Over dinner John went down the
list of the next day's planned events.
“And somewhere in between sightseeing and eating, you have a couple of
appointments, Stani.
Marius and Manny,
in fact.”
“Really?
That's a bother.
I'm sorry, darling, I completely overlooked
the fact that I have to be prepared to leave in another week.”
“Who are Marius and Manny
exactly?”
“Marius is my hairdresser, and
believe me, I would not want to stand him up.
And Manny Weinberg is my tailor.
New tails for the tour, plus a new overcoat for those brutal German
winters.
I suppose you could come along
if you'd like.”
She seemed to consider for a
moment.
“There wouldn't happen to be a
shoe store near either of these stops, would there?”
“A shoe store?”
Stani turned to John.
“Any idea, John?”
“I'm sure we can find a shoe
store somewhere in Manhattan if we look hard enough.”
“Now you're just making fun of
me.
But seriously, I need to find some
shoes.”
Giving her hand a squeeze,
Stani smiled.
“Darling girl, please stop
worrying about it.
I don't mind a bit,
honestly.”
With a suspicious grin, John
said, “Is there some sort of foot problem?”
“No, there's some sort of
height problem.
I'm too tall.
I need to find something with lower heels, so
I can stop towering over Stani.”
At the
little quiver of her lower lip, Stani held up a hand in submission.
“We'll find a shoe store, love.
And you can buy all the shoes you like.
Just please stop being unhappy.
I told you, you’re perfect, just the way you
are.”
He was rewarded with a
grateful smile.
“Still, some lower heels
would make me feel less conspicuous.”
Unable to contain himself any
longer, John laughed out loud.
“Emily
girl, if you think you can hang about with this lad and be inconspicuous,
you'll be sorely disappointed.
Now can
we finish these chops and get going?
I
have a pretty good idea tonight will be a good lesson in just how
conspicuous
you'll be.”
John was right.
Everywhere she looked there was someone
watching them.
Faces she recognized from
magazines and record jackets smiled and waved across the aisles.
In the lobby during intermission, Stani was
accosted by several autograph seekers and a number of apparently old friends.
She struggled to catch names as her hand was
repeatedly shaken; and when they returned to their seats, she told Stani she
couldn't imagine why he’d ever called himself a loner.
“Everybody here knows
you.
And obviously likes you.
Good grief, where do you go when you really
want to be alone?”
She tried to keep a
smile on her face as she whispered to him.
Several rows down, an elderly couple had turned to stare at them, the
lady raising her opera glasses for a better look.
“I stay at home.
I do apologize, love.
I didn't expect quite so much attention.
I think at least part of it has to do with
you.
I told you they'd be curious.
Are we still just friends, or shall I give
you a kiss and really set them buzzing?”
“Don't you dare!
It was bad enough you called me 'darling
girl' in front of that man at the bar.
Who was he anyway?
I swear he
looked right down my dress.”
“Oh, you mean the tall, dark
and handsome chap with the martini?
Just
some Broadway type.
He's a notorious
womanizer, I hear.
At least he has good
taste.
Now relax; if you don't encourage
them, they'll get bored and look at someone else.
Are you enjoying the opera, at least?”
“Oh, yes.
It's wonderful!
And I'll admit all the attention was a little
bit exciting.”
The lights went down and
the conductor came back to the podium.
“Stani?” she whispered.
“Yes, love?”
“I'm so glad you made me come
to New York.
I think I love your world.”
“I'm glad too.
I think I love you.”
And right there in the middle of an opera
house full of people, as the orchestra began to play, he kissed her, a long,
tender kiss that she accepted without any hesitation.
John pointed out during the ride home that if
they really wanted to be inconspicuous, they might try leaving that sort of
thing to dark corners and the back seats of cars.
Chapter Fifty-three
They had been to the
hairdresser's, where Emily's own mane was appraised by the very frank Marius,
who advised her to consider a shorter style.
At Stani's howl of protest, he had laughed and agreed that her hair was
spectacular, but it must cause her neck to ache from the weight.
As a parting gift, he’d given her a pearl
studded comb, suggesting that she pull her hair up on one side for drama.
“A little old Hollywood
glamor, my dear.
You can pull it off you
know.
And for goodness sake, do
something with your nails.
You have
beautiful hands, but anyone would think you'd been washing dishes with
them.”
Stani had herded her into the
car, bursting with apologies.
“It's really okay, Stani.
He's only telling the truth.
I do have dishpan hands.
Maybe I'll get a manicure in the hotel salon.
Would that be too extravagant?”
“Not at all, do whatever you
like.
But don't pay too much attention
to Marius.
He has a very high opinion of
himself.
As I suppose he should.
He did tame my beastly mop.
Peg took me to him, and if you could have
seen me then, you'd believe he really is a magician.
Their next stop was at the little shop
of Manny Weinberg, who came from his workroom to greet Stani with open
arms.
