asked hastily, 'Is Mrs. P. here?”
Surprisingly, Denise's partner answered.
“Mrs. Pendergast! In this crowd! Do you think she got an invite, Denny?' he asked mockingly.
“Of course she did,' Denise answered in a slightly angry tone. 'She told me she'd rather put her feet up. I think her sister-in-law was coming over and they were going to watch their tapes of 'The Golden Girls' and have a glass or two of Kahlua. A big night,' she finished on a lighter note.
The music stopped and Dr. Hubbard walked up to the band leader and took the microphone.
“Would you take your seats now, friends? They're going to be serving dinner and you're also going to have to hear from me.”
The crowd moved immediately to the round tables, neither prospect being an unpleasant one, it appeared.
Faith and Tom followed Denise. She still had not introduced them to the man with whom she was dancing, nor did he seem to be seated at her table.
Someone who obviously knew Hubbard House, Faith noted. Could it be Donald Hubbard? But Donald was in his mid to late thirties, and this man was much younger. Besides, there was something about him that suggested a profession other than medicine. She realized what it was. He was tan—and this was the wrong time of year for those doctors who frequented the course or courts to have one. Then she remembered Charmaine had recently come back from a cruise. Perhaps her husband had gone with her.
Faith sat down, and a waiter brought a steaming bowl of what she saw from the menu card was crawfish bisque with Armagnac. She liked eating someone else's cooking as much, as and sometimes more than her own—if it was good. She tooka sip. This was. The rest of the menu was appro priately festive: Boston Bibb lettuce with pomegranate-seed dressing, beef Wellington, wild rice, and plum pudding for dessert. They were going to have to do a great deal of dancing to burn it all off, she told Tom.
“Don't worry, I'm ready.'
“Neither of you looks like you've ever had to worry about a calorie in your lives, whereas I've been on a diet continuously since I was thirteen.' Denise sighed. She reached into her pocketbook and took out a pack of cigarettes. 'Oh, I almost forgot. No smoking. Roland is quite a crusader.”
Faith had noticed all the signs at Hubbard House with a picture of the bird and 'No Puffin' ' on them, but assumed it was because of a state requirement. She was thankful for Dr. Hubbard's convictions. She hated to eat with the smell of smoke surrounding her. As to what people wanted to do to themselves elsewhere, that was their own business.
Dr. Hubbard was starting to speak, and the microphone didn't make any untoward noises for him, nor did he find it necessary to test it. He started in with no ado at all.
“Residents of Hubbard House, my charming Pink Ladies, spouses, friends—friends all, I'd like to welcome you to yet another Holly Ball. Although we have already passed the time of year when we give collective thanks, I have always felt that this gathering is my personal thanksgiving. It is the time when we gather together in joy, and as I look out at all of you, I feel enormously thankful- for what you contribute to Hubbard House with your time and other resources, but most of all for the opportunity you grant me to continue doing what I have loved best in my life. As many of you are no doubt aware, Hubbard House came into existence a little over twenty-four years ago. Before that I was a doctor—a country doctor in those long-ago days. It was a wonderful experience—all those night calls.' He paused for the laughter. 'But when my dear wife Mary's illness prompted me to look for something that would keep me closer to her side, I knew immediately what I wanted to do. With her invaluable advice, I set about to create a place where one could live as an elderly person with both dignity and security. Where the individual would be cherished from the time he or she entered until leaving. I hope and pray we have accomplished this and will continue to do so for a long time to come.”
He stopped at the thunderous applause, then continued.
“So many others came on board to help us, and many of them are still here raising the sails'—another pause for appreciative laughter. 'I'd like to introduce a few of them, though of course they are well known to you. First my esteemed colleague and son, Dr. Donald Hubbard, and his lovely wife, Charmaine.”
They stood to more applause, and Faith got a look at Donald. Roland's wife must have been short, she instantly thought. Otherwise Donald looked quite a bit like the old block. Charmaine had taken his arm and waved.
