankly, I used to think that Amelia and Guinyard were a match made in heaven. I think Amelia always thought that, too. I am sure that when she saw you with him last night, she probably went ballistic. "

I thought about that for a while. I wasn't totally convinced he had connected all the dots, but I thought he was generally on the right track. The most significant thing was that Amelia had lost Guinyard to Gina in Round One. Mama had gone after him at one point before she married Daddy. Even though Mama never made any headway with Guinyard, both Hale women were The Enemy. Then she lost him to his male lover in Round Two.

Amelia was an extravagantly rich widow who was still an attractive woman. Guinyard, who was distinguished and accomplished, would have been a worthy catch for her as a late-life husband, except for the fact that she thought he was gay. Now, along comes little ol' me. I was another Hale woman moving in on the man she thought by rights should be hers. I understood how that might piss her off.

I sighed. "I'm not sure we have the whole thing worked out exactly right, but I'm getting a general picture. Amelia couldn't admit that Guinyard would have preferred a man to her, so she blamed the Hale women for turning him against women or something."

"That's sort of the way I have it figured."

"Then why did she help me with the clothes?"

Daddy laughed, "Because these days – since she thinks Guinyard was not potentially husband material (which may or may not be true) – she's after me, and she reckoned that helping make you presentable for the Festival would be a way to make points with me. I am sure that Guinyard's proximity to your new residence never crossed her mind, because she thinks he is gay."

I howled and pounded on the table. "She didn't count on me using the new duds she bought me to seduce Guinyard. Now, that explains her anger at me."

"We may not have all the details right, but I think that's the general thrust of the situation."

"What about Aunt Gina? She seems to hate both Amelia and Mama."

"I've always thought that Gina was just a bitch."

I nodded in agreement, tearing up a paper napkin into confetti as I thought about it. "I have several questions. First, was Guinyard that much of a chick magnet to have these women who clearly had no trouble getting dates fighting over him?"

"Actually I think so. I also think that you have noticed he is an attractive man even now. When he was young he was extremely handsome. He was as charming and smooth as he is now. Apparently Amelia and the Hale girls were not the only ones after him. They were just the leading contenders. Or, perhaps, more correctly they were the ones who were ripping each others hair out over him. Next question."

"How do you feel about me potentially being involved with a man who is (a) someone Mama was interested in (I have to tell you that creeps me out big time and I am going to have to think deeply about that); (b) someone who is bisexual; and, (c) someone in whom both Amelia and Aunt Gina are potentially interested."

"As to (a), my response is that your mother is dead and she never seemed to get anywhere with Guinyard anyway, so that seems to be a moot point. As for (b), that is up to you. I find the whole question distasteful, but I have no issue with it if you don't. Part (c) is the big bug-a-boo. Both Gina and Amelia believe they have claims on Guinyard, which they will both probably press if they have occasion to believe that he might be open to a relationship with a women. They may to try to make trouble for you and/or for Guinyard if you pursue any kind of relationship with him."

"But, if Amelia is after you – which frankly I think would be a lovely match, by the way – why should she care who Guinyard is with?"

"Let me make one thing clear before you start match-making: I'm not in the market for a wife. For all her manifold faults, your mother was and remains the one and only love of my life and I have never even considered replacing her, most assuredly not with Amelia. Amelia knows that, by the way. However, even if I were in love with her you have to know that if she had the choice between me and Guinyard, she would choose Guinyard."

"Why?"

"Because of his bloodlines."

"Oh, puleeze."

"I mean it."

I thought about that for a few minutes and, as ludicrous as it seemed to me, I knew he was right.

I chuckled, "So pretty much no matter what I do poor Guinyard is totally hosed."

"Meaning?"

"Amelia and Aunt Gina are both likely to take exception to any relationship I might try to have with Guinyard. Who knows, this could be the thing to bring the two of them together? You know, 'the enemy of my enemy is my friend'. They will no doubt try to make trouble for us in the unlikely event we were to go down that road. On the other hand, even if nothing happens between Guinyard and me, if Amelia and Gina get the idea that he's might be open to a relationship with a woman, they will probably both be all over him like white on rice. I guess maybe the fact of the matter is that poor Guinyard is potentially in for some deep shit either way."

"I think you're right, although I wish you wouldn't swear. In any case, that's why I asked if Gina was there last night. It was fortunate that you only had Amelia to contend with at least until you got the general idea of what was up."

We sat quietly for a while. I made another pot of coffee. Daddy switched from buttermilk to Java. I asked, "What's on the agenda for tonight?"

He replied, "Tonight we have tickets to a play at the King Street Theatre."

"Both of the old battle-axes will be there, right?"

"That would be my guess."

"You are going, too, so I will go with you, not with Guinyard. That may provide some 'protection' at least in the beginning."

He laughed. "Glad to be of service."

I sighed, "Guinyard will be there, too, of course."

"Of course. Actually, we are sharing a limo with him tonight, so it may appear to those who are inclined to be suspicious that you are with him."

"Oh, swell."

"Well, I guess I can't worry about that. I plan to go and enjoy myself, regardless of what Amelia or Aunt Gina have to say about it."

"What are you wearing tonight?"

"I think the black pants and pearls."

"Excellent! I'll have Ray Montague do your hair and make-up, again. You should sort of let your hair go wild. When he takes out that French braid, it should curl nicely."

"You amaze me."

"I was not married to your mother all those years without learning a few things. That woman lived only for the purpose of dressing up and going to parties."

I looked at the clock. It was mid-afternoon. "Are we going to eat here before we go?"

"We should eat something. There is not a sit-down dinner after the play, although there will be heavy hors d'oeuvres at the after party."

"I'll make us some salad and grilled fish. Let's invite Guinyard."

He chuckled, "You've got it bad, don't you?"

I met his gaze and said, "Dear God, I hope not. I am not in the market for a man. Especially not one as damaged as that one."

His laugh made it clear he did not believe me. I didn't believe me either, but that was my story and I was sticking to it. I left a message on Guinyard's cell phone inviting him to dinner before the show, and then I headed off to the fishmonger's. My phone rang while I was walking home. I picked it up and Guinyard said, "In response to your message, I'd be glad to have dinner with you and Benny. I'll bring the wine. What are we having?"

I said, "We're having grilled fish and salad. I just picked up some nice grouper at the fishmonger's."

"How about a chenin blanc?"

"I'm not much into wine. I'll trust your judgment and greater experience. Now that we have that out of the way, I need to know if you are still OK with what happened last night."

"Such as?"

"Such as the magic. Please don't tell me you don't know what I am talking about."

"I do know what you are talking about, but I am sort of giving you one last opportunity to pretend it didn't happen."

"No such luck."

"You are a glutton for punishment, gal. Do you understand you are likely to be attacked by both Amelia and Gina tonight?"

"Yes. I understand that. Do you understand that I am not especially concerned? To be honest, I'm not afraid of Aunt Gina because I don't much give a rats patooty what she thinks about me. I think she's a bitch.

"Amelia's a slightly different case. I know that Mama and Aunt Gina hated her and so I had never met her until the other day. I was surprised to find that I liked her and I found myself hoping she and I could become friends. It would be rather sad to screw that up. But, I don't have much invested in the notion, so I don't think I'd be eaten up with regret or anything."

He was quiet. "I guess we need to talk, preferably not on the phone."

"Yeah. I'll see you later."

"What are you wearing tonight?"

"A sort of retro-inspired black pants outfit. Think Audrey Hepburn with a big butt."

He chuckled, "Frankly, I'd rather not."

We clicked off and I walked the rest of the way home feeling like an idiot.

I showered and Mr. Montague came over to do my hair and make-up. Daddy started the salad while I was dressing. I heard Guinyard come in. He and Daddy chatted in the kitchen. I could tell that Guinyard had taken over the dinner preparations, which was a good thing. Daddy was a great guy, but he was no Wolfgang Puck. Guinyard opened the wine and both he and Daddy commented on how good it was.

I was sitting at the dressing table in my bedroom and Mr. Montague was working on my makeup. I yelled, "Hey, before you two drink all that wine, how about sharing some with this poor hard-working dude in here who has the unenviable task of trying to make me beautiful."

Daddy brought in a couple of glasses of wine and stopped in the doorway. "Oh, my. You should make that your regular hairstyle. That looks fabulous."

I made a face. "It feels like Big Hair to me. You know how I feel about Big Hair."

Guinyard heard that all the way in the kitchen and said, "Benny, what kind of daughter did you raise? What kind of self respecting Southern gal doesn't like to get dressed up, doesn't like to wear makeup and doesn't just loooooooove big hair."

At that, Mr. Montague raised his arms like a calf-roper and said, "Finished." He smiled, "Your dad is right, Miss Rochelle, that is definitely very attractive on you. The question of whether or not it is comfortable for you is sort of another matter."

I turned and looked in the mirror. At the first glance, I considered either bursting into tears or running back to the shower to re-wash my hair. A closer look stopped me, however. They were right. It looked fantastic. It wasn't what I thought of as "my" look, but it definitely looked good. I decided not to run for the shower. I gave Mr. Montague a kiss on the cheek and thanked him, then I shooed him and Daddy from the room so I could get dressed. I wore black crop pants outfit with high heels. That was also very "un-me", too, but it did look good. The pearls were perfect. I took one last look at myself in the mirror and I was happy with what I saw.

I took my glass and walked out into the kitchen. Mr. Montague was gone. Daddy was standing by the refrigerator. I looked at him and he positively beamed at me, in a way I had never seen before. In his world, appearances were very important, I had always refused to go along with that, much to my parents' consternation. Now, for once in my life I was playing the game according to the actual rules, and he was loving it. He blew me a kiss. I walked over to him and gave him a hug.

When I turned around, Guinyard was standing with his back to the stove grinning from ear to ear. He walked over to me, spun me around and looked me up and down. He didn't say a word, but the look in his eyes told me everything I needed to know. I sighed. It had taken me five and a half decades, but somehow I had finally found myself fitting into the world where I was born. I smiled into his eyes, and basked in the pleasure of being admired by these two men whom I knew to be discriminating judges of women's appearance.

Guinyard poured me more wine and motioned to a seat. "The fish is almost ready. I'll finish up. You are too utterly gorgeous to risk any spatters."

I laughed out loud, and pulled an apron from behind the pantry door. I tossed it to him, saying, "You look pretty fabulous, too. I'd hate to see spatters on you either."

He took the apron and, somewhat to my amazement, put it on. He finished cooking the fish. We sat to eat, chattering like school kids. The limo arrived before we had finished cleaning up the kitchen. I waved my arm at the mess. "Just leave it. I'll wash the dishes later. Y'all cooked the meal. The least I can do is clean up. But, that will have to wait until after the show."

That evening we had the limo to ourselves. I sat next to Daddy. Guinyard sat facing us. We talked about the play and the playwrite, who was a guy that both Daddy and Guinyard knew. Neither of them had much good to say about him as a person, but they loved his work. They said they expected good things from the play.

Daddy seemed distracted. About half way to the theater, he blurted out apropos of nothing, "I know that this is exactly the kind of remark that will probably make Shelley furious, but I want both of you to know, that if y'all want to ditch me tonight, you are more than welcome."

I hit his knee. "Nobody is going to ditch anybody tonight. We are the three musketeers from the East Battery. One for all. All for one. We've got each others' backs. And, Lord knows, I've got the feeling we'll need all the protection we can get."

Guinyard laughed uncomfortably. "I take it you think that both Amelia and Regina will be in attendance tonight."

Daddy nodded, "In attendance and in fine fettle would be my guess."

Guinyard sighed. He looked sad and alone sitting there. Daddy nudged me with his elbow. I switched seats and nestled up next to Guinyard. He started to withdraw, but then seemed to think better of that. He relaxed and I snuggled closer. I took his hand and squeezed it tight. He laced his fingers through mine and squeezed back. Daddy leaned forward and touched us each on the knee. It felt like a blessing. Or, maybe that was just wishful thinking on my part because I felt the need for a miracle of some sort to get through the evening without a confrontation.

When we arrived at the theater, Daddy got out first and I followed him. Guinyard got out last. He hesitated for a moment to let Daddy and me walk ahead. We waited. Daddy squeezed the back of my arm and walked a few steps ahead. I held back and fell into step next to Guinyard. He said, under his breath but loud enough for me to hear, "Do you have any idea what you are doing?"

I looked up into his eyes and smiled with what I hoped was a look of confidence I did not feel, and replied, "Not a clue." Actually, I was hoping to draw as much fire as I could to try to keep it away from him.

He chuckled. "At least you're honest."

I put my hand on his arm and said, "I swear to you that is one thing you can always but always count on from me."

"Then you would be the one of the few people I've ever met who could say that."

"Be that as it may, it's the truth."

His response was nothing but a bewildered stare. He had lived in a world of artifice and pretense his entire life. I didn't play that game. I was straight-ahead honest about who and what I was. Whether he or anyone else in Charleston liked it or not, that was the only game I played.

We went straight to our seats, which I was surprised to find were together. Guinyard admitted, sotto voce, that he had pulled some strings to make that happen. I gave him a big Southern Gal grin and thanked him profusely. He laughed at me doing "the act".

I didn't like the play very much. I thought it was pretentious and rather boring. We compared notes at the beginning of the intermission. Daddy loved it. Guinyard didn't say too much; he seemed distracted. Perhaps, under the circumstances, that would not be surprising. I didn't say much one way or the other, either. Daddy could read me like a book and he cautioned me, "Try not to yawn too much in the second act."

We all laughed but I pretended to be offended and said, "Am I that easy to read?"

They both looked at me with smiles on their faces and deadly serious eyes and said simultaneously, "Yes." That probably should have scared me a bit, but I guess I didn't quite catch their meaning.

Guinyard made his obligatory rounds and I stayed with Daddy. Amelia seemed to be steering clear of us. As soon as we reached the lobby, Aunt Gina made a bee-line for us. Daddy went to get drinks leaving me alone with the old witch. I made a mental note to clobber him later. Gina moved close to me and said softly, "What in the hell do you think you are doing?"

"I beg your pardon?" She caught me so off guard that for a moment, I was really confused as to what she was upset about.

"The word is that you are throwing yourself at Guinyard Tomlinson. You're wasting your time."

That made me mad. I thought about slapping her but I decided that would give her too much attention. Instead, I gave her a big-eyed stare and said, "Whatever are you talking about?"

"I am talking about Guinyard."

"What about him?"

She looked at me in such exasperation it was very hard not to laugh. I decided I was getting good at the "act" so I gave her the same clueless look that had worked on Amelia the night before. She leaned forward and whispered in my ear, "He's a queer."

I looked at her and felt that I had two choices. I could either take her head off right then and there, or I could laugh. I opted for the latter. I leaned my head back and laughed long and loud. Loud enough to attract a lot of attention. Once I was pretty sure I had the attention of virtually everybody in the lobby, I leaned forward and very softly whispered into Gina's ear, "Are you absolutely, positively sure about that?"

She looked both confused and a little bit shocked. She said into my ear, "What exactly do you mean?"

I smiled and looked her directly in the eye, a distinctly un-Southern gesture she clearly did not appreciate, and said, "I simply asked you a question that was based on my own observations." I paused for a long, meaningful moment and never let my gaze waver from her eyes. I added, with an attempt at a flippant tone, "I could, of course, be wrong."

Then, I smiled my most charmingly fake "bless-your-heart" smile and walked away from her. It was very clear that virtually every Charlestonian in the room had been paying close attention. I'm guessing that most of them knew what the conversation was about, although we had been careful to speak softly enough that no one would have heard what we actually said.

When we took our seats again, I leaned over to Guinyard and said softly, "I owe you an apology. I am most sincerely sorry, but I did something I think all of us could regret before long."

He looked concerned. "What did you do?"

"I 'outed' you as a potentially straight. I'm really sorry. I couldn't help myself. Aunt Gina can push my buttons like no one else can, the old witch."

He patted my hand and said, "No apologies necessary." I took his hand in mine, and didn't let go. He didn't take didn't it away. Shortly after the play started, I felt him relax and begin to pay attention. I started to release his hand. He laced his fingers through mine and held on tight. He didn't let go until it was time to applaud at the end of the play.

When the houselights came up, I looked into his eyes. Something had changed.

The reception that evening was held in an adjacent building. The performing arts consortium that owned the theater had bought an old office building next door and renovated the upstairs into offices and small rehearsal rooms. The downstairs was a large hall which was rented out for parties and wedding receptions. It was an important venue for Spoleto events. As we left the theater, I took Daddy's arm and Guinyard walked a step behind us, close enough that he could talk to both of us. When we arrived at the party, Daddy shook his head and said, "You know, I am too old for this. I need to find a spot to sit down until it's time to go."

"Daddy, if you're tired, we can go. Let's call a cab."

He looked from me to Guinyard and back. "No. I'll stay. Find a place to park me and then you two go on and have a good time."

I protested, but neither of them listened to me. Daddy found a comfy chair off to the side where he could see almost the entire room. He grinned. "Now bring me a drink and then leave me alone."

Guinyard brought him a drink. I sat down by Daddy. Guinyard raised his eyebrows and said, "Just what the hell do you think you're doing?"

"I'm sitting with my father. What am I supposed to be doing?"

He took my hand and pulled me to my feet, "You're supposed to be making the rounds with me. If we're going to get you on the Committee for next year's Festival, there are some people you need to meet."

I looked at Daddy, who waved us off. Guinyard took my arm and steered me across the room. I said under my breath, "What on earth are you doing?"

"You started it. Let's finish it."

I looked at him and giggled. "You are absolutely mad."

He nodded and squeezed my arm, "Utterly barking!"

"Uh-oh, incoming wicked witch at eleven-o' clock."

He looked pointedly in the opposite direction and said, "I see her." I could feel his entire body go rigid. I am quite sure mine did the same.

Amelia and her ever-present entourage marched up to us and stopped directly in front of Guinyard. She was wearing the blank expression that Southern women learn from childhood. Her eyes were blazing, however. Guinyard and I both pretended not to notice. He said evenly, "Good evening, Amelia. How did you like the play?"

She made a face and sighed, "Oh, you know me, Guinyard." As she said that she glanced ever so briefly at me, but I caught the meaning well enough. She and Guinyard went way back. I was at a serious disadvantage, according to her. I looked back at her with an even stare; I knew I had a few good cards in my hand.

She said, "I am not too keen on those sort of overly 'meaningful' plays. I like plays that make me laugh or cry and then make me think about them afterwards. I don't want to have to work that hard while I'm watching a play."

I genuinely burst out laughing, "Exactly! Thank you, Amelia. I couldn't put it into words but having heard that, it's how I felt. It was exhausting."

Guinyard laughed. "You have a good point." Then his eyes twinkled and he looked from Amelia to me and back, "Perhaps considering how hard you lovely ladies work at preparing for these events, it's understandable that you would want to simply sit back and enjoy.

"Amelia, it seems to me that you and Miss Rochelle share tastes in many ways. You should know that she is positively mad for the dance. Benny and I were wondering about the prospects of nominating her to be on the Committee next year."

Amelia's eyes narrowed. She stared at Guinyard for a long time, obviously looking for meaning beyond his words. He met her gaze with an open face showing no apparent guile.

I chuckled and looked her straight in the eye, "I know it probably comes under the heading of 'be careful what you ask for' but I think I would be honored to help out in some capacity. This event is such a wonderful showcase for Charleston...."

At that moment, a man's voice interrupted, "Mrs. Hammond-Jones? Well, isn't it a small world?"

I turned and looked into the smiling face of Dan Hamilton, Denise's dance teacher and my friend from those dark days I referred to as "the Year of My Divorce." I grinned and threw my arms around him. "Dan Hamilton! If you aren't a sight for sore eyes, I don't know what is."

"Speaking of a sight, my God woman, you'd look positively delicious if, ... well you know."

I laughed, "Yeah, I know, you bastard."

We laughed. It was an old joke. "Is Rog here?"

"He's in town, but he isn't here tonight. He had a rehearsal."

"How wonderful! We must get together. Hey. Let me introduce you to my friends."

I turned and said, "Amelia Beauchamps is a member of the Committee and the doyenne of the Charleston cultural scene." I made a face and said in a stage whisper so everyone could hear, "You should suck up to her big time." We all laughed. Then I turned to Guinyard, who was looking at me with a charming combination of bewilderment and amusement, and took his arm, "And this is my dear friend, Guinyard Tomlinson. He, too, is a member of the Committee, but you don't need to suck up to him because I will harangue him to death to make sure that you and Roger both get invited back next year."

Then something amazing happened. Dan arched his eyebrows and looked Guinyard up and down appraisingly. He shook Guinyard's hand warmly and said to me with the same stage whisper tone, "Hot damn, Rockie, you have certainly improved your situation since the last time I saw you."

An emaciated-looking woman, obviously a dancer, interrupted and pulled Dan away with her. Just before he walked away he turned back to me and said, "When they fire up that band, I want the first dance with you." Then he looked at Guinyard and added, "If you don't mind."

I blew a kiss into the air behind Dan and laughed. I said to Guinyard, "Wait until you see us dancing!"

Amelia looked shocked said, "Would you mind explaining that!?"

"Oh, Dan Hamilton was Denise's dance teacher for years. Actually, I took ballroom dancing from him for several years as well. We even danced together in a local competition and won the damned thing on a real kick-ass quick-step. He's a super guy and an absolutely fabulous dance teacher. Oh, my, am I babbling or what?

"You see, Amelia, Guinyard is right. I am just crazy for the Dance."

We walked away, leaving Amelia standing there with her mouth hanging open. I laughed and said softly, "OK, thanks be to God and Dan Hamilton, I think we're back to where we started the evening. Ambiguity is our friend."

He took my arm and said, "I can't wait to see you dance with him."

"I intend to dance with you, too."

He shook his head and said, "I am not much of a dancer."

"First of all, I don't believe you. I know you were a member of the Bachelors Club for a long time and you have to be able to dance in order to steer all those Debs from the Cotillion around the dance floor. Second, I don't care if you have two left feet. I may put on a show with Dan. But, I intend to also step out on the floor with you before the night is over."

We stopped and chatted with various people around the room. I could feel Aunt Gina's eyes boring into the back of my head. Finally, I said, "I don't think we can put this off any longer. I talked to Amelia, I have to talk to the Wicked Witch of the West. Are you up for it?"

He tensed and said, "Not really, but you're right. We have to do it."

We casually walked up to Aunt Gina who was also surrounded by her own entourage. I kissed the air on either side of her face and said, "How did you like the play, Aunt Gina?"

She made a face, "It thought it was dreadful. I have no idea what it was even about."

I laughed, "I guess maybe it was a guy-play. Daddy and Guinyard liked it, but I didn't think much of it either."

She looked from me to Guinyard and back. She virtually ignored him and leaned forward to me, "Who was that gorgeous man I saw you talking to before?"

"Danny? That was Dan Hamilton. He's a dance teacher and choreographer. He used to teach at Denise's dance academy." I paused for a long time and made sure she was paying close attention before I went on, "He is handsome as all get out, but" I paused meaningfully, "you'd be wasting your time with him -- if you know what I mean."

I turned on my heel and stormed away before I said something else I'd regret. Somehow Guinyard managed to keep up with me.

I didn't slow down until we were almost back to where Daddy was sitting. Guinyard chuckled under his breath. "She really gets to you, doesn't she?"

I sighed, "Yes. I am embarrassed to admit it but she brings out the absolute worst in me. She used to do that to Mama too. She's just a witch."

Daddy laughed and and chimed in, "You can only be talking about Gina."

Guinyard fetched us drinks and we chatted for a few minutes. The band started playing and Dan walked up behind me. He took the drink from my hand and put it on the table. "You promise me a dance, Rockie. I requested this one for us."

I laughed, "This is our winning number. Oh, God, I haven't danced a quick-step since you left New York. I don't know if I can do it."

"It's like riding a bicycle. Just close your eyes and let me steer. Come on, girlfriend, time's a wastin'"

I waved at Guinyard and Daddy, and then I was twirling around the dance floor in a second. I had not danced much since Denise got her driver's license. I had switched to aerobics classes at the gym in the building where I worked. I was a little stiff and rusty, but the steps came back to me and Dan was a fabulous partner. Pretty soon I was dancing on automatic pilot and I relaxed.

He said, "He's definitely and improvement over your Ex, but I'm confused."

"About what?"

"Don't play games with me, Rockie. We've only got a couple of minutes. I've been coming to this festival for years. Mr. Tomlinson used to be with a guy named Clay Jacobs, a rat-bastard in the general mold of your ex-husband. How is it that you are here? And do you know what you are doing falling in love with this man?"

"Long story short. I am from Charleston, one of the Old Families if you know what that means. Guinyard is my dad's landlord and a long-time family friend. I am here because I came back home to take care of Daddy. I am with Guinyard because he is an extremely attractive man who seems to like me. I know about his relationship and how it ended."

"No you don't."

"Huh?"

"You don't know how it ended because Mr. Tomlinson doesn't know how it ended."

"Are you telling me you do?"

"Yes."

"Do we need to talk?"

"I think we do."

"How about lunch tomorrow?"

"I'm staying at the Hilton. Call me."

We finished the dance with a huge dip. I curtsied deeply and he kissed the back of my hand. As he steered me across the floor he lowered his voice and said, "Did I mention that you look positively ravishing."

I shrugged, "Compared to the mess I was the last time you saw me, I'd say about anything would have been an improvement."

He smiled, "True, but what I mean is that falling in love becomes you."

We walked up to my party and Dan placed my hand in Guinyard's and closed his hand over mine. He kissed me on the cheek and said, "Call me when you get up."

Guinyard and Daddy both obviously wanted an explanation for that. I thought really fast. "Oh, Dan and I are going to meet for lunch tomorrow and catch up on old times. I'm going to call Denise and let her talk to him. She'll be so surprised and delighted. He was her favorite dance teacher. I didn't tell him that she's at the NYC Ballet this summer. I'm going to let her tell him. He'll be so excited.

"Oops. I'm babbling again."

Daddy laughed, "You know, Shelley, I have never seen you having such a wonderful time. It does my heart good to see you happy."

I tried to keep the bitterness out of my laughter, "Thank you for not adding, 'I warned you.'" I turned to Guinyard and gave him a big Southern-gal smile. I said, "Okay, Mr. Guinyard it's your turn on the dance floor with me. I've got to warn you I am very rusty."

He laughed and said, "If what I just witnessed is 'rusty' I am in deep trouble."

"Oh, shut up and dance with me."

Guinyard was not the great dancer that Dan was, but he was smooth and, what was more important, he was a good leader. I can dance with anybody who knows how to steer. We concentrated for a few minutes on getting used to one another. I tried not to be distracted by the fact that I was in his arms. I did not look into his face. After a few bars, we found our rhythm and started moving around the floor on auto-pilot. I could feel him relax, and I responded in kind. We danced close so as to be able to pick up signals, but not too close.

He murmured into my hair, "You are not rusty."

I sagged a little bit but caught myself, and replied, "Please don't."

We were only half-way through the dance and I was beginning to think I had made a terrible mistake. I couldn't decide if I wanted to burst into tears, throw myself at him in the middle of the dance floor, or run away and hide. I must have pulled back a bit or something. I could feel him chuckle. He pulled me a little closer and held me like a vise, "Don't even think about it."

I laughed, "Do you have any idea how much it pisses me off to know people can read my mind so easily."

"Then quit letting every thought that goes through your head show."

"Every thought that goes through my head??"

He smiled into my eyes and said softly, "Every single one."

I shook my head and said, "Then it's a good thing I only think wholesome and decent thoughts."

"It would be a very good thing if you were to do that."

We finished the dance and walked towards Daddy, who was clearly exhausted. "I have to take him home. You probably need to stay for a while. Why don't you put us in a cab?"

"Because I'm leaving with the one I came in with, and because I have a bottle of champagne in the fridge. I want to get home early enough to share it with someone. Do I have any takers?"

I chuckled. "We made an entrance last night. Tonight we'll make an exit."

He put his arm around my waist and steered me towards Daddy.

Guinyard said, "I hope you don't mind, but we are pooped, and we are ready to go."

Daddy stood up slowly. Both Guinyard and I reached to help him. "You are both very bad liars. But, since I am completely exhausted, I appreciate the opportunity to leave."

After I helped Daddy get settled for the night, I met Guinyard outside. He had opened the champagne and was waiting for me. That night we talked for hours. We backed up a bit and started to really get to know one another. We told our stories in more detail. We laughed and cried and then laughed some more. It was very late by the time we polished off the champagne. We were not certain of where we were headed, but by the time he walked me to the side door, I knew with all my heart's certainty that whatever happened between us on the romantic front, we would be best of friends forever.

We stood in the doorway, holding each other for a long time. We had said all there was to say earlier. There was nothing left but to cling to one another. Eventually, he turned slightly so we were standing in the glow of the porch light. He took my chin in his hand and tilted my face up so he could look at me. I didn't really want to look into his eyes, but I had no choice. What I saw there made my heart stop. No one had ever looked at me with that mixture of kindness and desire. Never.

Neither of us moved. Eventually we had to breathe and the moment passed. We kissed good-night. It was the perfect ending note: Nothing too hot and heavy; Just something gentle and sweet, that held a hint of a promise.

Chapter 6

When I finally dragged myself out of bed, Daddy suggested we go shopping for a gown for the closing gala. I told him that I had plans for lunch. I offered to meet him at the dress shop in the middle of the afternoon. He looked curious, but agreed.

I called Dan's hotel and they put me through to the room. Roger answered the phone. "Hello, Roger. This is Rochelle Hammond-Jones. I ran into Dan last night and we planned to have lunch. Is he around?"

"Yes. He has been waiting on pins and needles for your call. We figured you must have had a very late night."

"As a matter of fact I did, but I like to sleep late anyway. What's the plan?"

"I have a rehearsal at the Auditorium this afternoon. I'd love to see you, too. Dan says you look marvelous. I want to see for myself. How about we meet for lunch at that seafood place across the street from the Auditorium about noon? I'll have lunch with you and then you and Danny can talk as long as you want."

"I have to meet my dad mid-afternoon. He wants to buy me something suitable to wear to your ballet."

"Oh, how delightful. You must wear something glittering and sophisticated."

"What are you doing?"

" _Giselle_."

"Oh, my. I guess I must get something fabulous."

He laughed. "You'll have to go a ways to out- shine my dancers."

"I wouldn't even attempt it. I'll meet you at noon."

Daddy was watching me with suspicion in his eyes. "What is that about."

"Can't I meet old friends for lunch without you getting all beady-eyed and suspicious?"

"I watched that conversation last night. I'll grant that you and Mr. Hamilton are obviously old friends who are fond of each other. You dance divinely, by the way. Your mother would be so proud to see that."

"You mean Zelda?"

He laughed. "Did you call her that to her face?"

"Damn right I did. She loved it, too. God, she'd be positively transported to see Denise dance. Sometimes when I watch her, I feel Mama there with me." I took a deep breath and blinked back the tears that always threatened to flow when the subject of Mama came up. I had been very young when she died but I could still burst into tears just thinking about her. Losing your mother is something I guess you never overcome.

He went on, "Anyway, I know you're not making that part up, but there was an intensity to the conversation that worries me a bit. The fact that both you and Mr. Hamilton kept glancing at Guinyard made me wonder."

"Dammit. You are too observant. Oh, God. Do you think he noticed it, too?"

"I don't think so. He had his back turned when you were talking the most intently. I note you still haven't answered my question."

I sighed. "Apparently, Dan knows Clay Jacobs."

"He knows where Clay is?"

"He didn't say that exactly, although I think he may. He did say that he knew what he called 'the end of the story.'"

"Are you going to tell Guinyard?"

I thought about that for a while. I looked at Daddy. "I want to hear the story first, and then I'll decide. I generally believe in full disclosure and honesty with my friends. If I find out something that Guinyard ought to know, I will tell him."

He paused a long time and spoke the words I didn't want to think about, "Even if it means losing him?"

I shook my head, "For one thing, I don't really 'have' him. We could be heading in that direction. We could be just turning into good friends. It's too soon to know. I do know that if I find out something he needs to know, I will tell him regardless of what it may mean to me."

Daddy walked around the table, put his arm around me and said, "Guinyard has been in need of a good friend for a long time. I am glad it turned out to be you. I hope with all my heart that the two of you manage to find a place in your hearts and lives for one another. Failing that, you can be friends. That's certainly the next best thing."

I made a face and kissed his forehead, "You are such a romantic old fart."

Dan and Roger were already seated when I arrived at the restaurant. We ordered quickly because Roger had to leave soon for his rehearsal. I called Denise and let her talk to both of them. They were suitably ecstatic when she told them about her internship with the NYC ballet and even more so when she told them about Julliard. Just before ringing off, Roger said to her, "Before you decide what you want to do next summer, why don't you take a trip to Tacoma for spring break. I have several of Dan's old students in the company. If only for old time's sake, I'd be happy to give you an audition for a summer internship with us." Dan beamed at Roger, who made a face.

I could tell that there was silence on the other end of the phone, then Roger held it out at arms length as the squealing and screaming commenced. He handed me the phone. After Denise settled down, I said, "We have to ring off now. I'll call you later."

"Thanks, Mom. And, by the way, I love you."

"Love you, too."

I grinned at Roger and said, "You just made her the happiest girl in the world."

He raised his hands and said, "I live to make my dancers happy."

Dan laughed, "Is that why they call you Captain Bly behind your back?"

"They do not."

"They do so.... Get the hell out of here. You have a rehearsal to go to and I have a beautiful woman to spend the afternoon with."

After Roger left, Dan and I chatted a bit and caught up. Finally, I said, "I don't mean to be rude, but can we cut to the chase here. You have a story for me?"

He nodded. "Do you know what Clay does?"

"No. Actually I know hardly anything about him. Guinyard told me a few things about how he felt about Clay and about what happened, but he didn't fill me in on any details about Clay himself. Tell me."

"He's a set designer. Probably the best there is. He's absolutely an artist. Everybody wants to work with him. I think he's designed the sets for every ballet Roger has staged."

"Are you telling me you know where he is?"

"Frankly, you could find out yourself in about 30 seconds with one Google search. I don't recommend you do that."

"Why?"

"Maybe some things you don't want to know. I am not going to waste your time here. Here is the bottom line. Clay was with Mr. Tomlinson for many years. I think he was genuinely fond of Mr. T. Lord knows when someone loves you as much as Mr. T loved him you'd think the person would appreciate it and reciprocate to a degree. Unfortunately, Clay had two problems. For one thing, I think he had a bit of that pathological unfaithfulness that your ex-husband had. He was and remains a tomcat. For another, .... I don't know how to put this delicately, so I'll just say it. He's sort of into things that Mr. T could not accommodate."

