December 1973

The long procession of limousines inched forward toward the canopied entrance of Chicago's Drake Hotel, where they stopped to allow their youthful occupants to alight.

Doormen moved back and forth, escorting each new group of young arrivals from their cars to the lobby. Not by word or expression did any of the Drake doormen exhibit the slightest amusement or condescension toward the young guests arriving in custom-tailored tuxedos and formal gowns, for these were not ordinary children dressed up for a prom or a wedding reception, overawed by their surroundings and uncertain of how to behave. These were the children of Chicago's most prominent families; they were poised, confident, and the only evidence of their youth was perhaps in their ebullient enthusiasm for the night that lay ahead.

Toward the rear of the procession of chauffeur-driven automobiles, Meredith watched the other young people alight. Like herself, they were here to attend Miss Eppingham's annual dinner and dance. This evening, Miss Eppingham's students, who were all between the ages of twelve and fourteen, would be expected to demonstrate the social skills they'd acquired and polished during her six-month course—skills that they would need in order to move gracefully in the rarefied social stratum it was automatically assumed they would inhabit as adults. For that reason, all fifty of the students, properly attired in formal clothing, would pass through a receiving line tonight, be seated for a twelve-course dinner of state, and then attend the dance.

Through the windows of her car Meredith watched the cheerful, confident faces of the others as they gathered inside the lobby. She was the only one who'd arrived alone, she noted, watching as the other girls emerged in groups or arrived with "escorts"—often older brothers or cousins who'd already graduated from Miss Eppingham's course. With a sinking heart she noted the beautiful gowns the other girls were wearing, saw the sophisticated ways their hair had been swept into elaborate curls entwined with velvet ribbon or held back with jeweled barrettes.

Miss Eppingham had reserved the Grand Ballroom for tonight, and Meredith walked up the staircase from the marble lobby, her stomach twisting with nerves, her knees shaking with apprehension. At the landing, she spotted the ladies lounge and headed straight toward it. Once inside, she went over to the mirror, hoping to reassure herself about her appearance. Actually, given what Lisa had had to work with, Meredith decided she didn't look that bad. Her blond hair was parted on the right side and held back with a silk flower, then it fell straight as a stick to just above her shoulders. The flower gave her a mysterious, worldly look, she decided with more hope than conviction. Reaching into her handbag, she took out Lisa's peach lipstick and applied a bit of it. Satisfied, she reached up, unclasped the pearls, and put them into her purse, then she took off her glasses and tucked them in with the pearls. "Much better," she decided with soaring spirits. If she didn't squint, and if the lights were dim, there was a chance Parker might think she looked very nice.

Outside the Grand Ballroom the Eppingham students were waving to one another and gathering into groups, but no one waved to her or called out her name and said, "I hope we're sitting together, don't you?" It wasn't their fault, she knew. In the first place, most of the others had known each other since babyhood; their parents were friends; they'd attended one another's birthday parties. Chicago society was a large, exclusive clique, and the adult members naturally felt it incumbent upon themselves to preserve the exclusivity of the clique at the same time they ensured their children's admission to it. Meredith's father was the only dissenter to that philosophy; on the one hand, he wanted Meredith to take her rightful place in society, on the other, he did not want her corrupted by children whose parents were more lenient than he.

Meredith made it through the receiving line without difficulty, then she proceeded to the banquet tables. Since seating was indicated by engraved place cards, she surreptitiously removed her glasses from her purse and peered at each card. When she located her name at the third table, she discovered she was seated at a table with Kimberly Gerrold and Stacey Fitzhugh, two of the girls who'd been "elves" with her in the Christmas pageant. "Hello, Meredith," they chorused, looking at her with the sort of amused condescension that always made her feel clumsy and self-conscious, then they turned their attention to the boys seated between them. The third girl was Parker's younger sister, Rosemary, who nodded a disinterested greeting in Meredith's general direction and then whispered something to the boy beside her that made him laugh, his gaze darting in Meredith's direction.

Sternly repressing the uneasy conviction that Rosemary was talking about her, Meredith looked brightly around her, pretending that she was fascinated with the red and white Christmas decorations. The chair on her right was left vacant, she later discovered, due to the fact that its designated occupant had the flu, which left Meredith in the awkward position of having no dinner partner.

The meal progressed, course after course, and Meredith automatically selected the right piece of sterling flatware from the eleven pieces arrayed around her plates. Dining with this formality was routine at home, as it was for many of the other Eppingham students, so she didn't even have indecision to distract her from the awkward isolation she felt as she listened to a discussion about current movies.

"Did you see that one, Meredith?" Steven Mormont asked, belatedly adhering to Miss Eppingham's stricture about including everyone at the table in conversation.

"No—I'm afraid not." She was spared the need to say more because just then the orchestra began to play, and the dividing wall was opened up, indicating that the diners were now expected to gracefully conclude their table conversations and make their stately way into the ballroom.

