Beautiful Days (17 page)

“Astrid's leaving,” she said in a soft voice.

“I know,” he replied.

The ceiling fan went on whirring, and the boys in the corner stopped staring at her. “What happened to the club last night?” she asked when it was obvious he didn't want to talk about Astrid anymore.

“Not much. It's not the damage that they did—it was just a message.”

“We can still open as planned?”

Charlie regarded her. “Yes, we can still open.”

“What does the message mean?”

He shrugged. “Means something worse is coming. Maybe on opening night. There wasn't a lot of subtlety to the message.”

“What did they do?”

“It was too disgusting to tell a lady.”

Over his shoulder, she saw the boys trying not to laugh, and this made her angry, and wish that she wasn't wearing a slip and that her hair wasn't undone. “Well, can't we hit them back first?”

“With what? Already took most of their speakeasy customers in the city. The country club won't budge for obvious reasons. Hard to know who they supply privately. I'd like to hit them the way they hit us, but Jones keeps saying we're a business, and we can't waste resources on violence, except when necessary. Wish he were wrong, but—he's usually right.”

Outside, the sun was shining, and Cordelia went to the window seat and sat down. It would have been a good day to be by the pool, but she had no desire to swim. “I had so many ideas last night, Charlie. I watched and figured out what makes all these different places special, and I know just what we'll use for our place and what we won't.”

Charlie sunk the eight ball and handed off the pool cue. “Yeah? Good,” he said, sitting down next to her.

“I'm sorry,” she said.

“I know.”

She closed her eyes and wished that from the first moment she'd walked into the bank, she had thought of nothing but how to open a speakeasy. That she had stayed at Charlie's side and learned everything there was to learn and personally chosen every chair and glass and uniform. That she had not grown weak and distracted by matters of the heart, which were in any event fleeting. Her mind went to Max, with his fancy airplane, how he looked down on a miniature landscape, acting so superior, as though he knew anything about life and the choices people had to make. She felt disgusted, remembering how impressed she was by him, how godlike he had acted as he piloted over the heads of little people everywhere.

She might have tried to say all this, but Charlie didn't seem to need to hear it, and by then her mind had moved onto something else. “Charlie,” she began. Her mouth had gone dry and her brain began to tick. “Did you know that the Hales have a submarine?”

“What?” His brows drew together.

“I saw it when Max took me up in the airplane. Apparently Duluth Hale got it in the Great War. They use it for deliveries.”

“How?”

“I don't know, but Max says he's seen it leave every day at dawn. It was later in the day when I saw it—a great big thing rising out of the water.”

Charlie shook his head and looked over his shoulder at the other boys, who were going about their business, focused on the pool game or involved in low conversation. When he turned back to Cordelia there was a burning light in his eyes. “Hot damn!” He jumped up and slapped his hands together, loudly enough to catch the attention of everyone else in the room. “Well, hot damn.”

“Did I do right finally?” she couldn't help but ask.

“You did right, sister.” He slapped his hands together again. “God damn, it's going to be a good day.”

Grabbing both her hands, he pulled her to her feet. Cordelia beamed at him and he beamed back. “Come on, Cord,” he said, throwing his arm over her shoulder and steering her toward the door. “We got some work to do.”

“We?” She was so pleased to be back in Charlie's good graces, and she wanted to bring attention to it, just once.

“Yeah, and I'll tell you what we're going to do. I have this friend in the Coast Guard—not a friend exactly, more like someone who I pay to act friendly. What do you say we call him up and tell him a story?”

Chapter 16

BY THE FOLLOWING THURSDAY, THE CYCLE OF HUMID rain and heat had broken. The sun was strong and the air was warm wherever it shone, but cool pockets hid in the shadows. People who had wasted days fanning themselves on porches or in the shadier corners of the house went back to work. At Marsh Hall, where the tropical fluctuations of the weather had interfered with the social agenda of the lady of the house for some days, an uncharacteristic serenity ruled, and Astrid, if not exactly happy to be back, couldn't help but feel that she had emerged from a period of confusion and madness into more tranquil waters.

The day was just beginning and she didn't see the point in rushing to repair a dress she might not wear again; it was just as well to spend an afternoon by the pool thinking about the clothes that she would order for the fall. Perhaps she would go back to school that fall, in which case she would need different things—but that decision was a long time away. She wanted to soak up the beauty of the day through her pores and later go out again, refreshed and lovely as ever, so Charlie would hate himself for being so mean. Tonight she wanted to have twice as much fun, to make up for all the fun he'd deprived her of.

“Miss Donal?”

She opened her eyes and turned her face up toward the maid. “Brenda, how clever of you, I was just getting thirsty—would you bring me some lemonade?”

“Shall I bring two? You have a guest.”

Astrid twisted in the white chaise and saw, between the row of thin cypress that lined the pool deck, a small figure in a petal pink jumper walking across the lawn. “Yes, thank you.”

Till then, no part of Astrid had wanted to be back at Dogwood. It was a nuisance, of course, the way her mother's face kept silently telling her “I told you so,” and irksome that even Billie seemed unsurprised by the turn of events. But the sight of Letty did make Astrid miss living in that big, lawless house with her best friends.