I shuddered involuntarily. "Sorry."

He shook his head and patted my hand. "Rockie, I have always admired your open-mindedness and open-heartedness. You come from a background where prejudice is rampant and yet somehow you managed to come into the dance world and accept all of us, no matter how twisted you may have thought us to be, on our own terms. I would never be offended by your reaction to anything I might say because I know your heart. I know I'm talking about things that you don't understand and don't want to. I also think I am talking about a man with whom you are falling in love. That must make this even harder."

I looked at my plate and said softly, "Tell me the story. Oh, God, I think I am going to cry....."

"Want to go for a walk?"

"Oh, yes. Please. Let's get out of here. Let me pay."

"Oh, no you don't. I'm expensing this. You have the ear of members of the Committee. Consider yourself schmoozed. Put in the good word for me with the Folks-Who-Matter."

We laughed. He paid the bill and we walked our to the sidewalk. We had all come by cab, so we decided to walk as far as we cared to and then hop a cab back to town.

He continued, "Anyway, Mr. T and Clay were together for a long time. Mr. T stayed in Charleston. Clay traveled a lot. I guess when he was at home, he mostly behaved. When he was on the road, Clay behaved like a single man on the prowl."

He stopped in the middle of the sidewalk and took my face in his hands. "Have you had sex with him?"

I blushed and tried to turn my head but he wouldn't let me look away. I said, "No."

He put his face very, very close to mine and said with dead seriousness, "Do not have sex with him until you know for sure that he is not HIV positive."

I thought my heart would explode. "Why? Does Clay have AIDS?"

He made a face. "No such luck. By all appearances, he's healthy as a horse, but he has had a lot of partners over the years. I would be amazed if he were clean. I am absolutely serious. Don't play with fire. You and I both know too many people who have lived and died with AIDS to take any chances."

I nodded. We were both quiet for a while. I knew he was thinking the same thing I was. The first person I ever knew who died from AIDS was the owner of the studio where Dan taught. After a long and terrible ordeal, he died a dreadful and painful death. The last time I went to see him in the hospital he told me that he was consoled by the fact that so many of his dancers had come to him and promised him they would always play it safe. I looked up at Dan and we both had tears in our eyes.

He cleared his throat and went on, "Anyway, Clay traveled around the country building gorgeous theater sets and whoring. Several years ago, he met a guy in LA. I don't know his name or anything about him other than that he was very young. Very, very young. Word was that he was legal, but only barely. Without getting too graphic, the rumor was that he gave Clay what he liked. Eventually he apparently gave Clay an ultimatum. Clay moved to LA the following week."

"Is he still there?"

"No."

"What happened?"

"Apparently the kid soon tired of Clay and dumped him. Clay has sort of bounced around from lover to lover for the last year or so."

I felt faint, but my feet kept moving. "What about now?"

"I am not sure, but I don't think he's with any one in particular."

"Why has he not contacted Guinyard?"

"Because he's an asshole."

"Here's the $64,000 question. What would he do if Guinyard contacted him?"

"If he were a decent excuse for a human being, he'd tell Mr. T that their relationship is over and they both need to move on. Since he's not, he'd probably welcome Mr. T back in his life if only long enough to jerk his chain and hurt him again."

"You think I shouldn't tell him about this conversation."

He laughed. "It doesn't matter what I think you should or should not do. And, for the record, no I don't think you should tell him. However, since you are a kind, decent and completely honest person and since you obviously love the man, I am sure you will tell him."

I started to cry. "And then what do you think will happen?"

"One of two things. He will go running after Clay and get his heart broken again, whereupon you'll be his friend and be here to help put him back together when he comes home. Or, he'll take the information under advisement, thank you for your generosity and tell you that Clay is part of his past, and you are his future."

I laughed. "You should meet my dad. He's a romantic nincompoop, too. What do you think will happen?"

He shook his head. "It's a close one. For one thing, Mr. T appears to have loved Clay beyond all sense or reason. He has got to have so many unresolved feelings it would be very difficult for him not to try to get some closure. I think it would be hard for him not to try to contact Clay if only to ask a lot of questions. You do have one thing going for you, however."

"Please throw me a bone!"

He laughed, "No gay man who has ever met Mr. T thinks he is gay. God knows he's a dish but he just doesn't have the vibe."

I stopped and ran my fingers through my hair. "I am so in over my head here. Help me out! I have been around the dance world for more than 16 years. I know a lot of gay men. I understand the concept. I guess. I thought. What I don't understand is how someone would spend three decades and be totally in love with a person if they were not oriented in that direction. Can you explain that?"

"Don't tell me you don't know anybody who's bi."

"Oh, I know several people who swing both ways, but they clearly have a preference."

"You just answered your own question. They usually clearly have a preference. Mr. T fell in love with the person of Clay. The fact that Clay was another man was, I think, probably more of an obstacle for Mr. T to overcome than part of the attraction. I think that weighs in your favor. The word on the street always was that Mr. T preferred women."

I shook my head. "I'm sorry. I still don't get it. I believe you. And I have to tell you that is absolutely consistent with what Guinyard says. I just don't understand it."

He put his arm around me and said, "That, my dear, is because you are strictly straight. Unfortunately for you that meant you spent fifteen years of your life married to a prick and the next ten years raising his kids alone. Now, what you need to do is to find a nice man who will love you for the beautiful person you are and not screw around with other women, or with other men for that matter."

I laughed and put my arm around his waist. We walked along with our arms around each other for a while. God knows what it must have looked like: a rich old bag with a young lover or something. Finally I managed to bring myself to ask the really scary question, "Do you think Guinyard could be that man?"

He squeezed my shoulder and said, "Based on the way the two of you were looking at each other last night, I'd say the odds are in your favor. I'd say they are about 100% in your favor if you could keep your yap shut about this conversation. Since you're not going to do that, I'd say maybe 60/40."

"So now you're not just my dance teacher, you're my bookie too?"

We laughed. We had walked so far, I realized we were only a few blocks from the dress shop, and I was very late. Dan offered to go with me. We walked into the store together just as Daddy was obviously getting ready to leave. I apologized profusely for being so late and introduced Daddy to Dan. I made a lame excuse about talking to Denise and losing track of the time. Daddy didn't buy it, but he said we didn't have time to argue.

Dan started to leave, but Daddy invited him to stay. He said, "I am going to try to talk her into buying a dress I know she won't want. I think I could use your help."

I looked at Daddy and the store manager. They were clearly up to something. Daddy handed her a jewelry box and a black scarf. "I want you to blindfold her and dress her. I want to see it before she does. If I don't like it, she never has to see it."

She laughed and put her nose up in the air, "As if you wouldn't like it....."

She beckoned me to the dressing room and ordered me to strip down to my panties. I balked but she put her foot down. I undressed under her critical gaze. Then she put the black scarf over my eyes and proceeded to dress me, beginning with a bra that sort of just stuck onto the front of me; I was not sure how that worked. Next she had me step into satin shoes that were made for ballroom dancing. They felt like they were custom made for me. Whatever happened with the dress, I wanted the shoes. Next came a cloud of satin. It floated around me in cascades, and kept falling. I could tell that it had a very long, full skirt with perhaps a short train. The front was much lower than was even remotely acceptable. The back plunged all the way to the waist. I could feel myself steeling for battle. There was no possible way I was going to wear that dress out in public. The finishing touches included a very heavy necklace and very, very heavy earrings.

She turned me around and said softly, "Oh, my god. You are so unbelievably beautiful."

She led me out of the dressing room. The two men were sitting in the same chairs Amelia and I had occupied a few days before. I could hear both of them stop talking. Dan gasped and Daddy said, "We'll take it!"

I said, "Wait just a second. I need to see it, but I don't think I can wear anything this low cut."

Daddy started to argue. Dan was at my side in a second. He said, "Do this. We'll take off the blindfold, but you have to look at yourself in our eyes first before you turn around and look in the mirror. Please." I trusted Dan more than anybody I knew, so I nodded. The lady took off the blindfold and I looked at their faces. I knew that I looked more beautiful than ever before. Another store employee walked in and stopped in her tracks. Women are other women's biggest critics. What I saw in her face was naked admiration.

I was almost afraid to look in the mirror because I could look down and see a whole expanse of bosom that had never been seen in public before except on the beach. The dress was champagne satin, a very, very heavy satin. It felt like fabulous vintage fabric and it was the most beautiful thing I had ever seen. I was very afraid that I would be very uncomfortable showing that much skin.

I turned toward the mirror and burst into tears. I was wearing my mother's wedding dress which they had cut down into an evening gown. With the Hammond family diamonds, it was perfect.

Daddy looked into the mirror and smiled, "What do you think?"

"Oh, my God?! The dress is magnificent. What will we do with my hair?"

Dan came up behind me and said, "You must leave it wild and free just like it is now, only with a couple of magnolia blossoms, here and here." He grinned. "I feel obliged to warn Roger that the most beautiful Belle of the South will be making an appearance at the Gala and she shall outshine his entire bevy of scrawny dancers."

I laughed.

He said, "Speaking of Roger, I have to go. He'll kill me if I'm late." He winked and whispered, "I give you 4:1."

"Add some makeup and lipstick?"

"3:1"

"Things are looking up. Where are you and Roger tonight?"

"We have to go to a party at the Mills House put on by the Charleston Ballet Company. Where are you?"

"I sighed. Guinyard and I are going to the jazz concert at the Auditorium. Daddy hates jazz."

"As a member of the Committee, I believe Mr. T has a sort of blanket pass to everything. If you stop by our party, look me up. We'll dance."

We kissed the air and he was gone. Daddy shook his head and told the lady, "Undress her and box it up."

I bought a couple of other things as well. By the time we hopped a cab to go back home, I was exhausted.

Daddy had had too big a night the day before, so Guinyard and I planned to go to the concert alone. We took a cab instead of a limo. Guinyard steered me around the lobby of the Auditorium before the concert. We spoke to all the right people and said all the right things. We were getting pretty good at playing our parts. I was the mother-of-a-dancer and potential-Committee-member and Guinyard was the local patron-of-the-arts who happened to be my dad's landlord. It was all so sophisticated. It also was true, as far as it went. I knew we were utterly convincing to most people.

We took our seats for the concert and chatted with the people around us. Amelia was sitting a couple of rows behind us and I caught her staring at us. It was all I could do not to put my head on his shoulder.

The first half of the concert was wonderful. I love jazz and this was a great show. At intermission, Guinyard didn't make a move to go out to the lobby. I was a little surprised, but very grateful. I liked sitting there reading the program and debriefing the concert. At one point, he said, "Hey, do you want to know a secret?"

"Sure. As long as it's not a really deep dark secret. I suck at keeping those kind."

He laughed, "Well this one is not really a secret because a lot of people know about it. Roger Anderson from the Tacoma Ballet is being considered for the position of Artistic Director of the Charleston Civic Ballet."

"How wonderful. I don't think he's really happy in Tacoma, even though he's got a really good company."

He looked surprised, "You know Roger Anderson?"

"Sure. I told you Dan and Roger and I have been friends for years. I had lunch with them today."

"Wait a minute. What are you talking about?"

I made a face at him and said, "Duh! Dan and Roger have been partners for years. They met during an American Ballet Theater internship when they were just out of high school. I don't think they've ever been apart since.

"I thought you knew."

His face was dark and unreadable. "Do you mind if we leave?"

I started to protest, but something made me say, "No, of course not. Do you feel ill?"

"As a matter of fact I do."

We made our exit as others were beginning to file back into the theater. We took a cab back to the house, but we did not talk much on the way. When we arrived at the house, he started to go up the walk. I took his hand and said, "Unless you are still feeling sick, I wonder if we could walk for a while."

"That's a good idea."

The moonlight lit the Battery like candles on a dinner table. The beautiful homes overlooking the harbor were somewhat ghostly, like ladies wearing veils. The water shimmered. We walked along hand in hand. He seemed suddenly very distant. I was very nervous because I knew I had to tell him about my conversation with Dan. Eventually he sighed.

"What did you talk about at lunch?"

"If you mean did they tell me about the possible AD position here, no."

"That isn't what I mean. Did Roger tell you who designed the sets for his _Giselle_?"

"Oh my God."

"Today, I saw the program for Saturday. Clay designed the sets."

I sighed. "I will be honest and tell you that the subject of Clay did come up. I was going to tell you about that conversation this evening."

"Was that why you were so quiet and nervous tonight?"

"Yes."

"They gave me some information, but they never told me they had seen him recently. Of course, I never asked, either."

"Tell me what you were going to share with me. Did they tell you where he is?"

"No, but they did say that you could find him easily with a Google search."

"You have no idea how many times I've started to do that."

"Why didn't you?"

"I was afraid of what I might do if I found out. Please go on. Tell me what you know."

I nodded, "OK. What they told me was that Clay had got involved with a much younger person in LA. That is where he went when he left here."

He nodded. I could feel his hand shaking. "How old was he?"

"Young, but legal."

I could feel him sigh and relax a bit. I knew as I stood there that he had been under the impression Clay had been in jail. I felt sick. Having lost my husband to a much younger woman, this whole conversation was just too painful. "Is it still going on?"

"No."

We walked all the way to the Customs House. We turned around and started back the way we had come.

"Do you think Roger would talk to me?"

"Roger is my friend. He will if I ask him to. He's at the party at the Mills House right now. That's, what, only a few blocks from here. Dan said he thought you had a free pass to all the events. He said he'd dance with me if we stopped by. You could have a few minutes with Rog."

We altered our course again and started up Meeting Street. My phone rang. It was Dan, "Hey there. Were your ears burning? We were just talking about you."

"You're a damned fool idiot, woman."

"And you're too campy to tolerate, but I love you anyway, so there."

We both laughed. That was an old joke that went back to the year of my divorce when I used to go to their apartment to cry and carry on, and where we usually ended up the evening sitting on the floor getting drunk on shots of tequila while Dan entertained us with increasingly ribald humor, most of which I never understood, a circumstance that we all found hysterically funny.

He stopped laughing and said, "How's the concert?"

"Actually we left. We're headed your way. We should be there in fifteen minutes or so. Guinyard would like a few minutes with Roger if possible. You promised me a dance."

His voice was very tense. "I don't think that's a good idea."

"Why?"

"Clay just arrived."

I bent over and for a minute I thought I would either faint or throw up. "Jesus, Mary and Joseph."

He said, "Listen, in the event that you decide for some insane reason to come anyway, call me. I'll meet you at the door. You'll need a babysitter."

"I'll call you back one way or the other. I have two questions. One, is Amelia Beauchamps there?"

"Yes."

"Question two, do you know Regina Hale Witherspoon?"

"No."

"Tall woman, very, very rich. Very much like Amelia only looks more like a cow and is just plain evil."

He was quiet for a minute and said, "Platinum blond dripping diamonds?"

"That would be my Aunt Gina. I'll call you back."

Guinyard put his arms around me and asked, "What's wrong?"

"You wanted to know where Clay is and and what he is up to. Keep walking a few blocks straight ahead and you can ask him yourself. He just walked into the party at the Mills House."

I could feel his body go rigid and then he started to tremble. We stood there for a few minutes holding each other and shaking.

I asked him, "What do you want to do?"

"Vomit."

"Me too."

"I think we should crash the party."

"Do you intend to talk to him?"

"Yes, I do. I have a few questions and I firmly believe that I am entitled to some answers. I am sure I could have found him whenever I wanted but I was always afraid that I would cry and beg him to come back. It has been more than two years. He has never called or even come after his stuff. Now, I just want to put that whole thing in the past."

As bad as I felt for him, when heard that, my heard skipped a couple of beats. I was still having trouble breathing and I felt sick, but it was from a slightly different kind of fear. What if I wasn't going to lose him? What if?

He was still talking, ".... I want to look him in the face and hear him try to explain. And, most of all, I want a fucking apology. Sorry."

I put my arm around him and said, "No apologies necessary. Dan and Roger both say I taught them a lot of new swear words over the years."

"You were lucky to have had them."

"Oh, don't I know it! I love those boys like sons or brothers. They were there for me when I needed them. I'd kill for either of them." I stifled a sob, "Which is one reason it pains me so much to think of how you have managed these last two years with nobody. I used to go to their apartment and get drunk and rave about what bastard Stan is. I would go to dance class and Dan would run my ass ragged and wear me out so I could sleep. He put me in ballroom competitions way before I was ready just go keep me busy. The thought of you not having that kind of support makes my heart break all over again."

He held me tight and said, softly. "You know what thrills me right now?"

"This not being a particularly thrilling moment for me, I would love to know what thrills you."

He laughed. "The fact that you have these gay friends and you take their relationship seriously. My relationship with Clay is over." He looked at me in the light of a streetlight and said, "I repeat. It is over. But, it did exist. It was real, at least it was for me. My only hesitation in considering a future with you was the thought that you would somehow dismiss it as not being what it actually was."

I put my arm around him. "Never! Dan and I have talked about that many times, as recently as today. I stand here and confess to you, I don't understand it, and I don't really want to, but I would not for a moment deny its reality. Being in the dance world, I know lots of gay people. Some I like. Some I despise. I have been closer to Dan and Rog than almost anyone else. They fight and bicker like children on a school yard. Roger is much more reserved and he is not very comfortable with being open about their relationship. Dan is. Well, Dan is Dan. He's exuberant, let me put it that way. But, they love each other. And their love is very real. That much I know for a fact. I would never dismiss or disrespect what they have. If you tell me that is what you had, too, I believe you."

He held me very tight. He was trembling and I could tell he was trying desperately not to sob.

I looked up into his face and asked him, "When was the last time you had a good crying jag?"

"Never."

"Well, my darling, you are seriously overdue. I propose we do this. Let us go to the party. You extract your apology from your rat-bastard. Then let me take you home and you can cry in my arms until you have no tears left."

He nodded. We started up the street, more slowly, but still in the general direction of the hotel. I flipped open the phone and called Dan. "We're on our way."

"Hold out the phone where he can hear it." I held it out and turned up the volume. "OK."

"You're a couple of fucking damned fool idiots and I don't know why I put up with you. I'll be waiting in the lobby."

I turned down the volume and said into the phone, "I love you, too. See you in a few."

Dan and Roger both met us in the lobby of the Mills House. We did not waste time on greetings. Roger said, "Clay is with the woman you described to Danny as your aunt."

I closed my eyes and forced myself not to run. I plastered on a smile and gritted my teeth. I looked at Guinyard and said, "Ain't that just bloody peachy?"

"You don't have to go inside."

"Oh, yes, I do. Dan promised me a dance." I paused and pulled Guinyard aside, "I'm going to go dance with Dan. If you need to be rescued, give me a signal." I paused and swallowed hard, "If, on the other hand, -- and this could happen, don't stand there and tell me it can't: If, you decide you want me to leave, simply glance toward the door."

He whispered, "I am pretty sure that won't happen, but I want to tell you that little gift means more to me than anything I could possibly imagine."

I took a deep breath and turned toward the ballroom entrance. The four of us walked in together. Aunt Gina was about half way across the room. She saw us come in and steamed toward us, with Clay Jacobs in tow. I said under my breath, "Wicked Witch closing at 10 o'clock."

Dan started to laugh, but cut it off. Aunt Gina planted herself directly in front of me. She had her arm draped over Clay's shoulders. At least he had the decency to look like he wanted to drop dead. I rather wished he would. Guinyard was holding my right hand behind my back. Dan was holding my left hand behind his back. I held onto both of them for dear life.

Aunt Gina's eyes glittered. She turned a malevolent smile on me and said, "I don't believe you've met Clay Jacobs. He's just the most divine set designer."

I met her gaze with my best Southern-gal smile and somehow extracted my right hand from Guinyard's iron grip. I put out my hand and said, "It's a pleasure to meet you. Roger tells me that you have designed the sets for virtually all of the shows he has staged. If you meet his standards, you must be very good."

He murmured his thanks. I half turned to Guinyard and said, "I believe you are acquainted with my friend, Guinyard Tomlinson."

I could feel Guinyard shaking but his voice was even when he spoke and his hand was steady when he held it out to Clay.

I turned to Dan and said, probably a little too loud, "Have you forgotten you promised me a dance, and after I walked all the way here just for the opportunity."

"Certainly, Miss Scarlett. Let's go." I could tell it was all he could do not to fall on the floor in hysterics.

God bless Roger. He turned to the old battle-ax and said, "Mrs. Witherspoon, would you care to dance, also?"

Clay and Guinyard headed toward the bar. I couldn't let myself look at them but Dan was keeping me posted. He laughed, "You know ordinarily I can't tell who the locals are at these affairs. Right now, I could point out every one of them."

"How so?"

"The out-of-towners are oblivious to what just happened. The locals are all positively riveted."

"They're all watching Clay and Guinyard?"

"Yes."

"We need to create a diversion. They deserve a few minutes alone."

"You are too good to be true, woman."

"Guinyard deserves the chance to extract an apology without being scrutinized."

We floated around the room doing as much fancy dancing as I could manage and laughing loudly. Anything to attract attention. After a few minutes, he said, "They slipped out."

I thought I was going to faint but I kept dancing. When the song was over, I said. "Could we dance just once more. I don't think I could talk to anybody but you right now."

The music started again, this time with a waltz. That was Dan's favorite dance; we virtually floated around the floor. About halfway through the song, Guinyard pulled up alongside with a young woman, obviously a dancer, in his arms. He and said to Dan, "Care to trade partners?"

It was clear Dan didn't want to, but he smiled at me and said, "Oh, the sacrifices we are called upon to make in the name of love."

Guinyard and I made one complete circuit around the room so everyone could see us, then he steered me out the door. We were back on the sidewalk before the song was over. We walked along hand in hand for several blocks. I didn't ask him any questions. Finally he said, "We didn't really talk. Clay had been drinking and I didn't want to have the conversation I need to have with him while he's drunk. Besides, I didn't want to create a scene. He is going to come to the house tomorrow afternoon. We will talk then."

"That is probably a good plan."

"Would you mind not being home? I don't think I could talk to him knowing you were in the house."

"Actually there's a lecture I planned to attend tomorrow. It's a lecture by a bunch of dance teachers directed at parents of would-be dancers. I want to go because, as a dance-mom, I have some real opinions on the subject. My opinions often somewhat fly in the face of the conventional wisdom. The lecture is from 1-2:30. Daddy and I will have lunch out and then I'll deposit him at Mr. George's house. You'll have your house to yourself."

"You are too good to be true."

"You are the second divinely handsome man who's told me that tonight."

It was very late by the time we arrived at the house. He walked me to the side porch. I stopped. "I meant it when I promised to hold you while you cry."

"Let's save that for another day. It's late. I'm drained and don't have the energy even for tears."

We clung to each other. Interestingly, we did not kiss. I think we were both afraid. I know I was terrified. Terrified of losing him now that I'd found him. Perhaps even more terrified not losing him and of having to deal with falling in love this late in life. I looked into his eyes and saw the same naked fear.

I chuckled.

"What's funny?"

"We're a couple of basket cases."

He took my hand and put it to his chest for a minute. I could feel his heart pounding. It sort of matched mine. I was surprised the noise didn't wake up my father.

Chapter 7

The next morning I got up earlier than usual and informed Daddy I was taking him out to lunch. We headed off toward his favorite lunch spot. I suggested he call Mr. George to see if it would be convenient for him to spend the afternoon.

"How come?"

"Because Guinyard is having company and we don't need to be around."

"Who's coming over?"

I paused and said softly, "Clay Jacobs."

"Are you kidding me? I need to quit going to bed so early. I miss all the good stuff. Care to fill me in?"

As we walked to the restaurant, I gave him an abridged and cleaned-up version of the story. By the time I was finished, he was laughing. I raised my eyebrows and said, "I really don't recall saying anything funny."

He wiped his eyes on his sleeve and said, "Shelley, I know you don't have an ounce of guile, but your genes were showing last night. That was apparently a performance that would have made your mother very proud. I think you played it absolutely perfectly. You gave him a choice between a miserable, cheating creep and a generous, dignified and loving woman."

"Yes, I did. Now he has to show true colors. I have bent as far as I can go. To use my old pappy's expression, it is time for him to fish or cut bait."

"Your old pappy never once used that expression."

"Somebody's pappy did."

He laughed. "The man doesn't stand a chance."

I asked, "How so?"

"Well you offered him total freedom last night. Tonight you're going to show up in that little black thing that Amelia picked out along with jewelry that I bought yesterday. That will probably hook him. Then tomorrow night you'll show up looking like a goddess in satin and diamonds. That ought to gaff him good and solid."

"I'm beginning to feel right sorry for the old dude, the way we seem to be playing him."

"Not me. I take him for the luckiest bastard on two feet and if he doesn't treat you right, he'll answer to me for it."

"You're 87."

"You're my daughter. I'm motivated."

After lunch, I deposited Daddy with Mr. George and headed for the lecture. It was deadly dull but they provided a lot of good information to parents of dancers. Dan was one of the presenters. I waited for him when it was over. He came up to me and kissed me. I filled him in on the plan for the day. He shook his head. "Poor bastard. He doesn't stand a chance."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"It means that I think the odds have shifted in your favor."

"You know, I don't know whether I hope you're right or not. I'm just freaking scared."

"In which case you should take a dance class. It always did wonders for your terrors before."

"Yeah, I'm just gonna show up at a dance class somewhere and join in."

"Nope. I know where there is a small rehearsal hall that's empty. I happen to keep a bunch of CD's in my valise at all times. I'm offering you a free private ballroom lesson. Based on your dancing the last couple of nights, you damned well need a refresher. And based on the fact that every eye in the place will be on you when you take the floor at the Gala in that outfit your father bought you, you should dance like Ginger Rogers."

I grinned at him. "You are on."

We danced for a couple of hours straight. I was sweaty, sore and exhausted at the end. I was also running very late.

That evening the program was a classical concert by the Boston Symphony Orchestra at the Auditorium. Afterwards there was a dinner party for the Committee and some special guests in the ballroom. Daddy planned to go to the concert and the party afterwards. He spent the afternoon napping so he wouldn't be too tired. I came running up the stairs with only an hour to spare before time to leave. Daddy and Guinyard were sitting at the table with Mr. Montague. I looked at them and asked Daddy if he'd had his shower. He had.

Guinyard looked at me oddly and asked, "What have you been doing?"

"Dancing. I had a two hour private lesson with Dan. Wearing myself out on the dance floor has always been good for me. Besides, he told me I suck on the dance floor and I needed to brush up."

I looked at Guinyard and said, "Out. I am going to take a shower and get gorgeous with the help of my worthy assistant, Mr. Montague. We will meet you on the porch at 7:00."

He stood and headed toward the door. Just before he left he drew me several steps down the stairs and pulled me close. "Don't you want to know what happened today?"

"Not really."

He held me tight, and said, "Well, I need to tell you."

"OK."

"It's totally over."

I leaned against him and sighed. "I am truly sorry for your pain and I still think you need a good cry, but I have to tell you that I could pass out from sheer relief. Now, please get out of here so I can get dressed."

I kissed him on the chin. He pulled me close and kissed the top of my head. "I'll see you in a little while."

I took a quick shower and let Mr. Montague do my hair. Tonight he pulled it up into a very sophisticated French twist. After the hair and makeup, I slipped into the black crepe slip dress. I had been afraid I would not be able to wear the strappy dress due to slightly saggy upper arms, so I spoke with the manager of the store. She came up with black beaded bolero jacket that was perfect.

When I was finished primping, I walked out in to the kitchen where Daddy was waiting. He looked me up and down and grinned. "Practically perfect, except for jewelry."

"You mentioned having something that would work."

He pushed a jewelry box across the table. "Try this."

This wasn't vintage jewelry from the bank. This was new, from an uptown jeweler. I picked it up, flipped the lid and gasped. It contained a ruby necklace set in platinum with matching earrings. It went perfectly with the dress. Daddy put it on me and we went downstairs where Guinyard was waiting on the porch with a bottle of champagne.

He looked at me and smiled with his eyes. He poured the champagne and handed us glasses. I asked what was going on. He clinked my glass and said, "Oh, my dear, starting now things begin to reach a crescendo. The climax is the Gala tomorrow, but tonight is the prelude."

We sipped our champagne and chatted about nothing in particular. Our limo pulled up in front and a few minutes later, we stopped in front of the Auditorium. Daddy got out first. Guinyard and I followed. We walked in together. The lobby of the Auditorium was packed. By then, I knew almost everyone there. Amelia and her court held forth in one corner. Aunt Gina was sucking the life out of the other end of the room. I noticed that tonight Clay was with Amelia. That brought me up short. I assumed that since he and Guinyard had closed out their relationship he would leave town. It did not occur to me that he would still be around. I pushed the thought aside.

We made our way into the theater. The house lights went down. Guinyard leaned over and kissed my cheek. "You really are too good to be true."

I took his hand. The music started and I gave in to it completely, blocking out all thoughts of other things.

During the intermission, Guinyard circulated among the dignitaries. I stood at the edge of the crowd with Daddy watching the flow of people. I could not take my eyes off Guinyard. Daddy watched me. He put his arm around me and said softly, "I can't tell you how many times I've wanted to see that look in your eyes."

Guinyard joined us at the end of intermission and we paraded _en famille_ to our seats. I felt dozens of eyes boring into the back of my head. As I sat down, my cell phone vibrated. I glanced at the text message from Dan. It said, "WOWZER."

I showed it to Guinyard.

He took the phone from me and typed something. I took the phone back and checked the sent box. The message said, "I COULDN'T AGREE MORE. G."

I took his hand and settled in for the second act. I didn't exactly put my head on his shoulder but I did lean against him. He leaned toward me as well.

At the dinner afterwards, we had what at first appeared to be a huge setback. Amelia and Clay were seated directly across the table from me and Guinyard. Daddy was seated next to Clay. I considered leaving but Dan and Roger appeared from nowhere. Dan sat next to me and Rog took the seat on the other side of Guinyard. I looked at Dan and we smiled at each other. Roger leaned across Guinyard and said to Dan and me, "Now children, behave or we'll have to separate you."

Guinyard's blackberry vibrated. It was Denise. She wanted him to send her photos. He panned his phone around the crowd and emailed the picture to her. We remarked at how amazing it was to share pictures immediately like that. I leaned over to Guinyard and put my hand on his arm, "Do you remember the first time you went on the Internet?"

He thought about it and told me about how someone he knew showed him how to pull up information about music from online databases. He went on for a while about how amazing he thought it was.

Dan and I had developed a bad case of the giggles. I batted my eyes at Guinyard and asked, "Do you want to know about my first time on the Internet?" I could see by the expression on his face that he was not sure he wanted to hear the answer. Roger leaned forward and said emphatically, "No he doesn't." That set me and Dan off even more.

Amelia looked at me like I was a fly in her face. She said, "I would like to hear it."

I leaned over to Roger and asked, "What do you think?"

He shrugged. "Well, personally I don't think it's a suitable story for mixed company, but she did ask."

Dan was about ready to shoot wine out of his nose. It was all I could do not to get hysterical, but I took a deep breath and forged ahead. I shot Daddy an "I know you're going to kill me but I gotta do this" look. He nodded slightly.

I looked at Amelia and then at Clay. I leaned back in my seat and said, "Well you have to know a little background in order to fully appreciate this. You see my husband was a cheating rat-bastard who left me, with three little kids, for a girl who was about half my age. The year of my divorce was sort of a bad patch for me. Fortunately Dan and Rog were my dearest friends. They let me all but camp out at their place when I needed to cry and rant. After dinner Dan and I would sit on the floor and we would try to see how many different insulting terms we could come up with for the kind of person Stan was. I topped out at 57 and just couldn't get past that. Somebody told us about a thing called the Internet. We decided it might help us. I bought a computer and Dan got the nerdy brother of one of his dance students to hook it up and show us how to use it. Those were the days of DOS and Usenet. I distinctly remember our very first search – which we ran after the boy went home, of course."

Dan and Roger were both almost purple from holding their breath. Everybody else was leaning forward listening intently.

I looked directly into Clay's eyes and said, "Our first Internet search was on a language database. We searched for alternate translations for the expression 'fucking prick'."

I thought Amelia would faint. My dad looked like he wanted to explode. I knew Guinyard was shocked, but he was trying desperately not to show it. Clay went pale.

"Do you know what we found?"

Everyone automatically shook their head. "We found over one hundred translations."

Roger made a derisive noise, "One hundred and thirteen to be precise. And about three quarters of a bottle of Cuervo later, I think Danny and Rochelle had memorized the whole list."

Dan chimed in. "I have spent the last ten years tracking down native speakers of many of those languages in order to learn how to pronounce the words properly."

It was my turn to be impressed. "Really!?"

"Yep." He looked so proud. I actually wanted to hear more about that, but that was not the time, so I didn't pursue it.

Clay was sweating profusely. Amelia looked like she wanted to smack me. Daddy was trying without success to look disapproving. Guinyard took my hand and looked gratefully at Dan and said, "Rochelle is lucky to have such wonderful friends."

Dan lifted his hands palms up and looked at me like a little kid with a new toy, "See, I have been telling you for years how wonderful I am."

I shook my head and rolled my eyes at Guinyard. "Do not encourage him. He is incorrigible."

Roger chimed in, "He's never so bad as when you are present."

"Are you saying it's my fault?"

"I am saying the two of you bring out the worst in each other."

The band was beginning to play. Dan stood up and took my hand, "We don't have to take this crap, Rockie. What do you say we take a few spins around the floor and make everybody jealous."

I hesitated, "After the way you ran my ass ragged all afternoon, I'm not sure I've got it in me."

He looked at me with his most flagrant drag queen look and said, "Darlin' that ass of yours needs days and days of treatment like it got today."

I stood up and asked, "Are you calling me fat?"

"I call it like I see it...."

As we turned to dance, I could see Guinyard and Roger looking at us with looks of pure adoration. I grinned at Dan, "How the hell did we come to deserve those two?"

He looked at me seriously and said, "We don't. Or, I don't. What the hell possessed you to do that?"

"I am just bad to the bone."

"No you are not. You are a woman in love and you are sitting across the table from someone who hurt your man more than anyone ever did. You, for once in your prim and proper and totally dignified and upstanding life, followed your instincts."

"Yeah. It felt good at the moment but now I feel like a heel."

"Don't sweat it. The bastard deserved it, and he knows it."

