Magnolia City (13 page)

“Lina tells me you’re not well.”

“I just finished my moon.”

“Get lots of rest. Tomorrow is your big night.”

“
Yo sé,
Mamá.”

“Have you decided what you’re going to tell Lamar?”

“Sí.”

Hetty pulled her kimono tighter and let the silence stretch out uncomfortably. Her mother eyed her suspiciously from a haze of light.

“Esther, have I ever told you the fable of the fox and the coyote?”

“I don’t think so.”

“I’m sure I did when you were a child. It was one of your grandmother’s favorites. I think it’s time you heard it again. Sit down for a minute.”

Hetty didn’t want to do anything to make her mother wary, so she crawled in among the silk cushions on the sofa. Nella finished her drink, fished ice cubes out of a bucket, and poured in more scotch. But Hetty knew she wouldn’t drink much of it. She had seen this happen many times before. Nella would get so involved in the imaginative process of acting out her story that the cubes would melt down like candles on an altar. And indeed, in Nella’s expressive hands, the retelling of one of these ancient tales did reach the level of cherished rite, as it had with her mother before her, who’d brought the tradition with her from across the Rio Grande.

“This is how it goes. The fox and the coyote were enemies, constantly dodging each other under the light of the full moon. One night, the thirsty fox stole up to the edge of a
laguna
in which
la luna
was reflected. As she was about to drink, she spotted another face mirrored on the surface. It was the ugly gray coyote, teeth bared, poised to eat her. Now La Zorra was a great beauty, her slanted brown eyes and auburn fur glistening in the pale light. She turned her delicate snout up and asked: ‘
Tío,
what do you see in the pond?’

“He looked down and spotted the moon. ‘I see a large round flan,
chica,
’ he growled, ‘swimming in a bowl of caramel.’

“ ‘I
adore
flan!’ said the fox, preening. ‘Will you fetch it for us,
Tío?
We can share it and then you can eat me after.’

“The coyote, none too wise, thought for a moment and said, ‘How shall I do that?’

“ ‘By diving into the delicious caramel and grabbing it with your strong teeth, of course.’ At that, the coyote threw himself into the water, and the flan melted into a million pieces. He pulled himself out, chilled to the bone, howling
‘¡Yi-yi!’
and chasing the fox through the prickly pear with fury in his eyes.”

Nella recited all the ways the cunning fox got the best of the thickheaded coyote, tricking him with firecrackers, scorpions, and thorns. For her final revenge, La Zorra waited until the church bells had rung midnight and led him, in bright moonlight, through the town plaza and into the Municipal Palace. He followed her bushy tail into the
sala de baile,
relishing the thought of devouring her. But the coyote was awed by the splendor of the ballroom, the ornate musicians’ gallery above, the red silk on the walls, and, above all, the gleaming mirrors. He had never seen a mirror and was bewitched.

“Everywhere he looked coyotes looked back at him,” Nella said, “doing the same thing he was doing. But then he saw another pack behind them, a pack of foxes snickering at him. La Zorra stood on her hind legs in the middle of the great room, holding her belly with laughter. When he remembered how he’d been fooled by her, he took chunks of fallen plaster and broke all the mirrors, but that didn’t stop the laughter. He could still see bits of fox faces leering back at him, like a cubist painting, so he leaped into one of the broken mirrors to attack La Zorra and was cut to pieces by the shards of glass.”

Nella paused and seemed surprised to notice that her drink was watered down. “And that was how
Tío
Coyote came to his end. . . .”

Hetty watched her mother, puzzled. “That’s all?” she asked. “Could you explain that to me in plain Spanish?”

“Fables can’t be explained, darling. That’s why they’re fables.”

“So who am I? The fox or the coyote?”

“I’d say that’s up to you.”

“
Ay, madre.
I don’t understand you—you speak in parables.”

“Sometimes, Esther, it’s the only way.
El que sabe, sabe.
”

He who knows, knows.

Hetty awoke out of restless sleep to lie frightened in bed, watching for the first pale light of day to appear at her window. When it came, sudden, blue, she forced herself to get up and dress in utter silence, afraid even to breathe too loud lest she wake up another member of the family. After making her bed, she placed on it the three pouches of jewels in a row along with the letter she’d finally penned to Lamar.

With a suitcase in each hand, she tiptoed to the front door and was just about to open it, when she turned and was startled by something moving. She let her breath out. It was only her own image turning to look at itself in the foyer’s round pink mirror. In this gloom it looked mauve, her face pale as a winter moon about to set, her eyes two haunted black stars. She could see the fear that darkened them, knowing that if she crossed this threshold to be married to Garret MacBride she might never be welcome to return. She would miss the ball tonight at Ima’s pink palace, break the heart of the prince, and be banished forever from the kingdom of No-Tsu-Oh. But somehow, she didn’t care. She wasn’t going to let Nella and her fables intimidate her.
El que sabe, sabe,
indeed. She knew exactly what she wanted. She flung the door back and let the warm lights of the hotel hallway pull her out into the day.

