“Swallow that fish!” Harry Watson shouted, hoisting his foaming mug of near-beer.
Ted’s arm was slung casually around Harry’s shoulders. “Watch out,” he warned jovially. “Arnie’s in the hot seat now, but it’ll be your turn soon.”
As Ted had predicted, Harry was the next new pledge to be initiated. Lifting his goldfish with a dramatic flourish, Harry tossed back his head, popped the fish like an aspirin, and chased it with a gulp from his mug. Ted and the other Gamma Delta Iotas cheered.
Seizing Harry’s hand, Ted pumped it vigorously. “Congratulations! Now we’re brothers as well as roommates.”
“This is swell,” Harry agreed. “There’ll be no stopping us now, ol’ chum!”
The initiation completed, Harry and the other new fraternity members were taught the secret Gamma Delta Iota handshake and presented with traditional gold-and-blue striped neckties embroidered with the Gamma Delt crest. Then it was time to prepare for the party—the Gamma Delts had invited dates for dinner and dancing.
As the autumn sun set in a blaze of purple and orange, Ted took charge of the grills set up in the courtyard of the fraternity house. The music had already started, and through the open French doors he could see a bunch of kids working up an appetite by dancing a vigorous Charleston. The band was hot—Ted himself had scouted it out at a new local jazz club, the Back Room, and booked it for that night’s party.
Tapping his foot, Ted ladled out cups of hot cider from a simmering kettle. From across the yard, he caught Harry’s eye and wiggled his brows suggestively. His arm firmly around the slender waist of his new girl, a pretty coed named Stella, Harry sent Ted a broad wink in return. Ted laughed. Harry really was a card! They’d had a lot of fun together since they had met the previous summer on a road trip to the US lawn-tennis championships in Forest Hills, New York. Harry’s father, Taylor Watson, was a big name in the automobile business, but Harry himself was just a regular fellow—not a snob at all. He was always up for an adventure, always ready to fire up his sporty Watson coupe and help Ted chase down the latest jazz sounds in nearby Cleveland or Akron.
Ted had struck a healthy balance at Rosse. He was still writing to put himself through school; he had a byline with a Cleveland paper now, as well as with his hometown Chicago Post. But he was also enjoying his coursework, learning more about both jazz and writing by taking music and journalism classes. He exchanged letters with Tina and knew her singing career had taken off. He and his mother had reconciled during his Christmas break the previous year. Ted had insisted that she keep all of the money her father had left them; after all she’d done for him, he wanted her to be financially secure for life. And things were going well for him. He was confident he’d always be able to earn a decent living.
“Hey, Teddy,” Stella purred as she sashayed up with Harry. “Tell me I look like a million dollars. This unappreciative stiff”—she elbowed Harry, who doubled over in mock pain—“hasn’t paid me one stingy compliment all night.”
Ted looked Stella up and down. She wore a deep-green beaded flapper dress that set off her big emerald eyes, and a feather-and-jewel band circled her short auburn curls. Stella was a knockout. Ted executed an exaggerated bow. “Stella, you are ravishing,” he said smoothly. Taking her hand, he lifted it to his lips. “None of the other girls here can hold a candle to you. You take my breath away, and if Harry here weren’t my nearest and dearest friend, I wouldn’t trust myself.”
Harry shook his head, grinning. “What a bunch of hokum.”
Stella’s cherry-red lips curved in a smile. “I like it. You should take notes, Harry!”
Ted handed Stella a cup of hot cider. She eyed him speculatively through the steam. “What I can’t understand is why a suave fella like you doesn’t have a date for the first Gamma Delt bash of the season.”
“There’s only one Stella Rivers on campus,” joked Ted, “and Harry Watson snapped her up before I got a chance to.”
Stella tossed her reddish curls and laughed. “Now that is a bunch of hokum,” she said. “C’mon, Harry, give me the scoop on why Ted Wakefield, star reporter, doesn’t have a date. You have a tragic romantic past, right? There was a girl, a striking brunette. No, a platinum blonde! Her father was a Milwaukee beer baron, but the family company went bust because of Prohibition, and when you found her, she was selling cigarettes on a seedy Chicago sidewalk. You fell for her hard and wanted to lift her out of the gutter, but she was too proud.” Stella giggled at her own silliness. “Am I close?”