We danced twice and then returned to the table. Before I could sit down, Clay was on his feet. "Miss Rochelle, may I have the next dance?"

I thought I would pass out. Everybody in our crowd and many people at nearby tables froze. Somewhere all that Southern indoctrination and Cotillion training took hold and I managed to croak out, only holding onto the chair a little bit, "Certainly, Mr. Jacobs. I would be delighted."

The tables were long. We walked slowly to the end of the row on opposite sides of the table. Even some of the non-Charleston eyes seemed to be on us, at least the art-world folks who knew Clay were watching. I was hoping for a quickstep or some other fast dance. Unfortunately, the band queued up a very slow foxtrot. Clay was an extremely accomplished ballroom dancer. We glided onto the floor and it took very little time to fall into step.

We didn't talk at first. Finally, he shocked me by saying, "Guinyard told me that you offered to stand aside if that is what he wanted. That must have been very difficult for you. I can tell how much you love him."

"It is still early. I am not sure where our relationship is heading, but you're right, that was a difficult thing to do."

"Why did you do it?"

"Because I want him to be happy. I really do. If being with you would make him happy, that is what I want for him."

"It's too late for that, now."

"So he tells me. I am sorry for you both."

"You mean that."

"I do. I also meant the 'fucking prick' remark earlier. I guess you could say I'm rather of two minds on the subject of you."

"I deserve that. I know I do. What I want to tell you is that I am truly glad that someone has come into Guinyard's life who loves him in the way he truly deserves to be loved."

"That's more or less quasi-noble of you. Forgive me if I still can't help but be a little put off by the way you dumped him and never even called him."

"Sort of like the way your husband did with you."

"Yes and no. My husband flaunted his affair in my face and behaved like the worst possible sort of asshole. You did it in the more 'manly' way of simply disappearing and never calling again."

"I am positively transported by the irony of that."

"It was purely intentional, I assure you."

"So what are your plans?"

"I plan to take care of my father in his old age. I plan to be the best friend and possibly lover I can to Guinyard. I plan to try to find a place for myself in Charleston. And yours?"

"I'm not sure, but I will not trouble you or Guinyard again."

"That would be a kindness."

We finished the dance. Clay excused himself from our company, and, I sincerely hoped, from our lives as well.

After that, I danced with Daddy, Roger and a bunch of other men. It seemed as though I danced with everyone in the room but Guinyard. Near the end of the evening, I saw him hand a note to the waiter. A few minutes later, the band director said, "I have a dedication. The next song is for all the lovers in the audience, but in particular for those who are newly falling in love. What a better place to do so than Charleston during Spoleto."

Guinyard stood and beckoned me toward the floor. The song they were playing was _It's Impossible_.

At the end of the dance, when I started to sit down, Dan patted my butt and said, "You are getting there, girlfriend."

I turned to Guinyard and beamed. "You know if you have any influence with the Charleston Civic Ballet, you could get them to hire Roger. Dan would follow him here and I could resume regular dance classes, since Dan seems to think we need to do something about my fat butt."

Guinyard rolled his eyes, "Something tells me that having you and Dan living in the same town would be trouble with a capital T."

Dan leaned over and said, "And that rhymes with 'D' and that stands for 'Dance'. C'mon, Rockie, let's show 'em how it's done."

We danced a few times after which I limped back to the table. "I am done. Done. Done. Please take me home or I'll never be able to make it to Roger's ballet tomorrow."

Roger looked at me and said, "You miss that one and I'll personally strangle you."

We stood and said our good byes. We left the room with many eyes and a ripple of voices following.

The limo dropped us off in front of the house. The champagne was still in the ice bucket from earlier in the evening. The evening was warm but not hot enough to have melted all the ice. Daddy went to bed. Guinyard and I sat on the porch and polished off the wine. I slipped off my shoes and put my feet up on the porch rail. Guinyard put his arms around me and held me for a long time without saying anything.

I said, "I am sorry if I embarrassed you. Dan and I are very bad when we are together."

"You are like two little kids."

"Rog usually says we act like juvenile delinquents. Your assessment sounds nicer."

"I understand why you love them."

"You want to know something amazing?"

"What?"

"I think they will love you too, if you love me."

We were quiet for a while. I was scandalized by what I had just said. After a long silence, he said, "I am glad to hear that because, for one thing, I do love you and, for another thing, I think the Charleston Civic Ballet is going to offer Roger the job so I think we may be seeing a lot of them."

I stood up and he followed me. We paused at the doorway to his apartment downstairs. It was very, very late. Tomorrow was the biggest day of the Festival.

We moved a few steps farther to the door that led to the second floor apartment. Guinyard folded me in his arms and we kissed for a long time. I noticed for the first time, our embraces held promises but no fear.

"Goodnight, Love," I said.

His voice was husky when he replied, "Goodnight, darling."

Chapter 8

I woke before nine – which was very early for me – on the last day of the Festival. I wondered if the magic would end with the end of the Festival and the romance would be all gone. I had a morning dance class with Dan. There were three other women in the class. I smiled at the thought that he was planning to come to Charleston already. He appeared to be laying the groundwork for opening a studio.

After that, I had a manicure and facial courtesy of Daddy. Mr. Montague stopped by the salon to braid my hair. We planned to let it dry in the braids; he would come by the house later to fluff it out for the party and to do my makeup.

After lunch, Daddy took a nap. I took my laptop computer to the porch and engaged in some on-line video chat with my kids. Denise was happy to know that I had reconnected with Dan and Roger. None of them were so sure about Guinyard. They filled me in on their activities.

About midway through the chat, Guinyard came out on the porch and joined in, up-loading pictures from his phone. I tried to keep the kids from interrogating him, but that was hopeless. He answered her questions patiently and completely. Denise was quickly converted once she learned that Dan and Roger approved of him. She, rightly, said that she didn't think Dan would accept anybody in my life who was not good for me. Since my sons were not as enamored of Dan and Roger as Denise was, they were a little more hesitant about the situation.

We logged off and then Guinyard and I spent the rest of the afternoon sitting on the porch, drinking tea and talking about nothing in particular. Daddy and Mr. George eventually joined us. We watched the tourists go by while they watched us. In the distance, I could see boats going in and out of the harbor. It was an altogether beautiful late spring afternoon in South Carolina. The flies buzzed. The magnolia in the front yard was in full bloom. We sat quietly enjoying one another's company without having to speak.

At one point Guinyard chuckled for no apparent reason. We all looked up with questions in our eyes. He said softly. "Every single person in that carriage that just went by took our picture. It occurred to me we should be sitting here in 19th Century costumes."

I hooted. "Oh, yeah, can you see me in a hooped skirt and one of those big picture hats?"

Guinyard gave me a long, meaningful look and said, "Frankly, my dear, I can."

I patted his knee and said, "Frankly, my dear, I don't give a damn what kind of weird pictures your imagination can concoct, it ain't gonna happen. I had to wear one of those hooped skirt dresses once when Denise danced Clara in the Nutcracker. They put me in the opening party scene where all the women were dressed in mid 19th Century party-wear. What a disaster! You have to learn to walk and sit and move altogether differently. The rehearsals were hysterical because we were forever knocking into things and/or the dresses would kick up and we would moon the audience. We ultimately got it right, but I thought Dan was going to have a heart attack over it until we did. He threatened to bring in trainers from the Cotillion."

Dad said. "I'll bet you appreciated that."

"Actually that was the threat that motivated me to get it right."

Daddy raised his eyes at Guinyard and said, "She was anything but cooperative with the Cotillion."

Guinyard smiled and said, "I remember."

I sat up straight and looked at him, "You remember my coming-out Season?"

"I certainly do. I was a member of the Bachelors until a few years ago. I finally quit when I turned sixty. It struck me as unseemly for an old man to still be escorting teen-aged Debs. But, I remember yours very clearly."

"What exactly sticks out in your mind?"

"The discussions we had among the Bachelors about who would escort you to the ball."

Daddy sat up and leaned forward. "Do tell."

I didn't like the direction this was going. I had not wanted to participate in the Cotillion and had thrown several rather public fits on the subject of how disgusting the whole tradition of the debutante season was. My mother, who was both a Cotillion trainer and a society lady who positively lived the entire year for the Season, put her foot down and told me I was coming out if they had to hog tie me and carry me into the ball over the shoulders of one of the Bachelors. I was embarrassed to recall some of the things I said about the Bachelors.

Guinyard smiled, "Well it seems that year a certain lovely young thing from one of the very best families was putting up quite a fuss about participating. That wasn't unusual. It was the 1970's. We had a couple of those every year. Most of the girls who objected ultimately simply refused to participate and their families let them drop out. That year was a little complicated because the girl who was adamantly opposed to participating had a mother who insisted she come out. Given the social prominence of the family, I would have been the likely candidate to escort her, but that was my first Season with the Bachelors. The older members felt that the girl would require more experienced hands. They wanted to have an older member escort her. The theory was that one of the older more experienced members could tell if she was going to do something inappropriate and head it off. I didn't know the girl at the time, so I shrugged it off. They assigned me to escort Nancy What-Was-Her-Name... Trellian?..."

I chimed in, "Trevillian."

He nodded. "Anyway, they assigned the senior Bachelor, Garrett Beaulieu, to escort her.

That caused her mother to throw a fit because she wanted me to escort the little vixen."

I looked from Guinyard to Daddy and said, "Mama wanted Guinyard to escort me?"

Daddy nodded. Guinyard took my hand and nodded too. He shook his head, "Those damnable bloodlines again, dontcha know."

"We spent that entire Season on pins and needles waiting for some kind of scene. As it turned out there was no scene." He turned my hand over and held it between both of his; he looked at Daddy, "Apparently it turned out that the girl in question may have objected to the proceedings and may have fussed and fumed about it privately. She, however, loved her parents and would never have done anything to embarrass them in public. She ended up to be a very lovely Deb as I recall."

I shook my head and stood up. "It's a stupid tradition. Stupid. Stupid. Stupid. But, my mother – bless her heart and rest her soul – was as devoted to the Cotillion as she was to the Junior League. I didn't want to do it, but I cooperated out of respect for her. I would never have made a scene in public."

Daddy made a face, "Although you didn't mind shooting off your mouth at home and worrying her over it."

"Yeah. I feel really bad about that. But, I'll tell you one thing. I've sort of had Mama on my mind all day today. Wouldn't she love this Festival stuff?"

Daddy laughed out loud and a look of love and sadness washed over his face. He looked at me with shining eyes and said, "She would positively revel in it."

"God, can you see her and Aunt Gina plotting against Amelia?"

Daddy laughed, this time not quite as sadly.

I stretched my arms up over my head and said, "Well, fellers, it is time for me to go upstairs and become beautiful. Daddy have you had your shower?" He nodded. "Okay, then stay the hell out of my way. I've got major work to do. When Mr. Montague gets here, send him up."

Daddy said, "I already took my tux to Guinyard's apartment. I'll finish getting ready downstairs so I can stay out of your way. You are requested to meet us on the porch for champagne at 7:00 p. m. sharp. Don't be late."

I leaned over and kissed Guinyard. "Are you ready for this?"

"I can't wait."

Mr. Montague was arranging his tools on my vanity when I came out of the shower. He did my hair exactly as Dan had recommended, wild and curly with a few very tiny magnolia blossoms pinned into it.

Then he helped me get dressed. I was very embarrassed by having to dress in front of a man. He convinced me he had been dressing women for decades and it made no impact on him. He laughed and said that the worst ones were the old ladies who used it for the opportunity to flirt.

I said, "EW! Too much information! Do not tell me who!"

We laughed, which got me through the awkwardness.

The dress was as magnificent as it had been in the store the other day. My hair and makeup were perfect. My only concern was that my arms were a bit crepe-y for the dress. Mr. Montague handed me a shawl the tailor had made from a part of the train they had cut off the dress. It was perfect. I draped it around my upper arms and the entire look was perfect.

I sent Mr. Montague away and logged onto the computer. Denise was waiting for me. I turned the web-cam in my direction and twirled. Then I asked her what she thought. There was a long silence after which she stepped in front of her own web-cam and said, "God, Mom, you are beautiful."

"How many women ever have the opportunity to hear their kid say that."

"Go. PawPaw and Mr. Guinyard are waiting for you. One thing, I gotta say, and please don't be mad."

"What?"

"Before you have sex with him, make sure it's safe."

I chuckled. "I am proud of you for thinking of that, although I am embarrassed as all hell to be having a conversation like this with you. I promise, I will."

She laughed, and said, "I think the correct response would have been a shocked and outraged, 'Denise! Why I have no intention of doing any such thing!'"

I paused and winked at her. "I have no intentions about anything tonight except having a great time with Daddy and Guinyard."

"Have fun, Mom. I want you to call me when you get up tomorrow. We'll log on and you can share video. Ask Mr. Guinyard to take lots of pictures tonight."

"I will. I love you."

"I love you, too, Mom."

I walked out on the porch where Guinyard and Daddy were waiting. Daddy heard the door open. He came around the corner and stopped in his tracks. The look of adoration in his eyes caused me to stop as well. I said, "Do not make me cry." We both laughed instead.

He hugged me tight for a long time. "You look positively lovely, my dear. I am going to the bathroom before we go. You and Guinyard deserve a few minutes alone."

He went up the stairs.

I walked around the corner. Guinyard was standing with his back to me, looking out over the harbor. I stood there silently, waiting for him to feel my presence, which he did soon enough. He turned. He was magnificent in his white tux, or maybe it was just my eyes of love.

I cannot begin to describe the look on his face. I know that I was not a beautiful woman. I was, however, wearing the most beautiful gown I had ever seen, heirloom diamonds and magnolia blossoms in my hair. I was also in love and off to the fanciest party I had attended in years. That combination can make up for a lot of physical deficiencies. It certainly must have for me, because the look on his face took my breath away.

He said, "Please don't move." He looked at me for a long time and then whispered, "Would you mind turning around?"

I turned very slowly. Who knew those old Cotillion lessons actually would come in handy someday? By the time I was facing him again, I was grinning. I took my dress at the sides and curtsied deeply. I rose from the curtsy as slowly as I could without falling over. By the time I was standing up straight again he was in front of me and I was in his arms.

He bent to kiss me but I put up my hand. "So sorry. No smooches until after the party. Mr. Montague made me promise not to mess up my makeup until later."

We looked into each others eyes. He leaned over and kissed my shoulder, saying, "No makeup here, I hope."

"No."

We stood there, dazzled by each other, until Daddy came back. Guinyard poured the wine and I watched the two of them. Daddy was 87 and frail but still handsome and dignified. Guinyard was 62. He was distinguished and elegant. I grinned. Daddy asked, "What's funny?"

"Nothing is funny. I was just thinking that I shall soon be escorted to a party by two of the most elegant, handsome and delightful men in Charleston. I am quite sure that I don't deserve this opportunity, but I plan to take full advantage."

Guinyard walked over to me with a glass of champagne and whispered, "Did you say something about taking advantage of someone?"

I raised my eyebrows and replied, "That might be arranged."

The limo pulled up and we departed in style for the last time during that Festival season. Soon we arrived at the Auditorium, which was already packed. It looked for all the world like the pictures of the red carpet at the Academy Awards. Photographers were everywhere. There were a lot of out-of-town celebrities in attendance. The locals didn't get quite as much attention. That suited me just fine. The crush of people, the glitter of jewelry and the flashing of cameras was almost overwhelming.

Dan somehow managed to find us in the crowd. He looked me up and down appraisingly and said, "Lord, girl, you do clean up well."

I blew him a kiss and said, "Coming from you I'll take that for an enormous compliment."

"That is precisely how it was meant. Actually, I am compelled to abandon my typically snarky manner and tell you that you are ravishing."

I looked at all three of them. "Okay, guys, only one rule applies tonight: Nobody makes me cry!"

Amelia came up to us and greeted all three of the men before turning to me. She looked me up and down and shook her head. "You look positively lovely, my dear. That is absolutely perfect."

"Thank you, Amelia. That means a lot."

She looked at Guinyard but didn't say anything.

After she walked away I took his arm and said, "I will say what Amelia couldn't bring herself to say. You look magnificent. So elegant and handsome. You take my breath away."

"Don't you make me cry either."

I smiled up into his eyes, "I can pretty well guarantee that we'll both end up in tears before this night is over."

He leaned closer and said into my ear, "But we'd better get you out of that dress first. If we stain it, Benny will kill both of us."

I nodded. Then I said, "Oh my God! What kind of an idiot am I? Have I learned nothing at all from my upbringing?"

All three of my companions looked at me with widened eyes. "I didn't eat anything before I got dressed!"

Guinyard said, "You'll just have to do what the other women do."

"Which is what?"

"Eat only non-drippy finger food. When you get to the buffet you will see what I mean. There will be lots of very small morsels of cheeses and meats. Grapes are good." He rolled his eyes, "Go through the line behind your Aunt Gina."

"That would make me lose my appetite altogether."

"Even better."

Daddy looked around, "Speaking of the Dragon Queen of the South, has anybody spotted her?"

Dan said, "She's holding forth in the lobby. Rog sent me a text message a few minutes ago. She's got Clay with her and she's apparently in fine fettle."

I smiled and said. "You know, I feel the need to go in there and greet my dearly beloved Aunt. Anybody who doesn't want to come can go on into the theater."

Dan said, "I wouldn't miss it for the world."

Daddy saluted, "I'm in."

Guinyard hesitated. I said gently, "Why don't you go mingle."

He looked at me and then he scanned the crowd. He shook his head. "No, I don't think so. I don't think I could tear myself away from your side."

I did not walk directly toward Aunt Gina. Instead we took a tacking course across the room, stopping to chat with people we knew and theater people. Eventually I became aware that Aunt Gina had spotted us. I said softly, "Okay, boys. We're going in."

I walked up to her with what I hoped was a totally insincere smile plastered on my face. She looked at me and narrowed her eyes. "The last time I saw that dress and jewelry it was on your mother, at her wedding."

I could tell that surprised both Guinyard and Dan. Daddy said, "Nobody was using the dress. I decided to surprise Shelley by having it made over."

She looked at me like a horse-trader. I half expected her to ask to examine my teeth. Then she nodded. She hesitated and looked as though she had a pain. I almost laughed. She said, "It works. You look lovely."

I smiled and replied, "Thank you. Coming from you that is high praise indeed."

She added with something that sounded like venom in her voice, "Your mother would be proud."

We squared off and stared at each other. I wanted to ask her why she hated my mother and me so much. I saw her glance at Daddy. Then I suddenly understood. It wasn't Guinyard who had come between Mama and Aunt Gina. It was Daddy. Guinyard was a sort of minor skirmish that had taken place between the Hale girls and Amelia. Guinyard had the bloodlines that Amelia wanted, but Daddy had the cash that the Hale family needed. Aunt Gina and Mama had both been after Daddy. Mama got him and Aunt Gina never forgave her for it. Subsequently, she had taken advantage of every opportunity she had to cut my mother down. And now here I stood between Guinyard and Daddy. I had ended up with both the bloodlines and the cash. There was something just delicious about that. I almost laughed.

Aunt Gina stood there with her pudgy hand on Clay's arm. He was the only weapon she had to use against me. Nobody spoke for a long moment. I considered smacking her or turning and walking away.

But suddenly, I was filled with compassion for her. She was a bitter, miserable, mean old lady. I had her genes. I would take her warning to heart. I absolutely would not turn into that kind of person.

I said softly, "Oh, Aunt Gina. I sincerely hope so. I really do."

Then I gave her a hug.

I made a half-turn toward Clay and shook his hand warmly, "Roger let me have a sneak peak at the stage during rehearsal this morning. Your sets are magnificent. Congratulations."

Then I turned around and said to my own entourage, "I think we should take our seats. Don't you?"

Dan opened a path for us. I walked between Daddy and Guinyard. Just before we entered the theater itself, Amelia walked up to us. She was grinning from ear to ear. She greeted the men first, as any self-respecting Southern lady would do. Then she leaned close to me and said, "That was the most magnificent thing I have ever seen in my life. I am taking this opportunity to beat Guinyard to the draw and let you know you can expect an invitation from the Committee in the mail very soon. We start working on next year's Festival in two weeks."

I took her hand between both of mine and said, "I am deeply honored. I look forward to working with you. I truly do."

Guinyard said to no one in particular, "This could be the beginning of a beautiful friendship."

Amelia and I smiled into each others eyes and said simultaneously, "I hope so."

She bade us to enjoy the show. We processed to our seats. Daddy took my hand and leaned across me to ask Guinyard , "What on earth do you think the denizens of Charleston society will have to talk about now that the feud between Amelia Beauchamps and the Hale women is ended."

Guinyard shrugged. "God knows, but they'll find something."

I shook my head, "I don't think it's over. I think Aunt Gina will go after both Amelia and me."

Daddy laughed, "God help her. The two of you will squish her sorry ass like a bug."

Guinyard shook his head and said to Daddy. "I don't think it will be quite that easy. Amelia is very respected not only in Charleston but increasingly in the arts world beyond Charleston. Rochelle has all the makings of another Amelia, which I want to tell you is the highest praise I can offer. I like and respect Amelia enormously. Regina, on the other hand, plays dirty. She may try to float some nasty rumors or something. Things could get ugly for a while but ultimately people won't tolerate it. Regina's sun is definitely on the wane but I don't think you can count her out completely just yet."

He took my hand and smiled into my eyes, "However, there's a new Hale woman in town, and the old queen is mortally wounded. Long live the new one." He raised my hand and kissed it.

I said, around the huge lump in my throat, "Oh, don't be corny."

The ballet was spectacular. At the end, I had to lean my head back and concentrate very hard to keep from crying. During the curtain calls, which went on and on and on, I said to Dan, "You tell Roger I'm mad at him. He's the one who ended up making me cry."

Dan's eyes were wet, also, and he said simply, "Me, too."

After the performance we made our way to the Gala.

The problem of food turned out not to be an issue. I was so excited and the music was so wonderful, I didn't even think about eating. I spent my time on the dance floor. I didn't even know half of the men I danced with. Considering that the crowd was filled with society people and folks from the dance world, they were practically all great dancers so it didn't matter.

I thought it odd that neither Daddy nor Guinyard had danced with me. Eventually, I sought them out. "What's the deal with you two? I'm reduced to dancing with strangers because neither of my escorts and rouse his arse out of the the chair to take me for a spin."

Daddy said, "When you are ready to go, you let us know. I get your second-to-last dance."

Guinyard said softly, "The last one belongs to me."

I rolled my eyes and said, "Romantic nincompoops the both of you. Actually, I am ready. I'm tired and I'm getting hungry. I think about two more dances ought to do me."

Daddy took my arm and we took the floor. Daddy didn't like to talk while he was dancing, so we merely twirled around the room enjoying the sights and sounds and smells. I had not had anything to eat or to drink since the few sips of champagne we had on the porch at home, but I felt drunk with music, and with love.

When the song ended, I curtsied to my father. He raised me up and kissed both of my cheeks. "I cannot tell you how much I love you and how unbelievably proud I am of you tonight."

I whispered, "You don't have to. I've seen it in your eyes all night. I love you, too, Daddy."

Before I had a chance to burst into sobs, Guinyard was by my side. He touched my elbow and bowed to my father. "May I have your permission to dance with your daughter?"

Daddy looked from Guinyard to me and back. He grinned and said, "I suppose you could start with that."

I feigned shock, and said, "Daddy!"

Daddy held out his hand and motioned us onto the floor. The song was _It's Impossible_. Somehow I knew Guinyard had requested it. We sailed around the floor. My private lessons with Dan paid off.

When the song was over, I started to curtsy. He put his arms around me and held me tight, "I love you."

I looked into his eyes and knew it was true. Before I could stop myself I said, "I love you, too."

We met Daddy by the door. I hesitated before getting into the car. Guinyard pushed me gently and said, "What are you waiting for?"

"The Pumpkin coach."

We rode home in silence. I snuggled with Guinyard. Daddy sat back in his seat with his eyes closed. I could tell by the expression on his face he was thinking of Mama. We didn't interrupt him.

At the house, I settled Daddy in bed upstairs and then met Guinyard on the porch. I considered changing my clothes, but decided against it.

He was waiting for me in the glider. He had taken off his jacket and loosened his tie. I chuckled. He looked up with a question in his eyes.

"How could you have known that... this is silly... the sexiest thing a man can do as far as I am concerned is loosen his tie and open his shirt collar."

He patted the glider. I sat down and he handed me a tissue.

"What's that for?"

"Wipe off your lipstick."

I grinned and pretended to be confused, "Why?"

His look darkened, "Just do it."

I wiped my lips and folded the tissue carefully. I had a very strong feeling I would need the non-greasy side of it in a few minutes. Guinyard kissed me, a long, lingering, passionate kiss. We both ended it with tears in our eyes.

We talked for a while but soon there was nothing left to say. The invitation in his eyes was clear. No words were necessary.

I hesitated. I hated what I had to do. I wanted to crawl under the porch with the spiders and hide. I couldn't look at him.

"What's wrong?"

"I have to ask you a question. I don't want to but I have to ask." I swallowed and started to cry.

He took me into his arms and said, "The answer to the question you can't bring yourself to ask is this: six months after he left and again six months after that. Both tests were negative."

I leaned against him and sobbed into my tissue. He wiped my face and said, "Now I have a question for you that I do want to ask."

I looked into his eyes and interrupted, "The answer to your question is, 'yes'."

Chapter 9

I woke the next morning at about 8:30, which was an impossibly early time for me. Guinyard was already awake, leaning against the headboard simply watching me. I opened my eyes and smiled, "God, I must be a mess."

He chuckled, "You most definitely are. I think we probably should have ditched those magnolia blossoms before we got carried away, you've got bits of flower petal crumbs all through your hair. Looks like a really nasty case of dandruff."

"Oh, how lovely."

I scooted up beside him and put my arm across his chest, "What's on the agenda for today Mr. Guinyard?"

"Absolutely nothing. No self respecting society people will so much as leave their homes today. Even the ones who didn't attend the Gala will stay home as though they are too tired to come outside."

"What hypocrisy!"

"What would you like to do?"

I stretched again. Contemplating various aches and pains in places I hadn't had aches or pains in a very long time. "Actually, I would like to take a shower, change into my jammies and sleep for a few more hours."

"And after that?"

"Let's have lunch and then while away the afternoon uploading photos and videos for Denise."

"And after that?"

"I guess we'll just have to see what the future holds."

He put his arms around me and kissed the top of my head, "I don't really care as long as it holds us together."

"Are you going to be mad or hurt if I get out of this bed and go upstairs?"

"No. I am going to be amused however. Are you planning to put the dress back on and try to sneak up the stairs in the broad daylight or were you planning to just wrap up in the sheet and make a run for it. The carriages should start coming by soon. Some of the tourists might snap some very interesting photos."

I sat up and contemplated my lovely party dress which lay draped over his tie rack. God, it was beautiful, even just lying there. I didn't want to put it back on, as sweaty and sticky as I felt. Walking out on the porch wrapped in a sheet, didn't appeal to me much either. I said, "Do you have a sweat suit or something I could borrow?"

He kissed the back of my neck and said, "I have something even better than that."

He got up and put on a pair of boxers. I noted with appreciation that he was in decent shape for an old dude. He turned and caught me looking at him. He smiled at me and then reached behind the bathroom door and tossed me a robe. I put it on, and I caught him looking at me. We grinned at each other. I was surprised at how very relaxed we were with each other even though the situation should have been at least a little bit awkward.

"What do you have to show me?"

He led me to the kitchen and opened a door I thought was a pantry. It led to a flight of stairs. "Servant's stairs. On the second floor this comes out in Benny's living room. That used to be the master bedroom. It goes all the way to the attic where there are small rooms that used to be servant quarters. Those rooms, by the way, have a positively bodacious view of Charleston Harbor."

"Isn't the door locked upstairs?"

He shook his head, "Benny leaves it unlocked. He said it would give me easy access to his apartment if I ever needed it."

I grinned, "Oh, how convenient."

He smiled and hugged me, "Isn't it just? As titillating as it would be to see you try to sneak up the outside stairs wrapped in a bed sheet like a character in some French farce, I think this is a better alternative. "

"Do you mind if I sack out in my own bed or shall I come back down here and climb back in with you?"

"I hate to tell you, my love, but I am an early bird. I am not quite as bad as Benny, but I'm up for the day. You go to bed in your own room. When you wake up, I'll be here. And someday soon we may want to discuss rearranging the room assignments." He took me in his arms and kissed me in a way that underscored his point. It also made me wonder whether I should just stay up and spend the morning with Guinyard. I decided I'd better sleep. I am very crabby when I don't get enough sleep and I did not want to run the risk of spoiling our fairy tale night by turning into a wicked witch at the end of it.

I ran up the stairs, expecting to surprise Daddy reading in his chair or messing with his computer. He wasn't in the living room.

I went into the kitchen. There was no coffee. I chuckled. He had had a very big night, maybe for once in his life he decided to sleep late. I felt the need to check on him anyway. I knocked on his door, but he did not answer. I opened the door. He was still in bed ... and his color was all wrong. I moved closer and realized that he was not breathing. He had no pulse.

I raced back down the stairs. Guinyard was in the bathroom. I pounded on the door and he came out, obviously alarmed.

"What is it?"

I managed to croak out, "Daddy's dead," before I burst into sobs.

He followed me up the stairs. My father had obviously died in his sleep. His expression was one of utter tranquility.

Guinyard took me in his arms and held me while I cried. He said, "Well, one thing we know for sure. He died a very happy man. Spoleto was his favorite time of the year. Sharing it this year with you was absolute heaven for him."

I looked down at Daddy's lifeless body and leaned against Guinyard, feeling his warmth and strength steadying me, and I nodded through a wave of tears. I wondered just how in the hell it was possible to be so sad and so happy at the same time.

Guinyard called the police. I called my kids. We spent the rest of the day on the phone and computers getting the word out and arranging the funeral. What should have been a relaxing day of lying around doing nothing was the first of several of the busiest days of my life.

Many of the dignitaries from the art world stayed for the funeral out of respect for his work with the Festival over the years. Daddy was more or less universally loved by Charleston society. His funeral turned out to be a huge affair for Charleston as well, and in particular for the residents and business owners in the historic district who were his neighbors and closest friends.

The reception at Guinyard's house after the burial spilled off the porch and out into the yard where we had tents set up. The tourists in the carriages took many pictures as they passed by. I'd bet they thought we were having a party. Southern funerals can appear rather festive.

When the crowds finally disbursed, Guinyard and I were left on the porch with my children while the caterers cleaned up the mess.

Ford said, "When are you coming home, Mom?"

I looked at him, confused. "Home?"

"Yeah. Like in you came here to take care of PawPaw. Now, he's dead. When are you coming back home?"

"Do you forget that I sold the house?"

"Yeah, but I thought you'd buy a smaller one or maybe get an apartment in town."

I shook my head and said, "I am not going back to New York. Charleston is my home. I am staying right here."

Both of my sons objected, tossing out a number of reasons mostly having to do with their own convenience. Denise sat quietly, watching me and Guinyard. I went on, "I know your father loathes the South and all things Southern, and he tried to pass that attitude along to you. I've always resented that. I feel bad that most of the time my father had to visit us in New York if he wanted to see his grandchildren because our family was too busy – meaning essentially too selfish – to bother to come to him. Well, I've only been back a couple of weeks, but I know that I'll never leave again for any length of time.

"This city is my home." I looked around at the harbor, the street, the magnolia trees and then into Guinyard's eyes, "It is where my heart is. I'm staying here."

I looked at Ford. He got it. He smiled at me and at Guinyard. Ted was not ready to give in yet. He was the most like his father, in almost every way. He continued the argument. Ultimately, he stopped, not so much because he gave in but because both Ford and Denise told him to knock it off. He never listened to me; I had no credibility with him. The other two could at least make him shut up even if they couldn't change his mind. For a moment, he reminded me so much of his father a wave of intense dislike broke over me. I tried to shake it off and hoped desperately it didn't show.

I changed the subject. "There is little for us to do here at least for a few days until the attorneys get the paperwork moving. If you can spare a few days, I wonder if you would like to visit the house at Edisto. I need to go down there anyway to check on it. It would be a good place for me to go to start to try to patch over the hole in my life." I paused and cleared my throat. "Any takers?"

Ted shook his head, "I have to get back to school." I elected not to remind him that it was summertime and he had never in his life gone to summer school. He spent his summers at the Jersey shore surfing and picking up girls.

Ford said, "Actually I have several days, and I would love to spend them with you at the beach house." He looked from me to Guinyard and then grinned at Guinyard, "It will be nice to get to know you."

Guinyard shook his head, "I wouldn't presume to intrude."

I took his hand, "And I wouldn't consider leaving you here."

"I have to go to work."

I shook my head. "I happen to know that the Chamber will not collapse without you. The crazy season is over. You've no doubt earned a vacation."

He looked at me with an expression I had not seen before. He was irritated with me. Perhaps rightly so. I wanted him to go with me, and if it meant I had to throw my money around I would do it. That might be a blow to his pride. I was going to have to figure out a way around that for the long term. For the sort term, I needed him, and I would do what I had to do in order to get him to go with us, even if it included making him mad. I looked at him and I could tell that he had followed my entire thought process. He said, simply, with an edge that could have been irritation and could also have been the hint of laughter, "Oh, alright. I guess I'm up for a few days at the beach myself. I do have some vacation days coming."

As the afternoon wore on, a few neighbors stopped by on their evening walks to offer condolences and visit with us. Ted went inside to pack. He had a return flight home that evening. Ford and Denise offered to take him to the airport. Part of me thought I should ride along. As his mother, I thought I should want to spend as much time with him as I could. Unfortunately, I couldn't rouse myself to do that. I wanted to stay in the house. I decided to say my good-byes at the gate and let them go.

I rather wondered when I might see Ted again. I didn't think he would voluntarily come back to Charleston any time soon. I had no intention of going to New York. Sadly, I found that the thought of not seeing him again any time soon didn't bother me. I wished him the best and I would always be there for him if he needed me, but he and I had always clashed. He clearly didn't like me. The feeling was more or less mutual. I always found it interesting that it is possible to love someone without liking them at all.

We said our good-byes. I waved at the gate until they were around the corner. Then I returned to my seat in the glider and to my favorite occupation of watching the ships in the harbor and the tourists going by in the carriages.

Guinyard disappeared into the house and came back with a tray. I laughed. The tray held a pitcher of tea and a bottle of scotch. He put the tray down on the coffee table and said, "Name your poison."

