Genteel Spirits (Daisy Gumm Majesty Books) (3 page)

A heavy sigh made its
way through the telephone wire
. “You’re right, Daisy.
I attended two years of study at Pasadena College, but then I couldn’t find a job
, and I couldn’t afford to continue my education at a university
. Being a secretary to Mrs. Winkworth isn’t exactly what I’d planned, but . . . well, the position is rewarding in its own way
.”

Have I mentioned that the country was in something of a depression in 1922? Well, it was. Gladys wasn’t the only person out of work at that time.
Thousands of soldiers had come back
after
risking their lives only to find they were apt to starve to death on the streets of America
because they couldn’t secure employment
, which didn’t seem fair at all.
I considered myself and my family fortunate.

“
I should say so!” Realizing my voice had risen again, I lowered it. “I’m sure everyone asks you this when they learn you work for Mrs. Winkworth, but have you met Mr. Monty Mountjoy?” I tried not to pant, especially with Billy sitting there, watching me
and still frowning
.

“Oh, my, yes. And I
suggest you
don’t believe anything the press has to say about him. He’s always a perfect gentleman when he
visits
his grandmother.”

Well, he’d better be, if his grandmother was anything like mine. Grandma Gumm, whom I’d only met twice
because she lives in Massachusetts
, never hesitated to give a girl a swat, whether the girl dese
rved it or not. Rather than reveal this
, which
spoke
perhaps more about my childhood behavior than my grandmother’s charms, I said, “I’m glad to hear
it
. I never believe what I read in the newspapers about celebrities. One of my best friends works in the pictures, and he says most of the stuff you read is all made up anyway.”

“Yes, I believe that’s so.” Gladys didn’t sound as if she considered
the situation
to be in any way commendable.
A woman of high moral standards
as well as a brain, our Gladys.
“This friend of yours wouldn’t be Mr. Harold Kincaid, would it?”

“Why, yes. Harold and I are great friends.”

“I see.
He
and Mr. Mountjoy are acquainted
, and he mentioned that he knew you
and that you were highly recommended as a spiritualist
.
”

I said, “How nice
of him
.”

The conversation sagged for a moment. Then Gladys cleared her throat again. “At any rate, the reason I called for . . . well, Desdemona Majesty
,
is
that
Mrs. Winkworth desires to hold a séance sometime soon.
And . . . and Desdemona Majesty is reputed to be the best
spiritualist
medium in Pasadena.
”
I could tell Glady
s
still had trouble reconciling the Daisy Gumm she used to know,
and
who
had been
kind of a tomboy
and definitely a prankster
, with the Desdemona Majesty who conducted séances and communed with spirits. In truth, I couldn’t
fault
her
for any confusion in that regard
.

“I see.” All business now, I. “When does she want to hold this séance?”

“Two weeks from Sat
urday. That is the Saturday after tomorrow,
if your schedule is free.
In the evening. Around eight o’clock.
Mr. Mountjoy, Mrs. Winkworth’s daughter, and Miss Lola de la Monica will be among the attendees.”

I darned near screamed
again
. But, my goodness gracious
sakes alive
! Miss Lola de la Monica was one of the leading lights of the motion-picture industry. What’s more, she and Monty Mountjoy were reputed to be having a hot and sordid affair. I guess
Miss de la Monica
fit
ted
Mr. Mountjoy in when she wasn’t dallying with Mr. Rudolph Valentino, who was supposed to number among her many
amours
. Shoot, I don’t know how the woman did it. I only had one man in my life, and he was too much for me most of the time. Of course, that was the Kaiser’s fault, too.

But we’ve already discussed how imprecise published accounts of celebrities
could be
, haven’t we?

“Let me check my calendar, Gladys. Hold the wire
for
a moment
, please
.”

In truth, I knew darned well I was free to hold a séance the
following Saturday evening
. The only thing
I had on schedule between now and then was a party at Mrs.
Bissel
’s house, where I would read tarot cards and palms for the guests
;
and two dog-obedience lessons, but
those
were
held
in the morning. However, I paused long enough for Gladys to think I was very much in demand. Which I was. Most of the time. The present lull was actuall
y rather like a vacation for me
,
although I hoped it wouldn’t last too long, since my family needed my income.

When I again picked up the receiver, I made sure I sounded as though I were doing Mrs. Winkworth a favor. “I do have a commitment . . . but, no. I’m sure I can move that appointment to another time.
”

“Oh, dear. You have something else scheduled?” Gladys sounded worried, and I felt guilty again.

“Oh, no, not at all. I have no commitments
that
can’t easily
be
change
d
.
Yes, Gladys, I will be happy to hold a séance for Mrs. Winkworth on the Saturday after next.”

“
Ah!
I’m so glad!”

For the first time, Gladys sounded other than confused. I guess Mrs. Winkwor
th was either a hard
taskmistress or Gladys expected a lot of herself. I suspected the latter. She’d always been extremely precise and exacting, and if she didn’t get the highest grade on any given test, she’d fall into
a
deep melancholy
that would last until she again excelled at something academic
. That
sort of thing
didn’t happen often since, as noted before,
Gladys had a largish brain in which she stored lots and lots of stuff that didn’t matter a whit to me.

