New York, Summer, 1921 . Your new neighbor across the lake is the mysterious bachelor , Dutch. His reputation for excess and extravagant parties precede him in the prohibition era. But after an invitation to one of his soirees, you discover your...
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Even at this distance, you felt that irresistible pull to him. A yearning that overcame you to be close to him, to breathe him in, to touch his face. That face that showed up in your dreams after he vanished from your life all those years ago. So many things left unsaid. So many questions unanswered. So many sleepless nights you waited for him to return. And waited. But he never returned and your tears eventually dried and your heart learned to heal. And you moved on.
Now, as sure as the stars littered the sky, there stood Tom. He leaned against the stone pillar, holding his glass in front of him, engaged in conversation with a gentleman. His thick curls were slicked back from his handsome face, shining against the party lights. His suit draped perfectly over his form, fitted and pressed, like he stepped out of a shop window. And his shoes were top drawer, shined to a glossy finish.
He was dashing and debonair. He was back.
"Here you go, Vi," Harrison said, handing you a champagne glass filled to the brim. It was the height of prohibition, but a party like this would have an abundance of booze. Your host spared no expense, serving the contraband in only the finest crystal.
You took a sip with a trembling hand. Your cousin noticed.
"Violet, are you quite well?" Harrison asked with concern. You lowered your glass with a forced smile and gave a little laugh.
"Oh applesauce, Harrison. I'm fine," you said brushing him off.
"Where did Richard go?" Harrison asked of your fiance. You sighed.
"I'm sure where ever you find the gin and ladies, you'll find Richard," you said bitterly into your glass. You sipped again, letting the drink warm you, although there was no need. The August air was hot and sticky. It was a brutal summer in New York, leaving many people to escape to the beaches for some sort of relief. Richard insisted you move to his lakehouse with him, away from the humid confines of your Manhattan residence. It was fine as long as Harrison was with you. He moved from England two years ago to take a job in finance. You two grew very attached and a compromise was reached that Harrison had to come too. Compromises normally did not work with Richard, but he hadn't touched a lick of liquor when you discussed it, so swaying him was achievable.
Soon after settling down at the waterfront residence, Harrison told you about meeting the neighbor from across the lake. Harrison was cycling along the lakefront that morning when he nearly careened into an oncoming Rolls Royce Roadster. The Roadster swerved and skidded and missed Harrison by an inch of his life. The driver apologetically offered that Harrison come back to his house and clean up. Harrison did so and soon was in the most lavish mansion he had ever seen.
"Vi, he lives in this palace all by himself!" Harrison exclaimed excitedly.
Pretty soon, Harrison and this Dutch fellow became fast friends. Harrison entranced you with tales about Dutch's fortune and lifestyle, but nothing of substance. Harrison couldn't tell you what Dutch did for living, where he was from, or how he came into so much money. He was a mystery of wealth and class and Harrison was completely captivated by him.
You started to feel just as intrigued. Your days were spent cooped up at the house, with Harrison as first, but the more time he spent with Dutch, the lonelier and more envious you became of him. Richard wouldn't hear of you leaving the residence to visit anyone, let alone a strange man who just happens to share waterfront property. You challenged him about that one night. Unfortunately for you, it was after his evening gin and you woke up the next morning with a giant bruise on your cheek, forced to hide away from everybody until it healed.
Then one night, Harrison told you and Richard about a party Dutch was hosting. He extended an invitation to you and Richard as well. You begged Richard to go, doing your absolute best to coerce him with pouts and kisses. He was apprehensive at first, but you eventually won him over with the promise to make it worth his while that night. Hopefully, he would be a bit gentler than he was with you last time.
When you told Harrison the good news, he was delighted.
"Fantastic! Dutch can't wait to meet you. I told him I would have to persuade my cousin Violet to come, he just beamed at me and said, 'Haz, if she's anywhere near as beautiful her namesake, I insist that she attend just to brighten up the place.' Then he said something about violets being his favorite," Harrison mused.
You smiled at that. Tom used to say something similar, except he always said-
"Violets are the bee's knees," Harrison said with he snap of his fingers.
Your eyes shot to his. He took the words right out of your mouth.
"That's what he said," Harrison nodded with a smile.
You stared at him a bit longer, lost in a memory of Tom, something you hadn't thought about in ages but felt just like yesterday. A moment between you two, his hand against your cheek, his lips so close to yours, whispering, "I love my Violet, the most beautiful blossom in all the garden - the bee's knees."
Then he kissed you earnestly like he kissed you every time, as if it were to be the last.
"Vi? What's the matter? You've grown pale," Harrison asked, taking your hand. You pulled yourself away from the memory and gave his hand a pat.
"I think I'll rest a bit," you said dreamily and excused yourself for a long cry of loss and regret in your bedroom.
By the time the party came, you put the memory out of your mind. It was too painful to revisit those times with Tom. It did you no good to pine over a ghost.
But he was no ghost was he, because there he was, flesh and blood. Same handsome smile, same soft lips, same childish glint in his eye. How could this be?
"Ah, there he is!" Harrison waved at Tom but he couldn't see him through the crowd.
You hushed Harrison and he turned to you confused.
"That's Dutch! Come on, I'll introduce you," he grabbed your hand but you pulled away in a panic. What if he changed? What if he's not the same Tom? Then an even greater fear took hold of you.
What if he doesn't remember me?
"Vi, come on. Don't be a spoilsport," Harrison said, leading you through the partygoers. Women were dressed to the nines in the latest fashions from Paris: drop waisted garbs with beading and fringe. Their lips were stained with crimson and cheeks rouged with powder. The men amounted to something equally en vogue in three-pieced suits adorned with brightly colored kerchiefs and glittering cufflinks. Their pristinely groomed mustaches twitched with conversation and laughter.
Harrison dragged you closer and your heart hammered harder in your chest. You saw Tom clearer now, unobstructed by guests and revelry. His features came into view. You saw the dimple in his cheek, that sharp jawline that was home to many kisses from you.
Then something caught your eye and you gasped, halting Harrison in his tracks.
"What is it?" he asked with a frown as he studied your face for an answer.
Against the smooth, black fabric of Tom's lapel, stood a single flower, tucked in like a boutonniere. It was small and unassuming and seemed a little out of place for such a fine suit. But there is was, in full bloom, proudly on display.