As he fitted the new tailcoat,
Emily thought he seemed to be chiding Stani for something, muttering “Much
better, much better,” as he pinned and marked the coat.
While they waited for the overcoat to be
brought from the workroom, she asked him what the little tailor was talking
about.
Stani blushed.
“Manny was unhappy with me because he
said I had built up my shoulders a bit too much.
I started working out and lifting weights
during therapy, and he said my shoulders were ruining the lines of his coats.”
Emily’s eyes sparkled.
“I knew you didn't get those muscles playing
the violin.”
“I've given up the weights, too much
trouble to lug around.
But I do still
exercise some, sit-ups and pushups.
I
like the way it releases tension when I'm traveling.
At any rate, Manny seems happier now.
He can be a bit of a tyrant about his 'lines', you know.”
W
hen the
new overcoat was tried on, Manny stood back and eyed him critically.
“There's something different about you, my
young friend.
You wear the coat . .
.what should I say, more joyously?
That's it!
You look happy.
I've never seen you look happy before.”
With an appraising squint,
he
turned to Emily, his gaze going up and down before meeting her eyes.
“Ah, and here is the reason.
This gorgeous girl belongs to you?”
“She likes me, Manny.
Reason enough to be happy, wouldn't you say?”
His eyes twinkling, Manny put
a finger alongside his nose.
“She
doesn't like you, Stani.
This girl is in
love.”
Back in the car, Emily
snuggled close to him.
“He's a very wise
man, you know.
I liked him.
And he obviously likes you.
He told me when you were in the dressing room
that he had been so worried about you after the accident, but now he thinks
you're going to be fine.”
“He's always been very
kind.
You're having fun, aren't you,
even running errands with me.”
“I like meeting these people
who've known you for a long time.
It's
just like you meeting Martha Jean and Mr. Harris.
Like family.”
Stani laughed.
“Okay, maybe Manny's like family, but I
wouldn't go so far with Marius.
But I'm
glad you liked them.
I told you my world
isn't so different from yours.
Just a
lot more traffic.”
As if to prove his
point, John slammed on the brakes, barely missing the rear of a cab as it
swerved into the lane in front of him.
Shouting a colorful oath, he blasted the car's horn.
Stani pulled her close, as she let out a
little squeak and covered her eyes.
“Sorry, darling.
Our manners
aren't quite as nice here, either.”
Burying her head on his chest,
she laughed.
“That's okay.
It gives you a good excuse to hold on to me.”
“As if I needed one.”
The visit to a shoe store
recommended by Peg Shannon had proved to be a series of lessons for Emily.
After explaining her situation to the very
solicitous clerk, she’d been taken past the displays of high-fashion shoes,
with their equally high heels, to view a sweet little selection of handmade slippers.
Favored by more mature, but equally stylish,
customers, and not a few dancers, the shoes were all designed along the lines
of a slightly square-toed ballet slipper.
But given the variety of colors and materials, from basic black to
copper satin trimmed in turquoise rhinestones, not to mention fine leather in every
imaginable color, the clerk assured her, these darlings were the answer to her
dilemma.
As she waited for her initial
selection to be brought from the stock room, Emily searched for a price
sticker, but Stani provided the information that a shop of this caliber never
displayed prices.
“Never mind, love.
If you like them, and they make you happy,
the price won't matter.”
The shoes, soft
black leather with pencil thin straps that crisscrossed her foot, fit like a
glove.
When they stood together, she was
shoulder to shoulder with Stani, and the smile in his eyes told her he was as
pleased as she was.
She tried on several more
styles, deciding her favorites were the black and a pair in gold moiré with
little tassels on the toe.
Notwithstanding Stani's earlier comment, she asked the price.
At the answer, she gasped and snatched her
hand away from the shoes as if they’d suddenly grown fangs.
“Oh, no.
I don't like them that much!”
The clerk, obviously offended,
began to pack up the pairs of slippers scattered on the floor.
“Emily, buy the shoes.
As many pairs as you like, love.
My treat.”
Holding up a cautionary hand, he indicated to the clerk that they needed
a minute alone.
“No, Stani.
It would be downright sinful to pay so much
for a little pair of slippers.
I can't!”
“Do you like the shoes?”
“Well, of course.
They're lovely, but. . .”
“Do you want the shoes?”
He took her by the arms, staring into her
eyes with a hint of a smile on his lips.
“Stani. . .”
“Answer the question, love.”
“Yes, but wants are not
needs.”
“I think you need the
shoes.
If they put to rest the issue of
that extra inch or two that seems to bother you so much,
we
need the
shoes.
Now you just have to decide which
ones you like.
I think at least four
pair, to start with.”
He looked over at
the stack of shoe boxes.
“I liked the
bronze, with the silver band on the toe, and that wine leather seemed to be a
color I've seen you wear.
But you
choose.
And if you can't decide on four,
get more.
But for heaven's sake,
darling,” he lowered his voice to a near whisper, “don't make that poor woman
put all these shoes back without making a sale.”