All for a Song (9 page)

“Pre-wedding jitters, that’s all.”

Of course. Hadn’t she come to the same conclusion just moments ago? And here she was again, not knowing whether her fears or her faith would win out.

“I know just the thing to cheer you up. Why don’t we leave Roy to take care of the boys, and you and I can go to the pictures?”

“You know Ma don’t like us goin’ to the movies.”

“And we might not go if she was here. But she’s not. And if she ever asks what we’ve done to entertain ourselves, we’ll say we went for a walk. Which we will—to the theater.”

“I don’t think Brent likes them either.”

“Well, you don’t have to obey him . . . yet.”

Dorothy Lynn felt a spark of intrigue at the thought of a rebellion, even one this small.

“C’mon, Dot. The theater’s air-conditioned. And it’ll give us a chance to talk more along the way.”

“All right,” she said, as if talked into a great sacrifice.

“Wonderful!” Darlene got up from the bed only when Dorothy Lynn herself had stood and was able to pull her up. “And don’t worry. I’ll loan you one of my dresses so you’ll have something decent to wear.”

They left just after eight o’clock, after it had turned full dark. Darlene had applied fresh powder and lipstick, but it was Dorothy Lynn who felt truly transformed. Darlene had brushed and brushed Dorothy Lynn’s hair, smoothing it at the crown and pinning it in loose coils all around the nape of her neck. She wore a dress of pale-green cotton jersey that felt as cool and light as water against her skin—and a hat that looked somewhat like a mixing bowl turned upside down on her head. And for her feet, the most delicate pair of shoes she’d ever worn, made of soft leather the color of oatmeal, with two thin straps crisscrossed over the top of each foot.

“Well, look at you.” Darlene spoke in a reverent half whisper.

“I can’t believe how comfortable the shoes are,” Dorothy Lynn said. She’d fully expected to break her neck coming down the stairs.

Roy was in the front room battling an oscillating fan to read his evening paper. He barely acknowledged Darlene’s good-bye, much less the kiss she blew to him.

“He don’t mind?” Dorothy Lynn asked as she opened the front door.

“Goodness, no. He hates the movies, unless it’s Buster Keaton.”

It was a short walk to the nearest streetcar. Darlene dropped two nickels in before Dorothy Lynn could open her purse.

There was an empty seat three rows back, and Dorothy Lynn slid in first, eager to be near the open window to catch the breeze and watch the city fly by. “I think I would like the city.”

“I think it would break Ma’s heart if you moved away. No wonder she’s so thrilled about you marrying the preacher.”

“That’s the way it feels,” she said, softly enough that her words were carried on the wind.

The car dropped them off three blocks away from the theater, and from the way the crowd reacted, everybody on board was going to the pictures. They moved in one mass, with the sisters caught up in the wave at first, but Darlene was in no shape to keep up, and soon they’d fallen behind.

“We’ve plenty of time,” Darlene reassured.

“Oh, I’m not worried a mite.” In fact, she was glad to have the chance to take in the sights. The entire population of Heron’s Nest would fit in this single stretch of street—ten times over. Her mind raced to take in all the faces bathed in the light coming from the flashing signs atop all the buildings.

“I wanted to show you something.” Darlene sounded slightly winded, so Dorothy Lynn slowed her steps as her sister retrieved a postcard from her purse. “I just got it last week.”

“From Donny?”

“Yes. I didn’t say anything earlier because you seemed upset. And I guess he hasn’t written to Ma, or you’d have mentioned it.”

They stopped under a streetlight.

“Where’s it from?”

“California. Culver City. It’s where they make the movies.”

“What happened to Seattle?”

Darlene shrugged. “Beats me. What happened to New York, or Memphis, or any of those places?”

The image on the front of the card didn’t look like anything special. A wide boulevard against a bright-pink sky. Dorothy Lynn flipped to the back to read the inevitably short message.

