The American Lady(45)

As the music struck up, Wanda congratulated herself on killing two birds with one stone; she had done her bit to make Marie’s party a night to remember, and she had helped her dance teacher out of a hole.

Pandora came into the room wearing a shimmering silver gown. Or rather: she was just there, all of a sudden, so quiet on her bare feet that nobody had heard her come in. The guests had been told that there was to be a dance recital and greeted her with polite applause but without great interest. They were well fed from the eight-course banquet, and they had had their fill of art as well. Hardly a week went by when there wasn’t some performance or recital or soiree.

Pandora bowed in front of Ruth’s table. Then she removed two hairpins with a theatrical gesture, shook her hair free, smiled beatifically, and began to dance.

“Doesn’t she look beautiful?” Wanda whispered to Marie with something approaching maternal pride. “Like a bird of paradise!”

“She does indeed, but I don’t think she’s wearing a corset underneath that gown. Or even a slip,” Marie replied, grinning. “Does she think that’s how we do it in Europe?”

Now Wanda noticed as well; every time the glittering gown swung open she could see Pandora’s legs, all the way to her thighs. This would mean trouble. And there was worse to come: Was she imagining things, or had she seen a nipple?

Wanda glanced over to where her mother sat, but Ruth’s expression revealed nothing. Either she didn’t find Pandora’s outfit so scandalous after all, or she was making an effort not to show her dismay.

The strains of the orchestra wafted through the room and Pandora swayed gently in time with the music. Wanda watched the other guests for their reaction. All eyes were on the dance floor now, the conversation had subsided, and cigars smoldered unattended in the ashtrays. Even Harold, who just a moment before had been absorbed in discussing financial matters with Steven, was staring dead ahead.

Wanda relaxed a little. Everything was fine. She didn’t want any scandal or uproar. Not today.



Pandora danced as though in a trance. Soon the instruments could no longer keep up with her wild movements as she swung her legs ecstatically and her breasts bounced beneath the gown. The music sounded tame by comparison. But then, who was listening to the music by now?

Harold let out a short but shrill whistle. Wanda was horrified to hear some of the other men do the same.

“Is this really supposed to be a musical portrait of a river? It looks more like the Niagara Falls!” He reached for Wanda’s hand and his fingers were hot and sweaty.

Angry, Wanda snatched her hand away. Whenever Pandora came near her table she tried to signal to her. Slower! Tone it down a little! Dear God in Heaven, help us please!

She suddenly had the feeling that she was watching an obscenity, but she wasn’t sure exactly whose behavior was obscene—the dancer’s, or the guests’, who were gazing upon her with such lust in their eyes. Wanda felt a knot in her stomach that pressed up against her lungs. She found it hard to breathe.

By now Pandora had danced herself into a frenzy. It didn’t seem as if she noticed the audience at all—not the lust on the men’s faces or the expressions of utter shock on the ladies in the front row. And she didn’t seem to see Ruth sitting there, stone-faced.

Pandora stopped dancing as suddenly as she had started. Then she nodded vaguely toward the audience and left the ballroom without so much as a bow or a curtsy.

The applause that followed was scattered and distracted, though Marie and Wanda did their best to keep it going. Most of the guests were looking over at Ruth and Steven as if to ask, What do we do now?

Ruth held out her champagne glass to Steven with a look of serene indifference on her face.

“Darling, I think that the waiter is neglecting us dreadfully. Would you be so good as to pour me another glass?”

The whole crowd seemed to exhale at once. They silently agreed to behave as though the dance performance had never even happened. Here and there guests discreetly wiped the sweat from their brows or fanned their cheeks.

Wanda couldn’t stay in her seat any longer. She ran out of the room after Pandora.

It didn’t take long to find her.

Pandora was leaning against the wall, trembling. She had a hand up to her chest as though her heart were giving her trouble. She had been crying, and her makeup had run so that there were dark splotches around her eyes. When she saw Wanda coming toward her she turned abruptly away.

“Pandora . . .” Wanda put a hand on her friend’s shoulder, at a loss. “I’m sorry if people didn’t . . . react the way your audiences usually do. My parents’ friends are a little—”