I laughed. It seemed odd to laugh out loud on the day of my father's funeral. How could I do that? I swallowed and looked up at him. "I think I'll start with tea. I am thirsty. I might switch later."

He poured tea for me. I noticed he had brought a glass of bourbon for himself. I said, "There is a whole cabinet of all kinds of bottles of bourbon upstairs. Help yourself."

He looked excited. "Do you mean that?"

"Certainly. You know I'm not going to drink it!"

"Benny had some very, very fine stuff." His voice trailed off.

That was the opening I needed. I patted the seat beside me and said, "Sit down, please. We need to talk."

He sat down gingerly next to me but did not touch me. I wanted to take him in my arms; this was going to be uncomfortable. I said, "I think we need to talk about money."

He looked at me for a long time and fiddled with a button on his jacket. "Don't you think it's awfully soon for that?"

I took his hands in mine and looked into his eyes, "Darling, if we can love each other the way we do emotionally and physically, it is not too soon to talk about the nitty-gritty."

He nodded, but I could feel his body grow tense.

"Let's start with what we know. I don't know what all of Daddy's holdings are, but I do know from the papers we signed recently, they are sizable. Add to that my inheritance from my mother, which Daddy restored to me after my divorce, the money I have from investing the settlement I extracted from Stan and the sale of my property in New York, and we end up with quite a pot-full, actually.

"Based on my conversations with Daddy on the subject, I intend to use my own money, as in Stan's money and my inheritance from Mama for the benefit of my children.

"I intend to use Daddy's money to live on. That is what he said he wanted me to do.

"First things first. My father absolutely loved your house. He loved living here. The other day after our conversation in which you mentioned that you might have to ultimately sell it, he told me that after the first time you ever made a remark like that he did something he never told you about. He went to a local realtor and made arrangements that if you ever put your house on the market he would buy it as an anonymous investor. The instructions were that he didn't care how high the bidding went or who he was bidding against, he wanted this house. If you were still living, the terms were to be that you could continue to occupy the home as long as you live. If you were no longer living, it would be operated by a foundation to be established for the purpose of being used for the public. You can rest assured that I will see to it that Daddy's wishes are carried out as regards your house. I do not want to buy it or own it. I will take care of it and maintain it because that is what Daddy wanted to do. If you are agreeable, I would like to set up a trust to maintain the house. Let's restore it to its ante bellum grandeur. We can start by turning it back into a single-family house. We'll hold parties there for the Spoleto Committee and the Garden Club. Let's make it the showplace it should be."

I went on, "My dad loved being your friend. The last fifteen years of his life were the happiest of his life, at least since Mama died. You took care of him. He fully intended to take care of you in any way he could. You have to know that he would never have let you want for anything. I hope I don't hurt your feelings or diminish your dignity when I say this. My heart is yours. My body is yours. I want my money to be yours as well. However we have to do it that will make you comfortable, I want you to know you need never worry about money again."

He was quiet for a long time. I could tell he was torn. On the one hand, his pride did not want to let me support him. I understood and respected that. I had felt the same way about working to support myself following my divorce. On the other hand, I wanted him to be with me without worrying about money. Marrying for money was a time-honored tradition in the South to which there was no particular social stigma attached. That thought stopped me in my tracks. It had not previously occurred to me that Guinyard would be okay accepting my money only if he married me. The socially unacceptable thing would be to take my money without benefit of matrimony. Marriage had not occurred to me and I did not want to think about it at that point. It did seem too soon for that.

He looked at me and arched his eyebrows like a woman, "Are you suggesting 'keeping' me?" His voice sounded cold and harsh. I had offended him deeply.

I sagged against him and scrambled to catch a coherent thought amid the vortex of ideas and emotions that had just been unleashed in me. In my head I knew that the only acceptable way forward was marriage. My heart had spent the last decade loathing the very idea of matrimony.

I didn't want to look at him, but I forced myself. I looked into his hurt and angry eyes and my heart broke. I put my hand on his cheek and put my lips close to his ear, "No. I would not do anything to damage your pride."

I paused and put my cheek against his face, feeling the delicious tingle of his afternoon whiskers. I could not look at him and say what I knew I had to say. I went on, rather more quickly than I would have liked simply because I was nervous, "As much as the thought terrifies me and at the risk of turning into a woman like Amelia, I think that what I am suggesting is that... I mean, I want to... I think the only way forward that will preserve your dignity and accomplish what I want is to get married."

He didn't react for a long time. I held my breath. Eventually, he put his hands on my shoulders and pushed me away from him far enough for him to look into my face. I looked away. He said softly, "Look at me."

I looked up into his eyes, fearing they would still hold anger and hurt. What I saw was naked amusement. His lips twitched. He seemed to be carefully considering his words. Finally, he pulled me towards him and put his arms around me. He spoke into my hair, "My God, how many blessings can one woman bestow on a man? Last week you sat right there in that same spot and, like some kind of angel from Heaven, offered me acceptance, affirmation and a way out of the slough of despond I had sunk into. Today you sit there and very calmly and matter-of-factly relieve me of my most overwhelming anxiety and toss in the incredible possibility of making a life with you. I'm overwhelmed."

"Do you think it is too much, too soon?"

He considered that question for a few minutes and then shrugged, "Yes and no. Yes it is soon. But, perhaps not unreasonably so. For one thing, you and I seem to have been living parallel lives. We understand each other at a much deeper level than most people who have just met. Perhaps more importantly, we both are the spawn of families in which marriage was not always, and often not even usually, about love. Looking at the history of our families, my guess is that the most successful marriages were the ones that were business arrangements first; the love came later. The marriages that foundered were the ones where somebody fell in love and ran off to marry someone unacceptable. Planter families had a rather European notion of marriage as being about property and inheritance."

I grinned, "In other words, Southerners have a long tradition of marrying for money."

He kissed the top of my head, "That is not what I said."

I snuggled closer and put my arms around him, "I know. I couldn't help teasing you. I never thought about it that way before, or at least not in a long time. It brings back some really bad memories of some of the fights I had with my Dad when I told him I was going to marry Stan. He tried to tell me in every possible way all of the reasons that was a mistake. I refused to listen. He was right in every possible way."

He ran his fingers through my hair and asked softly, "Do you have any idea who they had picked out for you?"

I chuckled, "Daddy was pushing Buford. Bufe's dad was a lawyer in my dad's firm. They had boatloads of money. The family was respectable enough."

"What about your mother?"

"Mom died when I was in college, before I met Stan. I've often wondered if she would have been able to talk me out of that or if it would have broken her heart and killed her. She wanted me to get an education before I settled down."

"It would be interesting to know who she would have chosen for you."

"I think I know."

"Who?"

"You."

He laughed. I said, "I'm serious. You said that she threw a fit when the Bachelors elected to have someone else escort me to my debut. That got me to thinking. I am almost one hundred percent positive that was exactly what she had in mind."

"I was too old for you then."

"Which is why, I think, that Mama steered me clear of boys and insisted I get an education first. That was very out-of-character for her. By the time I came back from school and settled in, I would have been virtually an old maid. You still would have been borderline too old for me at that point, but not unreasonably so, and no one else would have wanted me."

He shook his head, "I don't know. I find that hard to believe."

I thought about it some more and laughed, "Guinyard how well did you know my mother?"

He sighed and looked off toward the harbor. We could see the ferry to Ft. Sumter returning from the last trip of the day. After a while, he said quietly, "I can't say I knew her well. What I did know sort of disturbed me. Elise was older than me by a number of years, but from the time I was old enough to date, she had apparently set her cap for me. That always made me uncomfortable. She was beautiful and popular and, of course, she was a Hale, but she just intimidated the socks off me. I was afraid of her, frankly."

I chuckled, "So you fell in with Regina? That's a case of jumping from the frying pan into the fire if ever there was one."

He leaned his head back and asked, "How did you know that?"

I pointed to the side of my head.

He went on, "Actually Regina wasn't so bad in high school, and she was my age. She was never as gorgeous as Elise, but she was socially accomplished and funny. We had fun together. We dated in high school."

I picked up the story, "Here's the way I understand the situation. My mother had a thing for you. Unfortunately you did not reciprocate and, even worse, her family needed her to marry someone with more money than you had. She obliged by marrying my father, who both adored her and brought an infusion of cash into the Hale coffers. I betcha he paid a dowry, if I know my grandmother, which would also explain my inheritance from Mama that never made sense to me. Anyway, Mama got the money from Daddy.

"As an aside, I think Aunt Gina wanted Daddy, too. When Mama landed him it caused a rift between the two of them, for one thing. Aunt Gina continued to go out with you for a while, but then decided that she wanted the kind of lifestyle Mama had. So, she found herself a rich man and ended your relationship.

"You thereupon took up with Amelia, who all along probably was the most suitable match for you in terms of intellect and interests – and I caution you before you make any decisions about me to consider that carefully because I think it may still be true. That had to have driven Mama crazy because she and Amelia had been rivals over everything their entire lives. It probably sent her nearly around the bend to have Amelia potentially end up with you, even though Mama was married by then.

"Enter Clay. Oh, dear God, that must have been hard for Mama. First of all, I am sure she took absolute delight in Amelia's predicament. But, I would be willing to bet that she took it personally as well. Knowing how the female mind works, I'm guessing that she concluded that the reason you rejected her advances initially was because you were gay. Mama had very antiquated notions about certain things, including the whole issue of sexual orientation. I think that somewhere along the line in her mind she decided that she could both 'cure' you and achieve some sort of victory over Amelia all at once."

I could feel rather than hear him chuckle, "Enter the debutante."

I sat up and put my arms in the air, "Ta Da!"

He shook his head and said, "I think this is all so far-fetched. I can't believe it."

"The more I talk, the more convinced I am that I am right. It connects the last of the dots and answers the last of my questions. It explains all the rivalries."

"I'm lost. Fill me in."

"Let's go over this slowly. You were younger, but Mama had a crush on you. Mama was a very headstrong and determined young girl. Think Scarlett O'Hara but only a fraction as intelligent. Mama wanted you, but married Daddy for his money, probably after some knock-down-drag-out fights with Grandma. Aunt Gina wanted Daddy but then dated you, maybe partly to spite Mama. On top of their pre-existing sibling rivalry which had apparently been bitter from childhood, the two spoiled princess-children of a princess-mother embarked upon a life-long feud over a boy." I shook my head, "Oh, this is soooo stupid.

"You showed no interest in Mama, so she married Daddy for his money. That turned out well, by the way. He adored her and eventually she came to be devoted to him, which supports your initial argument about marriages of convenience that turn out well.

"Anyway, Aunt Gina threw you over for a rich man, and you gravitated toward Amelia, but eventually elected to go in a different direction.

"When it came time for Mama to look around for a potential husband for me, you were the logical choice."

"Logical?"

"Logical in Mama's mind anyway. Setting us up would accomplish three significant things. First, it would gig Amelia; that was always a special pleasure for Mama. Second, it would, in her mind, get you back on track, which I might add would be important to her because she hated what she thought of as 'wasting' good genes." I paused.

He asked, "And thirdly."

I smiled. "Thirdly, if you take all the factors that Southern mothers consider when looking for matches for their daughters, you and I are perfect. We both were from Old Families. I had money, you had social prominence. We were educated in the same schools. We were interested in the same things. From her perspective, we must have seemed like a perfect match. No wonder she threw such a fit when the Bachelors threw a monkey-wrench in her for setting us up at my coming-out Ball." I chuckled, "It is also no wonder she was so unbelievably furious at me over my lack of enthusiasm for my debut."

He remarked, "You paint a rather unflattering picture of your mother."

"I guess I do, but I don't mean to. Mama was not a bad person. She was just very shallow and quite frankly not very smart in some ways, although in retrospect perhaps when it came to match-making she was smarter than anybody ever suspected." I blew him a kiss and chuckled. "At least to all outward appearances when she was young, the only things that mattered to her were parties and clothes. Especially when she was young, she was spoiled and selfish in many ways. Of course, if you knew my grandmother, you'd understand where she got that. Like women everywhere, Mama could be conniving. But, Mama wasn't mean like Aunt Gina. Being married to Daddy was good for her. She turned out to be a good wife and a very good mother. As the years progressed, I think she became less selfish in many ways. But, as you said at the beginning of this conversation, in our circles, marriages were often more about property and family alliances than they were about romance. That often worked. Mama had empirical proof of that because that is precisely the kind of marriage she had. I think she wanted the same for me. Maybe she was neither as dumb nor as shallow as anybody thought. Maybe she figured out you were the perfect match for me decades before anybody else could see it."

We sat quietly for a while with our arms around each other and our heads together. After a long time he said softly, "Which brings us back to where we started."

I looked up into his eyes and arched my brows, "What do you think?"

He chuckled. "Before I answer, do you want to know who my mother wanted me to marry?"

"I'm guessing it would be Regina."

"Actually, it was Elise."

I almost fell off the chair laughing. I tried to keep it down. I didn't want the neighbors to think I was having a party on the evening of my dad's funeral. I buried my head in his chest to muffle the giggles. He held me very tightly, and said, "I think by waiting I ended up with the, um, best of the batch."

I wiped the tears from my eyes and said, "You started to say 'the pick of the litter' didn't you?"

It was his turn to dissolve into hysterics. "Actually, I did."

He looked at me with eyes twinkling. His whole body was trembling with unexploded laughter. I was bordering on hysterics myself. I said, "Oh, for god's sake, go ahead and say it."

He leaned closer and whispered in my ear, "Despite the fact that she really wanted me to put aside my reservations and take up with Elise, my mother did warn me about the Hales. She said they had many good qualities but they also could be conniving bitches if necessary to get what they wanted."

That sent us both over the edge. We got up and went inside so the neighbors would not see us, or hear us.

Eventually we settled down and sat down at the kitchen table, where all serious business is conducted in Southern households. We sketched out a general plan. I would continue to live in Daddy's apartment. No one else officially knew about the servant stairs although most of the neighbors had similar stairways. Guinyard and I would court publicly for a period of time that would be long enough to be respectful of Daddy's death, but not so long as to damage Guinyard's pride. I didn't say so, but I suspected that would not be very long at all. Once we were married, we would remodel the house, turning it back into a single-family dwelling.

When Denise and Ford returned around dinnertime, Guinyard and I were still sitting across the table from each other, holding hands and talking. We did not hear them come in. They announced their presence when Ford said to Denise, in a loud whisper, "How many times in your life have you wanted to see a scene like that?"

She looked from me to Guinyard and back. She smiled into my eyes and said, "Daily."

We invited them to join us at the table and the four of us chatted for a while. We got hungry and dug out some of the leftovers from the funeral. After stuffing ourselves with ham-and-biscuit sandwiches and potato salad, we moved to the living room. We chatted for a little while longer.

Guinyard grew quiet and thoughtful. At one point, he interjected, "Rochelle, do you think we should share with them the general subject matter we discussed this afternoon?"

I thought about that for a minute, and said, "Well, I guess I thought I would do that, but now that you mention it, it seems appropriate to do it together."

We filled them in briefly on our plans. When we were finished, Guinyard looked at each of them, and said, "We sincerely hope that you understand and will have no problems with this."

They each had their hands folded in their laps and they were both studying their palms intently. Denise turned her right hand palm up and held it out to Ford. He pulled out his wallet and laid a $20 bill across her palm. Then they both burst out laughing.

After they settled down, I watched them for a few minutes, and asked, "Exactly what was the bet?"

Ford looked from me to Guinyard and back, then he said with a twinkle, "Thank you for asking because I wouldn't want you to think I'd bet against the two of you getting married. The bet was whether you'd tell us tonight or wait until we got to the beach."

We spent the rest of the evening packing for our trip. Denise had been sleeping with me. Ted and Ford had been sleeping in Guinyard's guest rooms because neither of them wanted to sleep in the bed where Daddy died. Ford hauled all of his stuff up to Daddy's room. I didn't think much about it other than the fact that he finally understood that in a house this old people had probably died in every room. I got ready for bed, and headed to my room. Denise was standing in the door.

She said, "I hate to tell you this, Mom, but I'm kicking you out. You kick and toss and turn. I'm getting no rest. Why don't you find someplace else to go, like maybe downstairs or something."

I wanted to be embarrassed. I wanted to object and protest. I wanted to be a good mom and give her a lecture about sexual responsibility. I wanted to do all that. But, instead, I kissed her on the forehead and said, "Good-night, sweetheart," and I turned and headed down the servant stairs praying that Guinyard had not locked the door. He hadn't. He was sitting at the table with a drink in front of him, and an empty glass at the place across from him. The bottle of Scotch stood in the middle of the table.

I leaned against the door jam an said, "I got kicked out of my room. Can I bunk with you?"

He picked up the bottle and poured me a drink, "I've been waiting for you."

I walked around the table and took the liquor out of his hand. I said, "I don't want a drink." I turned and walked into his room and climbed into bed. He followed in a few minutes and went into the bathroom. I was about half-asleep by the time he got in bed.

I snuggled against him and said, "I hope you don't mind that I am totally exhausted."

"Good, because I passed exhausted hours ago."

Just before I fell asleep I sat up and chuckled, "It would appear that my beloved daughter inherited the Hale 'conniving bitch' gene.

He pulled me back down onto the pillow and murmured, "It would appear so. Pity the poor bastard who falls in love with that one."

Chapter 10

The next morning it seemed that everyone was up earlier than me. Ford took his rental car back to the agency and swapped it out for a van. By the time I wandered into the kitchen Ford and Denise had loaded the van with all of their stuff and my suitcases from upstairs. Guinyard was waiting for me to get up before hauling his suitcase out of the bedroom.

"Get dressed, Sleepyhead. We're ready to go."

I kissed him and said, "What about breakfast?"

"Your son has informed me that we'll get it on the road."

"Is my son in charge of this road trip?"

"So it would appear."

We both laughed. There comes point in every parent's life when the roles reverse and the kids take charge. It seemed that my kids thought that, since Mom was having an acute attack of mid-life adolescence, they had license turn parental.

Ford and Denise walked in and scowled. Denise said, "Mom! What are you doing? Get dressed. Let's go!"

Ford laughed, "Sucks to get a taste of your own medicine doesn't it?" In response to Guinyard's unspoken question, he continued, "The family drill sergeant over there spent every morning of our lives barking orders at sleepy children."

I said, "Oh, shut up. I'll get dressed. Somebody pour me coffee in a LARGE go-cup."

Ford drove, and Denise hopped in the passenger's seat. Guinyard and I climbed into the middle seat. Ford looked up and said, "Everybody behave back there. All hands on deck, please."

I leaned my head against Guinyard's shoulder and said, "Oh, just hush up and drive."

We stopped for breakfast at an old café on U. S. 17 south of Charleston. My family had stopped for breakfast at that same restaurant on the way to Edisto as long as I remembered. Apparently when Guinyard took Daddy and Mr. George to Edisto they continued to eat there. When we walked in the door, the owner greeted us with squeals and hugs and kisses. The kids were embarrassed. I was rather irritated; I just wanted to eat breakfast without making it into some kind of reunion. Guinyard, ever the gentleman, took it in stride and smoothed over any potential ruffled feathers on the part of the owner. Once we were settled at the table, the waitress poured us coffee. Guinyard didn't look at the menu. He said, "I want scrambled eggs, bacon, grits and biscuits please."

I looked at him and said, "Have you had your cholesterol checked lately?"

He made a face, "We'll talk about that later." I narrowed my eyes at him.

Then I shrugged and said, "What the hell, we're on vacation. We'll eat oatmeal three meals a day when we get home. I'll have the same. I like my bacon cooked to the point just before it turns black."

Ford said, "I'll have the same except," he made a nasty face, "please hold the grits."

Denise said, "I'll have Special K and skim milk, please."

Ford rolled his eyes and said, "Jesus Christ, Sis, don't you ever let up?"

She said, "Never."

Guinyard grinned and said, "What self respecting person walks into a restaurant in South Carolina and orders breakfast without grits?"

I laughed, "Damnyankees."

Guinyard and I laughed hysterically as did the waitress. I shook my head and added, "But they're my damnyankees and I love 'em anyway."

We ate our breakfast and were sent on our way with more hugs and kisses along with a bag of biscuits for snacking later. When we got back in the van, Ford commented that he thought it was odd that the owner seemed to think we'd need to take snacks for what was not more than an hour's drive."

Guinyard said, "Pushing food on people is part of the Southern way of life."

Denise said, "It is a wonder that you're not all fat."

I said, "Given the tradition of great food and the preponderance of fabulous cooks in the South, it is kind of amazing that we don't all look like Paul Prudhomme."

Ford said, "I can't do grits for breakfast, but Lord am I looking forward to fish chowder. I want to go to Collins' for supper."

Denise threw up her arms, "You just ate breakfast and you're planning dinner already. How gross."

I chimed in, "It may be gross, but I'm in for Collins' if it's still there."

We drove in silence for a while. I love the low country. Many people say that it is flat and ugly. I disagree. I think the marshes and wetlands are beautiful. I will grant that it is buggy as all hell and when the wind is blowing from the directions of the paper mills it can smell positively rank. Still it is my home and I love it. We reached the first cutoff to Edisto. I asked Ford to take that that exit. He made a face and asked, "Why? This way is longer."

"Humor me."

A few miles down the road, we began to pass new developments, which caused me to start bitching. Ford interrupted, "If you don't put a sock in it, I am going to pull over until you are quiet."

I laughed, "Methinks you are enjoying this bossing-mom-around stuff just a little too much. Would you like for us to start slapping each other around back here just for kicks? That way you can turn around and whack us while you are driving."

Ford and Denise both laughed.

I concentrated on not fussing about the development. It wasn't easy. We reached a crossroads and I asked Ford to pull into the market on the right. He hesitated, "Mom, are you sure?"

"Isn't this the place we always got the fried chicken?"

Ford said, "I think so, but it looks like it has really gone downhill."

"It never was all that great looking before. Wait here." I went inside and came out with a bucket of fried chicken. "This will be great for lunch tomorrow with those biscuits."

Ford and Guinyard both said, "How come not today?"

"Because we just ate breakfast and we'll have dinner early at Collins. It is a myth that you need to sit down to three huge meals a day. We have fruit and cheese to snack on for lunch if you can't make it till dinner."

Denise smiled and said, "Thanks, Mom," and stuck her tongue out at her brother.

We turned left on the two-lane road that leads back to the island. I was gratified to see that there had not been too much development along that road. However, it was sad to consider the poverty in which so many people lived barely thirty miles from the island which now boasted huge multi-million dollar homes and an increasing number of condominiums. We reached the intra-coastal waterway and Denise clapped when she saw the drawbridge lights flashing. Guinyard leaned forward and said, "That's odd, usually people are irritated when they get stuck by a drawbridge, what gives with that?"

Ford answered, "Because my idiot sister is weird for drawbridges."

"I am not weird for all drawbridges. I just like this particular one. It isn't really a drawbridge. It slides to the side. I have always thought it was so cool."

We waited for the bridge to slide back into place and we crossed over to the island. I leaned forward in anticipation. I noticed that Denise and Ford were doing the same. Guinyard took my hand and squeezed it. I leaned over and kissed his cheek.

Denise hollered, "Hey, I saw that. We said no monkey business in the back seat."

I kissed Guinyard again with a loud smack. "You should be glad you never had kids. They are a pain in the ass."

"It is my deepest regret in life," he said with such sadness in his voice I thought I would cry.

"I'll share mine," I cracked.

Denise said, "As children we sort of suck, but you should know that Mom is a sort of package deal. You have to take the bitter with the sweet."

Guinyard cleared his throat and looked at her with a gentleness in his eyes I know she had never seen from her father. "Do you really mean that?"

She turned in her seat to look directly at him and smiled deeply into his eyes, "With all my heart." She reached back and took his hand briefly. "My dad is a pitiful excuse for a husband and a barely passable human being, but, amazingly enough, he's been a half-way decent dad, at least when he remembered he had kids. I'm not in the market for a new dad. But, I'm happy to welcome into our family someone who makes my mother happy."

I looked at the dome light and blinked madly. Denise couldn't stand it that I was such a cry-baby. I tried vainly to hide the tears. She reached back and handed me a tissue without saying anything. I laughed, "Aren't you going to tell me to blow my nose?"

She giggled, "I did think about it."

Having regained my composure, I asked, "Ford, what about you?"

He was quiet for longer than I would have liked, then he said. "Denise has a different perspective on Dad. She was his little girl when, as she said, he was between girlfriends or otherwise found it convenient to remember she existed. Frankly, from my perspective from about the time I was five or six, I thought he was a bastard. I still think so. I have not seen or talked to him in several years. I see Monica's kids occasionally. I don't know the current litter."

Denise poked him, "I don't think Mom knows about that."

"About what?"

"Did you know that Dad's on his fourth wife and third family?"

I paused. I really did not want to discuss Stan in front of Guinyard. He squeezed my arm, and whispered, "After your experiences with my 'past' during the last few days of the Festival, I think I can listen to this."

"I knew he and Monica were divorced. I assumed there was another woman in the wings. I was not aware there have been more children. Somebody ought to tell Dr. Jones what causes that and how to prevent it." We all chuckled without any real amusement.

Ford asked, "How did you know about his divorce from Monica?"

I thought for a long time before I answered. I had never said anything negative about their father to my children. Basically in order to do that without lying, I had hardly spoken to them about him at all. I had only talked to Stan about three times since our divorce. The first two times were in connection with our settlement. They were ugly and bitter conversations. On the last occasion, he called me to ask for money to pay off his third wife. I was still debating whether or not to say anything about that when Ford said, with a hard and bitter edge to his voice, "He asked you for money, didn't he?"

I didn't answer.

Denise turned around and looked at me. "Did he?"

I nodded.

"He is a son of a bitch." She looked at me to see if I would say anything. When they were little I would not allow them to speak ill of him.

I did not correct her.

Ford continued, "Anyway, I have always felt that I didn't have a father. He was so rarely home and when he was there he was a mean jackass. To be honest, I think I would hate him if I were willing to waste the energy on him, which I am not. That is a long, and probably terribly impolite way of saying I am delighted to have a decent man in the family, mainly because Mom certainly deserves it. I have a selfish reason for welcoming you into the family, also: I am thinking about getting married, and I'd like for my kids to have a Grandpop who gave a damn about them."

Fortunately, before everybody took to convulsive sobbing, we pulled in the driveway of my house. Compared to the fancy new McMansions that had popped up like toad-stools all over the island, my house looked a bit old and frumpy. Still, I could tell at a glance that the caretaker was doing a great job with the maintenance. The white clapboard siding had been recently painted. The yard was neatly landscaped. The trim on the porch that ran all the way around the house was freshly painted as well, and the porch furniture was clean.

I jumped out of the van leaving Guinyard and both kids still in the car, ran up the stairs and around the outside of the porch to the deck overlooking the ocean. I kicked off my shoes and ran across the dune walkover out onto the beach and into the water. I stood there and let the foamy water slosh around my ankles. I knew that I had come to my soul's true home. I couldn't decide whether I wanted to cry or dance for the sheer joy of coming back to this place I loved so.

I tore myself away and went back to the car. The others had unloaded the bags and stacked them in the living room. They were putting away the groceries in the kitchen.

Denise looked up. "What room do you want Mom? Do you want your old room or Grandpop's room? If you're moving, Ford and I thought we'd each move as well. I'd love your old room."

"So basically that is more of a hint than a question."

"Sort of."

I thought about that. The master bedroom had its own porch overlooking the ocean on the one side and a smaller one on the opposite side of the house with a view of the marshes. Daddy always loved the fact that he could watch the sun rise and set from his bedroom. The master bedroom room was the best room in the house. I nodded, "The only problem with me taking over Mama and Daddy's room is that I could spend the whole week here and never come out of the bedroom."

Uncharacteristically, Guinyard got caught up in our playful mood from earlier in the day. He walked up behind me and put his arms around my waist, and said, "You say that like it's a bad thing."

We all howled. Guinyard rarely cracks jokes, but when he does, they are always spot on.

Guinyard and I lugged our bags to the master bedroom. Denise took my old room next to it. Ford took the largest of the guest rooms at the other end of the hall. We unpacked quickly and changed into beach wear. Ford yelled from his room, "Last one on the deck has to go for more beer when we run out."

He and Denise went downstairs. Guinyard and I dawdled while he checked out the room and the view from both porches. When we finally joined them, Ford looked up and raised his beer bottle, "You're the poor saps who are stuck with the beer run."

I walked up behind him and took the bottle from his hand. "If you think you'll need more beer, go get it now. Guinyard and I do not drink beer."

Guinyard popped the top from a can from the cooler and said, "Speak for yourself. I happen to love beer, under certain conditions and circumstances. The conditions being it has to be the afternoon and it has to be 85-degrees or hotter. The circumstances have to be an outdoors venue overlooking water. It seems we have all conditions met." He rooted around in the cooler and pulled out another beer, "Care to join us?"

I made a face. "No thank you. I'll stick to tea. Which means I guess I will be visiting the IGA if you two run out."

Denise walked out of the house with a bottle of water, "Oh, hell, Mom, you're on vacation. You know I don't drink. Go ahead, knock yourself out."

I shook my head. I felt emotions whirling around in me that I wanted to hold in check. I phoned the caretaker to thank him for doing such a great job of getting the house ready and curled up on a chaise in the sun, stretching out like a cat. I thought about taking a walk, but instead I found myself feeling drowsy.

The next thing I knew Denise was shaking me. "Come on, Mom. Wake up. The guys are starving and we want to get to the restaurant before it gets too crowded."

I roused myself enough to change my clothes and run a brush through my hair. The restaurant was about three-quarters of a mile from our house. We walked. The kids walked in front of us, and Guinyard and I followed. Guinyard groused, "You are the walking-est woman I ever saw."

Denise and Ford both laughed. Ford said, "Oh, Mr. Guinyard, you do not know the half of it!" He rolled his eyes at Denise, "Do you remember that first trip we took to St. Thomas? Up and down those hills all day long."

She nodded and said to Ford, "You weren't with us on the trip to San Francisco a couple of years ago. Everybody else takes the cable cars to get around in San Francisco. Not us." She turned to Guinyard, "Warning: do NOT travel with that woman, she will wear out your shoes. She has this ridiculous notion that the only way to really see a place is on foot."

In the next few days, we not only walked every inch of the island, we biked it as well. We swam in the ocean. We fished in the river and in the surf. One day we chartered a boat and went deep-sea fishing. Guinyard had never been deep-sea fishing. He was a little afraid he would be sick, but he was so excited and he caught so many fish, he said it never occurred to him to get sick.

We ate fish that we caught and fresh fish we bought from the local commercial fleet. We had fabulous low country food in the locally owned restaurants. I tried not to fuss about the fact that there were now a couple of fast-food joints on the island. I did throw a fit when I found out that Ford patronized one of them for a snack one afternoon.

We had a wonderful vacation. On the second to last day, Guinyard woke me up before sunrise. He waved a cup of coffee under my nose and said, "Come on, Sleepy. Get up and let's watch the sun come up together."

I muttered, "I fail to understand why people think it is a good thing to get up at this ungodly hour to watch the fucking sun come up...."

"Wrong dwarf, you're Grumpy, not Sleepy."

I butted him with my shoulder. We sat together in the small swing on our private balcony. I curled up with my head on his shoulder fully intending to catch a few more zzzz's in that position. He poked me and whispered, "Drink your coffee and stay awake."

We snuggled together in the cool pre-dawn air. He pulled me close and put both arms around me. He whispered, "I have never been on a vacation before. I've traveled some, always on business for the Chamber or the Festival, but I've never been on holiday at the beach before. This has been so wonderful, I don't want to leave."

"Darling, this house is less than two hours from Charleston. We can come here whenever we want. We don't have to leave. We do have to take my kids to the airport tomorrow. We can come back here for the weekend, just the two of us. You'll have to go to work on Monday. I have an appointment with Daddy's lawyer. But, we can come back any weekend we want.

"Actually, I was thinking that we could stay here during the most intense phase of the renovations of your house. What do you think?"

He laughed into my hair, "I think you are the most wonderful thing that has ever happened to me."

I turned to him and crawled up on his lap, putting my arms around him and my lips next to his ear, "Ditto."

I went back to bed after the sunrise and Guinyard went to the beach. When I got up I walked out on the porch and saw him sitting on the bottom step of the dune walkover. He looked like that sad, miserable man I'd met only a few weeks earlier. I could tell even from this distance that the day had come for his long-overdue healing cry. I had been fighting the urge myself ever since we arrived. I missed Daddy more at the beach-house than anyplace else.

I went outside and joined him on the step. I put my arm around him but did not say anything. He looked at me miserably. "How can I be having such a wonderful time and want to cry so desperately."

I grinned at him and stood up, "C'mon. I want to show you something." I took his hand and we walked down the beach. We crawled over the spine of rocks that made up one of the many jetties that were supposed to help prevent erosion. On the side of the jetty away from the house there was a large flat rock just above the normal high tide mark (I had learned from painful experience it could occasionally be overrun by an exceptionally high tide). It was out of sight of our house due to the jetty and out of sight of the house next door due to an overhanging tree.

I climbed out onto the rock and sat down, dangling my feet. Guinyard joined me. I held his arm and put my head on his shoulder, "Want to know what I call this place?"

"What?"

"This is 'Crying Rock.' At least once on every trip I have made to this wonderful island, since I was about twelve anyway, I have crawled out on this rock and sobbed until I threw up. Maybe its the perverseness of human nature. Maybe it is being in a place I love so much and where I feel so safe, but I have always seemed to be able to process painful things here better than anywhere. After my divorce I spent a couple of weeks here alone. I cried for hours every day.

"After each of my boys graduated from high school I came here to mourn the passing of time and my own aging.

"I have also cried here over things that make me happy. When I found out I was pregnant with Ford, I came here and cried for a long time. I threw up, then, too, but that was for a different reason. I suffered terribly with morning sickness (only for me it was more like all-day sickness) with all of the kids. Anyway, I come here to process happy things too.

"This year, I feel things piling up. Denise graduated, I sold my home and moved back here, I met you, and then Daddy died." I made a sound that was somewhere between a laugh and a sob as the first of the tears started to fall, "I may have to stay here all day."

He folded me into his arms and put his head on my shoulder. I could feel his tears soaking my shirt.

We wept in each others' arms for what seemed a very long time. He finished first and continued to hold me and rock me in his arms. Eventually, I was spent and exhausted. We sat for a little while until we were both composed enough to go back into the house.

On the way over the walkover, he said with something like bemusement in his voice, "It probably sounds ridiculous, but I am starving."