Ted smiled but didn’t comment. A tragic romantic past... that wasn’t exactly it. But there were things about himself that he hadn’t told any of his college friends, even Harry. Ted had distinctly mixed feelings about his family history. With time, he had come to sympathize with his mother. But he couldn’t help feeling a lingering sense of shame about his illegitimate birth. As a result, he’d decided to keep the secret of his parentage to himself. Which meant that while Ted and Harry were practically constant companions, Harry didn’t know nearly as much about Ted as Ted knew about Harry. It was safer, Ted often thought, not to let anyone get too close. Maybe that was why he didn’t encourage the attentions of the many attractive Rosse coeds who made it clear they’d like to get to know him better.
Getting no response from Ted, Stella turned to Harry. He lifted his shoulders. “Don’t look at me. I think the man’s just choosy.” He pulled her close. “Just like me.”
With another wink at Ted, Harry sauntered off toward the dance floor with his date. Ted flipped the first round of well-done steaks onto a platter and threw on the next batch. He looked in at the dancers, suddenly feeling a bit wistful. He couldn’t help being envious of Harry, not because Harry had Stella, but because Harry had confidence. Everything about Harry was top-drawer. Harry was born to go to a college like Rosse, to join a fraternity like Gamma Delta Iota. Whereas Ted, despite his social and academic success, was always secretly conscious that he was somehow different.
“Nice serve!” Ted shouted after Harry aced him. “Keep playing like this, and you’ll be top seed on the team before the season’s over!”
It was a crisp autumn day and the two, dressed in V-neck sweaters and baggy white trousers, were playing a brisk game of lawn tennis. Harry had won a spot on the college team, and Ted was improving rapidly thanks to his friend’s tips.
Harry served again. This time Ted returned the ball with a slicing backhand.
“Not bad yourself!” Harry charged to the net. A rapid volley ensued, with Ted finally taking the point by lobbing the ball over Harry’s head to the baseline.
Harry dropped his racket and grabbed a towel that was draped over the net. He swabbed his forehead. “Let’s call it a tie, old chum. If I let you run me around like this for much longer, I won’t cut much of a figure on the dance floor with Stella tonight. And I’d make sure to inform her that she should hold you personally responsible for my inadequacy!”
Ted chuckled. “There’s a compelling threat.”
Together they strolled to the corner of the court where they’d left their jackets. Harry slipped his on, then patted the pocket. “Just remembered—I have something to show you,” he said to Ted. He pulled out an envelope. “It’s a letter from Samantha. I’ve told you about my gorgeous sixteen-year-old twin sisters, Samantha and Amanda, haven’t I?”
“Only about a thousand times!”
Harry grinned. “Well, they’re simply the most fabulous girls in the world. And if you think I talk your ear off about them, you should hear what I’ve told them about you.”
“What have you told them?”
“Nothing but the facts. And I sent a snapshot of the two of us. My sister returned the favor. Here, take a look at this.” Harry removed a photograph from the envelope and handed it to Ted. “Tell me she won’t be a movie star someday!”
Ted whistled. The girl in the picture was breathtakingly beautiful: a jazzy-looking, icy-blonde flapper with a pouting, sensuous smile and a playful, inviting sparkle in her eyes. If she looked this good in black and white, what would she be like in person? “Is this Samantha or Amanda?” he asked.
“That’s Sam. Amanda still wears her hair long,” replied Harry. “Sam hasn’t been able to talk her into bobbing it yet.”
Ted turned over the snapshot. On the back, Samantha had written a message—a message to him. She’d signed it Kisses from Samantha in handwriting that was as rich and curvy as she was. “She really wants to meet me?” Ted said in disbelief.
“She’s dying to,” confirmed Harry. “And she’s commanded me to twist your arm until you promise to stop in Detroit for a visit with my family on your way home to Chicago for the holidays.”
“You don’t have to twist my arm.” Ted returned to studying the girl in the photo. “I’d drive a few miles out of my way to meet Miss Samantha Watson!”
“And her equally charming twin sister, Amanda,” Harry reminded him.
“Double the reason for a detour.”
“You and Samantha are bound to hit it off.” Harry was clearly pleased at the prospect of a liaison between his best friend and his younger sister. “She loves jazz and she can dance all night.”
“Sounds like the girl of my dreams.” Ted waved the photo. “Mind if I keep this?”
“She’s probably hoping it’ll end up under your pillow.”
Ted pocketed the photo, intrigued. There was something about Samantha Watson... Suddenly, he had a strong, exciting intuition. The beautiful girl in the photograph was going to have a big impact on his life.
Harry stumbled off to the bedroom, undressing as he went. He tossed his scarf on a chair, his raccoon coat on the couch, his necktie over the bedroom door. Still standing in the study room of their apartment, Ted went to the window and opened it a crack, letting the brisk February air flood the room. It had been another late night at the Back Room, and he was ready to hit the sack himself. But there was some mail lying on his desk that he’d been waiting for a private moment to read.
