The Man in the Dark

Chapter Six

Dean's family's house was a well preserved brown brick mansion with a garden on each side filled with azaleas, roses, tulips, and sunflowers. We ascend the stone steps and open the black polished door to step inside.
"Are we supposed to be here?" I ask Dean as he closes the door behind us.
"Yeah," he answers simply. "People walk through here all the time. They always keep the door unlocked."
He flicks the light on and a white double staircase connected together by a balcony with gold railing emerges in front of us. The passageway under the balcony leads into a huge living room.
"Let's cover the downstairs first. I want you to see something."
I follow Dean into the living room with its dark green carpet, mahogany wooden furniture and red velvet chaises.
"This is very beautiful," I say, stroking the cushion of one of the lounges.
"Thanks," Dean replies, almost shyly.
He jerks his head to a door on the opposite end. We emerge through that into a grand ballroom. The room is made up of nothing but pearl color marble with four pillars-one for each corner. One side of the ballroom has four big windows, lined up side by side, that looks out onto the flowered courtyard with the same red velvet chaises underneath the sills.
The wall right in front as soon as you walk in has a huge fireplace containing freshly chopped wood in it with a family portrait above, Dean's family portrait.
The picture has to have been painted recently, before they died. Dean and his brother look as they do now, maybe a year or two younger. Their mother, who is responsible for the majority of her youngest son's features is sitting in a throne-like chair. She's dressed in a strapless midnight blue dress that flares out and French kisses the floor while her husband stands right behind her, his hands clutching the back of her chair, and her two sons on either side of him-Daren on the left, Dean on the right. The father has a full goatee and piercing green eyes with chocolate hair that looks exactly like Daren's. One of his eyebrows is slightly higher than the other as if he's trying to figure you out; analyze you to see if you are worthy of being apart of his social circle. The sons hands are clasps behind their backs and instead of the messy hairdo Dean sports now, his hair is slicked back and him and his father and brother are advertising matching black trousers, shoes and suit jackets with coat tails that touched their calves. They all look serious, though if you looked closely, Mrs. Ambrose has a hint of a smile on her face as if she knows something you don't
"You want me to show you the rest of the house or do you wanna keep gawking at my mom?"
I snap out of my trance and turn to look at Dean who shoots me a teasing smile. "Sorry," I say. "It's just that....you look so much like her."
"Thanks," he replies. "She was always my favorite parent anyway."
He walks over to one of two doors on the left wall of the ballroom; the one close to the wall that holds the fireplace and portrait. He waits until I'm close enough to open the door. I don't even have to go inside to know that the dining room is nothing but red and gold. The walls-which contain individual and group pictures of the family-the tablecloth on the 26-seated table, and the cushions on the chairs are red while the plates, silver wear, candleholder, and picture frames are gold. The floor and chair frames are cherrywood.
"We always ate here even if it was just the four of us," Dean explains.
"So you guys sat close together?" I ask.
"Nope," is all he says for an answer as we head through the next door into the kitchen.
It screams 1800. Except for the gray granite countertops. That might be a new addition.
"This place is amazing so far," I say as Dean leans against the sink. "Your life must've been awesome."
Dean chuckles and shakes his head. "It wasn't actually. Come to think of it, the more money we got, the less happier we were."
I frown. "I'm sorry," I tell him.
He shrugs. "Doesn't matter anymore. But back then, it was a big deal. New York Society back then was crucial about appearance. No matter how bad you felt on the inside, you couldn't look less than perfect on the outside. That's why my parents never got a divorce."
"What do you mean?" I ask him.
"They got into an argument almost every day about something. My mom wanted the divorce but my dad wouldn't allow it because it would look bad to our friends. Especially his since she's the one that brought it up. My dad's say was final. He was the man of the house."
I shook my head. "That's crazy," I comment and he nods in agreement.
"Women didn't get that much respect back then. They had to do everything based off of their husbands. All they really were for was to make the guys' arms look good; trophies."
I fold my arms over my chest. "That's not right."
"I agree." He pauses and looks out the kitchen doorway into the ballroom. "Come here."
He grabs my hand and leads me out. He stops when we make it to the middle. He bends his left elbow my way. I dig my hand in the crook.
"Now what?" I question.
"Close your eyes."
I do as told and when I open them, the room is packed with people. A band is playing classical music on one side of the fireplace while there are more chaises lining the wall on the other side filled with girls in huge dresses that look like they weigh more than they do. I look around, it kind of seems as if the room is separated a little. The guys deep in conversation, probably about the century's politics and the ladies in their own little groups whispering and pointing at the couples dancing around us. All of them are wearing white gloves that stop just below their elbows, including me.
"Welcome to the Ambrose's Debutant Ball," Dean says.
I look over at him and he looks exactly the way he does in the family portrait.
"I didn't know guys had debutante balls," I tell him.