I laughed out loud, "I could eat a horse!"

"Do you think it's odd that after that kind of emotional outburst we would be famished?"

I shrugged, "It may be odd, but it always works that way for me. I guess catharsis is hard work."

He shook his head, "That is the first time in my life I have lost control like that. I don't know how you can do it over and over."

I grinned up at him and smiled, "I consider it 'maintenance'. As long as I have a good cry every now and then, things don't pile up and overwhelm me."

He squeezed my shoulder, "You are one brave lady."

We walked into the house and both Denise and Ford whirled on us, saying, with concerned faces, "Where in the hell have you been?"

I burst out laughing. "Okay, you have managed in the last week to have used every one of the lines I used on you. I hope you are happy."

They looked at each other and laughed. Denise said, "We beg to differ. There are two that we missed."

I lowered my head and looked at them suspiciously, "And what might that be?"

Denise said, with laughter in her eyes, "One is: 'If you don't quit crying, I'll give you something to cry about.'"

I thought I would cry again. I had used that one too often.

We all smiled at each other. I knew the other one. Guinyard had a huge question in his eyes. He looked from each of them to me and back.

I stretched my arms out as far as I could reach, "The other one you missed is, 'I love you this much.'" I held out my arms and hugged each of the two children. Then I turned to Guinyard and hugged him, too. He seemed delighted to be included.

The next day, we drove back to the house in Charleston and dropped off the coolers and beach stuff. Guinyard followed in his car while I rode with the kids to the airport. We all cried and hugged and promised to see each other soon. Soon they were gone.

Guinyard and I drove back home. We checked the mail and packed a few more groceries, then we loaded his car and headed back to the beach for the weekend.

We drove almost the entire way in an easy silence. By the time we arrived at the beach house, it was nearly sunset. Guinyard suggested we postpone unpacking and go upstairs to watch the sun go down over the marshes. We just made it.

After sunset, we finished the unpacking and went to bed early. We talked for a long time and eventually fell asleep in each other's arms.

When I got up the next morning, Guinyard was sitting on the balcony drinking coffee and watching the water. I joined him. He had brought a carafe of coffee and he poured me a cup. We did not talk much until I woke up a bit. We spent the rest of the morning alternating between riding bikes or walking around the island and cooling off in the water.

While we were eating lunch on the deck overlooking the beach, Guinyard said, "I think it would be nice if we visited Clyde-Earl Bertram. He was unable to come to Benny's funeral. I think he may miss Benny more than anybody because, other than the once a year or so visit from his daughter, I don't think anybody else visits him.

I stood up. "That's a great idea!"

We showered and changed our clothes. Guinyard had to concentrate because the driveway was hard to find and the home was far off the road. As many times as I had been to the island, I didn't even know the nursing home was there. It seemed to me to be a remote and odd place for a nursing home. It was lovely, however. It was a big old building set in the middle of a stand of huge live oaks heavy with Spanish moss. The wrap-around porch was lined with chairs, most of which were occupied by elderly people.

Guinyard checked in at the desk and we went to Mr. Bertram's room. He was so delighted to see us he cried. We exchanged small-talk for a while. He and Guinyard talked about people they knew from Charleston. We talked about Daddy and all of us shed a few more tears. He told us about his family. I told him about mine. As the conversation began to peter out a bit and just about the time I started thinking about leaving, Mr. Clyde-Earl looked at Guinyard with a long, searching expression and then he looked at me for a long time in the same way.

He said, "I am an old man. Forgive me if I am being nosy. Did Benny live to see the two of you together?"

I was not sure exactly what he meant at first. Guinyard cleared his throat and took my hand. He said softly, "He lived long enough to know the direction we were heading."

He nodded and made a face. "Then I know he died a happy man. Guinyard, would you hand me my purse from the dresser."

He fumbled in the wallet and pulled out a bill which he crumpled in his hand. He looked at us and a smile started in his eyes and then extended not just to his face but his entire being. He beamed. Then he sighed, "I have never been so happy to lose a bet in my life, but I feel I owe you an explanation. Or maybe I feel that Benny owes you an explanation that he didn't have time to give you."

"Miss Rochelle, do you know what your daddy did on the day you got married?"

I shook my head. "Stan and I eloped. We got married in Hawaii. Daddy was at home."

"Your daddy and a couple of his friends, including me, spent the day in a bar. It was the only time I ever saw him drunk. He was that upset about your marriage. When we finally got him home – he still lived in the Hale House, then – he sat down at the kitchen table and cried and cried. He started talking to Elise, even though she was in her grave. He kept saying over and over that if there is a God and if there is a heaven that Elise needed to use her persuasive skills to help you. He was absolutely convinced that the man you married would break your heart. It was so sad.

"After you got divorced, he kept waiting for you to find someone else. It was almost an obsession with him. He wanted you to be happy.

"A couple of years ago..." he looked uncertain about how to continue.

Guinyard interjected softly, "She knows about that."

Mr. Bertram nodded, "The first time I visited Benny and George after that, we got to talking about it. We all felt so bad, but none of us knew what to say, so we didn't say anything." He looked up at Guinyard and said, "I'm sorry about that."

Guinyard nodded. Mr. Bertram continued, "Anyway, at one point Benny started to giggling and said, 'You know, fellers, Elise always thought that Guinyard and Rochelle would make the perfect pair.'"

I nudged Guinyard with my shoulder and mouthed, "I told you!"

Mr. Bertram was lost his his story and did not notice. "He told us that he had been mad at Elise when she had concocted a plan to virtually throw Miss Rochelle at you, Guinyard, when she was merely a teenager. Benny said that they came close to arguing about it. You should both know that was probably the only time Benny even contemplated arguing with Elise.

"Anyway, Elise died too soon. Miss Rochelle went off and married a Yankee. You had your life which for a long time seemed to be okay. At one point after Benny moved into your house (it was before Miss Rochelle was divorced but after things went really bad in her marriage), Benny got to talking about her situation. He was furious but there was nothing he could do. All he could do was to sit back and hope and pray that she could get through the bad times with both her own self-respect intact and her kids as undamaged as possible.

"Then he sort of changed the subject and laughed. He told us that now that he was spending so much time with you, he had concluded that Elise had been right. He thought that you and Miss Rochelle would be absolutely perfect for each other.

"George, whose wife had been the worst sort of busy-body, got mad and left; he wouldn't tolerate conversations that involved meddling in other peoples lives. I stuck around, though, and Benny and I talked for a long time. He said he didn't know when or how or where, but he knew that if, by some miracle, the two of you could ever be together you would both be happy. He said he was amazed at how strong and wonderful Miss Rochelle was and he wanted her to someday find a good man who would treat her the way she deserved. He said he had never met anyone, male or female, who was as kind, gentle and just downright good as you are. He said he had taken to praying to Elise about it every day.

"I told him that he could pray about it all he wanted, but it would never happen. He smiled at me and said, 'I'll bet you $100 it will.'"

Mr. Bertram reached out and handed Guinyard a crumpled $100 bill. "Please spend this on a very nice bottle of champagne for your wedding," he winked at me, "from her mama and daddy."

I knew I was going to lose it. I stood up an kissed Mr. Bertram on the head. I croaked, "I'll meet you in the car," in Guinyard's direction and I literally ran from the building.

Guinyard took his time about leaving. It may have been to give me time to compose myself. It may just have been because it is so hard to extricate oneself from a conversation with someone in a nursing home and Guinyard is so polite he can't cut people off. In any case, by the time he joined me, I had recovered, and I was waiting on a bench under a live oak.

Guinyard walked up to me, stopping about 10 feet away and smiling, "Don't move." He went to the car and took out his camera. He took several shots of me, then he sat down beside me. "You look lovely."

"I'll bet. I always look my best when I've just had a crying fit, I look just lovely all blotchy and red."

"That's why I didn't take a close-up."

"That's a mercy."

We stopped at our favorite restaurant which was located directly on the beach. We ordered chowder, fried fish and cheese grits. Guinyard laughed, "What would your kids say about eating grits for dinner?"

"Actually, Ford will eat cheese grits with fried fish. It's plain grits for breakfast he finds revolting."

We laughed and talked through dinner, enjoying the down-home food. Guinyard paid for dinner and I suggested a walk on the beach. The only beach on Edisto Island that does not have jetties every so many feet to block erosion is the beach that runs north from the Pavilion. There is a state park campground at that end of the island, so there are no houses. It was dinnertime for most people and the beach was deserted. We walked all the way to the end of the island. The tide was low. The gap between Edisto and Botany Bay Island was about 10 feet wide, and at low tide the water was shallow enough to walk across. Botany Bay Island had previously been inaccessible by road. You could only reach it by boat (if you could find it in the maze of islands in the wetlands) or on foot at low tide. The shelling had always been the best I had ever experienced. I wished we were wearing bathing suits so we could walk across. Then I noticed the "no trespassing" signs and the construction equipment. They were apparently building condos on Botany Bay Island.

"Ordinarily, I would throw a fit about that development, but I am too full, happy and content. Who am I to deny the folks who will live in those condos their little spot of the beach?"

Guinyard smiled down into my eyes and said, "Now that's the spirit."

I muttered, "But the next time a hurricane heads this way, I won't promise not to hope it takes out all the places on the beach."

"Including yours?"

"Including mine. Daddy and I made a deal more than thirty years ago. I did a research project in high school about beach-front development. I concluded it is bad for the beaches and, ultimately, bad for tourism. I actually went so far as to tell him I thought we should tear down our house. He told me I was an idiot, which was true. That would have been a case of cutting off your nose to spite your face. I did extract a promise from him that if a 'cane seriously damages the house, we'll tear it down and not rebuild. He came damnably close to having to keep that promise in 1989."

Guinyard shuddered. "I gotta tell you, Sugar, that was the most frightening thing that has ever happened to me."

"You didn't stay home?"

"No. I wanted to. But Clay talked me into going to Atlanta."

"Did you have much damage?"

"Actually, the old gal has been through a lot of hurricanes, and she weathered that one better than most of the buildings in Charleston and inland. We lost a lot of trim work and the roof had to be replaced. Amazingly we had very, very little interior damage."

"Daddy had standing orders that when a hurricane was heading toward Charleston, he had to get on a plane and come visit me in New York, or I would come after him. He managed to get out of Charleston before the storm. We sat in front of the TV and watched. It was the only time I ever saw my father lose control and sob."

We walked back down the beach with our arms around each other, soaking in the smells and sounds of the seashore. We got back to the house too late to watch the sunset, so we sat on the deck listening to the ocean for a while. I stretched and laughed, "You know everyplace else in the world I am a vampire. I stay up all night and would sleep all day. But, here it's almost the opposite. I don't know if it is being outside in the air so much or if it is the darkness of the ocean at night, but I never stay up late here. I am going to bed. Please, feel free to stay up as long as you like."

I kissed him and put my hand on his chest. He put his hand over mine, kissed me back and said, "I'll be up in a minute."

It was quite some time later before he crawled into bed and turned with his back to me. I turned over and put my arms around him, "That was a long minute."

He said softly, "It took me longer than usual to count my blessings tonight."

When I woke on Sunday, Guinyard was once more sitting on the deck drinking coffee and watching the birds. I padded out in my bare feet and he poured a cup for me. We snuggled in the swing for a while, sipping coffee, listening to the seagulls squawking and the waves crashing on the beach. He said, "Wait here," and went back into the bedroom. I could hear him rummaging around in his suitcase. In a few minutes he rejoined me in the swing. He put his arm around me and I relaxed against him. I was more relaxed, happy and content than I could ever remember.

He was staring off into the distance. I was intently studying his face. He whispered, "I wish you wouldn't do that."

"Do what?"

"Stare at me like that."

"I am sorry it makes you uncomfortable. It's just that I can't believe how wonderful you are and I'm just kind of afraid you will disappear or something."

He smiled and looked into my eyes. He looked as relaxed and content as I felt. He said, "No such luck. You are definitely stuck with me."

"Good. I'd like to keep it that way."

He nodded. "Speaking of which. We seem to have skipped a step along the road to married bliss. We sort of went straight from point A to the verge of point C. We skipped B."

"What the hell are you babbling about?"

"We never exactly got engaged. I would like to remedy that." He took my left hand between the thumb and forefinger of his right hand. I could tell he had something in his palm. Whatever it was, he took it into his left hand and before I could blink he had slipped onto my finger the most incredible engagement ring I had ever seen. The diamond was enormous. The setting was exquisite. It was obviously very, very old.

In response to my unspoken question he said, "Yes it's an heirloom. My family lost most of its money, but the women kept their jewelry. My guess is that if you thought Benny's safety box was eye-popping, you should see mine."

I laughed. "Seems we're doing it bass-ackwards again. Aren't you supposed to ask a question before you just make assumptions and slip a giant diamond on a lady's finger?"

He looked into my eyes and smiled, "Oh, honey, that question has been asked and answered already. This was merely a formality."

I held up my hand and studied the incredible stone, then I turned and looked into eyes which were even more beautiful to me.

We sat there until our backsides protested, and then decided to have lunch and leave in the early afternoon. We packed up our personal stuff, cleaned out the fridge and stowed the beach chairs in the storage locker. I left a message for the caretaker to let him know we were leaving.

Guinyard paused for a long time before backing out of the driveway, as if he were memorizing the moment. Then he smiled to himself and put the car in gear.

We drove home in almost complete silence.

We took our luggage into his apartment, which seemed dark and cramped to me. The upstairs apartment was much brighter and bigger. I looked around and pursed my lips. "This is awkward, but I'm going to be honest with you. Your apartment is depressing. What would you say to staying upstairs?"

He grinned and took my hand, "Come with me."

We went up the back stairs. We were going to have to do something about that. Those stairs were narrow and very, very steep. Neither of us would have many years of being able to navigate them. We came out into what had been Daddy's living room. Guinyard said, "This was my parents' bedroom. It looks out over the harbor. On a clear night you can seen lights on ships way out at sea."

Then he took me down the hall to Daddy's bedroom. "This was my room. We closed off some windows when we remodeled in order to put in a bathroom. This used to overlook the Battery."

We continued to down the hall to the tiny room where I had been sleeping, "This was my mother's sewing and sitting room."

I asked, "What was the kitchen."

"That was another bedroom and a staircase that came out in the front foyer."

"What else was down there?"

"Not much. The front foyer was huge. There was a small parlor and a large living room. In the back there was a large dining room and a very small serving kitchen. The main kitchen was detached from the house. When we separated the house into apartments, we converted the carriage house into a garage for the car and the kitchen into a storage shed.

He asked, "What do you think we should do?"

I thought about it for a while. "How about this: Let's live upstairs while we redo the downstairs. We can stay at the beach while the upstairs is being finished. Eventually, I'd like to put it back more or less the way it was except that I would like a library somewhere in the house." I looked at Guinyard with my heart overflowing, "You look like a man who should have a library.

"I don't want to buy furniture until the remodeling is finished, but we could move things around a bit. Suppose we use the front room upstairs for our bedroom. Daddy's bedroom can be our sitting room for now. We'll keep the best pieces of furniture from the two apartments and get rid of the extra to make room for the contractors." I looked up at him and raised my eyebrows. "How am I doing?"

He grinned. "We're getting ahead of ourselves again."

"How so?"

"I think before we move in and start remodeling, we need to get married. We are going to have to put up the pretense of living in separate apartments until we do that."

"Oh, for heaven's sake, Guinyard, don't be silly. This is the 21st Century."

"This is Charleston."

"For God's sake! That means we will have to step up the wedding plans. I am not going to sneak around and pretend to be living in separate apartments. That is not in my nature."

He looked a little sad. "It would be nice to get married in the house after the renovations, but that will take a while. Why don't we get married in a very private way, and then celebrate our first anniversary in the newly restored house."

"That is a great idea. Although we'll be finished well before then if I have anything to do with it."

"Where and when do you think we should get married? The only place I can think of is Vegas."

"Absolutely not. Have you ever been to Las Vegas?"

"No."

"Trust me. It is the last place you want to go to get married."

"What do you suggest?"

"I can sneak around for a couple of weeks. How long does it take to get a marriage license in South Carolina?"

He looked embarrassed, "I have no idea. Maybe thirty days?"

"Let's go apply tomorrow. Once we get the license, we can get married in a private ceremony on the Island. How about on the deck?"

"Excellent idea. I have good friend who is a retired Episcopal priest. I don't know if he would perform a weddings for non-Episcopalians but I'd like to ask him."

I said, "If it makes a difference, we rarely went to church but Daddy always paid a pledge to the Episcopal church. It was important to him to have a church membership.

"If we can get Denise and Ford here to witness the wedding, that would be good. If not, how about a couple of your neighbors. Mr. Montague would be good."

"We'll work on that."

We spent the rest of the day moving furniture around. By bedtime we were sore and exhausted, but we had converted the front room back into a bedroom. When we turned the lights off, we opened the curtains and we could see all the way to Ft. Sumter. Guinyard sighed deeply. "You know, when I was a little kid, I used to sneak in here at night and crawl up into bed with my parents. They never woke up. I would sit at the bottom of the bed and watch the boats go by. In the summertime, the star showers were awesome. When I got sleepy, I would curl up like a puppy between them, feeling totally safe, warm and wonderful." He pulled me close. "I feel it all coming back to me."

"You're a romantic old nincompoop, like my dad."

"Don't you just love it?"

"Uh-huh. Hush. Go to sleep."

Chapter 11

The next few weeks were a flurry of plans. Ted initially refused to come to the wedding, but Ford and Denise applied a sufficient amount of pressure and he ultimately agreed to join us. The kids planned to fly in on Friday and out again on Sunday. It would be literally a whirlwind weekend, but it was the only way we could make it work. Denise agreed to be my maid of honor. Guinyard asked Ford to be the best man. Ted did not seem offended that he did not have a role in the ceremony.

We decided to keep the whole thing strictly under wraps. Guinyard had too many society matron friends who would want to throw a bunch of parties. We made no secret of our relationship, however, which became the talk of the town. That was sufficient fodder for the gossips. I thought we managed to keep the wedding plans themselves off the busybodies' radar scopes. (What a ninny!)

It was obvious that nobody in town believed our ruse about continuing to live in separate apartments, but everyone played along with it. I thought that was the ultimate in hypocrisy, but I stuck to my script and played along because it was important to Guinyard.

A week or so after we were back from Edisto, I ran into Amelia at the dress shop, where I had been having a fitting for my wedding dress. I shot Trudy, the manager, a look. She made clear that my secret was safe with her. It occurred to me that she was potentially a woman with lot of secrets.

Amelia hugged and kissed me and looked me up and down. She was quiet for a long time. Then she said, "Love becomes you, my dear. You look radiant."

"Thank you."

She invited me to lunch at the Planter's Club. Guinyard was at work. I had nothing else to do, and I liked her, so I agreed.

We talked for hours. Lunch ran into the cocktail hour. Late in the afternoon, I pushed back my chair, "Amelia, this has been marvelous. I know we shall be great friends, but I do need to go. Guinyard will be home soon, and he'll wonder what became of me."

She looked at me for a long time and then reached across the table and picked up my left hand. She studied the ring for a long time and then smiled at me. She was obviously considering carefully whether or not to say what she had in mind. "I want to say this once only. I hope you are not offended. You know your mother and I despised each other. Who knows what our initial reasons were. I think our original feud went back to some petty competition in elementary school. It no longer matters. Eventually the spat came to be over Guinyard. Elise was interested in him. Fortunately for all concerned, he was not interested in her. He was initially interested in Regina." She made a face. "That would have been a disaster. Can you imagine what would have become of him if she had got her clutches on him?" She and I both shuddered. "Anyway, I liked him. I was never in love with him, but I liked and respected him. Frankly, I intended to marry him after my first husband died. To this day, I think we'd have had a wonderful marriage."

I interjected, "I agree with you."

"You do?"

"Absolutely! For his sake, I almost wish it had turned out that way. It would have saved him a lot of heartache."

For a second, I thought she was going to cry, but she waved her hand in front of her face and said, "Nonsense. I'm a pain in the ass as a wife. Any of my husbands would have told you that.

"In any case. It didn't work out. Guinyard went off in his own direction. Elise married Benny, which was a wonderful thing. What a good and dear and wonderful man he was. He even managed to turn her into a half-way decent human being just by osmosis."

It occurred to me that I should object and defend my mother, except for the fact that I agreed completely.

"Regina turned into the Wicked Witch of Charleston. In a way, I've spent my whole life fighting with, loathing and despising Hale women. And now I find myself feeling a deep fondness and respect for you."

I smiled. I could have been irritated, but I knew where she was coming from. I also suspected how much this confession was costing her. I could afford to be magnanimous. "Consider that I am only half-a-Hale."

She grinned. "Perhaps the Hammond genes dominate."

I felt tears spring to my eyes, "Oh, Amelia, I certainly hope so."

She patted my hand and said, "And very soon, the name shall be Tomlinson."

"Yes."

She took my hand between both of hers and whispered, "I am so very happy ... for both of you."

I stood up and cleared my throat, "If I am to keep the man, I guess I'd best go home and fix his dinner."

"Take him out."

We walked out to her car. She offered to take me home. I accepted. Her driver swung into traffic. She asked, "Will we see you at the Committee meeting on Tuesday?"

I said, "I haven't received an invitation."

"You haven't? Well, put it on your calendar. You'll get an invitation."

I kissed the air as I got out of the car and ran up the steps to the apartment. Guinyard was already home. He was sitting at the table reading the mail.

"Where have you been?" I could not read the look on his face, but I know he was trying desperately (and, somewhat unsuccessfully) not to be jealous.

"I had lunch with Amelia."

"Lunch until five p.m.?"

I giggled, "Well, it was a long lunch that sort of ran into happy hour. We had a lot to talk about."

"Were you at the Planter's Club?"

"Yes."

"By the way, are you a member?"

"Daddy was. Are memberships hereditary?"

"This is Charleston."

"Oh. Stupid question. Then I guess I am or I will be once I get the paperwork done."

"Did you talk about anything you can share with me?"

"I didn't pick up any gossip if that is what you mean. Two things are important to tell you. One, which came as a relief to me, is that Amelia is very happy about our impending nuptials. Her general opinion is that my Hammond genes may sufficiently cancel out the evil Hales ones; therefore, I am an acceptable match for you. She is very fond of you, by the way, in a very good way. I think she is a good friend to you. That alone makes me like her." I smiled.

He prompted, "What was the other thing."

"She said I could expect an invitation from the Committee."

"Actually, you have it. It's in my pocket. I am supposed to give it to you with the Committee's apologies for the fact that it took us so long to make it official. You see, it was rather complicated."

"How so?"

His lips twitched. "Well, we have an unwritten but more or less iron-clad rule that no two members of the same family can be on the Committee. In order for the Committee to vote you in, Regina was supposed to resign. It took quite a bit of arm-twisting to make that happen, but we finally extracted her resignation this morning."

"What about you?"

"When we get married, I, too, will have to resign. I am happy to do it. I have wanted to get off the Committee for years."

"Will you be able to accompany me to the first meeting before we get married?"

"Yes. My plan is to offer my resignation at that meeting and officially announce our engagement at that time, unless you object."

I smiled. "I think the word is out, but if you want to make a formal announcement, I can't think of a better place."

"One other thing. I am not supposed to tell you this, officially anyway. I think this is a trial balloon I'm supposed to float it by you. I understand that you are being considered for a position on the board of the Charleston Ballet Company."

"Will that invitation come before or after they vote on Roger's appointment."

"I suggested to them that it might be better to hire the new AD and then bring you onto the board. I was afraid there might appear to be a conflict of interest if they brought you on too soon. I have the impression that your membership on the board will be a wonderful thing if they do hire Roger."

"I agree, and I will accept if the invitation comes."

Guinyard and I attended the Committee meeting together the following Tuesday. We began with lunch. While we ate, the staff members who had already been doing preliminary work on the schedule, venues and proposed performers for the following year gave a status report on those plans. After lunch we moved on to the business meeting. Under new business, they welcomed me to the Committee and attended to a few other items. Before they moved on, Guinyard, who apparently hardly ever spoke at meetings, cleared his throat and said, "I have an additional new business item. I apologize for not getting it on the agenda beforehand."

All eyes turned to him. He said with gravity, "You all know that I have wanted to step down from the Committee for years. You have steadfastly refused to allow that to happen. Therefore, I have resorted to desperate measures. Since it is well established that members of the Committee cannot be from the same family, I have decided that the only way for me to exit the Committee is by way of matrimony. Very soon I plan to marry our newest board member, whom I believe will be a spectacular addition to the group. That automatically makes one of us ineligible." He looked around and grinned, with a twinkle in his eye. "I volunteer to make the sacrifice."

The meeting devolved into applause and laughter. It took a while for the Chair, who happened to be Amelia, to bring us back to order. She pretended to be irritated. Before we moved on, she added as an aside, "There will be cake and champagne at the conclusion of our meeting in recognition of Guinyard's many years of dedicated service to the Committee and in celebration of his happy news. On behalf of the entire Committee, Guinyard, I want to wish you and Rochelle many future years of happiness and to thank you for your past years of service to the Festival."

One of the lawyers said, "Let's finish our business so we can get to the good stuff."

They made assignments to sub-committees. I was assigned to the committee responsible for planning the Opening Reception and the Gala. I grinned to myself. I had already made some preliminary plans for the Opening Reception to be held at the newly restored Beaulieu House.

I heard Guinyard mutter out loud, "Oh, my God."

I asked, "What?"

"You look like Amelia."

She leaned forward and said, "Is that a bad thing?"

He shook his head and grinned from ear to ear, "Oh, no. It is a very, very good thing. Charleston is lucky to have you both."

He added with a shrug, "I just hope I can manage to keep up."

We never officially told anyone when or where the wedding would take place. We declined a bunch of social invitations for the weekend we were to be married, and people started putting two and two together. We planned to get married at the beach the first week in August. All of my kids fussed about having to come to South Carolina in August.

I admit, it did seem pretty stupid, but we wanted to do it as soon as possible, and that was one weekend that worked for everyone.

The kids met at the airport in Charleston on Friday afternoon and drove down to Edisto together. Guinyard and I had driven out to the Island on Thursday. The kids arrived just before dinnertime on Friday. I had arranged for dinner to be catered by the Pavilion Restaurant. We ate in the air conditioned dining room of the beach house and loaded up on local seafood and fish chowder. We moved to the deck after the sun went down and it cooled off a little.

We talked for a while but it had been a long day for everyone and we all turned in early. Because of the heat, we planned to be married early in the morning. Sunrise was way too early for me, but at nine o'clock the sun would still be relatively low and it would not be as hot as it would be later in the day. Guinyard's friend, the retired priest, had agreed to do the ceremony. We had rented a villa for him in the Fairfield Resort for the weekend. He was supposed to arrive at 8:30 in the morning.

The next morning, Guinyard brought me coffee and sat on the edge of the bed while I drank it and tried to make myself alert. There seemed to be little to say, and yet, so much to say. We stammered around and felt awkward with one another for the first time ever. Finally, I kicked him out of the room so I could get dressed.

Since it was a beach wedding in the summertime, we decided to be very informal. Guinyard wore white pants and a white silk shirt. I wore an extremely pale yellow sun dress with a floral print woven into the fabric. I pulled my hair up and stuck in a few pins. The humidity did more or less the same thing Mr. Montague's braids would have done. My hair floated in curls all around my face. I applied makeup with a very light hand, and waited for Denise. A few minutes before nine, she came in with a box from the florist containing magnolia blossoms attached to French combs. I stuck them on either side of my head and twirled around in my best Cotillion spin. "What do you think?"

She folded her hands in front of her in the classic gesture of delight and exclaimed, "Oh, Mom, you are so, so beautiful! I am so very happy for you and for all of us."

"Don't you make me cry before the wedding even starts!"

We hugged for a long time.

I walked out on the deck and stopped at the door. Guinyard was talking to the priest. The boys were leaning over the railing watching gulls and pointing at something in the distance. Denise put her arm around my waist. I don't think it would be possible to be happier than I felt at that moment.

Denise cleared her throat and said, "OK, gang, let's get this show on the road before it gets too hot for us damnyankees, as some people refer to us, to stay outside."

We arranged ourselves in front of the minister. He did the short version of the wedding ceremony. I was surprised when he asked, "Who gives this woman to this man."

Ted stepped up behind me, laid his hand on my shoulder and said softly, "My brother, my sister and I do."

Denise leaned over and whispered, "At least it wasn't me."

I smiled. That moment was beyond tears.

After the wedding we changed into swim suits and spent the rest of the morning on the beach. Soon it became too hot for my Yankee children and we moved the party inside.

At one point I made a visit to Crying Rock, but I didn't stay long.

By mid-afternoon the kids started digging in the refrigerator for snacks. I made a general announcement that dinner would be arriving late in the afternoon, and every body needed to pace themselves because it was going to be spectacular. There being nothing else to do, we did what all self respecting Southern gentility was supposed to do before a big feed. We took naps. Or at least we went to our respective bedrooms.

Guinyard and I did not go to bed. We sat on the porch off our room. The beach-side porch was in the shade in the afternoon. The sea-breeze was strong. We sat beside one another, watched the water and said very little.

Late in the afternoon, I went downstairs and started moving furniture around. The kids came in and joined in even though, at first, they did not know what was up. We pulled the dining room table out on the deck and I covered it with newspaper. I dragged out a garbage can and put it at the end of the table. I looked up at Guinyard and caught him grinning. He guessed what was up and I could tell that he was delighted. He rummaged under the sink and came out with several rolls of paper towels and placed them around the deck.

The kids had figured it out by then, too, and they went inside digging for crackers and picks and other necessary implements.

Denise yelled from the kitchen, "Mom, do we need silverware?"

"Unless you plan to eat cole slaw and potato salad with your fingers, we do."

About 5:30, the caretaker of the property, Mr. Otis Meese, and several of his kids pulled up in a truck and offloaded several large kettles containing an assortment of steamed seafood. They hauled in a cooler containing potato salad, cole slaw, bean salad and several other side dishes. Next they brought in a large tray containing grilled corn on the cob. Ford and Ted looked at one another and Ted said, "Oh, my God, I think I have died and gone to heaven."

Before we dug into the feast, Guinyard put up his hands and said, "Wait. There is something we need to do first."

He went inside and came back with a bottle of very expensive champagne and five glasses. He expertly uncorked the bottle and poured us each a glass. He looked at me and raised his eyebrows. I nodded. He explained to the kids that the champagne was to be considered a gift from their grandparents. We stood around and raised our glasses. We all took a sip. I had a terrible time swallowing.

We dug into the food and did it justice. When the champagne ran out, those who were inclined switched to beer. The rest of us swilled sweet tea by the quart to wash down the salty, spicy seafood. By the time we were finished with dinner, we were a mess. Shellfish juice and butter dripped off our elbows and our faces were greasy. We snapped pictures which we never had developed because they were so gross.

We finished the meal with a swim in the ocean to rinse off.

Since none of us cared much for cake, I had ordered home-made peach ice-cream, still in the churn. Mr. Meese left the old-fashioned hand-churn in a wash tub surrounded by ice and rock salt, covered with a blanket. I have never tasted anything so wonderful, before or since.

Much earlier than any of us would have preferred, Denise said, "Mom, we have to get to the airport really early in the morning. We know you like to sleep in, so we are going to say good-bye now."

Guinyard said his good-byes and then went upstairs. I hugged, kissed and cried over each of my children and then packed them off to bed. We talked longer than any of us had intended.

By the time I got to our room, Guinyard was already asleep. I chuckled at the thought of having something to tease him with for years to come. He had left a half finished glass of bourbon on the dresser. I took a sniff and decided that desperate times called for desperate measures. I was so keyed up and I had had so much tea, I would never go to sleep with out a belt or two. I took the drink outside and sat on the balcony, sipping the bourbon, which turned out not to be so bad after all, and wondering whether or not I should wake Guinyard.

As it turns out, I fell asleep in the swing. Guinyard woke me in the morning with a cup of coffee in his hand. We both laughed. I said, "Aren't we just a couple of regular fireballs?"

Guinyard laughed and said, "I'll never tell anybody if you don't."

I laughed, "Our secret is safe with me."

The kids had left early to go to the airport. Guinyard and I loaded the car and prepared to leave. Guinyard was wearing the same outfit he had worn to the wedding. He persuaded me to wear my wedding dress, too. He suggested we might want to stop someplace nice for lunch. Instead, he drove straight home.

When we pulled up to the house, there was a huge party in full swing. Tents dotted the yard. There were several tables positively groaning with food. Waiters circulated carrying trays of tea, beer, and champagne cocktails.

I narrowed my eyes and started to say something. Guinyard put up the stop sign and said, "Before you blow your stack, this is another present from Benny. Every year after Spoleto, the Committee has a party. This year, Benny wanted the party to be at my house. He financed it but asked that it be a combination Spoleto-ending and Rochelle-welcoming party. It was originally scheduled for the weekend after Benny died. We postponed it. After Amelia figured out when we were getting married and she got out the thumb screws and extracted from me the details as to where, she suggested that this afternoon would be a good time to hold the party. Benny had already paid for it and made all the arrangements, so we reckoned we might as well go ahead and schedule the bash. I hope you are not mad."

I put my hands on either side of his face and said, "I could never be mad at you. Actually, this is perfect. I wish the kids could have stayed."

He laughed. "Oh, they are here. They are going home until tomorrow. They have been in on this from the beginning."

I laughed, and said, "Those brats! All the tears we cried last night...."

He smiled, "They were all real. They were just premature."

We pulled into the garage and joined the party. My kids were having a great time, and I did as well. When the party broke up, we said our good-byes to our guests at the gate. My kids were the last to leave.

Ford said, "Sorry about last night, Mom. We came here and helped set up in the morning. This time it's real. We have rooms at the airport. We're going to sleep there and then catch early flights."

I kissed, hugged and cried over them again. This time Guinyard participated. We stood at the gate and waved them off. The sun was just setting. The caterers were taking down the tents. Guinyard and I stood by the fence looking out over the harbor. A tourist walked by and said with a Brooklyn accent, "Some party. What's the occasion?"

I shrugged my shoulders and tossed my head. In the most pronounced Southern drawl I could manage, I said, "Oh, why it's just a Sunday afternoon gathering of Charleston neighbors."

