Claire at Sixteen (13 page)

“Let's get something to eat,” she said. “And discuss my trousseau.”

“Lots of black lace,” Scotty said. “Flimsy and seductive.”

“It sounds great,” Claire said. “I hope my second husband'll like it.”

“Lucky man,” Scotty said. “How long do you think you'll wait between weddings?”

“I'll probably finish high school next,” Claire said. “Become a star, break men's hearts, make my fortune, and get married when I'm too old for black lace.”

“I'll read all about you in the magazines,” Scotty declared. “Follow your career. Tell my wife and kids that we were married once. They won't believe me until I show them our wedding license.”

“Remember I lied about my age on it,” Claire said. “I don't like the idea of your wife thinking I'm two years older than I actually am.”

“I'll remember,” Scotty said. “I have an idea. Why don't we get something to eat at the Plaza? It's not as good as staying there, but at least it'll be something.”

Claire kissed him on the cheek. “I envy your second wife,” she said. “She's a lucky woman.”

“I wonder who she'll be,” Scotty said.

“Someone terribly respectable,” Claire said. She picked up her overnight bag, and began walking with Scotty. She loved New York, the crowds, the excitement, the way the buildings stretched overhead blocking out the boring winter sky. The Christmas decorations were still up, the store-window displays were marvels of engineering, and Claire knew she was at home. It was almost criminal that Thea lived there. Thea should live in Iowa, or Montana, not someplace as electric as New York.

“We stayed in the Plaza once,” Claire told Scotty as they entered the hotel's sumptuous flower-filled lobby. “When I was real little. Evvie remembers it, and she used to tell us about it, like a fairy tale. When Nicky was rich. I always loved hearing about those days.”

“You'll be rich yourself someday,” Scotty said. “If it's that important to you.”

“I want to own things,” Claire said, and then she laughed. “That's not what I should be saying to you, is it. You'll think I'm doing all this for the money, which I am, but not for myself. I don't care what twenty-four thousand dollars could buy me. It's for Sybil.”

Scotty led Claire through the lobby and to the hotel's Palm Court. They passed an endless display of desserts, and were seated at a small round table next to an imposing statue. It was the prettiest restaurant Claire had ever been in. She must have loved it when she was a kid. She wished she could remember.

“You don't have to keep telling me that,” Scotty said as they waited to be served. “I know you're doing this for Sybil. I know you're not being greedy.”

“Oh, yes, I am,” Claire replied. “I'm going to have the biggest most wonderful dessert this place has to offer.”

Scotty laughed. “You haven't had lunch,” he said. “Not much breakfast, either. Wouldn't you rather have something more substantial?”

“Some other time,” Claire said. “I'm in a fantasy now, and I intend to eat accordingly.”

Their waiter arrived, and smiled at them. Claire was used to being smiled at, but she was grateful nonetheless. “I want a dessert,” she said.

“Come with me,” the waiter said. “I'll tell you what they all are, and then you can decide.”

So Claire followed him. The waiter described each of the items on display, and they all sounded perfect. She finally decided on a chocolate cake with meringue, which, the waiter promised her, would be served with a dollop of chocolate mousse.

Scotty got into the spirit of things and ordered a hot-fudge sundae. “It's full of protein,” he said. “It's practically a health food.”

Claire couldn't see how things could get better, but then they did. Two men walked to the front of the restaurant. One sat at the piano, the other took out a violin, and they began to play. Claire smiled so hard, she knew she was grinning, but Scotty didn't seem to mind. He gave her hand a squeeze.

“I forget how young you are,” he said.

“I forget, too,” Claire replied. “I don't see how heaven could be better than this.”

The waiter arrived with their desserts. Claire dug into hers, but Scotty took only a small spoonful of his.

“We'd better talk now,” he said. “It'll be easier.”

“Talk about what?” Claire asked. Her cake was so good she considered giving up real food for the rest of her life.

“About what happens when we get home,” Scotty said. “About my parents and grandparents.”

“Do we have to?” Claire asked.

“We're not going to want to on the plane,” Scotty replied. “Not once the reality sinks in.”