Later that morning, she and Garret stood together in a deserted courtroom of the old City Hall on Travis Street, listening to the justice of the peace read from a black book in his hands. Hetty wasn’t expecting much—she assumed that a civil ceremony would be brief and impersonal, allowing her to remain detached. But what she hadn’t counted on was that the current justice, William Ward Kinkaid, was a kind greathearted man, bearded and blessed with one of those deep sweet Texan voices that can melt any woman’s reserve.

“We have come together here today,” he read, “in the sight o’ God, to witness the joinin’ o’ two hearts.”

He went on to ignore the book and talk to them like a father would about the commitment they were making. He spoke to Garret, reminding him of his duty to protect and provide for his new wife, then he turned to Hetty and out of his mouth came words that took on radiant new meaning: “Hetty, as Garret’s wife, you must share your life completely, lettin’ the joys o’ each be the joys o’ both, and the sorrows o’ each the sorrows o’ both.”

When Justice Kinkaid intoned the next part—“Into this holy union these two souls come now to be joined”—his voice resounded with such vibrancy that she yearned deeply for the moment to become holy, become truly holy. She looked to the side and saw only rows of empty benches and pale, vacuous light that filtered down so unfeelingly from the drab windows.
No one knows I’m getting married,
she thought.
There’s no one here to celebrate with us
. Her own mother and sister wouldn’t even know that she had left the house until they went into her room and found her bed made up, tidy but vacant, scarred with a guilty letter to Lamar. Most girls are given away by their fathers. Suddenly, she wanted hers there, passing her on to the man she loved. She longed for Kirb’s blessing, knowing she had lost it forever.
How can I get it back?

When the justice asked her if she took Garret as her lawfully wedded husband, loving and respecting him and being faithful to him as long as they both should live, the courtroom around her seemed so vast and empty that her own voice felt far too small to fill it as she uttered a shattered “I do.” And when he said the final words, “By the authority vested in me by the laws o’ the state of Texas, I now pronounce y’all man and wife,” she couldn’t even kiss Garret but could only hold on to him tightly, hiding her face and bawling, trying to draw enough warmth out of his body to fill all of the four hollow chambers in her heart.

H
etty remained tearful all through lunch with her new husband. “Maybe chaos wasn’t such a good idea, after all,” she sniffled, pulling a lace hankie out of her purse. She couldn’t lift herself out of the dumps until, two hours later, they crossed the long Galveston Island Causeway. There’s nothing like a bridge, she realized, to transport one into a new state of mind. As they rose higher and higher, she looked through the window and saw nothing but bay water underneath, washing them away from land and all connections. She breathed in deeply and smelled the ocean up ahead, splashing its salty scent far inland. When they finally hit the island and sped by the lush oleanders, she felt the sea winds blowing away her old life and its restrictions, leaving her buoyant and free. Billboards welcomed them to the Playground of the South—by map only an hour or so from Houston but in attitude and atmosphere a continent away.

They drove down the seawall boulevard and up to the portals of the Galvez Hotel, lifting its white tropical spires high over the beach. Down below, flags flapped on the gaudy bathhouses and palm leaves fanned in the breeze while the endless surf surged across the sand under the white wings of seagulls lifting.

As Hetty stepped out of the Auburn and walked under the great white archways of the Galvez, she felt light-headed and leaned against Garret’s shoulder. She still couldn’t believe she was a bride—not until they checked into the bridal suite and the bellboy referred to her as “Mrs. MacBride.” That made it official, along with the toile wallpaper, the gigantic bed, and the long gauzy drapes rippling like waterfalls at the tall windows opened across the front of the hotel. They stood in front of them as soon as they were alone, kissing amid the whispering silks.

Before they could sample room service, Hetty knew she had to call home. Her finger trembled slightly as she dialed the operator to place the call. She noticed that her nails needed doing. She lit a Lucky Strike to calm her nerves.

Nella answered the phone herself.

“Mamá, it’s your daughter.”

“Tu ni eres mi hija. ¡Puta! Has perdido el privilegio. Jamás quiero hablar contigo. ¡Imbécil! Nunca me vuelvas a llamar.”

Hetty heard a thud, then the dial tone. She set the receiver down. “Uh-oh. She’s really mad. She’s cursing in Spanish.”

“What did she say?”

“She called me a name I won’t translate and said that I wasn’t her daughter anymore. She told me never to call back.”

“Wait five minutes and do just that.”