I thought Guinyard would explode.
Chapter 12

Since we had taken our honeymoon in advance, Guinyard went to work on Monday. I called Amelia to thank her for her part in planning our Reception Party. We chatted for a little while and then I asked her for a recommendation regarding who to contact on the historic preservation council to get the ball rolling for permits to restore Guinyard's house. She thought about it for a minute and then gave me a name. She also gave me the name of a designer who specialized in historic restoration. She said he worked with an architect who had managed to get plans approved by the preservation council. That was not an easy thing.

I told her we wanted to restore house to its original design, before it was broken up into apartments and we wanted it to be historically accurate to the period of its construction as well as beautiful. She said that with those purposes in mind, she thought I would be able to get the necessary permits. She added, "This is going to cost you."

I paused and asked her, "Amelia, do you have any idea what my father was worth?"

She laughed, "My guess is that it is far more than any of us imagined. Your father was already rich when he met your mother. Her family did not have a lot of cash, but they still had some very valuable property, all of which Benny sold years and years ago. Knowing him, I am sure he invested well. My guess is that you could potentially be in my league."

"I don't know about that, and I don't want to know. It's a sizable estate, much more than I expected. He left a specific bequest of a couple of million dollars for the purpose of restoring the Beaulieu house."

She said with genuine admiration in her voice, "With or without your marriage, he was going to take care of Guinyard."

"Yes. In addition to the bequest for the house, there is another specific bequest of a trust for Guinyard which was to be in utmost secret. Daddy's lawyer and I rolled that bequest into my will. Daddy planned to take care of Guinyard's home and person whether he ended up with me or not."

"It can never be said often enough: your dad was truly a wonderful man."

"Don't I know it!" I paused and cleared my throat. "Anyway, I am prepared to spend whatever it takes to restore the Beaulieu House to its former glory. The problem is I want it done quickly. I know that this kind of restoration can take months if not years. Guinyard and I want to live in the house. I don't want the place torn up for too long. I would like to have it finished as soon as possible. Ideally by Christmas. If not then, certainly by Easter."

"That will be tough."

"I have plenty of money to pass around."

She laughed, "I can tell you with the voice of experience that if you are prepared to throw enough money at a problem, most obstacles can be overcome, even those connected with the historic preservation council."

"That's what I was hoping to hear."

A few days later, I met with the architect and designer. Guinyard sat in on the meeting, although he had already told me I had his permission to do whatever needed to be done to the house, short of tearing it down. He was thrilled at the prospect of having the house back more or less the way it was when he was a kid. How we accomplished that was not important to him. He listened to my conversation with the designer but did not say a word.

The architect and designer agreed to draw up a couple of proposals they believed fell within the historical preservation guidelines for us to review. Once we settled on a design Guinyard and I liked, they would put together a full presentation for the preservation council. Both the designer and the architect were sure that, given that my goal was to essentially put the house back as it had been, we should not have too much difficulty getting the necessary permits provided we did our homework and played by the rules. Playing by the rules was not my strong suit, but I was determined to try.

After they left, Guinyard was very quiet. He watched TV for a while. He glanced through the paper while I chatted online with my kids. When we went to bed, he rolled over and barely said good-night. I sat up and poked him. "I can tell you're mad. What's the matter?"

He sat up and faced me. "I am not mad. I guess bewildered is a better word."

"What are you bewildered about?"

"Do you have any idea how much that project is likely to cost?"

"We will know for sure when we get the estimates, but my guess is that it will be at least several million dollars."

"You are prepared to spend that kind of money?"

"Actually, Daddy was. There is special bequest making up a pot of two million for the house alone. I plan to add to that, possibly a lot. Once we are finished with the restoration, we can establish a trust to manage and maintain the house. According to Daddy's lawyer, we can set up the trust so as to allow us to live here until we die or have to move into a nursing home or whatever. After that, the house will be managed by the trustee for the benefit of whatever organization we designate. Personally, I would lean toward the Charleston Historical Society or perhaps the non-profit organization that runs the Spoleto Festival. It's a great arrangement as far as I am concerned. Do you have a problem with it, darling?"

"No, it sounds totally wonderful. I am simply overwhelmed by your generosity."

I pushed him back against the pillows and stretched myself across his body. I hissed, "I'm going to say this once and only once, so get it straight. This is not about generosity. This is about love. My love for you. My father's love for you. The love that my father had and that you have for this grand home, a home which I am coming to love as well. And, finally, but not least, the love that all of us have for our history and our heritage. Southerners are rather weird on the subject of heritage. I have to confess that I am somewhat surprised to learn that I am as infected with that disease as the next Southerner. This house is about to go to pot. Having the wherewithal to do something about it, I am not going to let that happen!

"You got that?"

He put his arms around me and said into my ear, "I got it."

I added, "I am not by nature a generous person."

He said softly, "You are, however, a very loving one."

"Yes, I am, where you are concerned anyway."

There was a long pause. He said softly in the dark, "I think you must be very rich, also."

I smiled and wrapped my arms around him, "In more ways than you can imagine."

The permitting process went more smoothly than I expected. It moved at what I considered glacial pace, but it did move forward without any actual delays. Since most of the work we planned to do was inside the dwelling, the council cut us some slack. What is more, Guinyard managed to come up with some blueprints showing what the house looked like before they chopped it up into apartments. Our plans were very much along those lines. We used that as our main supporting evidence. The Council liked our plans.

The members of the Council also liked the fact that we made it known we intended to use the house for the benefit of the City by allowing it to be the venue for public events even while we were living there and as an endowed trust after we die. We purposely did not let it be known which organization(s) would be the beneficiary(s) of the trust. That ambiguity set up a competition among the potential candidates, which weighed in our favor because the movers-and-shakers on the various non-profits wanted us to get the permits for their own reasons.

The Council approved the plans by the end of September. That was a record time for approval of such a huge overhaul of a home in the heart of the historic district, but it was too late to have the home finished by Christmas. Even Easter would be pushing it. I promised the general contractor a $250,000 bonus to the company, and a $25,000 bonus to him personally if he could complete the entire project before the next Spoleto Festival started.

They had the downstairs gutted in only a few weeks.

I took to having lunch with Amelia at the Planter's Club once a week or so. After having been a professional woman for so many years, it bothered me at first to find that I had become one of the "ladies who lunch." I was surprised and pleased to learn how much actual business (and some of it quite significant) is conducted at those luncheons!

Early in October Amelia invited the Executive Director of the Charleston Ballet Company to join us. Amelia was the outgoing chairperson of the CBC's Board of Directors. She planned to roll off the board altogether at the conclusion of her term in January. The three of us made small talk during lunch. Over coffee the E. D. informed me that the CBC had offered the job of artistic director to Roger Anderson.

"Has he accepted?"

I was surprised to learn he had told the search committee he wanted to think about the offer. In June he had expressed serious interest to me. CBC was more high-profile than Novato, and I knew he was unhappy in California. I wondered if he had another offer. I withheld comment.

Finally Amelia said, "Oh, shit, let's not beat around the bush here. This is too important. First of all, Rochelle, the CBC board wants to invite you to take a place on the board. You will fill the vacancy left by my departure. Second, we know you are friends with Mr. Anderson. We would like to know what is up. Frankly, by the end of Spoleto we thought he would accept our offer immediately. Either another company has beat us to him or something else is has come up. We would love for you to find out."

I laughed, "Amelia, you surprise me. Taking the direct route is so un-Southern."

She sipped her tea and smiled over the rim of the Waterford tumbler, "When it comes to the arts, I can be as hard-nosed as the most professional business man."

I shook my head and smiled at the executive director, "And all this time I thought she was just a bitch!"

Amelia took up the challenge, "No, that would be your Aunt Regina."

I laughed out loud and raised my glass in a toast, "Never let it be forgot, Amelia, I am half Hale myself. I can be one, too, when I have to be."

She gave me an amused look and turned to the E. D., with a warning look in her eye, "She's not kidding. I have seen her in action."

I thought the E.D. would pass out.

After a few more minutes of torturing the poor E. D., I agreed to call Roger and find out what was going on. I also agreed to think about accepting the seat on the board. It was obvious that by the time she left, the E. D. was praying I would turn down the invitation. After she was gone, Amelia and I moved into the bar, laughing like school girls.

We ordered cocktails, and I said, "I feel bad. That was mean of us."

She shook her head, "You know we had to do it. We had to establish you as a potentially strong board member. How the hell are you going to replace me unless you have certified Dragon Lady credentials."

I nodded and sipped my martini. "I know, but it was still mean."

"She'll get over it. And, she'll respect you more for it." She mused, "What do you suppose is up with Roger Anderson?"

I shook my head, "I honestly don't know. I trade joke e-mails with Dan a couple of times a week, but I really don't talk to them that often. They are very busy and I've been distracted by the house construction, too. Either Roger has another offer from someplace with a bigger market and higher profile, or ... " I trailed off.

"Or what?"

I sighed. I really did not want to talk about Roger and Dan with Amelia, but I had opened the door. "Or, he is afraid that Charleston may not be as hospitable a place as he would like."

"Hospitable to him and Dan Hamilton, you mean?"

"Yes."

"I thought we were very welcoming to them at the Festival."

I put down my drink and played with the cocktail napkin. I really did not want to have this conversation with her. "Amelia, that remark is a whole hell of a lot like old plantation owners who claimed that their households and their slaves made up one big happy family. You and I know that Charleston is always on its best behavior during Spoleto. The manner in which Dan and Roger were treated during the Festival may or may not bear any resemblance to the manner in which they would be treated if they were to move here full-time. I do not know it for a fact, but that could be a serious consideration for them."

"And where might they get the impression that Charleston is anything other than an enlightened place in that department?"

I leaned back in my chair and said, "You honestly believe that Charleston is a hospitable place to gay people?"

"Yes, I do."

I shook my head and said, "Then we need to end this conversation now. I don't want to argue with you, especially in public and when we are not even sure that has anything to do with the situation. I'll call Roger and find out what is up.

"In the meantime, let's change the subject."

We finished our drinks and left the bar. While we waited for her car. She leaned close to me and whispered, "Is Charleston really that bad?"

I looked her directly in the eye and said, "Yes. Not unlike nearly everyplace else."

She looked at me with something like horror in her eyes and said, "Oh, my dear God."

I met her gaze and replied, "Precisely."

After dinner, Guinyard suggested we sit on the porch for a while. I told him about my conversation with Amelia and I said I'd like to call Roger before I joined him. He hugged me on the way out and said, "You are as good a friend to them as Benny was to me."

I replied, "And for the same reason."

"Which is what?"

"Love."

He went down the stairs. I put in a call to Roger's cell phone. He answered on the second ring. He said he was delighted to hear from me although his voice sounded irritated.

I asked, "Is this a bad time?"

He laughed, "No, actually this is an excellent time. I am stuck in traffic. Stopped dead for the last ten fucking minutes and I have a rehearsal in half an hour. This is a fine time for me to talk since I can't do anything else. Just don't expect me to be in the best possible mood."

I laughed and said, "OK, then since you're in such a foul mood and my darling husband who is not such a bastard is waiting for me on the porch, I'll cut to the chase and ask you simply: what is your hesitation in accepting the job with the CBC?"

There was a long pause. He said, "I want Danny to come with me. I'm tired of commuting back and forth between two cities, especially with the fucking traffic on the West Coast. I am not sure Charleston is the kind of place where that can happen."

"He can teach and choreograph dances for other companies from anywhere."

"I know that."

I was quiet for a while.

He said, "Rockie, you know perfectly well what my concerns are. I am quite frankly a little afraid to move to the South."

I said softly with tears in my voice, "Rog, I would feel exactly the same if I were you. I swear to God I would. My question is: where would it be any better? If you come here you'll have me. You'll have Guinyard. You'll have Amelia. From the beginning you'll be surrounded by people who care about you both and who have the ability to protect you. Dan can open a school. Charleston is becoming known for the Dance and Danny's becoming widely known as a great teacher of technique for beginners.

"I know it's selfish of me, but I want you to come. You are my friends. I love you. This is a great professional opportunity for you. We will make it be a great professional opportunity for Danny, too. As for the rest of it, I don't think it would be any worse here than anyplace else, particularly in light of the, at least local, prestige held by the CBC artistic director."

He said, "It would for sure be great to be there. Charleston has so much energy and enthusiasm about the Arts. You know that Danny and I both think of you almost as a mother, or maybe a sort of evil older sister. We love you. Guinyard seems wonderful." He paused and changed his tone, "And by the way, how is it that we found out about your marriage from Denise and not directly from you?"

"I am sorry, Rog. I really am. It happened so fast and we wanted to keep it a secret."

He laughed, "I'm not offended, Rockie. Really I'm not. I understand. We both do, although, Danny was pissed at first that you didn't call us, but we are very, very happy for you both. I'm sure you'll be happy with him, and we so want you to be."

We talked a few more minutes. Finally, I said, "Rog, why don't you and Danny come and visit me and Guinyard. We'll show you around town. You can look for a place to live. We'll have the CBC big-shots wine you and dine you some more. And, perhaps most importantly, you can talk to Guinyard privately and in confidence."

He thought about that for a minute. I could hear him swearing under his breath at the traffic, then he rolled down the window and yelled an obscenity at someone. He said, "That's a good idea. We may take you up on that, Rockie, but there is one other obstacle that a visit to Charleston won't cure."

"What is that?"

"Clay Jacobs has been designing sets for me for years. I like his work. He's an ass, but he designs beautiful sets. I don't want to feel as though I can't hire him if I come to Charleston."

"Do you think I'm that petty?"

"It would not be petty for you to object to Clay being around. I want you to think about that. I want you to talk to Guinyard about it. We can talk about it when we are there. When would be a good time for us to come?"

"We are available at your convenience. Our house is under renovation. Do you want to stay in a hotel or in a house at the beach?"

"A house at the beach would be lovely."

"The water will be cold."

"Duh! We live in northern California."

"My bad. You let me know when you want to come. I'll make the arrangements." I paused. "I'll talk to Guinyard."

We chatted a few more minutes. Apparently the traffic started to move. Rog promised to call me back the next day after he'd spoken to Dan.

I joined Guinyard on the porch and filled him in on my conversation with Roger. I asked him, first of all, what his opinion was regarding their prospects in Charleston. He smiled, "They're not from here. They'll be fine. It sucks everyplace, but it may not be as bad here as some places. Especially for people in the arts community who are not locals. Having prominent patrons will help also. They'll need to learn the parts of town to avoid, but they'll gravitate to the arts and dance community anyway. Those folks tend to live in a couple of neighborhoods which are among the most diverse in Charleston. He's right that the South is not particularly gay-friendly. Charleston is not exactly an enlightened place on the subject. But, Charleston positions itself as a sort of artsy-fartsy kind of place. I think we have always sort of made exceptions for talented artists."

I chuckled, "Southerners generally being a bunch of hypocrites when it comes to that. The good-old boys will beat up helpless individual gays for giggles on a Saturday night, but we have been known to fawn over those gays who bring us artistic prestige. Think of Tennessee Williams."

I asked, "Are you willing to talk to them?"

He didn't answer right away. Finally, he nodded, "It's very difficult for me to talk about my life with Clay. Even with you, I can't really talk about it; maybe especially with you. It's possible I may need to talk to them as much as they need to talk to me. Sure, I'll talk to them." He paused. "But I mean to do it privately. Without you."

I nodded, "Of course. That was always the plan."

We held hands and watched the passers-by for while. We waved at neighbors on their evening walks. After a long pause, I prompted him, "What about the other question?"

"The question of Clay designing sets for Roger?"

"Yes."

He turned the tables on me, "How do you feel about that?"

I thought about it for a while. "Darling, I'm not the most mature or progressive person in the world, but, first of all, recall that I already said my piece to Clay. I took the opportunity to tell him how I felt about him and I have now put that dispute in the past. Roger is right. Clay designs great sets, and far be it from me, particularly as the newest board member of the CBC Board of Directors, to do anything to prevent their productions from being the best they can be."

He prompted, "You said 'first of all' as though there was at least one other reason."

I said softly, "There is."

"What is it?"

I picked up his left hand and twisted his wedding ring. "The day I put that ring on your finger, you promised to 'forsake all others'. I promised to do the same. That means 'all others' both in the past and in the future. My marriage to Stan is over and in the past. Yours to Clay is as well. You are a decent, honorable and truthful man who does not make promises he does not intend to keep. You belong to me now. In the unlikely event that, after our final words at Spoleto last year, Clay has any doubts on that subject, we can set him straight. I have no problem with Roger doing business with him. Do you?"

He put his arms around me and asked with something like amazement in his voice, "You trust me that much?"

"I do until and unless you give me reason not to."

"Clay was always so jealous."

I laughed, "I think that people who are extremely jealous are the most likely to be cheaters."

"Was Stan jealous?"

I shook my head, "I think he would have been but he knew that, at first, I really was in love with him, and it wouldn't have occurred me to so much as look at anyone else. After a while, I was so hurt, angry and bitter, I more or less reached the point that I hated men. I would not have gone out with a man on a bet. Stan knew that. He never needed to be jealous. Then again, maybe he just didn't give a damn about what I did."

We were quiet for a while.

He said, "It won't be easy having Clay show up periodically."

"No, it won't be easy. But we're adults. We can be mature. And besides," I smiled with an evil glint in my eyes, "if worst comes to worst, and we slide beneath the surface of our sophisticated maturity, I have the upper hand."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, if necessary, I am prepared to fight for you, and do not let it be forgot that I have Aunt Regina's family fangs even if I choose not to use them as often as she does."

He shifted around in his seat and laughed without any mirth, "I hope it never comes to that!" Then he switched gears and asked, "When are Roger and Dan coming to visit?"

"They're going to call me tomorrow. They want to stay at the beach house. We can visit them there. Then we will bring them into town and wine them and dine them, if that is necessary."

"You really want them to move here, don't you?"

"I really do. I love those boys. I want them here where I can look after them."

Roger and Dan arrived toward the end of October for a five day visit. We picked them up at the airport and drove straight to Edisto. They were enchanted with the place. In the late fall, the weather alternated between the glorious turquoise-colored skies and clear blue waters left over from the summer and the swirling clouds and murky water that hinted at the winter-that-was-to-come.

Guinyard and I spent the first night with them. After dinner, we sat on the deck and talked. The conversation became heavier and heavier as we ranged from topic to topic. Finally, Guinyard stood up and raised me to my feet. He said, "Sugar, it's time for you to say good night. I would like for you to go to bed."

By the time I was fully on my feet, my heart was pounding and I wanted to cry and beg them to let me stay, but I also did not want to know what they were going to talk about. I kissed Dan and Roger good night and drew Guinyard inside for a long, passionate good-night kiss as well.

He chuckled, "That was absolutely wonderful, but it was not necessary. Now, go to bed."

I don't know what they talked about, but I know that it was after 5:00 a. m. when Guinyard came to bed and he was very, very drunk.

For perhaps the only time in my life, I was the first one up in the morning and, when they did get up, all three of them looked dreadful. I threatened to put on a CD of marching band music to get everybody's blood pumping. For some strange reason they, in a chorus, threatened my life. I decided to go for a bike ride to get away from them. I stayed away until early afternoon.

When I got back, they were sprawled on chaises on the deck. I stood in the doorway and laughed, "You guys are disgusting. Have you eaten anything yet today?"

They all groaned.

I said, "Starch is what you need! Turkey sandwiches on white bread will fix you right up."

I went to the IGA and bought the makings for turkey subs and potato salad. They managed to eat at least a little, and they perked up somewhat afterwards.

We lounged around all afternoon, picking up the conversation at approximately where we had left off the night before they kicked me out. We touched lightly on many topics.

Finally, Roger asked me, "Have you thought about our conversation regarding my hiring Clay to design sets."

I said I had and that I had talked to Guinyard about it. Dan raised his head slightly and asked, "And?"

"And, I will tell you what I told Guinyard. The way I see that is that Guinyard is my husband now. You can hire Clay. I will be polite to him. If the occasion calls for it, I will greet him socially. But, the bottom line is that my politesse only extend to Clay as long as he understands that there is no further question of any relationship between him and Guinyard."

Roger asked, "And if he should test those boundaries?"

I sat up in my chair and met his gaze, "Then the gloves come off."

Roger chuckled, "That could be ugly."

"Trust me, it would be. I don't fight often, but when I do, I fight to win." Roger and Dan and I laughed.

Dan said, "I am reminded of what you did to Stan."

Roger, Dan and I all chuckled with evil undertones, but Roger ruined it by saying, "Yeah, but remember when she had the bastard down with her foot on his neck and ready to destroy him, she wimped out."

I shook my head, "I did not wimp out. I could have taken him for everything. I had the judge and all the facts on my side. But I had three children. His three children. I could not completely humiliate their father for their sake." I made a sound that was supposed to be a laugh but ended up to be more of a groan, "Besides, he wasn't worth it.

"In any case, I have no reason to think that Clay would be stupid enough to challenge me on my own turf, but if he does, I have no reason for pulling any punches with him. Roger, it might not be a bad idea for you to let him know what an evil bitch I can be. That, in and of itself may prove all the deterrent necessary."

Danny giggled and said, "Yeah, we'll invite him to dinner and invite your aunt. After she leaves we'll tell him you're every bit as mean as her. That ought to scare the bejesus out of him."

I howled, "That scares the bejesus out of me! Mostly because I fear it could be true."

Guinyard looked very uncomfortable.

We were all quiet for a while. Finally, Dan asked, "I know I can eventually build up a school to teach young dancers. While I am building up my clientèle, Rockie, do you think you could get some of the ladies you know to sign up for adult classes? I can usually charge more for those classes, and I can hold them later in the evening or early in the morning so they don't conflict with the kiddie classes."

I laughed, "In the interests of doing something about the fat ass you keep reminding me that I carry around, I'll sign up for every adult class you offer. I'll publicize you like mad to all the ladies in my circle. We can advertise them as dance classes for Old Broads."

I paused and said quietly, "Danny, if you won't be offended, I'll personally guarantee the first six months of your business expenses."

Roger looked at me with an amazed expression, "You want us to come that much?"

"I want you to come desperately."

Dan looked at Roger and held out up his arms, with palms up. "Rockie is our friend. I think we should take the deal."

Roger said, almost breathlessly, "You mean that?"

Dan said, "Yes, I do. CBC is a great opportunity for you. You know I've wanted you to take it all along, but you've hesitated for my sake. I believe Rockie when she says she'll make it into a good opportunity for me, too. I'm in. And as for living in the South, well, we'll just deal with whatever happens."

I went inside and came out with a bottle of wine and several glasses. I poured myself a glass and asked if anyone wanted to join me. My question was met with a chorus of groans. I sipped my wine and said, "Okay, now that you have more or less decided to take the job. You have two choices: You can come to Charleston tomorrow and be wined and dined at the dinner we've planned in order to seduce you. Or, you can stay here and spend a few days alone. I'll make excuses, providing you agree to say yes."

They thought about that for a while, Roger finally said, "You went to a lot of trouble for us. The least we can to is be polite, so we'll come into town for the dinner. After that, I would like to come back here alone for a few days, if that is okay with you. It's been a long time since Danny and I had a vacation together. The committee doesn't have to know until the end of our visit that I have already agreed to take the job."

"Deal." I raised my glass in an unanswered toast, and said, "I can't begin to tell you how happy I am to know that we will be neighbors again. What is more, this will have the added advantage of giving me even more credibility with the CBC board."

I furrowed my brow, "Oh, Rog, darling, I fear I failed to mention that I will soon be joining the board of the CBC so once you are officially hired, I'll be your boss."

Roger stretched out on the chaise, put his hands over his face and groaned louder than ever, "Whatever did I do to deserve that?"

Dan got up and walked up behind my chair putting his arms around me and resting his cheek next to mine. He said softly to Roger, "We were her friends when she needed us. She is merely returning the favor." He kissed me on the cheek. Then he turned and announced his intention to go upstairs and take a nap. Roger stretched out to go to sleep on the chaise. I moved an umbrella so he would not get sun-burnt.

Guinyard got up with difficulty and said softly. "Let's go down to the beach so as not to disturb him."

We sat on the sand and watched the water for a long time without talking. Eventually, he stretched out and put his head in my lap. I stroked his hair absently. He said, "They love you. They are still amazed that you treat them like any other married couple. I am amazed by that, too. I've told you that before."

"Yeah. Yeah. I am sorry, but I don't think there's anything so amazing about that. Or, more properly, I don't think it should be remarkable. Unfortunately, you're probably right that it's all too rare.

"Are you going to share with me what you talked about last night?"

He was quiet for a while. "I intended to, but after listening to some of their stories, stories I am pretty sure they wouldn't want me to share, I think I will keep that conversation private, if you don't mind."

I leaned down and kissed him, "I don't mind. I think it was important for you to talk to them. I don't really know why I feel that way."

"I appreciate that. I think it was important for me to talk to gay people I can trust completely. Other than Clay, I never talked to anyone about that kind of thing before."

I chuckled, "Bet you learned a few things, huh?"

He reddened, "Actually I think I did."

I laughed, "Dan's a piece of work, but I love him."

"He loves you more than you'll ever know."

"I have always wondered why."

"I think I will share that, although I don't want you to tell him I told you. His father died when he was in high school. His mother was very religious. When he met Roger and decided to come out, his mother simply refused to have anything further to do with him. He didn't say so, but in a way, I think you are his 'replacement' mother."

"I have always suspected that it was something like that. He tries to please me so much. I've never been able to convince him that he pleases me simply by being, not by anything he does in particular."

"He knows that." He paused and leaned up on his elbow and asked, "Do your own children know that?"

I started to cry. Finally I croaked, "I hope so, but I doubt it."

The CBC dinner was held at one of the mansions on Rainbow Row, only a couple of blocks from our house. We walked to the party. I warned all three of them that did not mean they could get drunk. I looked up and saw three pairs of big innocent-looking eyes. Dan said, "Who us?"

I closed my eyes and shook my head. They all laughed and Dan started talking about how bad he was going to be and how much he was going to embarrass me.

Naturally, the boys were on their best behavior at the party. By the time it was over, Roger had not formally accepted the job, but everybody in the room was sure he intended to. Amelia pulled me aside, and we clinked glasses, "Good work, girlfriend. This will be great for the CBC. I might add that your influence with the Board will be enormous."

I shook my head, "I think we owe my husband the credit for this one."

"Really?"

I nodded, "Really. I am not sure at what personal cost, but he put himself out there for me on this one."

She slipped her arm around my waist and said softly, "That's because he adores you."

I blinked madly and turned to meet her gaze. I responded, "The feeling is totally mutual."

She smiled and patted my cheek, "Your father must be very, very happy."

The boys bunked on the sofa and the floor in our sitting room that night and Guinyard and I took them back to the beach house the next morning. We dropped them off promising to pick them up in three days.

On Saturday, they were waiting on the steps when we pulled into the driveway. They looked relaxed, slightly sunburned and extremely happy. On the way to the airport, Roger gave me a letter formally accepting the job with CBC. They planned to go back to California, give notice to their employers and return before Christmas. They asked me to scout out some apartments for them.

There were no tears at their departure because we all knew they were coming right back. I was thrilled.

Chapter 13

By the time Christmas rolled around the house was a total mess. We didn't even put up a Christmas tree. There was too much dust and grit. Ford planned to spend Christmas with his fiancée's family then the two of them were coming to Charleston for the New Year's weekend. Ted initially planned to spend the entire holiday with Stan, but I persuaded him to come for New Year's weekend, too. Denise, who avoided her father as much as possible, was spending the entire holiday in Charleston.

That posed the problem of where to have her stay. Amelia had offered a room in her mansion; Denise did not want to stay there. Roger and Dan had an extra room with a fold-out bed in their den. She opted for that.

While she was there, Dan and Roger both put her through her paces several times a day in Dan's studio, which we all knew was most of the reason she was there. Julliard was, of course, wonderful and she was developing beautifully. She took classes with Dan; he was a master of technique. Roger tutored her privately as well; he knew what looked beautiful on the stage.

She even popped in on a couple of my Old Broads classes and professed to have fun. That was a lie, but I thought it was sweet. Or maybe it was fun for her to watch me and a bunch of old, fat middle aged ladies making an effort to dance. She and I both got a kick out of the ladies who were so innocent or clueless that they flirted with Dan.

We spent Christmas Day at the boys' apartment which they had decorated beautifully. I always thought traditional Christmas decorations looked tacky in modern homes but I didn't generally like "modernized" Christmas decorations either. Their apartment was ultra modern in its decor. So were their decorations. It was not to my personal taste, but it was absolutely beautiful. Denise took pictures of every inch of the living room, saying someday she wanted a room exactly like it.

After we opened our presents, while Guinyard, Dan and Denise puttered in the kitchen fixing brunch, Roger sat by me on a love seat and whispered, "She is magnificent. I want her to audition for a summer internship with CBC."

"Do you think I should resign from the Board?"

He thought about that for a long time. "Ordinarily, I would say yes in order to avoid any hint that I'm giving her a shot because she's your daughter, but one look at her dancing and folks will know it was no gift. She'll have to audition and win. Hell, we may have to compete with other companies for her." He chuckled. "What would you think about her dancing at Spoleto this summer?"

"I would be transported with joy."

"I'd put money on it, if I were you."

Ford and his fiancée arrived on Thursday. I put them up at the Mills House. The plan was for Ford and Marta to see the sights of Charleston for a few days, then we would all go to the beach house for New Year's Eve and a long day of watching football on January 1. I invited Dan and Roger to join us. They declined. I protested, but Roger said, "Go get acquainted with your prospective daughter-in-law. Spend some time with your 'real' kids. We'll host dinner here in town one night to meet and greet."

Eventually I agreed but I got in the last word telling them as we left, "You are my kids, too."

Ford and Marta called us once they got settled in to the hotel. Guinyard and I were to meet them for lunch. After that, Guinyard planned to be their personal tour guide through the historic district.

We walked into the lobby of what must be one of the most beautiful hotels in South Carolina and I had a momentary frisson. My last visit to that storied site was not a pleasant memory. I hoped that meeting my prospective daughter-in-law would be more pleasant. The maitre d' showed us to our table. Ford and Marta had not yet come down from their room. Guinyard ordered a bottle of wine. I fiddled with my napkin and absently polished the silver. Guinyard put his hand over mine and said, "Relax. It'll be fine."

I took a deep breath and let it out very slowly. "Oh, God, I hope so, but I am so nervous."

Ford walked in to the room. I heard Guinyard take a breath and I looked up to see the most beautiful young woman I had ever laid eyes on. In many ways, until I talked to her, I thought she looked more like one of Ted's model-type girlfriends.

They sat down and we made our introductions. Marta was beautiful physically. She was also smart. Very, very smart. As in graduated-tops-in-her-class-at-MIT smart. Very soon I learned how kind, gentle and loving she was as well.

She spoke with a very cultivated Boston accent, which would have gotten on my nerves but for the fact that she smiled at Guinyard and said, "Oh, Mr. Tomlinson, you have the most lovely accent. It is so soft and sweet. I hate my Boston twang." I saw Ford's mouth twitch. He knew how I hated a Boston accent. I wondered if he put her up to that remark, but I couldn't tell.

She was a scientist like Ford. She worked on something called nanotechnology. I had no clue what that was, but it sounded important and both she and Ford were totally passionate about it. I also noticed they were totally passionate about each other, too, in a wonderful way. They showed all the symptoms of young people in love, but that was moderated by a very-mature-for-their-ages depth to their affection. They looked at one another with the typical melting-down-the-walls sizzle you would expect of young lovers, but something in their eyes told me they could also see one another as they would be many years in the future. Guinyard noticed that too. He put his hand on mine and I saw him smile at them. Somehow we both knew that they had the same thing we did. I thought my heart would burst with joy for Ford. He didn't notice because he could not take his eyes off Marta.

After lunch, we took a carriage tour. Guinyard paid the guide extra to let him narrate the tour. Guinyard knew Charleston history better than anyone else I had ever met, other than perhaps Daddy, and he was personally acquainted with the occupants of virtually every house in the historic district. I noticed with something like glee that after a very few minutes the carriage driver, who was supposed to be the 'real' tour guide, was taking notes. Ford and Marta asked probing and perceptive questions. Guinyard fielded them knowledgeably and with humor. It may have been the longest carriage ride in Charleston history.

When we pulled up to the carriage stand, the driver handed Guinyard back the extra $20 he had paid to narrate the tour, plus the cost of Guinyard's ticket. He said, "Sir, I learned more about the history of my home town in the last three hours than in all my history classes in school or all the books I studied in order to do this job. That was amazing and wonderful."

Guinyard handed the young man his card and said, "Call me sometime. We'll have you over and I'll share with you all the Charleston history you can stand."

The boy beamed and said he would definitely call.

I leaned over to Guinyard and said, "That was a wonderful and kind and generous thing you just did."

He shrugged, "I hate that so much of the local history I know seems to be going to waste. I encounter so few young people who are interested. I guess I jump at the chance to spend time with someone who gives a damn about our heritage."

Ford and Marta walked ahead of us, taking pictures and talking. I smiled at them, then I had an idea. "Guinyard, I've got Daddy's computer packed up in a box. Why don't you dig around on it and see if you can find the local history stuff he was working on. Maybe you can add to it and get it in shape to publish."

He stopped in the middle of the sidewalk, threw his arms around me and kissed me. "That is a magnificent idea. I'll start next week!"

Dan and Roger had invited my family to their apartment for dinner that evening. When we arrived at the hotel after our tour, I pulled Ford and Marta aside and gave them a little background on my relationship with Dan and Rog. I ended with, "They were my friends when I needed them. They have been great friends to Denise as well. As far as I am concerned, they are part of my family. I am aware that they are not everybody's cup of tea, but I love them and they love me ... and Denise."

There was a long silence. Ford didn't say anything. He was clearly struggling. I could see the wheels turning behind Marta's eyes. At first, she looked exceedingly uncomfortable. Then she looked at me and smiled, "Mrs. Tomlinson, I think I understand what you are trying to convey. I will confess to you that I have spent my entire life in the scientific world. My dad and mom were both research chemists. I've led a very sheltered life. I want you to know that, speaking for myself, I happy to accept your friends' kind invitation to have dinner at their home. It's kind of them to open their home to your family while your house is being renovated. I have never moved in these sort of artsy circles, but," she grinned, "I promise to behave."

I laughed and hugged her. "Marta, given your Yankee upbringing, I am impressed that you are willing to associate with us Southern rubes at all. Your interest in my husband's excessively long dissertation on Charleston history today was a great kindness. I am grateful that you're willing to be accepting of my friends as well. It was a whole lot for a poor Yankee gal to have to deal with in one day." I grinned.