“Letty, what a perfect sight you are, how did you ever get here?” Astrid called, her arms opening wide for an embrace.

“I walked,” she said in that guileless way she had, as though this was a perfectly natural thing to do.

“That's such a long walk, dear, you could ruin your shoes! There's a new invention called the telephone, you know.”

Letty's face flushed. “Yes,” she said, in a way that implied that wherever she was from, she hadn't used a telephone very often.

“Oh, never mind. Sit, please, and tell me everything there is to know. Unless it has to do with Charlie—I cannot stand his name, and don't want to know what's happened to him. Unless it's very bad, of course, and he's suffering mightily.”

“Oh—I haven't seen much of Charlie.” Letty glanced away and made a show of arranging herself on the chair next to Astrid's with her legs folded up under herself and her chin rested in her palm.

“Never mind, darling, better not to talk of him. Now tell me—did you come all this way just to see me?”

“Well, yes,” Letty said, but the darting of the pure blue disks of her eyes said otherwise. “Actually, I was wondering if you knew where Cordelia was.”

“Cordelia? Surely you've seen her at Dogwood?”

“She hasn't been around much. I think she might be avoiding me.”

“That doesn't seem very likely.” Astrid turned her face to the side, trying to recall in what order everything had happened that week. “I talked to her a few days ago, and she told me she was too busy for a visit, on account of they're opening their speakeasy this weekend, and there's so much to be done. Sounded obsessed, that one. Why? Are you all right? You look a bit peaked.”

“Oh,” Letty sighed, as though she were releasing the weight of the whole world. “I'm fine.”

“Really, darling, you don't sound the least bit convincing.”

Letty shifted uncomfortably for a few moments, and then her body deflated against the lounge chair. “I'm just awful, to tell you the truth. I've been wanting to talk to someone, but usually I would talk to Cordelia about something like this, and she's so hard to find these days, and I don't even know that she's the right one to . . .” Letty trailed off dejectedly.

“Well, don't be a ninny, tell me what's happened!” Astrid turned on her side and took her sunglasses off and tried to appear attentive, even though the stucco bungalows that flanked the pool were unbearably white without them. “I can't stand being left out of things and not knowing what the latest is.”

Letty pressed the red lips of her small mouth together, as though she were trying to keep a wave of emotion at bay. “I lost the gig,” she managed, her voice cracking horrifically over the sentence.

“Which gig?”

“At the club, of course . . .” Letty averted her eyes and then Astrid remembered with a start that Letty was supposed to have opened Charlie and Cordelia's club. “Cordelia says they need a
real
star.”

The maid came back with the lemonade then, and Letty kept her head down while Brenda set up the tray between them, and went on gazing at her hands until Astrid lifted her glass and waved it in Letty's direction. “Oh, applesauce. You
are
a real star,” she said, taking a big, sweet sip of lemonade. “But oh, I
am
sorry, you dove, that wasn't very nice of them to do that.”

“I probably didn't deserve it.” Letty fidgeted with her skirt, and her voice wavered, and for a moment Astrid was panicked, thinking the other girl might cry. “But you see, it was everything to me. It's like this—you were born into the fancy world, and Cordelia always had a magical ticket to gain her entry, if she only knew where to turn it in. But me—all I've
got
is me. And I thought singing at that club was going to be the making of me.”

“Well,
I
think you are just perfection.” Astrid put her sunglasses back on and rolled onto her stomach so that she could get some sun on the backs of her thighs. “Really marvelous. And I have an eye, Miss Letty Larkspur, so don't think I'm saying this just because we are friends. This is nothing more than a temporary setback. Think how much better success will taste when you make it on your own! Work your way up to singing at a nightclub . . . preferably one that isn't backed by a big hothead like Charlie. Then you'll know it's not just luck.”

Letty nodded vigorously and hiccupped.

“To hell with them, Letty. Really. You've got it all, and you must not waste that feeling sorry for yourself. Now smile a little, will you?”

The edges of Letty's mouth did struggle upward in an attempt at smiling, but in the end they collapsed back and a tiny wail escaped her throat.

“Come, really, is it so bad? Unless of course there's something else nagging you. Is there something else?”

Letty turned her face up to the sky, squinting. Her head bobbed twice. “Yes . . . there is. It's—it's that I've been such a wretch.”

Here Astrid couldn't help it, her mouth buckled in a vain attempt not to laugh, for though Letty looked so entirely serious, she didn't seem the teensiest bit capable of being a wretch. “How? I don't believe you.”

“Oh, no. I have been terrible. It's that fellow Grady.”

Astrid stared back blankly. “Grady?”

“Grady Lodge. He was at the Beaumonts', remember? And he was courting me, I guess, and I was supposed to have dinner with his parents last weekend and I forgot entirely. Then I acted like a complete fool and went to his apartment, where I had already made them wait so long, and then I went on and on about how I had lost my chance at being a nightclub singer!”