"They do. This one was mine. It's where I met Stephanie when it was her turn as a debutante. The Smith girls are on the market at 19 instead of 18 like everyone. Just a family tradition. Speaking of The Devil, here she is."
Dean points across the room to a girl with ash blonde hair and unusually vivid blue eyes. She's wearing a silver chained necklace with a stone that matches her eyes and a cream colored short-sleeve dress with the skirt decorated in pearls. It seems as if she's gliding when she walks over to a friend and they kiss each other on each cheek.
"That's her friend Penelope Ryan," Dean informs me. "At the time she had just moved here but her and Stephanie instantly became best friends. When you befriend someone from an old-line family back then, you get to be a debutant or debutante."
I nod in understanding. Dean knows so much.
"In a few minutes, though, we're gonna have to hide because I'll be coming in and it's bad if that Dean," he points to the door where he's supposed to emerge, "sees this Dean." He points to himself. "But until then," he holds out his hand to me, "wanna dance?"
I giggle. "I would love to," I say with formality.
We start to waltz. It's times like these where I'm happy for all those years of dance lessons so I don't look like a complete klutz.
"You look beautiful tonight," Dean compliments.
I look down at myself. I'm wearing a lilac colored dress with the straps hugging my upper arms instead of my shoulders with sliver floral print at the skirt.
"Thanks," I say. "It that real silver?"
"Yep," Dean replies proudly. "You're welcome."
I laugh and give him a kiss as we continue our dance.
A little bit later in mid waltz, Dean pulls me aside, into a darkened corner. I don't question him.
The door opens and Dean emerges into the ballroom flanked by his parents and brother. There's something about his smile that seems forced.
"You don't look so happy," I observe.
"I wasn't," Dean agrees. "I knew that I wouldn't have the choice of choosing my debutante. It would all be in my father's hands."
Mr. Ambrose whispers something in his wife's ear and she departs her family to meet with a friend. Daren spots someone from afar and walks over to join them, leaving Dean with his father. They walk over to Stephanie and Penelope.
"Good evening ladies," I hear Mr. Ambrose greet with a little bow. "My son here would like to speak with you, Ms. Smith."
Stephanie's face cracks with a grin as Penelope and Mr. Ambrose drift away.
"Ms. Smith," Dean greets half heatedly with a bow at the waist.
"Mr. Ambrose," Stephanie replies with a curtsy.
"May I have this dance?"
I knew in the younger Dean's mind that he was praying and hoping she would politely decline.
"You may."
Stephanie takes Dean's hand and they float out onto the dance floor.
"I think we should go," Dean says. I look over at him and he's watching his younger self and Stephanie with distaste. "I wanna show you the rest of the house."
I close my eyes and when I open them again, the ballroom's empty and I'm back in my jean shorts and T.
We go back to the entrance and take one of the staircases to the second floor. There are two doors behind the balcony railing and Dean tells me that they're his and Daren's rooms.
"I don't really wanna see Daren's," I tell him.
"Good," Dean replies as he opens his bedroom door.
His room is spotless and simple.
He has dark green carpet like the living room and his walls are milk white. His bed is dead center with no creases in the blanket with his walk in closet to the right and his work desk and connected bathroom to the left. He has a window above his bed like mine.
"Nice," I comment.
He then takes me to his parents room that is at the far end of the left side hallway. My eyes bulge when he opens the door. The walls are a cream color and the floor is made of the same marble as the ballroom. The bed has a gold colored blanket and pillows with a golden canopy hanging over it and is levitated by a marble platform. There's a big work desk on one side and a big vanity dresser on the other. The walk in closet is more like another bedroom.
Dean casually runs his fingers through some of his mom's dresses. He shoots me a sneaky smile.
"Wanna try one on?"
I drop my jaw at him. "Are you crazy?" I ask him. "I can't touch your mom's clothes."
"You guys are the same size," he says as if that smoothes things over. "It'll be a perfect fit. Besides, instead of throwing them out once she's already worn them once like a normal woman, she kept them, hopefully to pass them down to a granddaughter or future daughter-in-law."
I narrow my eyes at him. "Was that a hint of a future proposal?" I question suspiciously.
He averts his eyes from side to side. "Maybe."
"You're not just breaking the rules, you're trying to shatter them," I tell him.
He chuckles. "Hey, no consequences so I'm good."
I shake my head. "I still don't want to. It just seems wrong."
He sighs before picking up a scarlet red dress similar to the one I was wearing moments before, except the design was vines spreading from the stomach outward and it was in gold. And like the others, it had a big skirt. It took my breath away.
"Come on," Dean urges, coming up from behind me. "You know you want to."
***
I examine myself in the full length mirror. The gown really sets off my complexion and it makes my eyes even greener if that's even possible. Dean comes from behind and wraps his arms around my waist. He's sporting the attire he wore moments before. The right side of his mouth curls up in a smile.
"Told you it would be a perfect fit," he says.
I don't respond. I just continue to stare at myself in the mirror.