She took my hand and said, "Mrs. Tomlinson, my mother and grandmother have hated one another from the moment they first laid eyes on each other. Even today, after all these years, each of them takes every opportunity to stab the other one in the back and to undercut the other with my dad. I always told myself that when the time came for me to marry I would find a way to get along with my mother-in-law no matter what."

I put my other hand over hers and said, "You don't have to do anything special to win my approval or love, except for one crucial thing."

"What is that?"

"Love my son."

She smiled and looked at him across the room where he was struggling with the lock on a suitcase. Her whole face radiated love. She said softly into the air, "Have no fear about that."

I put my arms around her and said, "Then you and I will get along just fine."

She looked up at me with tears in her eyes and said, "You have no idea how much that means to me."

The next morning, which was New Years' Eve, Guinyard rented a van and we loaded it with everyone's luggage. Guinyard, Denise and I went to the airport to pick up Ted. Ford and Marta rented a car and planned to visit a couple of the Ashley River plantations before meeting us at the beach house later. That gave us time to visit with Ted on the drive to the island.

When we arrived, we unloaded the car and cranked up the heat in the house. Ours was one of the few beach houses that had a fireplace of sorts inside. Actually, it was a wood-burning stove which we lit to take the chill off the house. We put on a pot of chili for later. Guinyard made sure the TV was working for the New Year's Eve programs and, more importantly, the football the following day.

Denise, Ted and I lit a couple of chiminarias on the deck and huddled under blankets, talking. I basically kept quiet while they talked among themselves. I virtually held my breath to avoid calling attention to myself and spoiling the moment. At one point, Guinyard started to come out onto the deck, but I gave him a look and he retreated. I assumed he was taking a nap or reading in our room.

It was a little uncomfortable to hear Ted talking to Denise about Stan's new family. He had three very small children by wife number four who was in her very early thirties. I suppose I should have felt angry or bitter. Instead, I felt mildly disgusted. The saddest thing of all was that Stan was apparently no better a father to this brood than he was to his kids by Monica, his third wife, or my three. Fortunately for her, he had no children by Wife #2, whom I suddenly decided was not as stupid as we all had taken her for.

I half-listened to the kids talking, wondering if it would be better for me to join Guinyard inside or to continue to sit there and "participate" in silence. Their conversation petered out slightly, but then Ted said to me, "You know, Mom, one thing I gotta tell you. There is a totally different atmosphere in your house than there is in Dad's."

"How so?"

He thought about that for a while then he smiled at me. "Your house may be full of dust and grit and probably asbestos, but it is also full of love and it is a very peaceful and happy place. Dad's house today is about the same as ours was when we were little."

"Are you saying what I think you are?"

"I'm saying that I love my dad. I really do, but he's a chronic cheater who just can't seem to kick the habit. He's also a lousy husband and a miserable excuse for a father."

I laughed, "But other than that he's a great guy, right?"

"Right!" He chuckled and shrugged his shoulders.

Denise stretched out and asked the obvious question, "Mom, why did you marry him? He thinks all Southerners are hicks. He treated you like dirt. What changed between the time you met him and the time we came along?"

I thought about that for a while. "There are several questions rolled up in there. Why did I marry him? I married him because I was young and stupid. He was handsome and charming. I thought that, because he paid attention to me, he loved me. Why did he marry me? He married me for my money. What changed between the time we married and the time you can remember? He finished medical school and started making money of his own. He no longer needed my money, so he felt free to cat around on his own and treat all of us like so much litter box filler."

Denise smiled but did not look at me. "Do you realize that is the first time I have ever heard you say a negative word about my father."

I laughed. "Ask Dan and Rog about some of the negative things I can say about him."

She said very, very softly, "I already did."

I grinned, "How much did they tell you?"

"They told me a lot, but I had the impression that they cleaned it up a bit. I found it interesting that you never even breathed a negative word to us, when you hated him so."

"He is and always will be your father. When you were little I didn't want to be the bitter, jilted woman who poisoned her children's opinions of the man who left her. I bent over backwards to never say anything negative about him."

Ted said, "He had no such compunctions."

"Meaning?"

"He basically told us that you were a sort of Wicked Witch of the South who drove him into Karen's arms. I would add that story has worn thin over the years and he has never been able to adequately explain Monica or Brenda. I bought it for a long time. Don't get me wrong. I love dad. I guess I love him more than any of the three of us. But, I have had a change of heart where you are concerned."

"When did that happen?"

"When I came here for your wedding and I saw how you looked at Guinyard. I remembered that you used to look at Dad with something remotely similar to that look. I couldn't recall ever seeing Dad look at you at all, much less with the kind of naked adoration I saw in Guinyard's eyes. I think I finally accepted for the first time that you were the wronged party."

"It is never that simple. I was the best wife I knew how to be to Stan, until he started cheating. After that, I think I participated in the downward spiral of our marriage. I was hurt and angry and I did and said things I regret. I guess I feel that I don't have totally clean hands."

Ted asked, "Just out of curiosity, what is the biggest difference between your relationship with Dad and your relationship with Guinyard?"

I thought about that for a while. It was a good question. "I don't think there is a simple answer to that. The closest I can come off the cuff is that my relationship with your dad was based almost entirely on me trying to please him, and I never managed to do so. My relationship with Guinyard is based on the fact that he doesn't expect me to try to please him. God, knows I try to do so, maybe more than I ever did with your dad. But I do it because I truly want him to be happy rather than a as a manipulation tool.

"What is more, the thing I find most amazing and heart-stopping is that Guinyard goes out of his way to please me, too. He truly wants to make me comfortable and happy. Your dad never, ever did that, not even once. The difference is that Guinyard and I enjoy one another. There is a mutuality to our relationship that I never had with your dad. Sadly, I hear you saying that your dad has not found that with any of his other wives, either. I find that tragic."

Denise was wound very tight. I could feel her nervousness across the deck. I had a very good idea what was bothering her. I asked her, "Have Dan and Rog talked to you about Guinyard?"

She would not look at me. She answered too quickly and with a defensive tone. "No. Why?"

I glared at her. Honesty was my friend. I refused to deal with obfuscation. I decided it was time to make full disclosure to Ted, partly because he had come clean with me and I owed him the honesty and partly because I wanted to push Denise past her point of discomfort.

I turned to Ted and said, "What I have to tell you may upset you. If it does, I'll pay whatever it costs for a cab from here to the airport in Charleston. If this is a problem for you, let me know now – quietly and without a scene – and I'll make it possible for you to exit gracefully.

"First of all I want to repeat to both of you, I love Guinyard with all my heart. He is the sun around which my life revolves now. That does not diminish the way I love the three of you, or perhaps I need to say the six of you because I think Marta is about to join the family and I have long considered Roger and Dan to be sort of quasi-adopted sons. Anyway, love is the kind of thing that can expand to include many people. Or at least mine certainly does.

"Keeping that in mind, you should know that I love Guinyard. Madly. Passionately. Irrationally. He makes me happy in a way I have never even imagined I could ever be.

"What I have with Guinyard does not diminish in any way the few good years I had with your father at the beginning. Each of the three of you was conceived in love." I laughed; they both shifted uncomfortably on their chaises. That was clearly a case of too much information for one's children, but it was important to me to say it.

"I loved your dad in those early years. I prefer to give him the benefit of the doubt and allow myself to think that he loved me, too, in his own way ... at least early on. I don't really believe that, but I'm a Southern woman practiced in the art of self-deception, so I am willing to leave open the possibility that at some point he loved something about me other than my money.

"In any case, while I was married to your father, Guinyard was pursuing a very different path." Denise shifted uncomfortably in her chaise, at which point I was sure she knew where I was headed.

Ted leaned toward me and asked, "What was that?"

I took a deep breath and then said, "For nearly thirty years, Guinyard was in a relationship with another man. In many ways, I think their relationship was similar to mine and Stan's. Guinyard was faithful and sincere. The other party was not. Eventually, the other man left him under circumstances that make your father's affair with and marriage to Karen seem like a kindness. Guinyard was alone for some time. Last summer, we met and fell in love with one another.

"Guinyard and I have a lot in common. We had very similar upbringings. We share a common heritage. We share values. We share interests in the arts, particularly dance." I looked at Denise and smiled. I wanted to take her in my arms but she was so tense and she had pulled away from me. I felt it would not be wise to try to touch her. "We share the experience of having a person we loved above almost everything betray and abandon us. We share the experience of being loved and cherished by my father. Most importantly for me, we share the experience of enjoying one another's company and of experiencing the miracle of finding a new love at a time in our lives when neither of us thought such a thing could ever happen.

"I am telling you this because Guinyard's past is known at least in come circles in Charleston. Ted, I do not want to run the risk, no matter how remote, of your hearing this from someone other than me. Denise, I have been able to tell from your body language all evening that you have already heard it. I want you to know that I am deeply and truly sorry you heard it from Dan and Rog rather than from me."

Ted stared off into space and said nothing.

Denise relaxed and sat up in her chair. She said, "Mom, when Dan and Roger first mentioned it, they thought I knew. You know I have been around them almost as long as I remember. I love them like big brothers." She made a face at Ted. "Sometimes I have loved them more than my big brothers because they were usually nicer to me than my actual big bothers. I was very hurt and a little angry that you didn't tell me about Guinyard. You should know that it would have made no difference in the way I think about him. The fact that you didn't mention it makes me feel that you didn't trust me."

I cleared my throat and tried a wise-crack, "Cut me a little slack. Discussing the gender preferences of one's spouse with one's children is a little awkward. It isn't a question of not trusting you. It was a question, first of all, of Guinyard's privacy and, secondly, of how, when and where to bring it up. And, since we're being totally and completely honest, I am very uncomfortable talking about it even now."

I could feel her body relax and she grinned at me. "You know, if Dan were here, he'd hit you with a chair."

"Dan's not here, and that's not because the bastard wasn't invited."

Ted said softly, "Then why bring it up now?"

I looked at Denise and answered, "Because I've known for several hours that Denise had apparently heard about this from Dan and Roger and she was upset with me. It felt like time to clear the air. And, quite honestly, Ted, you are the one I thought might be most inclined to have a problem with the situation. I felt I owed it to you to be honest."

He was quiet for a while, finally he said softly, "Okay, if honesty is the policy here, I guess you're right. I am the least evolved of your children. If you had told me this before your wedding, I think I'd have had a huge problem with it. Correction: I know I would have. But, I don't think anyone who stood here on this deck during your wedding and witnessed the way you and Guinyard looked at one another could have any doubts that you love each other. Frankly, it's a little embarrassing to watch you together. Your feelings are so deeply passionate and so obvious. There is no question that he loves you as much as you love him. That is all that matters.

"You have always told us to leave the past in the past. You told us to take people for what they appear to be until and unless they give you reason not to trust them. You taught us to focus on the future not the past. It strikes me as though you are one parent who actually practices what she preaches.

"Whatever my personal feelings on the subject may have been before now, I know that you and Guinyard are perfect for one another. I have always found Dan and Roger tolerable only because they were so kind to you. Over the years, I've come to actually like them. Now, given the way they obviously adore Dee, I guess I'm prepared to say I agree with you that they're part of the family, too.

"Multiply that about a thousandfold where Guinyard is concerned."

Tears sprang to my eyes and relief washed over me like a baptism. The three of us hugged for a long time. I heard Ford's car pull in the driveway. I suggested that Denise and Ted entertain Ford and Marta while I went up to wake Guinyard from his nap.

When I walked into the bedroom, I was surprised to find he was not there. I found him curled up on the swing on the balcony wrapped in the comforter off the bed, crying. I realized that he had heard our entire conversation on the deck below.

I climbed under the blanked and put my arms around him. There was nothing to say and nothing else to do but to cry together for a while. Eventually, the tears subsided and still we clung to one another. At last, we went inside because it was growing cold on the balcony. We washed our faces and tried to repair the damage from our crying jag. I was pretty sure that we were not going to fool anybody. I didn't care. Being honest was turning into a habit. Having shared my most intimate secrets with my children, it seemed only appropriate to let them know that there was an emotional cost to that level of honesty.

We gave up trying to hide the evidence and went downstairs to join the kids. I stopped on the stairs and watched them. Ted and Denise were seated in club chairs in front of the stove. Marta and Ford sat on the long couch cuddled under an afghan my mother had crocheted when she was a young girl. Guinyard and I went into the kitchen. I stirred the chili and put a pan of cornbread into the oven to bake. Guinyard stood in the doorway and took drink orders. It appeared the evening was going to turn into something of a beer bash. Guinyard hauled a cooler of beer into the living room. I put on a pot of coffee. He made a face, "What are you doing?"

"It's 40-degrees out there. I am not drinking beer. I'm making coffee."

He shook his head. Denise and I had coffee while the others settled down with their beers. We talked and laughed for a while. We ate the chili and cornbread and then talked for several more hours. Marta seemed to fit into the family as though there had always been a place waiting for her. At one point I caught Ford's eye and caught his look of wonder and joy. I smiled at him and winked. He smiled back, and then looked away suddenly but not before I saw the tears shining in his eyes.

At some point, someone, probably Denise, suggested we dance. We pushed back the furniture, rolled up the rugs and spent the rest of the evening dancing to tunes from the fifties to the present. By eleven thirty we pushed the furniture in front of the TV and Ford brought out the champagne.

He said, "Before the New Years' excitement begins, Marta and I want to tell you that we plan to be married."

This came as no surprise whatsoever, but we all cheered and feigned surprise anyway.

He went on to say, "We hope you are not hurt by this or anything, but we want a very private wedding. We want to go away and get married just the two of us. When we come back we could have a party." He looked directly at me. "Would anyone have a problem with that?"

Ted, Denise, Guinyard and I all shook our heads. I asked, "When did you have in mind to do this elopement?"

"At the end of the school year."

"That would be late May?"

"Yes."

"Perfect!"

They both looked at me with a question on their face. I said, "I have made it clear to the contractor that there will be hell to pay if the house is not finished by the beginning of the Spoleto Festival in June. Come here after your honeymoon. The house will be finished. We'll give you a reception on the lawn like Guinyard and I had. Before or after that, you can go to Boston and have a party there."

They beamed at me, but I think I was the one in the crowd who positively glowed with happiness. My oldest son was marrying a delightful girl. My middle child and I had begun to reconcile after many years of being distanced from one another. My precious and darling daughter was blossoming into a wonderful young woman and amazing dancer. I looked at them and smiled proudly.

Guinyard walked up behind me, handed me a glass of champagne and whispered in my ear, "You done good, Mom. Very, very good."

I smiled at him with love flowing from every cell. I croaked around the lump in my throat, "Aren't we jumping the gun a little by opening the champagne now?"

Guinyard made a face. "Wedding announcements trump the dropping of the ball."

We stood around the TV to watch the ball drop and then we toasted the New Year, followed by hugs and kisses all around. We were all in bed by 12:30. It had been a long and emotional day.

The kids went for a long run early on New Year's Day. When they came back, they built a bonfire on the beach and sat in the sand talking. Guinyard and I went for a walk. He pooped out before I did, and headed back to the house. I wandered for hours, up and down the streets of the island. There were very, very few of the old residents still living on the island. Since it was a summer vacation place, there were very few people on the island at all that weekend. Many of the old homes had been torn down and replaced by what I considered to be ugly and ostentatious homes, many of which hardly anybody ever visited. I found myself feeling a little like the same species of dinosaur Guinyard had described himself to be.

There is something wonderful about a summer-resort community in the middle of the winter. It is virtually abandoned. The few people around tend to be oddballs like me who revel in solitude and who actually like cloudy, windy and drizzly days at the beach. In the summertime, the place is full of vacationers having fun on their holidays. Despite sunburns and jelly-fish stings, families come to the beach and enjoy being together. A lot of people who live in resort destinations resent the tourists. I have always found that the tourists make me see my home-community through ever-fresh eyes, which makes me appreciate it all the more.

Eventually, I got hungry and noticed that I was cold, so I headed for home.

The football games had already started. Ford and Ted had dragged a second television into the living room from upstairs so they could watch two games at once. Marta was apparently a huge football fan. Denise was not much of a fan, but she was always up for any kind of celebration. The gang was already cheering and yelling. I knew from experience that the party would escalate as the day wore on and by the time the Orange Bowl came on, they would be in some kind of frenzy. It never failed to amaze me how people could get so worked up about football games involving colleges with which they had no connection.

I headed for the kitchen and began to prepare lunch. Denise joined me. Marta came in and offered to help, but she kept looking over her shoulder at the TV. I shooed her back in the other room, telling her I'd take a rain check on K-P. Denise and I puttered around the kitchen without talking. I could tell she had something on her mind. At one point, she put down the cheese slicer and said, "Mom, could we step outside for a second, I want to ask you something."

We went out onto the enclosed porch on the street-side of the house. It was chilly, but at least it was out of the wind. I said, "What's up?"

She hesitated and said, "I don't ever want to talk about this again, but before we leave here this weekend I want to finish this conversation. I hate to talk about people behind their back. I feel that I owe it to you to tell you that Roger and Dan and I had a long conversation the other night that was mostly about you, and about Guinyard. There was one thing that kept coming up and I want to ask you about it. They said that the one thing about you that they loved, admired and were amazed by the most was how accepting you were of them. They told me you were the first person who ever seemed to take their situation utterly for granted. They told me that Guinyard was positively overwhelmed by the fact that you seemed to place his relationship with Mr. Jacobs on an even par with your marriage to Daddy. That seems totally appropriate to me, but apparently it had never happened to Mr. Guinyard before, and he was blown away by it. Evidently the fact that you were so accepting of them is a major component in the love Dan and Roger have for you.

"I hope it comes as no revelation to you that Dan and Roger love you beyond all reason or explanation."

I grinned and said, "And I feel the same about them, although most of the time I want to strangle Dan."

She chuckled and went on, "What I want to know is, how can you do that? You were raised in the South. You grew up during a time when gay peoples were supposed to stay very much in the closet. I would think you would have all sorts of prejudices. How can you be so broadminded?"

"Just out of curiosity, why is it so important?"

She looked at the ground and said, "Because I want to be able to do that, too, and I've never quite been able to manage it. I've been dancing since I was four. Dan and Rog have been part of my life since I started dancing, and make no mistake: I love them. It seems there are so many gay guys in the dance world I sometimes wonder if I'll ever find anybody to date. But, I've never been able to take it as 'for granted' as you do."

I thought about that for a while. It was an interesting question. I said, "I don't actually know that I do take it as much 'for granted' as you think. Until I met Charlie and Dan, I had never known a gay person who was 'out'. In fact, I was so naive and sheltered and stupid, I am not sure I even had a word to describe them, until Charlie got sick and I learned about homosexuality and AIDS all at once."

"Mr. Charlie had AIDS?"

"You were too young to understand that, but yes. He died a terrible and painful death.

"Anyway, when I knew him, Charlie was not with anyone and he was very sick. I was inspired by the way he lived the last years of his life. Dan took on more of the teaching load at the school and ultimately took over the management of the school after Charlie died. I got acquainted with Dan through the school, and one day, after class when I was positively a wreck in the wake of your father's departure from my life, Dan invited me to his house. I spent the evening sitting on the floor in the living room getting drunk on very excellent tequila and watching Dan and Roger. They behaved together exactly like my parents did. They clearly adored each other, but their entire public face was a joking, joshing, kidding-around act. I had watched Mama and Daddy do that for years. They did nothing but kid around in public. When they were at home, their adoration for one another was almost too much to bear.

"Somehow I recognized that same thing in Roger and Dan that first night. Maybe the Cuervo clouded my prejudices to the point I was operating on sort of a primal level and I was able to see what lay behind their act. That knowledge somehow undercut the prejudice that was, and remains, in my heart.

"Once you know something, you can't un-know it. I knew from that first night that what Dan and Roger have is real.

"When Guinyard described his relationship with Clay, he described exactly my relationship with your father. I had no reason to consider it anything other than comparable to our situation.

"As to whether or not I am broadminded and liberal. I don't think I am. I am very often uncomfortable in public situations where there are people who behave in stereotypical fashion, if you know what I mean. To be totally honest, and he knows this, I prefer to be with Danny in private. He is often too much for me in public.

"I have no tolerance whatsoever for people, gay or straight, who are promiscuous. I know from personal experience how devastating that can be to everybody concerned.

"I think the bottom line is that prejudice of any kind is probably impossible to eliminate from one's psyche. We live in a society where prejudice is rampant. It gets into your head and your heart when you are very small and you can't simply will it away.

"It is, however, possible to come to love and respect individuals from groups about whom you are prejudiced. Getting to know individuals one-on-one is the best weapon against hate. That does not completely rid your mind and heart of the automatic response of prejudice when you are dealing with people you don't know, but it helps because it gives you an opportunity to stop and ask yourself, 'Am I reacting negatively to this person because he or she is -- fill in the blank -- or am I reacting negatively to this person because there is something about their personality that rubs me the wrong way?'

"That won't prevent you from feeling prejudiced emotions. It may allow you to stop and avoid acting in a prejudiced manner. Frankly, I think that how you feel about something or someone isn't as important as how you treat them." I smiled and added, "And if you treat them respectfully long enough, maybe you'll eventually begin to actually respect them."

She smiled, and nodded, "In a way, Mom, that makes you even more amazing than Dan and Rog even know."

"How so?"

"You can love them and accept them not because it doesn't matter to you, but you can love them and accept them despite the fact that it is difficult for you."

"That about sums it up, and you should know that they are aware of that. Dan and I have talked about it a lot."

"I feel better."

"Good. Keep in mind that translates to all kinds of prejudices: Racial, ethnic, religious. Getting to know and like individuals who are 'different' from you is the best defense against bigotry."

She put her arms around me and said, "Add to that having great role-models."

We stood there in each others' arms for a long time. Soon, Ted came out and said, "What the heck are you two doing out here. Let's eat. It's half-time."

I made a face and pulled Denise back into the house, "God forbid that there should not be food during half-time."

We ate sandwiches and left-over chili and then the fans arrayed themselves in front of the TV for the second half of two games. I curled up on the love-seat with Guinyard, but I was completely uninterested in the game. I let my mind drift, and I probably dozed from time to time. I spent the entire day enjoying the delicious feeling of being surrounded by people I loved.

The following day, we took the kids to the airport. I cried all the way home. Guinyard tried to comfort me, but I think he was almost as sad as I was. We had planned to have dinner with Dan and Rog, but I called to cancel. I was not up for company.

Chapter 14

The final phase of the construction of our house involved redoing the upstairs apartment. The contractor planned to begin gutting the second floor by mid-January. Guinyard and I planned to stay on the Island, even though we knew it would be very cold at the beach. Guinyard basically retired from the Chamber, or at least he stopped taking a salary. He worked out an arrangement whereby he could work remotely, and only stop by the office once a week. We scheduled that visit to coincide with my weekly meetings of the Committee. We tried to arrange other business in town to occur on that same day. That way we could minimize trips back and forth.

Occasionally, we had evening engagements. The 32 mile drive back to the island on a narrow road through the wetlands was not something I liked to do at night. On those evenings, we usually spent the night at Amelia's house.

Guinyard spent every waking moment working on his history of Charleston. His working title was The Dinosaurs Speak. He said that Daddy's notes and research were fabulous. I loved to sit with him and watch him work. He was as excited and passionate about writing as Denise was about dancing. It was almost as much fun to watch him type as it was to watch her dance.

Roger was doing amazing things with the CBC and the level of excitement about Spoleto for the coming season was rising. Roger decided to initiate a summer internship program for CBC. That would be a great way to bring quality dancers into the company and to promote the company among quality schools. CBC had the advantage of inviting dancers to participate in the Spoleto Festival. Roger scheduled auditions during the time students would be on spring break.

Denise flew to Charleston the day she finished her exams. Since she was auditioning for an internship, she stayed with Amelia instead of with Dan and Rog. She debated about whether to take her classes at another studio besides Dan's. After Dan threatened to murder her if she so much as talked to another teacher, that question was put to rest.

Roger put together a panel of teachers and dance experts to judge the auditions. For the sake of politics, I think, he also invited members of the Committee to attend if they chose. Amelia and I sat in on the first day. The competition was intense. The dancers were wonderful. I found myself feeling nervous for Denise. Amelia took my hand, "Have you seen her dance lately?"

I shook my head, "No. She's never been wild about having me watch her rehearse."

Amelia said, "I have no such compunctions. I watched her practice. She's incredible."

I said, "I don't want her to know I'm here, but I plan to watch her audition."

Amelia grinned, "Sit in the balcony. It's dark. She won't know you're there if you don't stand up and yell, 'That's my baby!'"

Denise's audition was scheduled for late the next afternoon. Guinyard and I picked her up from Amelia's and took her to Dan's studio for a long, slow warm-up. She and Dan planned to go to the audition, but she made Dan promise to leave her at the door. He promised, but I saw his fingers crossed behind his back. Dan, Guinyard and I all intended to watch from the balcony.

We sneaked into the darkened balcony during a break. There were five dancers before Denise. Each was better than the one before. My hands were sweaty and shaking and my heart was pounding so hard I was surprised they couldn't hear it on the stage. Dan reached over and took my hand, he breathed into my ear, "Don't worry. She is going to knock their socks off. I have purposely not let Rog see her dance this week. He's gonna die!"

They called her name. Guinyard put his arm around me. He was trembling almost as much as I was.

She walked out on the empty stage, duck-walking in the manner of dancers, looking tiny and fragile. She curtsied to the judges. Then she turned and nodded to the accompanist. The dancers were each performing to two short pieces. The first was supposed to be classical for approximately two minutes. The second part was to be modern for two more minutes. For her classical piece, she danced a section from one of the Sugar Plum Fairy's solos in The Nutcracker. She had danced Clara as a child. She wanted to dance the Sugar Plum Fairy more than anything. My hands stopped sweating. My heart stopped pounding. I think I stopped breathing entirely. She was technically perfect. That, by itself, was great. What was even better was the fact that it was also clear she was having the time of her life! Technical virtuosity is important. Joy is what makes great dancer into a prima ballerina.

For her modern number, she used a selection from Dave Brubeck. That, too, was both technically perfect and, this time, it was filled with drama and sexual energy that might have embarrassed me but for the fact that I momentarily forgot she was my daughter and I responded only to the dance. She was absolutely magnificent.

She finished and the music fell silent. She curtsied once again to the judges and stood motionless, in first position, waiting to see if they had any questions.

The place erupted. The judges gave her a standing ovation. Roger lept up on the stage, picked her up and swung her around. The Committee members stood applauding. Amelia was crying. Guinyard and I stood up, cheering and applauding. Dan was cheering and whistling. Rog turned her toward the judges and said, "Well, what say you?"

Each of the judges, who were all still standing and applauding, gave a double thumbs up sign.

Denise curtsied again, deeply. She put her hands together and said to Roger, "Oh, I can't wait to tell Dan and Mom!"

Roger signaled the tech guy to turn up the houselights. He pointed to the balcony, and said, "They already know."

She looked up to see the three of us standing in the balcony, applauding. Dan and Guinyard whistled. She shook her head and grinned, "So much for promises to wait outside."

Amelia invited us to her home for dinner. She also invited a few other members of the Committee. It was a combination celebration and introduction. At dinner one of the Committee members asked Roger who he had in mind to teach the summer interns. Roger said, "I will need to have it approved by the Board, but I want to ask Danny to do it. He's the best teacher of technique I know. I want to include the interns in one of the dances as the Festival. I have in mind a short, simple number. Unless somebody else comes along and blows us away tomorrow, I think we have our soloist. That soloist has already studied under Dan for years. He can whip a bunch of rookies into shape faster than anybody. Anyway, I'm going to recommend it to the Board."

I said, "I will recuse myself from the vote on that question because of a conflict of interest, having to do with the fact that I love Roger and Dan like family, but before I do that I will argue passionately in favor of it."

Roger said, "You could get up and dance for them. Danny taught you well."

I laughed, "I'll spare them that."

The CBC board voted unanimously, with one abstention, to hire Dan as the director of the intern program. Roger choreographed the number they would dance for the Festival. Before the students who were selected returned to their respective schools, Dan put them through a couple of grueling workshops to get a feel for who could do what.

On Friday, we all drove to the beach house. Denise was limping when we walked in the door. She took off her shoes to reveal the ugly, calloused, disgusting feet of a dancer. Her feet were bloody and raw. She looked at them and then at Dan and muttered, "Bloody tyrannical bastard...." Then she went directly to the ocean and stood in the water for a while.

Guinyard commented, "That's gotta sting like hell."

Dan said, "Yep. But it's also a good thing for her to do. God, she's amazing. I was awful to them today. There are a couple of kids in the group who are hot-shots. They are the best in their schools and they are very good but there was just way too much cockiness in the group. I decided to show them who is boss and work some of the cockiness out of them. They dropped like flies. Dee, as I expected, was one of the very few who didn't come in with an attitude. She was the first one on the floor and the last one standing at the end. I hated doing that to her, but it accomplished two things, one intended and one unintended but just as important. It established my authority which is what I was going for. It also established her primacy firmly and indelibly in the minds of the other dancers. There will be one other girl who will challenge her for the top spot. That competition will be good for Dee. Dee will win, but she'll have to push herself to do it."

Roger put his arms around Dan. I had never seen him do that before. He didn't take his eyes off Denise. "Do you think she's It?"

Dan's eyes softened and he smiled with a look of wonder, "Oh, yeah, she's most definitely The One."

I asked, "Did you have any inkling of that before?"

Dan drew his eyebrows together, "When she was little, she was the best we had in the studio, but there are lots of young dancers with enormous potential who lose interest. I don't get too excited when I see talent in a really little kid. I usually wait to see how it shakes out after they pass adolescence. There is one exception to that. As an aside, remember the name Nathalie Benjamin. She's only eight now, but, someday ... I can scarcely imagine what she'll be able to do!

"... Anyway, I hadn't seen Dee dance again until last summer. I saw something wonderful emerging, and I was very excited. This year, I've kept in touch with a couple of her teachers whom I know. They both told me that this term something clicked with her. She has made huge strides at Julliard from a technical standpoint. I would expect that, although her technique was always excellent, if I do say so myself. Her teachers told me her biggest accomplishment this year was in her heart. It was as though she finally understood that a dancer has to know the dance with her body but she has to perform it from her heart. When she arrived the other day and we went into the studio.... all I can tell you is that after five minutes watching her dance I went into the bathroom and threw up; I was that excited."

She came up on the porch and rinsed the sand off her feet under the outdoor faucet. I reached inside the door and handed her a towel from the pile we kept on a table. She dried her feet and examined them. "Yuck! Mom, would you bring me my dance bag. I need to do some surgery."

I brought the dance bag. Dan took it from me and knelt down in front of her, "I guess since I'm more or less responsible for this mess, I should take care of it."

She looked at him with an odd mixture of adoration and fury, "I don't know if I want to let you touch me. What kind of a performance was that you put on today? Are you auditioning for 'Asshole of the World' or something?"

He took her left foot into his hands and trimmed her callouses, massaged lotion into them, and wrapped them in gauze. He didn't answer for a long time. Eventually he said, "Just establishing my authority, Sweetie."

When he was finished with the first foot, he raised it to his lips and kissed her big toe. Then he picked up her second foot and went to work, "Look deeper into what happened today and tell me what you saw."

"Oh, I knew perfectly well what you were doing. There were a couple of hot-shots, both male and female. You cut them down to size much more quickly than I would have expected. What a bunch of wimps. I think that the guy from Texas will be a great dancer. I'd love to partner with him, if he would lose that chip on his shoulder. I am not sure you did anything today other than tick him off. Actually, I don't think he'll be back. The girl from Indiana is good, but not as good as she thinks." She smiled like a cat, "And, what's her name, Melinda is going to make a run at me. That will be fun. I actually like her, which, weirdly, helps me. I like competing with people I admire and respect. I hope she fights fair. But," she raised her eyebrows and made a face, "if she doesn't, then the gloves will just have to come off!"

Dan finished his first aid on her other foot and held it between both his hands for moment, as though he were praying. He looked up at her eyes filled with love, "You are growing into a wonderful dancer, and what is even better, you are showing signs of being the kind of decent human being I would expect your mother to have raised. Decency is a rare commodity in the dance world. I hope you are able to maintain it. Don't take those gloves off too quickly."

She patted his head and smiled at him with love, "Yes, sir."

She stood up and looked from Dan to Roger and then to me and Guinyard. She folded her hands in front of her and stood with her feet in first position. She said with a dignity and gravity that seemed out of place from such a dainty, tiny person, "This week was the most wonderful experience of my life. I always wanted to dance. I guess I sort of figured I would dance in a company for a few years and then I could teach once I got married and started a family. The other day when I stood on that stage and those people – people who really know dance – stood and applauded, I liked it. I really, really liked it. I don't know if I've got what it takes, but I am going to work my ass off. I don't want to just dance in the company. I want to be a principal dancer."

Roger walked over to her and took her face in his hands, "You keep progressing at the rate I've seen in the past year, and by the time you graduate from Julliard I can almost guarantee there will be a place for you in my company, unless another more prestigious company snaps you up. As for principal dancer, you'd have to earn that." He paused and looked into her eyes for a long time. He added softly, "But, I think you have what it takes."

The weeks that followed were a whirlwind.

The construction on the house was almost finished. Next came the furnishing and decorating which occurred simultaneously with planning Ford and Marta's wedding party along with the four parties I had volunteered to host during the Festival. There were days when I wondered what on earth I had been thinking when I agreed to host so many parties.

In April, Amelia and I took a trip to New York to buy clothes for the Festival. Guinyard went with us because we timed our visit to coincide with a student recital at Julliard. Guinyard said he wouldn't miss that even if it did mean traveling with a couple of shopping-Amazons like Amelia and me. We pretended we thought he was joking. I am not sure he was.

Our visit was a surprise to Denise. It came as an unpleasant surprise to me that she did not seem exactly thrilled to see us. I pulled her aside and asked her what was up. She told me that her father and his wife were planning to attend her performance. I hugged her and said, "Sweetheart, he is your dad, he should be here. I am your mother. I want to be here too. We are civilized people who both love you. There will be no scenes."

She relaxed.

When we arrived at the theater I saw Stan across the room. I looked from Amelia to Guinyard and said, "This is getting to be an altogether too-common experience. Let's get this over with."

I took Guinyard by the arm. Amelia followed. We approached Stan and his artificially beautiful fourth wife. I held out my hand and said, "Stan! I am so glad you were able to come to Denise's performance. I want you to meet my husband and our friend." I introduced him to Guinyard and Amelia. His naked astonishment told me that the kids had not told him anything about my life since I left New York. I took just a trifle too much delight in that. Guinyard and Amelia both picked up on it and we all laid it on very thick. We were all such sophisticated Southern aristocrats, and so very rich! We laughed about that little performance for years.