While Garret called down for a pot of coffee and some chocolate cake, Hetty watched the hands of the clock on the bedside table inch forward as she tortured her cigarette.

“Do you think it’s been long enough?”

Garret handed her the receiver. Hetty lit another Lucky and placed the call.

“Yes.”

“Don’t hang up on me, Mamá.”

“Are you
embarazada?
”

“No! Why would you even think that? Garret’s been a perfect gentleman.”

“Because that’s the first thing anybody thinks when a girl runs away. Don’t you know that?
¡Estúpida! ¡Tonta! ¡Imbécil! Ay,
as usual you’re only thinking of yourself, not the shame you’ve brought on our family.
¡Qué vergüenza!
”

“You left me no choice, Mamá.”

“Choice? You dare to talk to me about choice?
¡Eres una sin vergüenza!
This was not my choice. Not this,
m’ija.
Never this. To abandon your family, your friends. To bring disgrace on the Allen name.”

“How’s Dad taking it?”

“How do you think? He locked himself in his study and won’t come out.”

“Send him a bottle of whiskey from me.”

“No,
m’ija,
not that easy. He’ll never forgive you. Have you so little respect for marriage? And for Lamar?”

“I left him a letter.”

“Yes, he’s here,
pobrecito
.”

“He’s there? Let me speak to him.”

“You’ve hurt him enough—
tienes la sangre bien fría
. Your poor sister is comforting him.
¡Qué barbaridad!
”

“Oh, don’t be such a flat tire, Mamá,” Hetty said, the Lucky dangling from her lips. “I haven’t committed murder. I only got married.”

“
Ay,
but you have committed murder. You are dead to me and to this family.
¡Muerta!
”

Nella’s voice was like a bell tolling a dirge, rattling Hetty’s composure. She hung up. When she snuffed her butt in the hotel ashtray, her hands shook. Garret took them in his and tried to console her. When the room service cart came clattering in, he made her eat some cake along with a cup of black coffee loaded with sugar. They talked it through until Hetty calmed down enough to paint her nails so they could dry before dinner in the crisp Gulf breeze.

Hetty spent the afternoon unpacking and hanging up her dresses, fending off her new husband’s advances till she was in a more romantic mood. When the light changed colors, he called her to the windows. She looked out at the ocean turning purple. He said he knew what would cheer her up and pointed to a long pier that snaked out over the Gulf of Mexico. Its pagodalike roof rose high against the sunset sky, the waters underneath shimmering with Japanese lanterns being lit in the twilight—the Balinese Room casino, where the roulette wheels whirled until dawn.

They made their way down the long pier, past two guards who nodded and smiled. Finally they came up to a ponderous door with a small window in the middle. Garret knocked. After a long pause, the little window opened and he gave his name. There was a grunt of recognition. They entered breathlessly into a dimly lit windowless room, initiates into pleasures that were rare and forbidden back on the mainland.

Garret purchased a hundred dollars’ worth of chips and signaled the attendant to start them on their round of cocktails, mixed with liquor smuggled onto shore and unloaded right below their feet. “The tables?” Garret murmured into her ear. “They’re hollow underneath.” In case of a raid, the tops were turned over, and the chips, the dice, the smoking ashtrays, and the tumblers filled with bootleg cocktails all went sliding off the tabletops and fell directly downward into the waters.

Hetty drank along with Garret as he gambled, kissed him when he won, groaned with him when he lost, and felt herself getting drunker by the minute.
Nella was so Edwardian!
she thought as she lit a cigarette. This was just the sort of fun she’d known she could have with a man like Garret. She felt safe with him, even in a wild place like this.

After a while she became bored. She kept glancing over at the more glamorous roulette wheels where even Shebas like herself were having fun playing the odds. Garret had been winning regularly placing pass line bets and big eights, but he hadn’t made any of the spectacular free-odds wagers he often bragged about. She nudged him. “You’re not taking any chances.”

“Oh? Then wish me luck.” He turned and gave her a French kiss she felt all the way to her feet. He bet half his chips on the line laying odds of two to one.

Hetty was thrilled. She hugged his arm and whispered in his ear, “Good luck, darling.”

The dice cup rattled like a snake about to strike as the shooter shook it a couple of times and made a toss. The whole table watched in silence as the dice bounced off the back wall and landed on the green felt. One of them turned up a five. The other slid under a curling dollar bill near Hetty, its skyward face hidden. The dealer motioned for her to uncover it.

“Carefully,” he whispered.

Everyone stared at her hand as she gingerly lifted the dollar bill away without tipping the die. Thank God she’d done her nails that afternoon! She was admiring the way her pink polish glimmered against the green baize of the table when suddenly everyone around her was cheering. She hadn’t even noticed what she’d revealed: five more spots. The shooter had made his point. Garret let out a great yelp and pulled her to him. “Do you realize this will pay for that damn bridal suite?”

