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“Doing fine,” I lie then continue, “Business is smooth sailing.”
“Good!” the woman nods unnaturally. I’m pretty sure she doesn’t like me. “Oh, Mrs. Ritz is here!”
I turn around to follow Ana with my gaze, only to see Mrs. Ritz arm in arm with Joyce on one side and my sister on the other.
Both Joyce and Jane are wearing vintage dresses that can only be loaners from Mrs. Ritz. Jane is wearing a black tube dress with exposed shoulders, and Joyce is wearing a form fitting light green satin dress that lights up her figure in a way I wasn’t expecting.
I’ve only ever seen her in casual clothes before, but this dress gives my imagination much more to work with. It also makes her green eyes shine brighter than ever.
“Hello, young ladies,” I clear my throat and in my best charmer voice, I say, “Are you supposed to be out this late?”
“Oh, stop being a bullshitter, Logan. Your attempt at smooth talking doesn’t work on me,” Mrs. Ritz says, but I know it’s just tough love.
I look at Joyce and Anna, and they’re already captivated by each other. “Surprised to see you here,” I tell Joyce.
She says humbly, “I was surprised to be invited, but Mrs. Ritz wanted the company.”
I shake my head, amused, “Mrs. Ritz can hire any company she wants. If she brought you, it’s because she thinks you’re special.”
“I truly do,” Mrs. Ritz rubs her arm then lets her go. “If you’ll excuse me, I’ll go mingle a little.”
She moves to talk with Leslie. Since Jane already vanished into the crowd, it’s just Joyce, Anna, and me left alone in the middle of the ballroom.
“So,” Joyce starts, looking around. “This is a ball?”
I snicker. “Doesn’t look like much, does it? Just rich people flaunting their wealth.”
“And what else happens?” she asks, smiling and genuinely interested, despite my lack of tact.
“Why are you always so happy?” I ask, confused.
“Aunt Jane!” Anna yells out, startling me. Jane immediately shows up and Anna asks her to help her find food that isn’t gross.
Laughing, Jane takes her away.
“I’m happy because I’m happy, Mr. Bardin,” Joyce says, shrugging. “If I weren’t happy, I wouldn’t be able to fight for life.”
A waiter passes with champagne flutes; I get two, one for me, the other for my companion.
“And what do you mean when you say, ‘fight for life’?” I ask, sounding more cynical than I wanted.
Joyce nods and says with conviction, “Fight for a better life. Work. Study. Take care of my loved ones. Everyone who needs me, needs me fighting. And if I were unhappy, I would not be able to do it.”
Now I nod too, annoyed by her common sense, but impressed all the same. “Makes sense. But I don’t see the need to be happy about it.”
I see her blink profusely, lashes batting like the wings of a butterfly. “You don’t consider yourself happy, Mr. Bardin?” she asks with concern.
I then realize the terrible thing I just suggested but what’s even worse is the fact that it is true. Not wanting to lie, I sigh then say, “No. I don’t consider myself a happy person, Joyce.”
“And what would it take to make you happy?” she asks with such sweetness my blood sugar goes up.
“Umm… Time travel?” I say, taking a sip of champagne.
She sips her drink too, and I can see how much she loves the small things, like the champagne bubbles touching her nose.
Finally, she says, her voice so soothing it makes me antsy, “Unfortunately, time travel doesn’t exist, Mr. Bardin, but I hope as time goes on, you find more peace and happiness.”
At that moment, Mrs. Ritz waves to get Joyce’s attention, and she leaves my side to comply with her wishes. Now wandering alone, I make my way to the garden to drink my champagne and think about the wise words that came from someone as young as my daughter's nanny.