“Next my daughter, Muriel, without whom .. . as they say. Muriel stood up. She was wearing a black taffeta dress with a white collar and small jet buttons down the front. Faith saw her instantly at age eleven, still wearing smocked dresses with sashes. The braces had probably gone on about then too. Poor Muriel—one of those girls who got the lead in
“And of course Sylvia Vale, my administrative assistant, who was there when we opened our doors.' Sylvia rose and bowed regally.
“John McGuire, the chairman of our board of trustees, who keeps me honest.' A genial, portly man with a fringe of silver hair stood amidst the laughter.
“And finally, two ladies—the pillars of the temple, so to speak—Leandra Rhodes, current president of our Residents' Council, and Bootsie Brennan, the head of our Ladies' Auxiliary—the Pinkest Lady of them all.”
So this was the noxious Cyle's mother—a diminutive creature in rose velvet. Either it was Nice 'n Easy or Cyle hadn't produced any gray hairs in her shining gold locks, which Faith sincerely doubted. Small women like Bootsie, probably weighing all of a hundred pounds, were often heavyweights in other arenas, Faith had learned, and she didn't doubt that Bootsie—and what was that a nickname for?—could take anybody in the room.
Leandra Rhodes—she remembered Denise had mentioned her. She was tall and stately, with a braided crown of gray tresses. No touching up for her. She wore an ancient, slightly rusty-looking turquoise taffeta-and-velvet gown that had seen a great deal of service—most likely first purchased for Waltz Evenings at this very hotel. Her white kid gloves—so difficult to get cleaned nowadays and looking pearly gray even from a distance—came up over her elbows. Faith was not fooled for an instant by the genteel shabbiness. Leandra was a classic Boston lady, a low heeler, with plenty of Adamses, Higginsons, and Shaws gracing the family boughs, just as there were also the fruits of her ancestors' labors stored away in the State Street Bank. She looked like a woman who knew exactly what she—and everyone else—should do.
“And now, please eat, drink, and enjoy yourselves, though as your doctor I am bound to warn you—not too much.”
He sat down and the applause continued. Donald stood up and raised his glass. 'To my father, the memory of my mother, and to Hubbard House,' he said.
Someone cried, 'Hear, hear,' and everyone drank a toast.
Dr. Hubbard rose again and held his glass up. 'The evening would not be complete without a toast to absent friends. Let us stand and remember.”
The man was a consummate artist. Faith felt a lump in her throat. If Dr. Hubbard was as good at medicine as he was at public speaking, she thought they ought to beg him to' take them on as patients.
Tom echoed her thoughts. 'Quite a guy. Think what a different life most elderly people would have if there were more dedicated people like Roland Hubbard.”
Two people whom the Fairchilds had not yet met smiled across the table. 'He isn't a plaster saint; he's as genuinely caring as he seems,' the woman said.
Denise came out of the reverie she'd been in since they'd sat down, and evidently recalled her duties as hostess. 'Please let me introduce all of you. This is Julia Cabot'—she motioned toward the woman who had just spoken—'and her husband, Ellery, Hubbard House residents. Then my dear neighbors, Joan and Bill Winter, and the Reverend Thomas Fairchild and my new best friend, Faith Fairchild. Joel was supposed to escort me, but tickets to some revolting rock concert proved more interesting. I can't imagine why.”
Everyone laughed and began to tell stories about their children. Faith felt a cold sweat starting as it did every time she contemplated the thought of Benjamin the teenager. It didn't matter that the Miller teenagers next door had always seemed at least somewhat reasonable and Pix averred it was not just in public. But hormones run amok could produce any number of catastrophes. Though even if they were disagreeing, at least they'd be able to have a conversation, something rather difficult at present. It was a vaguely comforting thought.
Tom and Faith danced some more and the evening meandered along pleasantly. Faith told Tom he ought to dance with Bootsie and tell her what he thought of her son. He replied that one cross to bear was enough, and in