Stan's wife was so shocked, she could barely speak. I guess she expected me to be a fat, blowzy bit of trailer-trash or something, if she even knew about me at all.

The performance was spectacular. Denise danced a solo and absolutely nailed it. We invited Stan and Brenda to join us for a late dinner at the Rainbow Room. At first he declined, but I could see a look of longing in her eyes that resonated with me. I was pretty sure he didn't take her anyplace nice. He generally reserved nice places for his girlfriends. The nicest place he typically took a wife was perhaps Red Lobster on a special occasion. I nudged Guinyard with my elbow; he took the cue and said, "We absolutely insist."

We had a window table. The view of Manhattan was spectacular. Guinyard had never visited New York before, but Amelia had. She launched into a monologue describing the buildings and bridges we could see from the window. Everyone was amazed at her in-depth knowledge of the Big Apple. She shrugged, "My second husband had an apartment on the Upper West Side. Because of his business interests, we spent a lot of time here. I learned to enjoy being in the city. It could never be home to me nor could I feel as comfortable here as I can in Charleston, but I learned to appreciate much that New York has to offer."

Guinyard asked her a lot of questions. I knew New York well, also, and between the two of us we answered most of his questions. We got caught up in the conversation and more or less forgot about everyone else, which has not been an uncommon experience for Guinyard, Amelia and me over the years. Stan and Brenda said little. I watched them, trying not to be observed. It was pretty clear that she was overwhelmed by the surroundings, but was trying hard not to show it. He seemed irritated. I was fairly certain he would be miserable to be around for a while. Brenda was in for a rough weekend, unless he got mad and skulked off to spend time with a girlfriend somewhere. For Brenda's sake, I almost wished that would happen.

After dinner, we ladies went to the bathroom. Brenda and Amelia walked ahead. Denise leaned close to me and whispered, "Mom you are enjoying tonight just a little too much."

"I am sorry. I can't help it."

She hugged me, "You deserve it." She looked back over her shoulder at her father and said, "And so does he."

I looked at Guinyard and Stan sitting at the table. Stan was still a handsome man, although he looked much older than his age, and he had a rather haunted look around the eyes. I knew he had serious financial difficulties, largely due to supporting a number of families. Guinyard, on the other hand, was the picture of urbane sophistication. He looked as though he hadn't a care in the world. He was distinguished and handsome. What was more, he was obviously kind and gentle. My heart overflowed with love for Guinyard and with something like a sad pity for Stan. I discovered, to my utter amazement, somewhere along the line I had forgiven Stan. There seemed no room in my heart for bitterness or anger. It was too full of love. Guinyard was single most important reason for that.

I said, "But Brenda doesn't. I promise to lighten up. By the way, I think you should invite your dad to see you dance in Charleston this summer."

"You do?"

"Yes, I do. You will dance a solo with the CBC at the Spoleto Festival. Both of your parents should be there."

She smiled. "I'll invite him. I won't hold my breath about him attending, but I can ask."

Brenda had overheard the end of that exchange. She walked up to us and said, "Denise, I have very little influence with your father. Hell, I may or may not even be in his life come June, but I promise you I will use whatever influence I may have to get him to be there to see you dance. I think he owes you that."

I reached in my purse and handed Brenda my card, "If he balks, please call me. I think I can talk him into it." I paused for a moment, considering whether to continue, and then I blurted, "Or, just call me if you need to talk to somebody who's been there and had that done to them."

She grinned with her mouth, but her face was sad. She seemed to start to say something, but instead she just made a helpless gesture with her shoulders and arms. There was nothing to say. We both understood her situation. There was nothing to discuss. I knew she wouldn't call me. I had to make the offer.

Guinyard and I moved back into the house the week before Easter, which seemed appropriate. Guinyard's magnificent home had been resurrected to its former glory after years of neglect. It had always been beautiful on the outside. Now it was once again spectacular on the inside.

We had designed the downstairs for public use. It would be a venue for parties, concerts, fund-raisers and balls both while we lived there and after we were gone. The downstairs foyer boasted a central stairway to the second floor which was common to the architecture of the period: think Twelve Oaks from _Gone With the Wind_. The huge foyer itself would be perfect for art exhibits and cocktail parties. There was a parlor and a library/music room on the first floor, each of which could be used for meetings or small parties. The entire back half of the first floor was one large room. It could be furnished as a dining room, seating dozens of people at one large table. I had a table build in sections so it could be put together in a large central-table arrangement or separated into small square tables scattered about the room, seating four people each, for more intimate parties. The table could be removed altogether for affairs involving dancing or concerts. The huge restaurant-style main kitchen was separate from the house, connected by a covered, screened-in walkway.

The second floor had four small guest bedrooms and a master suite which amounted to a complete, self-contained apartment. We had a bedroom, sitting room, den and a small galley kitchen with a breakfast nook.

The décor in the "public rooms" of house conformed to the style of the 1830's when the house was originally built. Our apartment, on the other hand, was sort of classic modern. It was decorated with comfortable furniture in earth tones. Every time I walk into our apartment and close the door, I feel relaxed and safe. It is a more than my home. It is a haven for me.

We hosted a housewarming/dinner party on Easter for a few close friends.

After they left, Guinyard and I took glasses of brandy out on the porch and sat in the glider. Lord, how I had missed our special time sitting on the porch overlooking the harbor late at night! He put his arm around me, stared off in the direction of Ft. Sumter, and murmured, "Who would have ever imagined the wonderful things that have happened in the last year?"

I leaned my head on his shoulder and whispered, "And there are more wonderful things to come. Ford's wedding. Denise dancing with the CBC."

He kissed my hair, "I miss your dad."

"Me, too. You know what is strange. Of course I miss Daddy. Oddly, this spring I find myself missing my mother desperately. Is that silly or what? She died so long ago, you'd think I'd be over it. But, I know that she would be in her glory to visit this house and to see her granddaughter dance with the CBC."

He laughed, "A Hale woman finally ended up as Mistress of the Beaulieu house."

I chuckled, "Yeah, ain't it ironic? Speaking of the dragon queens of Charleston, where has Aunt Gina been? I know she went on a really long cruise over the winter but I thought she would be back by now."

"I hear she spent most of the winter after her cruise at some spa/resort in the Caribbean. I understand she'll be back before the Festival."

I sighed, "That sounds like plastic surgery to me."

"So the rumor goes."

"I think we should invite her to Ford's party."

"I agree with you, although I can't say that I'm thrilled at the prospect."

"I have more bad news."

"What?"

"Stan and Brenda are coming to see Denise dance."

He paused long enough to take it seriously, but not too long. He said, "That is appropriate. I hope you have invited them to the party afterwards."

"I haven't done it yet. I wanted to at least mention it to you first, but I hoped you would be okay with that."

"I am."

"I will send them an invitation this week."

He said, "While we're sharing bad news, Roger called me today to let me know that Clay is in town to work on the sets for the new ballet. He said he asked Clay not to come to the Festival, but he will be in town for a couple of weeks working on the sets."

I nodded, "I understand. It's not necessary for Clay to leave before the Festival, unless you want him to. I have had my say. He's got to make a living and Spoleto is a great place to network. I have no problem with him staying if you don't."

He smiled. "That's what I told Roger. Anyway, you are warned in case you run into him."

"Okay, I am warned."

We rocked slowly and sipped our drinks. It had been less than a year since we had sat in that spot for the first time, but it seemed as though we had been together for a lifetime. I wondered how on earth I had managed to live more than fifty years without that wonderful man in my life. I committed myself to making him know very clearly every day how much I treasure him. I have tried to live up to that commitment.

We scheduled the party for Ford and Marta's marriage on the weekend before the Spoleto Festival was to begin. Unfortunately, they were unable to stay to see his sister dance with the CBC. They both had work commitments, and they had used up their vacation time for their wedding trip. They planned to have another party in Boston when they returned, so none of their Yankee relatives would have to venture to the South. We all thought that was for the best. Guinyard and I somehow managed to look disappointed when they explained with apologies that we were not expected to attend the party in Boston, although we were welcome if we wanted to be there. We said all the right things about wanting to be there but being tied up with Spoleto commitments. Everybody got what they wanted and nobody lost face.

At Ford and Marta's request, we kept the wedding reception/party to a very small affair. We invited only Amelia, Roger and Dan and a few other close friends. We invited Aunt Gina, too; I have to confess, I rather hoped she would not be able to come.

The party turned out to be a great dry run for the big bashes to follow over the next two weeks. It gave us the chance to sample the caterer's recipes and the caterer had the opportunity to work in the kitchen before the really crucial events later. The house was gorgeous. The food was spectacular. The caterer's work was perfect. I felt myself relaxing about the upcoming parties.

We had a wonderful time at the reception. Ford and Marta were a gorgeous couple, whose love spilled over and was contagious. Our friends fell in love with them immediately, even if they were Yankees. They responded in kind. Even Aunt Gina was nice to them.

Near the end of the evening, I walked across the street and looked back at the house, standing there ablaze in lights and overflowing with music and laughter. We had done a great job sprucing up the old gal. She, and I, were ready for Spoleto's magic!

Chapter 15

The CBC opened the Festival that year. Roger had choreographed an entire new ballet for the event. He set aside one scene for the interns. Denise danced a solo. It was very short and not difficult, but the audience was filled with dance-world luminaries, choreographers, artistic directors, teachers and critics; it was not the crowd to which most dancers would prefer to make their debut. She danced an absolutely flawless performance and it was obvious it was the most fun she had ever had. She took my breath away, but I acknowledge I was prejudiced. As she took her bows, I received a text message from Dan, _"We have just witnessed the birth of a truly great prima ballerina!!!!"_

During the final curtain call, when she walked out, the applause erupted. She took two bows. I have seen brides on their wedding day who did not look that radiant.

Guinyard and I hosted the after-party at our house. The attendees made for an amazingly diverse crowd. There were CBC people, Committee people, other "dance dignitaries" from around the country and assorted other artsy dignitaries and a few of the deep-pocket donors and sponsors.

Stan and Brenda were there. Ted came down from school. Ford and Marta sent a huge spray of flowers to Denise expressing their best wishes and regrets that they were not able to be with us. Guinyard and I took our places in the receiving line with Roger and the Committee chairperson. Generally I hated receiving lines, but that night wasn't so bad. Everyone knew that Denise was my daughter and nearly all of the people who greeted me commented on her wonderful performance. It was the ultimate mother-rush. I could tell that Guinyard was amused.

Typically Guinyard and I worked parties separately. That evening we stayed together for some reason. Perhaps due to the fact that both Clay and Stan were in attendance, we felt the need to stay together for mutual support. Whatever it was, it was wonderful. We danced, we greeted friends and we allowed ourselves to be introduced to art-people from other places. We somehow avoided both Stan and Clay most of the evening.

I danced with Dan, and we received quite an ovation. Denise came up to me afterwards and said, "Whoa, Mom! That was awesome. You really are a good dancer!"

I put my arms around her and said, "Number one, dancing and music are in my genes. My mother loved both more than anything in life. And," I smiled and put may hand on Dan's shoulder, "I, like you, had an excellent teacher. Why don't you two dance?" They floated away on the waves of a waltz.

I drifted off in search of Guinyard. Stan intercepted me. He handed me a glass of wine, "I thought you might want this after that dance. You dance beautifully. Although, not as beautifully as Denise."

I accepted the glass and nodded. "Thank you. She is magnificent, isn't she?"

We both watched her sailing around the dance floor in Dan's arms, laughing. He sighed, "She most definitely is. So are you."

"What is that supposed to mean?"

He paused for a long time, "It means I'm sorry. I was wrong about you. I was an ass."

I didn't respond for a while. I could think of a number of ways to respond most of which involved agreeing with him, some of which involved dumping the wine on his head. I tried for a middle ground, "Thank you for that. It's obviously a serious case of too little too late, but I do appreciate the apology. It is too late to repair the damage where I am concerned, but you know you still have the chance to repair your relationship with Brenda and settle down."

"What is that supposed to mean?"

"I'm sorry. I guess that was out of line. I thought your self-assessment involved making some kind of personal changes going forward. Apparently it did not."

His shoulders sagged and he looked very sad. "You're right. I do need to make some changes. I'll think about that."

He added, "I'm glad you're happy. You spent a long time alone raising my kids without any help or support from me. You put your life on hold until you launched them all. They are each well on the way to having wonderful, productive lives. And that one," he nodded in Denise's direction, "shows all the signs of greatness."

I interrupted, "I worry about Ted."

He shook his head, "I think you can stop worrying. He seems to be settling down. Did he share his grades with you from this semester?"

"No. We've been a little distracted around here this week and I really haven't talked to him much."

"He got straight A's."

"Ted? Our son?"

"Yep. He seems to have decided to knuckle down and become a for-real doctor instead of just playing doctor all the time."

I chuckled, "Well. Well. Isn't that interesting."

He laughed, "Thank you for not seizing the opportunity to make a cutting remark."

I smiled, "I considered it, but it was just too easy. It would have been no fun."

He clinked his glass to mine and said, "In any case, I just wanted to thank you for inviting us. This has been wonderful. And, I am really glad you are happy. Guinyard seems like a good man. You certainly deserve nothing less."

I put my hand on his arm and I must have lost my mind for a moment because I leaned over and kissed his cheek. He walked away and I saw him and Brenda leave a few minutes later.

Guinyard walked up behind me and asked, "What the hell was that about?"

I looked up into his eyes, which I couldn't read, and I sighed, "That was perhaps the most amazing conversation I've ever had with that man. He apologized for being an ass. He told me he thought I had been a wonderful mother to his children. And he told me he was glad I am happy with a good man because I deserve it. I am utterly amazed."

He put his arm around my waist and said into my ear, "I guess the Spoleto magic even works on damnyankees."

"Who'd have thunk that?" We both laughed.

We stood off to the side watching the party. There was literally a line of men waiting to dance with Denise, who gave every indication of intending to dance with every one of them before the night was over. She certainly wasn't going to step on anyone's toes because her feet had not touched the floor all evening.

The caterers did a fabulous job. The food was wonderful, the service impeccable.

The house was amazing.

Amelia interjected herself between Guinyard and me, putting one arm around each of us. She looked around the room and then at Guinyard. She smiled. Then she looked at me and gave me a squeeze, "My dear, last year when you walked into the party at the King Street Theater with Guinyard, I took one look at you and thought to myself, 'That woman is a force to be reckoned with.' How right I was! What you have accomplished here in such a short time is utterly amazing."

I hugged her back, "It is, isn't it?"

She said softly, "Your mother would be so very proud of you."

I looked at the chandelier and opened my eyes as wide as I could until I knew the tears would not fall, "Do NOT make me cry." Then I hugged her back and said, "She's been here all night."

The following days flowed into each other too quickly, each one filled with more magic than the one before. As a Committee member, I attended all of the major performances. As a fan, I attended many of the smaller shows as well, particularly those put on by the experimental dance companies. Denise's week was a whirlwind of master classes and attending shows. I noticed that she seemed to be surrounded by a coterie of men at virtually every function.

One night on the way to the symphony, I said, "You are a regular Scarlett O'Hara, Sweetheart. Are there any likely prospects in your entourage."

She thought about that and said, "I'm not sure I appreciate the analogy, although coming from a Southern woman I guess that was supposed to be a compliment. As for prospects, I don't know. I do know I've never had so many dates. I think about half of them only want an introduction to Dan or Roger, or both. But, that's okay. I'm having a ball. I am not in the market for a serious relationship, but a flirtation would be fun."

Guinyard and I laughed. I said, "She is my mother reincarnate."

Guinyard nodded and said, "She is also her mother's daughter."

"What does that mean?"

He took my hand and reached across to take Denise's as well, "It means you are both absolutely magnificent. I have to warn you. There are bets going on as to which of you will steal the show at the Gala this year."

Denise leaned back in her seat and looked confused, "Huh?"

"Last year at the final Gala, your mother was the show-stopper. She came to Charleston at the beginning of Festival last year, an unknown former-resident of Charleston. By the end of the final Gala, she had taken her place beside Amelia as the reigning queens of the Low Country."

I leaned forward and whispered loudly, "I think that translates to 'Dragon Queens'."

Guinyard continued, "Actually, I think that your mother has already more or less deposed Amelia, but she has been kind enough to allow Amelia to withdraw slowly and gracefully. There are bets going around as to whether or not Denise will outshine you this year."

I made a face. "She already has."

He looked skeptical. "On the stage, she's magnificent. That's for sure. She's not too shabby on the dance-floor at a party either." He looked at me with an amused expression on his face. "I suspect you have a few things up your sleeve for the Gala, however."

Denise said, "I didn't know that party-going was a competitive sport."

Guinyard and I both howled. He said, "My dear girl, you have a lot to learn about life in the South!"

I leaned forward and patted her knee, "Where Southern women are concerned, absolutely everything is a competitive sport."

She shook her head. I could tell she was thinking that she was grateful to be a Yankee. That made me feel slightly less guilty about my plans for the Gala.

The American Ballet Theater was the big draw for Spoleto that year. Guinyard and I hosted a party for the ABT after their first performance. We rushed home after the show in order to be there to greet our guests. Denise was quiet in the limo. Roger looked at her and said, "What's up?"

She looked at me and said, "Mom, I know that I'm just an intern with the CBC and therefore basically a nobody. But, I'm your daughter. Is there any chance you could let me stand in the receiving line?"

I made a face, "You want to stand in the receiving line? Why?"

Roger laughed, "She is so transparent!"

Denise sat up straight and said, "Do you blame me?"

Roger shrugged, "Not really. I have to admit I'm a little hurt that you've got your sights on ABT. I'd rather have you come to Charleston."

She paused and put her hand on his knee, "Rog, I want to come to Charleston. When I graduate from Julliard, if there's a place for me in your company, this is where I want to be. But, I have one more year for an internship between now and then. I've done one summer at NYC Ballet and one summer here. Next summer I want to go to ABT."

Dan leaned forward and asked, "What about after your senior year?"

"I will come here. Hopefully I can dance at Spoleto again that year as a new member of the Company. I know that's a tall order, but I intend to work my butt off."

Roger grinned, "And so tonight you want to stand in the receiving line and meet the Great Baryshnikov?"

"He's here?????????!"

"I thought that's why you wanted to be in the receiving line."

"I wanted to be in the receiving line to get an introduction to Kevin MacKenzie."

"Baryshnikov is here, too. He's drumming up money for his own company and theater in New York and he's here to sort of rub elbows with the dance-world luminaries who have showed up here this year."

"Maybe I don't want to be in the receiving line. I don't know if I could handle meeting Baryshnikov."

"Seems to me that meeting Kevin MacKenzie ought to make you more nervous, since he could directly affect your career."

She smiled, "Yeah, that's probably true, but we are talking about Baryshnikov!"

I laughed out loud and said, "Hell, _I'm_ nervous about meeting him!"

We received a call from the driver of the lead limo indicating the honored guests were on the way, and we took our places at the door. Guinyard dragged Denise into the line next to me. Amelia managed to insert herself as well. Nobody thought to challenge her.

Many guests had already arrived and were milling around waiting for the dignitaries. Many of the CBC dancers were in attendance, and all of the interns had been invited. They were easy to spot, huddled together in the corner quivering with excitement to be in the same room with the ABT dancers. All but Denise.

She was standing next to me in the line, looking serene and sophisticated. I was impressed by her poise. She certainly looked a lot calmer than I felt. I knew, however, that I hid my own nerves very well.

Roger and Dan were not in the receiving line, but I noticed that they were both standing in a sort of second row behind us.

The ABT Company came in and streamed down the line. Most of the dancers spoke perfunctorily, and then moved toward the bar. Soon they began to mingle with the CBC dancers. The professional dance world is small, and many of them knew each other, having come from many of the same schools. Shortly thereafter the dignitaries arrived. I greeted the officers and directors and staff warmly and welcomed them to my home. At one point, I could feel a ripple of excitement at the door. I glanced up and notice that many people already inside had stopped and were looking toward the entrance.

I looked at Denise and winked. She took a deep breath and smiled. I could tell she was nervous, but I don't think anyone else would have suspected.

Baryshnikov came down the line shaking hands and greeting people politely. He greeted me and commented on my lovely home. I thanked him and tried not to pass out. Guinyard, who can read my mind, pinched my butt. As Baryshnikov began to turn toward Denise, he said to me, "You must be very proud of your daughter."

He turned to her and smiled, shook her hand and continued, "Your solo the other night was lovely."

There was only the barest pause. She blinked her eyes once. Then she gave him a huge radiant smile and said, "You were there?"

"Yes, I was. You are quite good."

She gave him a very slight curtsy and said, "Thank you. I am sure you know what that means."

He grinned, shook her hand warmly and moved on.

I heard Dan laughing from behind a statue, "That's our girl!"

After the receiving line broke up, Guinyard turned to Denise and said, "Where in the world did you learn so much poise?"

"Actually, you'd never guess it from his behavior everyplace else but Dan focuses on that in his classes. He does entire drills where he makes you stand still and he does all kinds of things to try to distract you. He drops furniture. Breaks glass. Sets off firecrackers. He has always taken the position that focus is as important as technique. It paid off tonight. I can't believe I danced a solo in front of Baryshnikov!"

Roger said, "MacKenzie was there as well."

"Oh? He didn't mention it when he came through the line."

"He mentioned it to me. My guess is that you can expect an invitation to audition for the ABT's internship program next summer."

I pretended to be shocked, "And miss Spoleto?"

She put her arm around me. "For a chance to summer with ABT, I'll make the sacrifice." She grinned and looked from me to Roger and back, "With luck and a lot of hard work I'll have plenty of years here in Charleston."

Before it was even half over, everyone said that that year's Spoleto Festival was the best ever. The final performance was to be a new ballet performed by the ABT. We hosted a cocktail party for the Committee and some of the principal sponsors of Spoleto at our house before the ballet. The Gala afterwards would be in the same location as last year.

Clay had designed the sets for the ballet. Someone from ABT who did not know the personal history asked if he could bring Clay to the cocktail party. I agreed. Guinyard and I were talking to one of the large sponsors when he joined the circle. I introduced him to the sponsors. They chatted for a moment and then the sponsors moved on. Clay looked around with a beatific grin, and said, "This place is magnificent! I can't believe how beautiful it is. Thank you so much for letting me come tonight. I've been hearing for weeks about how gorgeous the renovations turned out. I know it is tacky of me to be here, but I just couldn't keep myself away."

I laughed, "I understand. You saw the house when it was at its worst. I am glad you have had the chance to see it at it's very best."

He shook my hand and said, "And now I'm leaving. I'll be at the performance but not at the Gala."

I said, "You really don't have to skip it on my account."

He laughed, "That is very magnanimous of you. However," he paused and stepped closer saying softly so no one else could hear him, "I really don't care to witness the pleasure you two take in one another."

I nodded and shook his hand. I tried not to take too much pleasure in that, but I guess I'm as much of a black-hearted witch as the rest of the women in my family.

Guinyard asked me what he said, and I told him that Clay had another engagement after the performance and would not be attending the gala. He didn't say anything more.

Our guests began moving to their cars. Guinyard was already dressed, but I had worn a cocktail dress and needed to change. I excused myself and went upstairs. I unwrapped the gown I'd bought for the occasion. My house had been wowing the masses for two weeks. I intended to be the center of attention at the Gala.

The previous year I showed up at the Gala in my mother's wedding gown with magnolias in my hair. This year, I was going to take my father's advice about adding some color to a crowd filled with dancers-in-black. I had dug out my great-grandmother's turquoise jewelry again. The turquoise collar and bangle bracelets were perfect. I had the earrings re-designed slightly so they were not quite so heavy. The entire ensemble was extremely dramatic. My dress was turquoise satin in exactly the same shade as the jewelry. I had shaped up a lot during the course of the year, what with all the dancing I had been doing in Dan's "Old Broads" classes, and I had intentionally added weight training so I could wear a strapless gown. The bodice was tight to the waist. From there, it fell softly in the front to the tops of my instep and in the back, it cascaded to a short train. My shoes were covered in the same fabric.

When I took the dress out of the closet, Mr. Montague gasped. Then he laughed. "Looks like you're going to do it again this year, huh?"

"That's sort of my intention."

He did my makeup and pulled my hair up into a tight French braid. When he was done he looked at me and said, "You look like the Queen of Egypt!"

I didn't even bother to look in the mirror. I knew I looked fantastic, and the only reflection I cared about anyway would be in Guinyard's eyes. I raced down the stairs.

Guinyard was waiting for me on the porch. The limo was waiting out front. We were going to be late! Guinyard turned when he heard me open the door. I could tell that he was on the verge of fussing at me for taking so long to get ready. He stopped with his mouth hanging open and then he laughed. "Well, if we're going to be late and make a big entrance, at least you look fabulous. I'm glad I put my money on you."

Once we were in the car and on our way I said, "Well I debated about pushing Denise out front, but she's young. This is her first Festival. She's making her own splash among the dancers. She'll have her day to take center stage. Last year, I stepped into the limelight more or less unwittingly, pushed by my dad. This year, I'm taking my place by your side in the full knowledge of what it means." I smiled and stretched, "But you know, no matter how much planning has gone into it, there is still something magic about this event."

He smiled and kissed the back of my hand. (He knew better than to kiss my face before a party.) He said softly, "Move over, Amelia, there's a new Queen in town."

We were among the last to enter the theater. We walked down the aisle to our seats in the orchestra almost exactly the way we had done only a year before. It was the same, only everything had changed. We took our seats. I looked at him and thought I would drown in his love. I wanted to kiss him. He knew what I was thinking, and he was obviously thinking the same thing. We laughed. There could be no violating the no-smooching rule, however, until after the Gala.

Amelia turned around from her seat a couple of rows ahead of us and winked at me. I smiled back. The torch had passed and everybody knew it.

Dan was sort of Denise's escort at the Gala. She watched the performance from backstage. We met in the lobby, afterwards. She looked at me and said, "Mother, where in the world did you get that jewelry?"

I couldn't tell what here tone implied. I said, "It belonged to your great-grandmother. Daddy gave it to me last year."

"It is positively the second most gorgeous thing I have ever seen in my life. Do you think you'd let me borrow it sometime?"

I smiled at her. "I'll do better than that. After tonight, I'll give it to you as a memento of your first Spoleto Festival."

She looked as though she might fly away. Guinyard asked, "Out of curiosity, what is the most gorgeous thing you've ever seen?"

She twinkled, "The rest of Mom."

I looked at the ceiling. Dan and Guinyard said simultaneously, "Do NOT make her cry."

Dan looked from Denise to me and then said to Guinyard. "I have a bit of a quandary here, sir."

Guinyard grinned. He knew where Danny was headed. "We seem to be in the company of the two most lovely women in Charleston. Typically I get the first dance with Rockie, but it seems that you may have a greater claim. Who do you think should get the first crack at her?"

Guinyard looked at me and then at Denise. He rubbed his chin as though trying to make a difficult decision. "Why don't you take the first dance with my wife. I'll dance with her impossibly lovely daughter. After the first dance, we can trade partners."

"Sounds wonderful!"

I looked at Denise and pretended to be offended, "You notice they haven't asked us if we even care to dance with the old clods. I am sure that we could find some young dancers who won't step on our feet."

She giggled and turned to Guinyard, "Mr. Guinyard, I would be delighted to have the first dance with you. I'll let Mom tire Dan out a bit before he runs me ragged the rest of the night."

I danced with Dan and then Guinyard. After that I think I danced with every other man in the place. By the end of the evening, I was exhausted, but I had more fun than I could ever have imagined. That became my trademark. Generally society people didn't really crock back and have fun at those kinds of events. I have always gone to parties with my dancing shoes on, prepared to enjoy myself. And I have never once had a bad time.

Epilogue

And now, here we sit at the long table in the formal dining room of our home. For the only time in more than twenty years, we merely put in a brief appearance at the after-party for the opening performance at the Spoleto Festival. My entire family is in town, and we elected to have our own private dinner.

Guinyard is now in his late eighties. He is thin and frail, but still mentally sharp and as socially graceful as ever. He is still handsome to my eyes because he is the love of my life and the center around which my world revolves. He is sitting at the head of the table, laughing and talking with Marta. I can tell by the glow on his face he is telling her about his new book which is soon to be published. It is a history of the Beaulieu house. He has been working on it for years, between writing other books about Charleston history and lore, doing speaking engagements for various schools and organizations and teaching classes at the community college. His new book weaves together the personal history of the Beaulieu family and its East Battery neighbors, the architectural history of the historical homes of Charleston and the social and political history of the city. I think it is his best book; it is certainly the one of which he is proudest.

Ford and Marta and their children are sitting on his right with Ted and his family at his left. Ford and Marta both work in the research division of a company that manufactures surgical instruments. They are the most fulfilled people I have ever seen. Their oldest son is now at Columbia. He wants to be an architect. Their daughter is fourteen. She is torn between becoming a dancer or an actress. She has spent the week following Denise around with naked adoration. Right now she is staring at Denise as though she were some kind of religious icon. Perhaps, in a way, to a young would-be dancer she is.

Ted took over his father's practice. He makes his money doing face-lifts and breast augmentation for rich ladies. He also is known as one of the finest reconstructive surgeons in the Northeast. He often does reconstruction surgery for burn victims or children with cleft palates virtually for free. His wife, Gloria, is also a doctor who shares his practice. They have a son who is now six. At the risk of sounding like a crotchety old lady, in a world filled with increasingly ill-behaved children, that little boy is a wonderful exception. He wanted to see his Aunt Denise dance, even though he knew it would be a long evening and he would be hard pressed to sit still. Before the performance, I saw his mother talking to him, and I knew exactly what threats were being made. He looked nervous, but determined. He knew that if he didn't behave there would be hell to pay, but he wanted to see Denise dance and he was determined to sit still no matter how hard it would be for him. Guinyard walked over to him and whispered something in his ear. Bobby grinned and nodded. He had not moved a muscle all evening long, even though I could tell that after the first act, he was bored.

As we made our way to our seats, I asked Guinyard what he promised Bobby. He told me he promised to take him on a carriage ride around town, and he would ask the driver to let Bobby sit up front. Since Bobby was absolutely crazy about horses, that was just the inducement he needed to focus on in order to sit still. He had been a model child all evening long, drawing positive comments from many in the audience. Gloria basked in the compliments. In my experience, nothing but nothing is more wonderful to a mother than having people compliment your kids. Lord knows, I have had plenty of experience in that department!

Dan, now distinguished-looking with gray at his temples, is next to me with excitement bursting from every cell in his body. Roger is across from us, gazing adoringly at Denise and occasionally glancing at Danny with shining eyes. Neither of them has tasted his food or his wine. They are full and drunk on their love for her and their joint pride in her amazing achievements.

Her husband, to Denise's left, looks as though he, too, might burst from a combination of love and pride. He retired from dancing a few years ago and teaches at Dan's school, which has grown in size and renown. It is now considered one of the best dance academies in America. Dan still focuses on technique. Michael teaches advanced students, focusing on artistic presentation. In addition to teaching in the academy itself, he teaches master classes on jumping and lifts to dance companies in many countries. He and Denise met ten years ago at Spoleto. She was a principal dancer with CBC. He was a principal dancer for the San Francisco Ballet, which was the featured company that year. They met at the after-party following the opening performance. Denise had danced Carmen. He walked in the front door of our house and marched straight up to her, giving her a deep dancer's-bow and gushing about her performance.

Within five minutes they were lost in each other's eyes. Guinyard walked up to me and commented that he thought we should alert the fire department to be on standby. He said he was afraid those two might burn down the house. They had a long-distance relationship until four years ago when Michael retired from dancing, because of a back injury he suffered in an auto accident. He came to Charleston, went to work for Dan and married Denise all in less than a month after he left the hospital.

Tonight, he can barely contain his joy. In addition to having one of the world's great marriages and professional partnerships, in a few months he and Denise will be parents. Right now, he, Denise and I are the only ones who know she is pregnant. The public announcement about that will come in a few minutes.

Denise is sitting regally at the end of the table opposite her step-father, radiant in her great-grandmother's turquoise-and-gold jewelry and wearing a strapless gold lame pencil dress that makes her look both delicate and regal. She is clearly making an effort to talk to others at the table, but every now and then she looks at Michael and closes her eyes. I know she is ready to go home and bask in the glory of of this evening, privately, in his arms.

Tonight, as the opening event for the Spoleto Festival, she danced her final performance as prima ballerina with the CBC. Roger staged a new version of Swan Lake just for her. There can be no doubt in anyone's mind, she is quitting while she is at the top of her game. It was without question her finest performance, which is saying a lot. In her nearly twenty years as a dancer, more than fifteen of which she has been the principal dancer for CBC and a guest prima ballerina for performances with companies all over the world, she has wowed audiences and astonished her teachers, choreographers, and – she's admitted to me – herself, with her on-stage brilliance.

She's great in practice, but something extraordinary comes over her when she walks out on stage in front of an audience. Tonight, as she took center stage for the last time, she pulled out all the stops. She didn't care if she got hurt, so her jumps were higher than ever. She has always been known as an excellent technical dancer but even the best technicians make mistakes, especially in long, difficult works. I did not see even the tiniest flaw in her form or her footwork. Her use of her arms and hands, which was never her hallmark, was superb. After the first few minutes of her first solo, I glanced at Dan; he was watching through his fingers. I think he and I went through a box of Kleenex during the performance.

The standing ovation at the end went on for fifteen minutes. I lost count of how many curtain calls there were. As the curtain began to fall for the final time, she and Roger turned to each other and embraced in tears. Dan and I, sitting together in the audience, did the same.

Denise plans to take over Roger's position as artistic director of the CBC.

I am retiring from the CBC board, since everyone agrees it would be a conflict of interest for me to be on the Board if my daughter is the AD [no one ever questioned my being on the board with her as the principal dancer; I was always amazed by that]. I am also stepping down from the Spoleto Committee in order to devote all my time to my husband, who is growing old. I want to cherish absolutely every minute I have left with him.

Dan will take my place on the CBC board. Roger will take over as Executive Director of the newly created Spoleto Foundation, which will plan events for future Festivals but will also collaborate with other arts organizations to make arts and dance education more widely available throughout the South.

As we sit around the table in this historic home, I know the wheel of life has turned for my family ... but the magic of Spoleto will continue.

The End
