Free Deaths of Jocasta by J. M. Redmann Page B

lights reflecting off the white she was wearing, making her eyes a deep and mysterious blue. But we were only friends and I was afraid to say it.
    “What was Danny talking about?” she abruptly asked. “In college.”
    “Oh, that,” I replied, embarrassed. “Youthful indiscretions.”
    “Why didn’t I have a youth like that?” she said, the slight smile playing on her lips. “Good old Cordelia. Always discreet. Doomed to discretion.”
    “Don’t say that,” I replied to the disparaging tone in her voice.
    “Dance with me,” she said suddenly. Then, “Will you?” as if afraid of refusal. “I’ve always wanted to whirl across the ballroom floor like I saw you doing earlier.”
    I took a tentative step toward her.
    “Didn’t you dance with Alex?” I asked to cover the silence.
    “Oh, Alex. I’ve known Alex forever. I think we were born in the same hospital. No, that’s probably apocryphal. But definitely grade school. Besides that, Alex isn’t…” and she stopped.
    “Isn’t?”
    “Tall, dark, and…handsome,” she said, looking at me, then quickly away.
    I took another step toward her.
    “You’re very kind,” I said.
    “Not kind. Observant,” she answered.
    She stepped in to me, putting one hand tentatively on my shoulder.
    I put my hand on her waist.
    “Wait,” she said, pulling away. “Let me get rid of this.” She put the champagne bottle down a few feet away. Then she came back, putting her hand on my shoulder with the same tentativeness, as if I might break or back away at any moment.
    I took her left hand in mine.
    “I’ll have to hum,” I said. “Can you stand it?”
    “If you can stand my dancing.”
    “Fair enough.”
    I started softly singing the only waltz that came to mind. I wasn’t even sure what it was.
    “I know why I’ve never spun around a ballroom,” she said after our first few awkward steps. “I’m not a very good dancer.” She stumbled, as if to prove her point. “Particularly when I’ve had too much champagne,” she added. “I don’t think I’m sober.” She stopped. “It’s okay. I need a few more lessons. Or something.” She started to pull away.
    No, don’t, I wanted to yell. Don’t move away from me, don’t shatter this slight embrace.
    “Don’t give up yet,” I said, not releasing her, keeping her in our tentative waltz, pulling her a little off balance so she couldn’t let go of me. She faltered again, but this time held on to me. We had stopped dancing, but she didn’t move away.
    “I know I’m clumsy, but I’m not usually this bad,” she said, leaning her head against my shoulder. “The champagne.”
    I heard voices from the lawn.
    “People will talk,” I said, aware that we were visible, my white shirt, her white outfit, framed by the white columns of the gazebo. “I’m used to it. People always talk about me. But you might not want…” I trailed off. Your blonde to see us like this. “To be so indiscreet.”
    “I don’t think,” she replied, “that I’ve ever done anything indiscreet in my life. Maybe I want to be the one they talk about tomorrow. I want them to say, wasn’t that Cordelia James with that tall, dark woman out in the gazebo?”
    “No, it was only Micky Knight,” I answered, to keep talking, because if I stopped talking I would…I wouldn’t stop. Cordelia wasn’t sober. What she wanted now, she would regret in the morning. “Anyone can have her,” I added, a hint of rue creeping in.
    “Don’t say that.”
    “Ask Danny. She’ll tell you. Anyone. Don’t ruin your reputation with a…slut.”
    “The slut and the wallflower. What a combination.” Then she looked at me, lifting her head away from my shoulder, her arms lightened their embrace, ready to pull back. “Don’t degrade yourself this way. Just say no. That’s all you need to do.”
    She pulled away, not really moving, but retreating into herself. Her eyes grayer, less open. I tightened my embrace, wanting to bring her back,