Claire nodded. “I thought we'd say that we knew it was a mistake as soon as we said ‘I do,'” she declared. “When we realized what being married really means. We didn't know what to do, and my parents are out of town, so we came back to Concord so your parents could help us out. That'll explain why we haven't consummated. Simple panic kept us from doing anything except running home to mommy.”

“That sounds good,” Scotty said. “That way neither one of us is at fault.”

“That's sweet,” Claire said. “But I'm going to be at fault. Your parents are bound to blame me for getting you into this mess. That's when the screaming will begin. How could I have tricked you? Didn't I realize how young you were, how important your future is? They're sure to see you as the victim, at least as long as I'm around.”

“I'll protect you as much as I can,” Scotty said.

“Don't worry about it,” Claire said, taking another bite of cake. She slipped a little of the mousse on her fork, and let the tastes mingle. “Sticks and stones and all that.”

“My mother can be cruel once she gets going,” Scotty said.

“She isn't going to be too cruel,” Claire replied. “I may not look it, but I am half Winslow. From what Evvie's told me, your mother was all in favor of her and Schyler getting together. I might be a tramp, but I'm not a cheap one. That should help.”

Scotty took another spoonful of sundae, so Claire could see he was feeling better about things. “This is delicious,” he said. “Best lunch I've had in ages.”

Claire smiled at him. “We'll come back here sometime,” she said. “To celebrate our anniversary.”

“After you've weathered Mom and Dad, then what?” Scotty asked.

“Then I talk to your grandfather,” Claire said. “I tell him what I need to, and ask him for the money.”

“It won't be that easy,” Scotty said. “Grandfather's tight with the dollar.”

“Leave him to me,” Claire said. “I'm sure I can convince him.”

“Ask for fifty thousand,” Scotty said. “Let him bargain you down. You might even start higher than that, so when you finally agree to twenty-five, he'll feel as though he's won.”

“I only need twenty-four,” Claire said. “It feels like cheating to get even a thousand more.”

Scotty laughed. “You're going to make a great wife someday,” he said. “So full of scruples. If you ask for twenty-four, it sounds suspicious. Always round a number off. If he's willing to shell out the twenty-four, he'll shell out twenty-five. Buy a new pair of gloves with the spare change.”

“Should I start at a hundred?” Claire asked. “Or is that so outrageous, he'll just throw me out?”

“A hundred sounds high,” Scotty said. “But it's probably about right. As far as he's concerned, you're just a little fortune hunter, out for some easy bucks. An outrageous demand is in character.”

“I wish I looked more like a hussy,” Claire said. “It would be more convincing coming from a hussy.”

Scotty gestured with his spoon. “The important thing is not to give in,” he declared. “Grandfather's tough. He isn't going to want to hand over a single penny. He'll call you every name in the book, and wait for you to break. He used to do that with me, and I never wanted anything from him. That's just his natural disposition. My father hates him, if that's any use to you.”

“How does your grandmother feel about him?” Claire asked.

Scotty shrugged. “They're still married,” he said. “It's been over fifty years. They've had some bitter battles, but they always stuck together. Dad says it's because Grandfather was too afraid of the settlement Grandmother would have gotten if they'd divorced. Your parents are a little more romantic.”

“Eat your ice cream before it melts,” Claire said. She could use the bad marriage, the fear of settlement, when she had to. It was a good weapon, and she was glad Scotty had handed it to her. “Are you going to tell them you love me?” she asked.

“I'm going to tell them we fell in love,” Scotty replied. “Or at least, what we felt was love that moment. They'll assume it was sexual passion, especially after they look you over.”

“Whose idea shall we say this was?” Claire asked. “Mine, I guess.”

Scotty nodded. “Sorry about that,” he said. “But they wouldn't believe it, if we said it was mine. Not good old Scotty. I was hot for you, you said ‘no marriage, no dice,' so we ran off to New York. We said our ‘I do's,' and then I came to my senses, and insisted on ending the thing immediately.”

“Poor Scotty,” Claire said. “According to that version, you never got to have any fun.”

“They don't have to know everything,” Scotty said.