Parker had promised to drop in on the dancing, and with his sister there, Meredith knew he would. Besides, his college fraternity was having a party in one of the other ballrooms, so he was in the hotel. Standing up, she smoothed her hair, made certain her tummy was tucked in, and headed for the ballroom.

For the next two hours Miss Eppingham did her duty as hostess by circulating among her guests and making certain each one had someone to talk to and dance with. Time after time, Meredith watched her dispatch some reluctant boy in Meredith's direction with orders to ask her to dance.

By eleven o'clock, most of the Eppingham crowd had broken up into small groups and the dance floor was all but deserted—owing no doubt to the outdated dance music being played by the orchestra. Meredith was one of four couples still dancing, and her partner, Stuart Whitmore, was carrying on an animated discussion about his goal of joining his father's law firm. Like Meredith, he was serious and smart, and she liked him better than any of the other boys she knew from this crowd, particularly because he'd wanted to dance with her. She was listening to Stuart, her eyes glued on the entrance to the ballroom, when Parker suddenly materialized in the doorway with three of his college friends. Her heart leapt into her throat when she saw how gorgeous he looked in his black tuxedo with his thick, sun-streaked blond hair and tanned face. Beside him, every other male in the ballroom, even the two who'd accompanied him, looked insignificant.

Noticing that Meredith had suddenly stiffened, Stuart broke off his discourse on law school requirements and glanced in the direction she was staring. "Oh— Rosemary's brother is here," he said.

"Yes, I know," Meredith replied, unaware of the dreamy tone of her voice.

Stuart heard it and grimaced. "What is it about Parker Reynolds that makes girls get all breathless and fluttery?" he demanded with wry humor. "I mean, just because he's taller, older, and six times smoother than me, why would you prefer him?"

"You shouldn't belittle yourself," Meredith said with absentminded sincerity, watching Parker stride across the ballroom for his duty dance with his sister. "You're very intelligent, and very nice."

"So are you."

"You're going to be a brilliant lawyer, just like your father."

"Would you like to go out next Saturday night?"

"What?" Meredith gasped, her gaze snapping to his face. "I mean," she hastily said, "it's nice of you to ask, but my father won't let me date until I'm sixteen."

"Thanks for letting me down easily."

"I wasn't!" Meredith replied, but then she forgot everything because one of Rosemary Reynolds's boyfriends had just cut in on Parker, and he was turning toward the ballroom doors to leave. "Excuse me, Stuart," she said a little desperately, "but I have something to give to Parker!" Unaware that she was attracting the amused notice of a great many pairs of eyes, Meredith rushed across the deserted dance floor and caught up with Parker just as he was about to leave with his friends. They gave her a curious look, as if she were a clumsy bug that had skittered into their midst, but Parker's smile was warm and real. "Hello, Meredith. Enjoying your evening?"

Meredith nodded, hoping he would remember his promise to dance with her, her spirits sinking to a new, unparalleled low when he continued to wait for her to say whatever she'd rushed over there to say. A hot flush of embarrassment stained her cheeks bright pink when she belatedly realized she was gazing at him in worshipful silence. "I—I have something to give you," she said in a shaky, horrified voice, rummaging in her purse. "I mean, my father wanted me to give you this." She pulled out the envelope with the opera tickets and birthday card, but the pearl necklace came out too and spilled on the floor. Hastily, she bent down to pick it up at the same instant Parker did and her forehead banged hard against his. "Sorry!" she burst out as he said, "Ouch!" When she lurched upright, Lisa's lipstick fell out of her open purse and Jonathan Sommers, one of Parker's friends, bent down to pick that up. "Why don't you just turn your purse upside down so we can pick everything up at once," Jonathan joked, his breath wreaking of liquor.

Horribly aware of the titters of laughter from the Eppingham students who were watching, Meredith thrust the envelope at Parker, shoved the pearls and lipstick into her purse, and turned, blinking back tears, intending to beat an ignominious retreat. Behind her, Parker finally remembered their dance. "What about the dance you promised me?" he said good-naturedly.

Meredith whirled around, her face lighting up, "Oh, that. I'd—forgotten. Do you want to? Dance, I mean?"

"It's the best offer I've had all evening," he gallantly replied, and as the musicians began to play "Bewitched, Bothered, and Bewildered," Meredith walked into Parker's arms and felt her dream become reality. Beneath her fingertips she could feel the smooth fabric of bis black tuxedo jacket and the solid hardness of his back. His cologne smelled spicy and wonderful, and he was a superb dancer. Meredith was so hopelessly overwhelmed that she spoke her thoughts aloud. "You're a wonderful dancer," she said.

"Thank you."

"And you look very nice tonight in your tuxedo."