They dined on raw oysters overlooking the waters. The dance floor was crowned by palms with coconuts wired for electric light. Couples swayed in a fox-trot to “One Sweet Letter from You,” played by the traveling swing rhythms of the Kensington Hall Orchestra.

Hetty pulled Garret up for the next Charleston. She wore long dangling earrings, and her shimmering satin dress had a draped girdle finished with a cascade of large loops that kicked and jiggled along with her flying heels. About halfway through the following number, the band swung into a waltz rendition of the wedding march. Hetty noticed everyone leaving the dance floor as a bright spotlight blinded her. She frowned at Garret.

“I can’t help it, Hetty. They know me around here.”

Hetty felt a blush rising with a fury into her cheeks. A man whistled loudly. In the crowd just off the dance floor, his face came into clear focus—a sharp jaw undercutting dark, dangerous eyes.

“It’s your wedding night, Mac,” he shouted hoarsely.

“Mac, Mac, Mac.”
He started a chant and was joined by other men ganging around him. They all had the same sinister swagger, rude and well-groomed.

The saxophone careened around her ears and the drinks set her head to spinning in the noise of the crowd. It suddenly hit her what she’d done that day—she’d
eloped
. Run away. Her mother’s words echoed with a hollow sound through the caves of her mind:
To abandon your family, your friends—have you so little respect?
She lost her breath for a moment; her knees started to give. She inhaled deeply and felt a wave of clammy air wash across the room, smelling of damp, salty things like mollusks and moon snails. Garret caught Hetty in his arms and slipped out of the room with her as the bartender pulled a fish through the hole in the floor and displayed it, smiling, for all to see.

They walked away from the night-lights and followed the surf along in silence, into the deserted darkness.

She peeled off her silk stockings and shoes to wade in the water. She wanted to lose herself in it, to slide deep into the brine and leave her dress billowing on the surface like a silken jellyfish. She started humming the wedding march.

He stripped off his shoes and socks, too, rolled up his pin-striped pants, and waded out to her.

She turned her face up to his. He ran his hands along her bare arms. He kissed her as a new wave swirled in around their feet, releasing into the air its underwater scent of sargassum and clams.

She looked down.

“God, was I blushing!”

“It’s okay, kiddo. It’s the first night of your honeymoon.”

“How come so many people know you in there?”

“My partner and I do a lot of business here.”

“People were shouting your name—
strangers.
Those—men . . .”

Garret shrugged. Her cheeks still felt hot when she thought about it. She laid one on his chest, cool from the dank Galveston air. The alcohol was wearing off, and her mood sagged. She closed her eyes and let him hold her for a few moments. When she opened them again, she saw a curl of a crescent moon tingling the sea with light.

“Galveston a little too racy for you? Want to leave? Baby want to go home, coochie-coo?” He tickled her chin and made her chuckle.

“Not on your life, Mr. MacBride.” A new wave hit them. The bubbles felt like champagne on her feet.

Lights still played up and down the shore, music drifted in with the sound of the surf, a banjo strummed far off somewhere, a strain of jazz slanted off the water like the tawdry light of electric bulbs strung up along Murdoch’s Pleasure Pier.

When they entered their suite, the lights were off and only the Gulf winds and the pale reflections of the sea washed into the room. Garret laid her softly into the bed and gently peeled her dress down and off. It billowed in the breeze as he lifted it up. That was what Hetty remembered most of all about that night—the scent and flow of those Galveston winds that drifted through the dark room, laden with sea scents and cool moisture and the lost chords of dim, echoed music.

After he’d undressed, there was the perfect counterpoint of temperatures in their vigil, the cool winds flowing over them through the open Gulf windows and, close to her, the pervading tropical warmth of his body. She’d never been completely naked with him before, had never been able to wrap her arms and legs around the full stretch of his skin.

As she did so, she trembled.

She had lived through this moment so often in fantasy that she didn’t imagine it would hold any surprises. But it did. There were things Wini hadn’t told her.

As he slowly ran his hand down her opening thighs, she felt herself being aroused in subtly threatening ways, all deep and undreamed of. They exchanged genital kisses, and she lingered over his hard cock, taking it deep into her mouth, letting him push her head down on it with his big hands. Then, he took over, ripping the controls right out of her hands. She handed them over to him easily, even eagerly. She was prey willingly trapped, at the same time frightened and enthralled. When he entered her, she groaned with the pain of being pierced slowly by his thrusts, but the pain soon mingled with a mounting pleasure. She clung to him and buried her face in his neck as he penetrated her deeper and deeper. He pulled her legs up as far as they would go and pinned her under him. Welling out of her throat came sounds she’d never heard herself making.