Making seenery for movies. Good stedy work and beutiful girls. Never hot. Never cold. Tell Ma not to worry, I found heaven.

Don

She read it three times over, looking for more. “Still can’t spell,” she said, bathing her comment in affection.

“School never was a strength.”

“When’s the last time he telephoned?”

Darlene thought. “Almost a year. Before we knew Pa was as sick as he was.”

“And there’s no way to contact him, I guess.” She handed the postcard back to Darlene, who snapped it away.

“No. But as soon as I got this, I sent a letter to general delivery telling him about the wedding. And the baby. Who knows?”

“What about Pa? You didn’t tell him?”

“Bad news is better in person.”

An explosion of light caught Dorothy Lynn’s eye, and she looked up to see red, yellow, and orange rays bursting from a neon star. The words
New Grand Central
shone in green above a set of double doors. She was making her way to join the people pouring into them when Darlene stopped her.

“Where are you going?”

“Isn’t this the theater?”

“Oh, that’s the old one. We have a new one that just opened up last year.” She pointed down the street to the corner, where a sign big enough to dwarf the Grand Central’s spelled
Missouri
in enormous, white-lit, descending block letters.

“So what’s happening in here?”

The sisters stepped back to read the marquee above the door.

“Who’s Sister Aimee?”

Darlene wrinkled her nose. “Oh, her. Aimee Semple McPherson. She’s a preacher.”

“
She’s
a preacher?” The very idea lodged in Dorothy Lynn’s mind like a foot in an ill-fitting shoe.

“Roy thinks she’s insane, but I’ve never given her much thought at all. She came through town a few years ago, driving a car with a sign about Jesus coming soon. Striking the fear of God in people.”

“Really?” The first notes of a familiar hymn, performed by what sounded like a full orchestra, drifted through the open door. “Can we go in and listen?”

Darlene grabbed her arm and compelled her toward the looming Missouri. “Not when we’re half a block away from Rudolph Valentino.” Her voice dropped to something warm and throaty. “Come, my sister.
The Young Rajah
awaits.”

Giggling like girls, they locked arms and made their way down the street, indulging in breathless banter about the dreamy eyes of the movie’s star. They stopped briefly at a street vendor’s cart and purchased two chocolate bars and a small sack of licorice pieces, which Darlene stashed in her purse.

Once they reached the doors of the Missouri Theater, Dorothy Lynn was grateful for her sister’s insistence. Not only did she have the opportunity to see the face of Rudolph Valentino displayed on a poster large enough to dominate the massive doorway, she also felt a blast of cold air the minute she walked inside.

“Oh my,” she said, wishing she could go outside and walk in again.

“They call it Pike’s Peak,” Darlene said, handing over the stub of a ticket. “Isn’t it marvelous?”

“It’s like nothin’ I’ve ever seen—or felt—before.”

Her feet were sinking into the carpet like it was a soft, lush mud. Massive columns held up a rounded ceiling; gaping fireplaces sat cool and dark and empty in the recesses. Tall trees and leafy green plants grew under an artist’s sky while young couples canoodled on round red velvet sofas.

Dorothy Lynn was sure her eyes were about as round as walnuts as she tried to take it all in.

“Just wait,” Darlene said.

Another set of massive double doors, and what was left of Dorothy Lynn’s breath was stolen by the icy fingers of refrigerated air.

A sea of seats.

True, she’d never actually seen a sea, but no other word would do. Thousands of them, one rolling row after another flowing down a gentle slope. The seats toward the front were dotted with people; their soft murmuring underscored the strains of the tuning orchestra. From here they seemed a world away, and before she knew it, so did Darlene. Dorothy Lynn concentrated on walking downhill in heels, ignoring for the time being the lush surroundings, focusing on her sister’s rounded figure under the swaying green skirt.

Minutes later she was enveloped in black velvet, the cushion beneath her more comfortable than any chair her behind had ever known. The lush fabric caressed the backs of her bare arms, and she wondered if Brent would ever consider letting her furnish their future home in theater seats.

