The American Lady(46)

“How could you expose me to treatment like that!” Pandora snarled at her. “You threw me to the lions! It was torture out there!”

Wanda ducked her head low. Then she saw Marie coming down the hall. If her aunt began to call her names as well . . .

“Well that didn’t go down too well!” Marie groaned when she reached them. “Ruth is so angry she’s ready to burst, and some of the guests still look as though they’d seen a pink elephant.” She giggled.

Wanda breathed a sigh of relief. At least Marie wasn’t going to rake her over the coals.

“Thank you for the comparison!” Pandora said, sniffing.

Marie nudged her in the side. “You know very well that’s not what I meant. I just wanted to say that you’ve shocked pretty nearly everybody! If it’s any comfort, though, I liked your dance a great deal.”

“Some comfort! I felt like a Coney Island sideshow out there! The two-headed lady! The human snake! Throw a nickel in the bucket and take a look! These people don’t realize that I am one with my art, that when I dance I let them into my life. They think it’s all just something to gawk at!” She wiped the tears from her face. The black splotches were stripes down her cheeks now. “Fifth Avenue—I should have known! I’ll tell you something: from now on I’ll only dance for an audience I’ve chosen for myself, even if that means I’ll never earn a red cent!” And with that, she hurried off, her head held high.



Taken aback, Marie and Wanda watched Pandora leave while waiters scurried by with more drinks for the guests and a waltz struck up in the ballroom.

By now Harold had joined them. He cleared his throat, embarrassed.

“Don’t fret, Wanda! Pandora will calm down soon enough. As for her dance, I thought it was wonderful!”

“I noticed how much you were enjoying it, thank you very much!” Wanda spat back. But a moment later she slumped like a deflated balloon. “Oh hang it all! Now it’s going to be all my fault again. Why does everything I try my hand at have to go wrong?”

Marie sighed. “Don’t talk such nonsense, my dear. You don’t want to hear this, I know, but I could have told you right away that your mother never would have liked anything Pandora did. But what’s the point of standing here talking about it? I’ll go back in and tell Ruth that I enjoyed the performance a great deal. That will calm her down.”

“No, wait!” Wanda caught hold of Marie’s sleeve, then took a deep breath. “I really don’t want to go back into the lion’s den. Why don’t we just go down to the bar on the corner before I’m eaten alive? Come on, I’ll buy you both a drink!”

She forced a smile and then linked arms with Marie and Harold, so that they had no choice but to go with her.

Harold squeezed her hand. “I warn you, my darling, if you order a glass of that dreadful aniseed muck you like so much, I’ll give you the telling off you’re hoping to avoid from your mother!”

“Don’t worry, I’d much rather have a whiskey!” Wanda replied. In fact her throat was so dry that she wanted nothing more than a tall glass of water.

“A whiskey—listen to the girl!” Marie said. “We’ll all end up drunk, and I shudder to think what your mother will have to say about that.”

Wanda shrugged tersely. “Some things are easier to bear when you’ve had a stiff drink.”

Marie giggled. “Now you sound just like your father. That’s what he used to say when he and Ruth had squabbled.”

“Father? What do you mean?” Wanda turned to look at her, frowning. “He never touches spirits . . .”





13

“I . . . I only meant that . . .” Marie looked down the hallway. She was horrified to see that Ruth was headed straight for them with a thunderous look on her face.

“The lion has ventured from its den,” Wanda muttered. She let go of Marie’s arm. “So, what did you mean just now?”

Wanda had always thought that attack was the best form of defense, and right now she seized on Marie’s odd remark as a welcome distraction. She hoped that if she spent a little longer digging around here, perhaps the lion would forget to roar. “I can’t remember my father ever taking a drink because he’d squabbled with Mother. The two of you agree on everything, isn’t that right, Mother?”

“Would anybody like to tell me what is going on here?” Ruth asked. There was a tiny tremor beneath her right eye—a first sign that a migraine was coming on.

“Nothing at all,” Marie reassured her desperately. “Would you like to come back inside with me? I’m dying for a glass of champagne and—”