She went on, “Thank you so much, Daisy. Mrs. Winkworth will be so pleased.”

“And
I shall
be very pleased to meet her.” Not to mention her grandson
and Miss de la Monica
. “And
I look forward
to see
ing
her house. I understand it’s quite lovely.”

“Huge,” said Gladys succinctly. “I actually get tired from all
the running around I have to do, although the exercise is, I’m sure, good for me
.
But the gardens are
quite
beautiful
and I do enjoy strolling in them of an evening
.
”

I’d
just be they were. San Pasqual was one of the loveliest streets in our lovely city. “Well, it will be nice to see you again, Gladys,” I said politely, wondering if the
severe, bespectacled Gladys
I remembered
would have changed as much as I had in the years since we
’d
graduated from high school.

“It will be a pleasure to see you again, too, Daisy,” she said, sounding perfunctory rather than
ecstatic
.

I hung up the receiver and turned to face my husband and my aunt. I expected Bil
ly to say something cutting—he’d
gone so far as to say what I
did for a living
was
evil a time or two—but Aunt Vi beat him to the punch.

“You’re going to meet
Monty Mountjoy
and
Lola de la Monica
?” Her voice was breathy and very nearly reverent.

“I guess so. That was Gladys Pennywhistle, and she set up a séance at Mrs. Winkworth’s house
for
next Saturday night
.”

“Oh, my dear
goodness
gracious sakes alive,” said Aunt Vi, sinking into her chair—she’d been standing, clutching the back of it, I guess staring
in awe
at my back as I spoke with Gladys on the ‘phone.

“I swear, Daisy,” said Billy, “you do get around, don’t you?”

He didn’t sound too terribly snide, so I smiled and said, “I do. And in such exalted company, too.” I wandered back to the kitchen table, wishing my helping of egg-and-potato casserole was still warm. But I ate it anyway.
“
Never turn down food
”
is my motto, which expla
ins why I’ll never achieve the lean and boyish
shape that was so fashionable in those days. My bust flattener helped
my image some
, but I still had hips. Couldn’t help
having them
without starving myself.

“Well, I guess that’s all right,” said Billy, surprising me. “It must be fun to meet all these celebrities.”

“It is, in a way, but it also makes me nervous sometimes.”

“You?” His left eyebrow lifted sardonically. I didn’t appreciate that expression on my Billy’s face. Before he
’d
gone
off to war, he couldn’t have looked sardonic if he’d tried.

“Yes. Me. Although I must admit I’m less nervous around big shots than I might have been if I hadn’t met Harold Kincaid. He’s told me so much about so many of
the so-called stars
, it’s hard to keep from laughing when I meet some of them.”

“Do you think Lola de la Monica is really from Spain?” breathed Aunt Vi, who was still impressed by what she read in the papers.

“I don’t know, but I’ll ask her,” I said. “And I’ll get autographs, too, if you want them.”

Billy said, “Huh.”

But Aunt Vi said, “Oh, thank you, Daisy! I’d just love to have autographs from Monty Mountjoy and Lola de la Monica!”

It was nice to know somebody in the family appreciated me.

Chapter Two

Actually, Ma and Pa were pretty impressed
, too,
when I told the
m about my impending séance later in the day
.
Sam Rotondo, who came to dinner that night, was also impressed, although not in a good way. That came as no surprise to me, since nothing at all about me ever seemed to please Sam.

Perhaps I should say a little more about Sam. I didn’t really dislike him. Not anymore, anyhow. I’d hated his guts when I’d first become entangled with one of his schemes. But he was a very good friend to Billy and Pa, who had a weak heart and could no longer work as a chauffeur for rich people as he’d once done. And, as I’ve already said, Ma and Aunt Vi liked him, too. Besides, late in 1921, when I’d discovered that my Billy had a whole
boxful
of morphine syrup stashed away in our closet, Sam had been
surprisingly
sympathetic when I’d spoken to him about
it. His sincere conception
of
and insight into
Billy’s
problem had taken me aback, to tell the truth. I hadn’t expected compassion and understanding from someone like him. Well, from someone like I thought he was, I mean
.

Mind you, Billy needed the drug. If it weren’t for morphine syrup, I doubt he’d have been able to live at home
, but would have had to spend his days in one of those hideous, gray-walled institutions where too-badly injured victims of the Kaiser’s wrath had been locked away since
he
began his wretched war
.
But Billy had me. And he had Ma and Pa
and Spike
and the rest of my family, all of whom loved him. And Sam. He had Sam.

Still, the plain, unvarnished fact of the matter was that Billy’s
health had been deteriorating ever since the war ended, and his
constant
pain was
debilitating and horrible
. So were his
lungs and his
night terrors and his shell shock.
Damn
the Kaiser.
But there I go again. Get me started on the Kaiser, and I never shut up. At any rate, Billy needed a good deal of morphine syrup by 1922, but when I found a box stuffed full of morphine bottles
hidden
away in the back of our bedroom closet
, I’d become very frightened.
Suicide
is an ugly word, but it was never far from my mind in those days.
Nor, I fear, was it far from Billy’s
.