“What about where we spent last night?” Claire asked.

“You were at Thea's,” Scotty said. “I stayed at a hotel.”

“They'll hate Thea then, too,” Claire said. “They'll think she conspired with me.”

“Do you care?” Scotty asked.

Claire took a bite of cake and thought about it. “I don't know,” she admitted. “It seems mean.”

“This is all mean,” Scotty said. “The only nice thing we've done is not drop in on her to invite her to the wedding. And believe me, I thought about it.”

“You're finally angry at her,” Claire said.

“She came back to New York without even telling me she was leaving,” Scotty said. “Kip sneezed and she had to blow his nose. Damn straight I'm angry.”

Claire wondered if she'd ever be able to tell Scotty the truth. She doubted it. Thea might at some point, if it ever mattered enough to her.

“What are you going to tell your parents?” Scotty asked. “You're going to have to tell them something.”

The pianist and violinist began playing a waltz. Claire couldn't remember its name, but she knew it was one she and Nicky had danced to one wretched birthday. Nicky insisted on dancing with each of his daughters on her birthday. Nicky loved family rituals, even if he had to create them.

She could picture him dancing with her sisters, dancing with her. Sometimes on her birthday, when the two of them waltzed, Claire could even believe he loved her.

He would never love her again, she knew. It wouldn't matter that she did it for Sybil, for his favorite. He'd see it as a betrayal, and the fragile love he had for her would die. Megs would still love her, but Megs didn't count. Nicky was the prize.

Claire felt tears forming in her eyes. She tried to blink them away, but couldn't. They fell silently down her cheeks.

“Claire, I'm sorry,” Scotty said.

Claire shook her head. “It's the music,” she said. “It's so corny.” She took out the stolen handkerchief and used it. It wasn't new anymore. Not that it mattered. Not that it mattered what Nicky thought. Sybil was what mattered. Sybil's future was the prize. “I'm fine,” she declared. “I'll tell them why I did it. Either they'll believe me, or they won't. It doesn't matter.”

“They're your parents,” Scotty said.

“They're Sybil's parents, too,” Claire said. “We need the money for her. I'm the one who figured out how to get it. Nicky'll understand. Megs will be grateful.”

“Do you have any idea of how beautiful you are?” Scotty asked. “Wet cheeks and all.”

Claire smiled. “That's the one thing I do know,” she said. “Is it time for us to leave?”

“Just about,” Scotty said. He gestured for the waiter to bring the check, and Claire waited as he went through the charge card procedure.

“Do you want a ring?” Scotty asked as they left the Plaza. Claire wondered how long it would be before she could return to it. “Maybe we should get one. It might not be legal otherwise.”

“Something cheap,” Claire said.

“I'm sure it would be returnable,” Scotty replied.

“That would be a nuisance,” Claire said. “You might have to come back to New York.”

“That's right,” Scotty said. “How about my class ring? I don't think it matters what kind of ring it is, just as long as you have one.”

“I'd be honored to wear your class ring for the hour and a half we'll be married,” Claire said. It looked big enough for her to slip two fingers through. She'd have to remember to give it back to him before she lost it.

Scotty hailed a cab, and instructed him to go to city hall. There were no announcements this time, and no stories about the joys of married life. Just a quiet cab ride down the city streets.

They were more assured this time, less frightened by the building and all that went on in it. They asked the right people for the right information, found the right office, and waited until it was their turn. The wait took about an hour.

“Lots of people get married this time of year,” one of the men waiting there informed them. “For tax purposes.”

Claire nodded. She had never thought about marriage as a tax dodge, but then most people didn't think about marriage as a way of financing their sister's rehabilitation. Or as a way of getting back at a girl who refused to love you, by marrying the sister she couldn't stand. Or as a way of securing an introduction to a grandfather who didn't know you were alive. Or as a way of showing your parents they couldn't always count on you to be sensible, to wear your overcoat, to get good grades and come in before curfew. Marriage clearly meant different things to different people. For Nicky and Megs it had been a start to their universe. Who knew what it had been to Scotty's parents, or Sam's.