 |
| Meux Home | Fresno, Calif. |
Dorianne secretly loathed parities. She was a bit lazy at heart and holding conversation, discussing pleasantries and expressing feigned interest in other people's humdrum lives was physically and mentally exhausting to her. She did, however, crave the attention given to her. The mayor's mansion was large and furnished fashionably. She had settled herself regally in a large settee in the corner of the parlor where she could enjoy her drink and observe the various guests and eavesdrop on conversations. Although not the hostess, she fancied herself queen of the evening, as she was easily the most beautiful woman in attendance. Men brought her drinks and complimented her, to which she smiled ingratiatingly and trilled her pleasure at their attentions.
The sun was setting, basking the room in the golden tones of twilight. The lively conversation of the late afternoon settled into a dull drone as the guests lounged in the parlor and hall awaiting the announcement of dinner. Dorianne found herself lulled by boring conversation and wine; dinner would be a grateful relief and distraction.
"Charles Latton!" boomed a voice, followed quickly by a hearty laugh. Dorianne was visibly jerked from her reverie and nearly upset her drink. She set it aside with an ungraceful 'clunk' and stared intently at the man now entering the parlor. He did not look like the dusty and dirty farmer from earlier that morning. He was dressed impeccably in a dark grey suit; his jet black hair was brushed back and curled slightly at his temples. She thought him very handsome and his distant imperial-ness attracted her. Still, she despised him for making her look like a fool.
His clear grey eyes settled on her and she returned his gaze. The barest hint of a mocking grin pulled at the corner of his mouth and Dorianne's gaze hardened in affront. He turned and entered the dining room as the mayor announced dinner was served.
As she found her seat, she was relieved to find herself seated between Chauncey and a crew member whose name she had forgotten. She smiled and thanked Chauncey as he pulled her chair out for her. As she tucked into the table she glanced up and saw Charles Latton sitting directly opposite her with his long hands folded arrogantly under his chin while gazing impartially at her. She looked away and pretended to fuss with her dress, but she could still feel his eyes on her.
"We are honored tonight to have so many delightful guests," said the mayor inaugurally. Conversation ceased as attention turned to the portly man standing at the head of the table. "We are very pleased to have amongst us Mr. Phillip Chaucey, notable Hollywood director--" The mayor paused to allow for polite applause. "--and Miss Dorianne Lark, starlette and reigning queen of the Silver Screen." The mayor, obviously quite taken with Dorianne, blushed and bowed slightly in her direction. Dorianne smiled demurely and flashed a glance at Latton, who remained as impassive as ever.
"Thank you, thank you, Mr. Mayor and good people of Fresno," said Chauncey. He raised his wine glass. "I propose a toast." The mayor swelled proudly, flattered by the attention. "A toast to the beautiful city of Fresno. May it remain the crown jewel of California!"
The guests applauded and conversation resumed as the maids brought out the meal from the kitchen. The mayor extolled the meal as the ideal culmination of local produce and the love of creating healthy, gourmet foods. Dorianne found her palate pleased--the meal was superb (more description later). However, she found her appetite increasingly ruined by Latton's piercing gaze from across the table. His blatant staring was beginning to offend her. She looked over at Chauncey for help, but found him absorbed in gluttony.
"The lamb is superb, Mayor. I commend your wife." Latton's voice was deep and fluid. He smiled at the mayor's wife and her cheeks tinged pink as she waved his compliment away.
"You're too kind, Mr. Latton," she said.
"I trust we can expect peaches as this year's donation to the Women's Association Picnic?" suggested the Mayor, leaning in with a good-natured smile at Latton. Latton chuckled politely and nodded.
"Of course," he said. "I know how much the ladies of Fresno covet my peaches." The mayor's wife blushed even deeper and several of the ladies at the table listening to the conversation nodded and twittered with whispered smiles to each other. Dorianne watched the interplay in shock. What a sneaky little charmer! Her dislike of the man deepened, but she could see why the Women's Association liked the company of Mr. Charles Latton.
"Oh, Miss Lark, how rude of me," exclaimed the mayor, sitting up a little straighter in his chair. "Let me introduce you to Mr. Latton, the most genteel businessman in Fresno." Dorianne ignored Latton's gaze and smiled at the Mayor.