As soon as he heard Harry snoring, Ted sat down at his desk and pulled an envelope from under a textbook. Lifting it to his nose, he closed his eyes and breathed deeply of the delicate, unforgettable fragrance the writer had dabbed on the stationery. Amanda...
Ted didn’t open the letter right away. Instead, he gazed out the window. The snow had turned to rain, as if the season couldn’t decide whether it was spring yet or still winter. It didn’t matter to Ted, who was reveling in the warmth and immediacy of his memories. In his mind, it was December again, and the moonlight was bright on the new snow and on Amanda’s angelically beautiful face.
Sometimes Ted couldn’t believe his good fortune. Harry’s sister Samantha was as much fun as Harry had promised. While visiting the Watsons that past December, Ted had enjoyed dancing up a storm with her and talking to her about Fitzgerald’s novels and motion picture stars like Charlie Chaplin and Clara Bow. But it wasn’t Samantha Ted had fallen for during his holiday visit. To his surprise, it was her twin sister, Amanda, who had turned out to be the girl of his dreams.
What was it about Amanda? A smile touched Ted’s lips as he pictured her in his mind. Amanda equaled Samantha in beauty, if not in flash and dazzle; her hair was like spun gold, her eyes a deep blue-green like a mountain pool, her creamy skin as soft and inviting as velvet. But more attractive were Amanda’s inner qualities: she was warm, gentle, poetic. Ted recalled the evening a few days before Christmas when he, Harry, and the twins had gone to a local roadhouse to hear some jazz. At the Watsons’ home later that night, as the rest of the household slept, Ted had wandered downstairs to find Amanda curled up on the sofa in her robe, her silky hair loose about her shoulders, writing a poem by the light of the moon. She had been shy about her poetry, but at his urging, she’d read some of it to him. Then it had been as if they were spellbound. Somehow they had found themselves in each other’s arms, sharing a deep, long, magical kiss.
In that moment, an incredibly deep connection had been forged between them. Both felt as if they’d known each other for much, much longer than a single weekend. The bond had been strengthened through their correspondence. Since Christmas, Ted had lived for Amanda’s letters. Each time she wrote, she was more open about her feelings for him, more passionate.
Eagerly, Ted broke the seal on her latest letter. He read it quickly, then reread it more slowly, savoring each word, the grace of her handwriting, the perfume of the stationery.
Amanda had good news. I finally told Sam about our correspondence, she’d written. She was a little miffed, but for the most part she’s taking it well.
Because the whole Watson family had assumed that Ted was interested in Samantha—Samantha herself included— Ted and Amanda had been conducting their romance in secret. Ted hadn’t told Harry that he exchanged letters with Amanda, and Amanda made sure she was the first one to the mailbox each afternoon. Ted had pressed Amanda to come clean with Samantha, feeling it was best to be honest. Amanda had been hesitant, afraid to hurt her twin’s feelings.
But all’s well that ends well! Ted thought, relieved. He felt good knowing that he and Amanda were doing the right thing by Samantha, of whom he was genuinely fond. Now there was only one smudge on Ted’s conscience.
As he put pen to paper to begin a letter to Amanda, Ted frowned. There was one aspect of that evening at the jazz club in Detroit that he didn’t take pleasure or pride in recalling: the fact that he’d been untruthful with Harry and his family about his background. C. C. Earl, a jazz musician Ted knew well, had been playing at the roadhouse. At one point, Earl had joined Ted’s party and recounted the hard-luck story Ted had once told the musician when he was trying to persuade Earl to grant him an interview. It had been a nice piece of fiction, featuring a grandfather who’d struck it rich during the gold rush and a dwindling family fortune that forced Ted to make a living by his pen. Amanda and Samantha had found the story terribly romantic and they admired Ted greatly for working his way through school, so Ted had let them believe it.
Later, Ted had considered telling Harry and Harry’s family who he really was. But somehow, in the luxurious setting of the Watsons’ elegant home, Ted had lost his nerve. The Watsons were high society. They were too well-bred ever to say so, but might they not think less of him if they knew his true family history?
No. Not Amanda, Ted thought. Though she was wealthy, she cared for him because of who he was inside. He could trust her. Someday he’d open up to her, find a way to tell her the truth.
In the meantime, he could only count the days until he was with her again—that, and fill page after page with heartfelt expressions of love. Dear Amanda, Ted wrote rapidly. The night is cold, but I am warm with dreams of you...