“That doesn't sound so bad,” Astrid replied. She had finished her lemonade, and put the glass aside on the concrete. “After all, it was very big news.”

“You would think so, but it seems the Lodges are very fine people. They were certainly finer looking than I expected.”

“
No
.” An idea had seized Astrid, and her eyes got big with it. “No!”

“Yes, I had just assumed they would be simple folks, like him, but—”

“Not
Grady Lodge
, of the
Lewis Lodges
.”

“Yes . . . I think his name was Lewis.” One of Letty's pin-thin brows drew closer to the other quizzically.

“Oh, darling, I was so distracted that day! I just thought of him as your nice-seeming friend and then didn't think about him anymore. I only saw him at a distance, I believe, and anyway, I haven't seen Grady in years.”

“But you can't
know
him . . . ?”

“Of course I know him.” Astrid paused and covered her mouth as she experienced the rush of anticipation that comes whenever a really delicious story is about to unfold. “I've known him for years. But I haven't seen him since the summer he and Peachy . . .
well
.”

“Peachy Whitburn?”

“Yes, dear, everyone knows they were sweethearts of at least a year when he started at Columbia College—we all expected they'd marry. But before he could propose she went off to the Continent for some European finishing and got in a run of trouble there, because she was seduced by a married Frenchman.”

“No!” Letty whispered.

“That's not the worst of it—she was terribly rotten and sent Grady letters detailing the whole affair, saying she would break it off, but all the while carrying on. Well, he dropped out of school after one semester, and none of us saw him anymore. The rumor was he wanted to be a writer,
Lord
knows why. That was two years ago now. I have seen a story of his here and there, they're quite good, though none of us can understand it. Why would he want to be a writer, when he's already a millionaire?”

A gasp of anguish escaped Letty's mouth and she turned her face away and buried it in the back of the chaise.

“Oh, who cares about millionaires!” Astrid's heart felt lighter with no Charlie tugging at it, and she was sure if Letty would just unbury her face she would feel the same. “Who cares about young men? You are going to be a singer or an actress or a chorus girl, and that's
so
much more exciting than bagging a beau who can buy you little nothings!”

Astrid reached over and brushed a few of Letty's bangs away from her face; the dark-haired girl looked back and whimpered.

“Darling, don't be silly, your whole future is ahead of you. All you have to do is go out there and ask for a part—something small and reasonable just to start with. From there, no one can stop you. Don't feel bad about anything you've done, and for God's sake, have fun.”

“You don't think I'm horrible?”

“Lord, no.”

“And you really think it's going to be all right?” Letty straightened and a ray of hopefulness fell across her face.

“I know it is. You go into the city right now before your nerves get the better of you and find yourself a job. And have Brenda tell the chauffeur to take you to the station. You've got to start treating your shoes better.”

Letty nodded determinedly, and she sat up and began to smooth her dress and hair as though she actually might go and do as Astrid had directed.

“There, you see? You don't need to marry a man with millions. You only need to be your exquisite self.”

In her hands she held a copy of
The Weekly Stage
. It was days old—she had been fidgeting with it since she bought it, dog-earing pages and circling ads for open calls in pencil. Unlike when she was working at Seventh Heaven, dreaming of landing a big role but not truly ready to put herself through the scrutiny of auditions, now she looked for notices that were seeking a number of girls—more than anything, she wanted to be realistic this time—and she'd avoided the more plum and pretentious parts that would earlier have caught her fancy. As she rode the westbound train away from White Cove, she went over those notices with a singleness of purpose that had eluded her thus far.

When she disembarked, the smell of the city rushed back to her, the same way it had on the first day she saw it, and she became elated again with all the possibilities of that first glimpse. By the time she climbed onto the stage at the first casting call, she was able to go through the routine she had practiced so many times in the Dogwood ballroom almost without thinking about her movements. When she finished she heard the clapping of perhaps a dozen people, and she bowed and smiled and lingered for a moment in the glow of the spotlight.

“Thank you, Miss Larkspur, that was very good,” a reed-thin man in the front row said. His legs were crossed the way a woman might cross her legs and he kept a pencil behind his ear. As her eyes adjusted to the darkness of the theater, she decided that there was nothing about him that she might be attracted to, at least not in any romantic way, and this fact made her feel instantly more at ease.

“Thank you.”

“I like you. Are you available in the evenings?”

“Yes.”

“Are you available for the rest of the afternoon?”

“Yes.”

“Because I think I could use you, but I'll need to see some other girls first. Have a seat, please.”

“Yes, of course,” she replied. Even though this wasn't the resounding
yes
she'd always hoped for, at that particular moment it was enough to fill her with gratitude. “Thank you,” she said again, bowing furtively to the man before making her way up the aisle.

She was moving carefully in the darkness when she heard someone hiss her name. “Letty, you were great!”

“Who is that?” she whispered back, putting a hand on one of the velvet-covered seats and sitting down beside the voice. But she knew before the reply came. “Paulette!” she gasped and put her arms around the girl who had taken her in when she was destitute and didn't know the city at all. “What are you doing here?”