The Life She Wanted: A Novel(26)
Harley seemed about to add something else. But he stopped talking and finished his drink instead.
“I know what you mean,” Pandora said to fill the silence.
As they stood there taking in the crowd, she allowed herself to imagine designing gowns for the women at the party. They’d come to her boutique in Hyde Park or to her private atelier in Manhattan. She’d provide a little sitting area in front of the dressing room so customers could rest and drink tea when they got tired. Once a month, Pandora would hold a fashion show that was invitation only. The women wouldn’t need to travel to Paris anymore. Pandora Carmichael’s dresses were the only ones they would wear.
But she had tried to sell her dresses by word of mouth, and she had failed. She felt the pain deep in her chest. Harley was very good looking, and he seemed interested in her. She recognized something similar in him. A drive to achieve his goals despite the obstacles standing in his way. A new thought settled over her, as soft and luxurious as the sable cape Maude Van Luyen wore to the opera. Perhaps she would see Harley again.
“There’s nothing like doing the thing you’re passionate about,” Pandora agreed, letting the image dissolve.
Harley set down his cup next to the punch bowl.
“I don’t have a dinner partner yet. Would you join me?”
“I’d love to.”
He nodded as if something else, something more important, had been decided between them.
“My mother has the best taste,” he commented. “She’s never wrong.”
“What do you mean?” Pandora inquired.
“She told me that she met you in the library. She said you were by far the most interesting girl at the party,” he reflected. “She forgot to add something. You’re also the loveliest.”
Pandora was seated at one end of the dinner table next to Harley. Milton Enright sat on her other side at the head of the table, and Adele, resplendent in a white straight tabard-style dress and diamond tiara, sat across from her.
Lillian couldn’t stop glaring at Pandora. She was obviously jealous.
Besides the fact that Pandora was in the bosom of the Enright family, Harley was arguably the most handsome man in the room. His blond hair looked almost white under the chandeliers, and his eyes were the same green as the emeralds on his cuff links.
“Adele tells me your father is Willie Carmichael,” Milton said to Pandora after the soup was served. “We saw him play at Wimbledon years ago; it was the highlight of our trip.”
Milton Enright was an older version of Harley, but with salt-and-pepper hair. He was the kind of man that commanded any room. Pandora could imagine him closing business deals at the bar in the Metropolitan Club, his name on a plaque as one of the founding members.
“I’ve always been envious of athletes’ talent, but I admire them at the same time. Athletes have to work hard for their success,” he continued. “Lou Gehrig prides himself on never missing a baseball practice since he was at Columbia.”
Pandora noticed Harley wince. He looked down at his plate and concentrated on his soup.
“My father is the Van Luyens’ tennis instructor now,” Pandora said to Milton. “He still practices every day. He’s getting older and he wants to keep up with his students.”
“Nothing wrong with being a tennis instructor,” Milton replied. “My grandparents emigrated to America from Ireland when my father was three. They couldn’t afford to send him to school, so he got a paper route. He taught himself to read by reading the newspaper every night. He started the bank with money from his paper route.
“At his retirement dinner, he looked out at the sea of faces in the ballroom of the Plaza Hotel and said he was grateful for his years at the bank, but he still missed the paper route. There’s nothing like ending the day with a pocketful of coins and a hunger in your stomach.”
Pandora wanted to reply, but she was afraid of hurting Harley’s feelings. Even though Milton was talking to her, she guessed he was addressing Harley.
“There are other ways to work up an appetite,” Harley said sharply. “And I know plenty of actors who practice their lines for ten hours a day. You can’t learn Shakespeare by reading it once.”
“No one works harder than Harley at his schoolwork,” Adele cut in as if she was used to being the referee between her husband and son. She changed the topic. “Pandora is interested in fashion. She wants to be a fashion designer.”
Milton studied Pandora thoughtfully.
“I don’t know anything about women’s fashions except that Adele looks beautiful in everything she wears,” Milton said. “There’s nothing wrong with women having hobbies, as long as home and family come first.”
Pandora flinched inwardly, but she didn’t say anything. Harley caught her eye, and in that moment, she knew that he was on her side. Milton was of the older generation; he wouldn’t believe in women having careers.
The rest of the dinner passed more easily. Archie was seated in the middle of the table, in between two pretty girls. Pandora had to laugh. The girls kept interrupting each other, trying to get Archie’s attention. The entrée was cranberry-orange roasted duckling with creamed spinach and duchess potatoes. For dessert they had lemon-filled coconut cake and vanilla ice cream.
After Milton and Harley had a few glasses of wine, they both relaxed. Pandora wondered if it was always like this between father and son. A push and pull like a playground game of tug-of-war and then a truce. At least Milton seemed to care about Harley, and he was obviously in love with his wife. He hung on Adele’s every word.