“I’d come here every night if I could,” Darlene said. “I’ve sat through some of the most awful films just to get away from those boys and the heat.”

“I can imagine.” Dorothy Lynn could feel the sheen of sweat on the back of her neck being lifted and cooled, and she took off her hat, sighing with pleasure at the icy touch to her brow.

“Put that back on. Do you want everyone to see what a bumpkin you are?”

Dorothy Lynn felt too happy to be hurt by the words. “I don’t care what they think. Besides, nobody’s lookin’ at me anyway.”

“Well, they might.” Still, Darlene took off her hat too, and fluffed her fingers through her flattened curls.

For the next few minutes they chatted—bits of news from Heron’s Nest about people Darlene had long since forgotten and amusing people in St. Louis that Dorothy Lynn had never met. Intermittently, they contorted themselves in their seats to allow someone or another to pass by.

The noise grew with the crowd, and when Darlene excused herself to visit the powder room, Dorothy Lynn allowed her eyes to wander. The sea of seats had crested with waves of faces. They turned to one another in conversation or faced stoically forward, eyes trained on the empty, looming screen. Nobody looked at her. Maybe if she stood up and shouted, or engaged in some crazy antic, she might have garnered some attention, but simply sitting there quietly, she might not even be there at all. Never in all her hours of solitude in her clearing in the woods back home had she felt so alone. There among the trees of his creation, she could feel the eyes of God holding her like an embrace, his breath in the cool breeze, his voice in the silence.

Sitting here, encased in black velvet, shivering in artificial air, she felt about as far away from that place as she’d ever been.
Words built walls around her, and she couldn’t imagine offering the simplest greeting to the young woman just two seats away. And yet there was no fear, no discomfort. Just fascination coupled with a bit of envy. Part of her felt guilty, as if she were betraying a first love. But this was nothing more than a peek into another world, a brief respite from mundane familiarity.

Somewhere, three chimes rang out. She twisted to look for her sister’s return and offered a wide smile to the middle-aged woman sitting directly behind her. To her relief, the woman returned the gesture and asked if Dorothy Lynn was looking forward to the movie.

“Very much,” she said. Before she could say more, Darlene returned.

The lights went low and the orchestra, after a beat of silence, came together in a single enthralling note. Dorothy Lynn and Darlene settled back in their seats and quietly unwrapped their chocolate.

And then she was lost. She nibbled her candy in the light of Valentino’s smoldering dark eyes, following the story of the young Indian prince taken away from his family to be raised in a wealthy American family. She followed the heart of the young woman enticed away from her betrothed and got chilled when the hero experienced disturbing psychic visions of his future.

When the closing image disappeared into darkness with the final strains of music, she joined the audience in wild applause. It seemed the best way to get her heart to start beating again.

“I just can’t imagine walkin’ back out into the world after somethin’ like that,” Dorothy Lynn said. She and Darlene remained rooted in their seats while the rest of the crowd began to exit around them.

“Nothing like a bit of fantasy to make you appreciate your reality.”

Darlene was attempting to get out of her seat but obviously needed a hand, so Dorothy Lynn stood and offered her arm. As they exited, everybody around them was talking about the movie—its handsome star, unsettling plot. Young men nudged their girls, promising that they were some sort of secret prince too. The isolation she’d felt before the movie disappeared as she became part of a common conversation that lasted up the long aisle and through the plush lobby. The minute they stepped through the massive doors, however, any sense of camaraderie dissipated in the blast of warm summer night air.

“The cars run until eleven,” Darlene said, “so we have some time. Want ice cream? Or maybe chow mein?”

Dorothy Lynn groaned and grabbed her stomach. “Not a chance. The chocolate and licorice was enough for me.”

Darlene pouted. “Fine. I should be getting home to Roy anyway.”

“Does he make you swoon the way Valentino does?”