The Property of a Lady - Elizabeth Adler [99]
“Oh, Azaylee!” She gasped, pulling her head in, embarrassed. “Now everybody knows I’m going out with O’Hara.”
She flung one last anxious glance in the mirror and, taking Azaylee’s hand, she hurried down the stairs.
“It’s a grand morning, Missie,” O’Hara called. “I thought it would be nice to take a little drive.”
All the heads at the windows swiveled from O’Hara to Missie as she walked quickly to the car. He lifted Azaylee into the little bucket seat at the back and held the door open for her courteously.
“Bye, Rosa,” Azaylee cried, waving excitedly at the Perelmans hanging out their second-floor window, but Missie refused to look. She knew everybody on Rivington Street was watching interestedly as O’Hara put the car into gear and they chugged noisily down the street.
“I just bought her yesterday,” O’Hara said proudly, “and you are the first to ride in her. Well? What do you think?”
“It’s beautiful, O’Hara,” Azaylee cried, bouncing excitedly in her seat and waving at the passersby.
“It’s lovely,” Missie said, hanging on to her hat as he took the car around another bend, “but I might have preferred to make a quieter exit from Rivington Street.”
O’Hara roared with laughter. “I promised you a proper day out, didn’t I?” he said, glancing at her out of the corner of his eye. “And I’m a man of me word, Missie O’Bryan.”
As they turned the corner into Orchard Street she laughed; there was something appealing about O’Hara’s simple pleasure in the car and the sunny day and his treat. He was a man out to please and she sank back into the leather seat, allowing herself to relax and enjoy the ride.
Caged in his brass eyrie, Zev watched the long yellow car drive past; O’Hara was honking the horn and looking at Missie like he owned her, and Missie was laughing, looking like springtime in a big violet hat trimmed with pink roses. Jealousy burned like a flame in his heart. “Ganzer macher!” he shouted bitterly as they disappeared. “Big shot!”
“Where are we going?” Missie asked as the car bounced over the bridge, heading toward New Jersey’s hills on the opposite side of the Hudson River.
“Wait and see,” he said mysteriously. But there was a grin on his big, handsome face that told her he knew she would like it.
They drove along the banks of the Hudson for several miles admiring the view until they came to a large brick building set back from the road behind some trees. The sign said “Giorgio’s Italian Restaurant,” and Missie’s eyes widened as she noticed the white damask tablecloths and matching napkins, the gleaming silver and crystal and the flowers on every table.
“I’m not grand enough for this,” she whispered, embarrassed by her old gray coat and shabby blouse and skirt.
“You’re grand enough for anywhere,” O’Hara replied loudly, “and a lot better than any of the other women here.”
He removed his new hat as the headwaiter shook his hand, greeting him like an old friend and showing them to a table near the window. “Good morning, Mr. O’Hara,” he said, “and how are you today, sir?”
“Good, good,” O’Hara boomed, grinning as a second waiter arrived bearing a champagne bucket. He nodded approvingly as he showed him the bottle and Missie’s eyes widened.
“Champagne?” she asked, amazed.
“What else?” he said, reaching across and taking her hand. “On such a great day.”
She blushed as the waiters smiled knowingly. O’Hara was giving them the wrong impression. They probably thought they were lovers or something….
She stared at the foaming glass, remembering the last time she had had champagne. It had been her eighteenth birthday and Misha had poured it for her, and they had gazed into each other’s eyes, knowing it might be for the last time….
“Penny for your thoughts?” O’Hara said, but she shook her head, picking up her glass and toasting