Southern Comfort - Fern Michaels [94]
Elizabeth walked the six blocks to The Pony Keg, her feet killing her in the three-dollar pumps she wore, but unfortunately, Aunt Evelyn hadn’t had any decent shoes to go with the dress. She found Marlene seated at their favorite booth by the plate-glass window. She’d taken the liberty of ordering them each a cherry lime Coke and their favorite pepperoni and mushroom pizza. Elizabeth sat down in the seat across from Marlene and kicked off her pumps beneath the table, where no one was likely to see her bare feet.
She took a sip of her Coke. “So, want to tell me what’s so special about tonight’s party?” Elizabeth asked.
Marlene was Elizabeth’s complete opposite. Elizabeth was quite elegant in the looks department. Long blond hair, a figure that would put Sophia Loren’s to shame, and clear blue eyes that always seemed to sparkle no matter what. Marlene, on the other hand, was short, a tad on the plump side, and had thick, black wiry hair, which she ironed once a week in order to straighten.
“Oh my God, Liz, don’t tell me you haven’t heard!”
Elizabeth smiled. Marlene was the typical Italian girl. Loud.
“I haven’t, but I know you’re about to fill me in.”
“This could very well be my last chance to snag a husband, you know? There are men from Princeton and Yale attending. Do you know what this means? I could meet and marry a scholar, maybe even a doctor or a lawyer! I think tonight is going to change my life forever.”
Elizabeth smiled at her dearest friend’s enthusiasm. “Then I wish you the best. Now, I for one am starving, so let’s eat.”
They spent the next hour eating and talking, anything to kill time. The party started at eight o’clock. Marlene said they would look juvenile and desperate if they got there early. When the appropriate time arrived, they hailed a taxi and headed to the Chi Phi fraternity house.
Thurman continued, “That was where Elizabeth and I met. She was the most beautiful woman at the party. I was taken with her the moment I laid eyes on her.”
Jacob asked, “What does this have to do with anything?”
“Just listen,” Elizabeth said.
The room was overflowing with well-dressed men and women. Elizabeth looked at her secondhand dress and decided it could rival anyone else’s. While she knew this was trivial, it mattered to her. She wasn’t just the girl at the lunch counter or the waitress who served pizza and beer; nor was she just a book bender. Elizabeth was quite sophisticated in her own way. She’d never been taught any of the practiced social graces; for her, it seemed to come naturally. She decided her dress was perfect, and she planned to enjoy the evening.
Marlene got lost in the crowd in her constant search for husband material, so Elizabeth wandered throughout the downstairs, stopping when she came to a room that was filled with wall-to-wall books. She skimmed the titles, saw several of her favorite authors. She was about to remove Hemingway’s For Whom the Bell Tolls, one of her all-time favorites, when a hand stopped her. She yanked her hand back, then looked up into the bluest eyes she’d ever seen.
“No touching the books,” the man said to her, smiling, “without introducing yourself first.”
Elizabeth laughed. “And here I was thinking I was about to make a terrible faux pas. I’m Elizabeth Waldie.” She held out her hand. When he clasped it in his strong, lean hand, she was instantly smitten, knowing she’d just met a true gentleman.
“I’m Thurman Tyler.”
Elizabeth looked at their hands, still clasped together. “It’s very nice to meet you, Mr. Tyler.”
“You’re a Hemingway fan, I see?”
He’d noticed the book she’d been about to remove from the shelf.
“I am.”
“This is one of his best,” Thurman said.
“Yes, it is, but there are those who think—”
“Thurman, Thurman, Thurman, you sly son of a bitch! It’s not like you to have a piece of tail lined up so early in the evening! You plan on sharing?”
Elizabeth was mortified,