Free Looking for Me by Beth Hoffman Page B

into one another, and though I heard desperation in my voice, I couldn’t control myself.
    Miz Calhoun stopped walking and turned to face me. “Dreams are powerful, aren’t they? When I was a girl, I dreamed of becoming a prima ballerina. I was a wonderful dancer, but I lacked the one crucial ingredient you need to have at the highest level of dance: courage. Right after I lost the lead role in the most important audition of my career, I met Preston. And when he asked me to marry him, I knew it was what I wanted. But I never danced again.”
    Her lips formed a sad smile. “Not that I have any regrets, but there are days when I wonder what might have been if I’d just reached a little deeper and believed in myself more.”
    Right when I had started to wonder where this conversation was going, she said, “So you have a dream, and it certainly seems like you have the courage to go after it. But what you don’t have is the capital. Is that it?”
    “Yes, ma’am.”
    She tilted her head, and what I saw in her eyes wasn’t a wealthy woman taking pity on a farm girl. It was kindness. “Why don’t you come to my home this evening? Preston is a very clever businessman. Maybe he’ll have some ideas for you. He likes to relax with a drink before dinner. If you could come by around six o’clock, he’d talk with you then.”
    “Oh, thank you, Miz Calhoun.”
    She smiled and gave a slight shrug. “I can’t presume to know what my darling Preston will say or do. But I know he’ll listen to your ideas and give you sound advice. That much I can promise. Now, I’ve got to run. See you tonight.”

    It took me more than an hour to get dressed and fix my hair. Wanting to look mature and professional, I chose a simple black skirt and a soft white sweater with tiny pearl buttons. After several failed attempts, I managed to get my thick hair up into a stylish knot with about a hundred bobby pins and so much hair spray that I nearly asphyxiated myself.
    When I parked in front of the Calhouns’ home, I closed my eyes and tried to calm the thunderous beating of my heart. As I stepped to the sidewalk and opened the wrought-iron gate, I wondered,
Is my outfit too simple? Does it look cheap? Oh, Lord, of course it looks cheap. I bought it at a thrift shop. I should have polished my shoes one more time . . .
    Just as I rang the doorbell, several bobby pins sprang from my hair and my knot began to loosen. I tried to quickly fix it, but the door swung open and I was facing a broad-shouldered gentleman with silver hair and wire-rimmed glasses perched on an unfortunate nose.
    “Well, I’ll bet you’re Teddi,” he said, offering me his hand. “I’m Preston Calhoun. Please, come in. Lets go into my office and have a chat, shall we?”
    My stomach tightened and my hair inched down the back of my head as I followed him down the hallway and into a room lined with mahogany bookcases. The rug was Persian, and the furniture was well-worn brown leather. In the middle of the room sat a double-pedestal desk of solid burled walnut. It was nearly the size of my kitchen.
    I smoothed my fingers along its edge and said, “This is English, from the Victorian era, right?”
    “You know your antiques. This desk belonged to my great-grandfather. Please, have a seat. Would you like something to drink?”
    “No thank you. I’m fine.”
    Mr. Calhoun sat down at his desk and poured himself a drink from a crystal decanter. “My lovely wife says you have an idea for a business. So why don’t you tell me about it?”
    I couldn’t stop my knees from shaking as I explained what I wanted to do. Mr. Calhoun listened, taking notes on a yellow legal pad and asking all sorts of questions. If he noticed my hair migrating down my neck and bobby pins shooting across the room, he never revealed as much. But it was hard to ignore.
    We talked for nearly an hour, and then he leaned back in his chair. “Your ideas sound good, Teddi. Real good. You’ll have