Tomorrow and Tomorrow and Tomorrow

I Owe You One-Part One

January 29-30, 1921

The music was lovely, but Clara was barely aware of it. Nor was she aware of the fact that time was passing. At the moment, her awareness centered on the feel of Richard's hand on her back. Every time he readjusted it slightly, it felt like electricity danced across the surface of her skin.

One of the truths that Clara accepted about her life was that she was not a person capable of merely living in the moment. As she stepped into a bath and enjoyed sliding into warm soapy water, her brain was making a to-do list for the day, thinking about the book she was reading, or worrying she had forgotten something. It was the same when she swam in the ocean, or walked down the Boardwalk, or saw a play. No matter what she did, her mind busied itself by wandering down multiple different paths during all her activities, usually finding new things to worry about, or new mistakes to castigate herself over.

It was why at night she tried to read or write until it was impossible to keep her eyes open. Only complete exhaustion allowed her brain to stop listing  everything she did wrong, to stop counting every mistake she had ever made, or thinking of all the things she could have done better long enough that she could succumb to sleep.

It was why she loved writing. When she wrote, her mind pushed the various pathways together so that all her thoughts flowed in the same direction, and she could just be in the moment.

The only other time that happened was when she was with Richard. It was as if he so filled her senses that her brain focused on the details of the time together, on the complex jumble of feelings he inspired, and her thinking slowed so that she could just be in the moment. Even if what she usually was in the moment was a shivery mess.

Right now, maybe even more so than usual. It was a rare time since he stopped guarding her when they were just...alone. She wasn't worried about managing Jimmy, or her father, or anyone else. She knew they were all out there, waiting to burst this little bubble that cocooned them from the reality that lay outside of this moment. Still, at this particular moment, the world seemed to be folding in on itself so that it was just his hand on her back, his other hand in hers, the nearness of him as they spun under the carefully constructed fake moonlight. She smelled the scent of his soap, of his aftershave, and behind it all, of his skin. He was looking directly at her-which was unusual enough—and combined with the overwhelming nearness of him caused butterflies to rush up from her stomach to her throat so quickly she felt almost dizzy from the accompanying breathlessness.

Finally, she braved meeting Richard's gaze directly. He looked frightened (a feeling she was highly empathetic with at the moment), but there was something else there. She hoped it was the something else in her own gaze. It felt like he was drawing her slightly closer to him. Clara thought she was close enough that she could almost feel the heat of his body behind his clothes. His eye seemed to be sweeping between her eyes and her mouth, and Clara tilted her head back by instinct. She watched him clear his throat, and his mouth twitched as they stop dancing. Her heart was pounding so hard in her chest she was surprised that he, that the orchestra somewhere in their pit, could not hear it. Nervous energy swept through her, and she was trying to still herself enough that she could lean into him.

"Hey, there you are, Dollface," Eli's voice echoed around the empty Babette's.

The breath Clara hadn't realized she was holding came out in a rush, and she lept back, partly out of surprise and partly out of fear that if she didn't, the presence of Eli and June Thompson weren't going to stop her from finishing what she was about to begin.

Clara realized her uncle and aunt were staring at them, and that June looked vaguely scandalized. Damn, she thought, it must already be ten o'clock. Only Uncle Eli would be gauche enough to show up precisely on time. "Richard," she managed to get out, completely aware her voice was uneven, "I have to go greet the guests."