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Holly Grace scowled into her beer glass, but otherwise remained silent.
“Let's go to the bathroom so we can talk,” Francesca whispered, and when Holly Grace didn't respond, she added more forcefully, “Right now.”
Holly Grace gave her a rebellious look that resembled Teddy at his worst. “I'm not going anywhere with you. I'm still mad at you for not telling me the truth about Teddy.” She turned to Dallie. “Dance with me, baby.”
Dallie had been regarding them both with interest. Now he unwound himself from his chair and looped his arm over Holly Grace's shoulders as she stood up. “Sure, honey.”
The two of them began to walk away, but Gerry took a step forward, blocking their path. “Isn't it interesting the way they grab on to each other?” he said to Francesca. “It's the most fascinating case of arrested development I've ever seen.”
“You go ahead and dance, Holly Grace,” Francesca said quietly, “but while you're doing it, think about the fact that I might need you right now just as much as Dallie does.”
For a moment Holly Grace hesitated, but then she turned into Dallie's arms and together they moved out onto the dance floor.
At that moment, one of the patrons of the Roustabout came up to ask Francesca for her autograph, and before long she was surrounded by fans. She chatted with them while inwardly she was filled with frustration. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Gerry talking to a buxom young thing at the bar. Holly Grace danced past with Dallie, the two of them moving together like one single, graceful body, their casual intimacy so absolute they seemed to shut out the rest of the world. Her cheeks began to ache from smiling. She signed more autographs and acknowledged more compliments, but the patrons of the Roustabout refused to let her go. They were accustomed to having the star of “China Colt” in their midst, but seeing the glamorous Francesca Day was something else entirely. It wasn't long before she spotted Holly Grace slipping out the back door by herself. A hand touched her from behind.
“Sorry, folks, but Francie promised me this dance. You still remember the two-step, honey?”
Francesca turned toward Dallie and, after a moment's hesitation, went into his arms. He caught her against him, and she had the unsettling feeling that she'd been pitched back ten years to the time when this man had formed the center of her world.
“Damn, it feels funny to be dancing with somebody who's wearing a dress,” he said. “You got shoulder pads in that jacket?”
His tone was soft, gentle with amusement. It felt so good to be close to him. Much too good.
“Don't you let Holly Grace hurt your feelings,” he said quietly. “She just needs some time.”
Dallie's sympathy, under the circumstances, surprised her. She managed to reply, “Her friendship means a lot to me.”
“If you ask me, the way that old commie lover has taken advantage of her is bothering her more than anything.”
Francesca realized that Dallie didn't understand the true nature of the trouble between Holly Grace and Gerry, and she decided it wasn't her place to enlighten him.
“Sooner or later, she'll come around,” he went on. “And I know she'd appreciate it if you'd be there waiting for her. Now, how 'bout you stop worrying about Holly Grace and concentrate on the music so we can get down to some serious dancing?”
Francesca tried to oblige, but she was so aware of him that serious dancing was beyond her. The music slowed into a romantic country ballad. His jaw brushed the top of her head.
“You look awful pretty tonight, Francie.”
His voice held a trace of huskiness that unnerved her. He drew her infinitesimally closer. “You're such a tiny little thing. I forgot how little you are.”
Don't charm me, she wanted to plead as she felt the warmth of his body seep through into her own. Don't be sweet and sexy and make me forget everything that's standing between us. She had the disconcerting sense that the sounds around them were fading, the music growing still, the other voices disappearing so that it seemed as if the two of them were alone on the dance floor.
He pulled her closer and their rhythm subtly changed, no longer quite a dance but something closer to an embrace. His body felt hard and solid against hers, and she tried to summon the energy to fight her attraction to him. “Let's— let's sit down now.”
“All right.”
But instead of letting her go, he tucked their clasped hands between their bodies. His other hand slipped under her jacket so that only the thin silk of her dress separated her skin from his touch. Somehow her cheek seemed to find his shoulder. She leaned into it as if she had come home. Drawing in her breath, she shut her eyes and drifted with him.
“Francie,” he whispered into her hair, “we're going to have to do something about this.”
She thought about pretending that she didn't understand what he meant, but at that moment coquetry was beyond her. “It's—it's just a simple chemical attraction. If we ignore it, it'll go away.”
He pulled her closer. “You sure about that?”
“Absolutely.” She hoped he didn't hear the slight quaver in her voice. She was suddenly frightened, and she found herself saying, “Gracious, Dallie, this has happened to me hundreds of times before. Thousands. I'm sure it's happened to you, too.”
“Yeah,” he said flatly. “Thousands of times.” Abruptly he stopped moving and dropped his arms. “Listen, Francie, if it's all the same to you, I don't feel too much like dancing anymore.”
“Fine.” She gave him her best cocktail party smile and busied her hands by straightening the front of her jacket. “That's fine with me.”