"Thank you, sir, but I've already met Mr. Latton."
"Really? When?"
"Just this morning," she said, picking up her wine and taking a sip. She glanced at Latton and smiled in greeting. "Mr. Latton interrupted our filming and shot at several of our crew."
Latton shifted slightly in his seat and opened his mouth to speak, but Dorianne wouldn't allow him to defend himself just yet.
"Yes, imagine the picture of this man, clad in dusty coveralls, a straw hat and toting a double gauge shot gun." She laughed. "A far cry from the 'genteel businessman' you mentioned earlier." Latton's lips twitched in frustration and the Mayor chuckled.
"Really, Latton, you should know better than to shoot at Hollywood folk! Such a rude welcome for our special guests."
"They trespassed onto my land without my permission and upset my workers."
The Mayor took a large mouthful of pork and chewed. "Ah, well, it couldn't be helped," he said after swallowing. "When inspiration strikes, one must act!" he exclaimed and gestured at Chauncey, who nodded vehemently.
"We artists cannot help ourselves," Chauncey said with a grin. "But thank you for not shooting us, Mr. Latton."
"It appears you haven't made a good impression on our guests, Charles."
Latton pressed his lips together in a tight line to force himself to remain quiet. If there was one thing Latton disliked it was being made to look the fool. And as much as he hated social engagements such as these, they were a chance for him to stroke his ego. His position was enviable by many in Fresno and the rich acquaintances he held who thought of themselves as his friends reflected well upon him and secured his high social standing within the small community.
He disliked the visitors from the south; they were loud and brassy like the sprawling wasteland of a city they hailed from. And the woman who sat opposite him only cemented his belief that these people were the reflection of the materialism and self-obsession brought by wealth and fame. Yet, she was beautiful and sensual and he was, after all, a man. He felt a strong attraction to her, and he hated himself for it.
The rest of the dinner passed slowly; Latton purposely focused his conversation to the two people on either side of him: Mr. Dick Meyer, the proprietor of Farrell Grocery and Mrs. Henry Powell, widow to the late Judge Powell and acting president of the Women's Association.
Dorianne studied him furtively. He seemed engaged in his conversations, but the dullness in his eyes betrayed his boredom. Yet, his conversation partners did not seem to notice his inattentiveness and spoke animatedly with him. He laughed and nodded and concurred in all the right places and at the correct times. He was so polite it was almost offensive. Dorianne was amazed how prideful and self-serving the man was, despite how fiercely loved he was by everyone in the room.
"Do you need something, Miss Lark?" Lost in her thoughts she had not noticed Latton had turned his attention to her, but she recovered quickly.
"No," she said. "I enjoyed listening to your involvement with the Women's Association here. I find it unusual for a man to take interest in such things."
"What things?" he asked.
"Oh, silly womanly things. Why, I can think of only one reason a man like yourself would be involved with anything like that."
"Please explain," he said, his voice taking a sharp edge.
"It's quite obvious you're unmarried," she said, allowing her voice to carry over the drone of softer dinner conversation. "No doubt you intend to charm these women with generous donations in return for favors of some kind." Voices faltered as shocked and concerned gazes drifted toward Charles Latton. Her gaze narrowed and her lips twisted in an alluring smile. She was pleased to see his jaw clench firmly and his impassive grey gaze suddenly light with rage. The Mayor blinked, his fork lifted halfway to his mouth.
"Miss Lark," he began, "I'm afraid you've assessed Charles' character in error. He--"
"Do not speak to me of favors, Miss Lark," Latton interrupted, his voice icy. "You, who whored your body and soul to gain wealth and fame."
Silence descended on the dining room. Dorianne lifted her chin bravely as hot tears of anger pricked in her eyes. Chauncey touched her arm and murmured her name in comfort, but she had gone numb from the shock of Latton's words. In a haze of embarrassment and offense, she removed the linen napkin from her lap and placed in primly on the plate in front of her.
"Miss Lark, p-please--" spluttered the Mayor.
"Thank you for opening your home to me, Mr. Mayor. Excuse me."
She turned and left the room as her tears broke free and trailed down her cheeks. She fled the house, ignoring the surprised faces of the maids and the sudden explosion of voices from the dining room.
© Elise Aydelotte, 2012
No comments:
Post a Comment