He chuckled softly and Meredith tipped her head way back, basking in the warmth of his smile as he said, "You look very nice too."

Feeling a fierce blush heat her cheeks, she hastily looked at his shoulder. Unfortunately all the standing up

and down and tipping her head back and forth had loosened the pin holding the flower in her hair, and it slid unnoticed to hang drunkenly from its wired stem. Thinking madly for something sophisticated and witty to say, she tipped her head back and said brightly, "Are you enjoying your Christmas break?"

"Very much," he said, his gaze dipping to the vicinity of her shoulder and the fallen blossom. "And you?"

"Yes, very much," she answered, feeling incredibly gauche.

Parker's arms dropped away the instant the music ended, and with a smile, he said good-bye. Knowing she couldn't stand and stare at him while he walked away, Meredith hastily turned around and caught her reflection in a mirrored wall. She saw the silk flower hanging crazily from her hair and snatched it out, hoping that it had just that very second fallen.

Waiting in line at the coat check, she stared morosely at the flower in her fingers, horribly afraid it had been dangling on her shoulder the entire time she danced with Parker. She glanced at the girl standing beside her, and as if the other girl read her thoughts, she nodded. "Yep. It was hanging down while you danced with him."

"I was afraid of that."

The other girl grinned sympathetically, and Meredith remembered her name—Brooke. Brooke Morrison. Meredith had always thought she seemed nice. "Where are you going to school next year?" Brooke asked.

"Bensonhurst, in Vermont," Meredith told her.

"Bensonhurst?" Brooke repeated, wrinkling her nose. "It's in the middle of nowhere and it's as regimented as a prison. My grandmother went to Bensonhurst."

"So did mine," Meredith replied with a depressed sigh, wishing her father weren't so insistent on sending her there.

Lisa and Mrs. Ellis were slumped in chairs in Meredith's room when Meredith opened the door. "Well?" Lisa asked, jumping up. "How was it?"

"Wonderful," Meredith said with a grimace, "if you don't count the fact that everything fell out of my purse when I gave Parker the birthday card. Or that I babbled to him about how terrific he looked and danced." She flopped down in the chair Lisa had just vacated and it belatedly struck her that the chair she was sitting in had been moved. In fact, her entire bedroom had been rearranged.

"Well, what do you think?" Lisa asked with a sassy grin as Meredith slowly looked around, her face reflecting surprise and pleasure. Besides rearranging the furniture, Lisa had dismantled the vase of silk flowers and now bunches of those flowers were pinned to the tie-backs on Meredith's canopied bed. Green plants had been purloined from other parts of the house and the austere room had acquired a feminine, garden atmosphere. "Lisa, you're amazing!"

"True." She grinned. "Mrs. Ellis helped."

"I," Mrs. Ellis disagreed, "only provided the plants. Lisa did everything else. I hope your father doesn't object," she added uneasily, standing up to leave.

When she was gone, Lisa said, "I was sort of hoping your father would look in here. I mean, I had this great little speech all prepared. Want to hear it?"

Meredith returned her grin and nodded.

Positively oozing good breeding and impeccable diction, Lisa made her speech: "Good evening, Mr. Bancroft. I'm Meredith's friend, Lisa Pontini. I plan to become an interior designer, and I was practicing up here. I do hope you don't object, sir?"

She did it so perfectly that Meredith laughed, then she said, "I didn't know you plan to be an interior designer."

Lisa sent her a derisive look. "I'll be lucky if I get to finish high school, let alone go to college and study interior design. We don't have the money for college." In an awed voice she added, "Mrs. Ellis told me your father is the Bancroft of Bancroft & Company. Is he away on a trip or something?"

"No, he's at a dinner meeting with the board of directors," Meredith answered, and because she assumed Lisa would be as fascinated with the corporate functioning of Bancroft & Company as she was, she continued, "The agenda is really exciting. Two of the directors think Bancroft's ought to expand into other cities. The controller says it's fiscally irresponsible, but the merchandising executives all insist that the added buying power we'd have would increase our overall profits."

"That's all mumbo-jumbo to me," Lisa said, her attention on a big schefflera in the corner of the room. She moved it a few feet forward, and the effect of the simple change was quite startling.

"Where are you going to high school?" Meredith asked, admiring her transformed bedroom and thinking how unjust it was that Lisa couldn't go to college and make the most of her talents.

"Kemmerling," Lisa answered.

Meredith winced. She passed Kemmerling on her way to St. Stephen's. St. Stephen's was old, but immaculately well-kept, Kemmerling was a big, ugly, sprawling public school and the students looked very shabby and tough. Her father had repeatedly stressed the idea that excellent educations were obtained at excellent schools. Long after Lisa had fallen asleep, an idea was taking shape in Meredith's mind, and she planned her strategy more carefully than she'd ever planned anything, with the exception of her imaginary dates with Parker.